Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joey’s Dream:

When the group finally gets to sleep, Joey dreams…

It's strange. He sees himself, in the third person, wearing the clothes from the bag at the hospital, though in the dream they look clean. He sees himself tucking something into an inner pocket, where it couldn't be easily seen. Something dark and... dripping? And then abruptly he’s sitting up in bed, heart hammering. It's still dark, and the others are asleep. But he can see the bag of filthy clothes left where it was dropped near the doorway...

Joey sneaks over trying not to wake the others, and tries to see if he can find anything in the inner pockets of the clothes. Partially because he can’t go back to sleep without checking, partially because he doesn't want anything in there to harm the others... And partially because he doesn't want to admit any of this could be his fault.

He reaches into the pocket...and his fingers plunge into something viscous, wet, and icy cold. Somehow the pocket is swimming with the stuff, numbing his fingers to the point he can't actually be sure if he’s caught hold of anything else in the pocket or not.

(rolls my own dice to see if joey is going to make startled noise or not lmao

good roll, no startled noise.)

He will remove them, but drag this piece of clothing into the bathroom with him so he can turn on the light and look at what might be on his fingers.

Dragging it into the bathroom, he sees his hand is coated in something pitch black and oily, catching the light in an odd way. The pocket is somehow still brimming with the stuff, and threatening to spill out all over the floor.

( makes another roll to decide what to do with it)

Okay joey is going to shove the clothing into the sink

just like, in case it spills over

( i had decided a good roll would be tub, a bad roll would be toilet, and then i got a middle roll so i had to sit and think what that is )

He barely avoids it spilling all over the floor. It just keeps pouring and pouring until the jacket is soaked and submerged, and the sink is threatening to overflow. There's already a few spatters on the floor, possibly from his hand.

yeah at this point I think Joey would have no idea what to do and kinda just start trying to scrape it off his hands before running for the door, with the plan to get outside the bathroom, and then... close the door??

When he's trying to scrape the substance off his hands he finds what seems to be a cut across the palm of one hand, though it's not bleeding, or at least not anything but more black.

But when he goes for the door, it won't open. The sink starts to overflow, black coating the floor, and he realizes some of the glinting light isn't actually reflections. It's glowing and gold, swirling in the liquid to form words: "The demon took it." and a moment later: "Look behind you." Just then, with the cold black liquid up to his ankles, he hears a growl.

Joey does not turn around he just starts screaming and banging at the door, doing anything to try and get thru it

He somehow manages to knock it down, falling forward on top of it as the black flows out past him. And on the other side he finds not a hotel room, but a bright and humid jungle. He sees a huge and skeletal arm out of the corner of his eye right before he feels his legs being crushed, just like the strange memory when he touched the goo in the box earlier. Sammy is nowhere to be seen, though his banjo lies broken and bloody off to one side, and Henry is running, maybe trying to draw the attention of whatever is pinning Joey, and then Joey hears a voice, somehow cajoling and also far far too loud: "I know what you want, Joey Drew. It's time for dreams to come to life..."

Sammy’s Dream:

Sammy wakes up in the night to the sound of music, the same surreal song he heard outside before, only now it's being played on his banjo in the room. He recognizes it now, it's one of Bendy's themes, but shifted into a minor key...it had been embellished with a haunting harmony that threw him off before.

Hm. More bothered that someone's fussing with his banjo. He'll get up and check for the culprit.

Sitting up, he hears one last chord, and he catches sight of the strings still buzzing on the banjo, even as a dark shape skitters through the light cast through the window, knocking over the luggage full of masks which scatter all across the floor, and disappears into the shadows.

oH OKAY, yelling a very sharp "JOEY, HENRY" to hopefully wake them up but not actually stopping to make sure; going to jump up and try to chase down whoever broke in. >:/

There's not even a twitch from the shapes of Joey and Henry under their blankets, and Sammy spots the figure again, skittering UNDER the door to the room and into the hall?!

UH

well you know maybe it's for the best he didn't wake everyone up if he's just??? hallucinating??? He hesitates, but will open the door and like... look around.

The door seems stuck.

Frowns. Tries harder???

It gives a bit, but doesn't yet open. Wait, Is that...the sound of Henry and Joey talking on the other side?

Okay you know what, this is Joey's problem, Sammy has nowhere to be and--............... stops and leans into the door to listen??? Eyes darting back a little nervously while he listens to what he had, uh, assumed were people sleeping in the room with him,

There are definitely two humanoid shapes on the beds under the covers. But just as definitely he can hear Henry apparently teasing Joey about the mix up with the Bendy masks not having any eye holes and Joey huffily saying it's all according to plan or some other Joey-nonsense.

The shapes on the beds still don't move.

HM...........NERVOUS EMOJI….

In fact, are...are those shapes on the beds dripping dark puddles onto the floor??

SAMMY IS SIGNIFICANTLY MORE MOTIVATED TO GET THE DOOR OPEN

(to be clear, he is not calling through it or knocking to get the others' attention or anything else, and would in fact prefer not to draw any attention to the fact that it's giving him trouble)

It takes a LOT of yanking, but with one final quiet but frantic pull the door flies open!

FANTASTIC what is outside the door, does everything seem normal out there? Are Henry and Joey actually out there just casually chatting in the middle of the night?? Sammy is ready to demand to know what the hell they're doing rn but keeps glancing back at the beds

He spots Joey and Henry, apparently fine. Though between one more glance at the dark room behind him and the bright jungle ahead - wait, what?

Joey is saying, "All in all, the overall quality is actually fairly good. This is all just another minor setback, you'll see! Nothing this team can't handle, right, Sammy?"

wAIT WHERE AM I

(A GOOD QUESTION)

Sammy will spare a snapped and unconvinced "Whatever you say" to Joey but he looks, uh, confused in a sort of frazzled and offended way while he tries to work out what is even happening here. Is he still standing at the door of their hotel room?

There's only the long path down to Port au Prince behind him. He shades his eyes, but then realizes he doesn't actually need to - there's something on his face? And for once in this godforsaken country, instead of feeling so hot he could spontaneously combust at any moment, he feels... jarringly cold, almost numb... "There, you see? Sammy knows quality when he sees it."

Henry just gives a rueful chuckle...then pauses. "You alright, Sam?"

Is Sammy....dripping?

"Never better," he grumbles, but adds "Just a little sick..." Sammy taps his fingers to try to get feeling into them and sort of quietly takes stock of what else he has -- what is he wearing, what is he carrying, what's covering his face, did he get soaked again,

He's covered in something wet, and black, it's like that time when he was on the balcony, but even worse. His pants are filthy, if he's even wearing a shirt it's completely covered, and once again he seems short a couple fingers.

Sammy freezes and looks up at Henry. If Henry is not looking at him he'll call out to him. Does he seem to see that something is wrong?

Both Joey and Henry are looking his way in what is pretty typical mild concern.

"mild concern," here I take it, not really being an appropriate level of concern for "the music director is completely drenched in black goo and lost a couple of fingers" but more "sammy seems upset about something"

Accurate.

"........................... never mind. I must be imagining things." Anxious in a way that sounds irritated. "Where are we going again?" He's feeling his face and trying to snap out of it.

There's definitely a mask on his face, and under it...where...where IS his face? Henry replies somewhat skeptically, "Some place called the Star Pools, wasn't it? Do you really think he'd have ended up way out here, Joey?"

But Joey, finally, is staring at Sammy. Or...something behind Sammy?

COOL SAMMY IS QUIETLY PANICKING. What is behind him...?

He's just about to turn and look when something stabs him right through the back, though he can hardly register what. Joey and Henry finally seem to be alarmed, shouting and gaping as Sammy is knocked down. He sees a spatter of blood - his? And his banjo, snapped on the ground in front of him. Where did it even come from...?

WH

GREAT QUESTION

I GUESS I'LL GET STABBED THEN

HES GOING TO BE TRYING TO GET UP ENOUGH TO SEE WHAT GOT HIM but idk if he'll get the chance

He only manages to turn enough to see a towering black shape pinning him...it looks a bit like one of Henry's drawings? And then he's being yanked backwards at a frightening pace, back and downwards. He's plunged into an all-encompassing blackness, studded with strangely shifting stars. He's drug downward no matter how he fights it, and he realizes he's suffocating, even as he becomes aware of...something else. Something welcoming amidst the horror, promising a place just for him....

And then a voice, somehow cajoling but also thundering so loud it hurts, "I know what you want, Sammy Lawrence...and it's TIME TO BELIEVE."

Henry’s Dream:

Henry is woken up by a rustling sound of someone flipping through his sketch book.

he, looks over??? whomst???

trying to be quiet tho

Looking up, he catches sight of a shadowy figure, and at first he thinks it's Joey nosing through other people's stuff again like he does. But then the figure looks up and to his shock Henry sees a skull with human eyes staring back at him. The figure straightens up, still holding Henry's book, and takes it along, exiting through the door with a grin on its skull.

UHHHHH

welp henrys going to make a bad decision

henry grabs his gun

follows them out the door and points it at them

As Henry rushes for the door he hears a voice outside that must belong to the skull man: "What do you want, Henry Stein? Will this give some clue?" but as Henry rounds the doorway and points his gun, he finds that the figure with its back to him looks like Sammy. "Well, I can't see this going poorly at all," he remarks dryly.

henry just kinda stares

gun still pointed at him, but less as a threat and more like he just genuinely forgot to put it down

"did you see that...?"

he finally thinks to lower the gun, as sammy probably wont take kindly to having it pointed at him

"I didn't," Sammy says, finally turning around...and he's got one of Joey's silly Bendy masks over his face as he says, his voice getting low and frankly rather creepy, "You know why? Because I can't see anyth i n g..." and with that the banjo he was holding snaps itself in half in his hands, even as his face goes dark and unstable like it was last night...and then starts to melt.

GUN BACK UP GUN BACK UP

STEPPING BACK

Sammy collapses into a puddle before Henry can decide whether to shoot or not, only for Henry to trip over something on the dirt. Dirt? When did he get outside? It's bright, and there's plants and why is Joey lying on the ground grinning his showman's best up at Henry as if Henry hadn't almost just stomped on his face.

henry is seriously freaked out

for some reason the only thing on his mind is to Not Touch whatever sammy just melted into, so hes looking around frantically for that, and if thats still present hes going to drag joey and grab him and his creepy grin away from it

if thats not present hes going to, just kinda, stare at joey all freaked out and questioning

The puddle is still back there and bubbling, in fact looking back, Henry starts to see something rising from it, skeletal and black and BIG, with an unnatural grin, the creature from his sketchbook... meanwhile Joey is saying in a chipper tone, " "Don't you worry Henry, this is all just another minor setback, trust me! Nothing this team can't handle!" Grabbing for Joey though, Henry can see that something... is NOT right with Joey's legs. There's no way he can walk.

henry looks very quickly between joey and the monster

after a split seconds hesitation he raises his gun and fires on it

(and i will say if that doesnt seem to do anything he will immediately just abandon that to grab joey and haul him out of here)

The thing stops as Henry shoots it with a visible splat in the liquid coating its face...and then slowly turns its grin on Henry, wiggling a bit like a cat getting ready to pounce. Henry grabs Joey and starts hauling, but it's only a moment later something YANKS Joey away, the creature landing right on Joey's damaged legs and swatting at Henry, knocking him back into a tree.

Joey finally seems to understand the situation because he shouts, waving at Henry urgently. "Henry, run! Go, right now, run!!" and after a beat, "Trust me!"

henry is scrambling backwards, watching with horror

oh god oh god like fuck he should trust joey, but also his gun probably got knocked away and theres no way he can fight this

he has the sudden realization that sammy is dead, and joey will soon be dead too. and if he doesn't do anything, so will he

he scrambles to his feet and runs

He runs through the brush as fast as he can, and for a while, there's nothing else but getting away. Then as he's pushing aside the next branch, he finds himself face to face with himself, but with the words "Who Am I Now?" in place of a face. The other Henry grabs him by the shoulders and says urgently, ""Don't...don't be afraid."

he stops and stares at him with wild, scared eyes, but he does hear him

terrified whisper "what's going on??"

The other Henry gives him a faceless nod, but at least his voice is reassuring. "It's going to be hard, but you have to hold it together, okay? Don't let him trick you into answering his questions while you're asleep, or we're done for. No matter what, we have to press on. Listen; Neither option is enough, I tried my best, but you have to find another way." The other Henry's grip grows faint on his shoulder, and he starts to fade. He shakes his head, shouting, "You have to break the cycle!" and then he's gone. Henry is floating in a dark space, no monsters, no friends, no double.

henry just stares into the void where the other henry was

cycle...?

don't answer questions while asleep.. has he been dreaming??

he's got about five billion questions buzzing in his brain, and also adrenaline

Just then the shadowy skull figure that started all this fades into view, floating as well. "I...really do not know what you want. How curious... You fortify your soul, you hide behind the predictable, banal desires of others, but you? Henry, don't you know my game cannot progress as it should with you being so inconsiderately recalcitrant? Come now... What do you want? Shut your eyes... and TELL ME."

(and assuming he doesn't choose to answer, make a POW roll)

(HECK YEA pow is 80, rolled a 60!)

henry is terrified, but sets his jaw and shakes his head

The skull somehow huffs with its creepy human eyes and shrugs. "Next time, then..."

Chapter Text

“Thank you,” Joey muttered under his breath, following just far enough behind Sammy that he was walking through the doors just as they were closing again. He stopped outside and looked to find Sammy, taking up a spot nearby him. He had freshly pocketed the flask and was silent for a bit as he made sure that there was no ink residue before finally speaking up.

“I’m…. We should have told you sooner. I should have,” Joey said in a low voice, not quite sure how to start the conversation otherwise.

Sammy’s eyes were locked onto Joey as he tried to surreptitiously slip something into a coat pocket. He regarded the man with arms folded, unimpressed, as he leaned back against the wall of the building, gaze flicking up briefly to look him in the eyes, and then down again to stare at the hidden flask, as if he could see it through the coat.

“You should have.” Sammy agreed.

If he wasn’t kept to a schedule, Joey would have saved that sip for later, already feeling a little bad as he noticed that Sammy had caught him. After everything last night… after last night…

“Well, now you know though! So if you wanted to spend the night in a different room… There is a king sized bed.” Joey was doing a good job at keeping a straight face, literally, but there was probably a certain look in his eyes that Sammy had grown to know. It wasn’t sultry or an attempt at seduction, but more of a raw focus on the other… with a hint of need that he was trying his best to hide.

Sammy tore his gaze away to look down the street — literally at the street. At least there wouldn’t be any of those banners on the ground.

He shot Joey a look at his last comment, though, eyes narrowed. Pointed look at the flask’s location, then back at Joey’s face again. You idiot.

“With your current guest?” he sneered, a sentiment that was clearly not an actual question. His fingers tapped rapidly against his arm, agitated, as he turned back to the street again.

"Actually, yes!" Joey said perhaps a bit more chipper than was called for, though instantly settled into a non-scene making demeanor again. "He's ah, sleeping right now? We were thinking he could keep watch and make sure nothing happened to you tonight."

If only this wasn't happening outside; Joey's arms latched onto each other behind his back and a contemplative pose, a measure he had learned to take a while back while out in public. This didn't prevent him from standing more in Sammy's space than he should, but at least kept him from being too touchy where others could see.

Ah. Right.

He should have expected they were here to babysit him.

Sammy felt the man hover into his space and huffed an aggravated sigh, running a hand down his sleep-deprived face. He hadn’t needed a smoke this badly in a long time.

His gaze twitched back to Joey, glare haggard and angry. “And if he finds out you have Ink on you?” he snapped. His eyes kept flicking down to the coat pocket. “I can’t— he can’t—“ Sammy shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts straight. “He took over in my sleep. He can’t find out.”

“It won’t be on me, it’ll be hidden and locked away and… well, that actually poses a slight problem on my side, but it should be fine,” Joey backed off a bit as he bit on his finger, thinking over everything once more. Sammy was raising some good points but… also he’d already gone a whole two nights mostly alone in that room! A third was going to get to him, truely, especially after all that.

“And uh, he did listen more to… us, than anyone else.” Joey sighed, already knowing that argument wasn’t going to be enough. “I just want to help,” he lied, “I can make things correct, I know I can, but I need you with me to do so.” At least that part was the truth.

Sammy stared at him, hard. There was nothing longing or hopeful in the musician's eyes -- he looked more calculating than anything -- but he did badly want it to be true; that he would be safe, and that Joey could help. That he could have, if nothing else, a chance to rest like he hadn't for the last week, free from dreams of ink and gods and the call of distant lakes.

But Joey made these promises again and again. You'll be safe. I'll take care of it. Don't you worry. I'll fix this. Joey thought just wanting something made it possible. But it never went quite how he promised, did it? Even Haiti wasn't really fixed, or they wouldn't be having this little problem!

"Hm," Sammy said. "I want to know what the Lurker thinks."

“Well, we came up with the idea together, and whether or not you’d stay with us tonight we wanted to make sure we had a better eye out for what’s going on, in case something came for us. So right now he’s sleeping,” Joey started, his words tumbling out yet somehow staying the same amount of rehearsed and scripted as they always sounded. “And thus I feel like it could be a little dishonest for me to speak for him while he’s taking a nap, but if we didn’t believe we could fix this, we wouldn’t be here in the first place. He wouldn’t be here, with me.”

Joey’s hand found its way to the side of Sammy’s arm, and he tilted his head to the side, smiling, the missing fangs really feeling out of place and wrong despite his teeth being much closer to normal human teeth. “At least let me know if there’s anything I can do right now? Let me make things up to you, Sammy.”

Sammy’s eyes narrowed as Joey explained that the Lurker was too busy napping despite having apparently been awake for a drink just a second ago. Fine. Whatever. He’d talk to Bendy tonight.

“It’s going to be tough to top the cake...” Sammy muttered, but frowned and shook his head, before his gaze had wandered back to Joey’s coat pocket, and he shoved Joey off of him. “Don’t drink that in front of me,” he decided, completely serious. “I don’t need any reminders the Ink has followed me here.”

“You liked the cake!” Joey instantly brightened up, eyes practically sparkling, and wasn’t broken by the following declaration. No, Sammy shoving him off didn’t deter him, but... “I know, I’ve been trying my hardest to not and I was going to just do it in the library before joining you, but I was afraid y--”

Joey’s eyes dilated and widened for a moment as he realized something, and instead of finishing what looked like another new form of ‘friendly’ contact with the musician, he backed off and went quiet. Whatever it was, it managed to break the act of Joey Drew, and the script was lost. “I won’t do it again,” he replied shortly and under his breath, then proceeded to shove his gloved hands in his pockets and join Sammy in staring at the road.

Sammy watched Joey’s demeanour shift abruptly without comment, and turned his attention away when it was clear the conversation was over, remaining aggressively focused elsewhere until the small sound of footsteps approaching the library door.

Just before Henry and Jack join the other two outside to proceed on with their investigation, Sammy feels a gloved hand clamp onto his shoulder from behind, but the touch is much lighter than what Joey usually does around the studio. “Please consider it,” Joey requested in a lower tone, probably leaning closer than he should, but then instantly snapped back to being on stage as he met the others, shoulders up right and head held high.

“Did either of you find anything else in there?”

Chapter Text

As Joey and the Lurker unwrapped their arms from Henry and fell back, Joey glanced to the side, as if looking over at his co-pilot, a mixture of concern and confusion on his face. It was a few more moments though of pulling themselves together, making sure nothing was odd to the rest of the world and starting on the walk back before Joey was finally able to internally speak up.

... you were yelling in your sleep, or, trying to at least. What were you dreaming about? he asked, though was aware he might not get a forward answer right away.

The Lurker was still curled up in some out of the way part of his awareness, giving off a general sense of embarrassment and unease, though he'd tangibly perked up when there had been discussion of anything he’d missed. Joey could almost feel him shifting around as he eventually thought back, Just... the studio again. Didn't mean to go and make a scene, there.

Hey, hey, it’s fine. You know I’m one for making scenes myself, you’re allowed to have the stage too sometimes, he tried to joke, a small smirk cracking on his face as he thought about it.

Bendy chuckled at Joey's joke, though there was a dark kind of edge to it. Always nice to know we're on the same page Drew, but that's kinda how I meant it. I think...I think we gotta be careful about that. Makin' scenes. That play we read... somethin' made that happen. I feel like... he trailed off, and Joey's head gave a shake. ...I dunno.

Joey followed that shake with a nod, and took a moment to figure out that perhaps his friend still needed more time to calm down before digging into the dream more.

We went and talked with Jack’s friend, Petey!! He gave us some leads, so we split up and uh. Sammy and I checked out the top money chairman of the group; he’s one of those pompous rich assholes but has a mouth that won’t stop, so we figured some things out. Henry and Jack were talking with this Fowler guy, but things were looking… weird, so we came to grab them. … I don’t know where Trenchcoat came from, actually, but it seems like he’s gone now. Oh! I’ve also talked with our penpal, we’re going to meet her later tonight.

That… probably was everything major.

Boy, Bendy thought, giving a brief whistle with Joey's face, sounds like you guys kept busy! Oh, she’s in town?

“Yeah,” Joey mumbled under his breath, before catching himself. I had forgotten until earlier, but she has some shows going on down here. The timing works out for us, at least. Hold on a minute,

Joey blinked back into reality for a moment, just long enough to talk with the cab driver they had waved over, and hand off the address and money. He quickly slid into the middle seat in the back, not even taking account of who else was sitting next to him before his gaze faded off into the distance again and he resumed conversation.

I was trying to wake you up because… That trenchcoat guy said there’s a, a portal? Between some huts and monoliths he found out in the swamp, and that guy’s house we just came from. Went through a door, couldn’t get back. Do you think it’s those spells we’ve read about? Is that why they took the stone?

The Lurker did the mental equivalent of peering over Joey’s shoulder in sudden interest. Wait, what? he thought. They got a workin’ gate in there?? Hey, we're gonna have to get a look at that! But... he fell quiet for a minute, thoughtful, as Joey's fingers tapped on one of his knees.

Maybe... I mean, I'm kinda with Sammy about those symbols everywhere. They feel...familiar. But did that coat guy say if there was circles or anything? If they're usin' the ink to juice up those yellow symbols, then why not other spells? Either way if they can do it, betcha we can copy it.

A spike of concern followed as Bendy seemed to remember something, and Joey got a disorienting impression as if his mental self was getting patted down or rifled through.

That’s what I was thinking, steal something back, it’s the least they owe us for-- Joey went silent as he noticed Bendy’s emotion’s fluctuate, and now he was the one trying to peer over his counterpart’s shoulder, letting him look for whatever he was looking for without hesitation. Or at least, as much as he could with how he knew to control his own mind.

Bendy was intent for a moment or two more, and then Joey felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. "Still not there," Bendy said, before he remembered himself. The cab driver shot them a somewhat judgy look, and Bendy gave a little “eheh,” and flashed the driver a winning smile before doing the mental equivilant of ducking back behind Joey.

Joey proceeded to zone out again though, being far more interested in what Bendy was thinking than what a driver thought of him.

Bendy shifted around a bit in their shared mental space, resettling, and his next thought was hesitant, almost sulky. I just...don't like that thing. That symbol. I didn't like 'em paintin' one in the studio, and I don't like it bein’ there with all’a us now. In my dream it was all over the place... I just...don't want it on you too.

Joey sat in that headspace and listened, giving a bit of an “Oh,” under his breath after Bendy explained. Sammy has been doing an amazing job with helping me not see them! … but he’s also been taking a toll in doing that, and I’m--

Joey’s eyes suddenly lit up again as he took in his surroundings, checking the car in a circle and doubling back once he realized where Sammy was sitting. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently put his hand on the other’s leg, and when he got that genuine ‘What are you doing?’ Sammy Sneer in return, gave a mirrored from Bendy “eheh,” back. Joey’s fingers spread out slightly, feeling the fabric of Sammy’s trousers, making sure he wasn’t shaking any longer, and letting the alarm bells in his head calm down before folding his arms again and sinking back into the seat. He let his vision zone once more, but this time his head was turned just enough to keep the blurred frizz of Sammy’s hair in sight.

There had been a surge of emotion… of fear? Of affection? Joey’s mind refused to accept it existing at all though, and simply tried to bury it. This worked often in hiding anything on his face, but hiding it in his mind was near impossible when he’s sharing it with someone. Still, he continued to attempt to do just that.

What were we talking about again?

You're real worried about him... arent'cha? Bendy noted, ignoring Joey's question. He could be an observant little demon, at least as far as he properly understood such emotions himself.

Did... somethin' happen? he wondered after a moment. You seemed real jumpy when you were tryin' to figure stuff out for tonight, too.

Oh, you were awake for that? Joey replied, also ignoring Bendy’s other question. Two could play at this game. Sammy did say he wanted to talk with you about that… though I also realize that it might be complicated because of the ink… Joey tapped his fingers now, as well.

But, on the other hand, he apparently didn’t need the ink the other night.

Yeah... Bendy agreed, Joey's mouth frowning. I guess if it could happen anyways, it don't matter as much if there's ink nearby or not.

I would prefer to not just have it sitting out though… that does mean we might have an issue come morning. Could try to have some extra beforehand though…

Bendy fidgeted at that. We tried that before, it didn't seem to make a lot of difference, he noted somewhat skeptically.

The cab pulled up to the hotel, but Joey only realized it once he was elbowed by someone else getting out of the car. He reached into his wallet, only half paying attention how much he owed and simply handing over double of whatever it possibly could be just in case. There was a quick moment of checking where they were and that Sammy was still around, but for the most part Joey still followed along up to the room, brain full of other thoughts for now.

I think Henry had the book, we should remove it from Sammy’s room and… also get another drink, maybe we can leave the ink in the other room too until later tonight…

Leave it behind while we're out? Bendy nearly exclaimed aloud, the sudden sense of nerves enough to make Joey jittery, and both of them forgot to walk for a moment as they followed the others inside.

It seemed a more extreme reaction than Joey would have expected —even considering Bendy's reliance on the stuff—as if there was something else at play frightening him. I-I don't think that's such a good idea, Joey.

No no, not for the entire night! Just while we’re having dinner in the other room, and we’ll fill up the flask and have a drink first. Joey wrapped one of his arms around his front, smoothing out his own shoulder in a comforting pat.

We’ll call up room service, grab the book, get a drink, clean up, go have a nice dinner without any ink around Sammy… probably talk to Sammy at some point. He did want to talk--

Joey blinked as he realized they were outside the door. “...to you… uh, just a moment.” Unclear if he was talking to his friends outside of him, or the one inside.

Joey quickly grabbed the book from the other’s room and helped order food for everyone before excusing himself and ducking into his own room.

The relief was tangible as Joey shut the door behind them, and though some misgivings remained, they were far fewer. "Oh! Oh, yeah okay, that...could be okay,” Bendy said. “As long as it's not too far. Just in case."

“Of course,” Joey replied in an overly confident, yet lower voice. While one side of him was relieved… Joey was also instantly aware once the door was closed that he could no longer tell where Sammy was.

No, he knew Sammy was safe, in the other room, with Henry and Jack. All the ink was over here. If he closed his eyes and listened, Joey could hear them. Sammy was safe. … So why was he still shaking?

There was no time to address that though, Joey could already start to feel the weakening connection and thirst. He walked over to the safe and unlocked it, tossing the book in and pulling out one of the larger bottles to refill the flask with. He also paused for a moment, looking down at the quivering bottle, before just going for a large swig directly from it, keeping the flask topped up for later. Closing the safe and locking it, he moved back towards the front.

He swallowed hard, like that would fix the ache in his voice, and then gave up when he realized he already felt the loss of control on those muscles. “We’ll just leave this on the table near the door. If we need it, all we gotta do is duck inside and it’s right here, see?”

Bendy nodded, finally pulling his attention away from the flask where it now rested on the table, noticing Joey’s own barely managed distress. “Alright...”

As the ink soaked in, stabilizing and invigorating, he took a deep breath and shook out their hands to settle both of their nerves, a grin starting to spread. "Haha...boy, never stops being weird how breathing actually feels like something for you guys…a little like the ink.” He turned to face the door and flipped one gloved palm face up. “Well! What say we get this show on the road then, huh?" and get Joey back to Sammy. Bendy wasn't in a hurry to have a repeat of last night.

Joey nodded, and reached for the door, but then hesitated and darted into the bathroom quickly to check his mouth. Sammy would immediately say something if he had ink on his mouth. And he needed to prove-- Prove what? Nothing, he didn’t need to prove anything.

Face. Moustache. Teeth. … Teeth still looked weird at this point, after getting used to the fangs. Doing a quick wash up, his fingers tapping against his face lightly as he finished cleaning up… He couldn’t stop the shaking, but at least it wasn’t as recognizable once he put on the gloves. Joey then fixed his suit to be even, took a deep breath… “Okay, let’s go.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t too long until after they got back to the hotel that Joey’s hand found Sammy’s shoulder, but in the well known way that silently communicated, ‘I’d like to talk to you privately.’ But just in case it wasn’t as obvious out of the office, he spoke up as well, “Did you want to step into my room for a moment and have that talk with Bendy? We have a moment…” He looked up at the other two who were already tending to their own night time rituals, “... this is probably the best time to do that, if we’re going to talk about this tonight.”

He added a little nod that perhaps was not actually his. Once he realized that the conversation no longer included him, Joseph stepped back and just… waited to see where everything went. He did take off the gloves once the door was closed though, just because they were getting… bothersome. But beyond that… he did promise a conversation that didn’t include him.

Sammy glanced at Joey, nodded decisively, and followed the man into his room -- but instead of actually stopping to chat once inside, he stepped right through and kept going into the room proper without comment, prowling its perimeter, alert for something he wasn't specifically looking for, as if listening, or trying to catch a particular scent.

At first nothing stood out aside from what he already knew to be on Joey's person, but as he circled the room he soon caught that same feeling from another direction... Joey followed a few paces behind tilting his head curiously and said - scratch that, Bendy said - "It's all locked up. Joey's been triple checkin' ever since he realized it was bothering ya."

Sammy stood in front of the closet, looking very much like he was considering throwing it open, until Bendy's voice spoke up.

He narrowed his eyes, unsure how much he liked the Lurker using Joey's face.

"But it's here, isn't it." It wasn’t strictly accusatory, but it did sound like a challenge.

Joey (Bendy) smiled a little hesitantly at Sammy's look, folding his hands together in front of him. Maybe it wasn't exactly obvious, but looking for it Sammy felt he could pick out the difference even without the voice. "Yeah? Yeah, it's in there in a safe, locked up."

Sammy folded his arms as he finally turned to face the person currently inhabiting his boss, looking him up and down with the slightest shift of his eyes.

"Joey suggested I sleep in here, after what happened last night," he said, matter-of-fact. "I want to know what you think of the idea."

Joey’s eyes also did a quick mirrored flicker looking over Sammy’s body, before he remembered he’s not part of this conversation and backed off again; it was harder than he expected to step away from his own body, and the other two should really be appreciating all the effort he was putting in right now.

The Lurker was amused at Joey's attempts, but appreciative.

Sammy's question though left him glancing away, the smile falling to something uneasy. "...T'be Honest I'm not too keen on the whole idea of locking it all away for the whole night. We tested this out a bunch back home and it wasn't that bad but with how things are..." he folded his arms only to flip one hand back up in half a shrug. "But, well, on the other hand, someone keepin' an eye out after last night sounds like a pretty good idea, and with how Joey was I'm not sure hedghjkl--" The Lurker stumbled to the side and found one of his hands clamped over their mouth, though Sammy could still hear one of them growl beneath the fingers, “this isn’t about me.”

The wave of emotion that had followed the jostling was sharp, but more than that it felt like a void. Something that was so soaked in a mix of repressed emotions it just became nothing but a vacuum. Joey did blink before looking up at Sammy, realizing what he had done only after he had done it. And… how that probably didn’t bode well for him in the trust department, which he was already aware of was balancing on a very tight rope.

“Hah, sorry, still getting… still getting used to this, being mostly my-- I’m trying, alright,” he mumbled, actually slightly shocked that he had done such a thing. But he didn’t really have any excuse he could voice, so with that he stepped back again, but only once Bendy gained control did the seized up clawed hand that had been clenching his midsection, in what almost looked like pain, start to relax.

Sammy’s eyes narrowed, annoyed, as Joey tried to cover for his obvious interruption, but a moment later his lip curled up in a sneer that could be charitably described as “amused.”

“No, go on,” he muttered dryly. “What were you saying, Bendy?”

Bendy blinked as he found himself back in control, and after a moment's hesitation he slowly straightened them back up, cleared their throat and adjusted his jacket since it seemed like the thing to do when you had one. "...I, Uh, yeah... I guess it makes sense, is what I was sayin'."

Internally, Joey had fallen silent. Every so often Bendy would feel a surge of emotion that was immediately pulled back in, starting to feel very close to the exact situation he had been about to describe. But now the host was far more focused on maintaining their hold, their connection, not letting his unneeded emotions get in the way of making sure things went right. Making sure everything was correct.

Bendy grit his teeth.

And at that comment, Sammy's glare went cold.

"I wanted to talk to you because I wanted to hear from someone with some sense." ...Someone he could trust... "If he's got you on a script, then we're done here."

The musician's arms dropped to his sides and he strode towards the door without stepping aside, as though he fully expected the other to scramble out of his way.

Joey’s arm immediately went up to the side of the hall, blocking the exit off from the musician.

Fine. Tell him. Whatever. Just don’t let him leave again.

"Gah!" The hand that had been thrown out to block Sammy snapped back to Joey's head, his face grimacing. "I'm not on a script! ..But... that was kinda Joey's to say, I guess... But seriously Joey, what's wrong with lettin' him know you had a rough night??”

It’s not helpful, this is about keeping Sammy safe. While Bendy did manage a step back, he seemed too unsteady to properly scramble out of Sammy's way even if that had been his impulse for the moment. Instead he responded to Joey in a grumble, "You just said we oughta tell him, make up your mind... ”

I’m trying, okay?

“Okay, so what's the hold up? I mean I wasn't exactly over the moon with how last night went either, but…”

There is no hold up! I just don’t think this is important to what we’re trying to accomplish!!

But underneath the Lurker’s annoyance was a twinge of something he still wasn't fully sure how to identify...he just knew he really hated it when Sammy looked at him like he couldn't trust him. “I don't think he's outta line to wanna know what he's gettin' into, Joey...”

“But how will he believe I can fix this if he knows I’m not okay?” Joey hissed out loud, though no further actions happened, as if he hadn’t realized he had said anything at all.

Bendy shot Sammy a look as Joey slipped up, eyebrows raised.

Sammy startled as the other blocked him in; a jump, just a whisper of something more than simple surprise, but a second later the two of them were again arguing over what to do with their shared body, and Sammy stopped, openly staring, not exactly sure who was being talked to or whether he was still in the conversation at all.

He sighed.

"Well, if I can look forward to an entire night of this," he gestured at the two of them with an unpleasant smile, "I can't imagine how that would be anything but restful."

Joey's mouth twitched up a little at the corner at the snark, though it was still Bendy's voice that replied.

“Does that mean you're thinkin' about it?" he wondered. "Like I said, I'm a little iffy about the whole night-long ink drought bit, but I gotta say it'd be a lot easier to keep an eye on you here than an ear on you there, and...yeah, listenin' to Joey worry you were bein' sucked out the window or meltin' through the floor all night wasn't exactly my idea of a good time."

He adds after a moment, "Or his."

That emotion that Joey had been trying to bury since the moment Bendy was almost about to open his mouth earlier, the one he was being so dramatic about causing him mental pain, and perhaps even forcing his own physical pain out of stress, was no longer able to be held down and bubbled to the surface. This emotion that had been removed from Joey Drew as a person got a chance to show for the first time in this particular lifetime.

As a flush filled up his face, Joseph stammered, “I-it-it wasn’t that bad!!”

Sammy regarded the vacillating face and voice in front of him with an impassive frown, arms folded. What started as something like annoyance shifted, slightly, with narrowing eyes, into something more suspicious.

Even though he shouldn't have been surprised.

He raised his eyebrows at the outburst, but otherwise only managed to look unimpressed and unconvinced. "Hm. Sure," he said flatly. And then, with no fanfare, "Bendy. What good would it do to have me in here? One person--" he paused, reconsidered, "--one body, instead of two. If something happens, the others will come get you. But there's Ink..." He sighed again, something heavy that broke through his uninterested posture, with another glance back at the closet. "...It's too much of a risk." A small shake of his head as he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want him to know it's here."

Sammy got a nod in return, as if his points weren't being disputed. "I guess mostly that I'll be awake so I oughta notice right away if you start actin' fishy," Bendy replied, flipping one hand palm up. “I guess I could sit over by the wall or..." he trailed off with a frown as something else registered. "Wait, what? But...'he' already knows?"

He stopped, hand frozen half-way through the motion of brushing back his hair, alarm creeping into his face. "...What do you mean?"

Bendy blinked, still seeming confused. "I mean it's still you? That's...just how you act when you have all your memories?" he said, as if trying to figure out where he lost someone while explaining two plus two. "So...now that y'know me and the ink are here, you'd remember the safe, right? That's kinda why it seemed worth goin' along with Joey's idea to lock all of it up. You already know where it is, but you don't know the combination." he decided not to mention that there was also a key, on the same principle.

The colour had drained from Sammy's face, but he nodded numbly as Bendy continued, describing how he'd already been accounting for this and everything was safe. Somehow, this was okay, apparently…

"Then he... remembers everything I do? I... I don't remember the things he does; I had... assumed..."

Joey’s eyes flickered for a moment, like he had been looking over at someone who wasn’t there. There was confusion that tried to sneak its way into Bendy’s expressions, but otherwise he remained quiet and simply listened, not quite sharing the same calm experience.

Looking at a bit of a loss at their reactions, Bendy nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you kinda get tunnel vision about some things, and uh...It's gettin' kinda clear the Messenger messin' with you is probably why you change your mind about what's important when that happens. I guess if you look at it that way, you're kinda more you even with the amnesia? But, uh... did you guys think that was someone else?"

The discomfort within Joey only grew as he watched Sammy. Fingers tapping against the side of his own face, leaving the lightest of scratches from the claws, Joey started to mumble, a different tone completely to how Bendy was talking moments before, “I mean, I knew it was a Sammy, but I don’t think it’s fair to…” When you remove all of the... “If a person has their…” This is… who am I to comment on what makes someone…

Joey, it’s not that complicated...

“No, I didn’t think it was someone else, but calling them the same person is a bit much, don’t you think? If this Sammy and… the other one have conflicting ideas on what is important to them, what they want,” Joey was actually tripping over his own words for once, trying to place what felt so wrong to him about this. “I’m not the same person I was when I was a kid, and you’re not the same as when we first met you out at the pools.”

I guess? But those other ‘us’es are still in there, so...

So it’s unfair! So it’s not right! You can’t say that one is the same Sammy, because then--

“... does he have all the memories, or only the ones that the Messenger wants him to have?”

...The Lurker had to admit he didn’t have an answer for that.

“It’s not ME,” Sammy snapped, but immediately faltered, harsh expression dialling back to a sullen neutral as he took a moment to think it through, finally amending, “I’m not myself. I may as well be drugged.”

He folded his arms, fingers tapping, rapid and impatient. “If he knows the ink is here, he’ll try to get it.” Black eyes flicked between the closet and the door. He couldn’t break into a safe, but he knew, now for sure, he could break down a locked door if he was desperate…

He huffed a sigh, pushed himself away from the closet and paced the room, a hand pressed to his temple.

“I don’t remember what I did or what I wanted while I was... You know better than I do what he’s like.” He stopped and turned to the other, staring hard into Joey’s mismatched eyes. “Will he attack you? He’s tried to kill you… or, Joey, before.”

"I mean, maybe?" came the reply. "But you...he?" it still felt weird but if Sammy was so set on it he could try to oblige, "he tried to kill Henry too before, so I figure we got the better odds with me here of the two of them." He grinned, the expression a bit too wide somehow on Joey's face. "And besides, it turns out we're actually not so shabby in a fight, if talkin' don't do the trick."

There was a little uncertain wince from Sammy as the Lurker debated what to call his other self. But he nodded. The Lurker sounded confident; he could handle this. Jack and Henry shouldn’t have to.

Jack shouldn’t even be here...!

“Alright.” Sammy said, with a decisive nod. He did not look at the closet. This would be the best way to keep him out of the Ink.

Joey's eyes brightened as he, ever so slightly, perked up.

Sammy did not acknowledge it. Decision made, he turned to step past them, and left without another word. The others should be updated.

Joey was frozen in bright eyed excitement until the door re-latched, and then immediately dove into the back of the room to shove the left overs from the previous night into the trash, as well as all his clothes and suitcases into the closet, leaving out the bare minimum he needed and hiding the rest away, before finally grabbing the flask.

There was an overwhelming warmth of appreciativeness towards Bendy during all of this, but Joey didn't seem to have anything close to words until he went to put the rest of the ink away.

Should we put the suit in there as well? Should we have extra drink?? We can do this, right? We… we can do this.

Wow, excited much? Bendy remarked, amused. Y'know he was literally in here a second ago and saw all that anyhow, dunno why you’re doin’ the housekeepin’ routine... Even if he was pretty sure he and Joey had approached things with different goals he welcomed the appreciation... and the prospect of Joey not wringing his hands and spiralling all night.

Bendy wasn't exactly sure what it was Joey was trying to convince himself they could do, so he just added, But yeah… The suit seems like a good idea.

Joey took a moment and nodded, before taking their final drink, shoving the painted clothes into the safe along with the flask, and locking it for the night.

"… because it's something I can do," he finally answered, before ducking into the bathroom to wash up the best he could before Sammy returned.

Chapter Text

Jack Dream 1: Eyes in the City

Jack has a lot of bad dreams about all the things he’s just learned about the trip to Haiti.

But... he also dreams of that yellow symbol, crawling and grasping its way off the banners and into his eyes, into his head... he dreams of it pulling him down, of falling into it, into a world of sallow mist and echoing, alarmed voices...

Though then he picks one of them out, an alarmed shout... And for just a moment he is riding the yellow tendrils as they latch onto someone else - Peter Sunstram out after dark, shaken after seeing the same disturbing symbol Jack and Sammy told him about earlier... He steadies himself, pulls his hat down to shield his eyes and says, "Jack was right... I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm gonna get to the bottom of this..."

And then Jack wakes up.

Jack Dream 2: A Friendly Drink

Jack dreams of chasing Sammy out into the street, calling out to him and trying to grab him before he can be hit by a car or slip out of sight. But it's like he's invisible, inaudible, intangible. Sammy's arm slips right through Jack's fingers and he hurries off, ranting about-

"That yellow sign," Peter mutters. It's Peter now, sneaking through a dark building Jack can't make out the details of, mumbling. "Charlie was right... I gotta warn off Jack, this is beyond some weird glowing paint, this is some kind of... blood ritual nonsense..."

Jack calls out to try and get Peter's attention, worried. Peter shouldn't be involved in all of this.

Peter turns towards Jack when he calls out... and looks right through him.

He glances around for a moment as if trying to find whatever he heard, before returning his attention to the warehouse.

Jack didn't think this far ahead. He has no idea what to say now. At the very least, he tries to get a read on how Peter seems to be... doing?

Peter looks harried but determined. After a moment he walks right past Jack to slowly start nudging open a rickety sliding door. "Let's see what else they have in here..."

As Peter takes a peek inside, Jack notices a shadow approaching from the side to fall across them as something draws near.

Jack looks toward the direction of the shadow. Maybe this is a poor decision, but he does it anyway.

The figure's face is in shadow, though Jack does make out a necklace of bones hung around the figure's neck, and perhaps more pressingly some sort of... club? One end of it seems almost to be glowing, which makes it easy to tell that it is very definitely swinging right at Peter's head.

In a panic, Jack attempts to push Peter out of the way of the club. He doesn't know if this will work, but he has to try, something, anything.

He shoves at Peter... and goes right through. But... as he is falling to the floor he looks back and for just a moment, he swears Peter spots him. Peter startles and starts to say, "Ja-" before the glowing object clips him in the head, sending his hat spinning off to the ground. The startling may have done him good though; it seems like the blow failed to hit him dead on.

It does however send him sprawling to the floor with a grunt. The figure steps up to Peter... figures? Jack can't even tell if the shadows belong to one person or a horde, but they take hold of Peter and start to drag him away.

Jack... doesn't know what to do. He is, uh. Maybe just a little panicked! Just a little! (It's a lot.) He tries to get back up and follow, to... he's not sure what to do. He wants to stop this but he doesn't know how.

He tries to look around and see if there's anything nearby that might help at all. He's trying, but he's very out of his depth here.

(GM: make a listen check?)

(Jack: That's a 7 somehow, extreme success)

"Still alive?"

"Looks like..."

"Another reporter," one of the shadows says, holding up the press card that fell out of Peter's hat. As they near the door, Peter seems to wake a bit — at the least he tries to mumble something and tries to struggle — but while the shadows take note, they hardly seem concerned. But Jack is able to make out, "Jack, how're you here..? Get out..." It almost seems as if Peter is able to see him more clearly with what could very possibly be a concussion. The shadows don't seem to.

"Don't worry, Mr. Reporter, you won't die today..." the one with the bone necklace assures. "In fact, we’re going to pour you a nice little drink..."

The shadow pulls something out of his jacket, a small bottle shimmering grey, as the door is thrown open.

And while Jack has only really seen everything going on inside in shadowy vagueness, somehow this one thing he perceives with crystal clarity... and dearly wishes he did not. It's like every worst shivering concept his mind had started to conjure up when they had listened to Allison's gleeful descriptions of 'the Angels of the Unspeakable' if he had taken the time to consider every possible horrible detail with meticulous care. It is all crooked oily wings and distorted limbs at the very worst place between humanoid and monstrous. The head is squashed and long with curved teeth, and its long narrow claws twitch, though Peter hardly seems to comprehend the thing outside, still trying to focus on Jack.

"Say hello to the Yellow King for us, won't you?" the bone shadow says... and then slams the door shut in Jack's face with a clang so loud that it is still ringing in Jack's ears... as he wakes up.

Chapter Text

Sammy dreams of finally bringing his god to the world. Of standing at the edge of the pools watching the gloriously incomprehensible shape rising up from the depths…

Finally, finally, he would be swept up, to the place he had always truly belonged. His service would be recognized, his loyalty rewarded, and he would cast off this wretched shell to exist forevermore as a part of his savior…

of his... king…

It's with an unpleasant jolt that the Prophet realizes that the sallow misty lake isn't the pools - that this place, that those colors, that this god is wrong... AGAIN.

This isn't his dream. That other one is here, somewhere, the false prophet of a false god.

ohhhhhhhhhh boy

I imagine he is furious, but the kind of furious that is a lot of emotions actually

Does this still feel... real? What can he see?

It doesn't feel like reality, but to the Prophet it also isn't alarming, in and of itself. Just another place with different rules. He sees that he is at the edge of a lake that, if he looks at it too directly, seems to go on and on until there is nothing else, and in it he can see a shadow of the false God, at least as best as his counterpart can imagine it. He sees two lines of monoliths meeting at an angle before the lake and a few huts all on a raised mound of earth to keep them from being absorbed by the foggy swamp lands all around.

Hmm... Then there is a source; something is summoning, has summoned, will summon him. He will carefully approach the monoliths...?

It's as if his shift in focus rewrites and re-contextualizes the entire scene, and now he sees scores of people in finery with glowing yellow eyes surrounding the pillars, all smiling with their hands outstretched as if to welcome the being rising from the waters. On the monoliths yellow runes glow, some of them that same symbol that has been seeded throughout the city.

And through the crowd of people a figure in a pale tattered robe emblazoned with the yellow sign slowly paces towards the lake, the hood drawn up to hide the better part of his face.

Sammy looks over this scene with an expression somewhere between disgust and horror, "...where is it..." hissed quietly under his breath.

Sammy's eyes narrow when the figure in the tattered robe steps forward. Will he be seen, if he follows? His gaze stays locked onto the robed figure as he stalks closer.

He wants to see what the robed figure's doing, and he wants to find the stone. Can he sense it here? Does he know anything about the current ritual, is it familiar?

It's unfamiliar, not the same as the one for the Masked Messenger. There is no altar, no star pools, no host… Wait.

The one in the robe, one of his hands has that same disgusting yellow glow... he walks right past Sammy, without any sign he notices that Sammy does not belong.

The robed figure calmly holds up his hand towards the shadow in the lake... and Sammy can feel the moment something changes with a force that knocks the breath out of him.

The color starts to seep from the world, the very ground seeming to shake. Everything, everything is yellow, and with each second that passes the shadow of the god in the lake becomes more and more real, more present, beckoned by whatever energy is being siphoned out of everyone there…including Sammy. He feels it, deep in his core, where all that music had welled up from that he had frantically written across the Studio walls.

And then he hears a voice behind him, "Ah, it's you. I suppose I should thank you, none of this would be possible without your... Contribution."

Sammy clutches a hand to his chest to catch his breath, already looking for a weapon, or anything that could be a weapon, trying to draw closer to figure in robes. Vision or no, it's oppressive; he can't not act -- and he knows, quite precisely, from his long bout of half-asleep wandering, how to kill a host.

The voice snaps his attention immediately behind him. "What?!" he hisses, soft but intense, eyes wide. "We have no part in your counterfeit ceremony! You stole it!"

The hill is hardly swept clean and there is brush and sticks all about. And indeed, with many of their hands outstretched, he spots at least one adoring figure who has a firearm under their jacket.

Behind him however he finds the one he was looking for, the false prophet, looking just as he did back in the studio, which happily still includes signs of the injury that Sammy had dealt him on the way out. He stands there, grinning with a cat's crescent smile as he leans on his crescent cane, bones at his throat and souls at his fingertips. "And I've already put it to much better use than you," he says, folding his arm over the top of his cane so he can reach inside his jacket with a handkerchief and produce...the stone.

But tainted, pale...somehow warped to be glowing with that same sickly glow, and glowing stronger with every passing moment, pulsing in time with the shadow of a god.

"Looking for this?" he asks.

Sammy's ink-flooded eyes go wide, the voice that comes out of him is frayed and ragged, shaking with anger.

"WHAT have you DONE?!"

He will grab... something; a branch, that cane, whatever is close enough and sturdy enough, and try to physically knock the guy off his feet. He needs the stone but it's not exactly a smart thing to like.... snatch out of someone's hand…

The drained feeling has grown steadily worse, and he finds it difficult to keep on his feet, though his rage grants him a burst of strength.

It seems his opponent wasn't expecting him to be capable of any such thing, for he is able to snatch away the cane with the strange crescent stone and swing it forcefully before the false prophet can so much as catch his balance.

Sammy sends him sprawling, the Stone bouncing away into the crowd of shuffling people...

And then the false prophet starts to laugh.

"Just a little spell to refocus it towards a more worthy patron," he says, when he can catch his breath after Sammy's attack.

"Blasphemous LIAR--" Sammy immediately darts after the stone, scrambling on all fours if he can't stay up -- though he tries to will himself to stand, to run, to keep his grip on the cane; to recover his lord's property and defile as much of this awful dream as he can.

There's people, so many people, and he can't find the stone. Did it roll down the hill? Did it roll in the lake?? He stumbles, rights himself, then stumbles again, but keeps going. And the voice follows him…

"You'll never find it. You don't know where I am… But you? I know where you are..."

Sammy stops, belatedly. He can't sense it. He would know if it was near, wouldn't he....? A faded vision, then…

His gaze travels back up, with effort, to fix on the counterfeit host, for just a moment...... but at the false prophet's threat, he laughs, sudden, barked and harsh.

"And what will you do with that knowledge, liar, thief, false prophet?" He turns back again, stretches out a hand in mocking welcome, despite the fact that he's half-collapsed on the ground, with an expression that is mechanically similar to smiling and bares all his teeth. "Come and find me, then! Wake the True Lord's prophet once again, and let me bring the weight of your transgressions on your head!"

His opponent huffs a laugh, and he can only conclude the blow he landed is lingering more than the other cares to show. Though it doesn't stop him from stepping forward to snatch back the cane as the Prophet finally flags, unable to rise again when next he collapses on the ground.

"Oh, I intend to," the false prophet says, still standing tall. "In fact, I suspect you'll be hearing from my people very shortly. Until then?"

He steps back, flipping around the cane with one end raised to swing at Sammy in turn… Though when he brings it down, it is aimed at Sammy's head.

"Sweet dreams..."

Chapter Text

For a second, Jack thinks he spots Peter off in the mist....

"Jack..?" echoes faintly from out there somewhere, though by then a fresh wave of mist has obscured whatever was out there.

[The group moves on, some of the others also reacting to things only they seem to perceive.]

As the group travels deeper into the yellowing mist, Jack glances over and this time very definitely sees Pete just a few yards away, looking ragged, frustrated and more than a little spooked...and very definitely missing his hat. "Jack?? Where'd you go? Are you..." he seems annoyed to have to be asking, but... "Are you really here?"

“Pete?” Jack calls out to the man - then pauses briefly at the question, before hesitantly replying, “I… I don’t know.”

[Henry: It’s not real, it must be playing tricks on us.

Joey reaches over to grab Jack (which startles Jack slightly). Sammy’s eyes go wide.

Sammy: No! Do not hear his call, he deceived me too!

Joey: This is a defence. This is… their version of the Lurker of the Star Pools.

Everyone holds hands to proceed. Jack is distracted and has to be half dragged along.]

Pete shakes his head as if trying to clear his vision, "What the hell are they talking about? Defense system for who? I'm... Jack, there's this city, but it's the wrong city, I don't... know how to get back... I didn't think anyone else was here, I..."

(Jack: i have no idea if this is going to like..... do anything but i sure do have to try bc the idea's been rolling around in my head for a while now)

“Can you…” Jack mutters quietly, then falls silent in concentration. He tries to… reach out, mentally, to where he was hearing Pete from. If they were linked in the dream, then, maybe if he tried to intentionally reach him…

He mentally asks, “Can you still hear me…?”

(GM: omg wow I wasn't expecting this to come up yet but I think this warrants it....are you up for Jack also getting weird powers cuz of what he's experienced with these weird dreams?)

(Jack: hECK YECK)

(GM: UH MAKE A POW ROLL)

(Jack: regular success, 57 :V )

(Jack: also lmao at “yet” iVE BEEN THINKING ABT THIS POSSIBILITY SINCE THE FIRST PETE DREAM IM)

Jack, uh, steps out...of his body??? And towards Pete? And his perception of everything changes drastically. He starts to lose track of the swamp and sees instead a bizarre, dark city skyline set against a hazy grey sky and… black stars? off in the distance across the lake - the lake is still there, but now it dominates the whole horizon, glassy and searingly yellow and somehow VERY deep looking…

But Pete also seems to have a much easier time seeing Jack, and runs over. "There you are! What happened?? Dammit, did they get you too?!"

(GM: This may be alarming for the others bUT)

(Jack: >:3c )

Jack checks Pete over - does he seem ok? Is he injured? He can’t help but remember the dream he had.

Pete is more than a little rough around the edges. He has a bump on his head and his clothes are a mess. His jacket is missing and his sleeves are ripped in places, though at least he doesn't seem seriously hurt.

“I don’t… think they did? I was… We were in the swamp, and then…” Jack trails off, thoughts still somewhat disoriented from this new experience.

After a moment, he stops, distracted, as he remembers the hat, and takes that off to try and give it back to Pete.

Pete blinks in surprise as Jack holds out the hat and tries to take it, but it passes right through him as if he were an illusion. Or is Jack the illusion? Pete is, uh, very alarmed whatever the case.

Jack stares at the hat for a moment, and then sighs and puts it back on for now.

“Worth a shot,” he jokes, though still clearly stressed by this all - briefly glancing back at Pete’s condition.

Pete is clearly shaken but wonders, “Where did you get my hat? And...Jack, what happened to you? How are you here?”

"You dropped it when they..." He frowns. "They took you, we were trying to find you... I could, hear you, in the mist. And I... followed? I think? I'm not sure..."

He glances down at his hand, the one he offered the hat with. “I don’t… think I’m really here… uh, not properly, anyway…”

Pete starts to reach out for Jack's shoulder, but between that comment and what happened with the hat, he finds he doesn’t want to find out if it won't work. Instead he starts agitatedly pacing around.

"They did. How did you… know that? There was some sort of...giant bird or...ahh, this is crazy!...am...am I dreaming again?" he asks, making a flicking motion for a hat that isn't there before putting a hand to his head. "I... dreamed someone pulled a gun on you the other night. B-but it wasn't like this... You said you were in a swamp?"

"I- you saw that? I... had the same. That's how I saw them take you..." Jack pauses to think on that a second…. Then gives up, shakes his head, and goes back to the rest of the conversation.

"We were in the swamp. Me and the others. We thought, the cult, all this weird stuff, we could find them there? But then there was this mist, and... you were there, and..." He trails off. He's not entirely sure where he's going with this.

"...I don't quite remember."

Peter nods slowly, stopping in his pacing to face Jack. "Listen, I don't know what's going on, but somehow you've ended up wherever the hell that thing left me. At least, I...think..." he frowns down at his hands, then rubs his face. "I have to assume you're real..." he mutters, though it seems he’s talking to himself as much as Jack.

The uncertainty may be understandable even aside from the tangibility issue. That same otherworldly skyline is still visible over the rooftops, vivid black mirroring those unsettling black stars like little holes in reality above the haze...but...wait, rooftops? Had they been on a street before? With buildings...? Aren’t they in the swamp?

Jack looks around at where they are, or, seem to be? At least? He isn't sure how much of this is real, and he's not sure what real would mean in this case anyway.

"Has it been like this the whole time...?" He tries to see what he can remember, if he can recognise anything... he remembers something about another world, a city, but his memory really doesn’t help much here...

(Jack: as does mine bc i spent however long trying to go back and refind Information™ and cOULDNT FIND ANY)

(GM: The main thing I think was that the play Joey was telling them all about was set in a city called Ythill that ended up merged and kinda taken over with the Yellow King's surreal city of Carcosa by the end)

(Jack: ah right!!! then, i think it still makes sense for jack to be fuzzy on details then given that he got most of that info second hand kinda?)

(GM: yeah makes sense to me!)

Jack takes in what look like lines of vaguely archaic but off-looking shops, places of business, something like a theatre across the street illuminated by a lamp post with oddly curling arms… All of it in unsettling shades of yellow. As he looks around he hears Pete reply off to the side, "Has it been like what, like something you’d find at the bottom of a bad bottle of moonshine? Because if so yes, everything k -- ing whenever... Jack?!" his voice cut out there for a bit, and now is notably distant.

"Pete?" Jack turns back towards where Pete’s voice was coming from - much further away than before?

He's all the way up the street now, a good block away though he is already hurrying towards Jack. Some kind of open-air market has replaced the shops Jack saw before, those seem to have jumped up the street with Pete. Pete does try to grab his arm this time, and grimaces when his hand passes right through. "I took my eyes off you for a moment and you were gone... Something's... Something's wrong with this place," he huffs, waving one arm at the city though he remains focused on Jack. “Everything keeps...rearranging itself the moment you look somewhere else!”

Jack’s eyes widen at the sudden change - it was bad enough that he couldn’t interact with Pete, but the risk of him just disappearing again… He focused his attention away from the surroundings and back to Pete. He’d rather not have them get separated again now, after everything.

"You're telling me. ...I don't..." he's gonna fidget with his hands now, maybe the ends of his sweater sleeves, probably avoiding eye contact in a way that Pete might recognise as Jack being real nervous.

"We're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to be here. But I don't know how to get us out..." He pauses. "I... might be able to go back? The way I came...? But I don't think that would work for you, if you got brought here by, them."

"Get back? How?" Pete presses, though he softens his stance when he sees Jack fidgeting at his sleeves, reminded that Jack has to be every bit as uneasy with all this as he is. He moves a bit closer, gesturing to try to draw Jack's eye since he can't seem to touch him. "Hey, look at me. If you think there's a way out of here, whether it works for both of us or not, we have to try it. What do you mean, 'the way you came' ?"

"I..." Jack tries to pull himself together a bit and focus on Pete, taking a moment to try and calm down a bit.

"I could hear you, somehow, in the mist, and I... reached out, mentally? And just... focused, and..." He sighs. "I don't know how to explain it... I'm sorry."

Pete lets out a breath as well, looking around for a moment as if looking for ideas in the surrounding city, then quickly thinking better of it and returning his attention to Jack. "...Don't worry about it. I wouldn't know how to start to explain any of this, myself," he says. He shifts a bit, frowning as he realizes Jack possibly only ended up here because Peter was trying to get his attention. "...Besides, ultimately it doesn't matter if you can explain it, what matters is if you can use it to get back out."

The streets of the city are indistinct even without the strange way the scenery seems to shift and warp, curling with streams of that same mist from the swamp.

Jack nods at that. "I can try." He nods again, like he's trying to reassure himself of it.

"I'll... if this doesn't work, I'll try to figure something out. If I even get back, I mean... I didn't mean to get you pulled into all of," he gestures vaguely, "this..."

Pete echoes the nod, mustering a humorless smile. "Thanks, but that's my line, isn't it? I'm the one who handed you Charlie's file. I didn't know it'd be....this, either. I'm sorry."

"Hah... Sorry was my next line. Guess we match." He gives Pete a sad smile in return.

"But... guess I should see what I can do, then. I, uh... Don't know how this'll turn out, but, wish me luck."

Jack closes his eyes again, and tries to focus his thoughts back to the swamp, and the others, as best he can - while also trying to keep Pete in mind too, as he does. He’s not really sure what he’s doing here, but he tries to capture that same feeling from before.

He can hear Pete chuckling faintly at his elbow as he closes his eyes. "Guess we do, at that. Good luck..."

For a few tense moments Jack worries nothing's going to happen after all... And then he feels something.

He feels faintly like he's pressed up against something even though nothing here can touch him, and thinks he hears familiar voices... And a tug, a direction, when he tries to focus on those things.

As he senses the feeling, Jack focuses on it as best as he can, reaching out like before, to where he wanted, needed to be… But with Pete in mind, as if mentally pulling the man along with him… He’s not sure how that will work, and he’s nervous that it won’t, but… he tries.

"Anything..?" Pete asks, though quietly as if trying not to be too distracting. So he's still there for now, at least.

Jack gets more and more sure of... a direction? But he only starts to feel closer to it when he actually takes a step towards it, unlike before.

It seems getting back into the real (?) world might take a bit more legwork than leaving it did.

"Different, but... something." He takes another step or two in that same direction, testing it out, and gestures Pete to follow him. He isn’t sure if he should keep his eyes closed for this, but… maybe he should.

He can hear tentative steps following, as he walks towards that tugging feeling, eyes still closed. The strangest part is that as he keeps at it, every now and again the sensation will shift direction, so that sometimes he could swear he was doubling all the way back, yet he feels like he's drawing closer to... whatever it is.

At one point though, Pete makes an alarmed sound.

Jack stops, trying to keep still focused on the feeling he's following, but says, "Pete?"

"Y.. You just walked through a lamp post, Jack," Pete says, sounding unnerved. "And you're heading for a wall."

"......Oh." Jack stays still for a moment. "Can you... are they, solid, for you...?" He frowns, and tests the feeling again, to see if he can sense anything different or new. He's trying hard to not open his eyes - he really doesn't want to mess this up, or... find out this isn't really happening, or anything.

"Last I checked," Pete says with a note of humor. Though only a second later he adds more seriously, "I'll check again," and Jack can hear him circling around.

"Lamp post is solid, I don't know about the building. I don't... Think it's the best idea for me to go ahead to check... Last time I looked away you ended up halfway up the street." He circles around again. "There's a window, though. Even if it is, I think I can follow." That tugging is still leading Jack the same direction for now.

Jack nods - then realises he doesn't know if Pete is looking, and says, "Sounds like a plan. I'll... keep going, then. Let me know if you need me to stop?"

He steps forward and starts walking again - a little more hesitantly now, worried he might walk into a building, even if that hadn't been a problem so far.

"Right," Pete says, still audibly stepping along. Pete does ask him to stop not long after, saying he's right next to the building, and Jack can hear what must be Pete trying to get the window open. In the end there's the sound of breaking glass, and more shifting around before Pete says Jack can keep going.

He can't even tell when he theoretically passes through the wall.

Pete starts keeping up a tense running commentary as they continue, reporting all sorts of unlikely things such as the building changing size and layout in the middle of their traversing it, only for the next room to leave them in the middle of a park, and somehow from there to a sky bridge. Though a moment after reporting that Pete goes silent, the steady company of his footfalls vanishing as if into thin air.

“Pete?” Jack stops as Pete goes quiet, wanting nothing more than to turn around and check, to look back, to see if Pete is still with him, but- No, he shouldn’t. He can’t risk it. “You still there?” he asks, softly, hesitantly.

It's dead silent for far longer than Jack would like, though thankfully Pete does finally speak up from a few steps behind. “I just...give me a minute,” Pete mutters, sounding annoyed, but in a way Jack knows well enough to recognize as annoyance directed squarely at himself.

Jack holds back a sigh of relief - still worried, but much less so than before. Still, he can’t help the slight concern that slips into his own voice as he asks, “You alright…?”

"I'm fi..." he starts, and then sighs. "I will be fine. It's… just very high up..." His voice falters as he says it, prompting him to immediately clear his throat and continue louder than necessary, "So tell me if you feel like you need to make any turns, alright? Because I don't think we'll be able to until we're past this."

Jack nods, not pressing the topic further. “Will do.”

It takes a few moments more, but Pete does seem to pull himself together, telling Jack they can keep going.

It feels no different to Jack than anywhere else they've been, though rather than being beside him, he can hear Pete now walking directly behind him. Finally they make it across, Pete reporting an array of twisting hallways next, with audible relief.

Through all this, Jack is growing convinced they're making progress, drawing close to what he can only hope is an entry point back to the swamp and the others.

He's really starting to think they can do this when he hears Pete recoil with a gasp, and a new voice says, "Are you here for the masquerade of Ythill, my lords..?" The words sound strange, echoing oddly in Jack's head, as if he were processing the words without actually understanding the sounds... but it also rings a bell. Wasn't this from the play Joey told them about? "But, you have no masks..."

Jack pauses at the voice, trying to remember what comes next... but no, he's not sure. He regrets not reading through that play properly - though he hadn’t realised just how relevant that play might have been at the time.

Hopefully his improv skill is still passable.

"We're... not quite ready yet. We need to... go back, to prepare...?" He has no idea what he's doing but he really hopes that isn't carrying in his voice. "Are we... able to go back?"

Peter had always been a pretty snappy writer but never much of a theatre kid, so it's perhaps not too surprising he doesn't chime in here. Jack can hear him shifting next to him though, even...taking a step back? At least with Pete's hat on, the speaker hopefully won't notice Jack's closed eyes.

There's a pause that feels far too long before the smooth voice says, "Of course my lords, of course... I understand entirely. It's so difficult, isn't it? To decide what face to show the world... try for something too distractingly lavish and you risk being taken at face value, something distinctive and pronounced may simply make you appear too-faced…"

The speaker seems to circle them a bit, as Pete shifts uneasily. "Why, is that a notebook you have there? Perhaps that should inform your choice, though I do hate to cast to Type-Face…"

The speaker laughs at his own joke, though there's an off kilter edge to it that comes across more than a little unhinged, and goes on for too long. When he speaks again, the chipper tone has slipped down into a measured sort of lilt that...sounds far too much like the way Sammy has been talking since the ink.

"Such a terrible choice... go, and when you return to join us, bring yourselves faces worthy of the occasion... It wouldn't do to be in such an indecisive state... when the Yellow King arrives..."

"...Of course. We'll be on our way, then." Jack nods to the person he can't see, and... hesitantly steps forwards to continue onwards.

He hopes that there isn’t someone (or something) stood directly in the way - and he keeps his pace slow for now, to make sure that Pete continues to follow him before he goes too far. He’s worried about the step back that he heard, and he doesn’t want to leave Pete behind.

He takes a cautious step, and hears Pete tentatively step after him…

Then hears the other footsteps move right in front of him. "But wait," the voice says, right in front of Jack. "Let me help you... I'm sure I could help find the both of you a... more suitable face..."

"I, ah..." Jack pauses, trying very hard to resist the urge to look at whatever is in front of him.

"Thank you, but... as much as it pains me, to decline such a generous offer, we're quite attached to our faces... Maskless though they might be."

(GM: if you have the dice handy uH make a persuasion roll..!)

(Jack: oh dear)

(Jack: thats a failure, 79)

"No, I’m afraid I must insist. We wouldn't want to have a nasty face-off, would we? Don't worry my lords, the process is quick, and I assure you, you will come to see the advantages... in due time..."

There's the sound of movement, and Pete, now right next to Jack, says, "He said no."

There's an ominous sort of humming from the stranger, and he starts to say, "Those who forget to whose court they belong tend to meet... with fates that are not pleasa-"

But then another set of steps sound, and a new voice breaks in, "Don't worry about them. I'll see to these two, they're old friends of mine. Besides, you should be entertaining those already at the party, shouldn't you?" the new voice, upbeat and wholly unfamiliar, seems to turn towards Jack and Pete. "We'll manage just fine, won't we?"

"That we shall." Jack tries to hide the shake in his voice, and turns to face(?) the new arrival. He doesn't want to say much more until he thinks the first voice is ... ...gone...?

There is another uneasy pause, and Pete shifts beside him again, but finally the lilting voice replies, "Of course, Prince Alar. After all, I trust that you know better than to be indulging in your... usual tricks on such a momentous occasion."

The newcomer's only response is to say, "You're dismissed, Loreon."

Someone, assumedly the lilting voice, retreats a moment later, though Jack can hear them humming the same chilling sort of tune as they go, until finally the hall is quiet again. Pete lets out a short breath, but it's huffy enough that he's still very surely on edge.

At that, Jack relaxes slightly. "Thank you for the help.... Sir."

He hopes that this is... polite enough, for a prince? He's not keen on the idea of insulting someone who's come to help them.

That in mind, he also waits to see if the prince says anything else - he assumes that it won't be as simple as just leaving now, and that the prince might want something in turn...

The prince gives a little laugh at Jack's address, though if anything he seems pleased rather than offended. "Ahh, I have always hated having to act the part of a prince, and it's only grown staler with repetition... How nice to have a change. Now, if I've read the situation correctly, I think you two have somewhere to be..?"

(GM: Jack can make a psychology roll if he would like)

(Jack: oho, 10! aw, just shy of an extreme. hard success still tho!)

(Future Jack Edit: this is incorrect i totally got an extreme, he needed 12 or under, i can’t read)

(Future Jack Edit: tho in my defense i think i was on my phone at the time)

(GM: Ohhh nice!! Jack gets the impression this cheerful prince person isn't lying per se, but he gets the feeling he very definitely has something he wants out of this beyond just helping them out.)

(GM: though he also recognizes a fairly capable fellow actor, It wouldn't be strange for most people to take him at face value with how he's behaving)

"That we do." Jack gives the voice a nod and a smile. "We should probably be on our way... assuming that we're free to go?"

If the prince wants something specific, well, Jack will give him the chance to mention it. He won't outright ask about a cost, but... well, it's easiest to match the tone he's given. That tends to work better for things, at any rate. He's going to try and keep alert of how the prince is acting, at least.

"Please do, I would like nothing better," the prince replies, his voice having the same sort of auditory double vision as the other person, it still kind of hurts his head. But Jack can hear him step aside, leaving the direction of the tugging unobstructed. "You should hurry. But... would you tell me one thing before you go? The place you are going to, what is it called? A city on a lake, I expect..."

Jack hesitates. He's not entirely sure if saying where they were trying to get back to would be a bad idea or not... especially given the circumstances. The question seemed simple, but it might be asking for more than was obvious.

"We should go..." Pete mutters at his side.

The prince speaks up again, stepping a bit ahead as if to allow them to continue on without having to outright ignore him, though he snaps his fingers in a restless sort of rhythm. "He's right, you know. Really, you should leave now, before you end up unable. ...But please, will you not tell me? If not the name, then anything?"

Jack nods, unsure if in response or to himself, and cautiously starts walking again.

"It's..." he thinks back, on what he remembers of the play, on what he's heard, Avedon's crazed ramblings…

"It's colourful," he decides on. "...and I'd like it to stay that way, if I'm able. I'm not sure how much more I can tell you. I hope that's enough."

He briefly wishes he could open his eyes again, to see how this place, wherever they are now, compares. But he doesn't want to risk it. Maybe he can ask Pete, later...

Nothing obstructs him, and he can hear Pete keeping step beside him. The prince seems to have stopped at Jack's answer, though there's another pair of quiet snaps just as Jack passes by, and a more subdued, "I can understand that."

It's a few steps further when he hears the prince rally a bit to add from behind them, "I would normally ask your names as well since you have mine, but...well, I can respect your abundance of caution. So, for lack of that, 'Sir' wanderers..." he says, somewhat amusedly applying Jack's own address from earlier, "...Safe travels to you."

Jack breathes a very small sigh of relief. "Thank you. The help is appreciated."

With that said, he goes back to focusing on the path he was following. They were getting closer, and he hopes that they don't have to go much further.

...Once they get far enough that it seems the prince isn't with them any more, he quietly says, "Thanks, Pete."

He doesn't hear any further footsteps from the prince, and the echoing quality to Pete's steps grow softer, so when Jack speaks he's reasonably sure they're alone. Pete seems confused though, wondering, "For what? ...We're somehow outside again, by the way. A field maybe...there’s statues."

"For speaking up for me, back there."

He tests to see if he can feel anything different about the path again, though he's not expecting to feel any difference between this new area and all the others they'd gone through.

The tugging feeling has grown steadily stronger all the while, though the path is taking them in a turn again.

"Oh," Pete says, as if in the midst of all of this craziness that had hardly registered. "...Don't mention it," he says, a bit softer. "Besides, there's no way it would have gone well if either of us had gone off with one of those things."

"'Things'? What did they- hmm," Jack hums to himself. "Maybe I don't want to know what they looked like, actually."

This seems to surprise a ragged laugh out of Pete. "Yeah, not exactly the greatest small talk..." Jack can hear the crunching of twigs and foliage underfoot now as Pete remarks, "I'll admit that I was hoping we might get to do some catching up while you were here, Jack, but... I've gotta say this isn't exactly what I had in mind..."

Jack laughs along. "Yeah, no kidding. I was hoping for something a bit more normal. Maybe..." He pauses for a moment. "Maybe after all this is over... I mean, if we manage to sort this out, maybe we can catch up properly then. I probably at least owe you a drink or something by now."

Pete gives a more genuine laugh this time. "Jack, I think we're gonna have to agree to disagree on who dragged who into this...but yeah, a drink sounds nice," he says wryly. Though he adds after a moment, "At least, if..."

"Yeah..." Jack is silent for a moment after that, thinking. "...Though, it's not, wrong, though. Maybe you'd have gotten roped into this even without us showing up, but." He sighs, fiddling with his sleeves again as he walks.

"It's not like we weren't already tied up in this before we came to see you. There's a lot I can't... shouldn't? Talk about, but..."

Pete doesn't answer immediately. He always had been an insightful sort, so perhaps he's not as surprised to hear Jack was already involved as some might be.

"Why not?" he finally asks, though he sounds more serious than offended. "I think it's safe to say at this point there's not much you could say that I wouldn't believe, so... what's stopping you?"

"Hm..." Jack gestures with one hand, to nothing in particular - more just filling the time as he thinks through his words.

"I... part of it is, things with the others. I don't know how much they'd, uh... not be happy with me sharing." He pauses, then holds up a hand defensively in the direction he thinks Pete is. "Not in a bad way, I mean... I know you were worried about things before, but it's not- they're okay. But, just... There's, things they want kept secret. And..."

He takes a moment again, still unsure on words, but continues hesitantly.

"And, I don't... I mean, at this point, it's stupid. You've already dealt with all of," a wide hand gesture, "this mess, but I just..." He turns his head away from Pete's assumed direction. "I don't want to drag you more into this, you know...?"

Jack can hear Pete letting out a breath...he can almost imagine him fidgeting with a cigarette, if he'd had one. "I wondered if it was something like that," Pete says, though there's something fond in his tone. "You've always been a soft touch... But listen, whether we wanted it this way or not, we're both in this neck-deep now, if not further. I think we're past the point where hiding things is going to do anyone any good, don't you think?"

The crunchy ground has grown soft underfoot, almost like the swamps Jack had been in before all this, and he thinks he can even feel some kind of end, a destination to the path he's been following somewhere in the distance. They must be close...

"Yeah..." Jack sighs, though it's less resigned and more... almost a touch relieved? In a way. "I wouldn't even know where to begin though... Hmm. The... cult, broke into the studio and took something of ours, and we... kind of, need it back? It's important. But we think they're using it for, well. Whatever this is. And that's probably... well, almost definitely bad, I think, at this point. Hah... I haven't exactly had the full rundown myself, so I'm not sure on specifics, but... but I..."

He trails off, distracted by the potential end in not-quite-sight. "We're getting... close, I think? It feels..." He points in the direction of the feeling. Maybe Pete can see something specific he can't. "We're almost there." He speeds up his walking pace a little - with things so close, his worry of losing the path has increased a little.

"Feels like what?" Pete asks, immediately attentive as he hastens his pace to keep up with Jack. Usually this would be no problem, but the soft ground seems to be slowing him down more than it is Jack. "Wait... there's a lot of that damn mist but I'm pretty sure that's the lake again up ahead, but not so... strange looking as before. Though… Jack, I think there's something in it. Something big...I can't quite make it out, and I'm not sure I want to. There's... some kind of hill up ahead next to it with... Pillars? And people I think... It's hazy..."

Even as Pete speaks, those phantom sounds and sensations feel like they're on the edge of resolving; this is it, whatever destination Jack has been feeling calling to him all this time is just ahead.

"That's- this is where I was, before, it's... I think we're here. Stay close, I don't want... I-" He stops as he notices himself getting panicked, and takes a breath to collect himself a little.

"I'm not sure how this'll work, or... if, but. Here goes nothing, I guess. And... if this doesn't work, I'm sorry."

He steps forwards again, to that final destination - one hand reaching out towards it, the other reaching back to Pete instinctively, as if to hold his hand, as if Pete could even do that... and he tries to push through to where he's supposed to be.

There's a shifting as if Pete had tried to nod or reach out for Jack's extended hand as well before remembering it will do no good. "It's alright," he says instead. "Whatever happens... thanks for coming after me, Jack." He takes a breath and says, "Now let's give it our best shot."

Jack takes the last few steps, Pete not far behind him...and then whatever Jack has been seeking all this time finally takes hold. The shift in perception is obvious and immediate. The smell of the swamp floods his nose even as Jack's bumps and bruises - more than he remembers for that matter - abruptly reassert themselves. The tugging is gone, and with it, finally, Jack's reason not to open his eyes....

[Bonus Extra notes time:

GM: I need to see if he gained any more Cthulhu mythos from all this, he definitely should take a sanity check for uH BRIEFLY THROWING ASIDE HIS MORTAL COIL and the whole unreliable landscape thing...

Jack: aw, 16 on sanity roll, good for jack

Jack: i like the idea that THROWING ASIDE OF MORTAL COIL didn't bother him because he already had the insanity about not thinking things were real anyway

Jack: -steps out of his body- oh yeah this checks out

GM: Yeah actually that is fair?? Just one sanity for that one xD

Jack: JUST ONE MORE TO GO!!

Jack: and this makes his sanity...... 53 now!

GM: Fun fact Jack does make one more sanity check for the freaky landscape

Jack: om g? lemme roll again then haha

Jack: THATS A 1

GM: WOW????

Jack: thats one way to interpret "one more to go" lmao

GM: Let me look up the sanity cost on this but wow

GM: Yeah just one

Jack: 52 sanity!!!! INDEFINITE INSANITY TIME!! CONGRATULATIONS MR FAIN

GM: So what is Jack going to get stuck with for the rest of the scenario? XD

Jack: I DIDN'T THINK THIS FAR AHEAD]

Chapter Text

Peter sat on the sofa in borrowed clothes that were blessedly dry, idly brushing a bit of mud off his hat that had escaped his first pass earlier. It still wasn't exactly clean, but it was better. He could still hardly believe Jack had apparently gone and retrieved it from that damned warehouse full of crazed cultists only to drag it across New Orleans and through a swamp on the offhand chance he’d somehow find Peter there??

But then again, he’d been right at that, hadn’t he?

Peter sighed, putting his hat back on and looking around the room. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised... he’d learned a long time ago not to underestimate Jack Fain’s instincts. He’d always had a good grasp of people, knew how to connect with them in his writing and in person...if anyone could pull the same trick off with spirits or souls or whatever, it would be Jack…

Ah. Drew was heading off to take a shower and...yup, Stein was still snoozing where he sat. And Lawrence had stepped away from Jack and was looking like he dearly needed a smoke, which was one point on which Peter could thoroughly agree…

Peter got up and ambled over, hands in his pockets, one of them around his little borrowed notebook. “Say, got a moment?” he asked. “Still unclear on a couple things…”

Sammy sighed as he stepped away for a moment. Hovering around Jack now wouldn’t do anything about what he’d missed, wouldn’t make him somehow retroactively present while Jack was passing out in the swamps and that idiot cultist was running amok instead.

Both of them could use some quiet right now, he was sure; not the five people crammed in a hotel room and two hours of talking that was setting all Sammy’s nerves on edge and making him blurt out things he’d meant to save until that reporter left. Now would be a good time to figure out what his other self did with those cigarettes, maybe, or maybe just retreat to Joey’s new room while Joey wasn’t in it, for—

Well. Speaking of that reporter. Sammy narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t your business to be clear on,” he sneered, but nonetheless turned to face him, arms folded and staring him down.

Peter smirked a bit at the standoffish reply; well, at least this guy was to the point. There was something to be said for knowing where you stood. In fact, since Peter was looking to get a less varnished take on events, that bluntness was exactly what he was looking for... if he could get Lawrence to talk.

"Well, I'll have to disagree with you there; at this point this is pretty well my business both professionally and personally speaking. Think you could clear up why you two came to my office already knowing that symbol was involved?" start small, lead into the bigger questions...

Jack glanced over at Sammy and Pete from where he was sat, idly scribbling random shapes in the extra (less muddy) notebook he'd pulled out for himself when he'd gotten back. He'd meant to write up some actual notes - if he didn't do it now, he certainly wouldn't remember to do it later. And yet, between exhaustion, and everything else, where was he supposed to start...?

Not that he was paying much attention to that task now - now, his attention was on the other two.

Things were a lot less simple than they'd been the last few times the two had met up - and Jack couldn't really fill in for Sammy for this conversation. Not in a way that would satisfy Pete's questions, anyway, he wagered.

Regardless, he kept an eye on the conversation as it happened. If he needed to de-escalate anything, then, well... A wave of exhaustion hit him at the thought of getting up to interrupt the two, but, he could try at least.

That question’s simple, they didn't. They'd seen it hanging up around the city on the way to talk to him. Nothing strange about that.

"Like I said, we saw the decorations on the way over." There was no indication in Sammy's posture of being any less hostile towards this small question; the same suspicious stare from his ink-black eyes. "Made the connection when you brought it up. We didn't know." But that wasn't quite it... and to Sammy's confused horror, he didn't stop, like some nervous idiot rambling to try to keep a conversation from dying. "But I knew there was Ink in them, I could feel it. I could feel something wrong with them, I could feel that they were watching, I knew they were eyes." He spoke quickly, more urgent. There was so much Pete didn't know, didn't understand, needed to understand? What, NO! STOP TALKING!!! "And I remembered it, written on the walls -- "His eyes hang throughout the city" -- it was a prophecy after all --!" Sammy shot a desperate look over to Jack, the "please handle this conversation I have no idea what to do" cry for help that Jack had definitely seen before, but never when Sammy was so... actively involved.

Despite himself, Peter’s mouth fell open a bit at the sudden deluge. He’d picked up that Lawrence had seemed rambly earlier, and had been hoping it was still the case. But he had genuinely not expected it to happen immediately, especially when the man had seemed so obviously guarded.

But whatever mix of adrenaline and circumstance was making him willing to talk, well, it was what he had been looking for, wasn’t it? He broke in. “A prophecy? Drew said something about a Prophet earlier…” he prompted, notebook poised. Might as well see how much he would deflect, narrow down viable topics...

This was a look that Jack was familiar with, to be sure. He couldn't say he hadn't expected it. Though, it was strange, that Sammy was still-

Oh. Oh.

This had been happening before, too, but Jack had just attributed it to... the situation in general, he guessed? Or at least, it hadn't seemed any weirder than any of the other things they were dealing with. But if Sammy couldn't control this…

Jack leaned forward to put his notebook down - no point in pretending he'd get anything written by now - and spoke up.

"Hey Sam, you, uh... wanna come sit down? It's been a long day." Maybe he could give at least a little plausible deniability for Sammy. And maybe if he was closer, Jack could help snap him out of this more easily…

Sammy rubbed his temples so hard he was practically grinding his fingers into his skull. "Ugh, that's me!" he snarled. "Well, not me, my... other self. Visions and prophecies of this King scrawled across the walls I have no memory of writing, but they keep coming true...!" Sammy's voice had grown unnervingly soft as he looked up again, staring at Pete with an expression that was both far too intense and helplessly aggravated. "I must sound insane... But you met him, didn't you? The version of me who speaks like a cultist and..." he winced. "...can't shut up. Apparently we're calling him 'the Prophet.' He--"

Sammy stopped abruptly as Jack cut in, sending him a brief but grateful look before nodding silently, and without a word to Pete, he turned and stepped over to sit next to the lyricist, cringing a little as his entire torso protested both the seat and the motion needed to get into it.

Jack gave the man a brief pat on the arm in an attempt to be comforting - though whether he was trying to comfort Sammy or himself, he couldn't say.

"That's how he introduced himself. It's... better than nothing?"

Sammy stared at Jack at that, overwhelmed, uneasy for a reason he couldn't place. Of course, he'd insisted that person wasn't him, not really; the Ink took over, and none of that... entity's decisions were his. But... hearing the ink-crazed version of him talked about with a name of his own after he ran around in Sammy's body for the last, what, half a day? It wasn't... better.

They said they'd tried to stop him, and he would love to believe them, but... how hard had they tried?

Peter watched the little interaction over the top of the notes he's been taking. Of the many, many things currently putting him on edge, the one dealing with the way Jack hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at ’the Prophet’ in the swamp relaxed ever so slightly.

As uneasy as Jack'd been with that version of Lawrence, he really did seem at ease with this one.

Still though...

Peter walked behind the couch, leaning over to cross his arms on the back.

”It does sound insane,” he remarked. “But like I told Jack earlier, after today, there’s not much of anything you all could say —crazy or not—that I wouldn’t believe. I just want to get a clear idea of what’s going on.”

Sammy stiffened immediately as Pete strolled over to lean on the back of the couch, wary glare snapping back behind him.

"Fantastic. Then believe that our problems aren't your concern," he hissed. "We want to stop this, recover our stolen property, and leave. I have no desire to see the world devoured by these clueless sheep and their so-called god."

Peter tapped his fingers on the back of the sofa for a moment, expression impassive in the face of Sammy's curt dismissal. Finally, he said, “You keep saying it’s not my concern. Funny, if I’d swept through New York and drug Jack off to tangle with a cult that'd killed one of your friends and then kidnapped you, and I was chasing something that could apparently destroy your whole city, maybe the world... how do you think it’d sound to you if I told you it was none of your business?” Peter said dryly.

He straightened up and crossed his arms to wonder, “What the hell’s your problem with me, anyway?” he was used to people changing their minds on what they were willing to talk about, but the way Lawrence shifted between seeming almost desperate to explain and then snappishly dismissive was starting to get downright bizarre.

Turning too much still hurt, so Sammy simply glared over his shoulder, several different kinds of angry building up behind his eyes, but no good reply to someone he couldn't just throw out of the room. Pete wasn't entirely wrong. Jack shouldn't be here.

But at the last question, he scoffed. "A problem with you? I don't have a problem with you. But Jack shouldn't have to rescue you again just because you can't keep your nose out of this."

Peter grimaced a little at that last bit. He wasn't proud of that, but...Lawrence was avoiding the point.

“Because all of you are such pulp heroes?” he asked, spreading one arm to the side. “Sure, I didn’t fare so great the first time I ran into an actual monster, but Drew’s apparently possessed by one, and this other 'you' is praying to a dark god of his own half the time and...okay, I honestly still have no idea what’s going on with Stein. But is this really because you think I’m incompetent? I want to help. Seems to me you could use all you can get.”

Sammy's eyebrows raised, just a little bit. The tiniest hint of surprise. The idea that Peter genuinely wanted to help them after knowing as much as he did had... not occurred to him.

He started to say something, but stopped, glancing away with a fidgety tap of fingers. "The Masked Messenger, and the Lurker of the Star Pools," he added, almost under his breath, with the tone of a simple correction to a statement that was almost-right. "The dark god, and the monster that once served him. The stone was his, at first, should be his; the stone and the Lurker and the Ink had all resonated with him, before they changed it..." Sammy trailed off, then groaned and ran his hands down his face. "Shake it off, Sammy," was mumbled, barely audible, into his hands.

"That's... not what I meant to say." He looked over his shoulder again, the glance cautious and appraising. "Pete. If you actually want to help, then yes, we could use it."

After a beat, Peter gave a small nod of acknowledgement, the shift in demeanor catching him by surprise. Even the unexpected information seemed to have a different tone, though Lawrence still had that odd sense of bewilderment about it. Peter circled around the sofa to sit on one of the nearby chairs, finally facing them properly. The nickname he let pass without comment; it struck him as progress in its own way, and besides, they had all been talking to Jack.

“I do want to help,” Peter confirmed. “Though I guess I could see where you’d figure otherwise... If I’m being perfectly frank, a lot of what’s going on with your group makes me pretty damn nervous, but...”

But Jack had apparently already known most of this stuff, and had still looked outright baffled that time Peter had wondered if something was wrong with the others back at his office. Even when Jack had been blind and scared in that crazy city, he hadn’t hesitated to defend them. Peter glanced over to Jack, and the easy, reassuring hand he’d placed on Lawrence’s arm, and the last of that particular concern unknit.

He wasn't sure he was prepared to accept everything Drew said at face value, but he was at least prepared to accept their stated intentions to stop this cult and protect the city were genuine.

As for the "Prophet" issue...It seemed everyone could agree it was a problem, but… he was satisfied that problem wasn’t Lawrence himself.

“...But Jack trusts you," he finally said. "And that goes a long way in my book."

Through all of this, Jack had stayed mostly quiet, letting the other two work things out. It was easy enough to slip into the background, to zone out from…

He blinked, when Pete mentioned him again, returning back - how long had he been distracted? He looked over at the man, half ready to say... something. But whatever it was, no words happened - instead, he just gave Pete a small, tired smile, and glanced back at Sammy.

Sammy just nodded, neither warm nor hostile. "Sure."

The feeling wasn't mutual. Jack, after all, trusted the likes of Joey Drew and Sammy Lawrence, so he was a decent judge of musical ability, but as a judge of character, he couldn't be said to be the best. And Pete, whatever else he might be, was the press.

But he'd rather have that person helping them than opposed.

Jack himself looked... tired, as he glanced over. And quiet. The newly pale eyes still looked odd and ghostly in his face. And... that's all Sammy could say for sure. He wasn't much good at actually guessing what Jack wanted, just at stepping back when Jack spoke up; now that "Jack loses his voice sometimes" was on the table, it would be a lot harder to do.

Sammy folded his arms carefully and regarded Pete with a look that was not intended to be as suspicious as it was, waiting to see if he had more to say.

Pete returned the small smile. It was good to see that Jack was hanging in there...or at least as close as anyone could reasonably expect given the circumstances. Though when he spoke, it was once again directed towards Sammy.

“Look, you don’t seem like you sugar coat things,” he said. The unlike Drew part he didn’t bother nor probably need to add.

“From everything I’ve heard this magic rock is what’s causing all the trouble. The symbols, the dreams, the mist, the monsters, this….self proclaimed king and his crazy city that’s trying to…invade New Orleans. I heard all the talk about...changing it to be linked to various spirits and monsters or... the Lurker? No...” he paused, looking down at his notes of what Sammy had just said, and then tipped a hand in his direction in acknowledgement, “The Masked Messenger, wasn’t it? But why not save some time, grab a hammer and just break the damn thing?”

"He needs it!" Sammy snapped without thinking, then stopped, and shook his head, with a sharp exhale that seemed to serve the function of an unhappy laugh.

"I wish!" he finally exclaimed, with the same lopsided, frustrated attempt at a smile. "It's the source of all my trouble, too. I don't know if a hammer would do it, and I don't know what would happen if it broke. But without it, Bendy --" he waved a hand as he corrected himself, "--the Lurker, wouldn't survive. Call it selfish if you like, but I'd rather not doom a friend to die."

Sammy didn't break eye contact; he knew it sounded stupid, it sounded stupid to him, too; but Pete couldn't budge him on this.

Peter didn't look away, appraising Lawrence's response. He wasn't exactly shocked by the outburst; Drew had vaguely implied something similar after all, but… he was a bit surprised to find it was apparently actually true. This didn't seem like the reaction of someone whose boss was putting out a convenient excuse just so he could keep something powerful, or to keep the powerful being who was apparently beholden to it.

"...You're serious," he remarked, not really asking. Though he did glance to Jack, curious of his take.

Sammy's snapping might have been startling to someone else, but Jack found it more grounding than anything. After having the Prophet around for so long, it was... an appreciated return to normalcy, in its own way. Even if it was a reminder of how urgent the situation was - the potential end of the world notwithstanding. They'd managed to rescue one friend, but there was still another left to save here.

He caught Pete's eye as the man glanced his way, and... paused. Should he say something? He had thoughts, but fell short on words. Not as bad as it had been before - he could probably say something if he tried - but he was too tired to try to push for it. He settled for nodding at Pete instead. He hadn't gotten as close to Bendy as the other three had, but he still thought of him as a friend.

The silence that Jack did not fill was noticeable.

"I don't really joke," Sammy sneered instead.

“Noted,” Peter replied, vaguely amused. Though he sighed a moment later, tipping his hat back a bit to rub his forehead. This time the hat was actually there to require the gesture, which was its own small reassurance. “...Well. I guess there weren't going to be any simple answers to all this anyway, but it was worth a shot.”

He thought for a moment more, and then asked, “When you say this stone is also ‘the source of all your trouble', does that mean it's somehow the cause of those... starry-eyed episodes you have?”

"Starry-eyed," Sammy repeated with an incredulous stare. From his one encounter with his ink-self, that seemed a strange description. Fell a bit short of embarrassingly idiotic devotion…

He hesitated, fingers tapping idly against his arm, to make sure he was... more composed this time, and then nodded shortly. "It is. From the stone flows the Ink; and the Ink awakens--” He tried again. “--contact with the Ink is what... sets it off." This wasn't Pete's business either, but it wasn't like anyone else was bothering to keep it to themselves. Sammy shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "I had it under control, though," he hissed, "before all this, before this King's influence reached through the Ink and found the stone!" His words picked up speed, still staring Pete down. "That's what makes the call irresistible; that's what gives the symbols their power--!" Why was he talking about this.

Peter may not have known Lawrence well, let alone as well as Jack did, but even he was starting to realize this was beyond just stressed rambling overriding warnings from a boss or fear of being called crazy, and this time it was Pete holding up a hand that cut Sammy off. “You’re... not just nervous, are you..?” he hazarded, a slight frown on his face.

Though before he could get another answer, he stood up, tucking the notebook in a pocket. “...I misread things. Look, if either of you do think there’s other things I ought to be filled in on, well, you know where to find me. But in the meantime, I think I’ve kept us all up long enough.”

There was a split second where Sammy looked visibly shocked, a flicker of the urgency in his wide eyes abruptly giving way to something... confused?... before immediately narrowing, offended and defensive again, that mistrustful snarl back on his lips.

"Right," he muttered. A hand rested briefly on Jack's shoulder, the only reassurance Sammy had ever really known how to give when he was overwhelmed, and he stood, heading for the room he'd be sharing with Joey without another word.

Peter stepped out of his way without comment as Lawrence left. He been intending to leave himself, but. ...Huh. So Lawrence really was rooming with Drew, then..? Maybe he'd misread more than he thought.

But it had been a long night, in the most laughably understated use of the term he could call to mind, and all of them really ought to rest.

So instead of saying anything related to their general situation he settled for, "Unusual guy," giving Jack a sidelong look.

Jack gave Sammy another small smile at the contact, and let the man leave. He'd been talking for so long, now... Honestly, he deserved some quiet at this point.

He turned back to Pete as the man spoke up again... and said nothing in return. As much as he wanted to... any words just slipped from his reach.

At least this time there was less danger.

Pete's brow furrowed at the uncharacteristic silence. He'd assumed Jack was tired, sure, but... "...Jack, are you okay?" he asked.

Jack looked away again, trying hard to come up with any words. When that failed, he reached over to pick up the notebook he'd been writing in earlier, flipped it open to the next empty page, and wrote a short note.

'I'll be fine. Just tired. Hard to speak. It'll pass.'

Writing was still difficult, but easier than speaking aloud at least. With that written, he handed the notebook to Pete, looking... a little embarassed about Pete having to find out about this.

Pete read the note, unable to stop a concerned frown from creeping onto his face. ...Maybe Jack wasn't hanging in there so well after all.

It was another thing he'd misread, and if he was being honest, he wasn't used to it.

This whole situation just kept leaving him on his back foot... He was really going to have to work at it to catch up, so that maybe next time he could actually be useful instead of falling into a trap and needing rescued like Lawrence had accurately called him out on.

...But he was starting to accept that he wasn't going to be able to do all that catching up right this very moment. He would just have to settle for what he could do to help, for now.

So he mustered a smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and offered back the book.

"...Let's get some rest," he agreed. "Everything else... we can sort out later."

Jack returned the nod and the smile, grateful that Pete was understanding about this. Rest sounded very good right now.

Chapter Text

Joey wandered out of the bathroom, hair still slightly damp and completely unkempt, in a fresh pair of trousers. Immediately he moved to put on socks, but for now his shirt lay draped over the chair at the desk in the room, with hat and gloves laid next to it. For now, he was letting his battered skin breathe a little between the bandages covering his side and back.

And only after he finished putting on his socks, did he look up and over at Sammy, making a small exhale of breath as he saw the sweater. Joey still seemed a little distant as he mumbled, “Doesn’t look half bad,” clearly still having plenty on his mind taking up his attention.

Sammy glanced up as Joey stepped out and started to put himself together. The slightest twitch of a corner of his lips was nothing close to a smile. “Hm. Doesn’t quite fit. Better than nothing.” And hopefully more comfortable to sleep in than his usual clothes.

He sat on the very edge of the bed as he waited for Joey, not yet actually settled, where he’d been fussing with his mask and idly trying to clean off the edges of it, though he reached over to set it aside for now.

Joey nodded twice, slowly, as he started to move away from the desk… but then thought better of it and grabbed his shirt anyways. As much as he’d also hoped to sleep more comfortably that night, claws couldn’t make buttons fasten quickly, and he probably shouldn’t be running around with a carved circle visible on his chest, even if it was extremely faint when not filled with Ink.

Though Joey also made a loop around the room first, checking the doors and windows, making sure everything was latched, blinds down, curtains drawn, doors locked, before taking his spot on the opposite side of the bed. He was still fumbling with most of the buttons, only getting the bottom two, as he spoke up again, “And… how are you doing? It clearly looks like it hurts but… do you think you’ll be able to get some sleep? I can probably go buy you some aspirin or… something stronger, if there wasn’t anything in the first aid kit.” He glanced over at Sammy for a moment, and immediately got a claw stuck in the button hole instead of the button itself, causing him to curse under his breath.

“Tense,” he replied to the first question. Sammy huffed a sigh and braced himself, pulling himself into bed next to Joey and lying down with a small gasp and a wince at the movement, though he did relax a little once he was actually lying down. “I guess we’ll see,” he muttered.

The constant protesting of his bruised ribs wasn’t even the worst part; he needed sleep badly, somehow, despite feeling he had been asleep only a couple hours ago, ...but at this point, it was getting hard to imagine sleep was worth the consequences.

His attention shot over to Joey at quiet sounds of frustration, but the man was just fighting with his clothes.

Come on, Sammy. Relax.

Joey fought for a little longer, getting one more button done before giving up, he could get the rest later, it was good enough for now. Or more, he didn’t feel like staring at his hands any more as he tried to do this. Once Sammy seemed as comfortable as he was going to get, Joey turned off the last light and tried to lay down himself without disturbing his bedmate too much.

The bright outline of the curtains across the room was a nice reminder of how completely thrown off from anything predictable or expected this trip had become in only a few days. Though, in a way, this was to be expected too; Joey just didn’t want to think it’d happen. Instead of continuing to stare at the daylight leaking in, he turned over and traced the dimly lit silhouette of Sammy’s face with his gaze. He was entirely ridgid… Joey lifted a hand to reach out and softly touch the other, though as soon as it came into sight for him, the room spun for a moment and he pulled it back in against his chest, idly playing with his half open shirt as if he never tried to reach out in the first place.

“... I didn’t tell him, I swear.” New topic, new thought, even if it’s not pleasant, anything to keep from thinking of, “If I had known he’d… well, no, it needed looking at. But I promise, I didn’t tell him anything.”

He watched as Joey started to reach over, then second-guessed it, fussing with the edge of his shirt instead.

Sammy just looked... tired. “I know,” he said. There was a finality to it; this was the end of that conversation. “If you told him, he would’ve known not to bring it up.” He shook his head. Tempting to blame Joey for an unbelievable lie, but really, Jack must’ve already known. How obvious was it...?

After a moment, his eyes met Joey’s again, narrowed. “It’s not so bad you can’t touch me,” he scolded.

Oh. Sammy was… right. Joey was still… new wasn’t the right word for this anymore, but it was a unique circumstance that he only had half an idea how to deal with. But he would have at least warned, or demanded from, Jack not to bring it up if he had told him. Unfortunately for him right now, that’s where the conversation ended.

A smile that was far too pleasant for the situation crept onto Joey’s face as he replied, “Of course, as long as you’re sure,” completely going along with the excuse he had been handed. Though as Joey reached out to caress Sammy’s face, he did end up turning his hand over and instead just running the backs of his fingers down Sammy’s jawline. There was a slight tremor that he was doing his best to hide.

“When we get back to New York, I’ll pay for you to visit one of those specialty doctors. I want that looked at proper.” Especially if the Prophet had a chance of showing up again… The idiot had no idea how to care for a body, and seemed to not grasp that there wasn’t a better one waiting if this one kicked the bucket.

“Hm,” Sammy said, noncommittal, expression unchanging. It wasn’t comforting. Maybe another day, in other circumstances, it would have been a relief or a welcome gift, but right now he barely felt in control of his own body; the last thing he needed was Joey sticking his fingers in this part of Sammy’s business, too. Maybe he can be trusted with doctors when he can be trusted to do the one damn thing Sammy asked him to do...!

He didn’t know why Joey’s hand was so hesitant, but he didn’t like it. Joey didn’t...fret like this. Either something else was getting to him, or Joey was being careful for an entirely different reason, something he’d seen while Sammy was Out that he’d neglected to mention in his little recap...

Whatever. Sammy reached out with a frustrated grunt to wrap around Joey’s side and pull the man closer to him. He wouldn’t argue with that, at least.

Joey had immediately pouted at that hum, knowing full well this was not a welcome acceptance of his offer. What else was he supposed to do then? He wasn’t going to force Sammy to a--

Usually when people do something unexpected, there’s a moment of tension from the other party, followed by relaxation. Instead, Joey almost melted into the touch, before trying to place his hovering arm down, at which point he actually became stiff again. Peering through the blurry fuzz of Sammy’s wild hair in the foreground, he watched the darkened corners of his clawed hand start to drip, though for now just tried to close his fist and ignore it. He was having a hard time relaxing though.

Joey wasn’t so worried about sleep itself, but he was having a hard time with the idea of letting go of his alertness. He was having a hard time letting go of these images in his head... so he continued to desperately think of anything else, which meant his mouth didn’t stop moving either.

“I have your cigarettes by the way, they were dropped… earlier. Let me know if you want me to get them,” Think of Sammy smoking. Think of Sammy at home with him, late afternoon, freshly lit tobacco between his lips, covered in a quilted jacket as he… “You could even smoke them in here, I wouldn’t care right now.” Everything started to melt in the fantasy too, and Joey simply nuzzled his face into Sammy’s hair, arms still sitting at ridged awkward angles in this partial cuddle.

Joey pressed himself up close, finally, and Sammy did his best not to wince as Joey awkwardly rested arms sort-of around him — more and more obviously trying to avoid using his hands for some reason, trying not to touch. Joey changed the subject again, by all appearances chattering happily, but when he bounced from thought to thought like this, it was usually a show. Hm.

All Sammy wanted was something - something! - in this place that felt normal and safe. To not be in danger for a few minutes, before his dreams were invaded again and he was pushed out of control, before he had to hope, foolishly, that the people who had failed again and again to stop him would finally come through. And if he could just let Joey do ...whatever Joey was doing, then eventually he would get that; a few minutes of respite where he could pretend to be safe in Joey’s arms.

...But he wasn’t safe.

“What aren’t you telling me,” he hissed softly, suspicion leaking back into his voice. “What else happened?”

The request was something he should have expected, but it was still difficult for Joey to open up to people. When he does, they learn his tells, they gain tools against him, they learn how to get their hooks inside of him and look deeper, and who knows what they might find…

… but when he doesn’t, they leave.

“I told you everything that happened to you. There were some things I left out though that were… not necessarily important to our goals. A point where I had to…”

He had lifted his hand to stroke Sammy’s face again in an attempt to be calming and genuine, but when it came into view, his vision had already fathomed Ink dripping off of it and onto Sammy’s face. Logic told him it wasn’t really there, Sammy was watching him with the same criticizing glare he’d become so affectionate over. But as more Ink drained off his hands and onto Sammy’s face, creeping closer to his mouth--

Joey suddenly sat up, not being wary or careful of where Sammy’s grip on him would tug at when he did such an action.

“It’s just some things I… saw. Did.” A beat. “I’ll be right back, and everything will be fine,” he said, leaning down to give Sammy a quick kiss on the lips, as if it’d placate all of his inquiries. It wasn’t even a soft reassuring kiss like one would expect from a spouse about to go driving in inclimate weather; No, this one was still charged and intense, though perhaps that was the only way Joey Drew knew how to kiss people.

And then he quickly scurried off the bed and into the bathroom, not even flicking on the light before the sink turned on and he started washing his hands again.

Joey swung wildly from a gentle and affectionate touch to suddenly jerking Sammy’s arm forward as he bolted upright, suddenly leaning in again to press a desperate kiss onto his lips, and suddenly dashing off to the bathroom, each rapid shift happening before Sammy could even process or react to the last one. The sink started running in the bathroom a moment later.

Sammy rolled slowly onto his back, a hand resting carefully on his bruised chest as he caught his breath. Well. If he’d thought that Joey was being over-cautious of his injury, that set him straight. He stared at the ceiling with a harsh sigh. Why was he even here? If he just wanted to see everyone else lose their minds while he’s frustratingly absent, he could do that from home!

He frowned, belatedly running his tongue across his teeth to check, again... something in his throat still had the chemical aftertaste of paint, but no, it wasn’t in his mouth, at least.

Joey mumbled in frustration to himself as his own mind caught up with his last few actions. What was he doing, why was it so hard to keep his cool? He was doing fine earlier in the swamp… well, as fine as the swamp could be. “You’ve held it together for this long, don’t fuck it up now,” he grumbled at his dark reflection in the mirror. Even though it’d been years since the one gold eye had shown up, it was still weird to see the heterochromia in himself. At least there wasn’t any of that tugging at his brain right now, but he was always a little cautious at what this might mean in the future for him.

Looking down at his wet hands, even in the darkness now, he could tell they were clean. He could tell they hadn’t been dirty before he turned on the sink. How many times has this happened already? “Hold it together, Joey.”

Joey wandered back to the bed, crawling in carefully again not to disturb Sammy more than he already had. He did lay closer to him this time, but his arms were still folded over his chest and he hadn’t turned towards him, or looked his way yet. After that last jerk around, Sammy is gonna be mad at him if he didn’t explain.

He should explain.

Why is it so difficult to explain?

Why must explanations have to include admitting failure?

“... I keep having… moments. Where I keep replaying this scene in my head that I’m about to… To do something terrible to you, if I touch you. If I touch anyone. I’ve been trying to tell myself a different story.”

He finally looked over at the other, eyes adjusting again to the slightly different levels of darkness. “It hasn’t been working.”

“Hm.” Sammy listened, turned toward Joey, face thoughtful. It made some sense. After all, when Joey lost his mind in Haiti, they’d had to fight to keep him from hurting himself. And sharing his body with a friend who also happened to be an ancient horror couldn’t be without consequence, for as long as they’d been fused...

“Are you fighting off an impulse, or a vision?” Sammy asked, matter-of-fact, as if the topic were not tremendously sensitive. “Is there something you’re trying to stop yourself from doing?” He took one of Joey’s hands experimentally in both of his own, cautiously curious, ready to pull away if Joey did something alarming.

Joey immediately softened for a moment as Sammy reached out for him, then tensed up, then managed to relax again, like he was breathing paranoia. It was easier with the slight dampness that was still there, and the feeling of Sammy’s fingers around his; the Ink didn’t really feel like a liquid when he transformed. It just felt like an extension.

Something about this felt a little silly though, like he should be the one tending to Sammy and not the other way around. But it was easier to fall into thinking about how to solve the issue than think about literally anything else right now.

“... both? Earlier I uh, with internal help, killed off one of those… creatures that the cult has flying around… with my hand. It made sense at the time but…” Carefully, he curled his fingers around Sammy’s.

“Now it won’t leave me alone. I just want to go back to making animations, damnit.”

Those creatures the cult has, Joey said, as if Sammy would recognise either. But he only let out a sound that could charitably be called a laugh and muttered "We all do," holding tight to Joey's nervous hand.

He wasn't sure he liked this, Joey uncertain and frightened, but it was better than Joey disappearing to crack his head against the faucet.

"...I don't think I want to sleep," Sammy said, carefully, "but we both need rest." He folded Joey's arm back over him, placing his hand back on his chest with delicate fingers, and then shoved at his shoulder, trying to roll him over. "You don't have to touch me with your hands. Turn the other way."

Sammy wrapped his arms around Joey from behind, and it was obvious how strong those arms were, even through the loose sweater he wore, when he pulled Joey up against him. Long fingers laced into Joey's over the back of his hand.

And he paused. If Joey wasn't on board, that would quickly become evident.

Joey hesitated for a moment, unsure of where Sammy was going with this at first, but as soon as he felt a guiding push, followed through with it, and was rewarded with Sammy’s warmth pressed up behind him. His fingers did also pause for a moment with the other’s delay, but then held on a little bit tighter in reaffirmation that… this was alright. This was better than alright.

“Finally,” he breathed, nearly silent.

Since getting back from the swamp, this was the first time Joey’s shoulders actually managed to drop to a non-sharp angle. He very carefully leaned back against Sammy, making sure he didn’t push into him, but just enough to give some sort of physical reply to the action… and after a moment, also slid a foot back to cross behind one of his boyfriend’s legs. It wasn’t a normal way of his to hold Sammy, but it’d have to do for now. He, of course, did not think about whether or not his feet were cold before he did this, but it’s the other thoughts that count, right?

Sammy felt the man’s body relax and lean into him, and despite the surprised breath at Joey’s cold feet tangling into his legs, Sammy’s mouth twitched up in a hint of a smile, and he leaned his head against Joey’s neck, held him as close as he could, and with a small sigh of relief, relaxed a little himself.

It wasn’t normal, but it was close enough.

—————

He couldn’t say whether Joey was able to finally nod off or had simply fallen quiet in his arms, and Sammy couldn’t quite bring himself to give into sleep, but they were calm, at least, still and breathing softly... an hour or so of something like rest.

Even when he wasn’t agitating anything by moving, pain shot through his torso now and again; Joey must’ve felt him tense, or felt the stutter of his breath on the back of his neck, but Sammy did his best to ignore it, until the chemical taste in the back of his throat rose up again with the urgent edge of nausea.

A frustrated hiss and a whispered “be back” as Sammy’s fingers slipped out of Joey’s and he withdrew. The process of sitting up again was more painful than he remembered. He pulled himself out of bed and slunk to the bathroom.

Joey had just started to nod off when Sammy made an unexpected move. He hadn’t been trying to sleep, actually focusing more on Sammy’s breathing and weight of his arms than trying to doze off, but the tiredness had been catching up with him meanwhile. As much as he wanted to stay up and keep an eye on Sammy, his mortal form was still just that.

“...... sa… mmy?”

He sat up quickly once he felt Sammy actually leaving the bed and heading towards the bathroom. His intentions were clear enough that Joey didn’t need to ask or follow him but… he still ended up scooting off the side of the bed, and just waiting sat there for a moment, listening.

The sound of retching was not hard to make out through the closed bathroom door, though it was pathetically weak. Sammy stayed miserably crumpled on the floor for several minutes afterwards, hair tied sloppily back in a hurry, just catching his breath from the pain of trying to heave up paint when his whole chest was opposed to being used in any way.

Ugh, this is why he’d barely touched his food…

Joey waited for a bit until it sounded like things had… calmed down for a moment. But he also had a feeling that Sammy would be in there for a bit longer still. He picked up the phone and quietly placed an order for room service, nothing fancy, but a pitcher of ice water and some aspirin would be helpful when Sammy could ingest things once more. … Make it two pitchers, actually.

After Joey hung up the phone he walked over to lean against the wall next to the bathroom door, fumbling to get his shirt actually buttoned this time, even though he asked for it to be left in the hall outside the door to avoid interaction. Still, people could be wandering the halls at these hours.

“... is it the paint?”

Sammy’s gaze barely lifted, from where he leaned heavily against the toilet, to glare at the still-closed bathroom door. “I never want to see the colour yellow again in my life.”

Ugh. Hardly worth all this when he still felt sick... Shaking slightly with the effort, Sammy pushed himself gingerly to his feet and dragged himself to the sink. Wiped off his face and washed out his mouth and... just stood there staring at the running water for a long moment. Part of him wanted to just keep pouring water down his throat, as if that would somehow eventually make up for the fact that he couldn't get Ink... He shut off the water, ran his hands down his face, did his best to compose himself, straighten up, make sure he didn't look like he was going to collapse or curl into a miserable ball, before he finally opened the door.

Joey let out an almost painful laugh at that, before tending to the knock on the door. He grabbed his hat and waited for a moment before opening it just enough to pull in the tray with the pitchers of ice water and painkillers in, not worrying too much about a quick flash of claws that could easily be mistaken for long fingernails… and locking the door after. He was setting the tray down on the desk when Sammy opened the door, and immediately motioned to it.

“I don’t know if cold will do anything, but it is iced,” Joey said, voice low, as he took the hat off again and put it on the corner of the chair. He took a step towards Sammy, but then waited, trying to get a better read on him than simply ‘tired’ before he made his next move.

“Oh,” was all Sammy said, before ambling over to the desk. This was a surprise.

Had enough time passed since the painkillers he got from Jack...? Sammy made the executive decision of “probably” before pouring himself a glass of water, swallowing the pills, and somewhat desperately downing the entire glass before pouring himself another.

The touch of desperation to his actions did make Joey feel a little uneasy, but at least he was doing so while hydrating with normal iced water and not anything else. He moved in closer as Sammy poured the second cup, initially reaching out to wrap his arms around the other’s waist but hesitating once more… and immediately making a gentle frustrated noise as he did. Instead of pushing his hands forwards, he settled for leaning his face in against the back of Sammy’s neck, arms crossing across his own chest just to have his fingers pointed away.

Joey was… tired. And he wanted to just lay down and enjoy his time with Sammy without being interrupted every ten minutes by something that happened hours ago. But at least he could do this… Nuzzling a little closer as he enjoyed the soft frizz of Sammy’s hair on the side of his face, listening as he took down the water and getting the slight serotonin of being able to fix… something? It didn’t come with a nice feeling, so Joey went back to focusing on Sammy’s hair. He’d never say it out loud and encourage such uncivilized looks but… he did like it long.

Sammy gulped down the second glass with the same urgency before finally stopping to breathe, as Joey stepped up to lean in close behind him. Sammy’s whole body slumped back into him in a sigh.

“I’m so thirsty,” he groaned. “All of that,” —his arm waved vaguely in the direction of the bathroom — “and I still...” He ran his hands down his face. Ink would settle his stomach, he felt so sure of it. It would calm the itch in his throat, it would feel good going down; a relief!! He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Shake it off, you idiot.

Sammy poured himself another cup of cold water.

It was probably a good idea to put the Ink in Henry and Jack’s safe instead of his own, hopefully that was helping Sammy out. Joey sighed, in the way one does when they understand the other’s pain but also understand there isn’t much to be done about it. He swallowed hard and tried to shake off his own thoughts about the Ink, and with a little bit of a tremor, managed to wrap his arms around Sammy’s lower waist, hopefully avoiding anywhere too bruised, pulling him a little closer.

Joey didn’t know who to be more mad at, the Masked Messenger or Doc Moonlight, but neither of them were high in his book as he angrily simmered against the back of Sammy’s neck, glaring holes into the pitcher of water in front of them and rehearsing scenes in his head of how he was going to meticulously destroy both of them.

Sammy tapped his fingers on the glass, agitated by his own relief as Joey finally wrapped his arms around him, and he leaned his head back against Joey’s with a frustrated sigh.

“Alright,” he said at last, and leaned forward to set the water down on the tray half-finished; it wouldn’t calm the buzzing in his mind at this point. His hand took one of Joey’s, and he lingered a moment longer.

There was a quiver for a moment, but Joey managed to not pull away as Sammy’s hand lay over his. He could feel the other man relax under his grip, and he didn’t want to lose that sensation. “Alright?” Joey echoed back, even though he was sure he knew what Sammy was trying to say and notion at, he still wanted to hear it clearly. After everything that's been happening, he wanted to hear Sammy make decisions for himself.

But Sammy only nodded, let his hand fall from Joey's, and traipsed back towards bed.

There was no good option. There was nothing that felt like rest.

He tensed, braced for pain with a soft shudder of breath as he climbed into bed, easing himself down onto the mattress until he could relax. And then braced himself for the rest of it -- for hours of the restless urge for Ink mixed with the queasy urge to be rid of it, for the hours of waiting for the tension of dreams hanging over him to resolve.

Joey watched him leave his hold for a moment, before finally making his way back over to the other side of the bed himself. There was the hesitation again, but clearly he was making an extra effort now to wrap his arms around Sammy and pull him flush up against himself. In some ways it was for Sammy, but in other ways, Joey was calming himself down with this too, despite the constant battle in his own brain over it. But… that was slowly fading in the warmth of Lawrence pressed up against him…

He would know if something was happening with Sammy.

He would be ready to be there if something was happening to Sammy.

He would not be letting anyone or anything take Sammy away from him.

And if… if his fears of the moment came true? Now, with his arms and hands tightly wrapped around his traumatized lover? Well…

At least maybe it’d bring an end to both of their suffering, if the claws were long enough. Wouldn’t that be an interesting way to end the story.

Chapter Text

Sammy.... realizes he is not where he should be. He's...in a fancy house, the sort where the stair rails are carved and the frames have gilding. There's people moving this way and that, paying him no mind at all. They look like they're....decorating?

... Sammy frowns, suddenly nervous, trying to remember how he... got here...? He tries to slip out of the way and look for some part of the house that looks familiar, checking his hands and clothes for any signs of... he's not sure. Something that would give him a clue of what he was doing. Is he wearing the mask...?

He finds himself in his usual daily clothes, clean of Ink and...huh. His ribs don't even hurt. There's no mask. He picks a direction more or less at random, ducking around a pair of people hanging a string of decorations, the central one bearing that same, omnipresent yellow symbol. Still, no one so much as glances his direction.

Sammy glances at it, but intentionally doesn't linger long, focusing instead on the people -- the feeling of being completely disregarded like this is... familiar...

He walks up to nudge one of them, narrowed eyes flicking between the person and the pretentious house he doesn't recognise. "What are you doing?"

Sammy's hand goes right through the person, who turns and walks away, clipping halfway through Sammy in the process.

Sammy freezes for a moment, startled. "...alright..." he mutters slowly, looking over the whole room with sudden suspicion. He steps back, reaching out carefully to see if he can touch the wall or the furniture, or some non-symbol part of those decorations... and then shoves his hands into his pockets and strides off through the house, making no effort to avoid marching right through its ghostly people, looking and listening for anything that might clue him in to where he is or what's going on.

The walls and the furniture are similarly intangible...or else Sammy is. As he walks through the house, sometimes literally, he eventually picks out a vaguely familiar voice. Not one he's ever actually heard that he can recall....but one he's managed to claw a vague memory of from a dream....

Sammy perks up at the sound of a voice he.... recognises...? and immediately turns in that direction, trying to make out words. But a few steps later, it clicks.

That must be Moonlight, the one who could see his other self. Sammy's obviously not properly here... is this another dream? Then Moonlight might be the one person who could see him... Sammy doesn't stop, but his steps slow, once again trying to slip quietly through the halls, trying not to be noticed, as he approaches the direction of the voice.

He indeed finds Moonlight, paused in the hallway, reading a note that's been offered to him by one of the workers.

Sammy will attempt to hide and watch and listen.

(GM: make a spot hidden)

(Sammy: 40 out of 61, success!)

Moonlight nods, "Close as we are, we can't be too cautious," he tells the worker. Sammy can't make out the whole note, as it goes up in flames in Moonlight's hand. But he catches a vague suggestion of numbers, and manages to read the end of it before it's gone, "I chose something to remind me who all of this is for. -RF"

That done, Moonlight crosses what seems to be an indoor balcony overlooking a central grand lobby, all of it being cleaned up and decorated richly, assumedly for the party tomorrow. He passes by without giving it more than a glance, heading for a room nearby which he enters and then closes the door quickly behind him.

Sammy steps quickly after him-- damn it.

Well, he won't attract any attention from other people listening at the door, at least. He leans close, trying to work out where Moonlight is in the room from voice or footsteps... maybe if he seems distracted Sammy can step inside and get a look.

(GM: listen check? : ) )

(Sammy: sAMMY PLEASE)

(Sammy: i rolled a 91 and i would like to push it)

(Sammy: PHEW okay 37, hard success)

At first he can't make out anything much. Footsteps, yes, but where they are he can't really tell. He leans in so close to the door his head ends up going part way through it, but it does let him catch the sound of a chair scooting back on what has to be the opposite side of the room. During a brief lull in the activity behind him, he even thinks he catches the sound of chalk marking up a surface... It sounds like whatever is going on, it's taking a lot of attention.

Sammy will.... take his best guess at the safest spot to peek inside (off to the side or behind whatever Moonlight's doing?) and peek inside.

He peeks into....a room that momentarily makes him dizzy. He's....seen this before....

He is peering into a room absolutely covered in photographs. Framed portraits, small snapshots, there's even equipment for playing a reel of film. The pictures paper the walls up to the ceiling, some even on the furniture. The photos are all of a woman and girl, occasionally including Randall Fowler.

It looks like the room might once have been his daughter's; the furniture is smaller, and there's a rocking horse pushed up against one wall to make room for....a liquid yellow circle, right out of his dreams, shining and flowing in a way that makes Sammy shiver...

And at a desk in the corner sits Doc Moonlight, chalking another magic circle onto the woodwork and muttering, "Now, let's see what we can learn about our new guests in the swamp…”

Sammy presses a hand to his head; when had... he been in this room...? and shortly, his other hand over his mouth, eyes wide. You can't even touch it, Sammy! Leave it. Don't look at it. He forces his eyes to focus on the desk, shifting carefully around the edge of the room to try to stay out of sight. "New guests in the swamp..." -- then... is this a vision of something that's already happened...? He has no doubt it's real, not after everything Jack shared at, lunch(?)... but if Moonlight isn't really here, that would be a relief.

The circle is traced out carefully but with familiarity, and when it's done the chalk is put aside. Doc Moonlight places both hands carefully at either side of it...and soon after, it starts to glow.

It soon becomes apparent that nothing much might be happening for the next while. There is some occasional muttering but whatever is happening, it seems to be mostly in the guy’s head. Sammy is pretty sure at one point he hears, “What are you hiding, Drew…”

Sammy tenses his hands in wordless frustration and backs mostly out of the room. Why isn't this Joey's dream! Or even Henry's! They would know what all these stupid circles mean! Even that idiot cultist might know what he was looking at, at least, if the binding circle back at the Studio was any indication.

He huffs a sigh once he's on the other side of the wall. If nothing else maybe he can get his bearings, maybe he can give directions to this room from wherever the party is meant to be. And keep an eye out for anything else that seems important along the way... an ear open for anything important being discussed?

He lingers another few seconds in case any more illuminating noises start coming out of Moonlight's ritual room, but if not, he'll run off as fast as he can and see what he can work out while the man's busy with his ritual.

(GM: make a spot hidden : ) )

(Sammy: sammy when you're trying to be observant please roll better)

(Sammy: i rolled a 63 and my spot is 61...... i could luck that down or i could push)

(Sammy: OKAY 23 out of 61, hard success!)

Upstairs, for that's where he seems to be, he is able to make a quick circuit. The floor seems to be laid out in a U shape around the open two story gallery in the middle.

On the far end of it he finds some kind of living room, inside of which two guards seem to be posted, as they are being watchful and not apparently doing much else.

It's suspicious enough that he pokes around further, and manages to just be able to see in the space behind a painting that there's a fairly impressive combination wall safe. If he tries to stick his head inside, he actually can make out the stone, since it's still glowing the same sickly yellow he can somewhat recall from his last dream.

Looping around towards the other end of the U, he finds a couple guest rooms currently housing the injured cultists from the hotel attack, including the woman who had appeared to be casting magic, now looking fairly badly injured.

At the other end is what must be Fowler's bedroom, for Fowler himself is asleep in the large bed, his skin seeming...brighter than it ought to, though Sammy can't quite convince himself it's actually glowing. Another spell is laid out on a desk as if for study...something about how to properly summon the Yellow King, and a journal that Sammy unfortunately can't pick up. Next to it is a string of fine enameled beads and a stuffed doll of a rabbit whose condition could best be described as water stained and 'well-loved'.

He's heading back around towards the staircase, walking through another pair of workmen hanging up another set of decorations with that damn symbol on it, when he spots a flash from under the door Moonlight was in, and hears a faint sound as if someone had been struck.

A slight smirk twitches on his lips as he runs through the place, committing as much as he possibly can to memory. And to think, he was so scared to fall asleep! He shouldn't have been. There's no danger to him like this, and this could be so much information, if he can just hang on to it when he--

Sammy jumps at the flash, and dashes back at top speed to the ritual room, skidding to a stop at the door and circling through the wall, to slip in behind the desk again and see what's happened.

(GM: Can I get a luck roll?)

(Sammy: 32 out of 44! regular success)

(GM: OK this might seem like a weird result but I still think it is the most correct sO)

He finds Doc Moonlight hunched over the desk out of breath, his fingers curling white knuckled into the wood of the desk, as if in anger or some other intense emotion...

And then he lets it go.

“Let's see what you think you're up to,” he says, not that dissimilar to what he’d been saying last time, though there's a greater weight to it now. He finally sits up straight, looking around. “Ah, photograph room... and it is a spell, hah..." He gets up abruptly, peering out the curtained window intensely, and patting over his pockets.... Is someone outside..?

But before Sammy can check for himself the man moves again with the same abrupt energy, whirling towards the door....and staring straight at Sammy.

There's a moment of surprise, before Sammy narrows his eyes at ........"Doc Moonlight..." Well, he's been spotted now. But one of us can walk through walls and the other can't, no reason to run off just yet. Though behind his unimpressed sneer, he's tensed and ready to move.

"What are you doing? Where is this?" he lies.

"No, you shut up," Doc Moonlight mutters. He quickly shakes his head at Sammy. "I'm guessing it's Fowler's house and I don't think I have much time left..." He blinks. "Are you... actually here?? No-- No time for those questions, where's Fowler," he says.

Sammy tilts his head with a slow step forward, expression growing more suspicious the longer the man talks. ".....Joey?!"

Joey dreams again that he's in the lonely studio, flooded with Ink. It's the same as before, a layered feeling of fear and power, worried he's done something terrible, but also feeling as if nothing is beyond him, given enough effort. Though... he is alone, which is less than ideal. Though he does hear sounds of other people distantly.

Well that's new, kinda. He fell asleep worried about losing others so... he's gonna start wandering to find them, while wringing his hands. Partially from still being worried about them, partially from the weird done-something-terrible feeling.... partially to keep himself from getting into something else.

Even Bendy isn't answering right now. But..! Someone at least is ahead! Joey wades towards the noises, though as he gets closer he notices veins of yellow start to thread their way through the black Ink... it reminds him uncomfortably of that first dream in Haiti when the gold swirled in the Ink-filled sink, trying to spell ominous messages. But was that Henry he heard up ahead? It's too muffled to properly tell.

Joey will hesitate for a moment, and then get a bit angry and push on, start calling out for Henry or... whoever might be up ahead?! Is anyone there??

The yellow continues to spread, until the liquid staining the halls has no black left. He finally rounds a corner in the dim hallways, and sees a figure stained up to the elbows in the stuff, in a room raised enough to have the floor mostly visible, piled junk and arcane symbols scattered about.

Joey pauses again, looking around the corner but staying on the opposing edge as he peers in... trying to see if he can recognize who that is. Is it Henry?

The figure turns a moment later, and Joey does recognize the smirk that turns his way, though it isn't Henry. It's that charlatan from the swamp, the self proclaimed 'Doc Moonlight'. He seems unsurprised to see Joey. "There you are...the leader of this little undertaking. Not a very good one though, to lead your whole team into captivity. Mm, that must be difficult, knowing you've doomed them all."

It seems someone isn't yet up to date on current events.

"Oh, it's you." Joey squints at him for a moment, then straightens himself up before walking in to confront him and talk proper.

"Sure, if that's what you think. What are you doing with the stone; It's not yours," He grumbles, trying to size the other up with his height.

Moonlight isn't as tall, and while he looks like he could probably take Joey in a fist fight, that's true for a lot of people. He stands confident and smiling, the general look could probably give a fairly mystical and even reassuring facade if Joey couldn't see the glee in his eyes thinking he has Joey on his back foot. He has a snakeskin band on his hat, and the necklace that had been mentioned before, hung with snake bones. And there's a badge on his chest that....it's....yellow....but Joey somehow can't quite make it out, like it was squirming, it gives him a headache to look at too closely.

"It's mine now," Moonlight replies in something superficially similar to a reasonable tone, "Though I'll admit you've had longer to work with it. I'm looking forward to you sharing your research."

Probably symbol. Joey doesn't look at the yellow thing on his chest any longer than he needed to figure that out.

"Oh, I think not. Not with the way you've been ever so welcoming with us, that is." He switches demeanors though, leaning on his hip and putting his chin on a curled hand.

"... I am extremely curious what you think you're doing with Fowler though. Didn't he have enough issues with his family disappearing? Must you sacrifice him to destroy your home, too?"

"Your Prophet seems to understand just fine," Moonlight says, waving off the question. "I'm sure you've all had plenty of time to talk in your new accommodations. Our King needs a properly prepared, willing vessel, and Fowler provided it in his person. It's not that complicated... unlike the rites that were required to make it so. And the rites I imagine you must know...and you will tell me," he says, spreading his stained hands wide. "You may have led your people into my power, but it is up to you how many of them will die there..."

“Your... power? And what does your power do, other than make some squirmy symbols and annoy my acquaintances?" Joey remains un-phased and determined, determined to get some sort of information out of him, even if he has to...

"... also that doesn't narrow down what you're trying to get out of me, even if I wanted to tell you. Which rites are you looking for, there's a whole blasted bunch of them."

"The symbols aren't mine, they belong to the Last King and him alone, I've just....facilitated his influence in this world," Moonlight says, tapping the badge on his chest....yeah. Definitely shouldn't focus on that too much.

"I want to know everything you've learned of this stone. Though even before that....how did you alter your friend to throw off our King's influence like that? After he first empowered one of the signs, how did he hide himself for a time? His blood is incredible..." he says, looking down at his hands...and it's only then that Joey realizes the liquid staining halfway up his arms isn't quite the yellow of the symbols and the paint...it's gold.

Joey raises an eyebrow. Clearly looking at him in disbelief.

"... you have no idea what you're doing, do you. What do you even think you're gonna get out of all of this?"

“You say, while you and yours serve another god," Moonlight scoffs. "I thought I'd save some time, offer you the chance to switch to the winning side, but if you don't think I'm being serious, I'll happily take your friend apart to find my answers. The ritual has begun, I've already won... This is a courtesy, nothing more." or so he says.

(Joey: Can I roll to ... see if he's lying? psychoanalyses him for hints?? something )

(GM: Psychology for sure!)

(Joey: OH I thought it was lower than that. I got a hard success (17!) i thought it was gonna be a reg lmao )

(GM: Cool. Make a sanity roll too!)

(Joey: fgSGKMASDAS A ONE)

(GM: WOW OKAY!!)

It's clear Moonlight does genuinely want to know more about the artifact he stole...but he's also intrigued and even unsettled by Henry.

By Henry’s own account he apparently powered up one of the symbols and drew attention, but according to Doc Moonlight he somehow hid for a time shortly after, and Moonlight doesn’t know how. He’s trying to evaluate whether Henry is more useful alive or dead, and trying to scare Joey about the possibility to maximize how much information he can get from him, and he’s frustrated Joey isn’t playing to script.

As Joey figures this out, he notices there’s even a bleeding corpse of Henry in the back of the room with the clutter. It would normally be shocking and horrible to see such a thing, dream or not, and it still is to a degree...but as Joey is putting all this together the thing he sees most is an attempt at showmanship and manipulation that is just... transparent.

Moonlight doesn’t know what they can do, and that scares him.

Joey smirks, leaning in over him. "We don't serve another god, no. I've tangoed with gods, We've played their games and won." Joey steps around him, starting to circle and see if there's anything else on his appearance that could give way to a weak point, trying to read his prey.

"Speaking of winning, are you sure you're on the winning side? If you think you’re on your "king"'s side that is, I'll let you know now, as a courtesy, that you're simply another piece on the board. That's how all these things go."

Moonlight turns rather than letting himself be circled, though it does let Joey see a flash of bandage under his clothes on one shoulder, as if he'd taken an injury there. There's a kind of truncheon in a loop on his belt, the crescent on top of it looking like...some kind of weird crystal lens with an odd sort of glow he can almost...see something inside.

And then Moonlight is striking out with one arm (his good arm, Joey now realizes) to try and knock him away. "You can't win against a god," he hisses at Joey, though Joey can see his composure starting to buckle. "The only winning is to win their favor when they come....and YOU shall be nothing but another soul flashing his Sign like a beacon to guide him here then be stepped on, when..." he trails off, frowning. "....I felt it before, why can't I feel it in you now? How..." he looks around then, as if trying to find something hiding in the walls or the ceiling.

"No, no, I completely agree with you," Joey sings as he backs up with almost a dance, suddenly turning into that charismatic persona he was so well versed at putting on. He gives him a grin, ignoring his other question. Joey has casually taken up a position between Doc Moonlight and the 'body of Henry.' His grin turns into a wink as he shuts his left eye and continues, "There's no winning against a god, just like there's no winning against an ocean. But please, tell me I'm wrong: if you invite an ocean to flood your city, do you think the ocean will give you favour and let you live?"

As he had been speaking, his demeanor had been changing, he stands up straight now, looking down at this mistake that made its way into his brain. The cheerfulness is gone. "Or will it wipe out everything you've ever known, and drag you out to sea with the remains?" He brings a finger up to rest on his lip, as if he was thinking hard about words he had already rehearsed in his head.

"A sheep leading the herd is still a sheep waiting to be eaten. This sounds less like me you're describing here, and more like you."

"Shut up! You know nothing!!" Moonlight snapped, any semblance of being in control shattered. "How are you doing this?! How was that other one winking in and out of our sight, how are you seeming like you're out of it now when I can still feel the Sign, how... What are you people?" he snarls in frustration, and with a bit more space he starts holding out a hand and circling about, still as if he's sensing for something.....

And for the first time since he started dreaming, Joey feels his bond with Bendy, resonating faintly as if the attention bent towards finding it was bringing his attention to it as well.

(Joey: so... does this feel like we're in Joey's dream/headspace rn, or like we're somewhere completely separate?)

(GM: make a mythos roll?)

(Joey: nooo dice, don't fail me now.... can I push it.... do i push it HMMN)

(GM: you can....: ) )

(Joey: pushes I GOT, exactly a success.)

Joey figures out pretty quickly he's in a dream of some form. As he's trying to understand the bounds of it though, he feels like Moonlight realizes there is something else Joey is connected to, and in some metaphysical way grabs for it....

Just as Joey realizes Moonlight is the visitor here, sending images and his awareness into Joey's dreams. Maybe for the influence of an elder god, this would be a meaningless distinction, but this is just Doc Moonlight, another human being. And in trying to grab at Bendy, he's dug himself even deeper into a realm that belongs to Joey, so angry and desperate to crack at least one of Joey's secrets that he's been incautious.

That might not end up going so well for him.

(GM: gimme one more luck roll...it can't go bad, just might go extra good)

(Joey: i don't know what a 33 is but i know it's under his luck... i think

lEMME GO CHECK HIS LUCK,

HIS LUCK IS 38!!)

Joey's fingers curl in for a moment as he glances around, and with a huff, starts moving, everything behind him starting to warp into sealed off corridors and boarded doors, with the safe to the archives of the studio at the far end. He doesn't know how much he can lock away from him, but he'll try his best to protect his friend. Or at least do some damage while he fails.

"Oh, don't even think about it," Joey growls, immediately marching over to Doc Moonlight and grabbing him by his necklace in one hand, the other hand wrapping his long fingers around his neck and pushing him up against a wall that wasn't there a moment ago. "You want to know what we are? We're the best storytellers in animation, and your play? Kind of shitty." Joey's grin widens, fangs showing through hungrily, Ink starting to spill through the cracks in the boards around them.

"Let's rewrite it."

And with a strength he'd only be able to use in such fantasy situations, Joey pulls Doc Moonlight forwards before shoving him back into the wall which shatters like glass into an inky abyss, as he tries to reach into the other's own mind and dreams. He doesn't know what he was looking for. He doesn't know what he's expecting to find. But he's at least going to leave this amateur with the realization that he's in way over his head.

(GM: I know this is a ton of rolls in quick succession but make a POW to see for how long he can keep this rolling)

(Joey: OH NO... can I use... luck on my pow roll... im 3 away from a success...

I SHOULD PROBABLY SAVE LUCK BUT MAN THIS IS FUN)

Joey falls through the abyss with his startled captive, and he's not afraid, because unlike so much of this trip, at this very moment he feels confident in exactly what is what, and this particular yawning void is his. And....as he reassures himself the connection to Bendy has been very thoroughly defended, he realizes there's another connection here that is not. And this one is Doc Moonlight's....

Sometimes the best defense is a good offense, they say....

Joey smirks as he sees this and pushes through the connection. Hopefully this doesn't sever his own... but also if Doc can bother others in their dreams and be fine, he can probably make it back. Or, well... Maybe Bendy gets a new body.

"Let's see what you think you're up to."

Joey finds himself in a room absolutely covered in photographs, framed portraits, small snapshots, there's even equipment for playing a reel of film. The photos are all of a woman and girl, occasionally including Randall Fowler - his family, assumedly.

It looks like the room might once have been his daughter's, as there's some small furniture and a rocking horse pushed up against one wall to make room for....a liquid yellow circle matching the one Henry found in the notebook, shining in a way that made a chill run up Joey's spine. This was something serious....

And he… he is Doc Moonlight, one arm in actually a pretty serious amount of pain, and all the snake accessories and moon staff etc. still on his person. He's seated at a table with a smaller circle etched into it in normal chalk, his hands resting on either side of it.

"Ah, photograph room... and it is a spell, hah..." Joey is looking around very carefully, and especially not looking down at the clothes he's wearing, but trying to see if he can... find the stone? Or a window. Or both!

There is a window. The blinds are closed but it's easy enough to twitch them aside to find himself in a second-story room overlooking some overgrown grounds. The stone….the stone disappointingly doesn't seem to be on his person.

In the back of his mind he can feel the good doctor irate and horrified, pummeling at Joey's control with a force that suggests Joey won't be able to maintain this for very long.

Joey is going to quickly jump up and go for the door? To the room, and try to rush out into the hall and look around, see if there's anyone else here.

(GM: Can I get a spot hidden?)

(Joey: am I rolling with disadvantage.... for symbols...)

(GM: Yes but Let me know both rolls)

(Joey: uh

12 and 32 then)

He can hear a good deal of activity from beyond the doorway, people talking back and forth, some sounds of drilling, things being scooted around and boxes being opened even before he turns his attention to the door…

But when he does whirl around towards it, it’s to find himself face to face... with Sammy.

Doc Moonlight is, if possible, even more upset at this development, trying to break through to shout vitriol at them both.

He apparently really hates Sammy, and is coming to feel the same for Joey.

"Doc Moonlight," Sammy(?) says, though whoever this is, he certainly has the dismissive sneer of a true Sammy. "What are you doing? Where is this?"

"No, you shut up," Joey says absentmindedly under his breath, yet out loud, towards Moonlight as he takes in this situation. He quickly shakes his head as he tries to think about what opportunities they have.

"I'm guessing it's Fowler's house and I don't think I have much time left..." He blinks. "Are you... actually here?? No-- No time for those questions, where's Fowler," he states, immediately looking around and trying to figure out where he can go from here.

Sammy tilts his head with a slow step forward, expression growing more suspicious the longer the man talks. ".....Joey?!"

“Explain later, I don't have forever. Take this just in case I get pushed out--" Joey says, while turning to the side to grab some kind of truncheon in a loop on his belt, the crescent on top of it looking like... some kind of weird crystal lens with an odd sort of glow. He starts to offer the handle to Sammy, but then pauses as he remembers earlier and... tries to look inside the crystal.

He sure had felt like he'd almost seen something in it before, but when he looks now, all he can really make out is swirling, as if there was mist trapped inside the lens.

"I'm not here, you idiot," Sammy snaps, waving his hand through both the crescent-topped weapon and Joey(?)'s hands without resistance. "I'm asleep--!"

He falters, surprised, for just a moment after "touching" the lens, before blinking and shaking his head to recover, immediately back in the other man's face, just as frustratedly impatient as before. "What are you doing here?! If you're in his body, who's in yours?" He sticks close, and his hands keep tensing and clipping into the other man, as if he keeps forgetting he can't grab him. "Is it safe to talk to you, or is he listening?"

"Uggh," Joey grumbles, tossing it onto the table nearby and starting to go through the rest of the pockets on his person. "I don't know, but he sure ain't. He's very aware that you're here," he mumbles, pulling anything he can find out of the pockets and just dropping it on the floor if it's deemed unimportant or useless. "... and he can probably hear us."

He finds a lot of mystical odds and ends, more chalk, a two inch sized crystal that's cold to the touch, as well as Henry's stolen pocket knife, a gun, a glass jar with a smear of yellow paint in the bottom, and what looks to be a mostly empty bottle of space juice.

"Right." Sammy holds up both hands and starts to back out of the room. "In that case, you two have fun," he sneers, "I'll stay out of the way." He catches Joey's eyes and jerks his head in the direction of Fowler's room before stepping back and phasing through the closed door.

"Yeah, you--” Things had started to... tug, and Joey swallows hard as he's hit with a wave of spinning. Not much longer left. “... do that, and I..." Joey says, kicking most of the junk on the floor aside, knife in one hand, gun in the other... He haphazardly tosses the gun aside towards the yellow circle in the room, and flicks open the pocket knife... and he smirks.

"Hey, Doc, you wanted to know about my time with the stone? Here's a treat for you: I learned two very important things the last time I ran into a cult. One, it's very hard to get around with a hurt leg, and two," he suddenly kneels down, flipping the knife around in his hand and raising it.

"I'm much better at stabbing myself than I thought."

And he's going to bring the knife down into the side of the ankle of the leg opposite of the bad arm, so he can use the good arm to do it.

(GM: omg ddgjdzghk that is definitely a contested POW! XD But since it's not actually lethal intent, I won't give you disadvantage!)

(Joey: ... can I spend another 1 luck to push it to a hard success... )

(GM: You can, and that would in fact be the difference)

The knife shakes as Joey pulls it back, his tenuous control slipping further, but he manages to pull together enough reserves to swing it down and drive Henry's knife home before he's finally ejected out to an accompanying scream from Doc Moonlight, half pained and half just incoherently enraged.

Well, if no one was coming to investigate before, they will be now....

Doc Moonlight looks up with cold rage towards where Sammy disappeared through the door…

At the sound of the scream that is hopefully more Moonlight than Joey, Sammy runs. Turns through the nearest wall, in a direction the man can't go, hopefully towards some stairs or something to get to the lower level??? As far as he can get as fast as he can, in case he doesn't wake up right away.

Joey does snap back to his own body, though there's a fairly alarming few moments where he finds Bendy soloing and full-on panicking about it, trying to wake Sammy up and so far not being able to. All the intensity nearly causes Joey to rebound at first.

Though when Bendy notices some trace of Joey he retreats immediately, to the point Joey only finds himself back in control of his own limbs on the way to sliding off the bed towards the floor since Bendy didn't stop to like...lay down or balance first.

Sammy meanwhile had been noticing something disrupting his presence at Fowler's a bit, though now it's happening more forcefully, to the point it seems pretty doable to just...let go and wake up at this point.

Which yeah. Might be good as it sounds like more magic is happening back there somewhere, along with continued violent and detailed threats being leveled at the both of them at top volume.

(Sammy: WAKING UP SOUNDS GREAT)

(Sammy: ALL FOR IT)

(Joey: dsfjknsada I ROLLED FOR JOEY TO CATCH HIMSELF/HIS BODY, and uh, i don't know what i was rolling, (i assumed constitution or dex) bUT IT DOESNT MATTER CAUSE THAT'S A 98.)

Joey falls in a graceless sprawl onto the floor, banging up one arm, though HEY, he knows from experience it's a lot better than a knife to the leg.

This does mean Sammy wakes up alone, at least as far as occupants in the bed go, though at least he's back, and blissfully unaware if Doc Moonlight does or does not have magic that can deliver on his colorful threats against ghost-dream(???)people.

Bendy meanwhile is laughing uncontrollably internally, though some of it might bubble up to the surface. He does tentatively try to take back one arm to hug Joey, whether he's righted himself yet or not.

Don't ever do that again!!

Sammy wheezes an overwhelmed breath as he abruptly jolts awake in the hotel bed, taking a moment to adjust to the relative quiet of the room. He quickly sits up, with a pained wince, then turns to look over the side of the bed at Joey, waiting with wide and uncertain eyes for some verification that it is, in fact, Joey.

It'd be very easy to take back the arm as Joey hardly is re-situated in himself again, though once he does, he also takes his other arm to rest his hand on the opposite in return, as he rolls onto his back and takes a heavy breath. This is as much of a return hug as he can... give his arm.

"Well, I had to do some-- Sammy!" he instantly brightens, raising his arms towards the man yet still not making any move to get off the floor. Though once he sees the uncertainty in his eyes, he thinks over the earlier words and... "... Sammy?"

Sammy hardly moves at all, though there's a small, relieved sigh. "Good," he says, "we're both back." And with another wince, he pulls himself off the other side of the bed, sliding off to go dig through his things for some kind of loose paper and a pen, focusing completely on what he can recall of the dream.

Joey's arms sadly follow Sammy as he walks away before resting back across his chest gently. No loving embrace in the heat of the moment, that's fine. His back and shoulder kind of hurt from falling off the bed and he just doesn't feel like moving quite yet either.

"Whaddaya mean ya 'had to do somethin'?! Ya just....vanished?! Not even so much's a how-d'-you-do! Both of you!" Bendy was still chattering away, though he's so happy they're back he's not that bothered if other topics end up prevailing.

Sammy, meanwhile, is scribbling furiously and doing his best to block out the voice chattering in the background, getting as much of a map as he can recall on the back of some unfinished sheet music. And for once, it isn't sliding away and he doesn't have to claw it back -- he can still remember all of it like it just happened, and he dashes down as much detail as seems... useful?.... eventually slowing to be a little more careful when it becomes apparent he's not racing his memory.

"He was... trying to shove himself in my head, he was looking for you. I don't think he knew what he was looking for, I think he just knew that... you've..." Joey slowly sits up on his elbows as he thinks. "... you've seen the yellow sign. I think he knows there's something in me that has seen it, but since I haven't... it's causing a disturbance?" Joey finishes sitting up the rest of the way with a low groan.

"Anyways, I was tired of him trying to shove into my head so... I decided it was time to shove back."

Bendy has no immediate reply to that, though Joey’s jaw might drop open for a moment as his explanation is processed.

Sammy eventually runs over to Joey, completely ignoring the conversation he's interrupting, clutching the paper he's been working on and looking pleased with himself in the sort of smugly superior way that Sammy Lawrence always expresses it. "I have a map of the upper floor," he announces, holding it out for Joey. It's hastily scribbled, and Sammy's attempts at visual art have never been particularly good, but it's a serviceable map, some rooms labelled, the room at the far left with an extra arrow pointing to one wall labelled "stone," and small stars on the map everywhere he can remember seeing those symbols displayed.

Joey immediately looks up when Sammy rushes over, reaching out towards the map as he starts to stand up, his face going from soft disbelief into a large grin. "You! You have a map! You have a map!!" He reaches out and gingerly touches the paper, as if to make sure it isn't just another dream-like illusion, before turning to grin even wider at Sammy. A moment later he's throwing his arms around the man, with minimal care to either of their injuries, and claiming that excited loving embrace he had only been kinda over optimistically hoping for earlier. But coming from him right now, it is pure unfiltered enthusiasm and pride.

"You wonderful piece of work, you managed to make a map! Oh Samuel, what would I ever do without you?" He immediately needs to catch his breath, but he hangs onto Sammy while looking over the map he held again, lightly draped across his shoulders. "... I'm going to buy you the biggest fucking cake when we get back to New York."

"Joey--!" Sammy manages to croak out as the other man re-crushes all of his ribs, but wheezes a small laugh nonetheless when the embrace relaxes just a touch, finally leaning into him.

"I'll hold you to that, you know," he grins.

Chapter Text

The last couple times Henry’s dreamed, he’s dreamed of the lake, so it would make sense for it to be the lake again… and indeed Henry does end up in a swirling field of yellow mist.

But this time there is no splash of water, no creaking boat or whimpering voices. The ground rings solid under his feet, and he's wandering, barely able to see.

He really did expect to show up on the lake again, so he’s not sure what to make of this. He stops wandering and squints through the mist, trying to see if he can make out anything...

At first there's just...nothing. Though the mist is ever-moving, and keeps swirling into the shape of that eerie yellow symbol. Finally though, he does spot a figure. Seated. The mist almost seems to be swirling around this one central point, even....slowly swirling in towards it?

Well that looks like something he should not approach...

He approaches.

I will say he's being cautious. Trying not to make too much noise. He doesn't know if this is something whose attention he wants.

Moving closer he's able to make out the features of Randall Fowler, though there's something subtly starker about them, his skin pale, and almost seeming to glow in the same way as the mist. He cracks one eye open as Henry nears, clearly spotting him, though all he says is, "...I was told this might happen."

He stops when he is addressed.

The second eye opens, and Henry can see it's shining a sickly yellow, as Fowler regards him impassively. "...Henry, wasn't it?"

Henry hesitantly nods.

"It was Moonlight who killed your family."

"I've been... Seeing them. They told me."

Fowler flinches, eyebrows twitching down, the first real expression he's shown thus far. The motion is still slow when he turns to face Henry fully. "...Why would you say that? You're...claiming to be another medium?"

"I'm not. But sometimes I... See things. In my dreams. Or when I'm awake."

He starts talking faster, words starting to almost tumble out of his mouth. "I have these, visions, sometimes I mean for them to happen and sometimes they happen to me while I’m sleeping, I..."

"The last few nights, I saw your family, they're trapped, they told me it was someone matching Moonlight's description. And later, when we were at the lake, I saw their faces, in the air next to him, sleeping. I think he has them. I think, either he killed them, or he's keeping them somewhere, so you'll listen to him and do what he wants, I..."

He clutches his head. "I have no proof, I know this sounds crazy, but--"

He looks back up at him, almost, pleading?

"He's using you. You're going to hurt so many people if you keep listening to him."

Partway through this Fowler stands up, the chair he was seated in swirling away into yellow mist, some of which joins the rest to slowly seep into his form. He's breathing faster, clearly agitated, and starts pacing around, shaking his head. "I, I can't listen to this. I, I can't..." he turns on Henry again, pointing a finger. "You don't have proof," he echoes, "And I do. I've seen them, I've seen them... and it has to be them, no one else could know things only they would know, and Moonlight's done nothing but help me in this. If...if he wanted power, he'd be taking it for himself, not helping me, and you… y-you would say anything to get back that stone. Who knows what you were even intending for it?"

Henry seems to subtly but abruptly shift in expression and stance, collecting himself, looking at Fowler firmly, coolly. "We’re intending to keep it. That’s it. Keep it out of the hands of people like Moonlight. Like you."

"Then once I've done what I need to do... if you're telling the truth, you can have it back," Fowler says, not facing Henry. He's reached into his pocket again, to that same quiet clinking noise from before. "So don't interfere until then."

"It'll be too late by then."

Fowler heaves a sigh...and looks back at Henry sidelong. "Do you have people you care about, Henry? ...Do you have a family?"

"Yes."

Fowler nods in acknowledgement. "...What would you do, if it was you?" he wonders. "What wouldn't you do, what wouldn't you risk, to keep them safe, to get them back..?"

"What would I do?" he echoes. "I’d say it's what I’m doing right now."

Fowler scoffs something that's almost a surprised laugh. "You wouldn't do anything about it? If you lost them, you would just...what, let it be, and worry about strangers?" he shakes his head, the humor such as it was leaving something hard and empty in its wake. "...You don't understand at all."

"No. If they were in danger, what I would do is confront the man putting them in danger."

Fowler looks momentarily taken aback... but then his expression grows dark "...I don't want to hurt anyone, I just want to save them. Why would I hurt your family, I made sure you and your group were safe in the swamps just this morning."

"The Yellow King? This force that you're trying to unleash? It's going to spread. It's going to spread everywhere. It's going to drive people insane, it's going to cause so much damage. Your family may be fine, but what will happen to mine, or the next one, or anyone else?"

"I'll be the Yellow King, I won't let it. I won't let it hurt anyone. What do I have to do to..." he grimaces, holding his head as he gathers himself, and meets Henry's eyes again. "You have my word. Alright? I'll do whatever it takes to save my family, but once that's done, I won't let it hurt anyone. So please...stop interfering."

Henry matches his gaze. He looks sympathetic, he really does. But he also looks distrusting.

"Are you sure you’ll be able to stop it?"

"Are you sure?"

The pause is a long one.

Fowler, if nothing else, seems to be an honest man. When he does speak, he simply says, "...I have to try."

It's a long pause on Henry's part as well.

Eventually he nods.

"Then I hope you'll understand, I have to try to make sure nothing happens to my family. You may be able to control the mist and stop it from hurting anyone. But until I have proof I will have to assume you can't, and I will have to try to stop you."

Fowler can only nod at that....After all, he does understand. Far too well.

"I think we're done here," he says quietly, and with a wave of his hand, the mist thickens again, obscuring him from view.

Henry almost calls out into the mist... but stops himself. He understands. There is nothing more to be said.

The dream fades, depositing Henry back into sleep far more gently than the others he's had recently...and he's able to rest right up until an alarm or, more likely, Joey Drew comes along to wake him up.

Chapter Text

They don't have all that long to rest at the hotel, but Jack still finds time to dream... He dreams he's back in the mist, wandering that forsaken city once again, the stately but vaguely warped architecture of the hallways matching what he had seen from outside.

But... wait, his eyes are open?

Jack is... concerned, that his eyes are open but... well, if it's already the case, he might as well take advantage of it and look around. He's pretty sure this is a dream, and while his "dreams" haven't been exactly without consequence, it feels... less urgent, if he's not leading Pete around. Probably. Maybe? He tries to not think about that too much.

Pete's definitely not there, though if anything lately, that could almost be a sign that he's not dreaming? More alarming is the possibility that Pete vanished somehow when Jack's eyes opened. But for now, it's just an abandoned but grand stone hallway, narrow arrow slit windows looking out on a hazy grey sky studded with black stars.

He walks for a minute or two, wondering if he's passed the same painting multiple times when he hears other footsteps somewhere in the distance.

(Jack: does jack have self preservation rn or no -rolls dice- nope he sure doesnt)

Jack heads in the direction of the footsteps, or... attempts to, at least. He's not sure how well navigating this place will go without closed eyes. Maybe he should close his eyes again? Would that work? He probably decides on trying without at first, just in case.

This is probably a bad idea, but... maybe it's Pete out there? He'd rather know than not.

He'll think he's getting close only to round a corner and the steps sound more distant again. Then another corner, and they sound to be just on the other side of an ornate wall...what exactly is the point of having such a lavishly decorated bare wall anyways?

The further he goes, the more he thinks this is some kind of dream, and the more he feels sure Pete is here somewhere...

Finally he thinks he hears the steps just ahead, turning one final corner....and there's no one. No sound, the total silence all but ringing in his ears.

It leaves him at a bit of a loss... and then he hears a softly lilting voice just behind him.

"Ahhh, there you are."

Jack freezes. He doesn't turn around - maybe they'll go away if he doesn't look? But maybe he should look - would they disappear if he did look instead? Is that what he even wants...? He has no idea.

He doesn't reply to the voice - too distracted by his confused thoughts right now.

"You're just where you should be... come come, let's not tarry, keep moving..." the voice sing-songs behind him. Ahead, aside from just the absence of any person, he now sees the hallway ahead is much less ornamented, and has only one doorway. A large yawning arch at the end of the hall, so dark inside he can see nothing of what lies beyond.

(Jack: sorry jack ur Not rolling well on ur decision dice tonight. or maybe you're rolling well actually who knows)

Jack starts walking again, towards the doorway.

"Yes, good, good!" the voice cajoles, keeping close to Jack as he starts the long walk down the hallway, though he now hears no steps behind him. "Ah, is that a new hat I see? It suits you even more than the last... you know, you spent so long hiding under a hat before, perhaps you would be better suited to have only the hat..? Yes, yes... perhaps that would be best for your new face... just your charming little hat, and remove the rest of your old face entirely..."

Jack freezes again, at the reminder of what happened last time he was in this place. Why did he think this was a good idea? He- He needs to find Pete.

He's still sure Pete is here somewhere, he can almost feel him in the same way he felt the connection to his body when he came to this place before, but the being behind him is definitely not Pete. "Why are you stopping?" the voice asks, tone gentle but somehow also edged. "...We don't have to worry about our meddlesome prince interfering any more, he'll get his own comeuppance for his disloyalty. You're so close now. Enter, that you too may take your eternal place in the Last King's court..."

(Jack: ok time to see if jack makes an entirely terrible decision -goes to grab dice again-)

(GM: EYES???)

(Jack: he rolled a SEVEN so I GUESS HES NOT GONNA LOOK)

"..."

Jack closes his eyes, and reaches up to fiddle with the brim of his hat. It can't really go over his eyes the way Pete's did, but it's a little reassuring anyway.

He takes a moment to consider his words - still fuzzy and hard to place, like they had been earlier. But, he finally settles on just one.

"...No."

“...No?” the voice asks, as if baffled. “...Did you say... no?” and the almost musical quality now falls low and flat, and when it speaks next it sounds mere inches behind him. “Are you... refusing to show the proper deference to the King?”

Closing his eyes makes it all too easy to imagine getting shoved forward, through the gaping door he can no longer be sure isn’t shifting closer to claim him. He swears he can feel a chill on his face from it... but... the darkness does help him focus, as it did before, and he thinks he can feel more clearly wherever Pete ended up.

"...he isn't my King."

With that said, without waiting for another response, Jack turns around - eyes still closed - and tries to move past the voice.

He doesn't know if the voice can stop him. He tries not to think about it. Instead, he focuses on the feeling of Pete, out there, wherever he is... Hopefully he can find him.

And, if he isn't stopped, he'll try to follow that pull, the way he did before.

Jack steps forward... and straight into the embrace of something leathery and slimy. Far too many limbs he can’t properly identify wrap around his arms, his torso, even his neck, and shove him backwards, towards the waiting door. “You will know YOUR PLACE as do we ALL!!” the thing hisses...

And then, somehow, as Jack manages to focus he just... steps right through. Onto something soft, and flat, the ringing silence of the sepulchral halls replaced with distant sounds of a living breathing city.

(Jack: -eyes emojis- jack u shoulda opened ur eyes smh this description sounds exactly like something you shouldve looked at)

Jack wraps his arms around himself, giving himself a moment to calm down. Eyes still closed - after what he just felt, he doesn't particularly feel like opening them now.

It takes him a moment, but after that, he pushes himself to try and continue on his path. He needs to find Pete.

Unlike the trip through the city before, this journey seems to have been as much a decision as anything... he only has time to take another step on the... carpet? when he hears a startled, "Jack?!"

"...Pete?"

Jack stops walking again, but doesn't open his eyes just yet. It's still too soon to tell. Is he asleep still? Is he awake? Is it... safe to look? He doesn't know.

"Yeah, it's me... What just... happened?" and then, a touch nervous, "Why are your eyes closed?"

Jack doesn't reply immediately - he takes a moment, taps his fingers against the side of his arm. When he finally speaks, it's not really an answer.

"Am I... awake?" It's hard to tell on his own, but... he trusts Pete.

"...Just a minute," Pete says, and Jack can feel more than hear that he's moving around. He's back a few moments later, and says in all seriousness, "I don't think either of us are. Or at least I hope we're not.. ...not sure I much care for the alternative."

"Hmm..." Not the answer Jack wanted to hear, but... this still reassures him a little, somehow, to get an honest answer. Definitely Pete. He hesitates for a moment... takes a breath, then opens his eyes again.

(GM: Okay so Jack was in the other room with Henry, and Pete was on the couch in the middle room?)

(Jack: yeah jack with henry, and pete on couch, was what i was imagining.)

He sees Pete standing in front of him... and then again he sees Pete curled up on the couch of the hotel room under some spare blankets. The curtains are still drawn, but even if he can't verify the sky is back to normal, the sounds he heard before of a city celebrating are still just as present when he opens his eyes. The Pete standing in front of him looks unsettled, though there’s a bit of relief on his face when Jack opens his eyes to no ill effect. "Are you alright? I thought I... heard you? Or something?"

Jack glances nervously between the Pete in front of him and the Pete still sleeping. This... shouldn't be a surprise, given how much this had happened to him before, but... seeing it so clearly, and to Pete, is unnerving.

"I... I think so. I was - I think I was back... there. That voice was there. He..." Jack pauses, and shakes his head slightly, to try and... well, wake himself up was the wrong phrase, but. Collect himself.

"Me too," Pete agreed with a grimace, looking to the side...and then right back at Jack. "Wait, which voice?"

"The, uh..." There really isn't a non-alarming way to describe the voice, Jack realises. "The one who was offering to change our faces?"

Well that is the opposite of reassuring. "What? What happened?" Pete immediately asks, reaching out a hand for Jack's shoulder that... yup, passes right through again. Peter sighs in frustration.

Jack stares at his shoulder for a while. He hadn't missed this happening, that was for sure. "I..." He cracks a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, he's still pretty fond of that face changing idea, hah." It's not really an answer to Pete's question.

Despite the fact it sure looks like Jack still has his right face, as did the sleeping, real(?) Jack Pete had ducked through the door to check on earlier, he still can't stop himself from starting to ask, "He didn't..."

Jack shakes his head pretty quickly at that. "Managed to get away from him before anything happened... I think. I think he wanted to just... uh, remove it entirely..." He reaches up to touch his face, just to check. Though, surely Pete would have mentioned if he didn't have a face any more? He shakes his head again - this time more to clear his thoughts - and looks back over to Pete, to check if he's looking relatively normal. "You said you also ended up... back there?"

Jack’s face all feels present and accounted for, thank goodness.

Pete's expression wavers, but settles on relieved at Jack's explanation. To the question he gives a nod. "Yeah... yeah, by the lake, though I got the other one. Seemed agitated, worried I'd... I don't know, turn him in or something? As if I’d be in any hurry to be found by anyone in that place to tell..." he scoffed. "Anyways, he didn't attack me or anything, though I wasn't sure there for a bit."

Jack frowns. "The one I ran into mentioned him... Said he wasn't loyal. He wasn't supposed to let us leave, I think."

Pete crosses his arms. "...Probably not,” he agrees. “Though I don't know if there's much we can do about that... except wish him luck."

Jack nods at that, falling silent for a moment. Then, he sighs. "I was... really hoping this," he gestures between the two of them, "would stop after we got you back..."

Pete nods, huffing in agreement as he falls into one of the chairs - not literally, thankfully... he at least looks more or less like he's sitting in it, even if the chair doesn’t creak or conform to him in any way. Though he still tries not to look at the sofa. "Me too," he answers. "Maybe if we can stop this whole summoning thing..." Though he adds with a shrug, "Though I guess given the choice, this is still head and shoulders above doing this only to see you in danger."

"Hah, yeah... no kidding. But, yeah, here's hoping." Jack walks over to join Pete in sitting down - though, he stops first to test the chairs with his hand. Last time this happened, he couldn't interact with things. He'd rather not fall straight through.

His hand passes through, but leaning over also doesn't make him feel as if he'd overbalance, and he can see Pete slightly overlapping his own chair. He has a stubborn set to his jaw, suggesting he's willfully ignoring this fact.

He shrugs though when he sees Jack testing. "I figured even if I fell through I wasn't sure if I cared at the moment," he admits. "Just... tired of standing up."

"Yeah..." Jack definitely knows that feeling. Though, he isn't sure he wants to trust himself to stay sitting in a chair that he can't interact with. After a moment of thought, he settles for sitting on the floor instead. That, at least, has felt solid enough so far. Maybe not the comfiest position in the world, but, hey.

"...I wonder when we wake up?" Pete wonders, finally squinting at... well, himself, still dead to the world on the sofa, though he shakes his head a moment later. "Every bit I learn, the more I realize I still don't understand any of this..."

"You and me both. I feel like we're not supposed to know any of this... Can't say I'd recommend it to anyone." He laughs a little, softly, then trails off in thought. "...maybe we have to... I don't know. Interact with ourselves, to get back in our bodies? That's how it worked last time, for me. Kind of. But then, the other times, I just... woke up." He sighs, yet again.

Peter nods at that, thoughtful. "In the swamp?" he says. "Good, hopefully that's how it is here, too..." he glances towards the sofa again, and hmms. "...Though you know, if we just stay here, do you suppose it means we can't dream of that place or whatever else? Since... in a sense we're already dreaming... this?" he waves one hand to indicate the room. "Assuming this doesn’t... count as being awake, or isn't just an actual dream to begin with, I suppose."

"Hmm... maybe." He thinks back to his 'dream' from before this. This wasn't so bad, in comparison. "Maybe we could just stay here a little longer... Better than the alternative. Slightly less face-stealing." He glances up at Pete. "Unless you have something to tell me."

Pete tilts his head, looking a bit off balance until he seems to catch Jack's joke. "Not from me," he chuckles with a wave of one hand. “Call me old fashioned, but I like your face very well where it is."

Jack laughs quietly at that, but doesn't say much else. For now, he's happy to just sit with Pete, until they finally wake up again.

(Jack: joey's dream: requiring roll pushing and using luck

(Jack: jack's dream: the boys sit and chill lmao whoops. idk if jacks doing much else now tho unless something else happens)

(Jack: let the boys have little a nice quiet time with slightly less ending up in another world and risking having their faces stolen)

(GM: as a treat..~)

Chapter Text

“You’re just going to make him worry over nothing, he’s got enough to be stressed about right now,” Joey murmured under his breath to someone he didn’t even need to speak out loud to, before continuing to finally get the rest of the blood off his face and hands.

At least he had dressed down for bed before attempting that, gloves being safe and all but… now that he wasn’t focused on this weird stone, there sure was blood on the collar of his shirt. Grouching about that too, he took it off and threw it haphazardly into the trashcan as he walked out, heading to his bag to get a new one before noticing Sammy… sitting on the edge of the bed… doing that look.

I think knowin’ yer hidin’ somethin’ and he doesn’t know what it is’d make him more stressed than just knowin’ you bled a little, Joey, Bendy rambled from inside his head, oblivious. There was a pause that grew suspicious. This is only a little... right? Henry’s information was pretty reliable about that kind of thing, but he seemed to have a bit of a blind spot when it was in terms of himself, so with how things had been for Henry lately, Bendy was taking his current understanding of blood loss with a grain of salt… wait, what had Joey worried now?

“... Sammy?” Joey simply asked, pausing and turning towards him, only a vague nod thought towards Bendy’s words as his focus changed. He took a moment to glance over at the doors and make sure the locks were engaged. He didn’t need anyone walking in and seeing all his carved runes across his body on top of the horns and claws. He cautiously took a step away from the suitcase and closer to the bed.

“You… remember something?”

Sammy stared straight ahead, mumbling frantically under his breath, eyes glassy and distant, hands half cradling his head and pawing weakly at his face.

At Joey’s voice he did not look up, or shift in any way that indicated he might’ve heard him, but the mumbling got a little louder, breathing quick, words coming too fast. “I saw the lake, I saw the shifting city and the change in the sky, I saw the counterfeit ritual and the arm of the False King reach out from the depths—”

“Sammy, Sammy, stop,” Joey quickly interjected. He moved forwards to sit next to Sammy on the side of the bed, not hesitating this time to get into his space and pull him closer.

“... I was hoping this wouldn’t happen. I… guess I know better now though.”

“How can I stop it...?” The musician clutched his head with unsteady breaths, slowly trying to calm. His eyes pressed shut, but he didn’t particularly like the images that came to fill that dark space; he shook his head with a sharp breath and blinked, staring ahead again.

Joey was next to him, leaning close and pulling him closer, and Sammy let it happen.

“...I... remember walking through the muck,” he said, voice softer, more careful, trying to shift to something else. “Carrying Jack felt... familiar...” That moment was harmless; focus on that! But his mind immediately started trying to fill out the details of it, Henry’s wide-eyed expression as he stared out over the lake; the panic in Joey’s eyes as Sammy had impassively taken Jack; the way Joey held his head as they walked; the shadows of giant, winged things he’d spotted in the trees ahead of them—

Sammy curled in on himself, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Joey simply nodded along as he listened, half affirming what Sammy was recalling, half accepting that this was how things were going to be now. “You… remember seeing those creatures…? They attacked not soon after Jack passed out…” He didn’t know if changing the subject to a different terrible subject would work, but it was clear that Sammy didn’t want to be in this space anymore, and frankly, Joey couldn’t blame him.

“This is what I was trying to tell you earlier, but it was because I thought those memories were going to stay partitioned, like they had before, until you were ready to accept them.” He paused, going over those events in his mind as well, his hand sliding a bit more past Sammy’s shoulder to make sure his fingers were pointed away from them again. He knew… it wouldn’t happen now, but the feeling was still there.

“... What else do you remember? Has this been happening slowly… do you remember things from other times that uh… the Prophet showed up?”

“Stop it!” Sammy snapped, eyes finally jerking up to meet Joey’s. “Of course I remember — Angels! Twisted dripping wings and glowing eyes and limbs out of joint— ” The volume of his voice was steadily rising, eyes unnervingly wide, lips pulled back to show all his teeth as he spoke. “—a sickly halo of yellow light — I can’t think of their faces. I don’t want to remember anything else!”

He stared at Joey for a moment more, expression a mix of overwhelmed anger and fear — a fear meant for Joey, as if at any moment he might become one of those horrors himself. Sammy pushed away, off the bed, and immediately began searching through their suitcases in a disorganised haze, clearly looking for something and unable to focus on where it might be.

What's happenin'? the Lurker wondered, uneasy. This reminded him more than a little of that night Joey had been running frantic laps in his own head...and a bit too of fuzzier impressions from further back, just on the edge of memory. Aloud he said, "None'a that stuff's here now though…whatcha lookin' for?" he glanced around, thinking it was perhaps that mask Sammy liked to hold on to.

He’s remembering the things he… Prophet, saw before, when we were out in the swamp. Maybe even all at once… Joey also started to peer around the room, looking for the mask, not quite knowing what else Sammy could be looking for. Maybe banjo, but Joey wasn’t going to make the mistake again of trying to grab that for him. I did what I could to keep him from this, and yet it happened anyways. I’m becoming less and less fond of what feels like a cruel joke that’s still being played on me by the Masked Messenger. That asshole.

Sammy waved his hands vaguely over his face without looking up. "My... mask, I--" He froze mid-gesture. He had absolutely no good reason to want to wear a mask right now. Bendy was right; there was nothing here for him to block. It's not as if it could keep images out of his head! He'd even been wearing the mask before, out by the lake, and just hadn't been using it... he didn't have a full recollection of why, only a sense at the time that these things held no power over him, no sway, that he was entirely anchored in something else... but that felt dangerous to remember too deeply.

Sammy shook his head and dropped his hand, finally breathing at a more normal pace, though he still sounded winded, and stopped to think. He'd packed it. "...right." He dropped to the ground by his banjo case, flipped it open, and dug under folded cloth covered in arcane markings to fish out the scuffed Bendy mask he'd shoved in there, just in case.

Joey found himself not quite keeping in a startled laugh that wasn't his own. I mean, maybe? Bendy thought. That is kinda his MO, but... “Oh, there it is,” Bendy continued aloud, noticing the mask Sammy was now holding. “Had it packed for the shindig?”

And it’s the MO of crazed cultists to murder many people near large bodies of water, apparently, but that doesn’t mean I have to care for it. There’s millions of people on this forsaken planet he can damn well go bother someone else! Joey’s face switched off from a moment of angry glaring once both of them had noticed Sammy had found his mask. Though Joey had also perked up a little when he noticed Sammy in the banjo case, but after only retrieving the mask, well, it made sense. It was 3 in the morning. He just wished the music came before the mask… He liked the music…

Sammy let out a breath that was not quite a laugh, not in sound or expression, just holding the mask in both hands for a moment before turning away and pulling it over his face, adjusting the strap in the back.

"...Your cartoon counterpart hasn't had any adventures in Wonderland, to my knowledge," he said dryly. He looked up, but his eyes were completely shadowed by the mask, and only the slight curl of his lips could be seen under it. "But on the last trip, it helped me focus sometimes. Seeing too much is overwhelming. That's all."

Strange to explain to Bendy. Depending on how you counted it, the Lurker might be the first real thing Sammy had wished he'd never seen.

He slowly closed the case, started to stand, but the thought was still rolling around in his mind. "...You can't see without being seen," he muttered, starting to sound anxious and frantic again, "being watched... what has he locked in our heads? Those who've seen the sign. Is he watching us still, that thing on the lake...?"

Was that what was wrong...? Well, that the Lurker understood. "He's gotta be," he stated, in an uncharacteristically sober tone. "It ain't exactly that, but... I mean it's more like…. Y'know how lookin' at some things changes 'em? Like a reflection? Or like me. But... with some things, it's the other way around…" he rapped lightly on Joey's head, grimacing. "That's this."

Joey wasn’t offering much to the conversations except for a few facial expressions whenever Bendy ended up saying or doing something he found off… despite pretty much handing controls over to him while getting completely distracted musing over how to get the yellow symbol out of people’s minds, there was always a slightly odd ghost limb sensation when he moved in a way he normally wouldn’t. Did Henry get that feeling, too?

Though, he did start mumbling between Bendy’s words after Sammy brought up something that caught his attention. “...without being seen… two way connection…? … could force something back… hrm…”

Sammy listened, expression unreadable behind the smiling mask.

"Then... if we can get it out, we have to," he said softly, tense but decisive.

He noted Joey's comments but didn't pay them much attention... this was the tone of voice the man usually took when he was trying to solve things, when he was convinced he could solve things just because he wanted to, just by focusing hard enough. Another time, Sammy might've taken this as an opportunity to press Joey for details, to make sure he wasn't deciding on his "brilliant" plan without input, but right now...

He didn't know how to describe the feeling. His mind felt raw and exposed, every piece of information too harsh, like too many noises on a bad day. Something was going to explode out of him if the wrong nerve was hit.

He stepped carefully back to the corner, where he'd leaned the banjo against the wall while he was running off with its case, a hand reaching out and brushing gingerly against the neck of the instrument.

“Yeah…” Bendy agreed, shifting a bit in Joey’s form. “I dunno just what it’s for, but...I don’t like how it feels…”

He shook their head a bit, then tilted it at Sammy as he retreated. “Gonna play somethin’?” he wondered, the muted tone shifting to chipper interest; much more his usual. He still found actual music fascinating… even now that he’d learned the basics of how it was written, he still didn’t really understand how it worked, he just knew that it definitely did.

Joey was deep within trying to figure out puzzles his mortal mind just wasn’t built for though immediately snapped his attention up and over to Sammy when Bendy brought up playing something. He didn’t feel optimistic that the answer was yes… But he still wanted it to be.

“Perhaps,” he pronounced carefully. “...I may step out. My banjo can’t be louder than that bleating throng outside,” he added, a slight sardonic tone creeping back into his voice. He tilted his head back to see what he was doing, took his banjo and slid the strap over his shoulder -- months of practice overshooting to not catch on the mask came back immediately -- and turned to walk out the door to the balcony without waiting for feedback on the idea. It had been a statement, not a question.

The change in volume was immediate when the balcony door opened… if Sammy was going to pick one night to play banjo loudly at 3AM without repercussions, he couldn't do much better than downtown New Orleans three hours into the first Mardi Gras day since Prohibition was lifted. The street below was thronged with colorful and jubilant characters, many in elaborate costumes and masks all laughing and chattering and drinking. Among them a handful of scattered musicians were plying their craft on street corners or even in the middle of the crowd, though it was hard to make out what most of them were doing aside from a clarinettist a bit up the street who was playing with the enthusiasm and unabashedness of either the very skilled or the very drunk. In this case, arguably both. Any light sleepers intending to rest at the moment would have a lot more to deal with than just Sammy.

Sammy flinched at the noise. Not at the volume -- he couldn't survive the Music Department if “LOUD” was a problem -- but at the clash of thousands of different sounds, voices, songs, screams, both dissonant and purposeful, all fighting for his attention and focus. Heading down to the lobby might have been a better choice... but there would be no quiet sanctuary to be found there, either, and that would be all talking and yelling and drinking, shoes and furniture scraping the floor -- at least there was something above the crowd to hear out in the open air. And for once, he needed a distraction.

Head lowered, not looking past the railing of the balcony, he stepped outside, hovering near one of the chairs without sitting down.

Joey had opened his mouth as the other moved towards the balcony door, but ended up not actually speaking up. Part of him wanted to get this over with, perhaps before Sammy had a chance to calm down just so the effort doing that wasn’t wasted. But… it had been made clear that this wasn’t the time. So instead he went to find that shirt he had forgone earlier in failed attempts at comforting his boyfriend, donned his hat and gloves, grabbed a pair of the yellow glasses, and picked up the journal they had stolen from the warehouse before heading out to join Sammy, taking the second chair available.

Joey wasn’t planning on looking about and instantly stuck his face in the book to prevent such a thing from happening, but occasionally would still peek up to glance at Sammy, or what he could see of Sammy’s face around the mask.

Sammy did his best to ignore Joey, no visible reaction as the man took a seat, and did not join him; just leaned back against the railing and tilted his head, listening, a sort of displeased snarl showing faintly under the mask, trying to find something to focus on over the cacophony. Though his lips tugged into a little smirk as he picked out the ambitious clarinet soloist, a weird combination of slapdash and extremely adept.

He slid his pick out of his pocket and answered it. Not loudly at first; not necessarily to be heard, or join in; but it was something to bounce off of, something fun to play with.

It wasn’t a song he recognized, unless maybe it was a vague riff on I got Rhythm. Whatever the case it was refreshingly normal compared to the other ‘new music’ he’d encountered lately - up tempo and unrepentantly major.

Joey was content to sit in the song for a while as he re-read over the spells for changing the Slick Stone to a new alignment. There was occasionally a shiver as winds blew by, as he hadn’t thought to grab a coat before coming outside, but was too stubborn to leave his seat now that he’d taken it. Joey only spoke up when there was finally a break in playing, whether it was to re-position or take a rest.

“There’s things I didn’t talk about before because I thought, out of all the trouble we’ve had, this was the one opportunity I had to keep you from… all of this. But now that it’s not the case, I am giving you the choice on whether or not you want to hear the full story.” He casually turned to the next page, skimming over it before flipping back to the front of the section again to start over. His tone wasn’t the normal sing-song voice he took, nor was it the more aggressive commands he gave, but instead just simply tired. Very, very tired.

“I did tell you everything… the other you did, but not everything that happened around you.”

Bendy noticed Joey’s discomfort after a while, and absently formed an insulating layer under his shirt to ward off the temperature while they listened to Sammy play. …Jeez, all this close insight into humans just made him realize he hadn’t even scratched the surface on ways they could end up harmed before.

He had known about how their minds could warp… even if the specifics were lost, he still knew deep in his being how he’d helped the Masked Messenger do it time and again. He just….didn’t really understand it, wasn’t good at recognizing it… or at least he hadn’t been?

But...maybe, when he felt how real Joey’s fears seemed that the others would vanish or that claws would happen even when nothing was wrong, he could understand some. Maybe, seeing Sammy curled inwards around his banjo like it was the only thing keeping him warm, wearing the mask he’d brought back from the Star Pools after ranting about gods and angels that weren’t even here, he could recognize it a little bit.

He couldn’t say the change was reassuring.

Sammy could keep up with improv, no problem. And, really, it was just the sort of distraction he'd hoped for, his full attention turned to predicting the other musician's next move and playing off it. Banjo often took a background role, percussion and chords that could be heard over the soloist to keep the whole song steady, but it didn't have to...!

He didn't pause until his unwitting duet partner went quiet for a bit, and he let his hands rest. Chanced pushing the mask up a little bit to light a cigarette, eyes still firmly on the balcony's floor and the door to the hotel and not the streets behind him.

That was, of course, when Joey chose to speak up. Sammy narrowed his eyes, though nobody could see them, and turned the unmoving mask to face Joey with a long exhale of smoke. He couldn't see the man's face, but he could see his legs stretched out, his hand flipping idly through the pages of the notebook he held.

"...Damage control," Sammy sneered. Joey could've given him this choice before, but just happened to wait until there was a risk of Sammy actually remembering the bits he'd left out. Convenient. "Sure."

“Of course,” Joey replied, not bothered in the slightest by such a phrase. “Before I thought there was no damage to need control from, I thought we had dodged a bullet. What did you say, carrying Jack? Set it off? Who knows what else could have triggered it. I informed you of what you wanted to know, and left the rest out because I was trying to avoid… Well, what happened before. Everything you yelled at me before for getting you into, I do listen you know.” The answer was for both sides of his conversation.

But he didn’t pause now that he made his clearly valid points. “That winged creature, there’s two of them. Or, there were two. One’s still out there flying around… it’s flown into the city a few times, but I don’t think it’s going to show up here.” At least they’d probably be harder to grab from the balcony. Too much railing and tiles in the way. “While we were trapped in the huts, I ended up killing the other through a slot in the door… right through its head. It worked. We got out. I thought that was fine. It wasn’t.” His hands were tense around the book now, but he was able to swallow, relax, and continue.

“Also, while all that ritual stuff was going on to summon whatever you were rambling about out of the lake… I had given The Prophet some of my ink. For reasons I already explained.”

This is when Joey stopped talking, finger tapping the corner of the journal in almost a metronome like beat, waiting for… something to happen.

"It was at the warehouse..." Sammy interjected quietly, when Joey mentioned the angels again, "on the roof, I saw it--" but fell quiet when Joey continued.

He stared straight at him as the man talked. There was no nodding, no reaction, no change of expression under the mask to indicate he was listening or acknowledge what Joey said, though his attention was clearly fixed on him.

Well. There it was. It fit some dim, fogged memory, more emotion than information -- the confused feeling of needing to rethink everything when someone cares for you unexpectedly, the same feeling that he recalled when Henry had reached out to help him(?) in the swamp. How perverse, to have that feeling try to bubble up again at a betrayal.

Of course Joey had reasons. He was helping, protecting! Sure, of course. All for the greater good. He might believe it, even, but the truth was that Sammy, without the Ink, was a liability Joey couldn't afford.

For a long moment Joey waited, tapping his finger steadily, and Sammy realised he expected a reaction.

"...What a surprise," he said smoothly, not sounding surprised at all. He took a drag of his cigarette and leaned his elbows back on the railing, smoke drifting from his hand and from under the mask. "4 years ago you drag me into this mess without warning, it drives me half out of my mind, and your solution now is to keep all the details to yourself, to spare me?" He threw his arms up in mock excitement. "Fantastic! The exact same thing that got me into this mess in the first place! I'm in it, Joey," he hissed, "you can't bring me along and keep me out of it. I'm in it as long as the Ink exists, whether I like it or not."

Bendy still wasn’t sure how to sort out what was happening. Joey had been right that... the side of Sammy the Lurker had first met had been manipulated by the Masked Messenger, and therefore what Sammy wanted like that probably should come after what he wanted like this. And this Sammy clearly didn’t like Joey keeping things back. He’d made that clear loudly and repeatedly.

...But then again, just a minute ago he’d snapped at Joey to stop talking, saying he didn’t want to remember anything else.

So which was right?

“Yes, I know that,” Joey growled, fingers doing one more tap along the edge of the journal before snapping it closed. He could feel something stirring in the back of his head, but that just meant he had more control over this moment. Just as quickly as Sammy had snapped, Joey had popped up onto his feet, ignoring the twinge of pain that soared through his nerves in doing so. His voice was deeper, a tone he only took when he found something to be extremely wrong. It was a voice that exceeded his usual ‘boss’ tone and, if you listened closely, had a hint of waver in the back as he spoke too quickly to filter everything into a script.

“You think I’m not aware of how caught up in this you are? I’ve been doing everything I can ever since the first incident to fix this, and I thought I finally had a chance to get something under control.” Joey had walked up to Sammy, not completely cutting off his path, but doing his best to corner him while he fumed. He wanted to be close. He wanted Sammy to know he was there, to feel him near even if he couldn’t see him. He didn’t have a reason why. He wasn’t looking for one.

The Lurker thought about his own absent memories. He had a sense he’d never bothered about them at the Star Pools...he hadn’t needed to know what’d happened before to do whatever was expected of him now. They’d happened whether he remembered or not, and that was that.

But...well. Now that no one was telling him what to do all the time, he’d realized along the way that meant the person placing the most expectations on him currently was...kinda himself. He was making all his own decisions. And he’d wondered sometimes if remembering more would help him do that better.

But weirdly, it also made the thought of remembering those old iterations...unappealing. What if he remembered someone else trying to help him before? What if he’d killed them? What if he remembered doing all this before, and it ended badly? Or something else really big that changed the parts of his life he’d come to care about kinda a lot now? More than he’d ever known he could have... huh. Maybe more than he literally could have, before Henry and Joey had given him a form and a name and whatever had come along with it.

...Thinking about what he didn’t remember had never used to bother him...back when he wasn’t the one responsible for what he did now.

Maybe both the things Sammy said were right?

That clarinet had started up again while Joey talked, just barely floating over the various screaming and yelling and singing and talking that filled the street. But Sammy wasn't focusing on the clarinet, and he wasn't playing, so Joey's low, rough voice was in competition, now, with the voices and the clarinet and a trumpet that had gone out of tune and the honking of a car somewhere and--

Joey stepped up close, right in his face -- Sammy would've flinched without the mask on; the memory of Ink dripping down over a shuddering too-wide smile that distorted Joey's whole face had come back unsettlingly vivid. As it was, he only stared in the direction of Joey's voice through the mask, though the effort of pulling his words out of the noise ratcheted up a rapidly building pressure behind his eyes. He was going to strangle someone, and there was a very tempting candidate right here!

God, this idiot. Did he want an award, just for wanting things to go right? His fingers twitched, curled angrily over the banjo that blocked Joey from him. Points for his good intentions?

“I came down here to fix Bendy, but I also came down here to fix your issues too. But when I brought you to Haiti I never planned for any of that to happen, you were supposed to--” Joey’s eyes flickered down to the floor from Sammy’s mask. The noise around them made it just as easy to forget that, in a way, they were out in public, as it could easily become a stream of white noise in the background to be ignored. It was a good enough excuse as any to stop the sentence there though. Joey opened his mouth to continue his rant, but it wasn’t his words that came out.

“You don’t want those memories,” Bendy interjected, in the voice of one working things out as he went, “Because they scare the socks off you and it’s hard to stop thinkin’ about ‘em... but also they happened, and they’re real tied up in all this... so if you don’t know ‘em, you won’t be as prepared as you might need t’be t’make decisions for the rest of this, so... you should be the one decidin’ which ones are worth knowin’ about or not, even if that means havin’ to know about all of it… is that it?”

Sammy's hands froze, half-way to grabbing Joey's shirt by the collar, when the voice changed abruptly... to Bendy's, quietly trying to understand. Sammy huffed, suddenly frustrated and unsure. The argument he wanted to have with Joey felt private, but the combined pressure of the noise and Joey’s nonsense was going to spill out onto Bendy at any moment.

"Something like that," Sammy snapped, his tensed voice barely carrying over the crowds. He flicked the cigarette to the floor of the balcony and cradled his banjo up close to his chest with one arm, so that the other could grab the body in front of him and physically shove it aside. "Get out of my way."

And he stormed past, back into the room.

There was a slight resistance before Joey stepped back and let Sammy pass, not enough to feel like he was arguing with Sammy on this, but more to show that he made the decision to back off instead. Joey was silent for a moment as he watched after Sammy.

“Your previous employer can bite my ass,” Joey grumbled under his breath, glancing down at the cigarette and putting it out with his shoe before walking back inside. He didn’t need to risk himself out here any more, as much as he’d wish to somehow give Sammy a moment of privacy. But privacy wasn’t an option for anyone as long as they were down here.

Joey took care in closing all the curtains before removing his hat, gloves and shoes, setting the journal down on the desk and heading towards the bed. His mind was split in two places, one side trying to dig back into everything he knew about the occult and solve problems he didn’t even have questions for yet, and the other side simply boiling his own blood in disapproval of the Masked Messenger. That asshole is the one that left Joey in this catch 22 position, where there apparently was no correct answer to make his boyfriend happy, and scrambling every which way to protect his friends. While he was feeling confident that he would make the eldritch god pay somehow, in reality Joey was just spinning his own gears over nothing as he climbed into his side of the bed and glared at the ceiling.

Sammy didn’t wait for Joey before slamming the door behind him, muting the noise as soon as humanly possible, though the other man followed him inside soon after. The banjo was carefully placed back in its out-of-the-way corner.

“Sorry,” he whispered bitterly. “That’s all for now.”

Joey eventually settled, and Sammy switched the lights off and sat on his side of the bed, not lying down yet. One hand tapped fingers idly, slowly, against his knee; the other propped on his elbow to run fingers over the edge of his mask.

As Joey fumed the Lurker poked his mind enough to figure out what a Catch 22 was, and then sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was the amount of information shared that was the issue so much as who was making the decision about it, but...well, now Joey had moved on to something that sounded suspiciously like intent to revenge himself on the Masked Messenger. The Lurker found his attention tugged to the journal now set on the desk with a sinking feeling. What exactly was Joey on about? He started to say something… But then Sammy spoke up, sounding…. Well, something complicated.

Joey could probably keep for a little bit.

"Of the music, or the rememberin'..?" Bendy asked, propping them up on one of Joey’s elbows so he could actually see Sammy.

Joey did sort of blink out of his thought spiral when Sammy turned off the lights, but by the time he managed to rejoin reality, Bendy had already taken back the moment for his own questions. As much as Joey enjoyed getting to show Bendy things though this spell, his own mind had been taking quite a toll on sharing the space for so long… he could understand and step back for Bendy to get to have a body for a little bit, something he’s been deprived of for just as long as Joey’s been without personal space.

"What?" Sammy looked up, expression still hidden by the mask, but his voice sounded genuinely confused by the question. "...oh," he realised, a moment later. "Music. I was talking to the banjo." A long pause. Bendy's question earlier had been cut short by noise and Joey, and he could probably use a better answer now that everything wasn't screaming in his ears. "...I'm not sure about the remembering."

Sammy pulled the mask off carefully and held it, face down, in both hands, not turning to look at the person behind him -- he didn't really like Bendy using Joey's face, from either direction.

"Both options scare me," he said simply. He could be direct; the Lurker's questions were often more reasonable than most humans', all things considered. And here, he was already more-or-less right; a choice between the damage of remembering, and the damage of not remembering... a choice between being safe or being useful. Sammy let out a frustrated sigh and set the mask aside, pulled himself into bed and lay down, with only a little wince from the slight soreness of bruises that hadn't quite faded.

Joey instinctually started to move towards Sammy for just a moment before remembering that he told himself he was going to… share. Also he can realize the oddness of them swapping constantly.

It wasn't hard to scoot forward for that moment; Bendy's default was to fall back when Joey tried to act, belying the amount of mental strength the Lurker was capable of bringing to bear. ...Or that he usually was. Perhaps that capability had been eroding since they got here.

Whatever the case as Joey fell back, Bendy tentatively nodded, even though Sammy was pointedly looking away. "Yeah… I mean we're up against a lot, and this Yellow King don't bother tryin' to get ya to agree before he messes with ya like the Messenger likes to. I can't blame ya for not wantin’ to dig at that."

He still wasn't exactly easy about wading back into the situation they were facing himself. Even if he hadn't heard the Host in his mind the way he used to, it didn't make much difference if he was close enough to hear anyways…

He shook the thought off, stopping himself from raising a hand to his head. They had the circle… he had people watching his back, and he was going to do the same for them.

"But...um. If you do? Remember somethin’, I mean? And ya and end up with somethin' else scary again, well…" he reached out and patted Sammy's arm in that slightly too deliberate way he had. "Whatever it is probably won’t be here. But, uh, even if it is...we will be too."

Sammy didn’t turn to face him, but reached over and caught that hand in his own; Bendy’s motion had felt so familiar that finding Joey’s clawed hand in his was still a bit jarring. But he wrapped his long fingers around the other’s hand nonetheless, and nodded quietly at the ceiling. And then that was all, hand withdrawn, and Sammy stretched his arm up to cover his eyes and tried to think about music.

As Bendy pulled the hand back as well as stepped back himself, there was a hesitation in movement as Joey took up control again. And very carefully, he moved to wrap his arms around Sammy. There was a hesitance, but not like before where he was fighting some fear to pull back, no this time it was a carefulness towards Sammy. Making sure not to agitate his wounds, or close off a route of escape if this was too much. Joey wasn’t quite sure if he knew what Sammy wanted from him anymore. He just knew, in this moment, this was all he had to give. Silently, he wished he had more.

Sammy huffed an irritated sigh, but let it happen. Of course, when it felt as though anything could just waltz into his mind and start flipping switches, the concept of someone to hold him and reassure him that he was safe was as appealing as it was unlikely. Instead he had Joey, who would certainly do those things, who would recklessly promise Sammy whatever might keep him close, who would inevitably fall through, inevitably overstep, inevitably miss the point. Sammy reached an arm around him to pull him closer, maybe a little too aggressively, and leaned his head into the other man’s chest. Joey needed to back off. Joey was on thin ice.

But right now, he was enough.

Curled up in the back of Joey’s mind again, Bendy agreed with the general sentiment of Joey’s worries, even if he wasn’t too sure about some of the thoughts leading up to them. Which, actually, that reminded him… Say, Joey? ...What was that you were thinkin’ about the Messenger earlier?

For a moment, there was nothing in response. Joey had instantly relaxed in Sammy’s grasp, and while nothing changed on the outside, inside his mind slowed to a crawl, focused on a single thing. For a moment, everything in the world was revolving around a rhythm composed of Sammy’s heartbeat and breathing. And he focused on that for a little while longer, almost obsessively, before finally starting to think about the question he was asked. Eventually, an answer came.

That he better mind his place.

There was a little startled laugh in Joey’s thoughts, though it also sparked a flare of concern. Joey...you weren’t serious about stealin’ the stone, were ya? From the weight of how it’s asked, it’s pretty clear he’s not just talking about recovering it physically.

Joey made a low short hum, as his arms secured Sammy just a little more snug against him, and he nuzzled his face into that long, messy hair. It was a noise of comfort, but one rarely heard by others, as it only happened when he was near falling asleep.

It’s not stealing if it was given to me, he thought, slowly and faded, but deep within there was still a sharpness to his internal tone, and at this point, he has no right to get it back.

That definitely wasn’t a no, and the Lurker gave Joey a mental nudge. I’ve been lookin’ at that spell too, and...that ain’t the kinda bond meant for a human. Even if you managed to pull somethin’ like that off, ya gotta know it’d be hard on you. ...Real hard.

It can’t be worse than what the Messenger has tried to do. Has done.

Joey’s eyes fluttered open and stared into the pitch blackness of the room, almost attempting to look beyond it.

No more.

The Lurker heaved a mental sigh, but didn’t want to start another argument, not when all of them badly needed some sleep; it was just as well the Ink was in Jack and Henry’s safe tonight.

So instead of arguing he backed off to give Joey what space he could, leaving only the slightly glib reminder, I’m supposed to protect you.

A breathless laugh managed to bubble up as Joey closed his eyes again.

You were supposed to stay at the Star Pools. You were supposed to have us sacrificed. You were supposed to live on as… whatever small piece in the Messenger’s game you had been assigned as. But it was your choice to follow a want for more. You’re not supposed to do anything now; but you can choose who you wish to protect and nobody can take that away from you.

There wasn’t much space left between the two without compacting on Sammy’s injuries, so Joey simply pressed his lips to the top of his head, not quite finishing out the action though. Just staying there.

And I choose to protect what is mine. And nobody can take that away from me.

Nobody.

Chapter Text

While Joey continued to hold his composure until the truck had driven off into the night, he immediately had a hand resting on Jack’s shoulder once the coast was clear. To many, this may seem like a normal friendly gesture of sorts, but the lyricist could easily feel Joey’s weight pressing on him, not intentionally, but out of need for support.

The walk upstairs and to the room left him more winded. After bidding Bendy good night and leaving him to privacy, for once in a few weeks, with sketchbooks and blanket piles, Joey then wordlessly requested Jack’s assistance to his own room and bed. Or tried at least, at this point he was just heavily leaning on the shorter fellow, looking longingly towards his door, unable to swallow his pride in order to properly ask for help.

Well, if there was one thing Jack had practice at, it was helping out people who weren’t saying outright what they wanted. Not that he could blame Joey for needing the help - the man clearly wasn’t doing well after the stunt he’d pulled earlier. So, he was happy to lend his support, letting the other man lean against him as he headed towards the room.

He waited ‘til they’d gotten in and closed the door before he spoke up, not wanting Bendy to overhear. Presumably, the man didn’t want anyone knowing about this.

“You, uh... gonna be alright?” He wasn’t sure if Joey would be honest about this or not, but might as well give the man a chance to ask outright. He had a hunch the man might not, but then, he didn’t know him like he knew Sammy.

“Of course I will be alright,” Joey started off with, which normally would be seen as a clear lie in his condition, though was more of a genuine answer when he followed it up with, “I have to be, after all.” As they made it over to the bed, he started to feel heavier and heavier on Jack’s side, and when he finally sat down did so in a much less controlled manner than he had shown all trip. There was a moment of Joey staring down at his shoes, as if debating if he wanted to take them off or not, before he just layed back on the bed horizontally and started trying to weakly kick them off instead.

“... I don’t think I’m actively dying or anything as bad as… Henry, right now… but I don’t feel great,” he finally admitted in a low mumble.

Jack simply nodded at that, relieved that Joey wasn’t trying to brush this off, at least. Without thinking, he reached down to help pull Joey's shoes off him, then sat down on the bed next to Joey - with the night they'd had, he didn't want to be stood any longer than he needed to.

"Anything I can help with?" Not that he was able to help with first aid here. Mundane medicine didn't seem like it was particularly helpful for supernatural exhaustion. No harm in offering help, though - he could probably help out in smaller ways.

Joey stayed silent for a bit, one arm lazily covering his brow, but finally opened his eyes and glanced around Jack to the other side of the room, where the desk full of notes and books and scraps of previous nights’ study lay. Along with a water pitcher.

“Is there… any water left?” Joey asked, while starting to half-heartedly fumble with the buttons on his fancy costume shirt. He didn’t want to be in these stupid clothes anymore.

Jack followed Joey's gaze over to the desk.

"Mmh... not sure. I'll check." He stood up again, his back popping as he stretched out again. He wasn't in the best of shape even normally. No doubt his body would be protesting all this tomorrow. A quick trip across the room later and the water pitcher was retrieved, along with a freshly filled cup - the former left on the bedside table to be closer, and the latter offered to Joey. Though… While he'd been distracted before, Jack now noticed the slow attempts to undress now happening.

"I, uh, should probably get changed out of this costume myself, too. Give you some privacy?" He glanced towards the door, not wanting to end up staring.

Joey had managed to sit up, shirt half unbuttoned by now, for the glass of water and chugged it completely without hesitation. Beyond all the other damage done to his body, he hadn’t actually eaten or drank anything in quite some time, and the dehydration probably wasn’t helping anything else going on with him right now either.

His throat did tighten though when Jack mentioned leaving the room, causing him to cough the last sip of water down and fumble to put the glass on the bedside stand without looking completely distraught.

“Of, yeah, of course…” Joey mumbled, his voice switching from that more genuine tone to something sounding a bit more… proper? “These things sure are stuffy, huh? Of course…”

Joey did not sound confident in his replies.

It didn't need a lot of practice interpreting Joey Drew to notice that change in tone. It... made sense though, given the circumstances, Jack assumed.. Maybe the man was embarrassed. Couldn’t blame him. Jack tugged at his sleeves a little.

"Will you be good on your own? I'll only take a few minutes, so I can head back after if you still need me." Not wanting to bother Joey much longer, he turned to the door to leave.

Joey nodded, and managed to keep to himself up until he heard the click of the doorknob. And then there was a fumbling noise as he tried to get up off the bed far too quickly to chase after Jack, tripping over his own feet, as well as his shoes that he hadn’t noticed had been taken off, and landing on his knees and hands with a curse under his breath.

Though when Jack turned to look at him, instead of recognizing what had just happened, Joey simply gave a lopsided smile and said, “You don’t… have to give me privacy… if you don’t want to, of course…” A moment later his brain caught up to what he was saying, “Though I can understand if you have other matters to attend to, just, you’re welcome to stay… In here.”

Joey swallowed.

Jack startled at the noise behind him and swung around, his hand still gripping the doorknob - even tighter than before, even. Though, his panicked expression subsided as he realised that the noise was just Joey... and quickly swapped to confused staring, his cheeks slightly red.

"I, uh..." he trailed off. Blinked. "You okay?" He reluctantly let go of the door, moving back into the room to crouch beside Joey on the floor.

There was a bit of hesitation… Joey wasn’t used to this, he hadn’t had much time to get to know Jack before the trip, and he never wanted to let people know about his weaknesses, especially not now. But… Sammy trusted Jack. He cared about Jack. And Jack had been nothing but kind, and helpful, and funny… and Joey had spent all evening trying to save him, right?

What was originally a line of thought to simply accept the help getting up off the floor quickly became a rolling snowball in Joey’s brain, and as he looked up to see Jack close, moved forwards to wrap his arms around his shoulders, leaning heavy into a hug that was only being given so far.

“... I don’t want to be alone.” His hug tightened a bit. “Stay in here… just for tonight at least…” It was said more like a plea, though that’s where Joey left his request.

Ah, well that explained things. Jack could understand that, after the time they'd had... He couldn’t blame the man for-

Jack tensed up as Joey finished his sentence - a completely reasonable request, by all means, but something about it set his entire mind on edge, fighting a presence that wasn't there any longer. He'd forgotten about this, in all the mess of sorting things out, but now that it was relevant again it became all too present, the need to refuse, to pull back, to not let himself be controlled again-

But, nothing happened. It was just him and Joey, the muffled sounds of celebrations still outside. No pull to do what he was told. He took a shaky breath, hoping that Joey hadn’t noticed his reaction - he had enough of his own issues, it seemed like - and carefully returned the hug. His own choice, nobody else’s.

“Can do. Just… let me get my pajamas, first? I won’t be long.” He drummed his fingers against Joey’s back as he waited for a response. The contact was grounding, in its own way.

Joey nodded, also understanding this completely reasonable request, but then hesitating to let go. When he finally did, his mouth was slightly open, like he had been planning on saying something but the words just wouldn’t come out. Instead, he closed his jaw and simply nodded again, waiting for Jack to head out before addressing his own struggle to get up off his knees.

Hopefully Joey’s mind would be too full of belittlement of himself for showing such weakness and vulnerability that he wouldn’t have such a desperate reaction when Jack tried to leave again.

Jack nodded back at the man, pulled away, and stood up again. His body really was protesting all of this continued movement, but maybe he could sit down again once everything was sorted out better. Good to get comfortable now rather than putting it off for when he was more tired.

“I’ll be right back then,” he said, as he headed out through the door - but he paused just before closing it behind him. Should he close it? Maybe not. If Joey was worried, being able to see might help a little. He left it open behind him as he headed over to the other room, and his things - giving a small wave to Bendy as he passed the toon. Toon? He’d stick with toon for now.

It didn’t take long to find his pajamas, though he didn’t get changed just yet. He had said he’d be right back… And with how nervous Joey had seemed before, he wanted to get back as soon as he could. With his condition, it seemed pretty likely that the man might need his help to get changed, too, so, well, might as well make it even. Joey didn’t seem the type to judge, at least.

With his things gathered - he picked up a spare notebook while he was there - he headed back into Joey’s room, pulling the door closed again behind him as he did.

Joey did start to move to chase after Jack as the door started to close, though managed to control himself when he noticed Jack leaving it open. On purpose? … He must be acting terribly then, but at this point… Joey was almost too tired to care.

After a bit of struggling Joey did manage to pull himself up off the floor and moved over to open the door a little wider, so he could look through it while he went back to sitting on the bed. For a moment, he watched Jack, intensely, almost daring the man to disappear one of the times he ducked around a corner that wasn’t viewable through this passage, or waiting for Jack to go back on his words… But soon the lyrist was on his way back, a few things in hand.

Joey finally looked down at his half unbuttoned shirt. He hadn’t even removed the coat on top of it yet. He didn’t remember when he took his shoes off. He had no idea where his pajamas were. Maybe they’d just appear on him? Joey stood up and turned towards the bed and closed his eyes, waiting for the magical twirl to switch his outfit around… and peeking one eye open when Jack closed the door.

He was still in the stupid costume.

Joey sighed and started fumbling at the buttons again, leaning back against the wall as he thought about firing the effects department, looking partially unbalanced.

Jack put down his things for now and turned his attention to Joey again. The man was standing by himself, which was a bit of an improvement, though he did look like he might fall over at any moment.

"You good there?" he asked, stepping closer to the man. "You need help with, uh..." He trailed off, and gestured vaguely at him with one hand to finish the sentence, too tired to fill in the blanks.

Only as Jack questioned him once again did Joey start to come to terms how difficult it was to undo buttons with claws. This was a lot easier to manage when Bendy was with him, perhaps because they weren't his claws at that point? Or maybe simply because Bendy knew better how to make them work…

But saying he needed help was… just as difficult. So instead Joey simply pushed himself up off the wall and walked over in front of Jack, eyes fixed to a point down and to the left of the other man. He waited until Jack started assisting him with his clothes to speak up, wishing to change the subject of their chatter to anything else than how poorly he was doing.

“... You and Sammy have… known each other for a long time?” Joey’s tail wrapped gently around his own ankle as he waited for a response, eyes occasionally glancing over to Jack but immediately finding somewhere else in the room the moment he saw Jack looking at his face.

Jack was glad for the distraction as he helped the man change. He took the moment to check over any injuries the man had as he responded.

"Yeah, we've been working together for... ehh, I don't remember how long. A while." He frowned as he noticed the scars on Joey's chest. They seemed old, though maybe a little irritated right now... Something occult from the looks of things. He traced one of them gently, the scars on his own hands almost matching - then stopped, realising what he was doing, and got back to getting Joey dressed.

He didn't mention the scars, opting instead to continue talking about his work with Sammy - past jobs, anything somewhat interesting that he could remember off the top of his head.

Joey tried to focus on the tales Jack was telling of his past years with Sammy. They were good stories, Jack was good at this… But it couldn’t completely keep his mind off the fact of how pathetic he must look, as he hung onto the back of a chair to simply lift a foot off the ground without falling over in the process. Though while Jack was kneeling down, he did get distracted as he noticed the other was still in costume, complete with bunny tail… When did Jack find that? He didn’t remember bringing it to him earlier… It was… cute.

Joey’s proper attention was recaptured as he felt fingertips trace over the scars on his chest, looking down to watch Jack do so. Joey hadn’t even realized where Jack managed to find his pajamas, but they had probably been on a chair or something. He wasn’t quite sure why Jack had… done that, but… it felt nice. He reached down and grabbed Jack’s hand with his own to stop him from buttoning up the rest of the night shirt, then let go as he turned to make his way back to the bed, tail slowly swaying behind him.

“You two are very close then… you trust each other?” Joey asked, crawling into bed and half laying down against the backboard, watching Jack with no notice that he might want some privacy while changing himself.

"I'd say so. Can't speak for Sam, but," Jack moved over to where he'd put his own pajamas down, "We've been working together long enough that it'd be hard not to."

He began to change, managing to make it to unbuttoning his shirt before making the mistake of glancing Joey's way and seeing the man watching him. He fumbled a button. Second time was the charm, and he finally managed to shrug the shirt off, avoiding looking in Joey's direction as he did.

Joey probably wouldn't act strangely about him, he knew - especially with how close the man was to Sammy. But, still... It had been a while since he'd let anyone see his scars. He couldn't help feeling at least a little nervous.

Joey’s staring did not waiver as Jack fumbled, either not recognizing it as such or just not caring. His eyes did widen slightly as he saw the scars though, squinting for a moment until he confirmed they were older ones, and not magically induced or recent… though he was still curious of them.

Joey was going to ask something else about Jack’s relationship with Sammy, and was still planning to, but when he opened his mouth that curiosity got the best of him, and instead he inquired, “... those scars are unique, and look rather healed. How did you end up with those?”

Jack froze, briefly, before continuing to get dressed, slowly doing up the buttons on his pajama shirt, looking away from Joey. He wasn't sure how best to explain - he didn't exactly know how much detail Sammy had gone into with Joey about this kind of thing. He decided to keep things simpler. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for anything in depth, anyway.

"I, ah, had some surgery a while back. My body didn't... match me. One of the few things me and Sam have in common, apparently." He let out a small laugh, partially from nerves. "It didn't come cheap but... it was worth it."

Now that his shirt was finally buttoned, he moved onto pants - though, he stopped for a moment, confused, as he rediscovered the tail he had clipped to his outfit. He'd... honestly forgotten about that, in all of the... everything. It was a shame that he hadn't had time to enjoy the outfit before everything went sour.

Joey continued to watch Jack, but his eyes were no longer focused on the man as he tried to put the pieces together in his head. It wasn't until he started thinking back to his first conversations, when he was asking Sammy why he wore the binder if it caused him so much harm, that it finally clicked.

"That's… how you knew, then? Back when you were checking on Sammy's bruises… Sammy said he hadn't told you, and I thought I had said something without noticing it..." Normally he wouldn’t admit to such things, but right now Joey was intrigued by Jack, and by how much had slipped his notice before. If he was going to have Jack as part of his family, he wanted to know everything about him. "That's… I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yeah, I, ah… forgot that hadn’t been mentioned, honestly.” Jack laughed a little under his breath. Enough other nonsense had been happening at the time that it’d entirely slipped his mind that Sammy didn’t know that about him.

He focused his attention back on himself as he changed his trousers, avoiding Joey’s gaze - still honestly a little embarrassed to have the man watching him like this. At least the conversation was distracting. Joey seemed more focused on his chest than anything else.

“It’s not exactly common… Hard to find people willing to do something that major but, there are some folks willing if you know where to look. It took a while to recover from, but… I’m glad I went through with it.” He finished pulling on his trousers, and turned back to the other man - still blushing slightly from the attention, but glad to be in comfier clothes now, at least.

“You saw where you needed to be and made it happen; that’s very respectable,” Joey hummed, as he leaned forwards a bit and offered a hand out at Jack, inviting him into the bed with him, though the way he was doing it almost seemed like he was inviting Jack to dance; if not for the fact he was half horizontal already, that is.

“It’s… unfortunate the way things have turned out, but I’ve been very glad that you have been here… There’s a lot more to you that meets the eye, and I’m glad I’ve been able to see more of that on this trip.”

“Hah… that’s one way to put it.” Jack laughed again, pushing back the embarrassment in his mind to take Joey’s hand and join him on the bed. If his presence could help Joey, he was glad to try… And admittedly, the physical contact was reassuring to him too.

“It’s a shame this trip couldn’t be easier, but I’m happy I could help out, at least.”

"You've been an indispensable member of my team," Joey said with a smile, and without hesitation, proceeded to wrap his arms around Jack and pull him into a rather normal for Joey full body cuddle, laying them both down in the process. It wasn't the strongest of grips, and Jack could easily break away if he didn't want to be in it, but it was very obvious very quickly that Joey was clinging to him. Even the tail did a loose loop around one of Jack's ankles.

Jack froze as he was pulled into the hug, somehow not expecting that… but quickly relaxed into it. It didn’t help that he was so tired, either - finally laying down, with comfy clothes, no danger, and physical contact… It was well needed, even if this wasn’t how he’d expected this night to turn out.

After a moment, he returned the hug, too - gently, so as to not accidentally hurt Joey while the man was as weak as he was. This was… nice. Part of him was trying to not get too comfortable with this - Joey was just a naturally physical person, and this was likely just because of the time they’d had tonight. But… for now, he leant his head against Joey’s chest and let himself enjoy this, if only for a short while.

Joey cuddled like that for a little while before finally pulling away for a moment just to turn off the lights. When he returned to Jack, he placed one of his hands on the other’s chest, very near to where he remembered seeing the scars.

“Do they… still hurt?” Joey murmured, sounding extremely tired now, apparently those few minutes of closed eyes getting to him a lot quicker than he expected.

Joey pulling away came all too soon, but Jack let the man move away to turn off the light. Finally getting to lay down was getting to him, and he could feel himself starting to drift towards sleep. Part of him didn't want to sleep, with all the dreams they'd had, but... Maybe now that everything was sorted out, it'd be less worrying.

Jack hadn't been expecting the hand on his chest, though he made no move to pull away from Joey's touch.

"Hmmhh... Not any more. Or maybe I just can't tell by now? Hah," he smiled to himself. "They don't tend to bother me too much now."

“Oh,” Joey simply hummed, his hand spreading over Jack’s chest, a clawed finger tracing along where he remembered seeing the scar under the pajama shirt. The claw wasn’t sharp, but was clearly a point. He spent a moment just letting his hand explore Jack’s chest, before speaking up again.

“... After all of this, you’re not planning on leaving, are you?”

Jack let the man trace his chest, the feeling somewhat relaxing.

“What, the studio? Hm…” he hummed to himself, half thinking about it. He hadn’t really… considered leaving an option, for some reason. After everything that happened. He stayed silent for a while, then spoke up again.

“I don’t think so. Sam needs someone around to write him lyrics, right?” He laughed, slow and tired.

“Yes, of course,” Joey hummed back, then after a moment sat up some, just enough to lean over Jack and look him in the eyes while replying once again, “Yes, of course!” but with more confidence.

“I wouldn’t be able to make our amazing cartoons without you two, I wouldn’t be able to bring my stories to life without your amazing words,” Joey’s golden eye normally glowed ever so slightly whenever he had been doing magic recently, but somehow his black eye was glowing too now, only slightly noticeable in the darkness around them. Glowing… black, somehow. It did very well at outlining the dark creases under his eyes, showing how weary and tired he was. “If you’ll stay… and Sammy stays… We’ll be okay… I will be okay.” He reached up with the hand he wasn’t leaning all his weight on, though by doing so did sink down a little more, laying on Jack’s side slightly, and slowly removed his glasses to put aside on the table.

“Will you stay?” Joey asked again, though his voice was different this time. Charged with a want, more than a fear.

There it was again - that nagging voice at the back of his mind, telling him to resist, to refuse, to not give in to demands. But, laying here like this... no, that wasn't what this was. If anything, those compulsions to resist were closer to what he'd dealt with than anything.

"...I'll stay." He looked up, over at the other man, not really able to see him well between the dark and the lack of glasses, but still able to make out the slight glow of his eyes. Maybe things might change, later, but for now... He could stay.

“Good, I thought you would,” Joey purred, sounding content for the first time that night, before leaning in and tiredly starting to kiss Jack. It was a slow kiss, but there wasn’t any hesitation in it. Though, with every passing second, Joey’s body did become heavier and heavier on Jack’s side.

Slowly, gently, Jack kissed back. This wouldn't last long, not if the weight of Joey above him meant anything - but either way, he moved his hand up to run through Joey's hair, brushing against the man's horns slightly. He could feel himself drifting off as well, but... for now, he wanted to enjoy this.

Joey did react and jolt slightly as he felt Jack’s fingers go through his hair, taking this small burst of energy to position himself more comfortably laying on Jack’s body. A very quiet hum was heard as he finally broke off this kiss, deep in his throat, and pleased with Jack’s answers for the night, Joey re-wrapped himself around the man, leaving nearly no room between them as he passed out for the night, a slight smile on his face.

The physical contact was almost overwhelming to Jack, but in a comforting way - letting him know that this was real, that he was here. He still had no idea how this would end up after tonight - it could easily just be that Joey needed someone here while Sammy was gone, and that things would return to the way they were after this. But… at least for the time being, he let himself enjoy the contact, and it didn’t take long for him to join Joey in rest.

* * *

The door was slammed loudly open and loudly shut when the others got back in the early hours of morning. Sammy was tense as a spring, making no attempt to disguise his nerves or lack of sleep, but he and Henry were back in one piece and no one had died of vehicular manslaughter, in a tremendous feat of patience on Sammy’s part. No thanks to some stupid detour and several idiot church-goers out obliviously in the streets when they all should’ve been home nursing hangovers.

He did shadow Henry fretfully back to his room, but once he was satisfied the other man seemed situated — and more able to move around on his own when he needed — Sammy muttered a “I’d better check on Joey,” that was self-explanatory. Jack’s bed had apparently been converted into a Lurker Nest, so he was likely out with his reporter friend, and Joey was, at best, going to be distressed at having been left on his own.

So Sammy opened the door without knocking, still mostly dressed from the party, though his curly hair fell in a mess around his face where it had been pulled down, but nothing else.

Oh. Jack was not out.

Sammy didn’t... react for a long moment, just standing and staring with one hand resting on the doorknob.

Joey was still curled up around Jack’s side, clinging to him in his sleep. His pajama shirt was still unbuttoned, and his hair in a state that showed he had not showered since the party, but also the bedding had been hardly disturbed from the last time it had been inhabited due to how quickly the two had passed out.

Joey’s tail was no longer curled around Jack, but the rest of him was clinging to the lyricist. While it seemed like the same level of intensity from first glance of how he usually clung to Sammy each night, there was a lot more of a relaxation to it this time… or perhaps dead weight. The other thing that was odd was that Joey would have probably awoken from the slam of the door earlier, even if he ended up just falling back asleep soon after. But right now he was hardly moving.

While Joey was completely out, Jack was a tiny bit easier to wake. His dreams hadn't been supernatural in any way, and the company had helped keep them from being too bad, but they'd still been somewhat weird, leading to only partially restful sleep. So, when the door to the hotel room slammed open and closed again, Jack had slowly started to wake up.

That being said, it took until the door to the bedroom opened for him to truly rouse from his sleep, thoughts still not quite there as he began to process where he was and what was happening.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking as they stung, and squinted at the doorway - not that he could see properly without his glasses on. Person shaped. Taller?

"Mhh.... Sam?" he asked quietly, half dazed. His current situation, and the man curled around him, barely registered in his mind as something that might be out of the ordinary.

Good, Sammy decided.

“Jack,” he said simply. And then, “Glad you’re here,” just as matter-of-fact. He stepped in finally and shut the door, this time with a more traditional amount of force, and started to pull off the ruined costume coat, easing it off more carefully around his injured arm.

“I’m back with Henry,” he reported. “He’s in his room now.” That was probably all Jack needed to know until he was a bit more awake. Sammy threw the coat over the back of a chair and started digging into his suitcase for something that wouldn’t be too uncomfortable to sleep in.

The talking and shifting did finally start to wake Joey a little bit, but he wasn’t very pleased about it, curling around Jack a little more like a kid being awoken for school and clinging to his pillow. After a moment of hearing Sammy talk more though, he did ever so slightly lift his head.

“Sammy? Issat you? … … where have you beennn?” The slurred words were hardly a recognizable language, and Joey quickly buried his face back into Jack’s shoulder as he realized the room was faintly lighter than it had been when he went to sleep.

Jack hummed and half nodded at Sammy’s update, too tired to bother with words right now. His brain was finally starting to put together the pieces of what happened and where he was, and why he was. Speaking of which…

As Joey cuddled closer, Jack moved an arm up to wrap around him, hand brushing through his hair a little. Now that Sam was here, he probably wasn’t needed for this any more. But still, he didn’t want to move just yet.

He’d move once he was inevitably asked to, so Sammy could take his place, but until then, he let himself enjoy the cuddles. At least for a little while longer.

“Calm down, I’ll be right there,” Sammy snapped, instead of answering the half-asleep questions he’d already answered. Jack didn’t say anything, which may have just been exhaustion, but... he would check. First things first.

Sammy gathered his change of clothes — not pyjamas, he had no idea what the Prophet’s reaction to all of this would be — and opened the bathroom door. The beginnings of sunlight filtered in through the window across the room and into the dark space, leaving his reflection in the mirror a dim silhouette, lit from behind.

A little too quickly, Sammy closed the bathroom door.

Maybe... after he’d had some sleep, he could handle seeing his reflection. He took a moment to catch his breath, then glanced self-consciously at the sleepy pile of coworkers behind him. Jack wasn’t even wearing his glasses, it was fine... he kept his back to them and changed as quickly as he could, out of the stupid costume, out of the binder — he hadn’t gotten a break all night, and Jack knew, stop panicking, it was FINE — into just trousers and a shirt that would hopefully be loose enough on him to not cause problems if he started... sleepwalking again.

All his nerves still felt jittering and raw as Sammy approached the bed where the other two were still curled together, fidgeting his fingers and buttoning his shirt a little higher than usual. Jack had been close to him, comforting or falling asleep on or near each other after a night’s long performance, years ago, but he’d never been in bed with Jack, dressed down like this. Of course, he’d never been in bed with Henry or Joey either, before Haiti, and he wouldn’t have admitted he wanted to, either, until he was pulled up next to them without question and held close.

Ordinarily, he didn’t have to figure anything out. Jack would make some friendly comment about leaving if he wanted to leave, or he would make a joke about sticking around if he wanted to stay, and Sammy just had to nod and make it happen. But lately that wasn’t true anymore; a lot of things that should’ve been true weren’t true. Sometimes Jack couldn’t think of words, and let things happen.

“Jack,” he said, softly. “Do you want to stay?”

Joey gave a little laugh at Sammy’s reply, continuing to nuzzle his face against Jack as he felt the other man return his cuddles. There had not been enough sleep for him to feel properly awake at this point, but he was slowly becoming more and more aware of the entire situation. The fact that Jack was cuddling him. The fact that Jack was still here. He’d stayed.

As Sammy pattered off towards the bathroom to change, Joey turned his attention back to Jack, rubbing his face against the other’s jaw and enjoying the soft stubble, before leaning his head back some into Jack’s touch, humming pleased about the sensation of fingers through his hair.

And then Sammy came back and instead of simply joining them, asked a useless question. “He already said he was staying,” Joey murmured half awake, one arm wrapping itself a little tighter around Jack while he made a half hearted attempt to sit up a little, expecting attention from Sammy as well.

Jack blinked, slowly, at the figure above him. It took him a moment to process what Sammy was saying. That he... wanted him to stay? Sammy wouldn't ask if he didn't want him here. Joey beat him to answering, managing to mumble a response while Jack was still trying to get his words together.

He'd assumed that Joey had just wanted him here until Sammy had gotten here, that this would've been off limits given Joey and Sammy's situation, but... maybe that wasn't the case. He looked up at Sammy, unable to read his expression through the blur of no glasses, and hoped that he wasn't misreading this.

"...yeah," he answered, finally. Sammy would probably want to hear it from him personally. "If you'll have me?"

“Sure,” Sammy said.

He didn’t bother to work out what side of anyone he should be on; Jack was closest so he slid into bed next to Jack.

And immediately Sammy was pressed up against him as well, strong arms wrapped around to interlock his fingers with Joey’s, to hold tight to both of them, to bring Jack’s head up under his and pull Joey closer.

He had never been this close to Jack before, close enough for his scent and the touch of his skin to matter so much. He had never been with Joey like this, either, joining to pour their shared affection onto someone new. But Sammy remembered Haiti, the one time he was allowed to want this, and no one questioned it because they wanted it too. There was no awkward stiffness this time, no trying not to want it too much. It was something he could do; something he could give.

Joey made a pleased sort of noise as Sammy finally joined them in bed, using their combined heights to give him room to nuzzle his face close to Sammy’s without needing to move Jack out of the way, instead pulling the man between them even closer as he settled down again. This is what he had been craving, and feeling Sammy pull in to the cuddle, closer to how he did normally, helped relax Joey… But the more he woke up, the more reality started to make itself known.

He was still in a lot of pain. He was still very weak. The grip he returned to Sammy’s hold was slight and he could feel it. The arm that was curled around Jack felt heavy and he wasn’t even sure how much he was managing to hold on, hardly able to feel his fingers anymore. Whether the pins and needles style numbness was from simply being immobile for too long or due to… other effects, Joey wasn’t quite sure. There was an increasing need for pain medication, but with everyone finally settling down… With Joey finally getting what he desired, people staying with him, a fear started to sink in that if he admitted the need of assistance or even got up to do stuff himself, everything would be broken, wrong, or simply not exist when he got back.

So Joey buried his face into Jack’s hair instead of waiting for a kiss from Sammy, not even sure if he’d get one, trying his best to ignore everything and just… live in his idealistic version of this story, with Sammy and Jack pressed close. The only indication of his desperation towards this visible was his tail, which wove through Jack’s legs and curled around Sammy’s ankle, holding tight where the rest of his body failed.

If Jack had thought the cuddles before were overwhelming, that was nothing compared to this. Being held so close to both of these two, nestled between the two as they wrapped around him... It was too much, in the best of ways. Like a hot shower after being out in the cold too long.

He hadn't had much close physical contact with anyone in a long time - not before this trip, anyway. Back, before the studio, him and Sammy had been close, but between stable work and schedules and deadlines, they hadn't really had any chance for that. And even then, nothing like this. Something he hadn't dared to want, after how close Sammy and Joey had gotten. He hadn't thought there was room for him in this. Turned out the room for him was curled up between the two in a hotel in New Orleans. Who'd have thought.

It didn't take long for him to start drifting off again, still exhausted despite the rest. He still needed to eat and drink, and Sammy's arm probably needed checking again, but that could be dealt with later. For now, he let all of those issues stay distant and slipped back to sleep, feeling warm and loved.

Chapter Text

There’s always a hard limit, and while Joey always tries his best to get around the rules, some are just not meant to be broken. It’d been a few hours since Sammy had joined the two, laying on the other side of Jack; what might have been simply the quickest choice of position earlier turned out to be a smart one, as Joey only had the reach to cling to Jack because of it.

Unfortunately for Jack, that meant he got the full force of Joey’s entire body clenching up with the wave of pain surged through him and woke him from his nightmare. The claws were not razor sharp, but they were still pointy, and pressed hard into Jack’s shoulder as Joey curled up around him. But this time it wasn’t a soft cuddle, it felt more like he was clinging for his life, as his body softly shook and he buried his face more into Jack’s chest. And yet… Joey managed to be completely silent as all this happened. It wasn’t exactly out of courtesy for Sammy’s rest… more a self-defense mechanism to not show pain.

Unlike Joey, Jack's return to consciousness wasn't silent, though still relatively quiet - more of a pained gasp as the stabbing sensation of claws dragged him out of sleep.

Still, quiet didn't mean peaceful. He tensed up and tried to push back, away from the pressure against his chest that his mind was processing as the source of his pain. Not that he could move that far, instead just managing to bump against Sammy behind him, as his racing brain caught up with what was happening, and who was clinging to him.

"Joey...?" he asked, hesitantly. "Are... you alright?" His immediate panic turned to concern, though his heart was still racing from the unexpected wake-up.

Joey didn’t answer… or at least, he didn’t answer vocally, his jaw clenched tightly shut in an attempt to keep quiet. But when the two separated enough that Jack could see his face, there were tears in his eyes, and he immediately curled up around his midsection. He’d probably be gasping for air… if he needed to. For a moment, his eyes glanced up and locked with Jack’s, before shutting tightly in a feeble attempt to keep the crying back.

There was the pain of an entire void inside of him, and while Joey didn’t normally know how to ask for help, he especially was at a loss of words right now for explaining what was going on.

Something shoved into Sammy and he shoved back, half-hearted, before blinking abruptly awake, squinting through the long hair falling into his face.

"Wh- what the heck..." he mumbled drowsily, starting to sit up. Right. Jack was here. He didn't want to shove him. And he'd been pulled halfway out of Sammy's arms while he slept... it shouldn't surprise him to learn Joey would steal him.

But then he heard Jack's voice, soft with worry, and it clicked, finally - something was wrong. They’d relaxed too soon; something could still be wrong. He snapped fully awake, arm still aching as he pushed himself up to see what was going on.

Jack’s concern turned back to panic at Joey’s reactions, and he moved over in an attempt to check the man over better. He didn’t think he’d seen the man this affected by something before. He hadn’t seemed injured when he checked him earlier, but then, if this was something magical, he had no idea what to even begin checking.

He glanced back at Sammy behind him, as he felt the man moving to see what was going on.

“Could you pass me my glasses?” he asked Sammy, his voice quiet - not being able to see properly wasn’t helping matters, but he couldn’t reach them from here.

Then, back to Joey, “What’s happening? Can we help?” He put a hand on the man’s arm, both trying to comfort him and get his attention.

There was a flicker in Joey’s expression as he registered that Sammy was awake, but it was hard to tell whether he was horrified or relieved about Sammy knowing he was in this state. Though Jack's touch made him aware of what sort of environment they were in, he finally started trying to talk about what was going on.

“I don’t…” Joey swallowed hard, curling up a bit tighter. “Everything hurts… I feel… empty,” he managed to mutter out, breaking eye contact as he admitted this. He’d done so much to try and prove that he could take care of them, and not a day later he needed them to fix him instead. He already felt bad whenever Sammy saw this side of him, and now Jack too?

Pathetic.

Sammy nodded, glancing over to the bedside table to find them sitting next to the mostly-empty pitcher of water Joey had gotten for him, and handed the glasses to Jack, now leaned over Joey, who was still lying down, curled around himself in pain, with more of it showing on his face than Sammy had ever seen. He hovered behind Jack, an anxious dread rising in his chest as he huffed and did his best to will it to something closer to agitation. This is what happens! When you keep trying to fix things with dangerous magic and just assume they'll work! You idiot!

Joey's description was nothing helpful, but maybe there was nothing to be helped... Sammy glanced at the pitcher of water again. "I can order aspirin, at least," he muttered, dragging himself out of bed, up to the phone. "If you need magical attention, I'll get the others."

Jack mumbled a quick thanks as he took his glasses and slipped them on, taking the moment to give Joey a closer check over. The man seemed almost more gaunt and pale now than he had last night, but nothing immediately stood out to him as obviously injured in a way he could help with, and Joey's description didn't narrow things down much.

Sammy's suggestion of aspirin was a good call, at least - if Joey was in less pain, they might be able to get more information out of him. He turned to watch the man as he headed towards the phone.

"You should probably order some food while you're at it. Not great to take aspirin on an... empty..." He trailed off as his mind slowly connected dots - aided by his own stomach's growing complaints at the mention of food. They hadn't ended up eating at all last night, with all the everything else happening. But then, even before that - his memory wasn't the best, but...

"Joey," he turned back to face the man in question. "When was the last time you ate?"

“N-no, don’t get others,” Joey managed to mutter out, actually sitting up slightly to check on Sammy and make sure that was not what he was leaving the bed for. As soon as he saw the blond going for the phone and not the door though, he laid back down, curling a little closer to Jack again now that there wasn’t a shoving match going on in the bed.

Though when the lyricist mentioned food, Joey did lean back enough to meet his gaze again. “You can’t be serious… that…” It hurt so much, it felt so draining, surely it had to be something else. Moonlight could still be out there, doing something! Not that it’d affect him. Or maybe this was coming from the stone! Not that it’d affect him…

But the more he thought about it, the more he remembered about the night, and deciding that it’d be better not to make a joke about Bendy’s snacking at the party, Joey finally gave his answer under his breath, more to himself than Jack, “... I don’t remember.”

Sammy froze, phone already at his ear as the dial rolled back, attention snapping to Jack with an expression that could best be described as an irritated deer-in-headlights.

His eyes darted abruptly back to the phone. "Can we have room service. Pitcher of ice water, aspirin, and... food," he demanded, before looking urgently back at the others. "What do you want?" he hissed.

Jack frowned as Joey admitted that he wasn't sure when he last ate. Even if that wasn't the main issue, it definitely wouldn't be helping matters at all. He turned back to Sammy as the man spoke up, asking what they wanted.

"Get, uh..." He stared into space, trying to pull out memories of old medical advice from the depths of his exhausted mind. He knew there was food you ought to avoid after not eating for so long, but he couldn't for the life of him remember which ones.

Despite his pain, whining, and weak nature, when Joey witnessed Jack’s face go blank and peeked up to see what Sammy was doing, well, to see what his face was doing, he managed enough strength to sit up on his elbow and speak.

“Two deluxe lunch spreads, chefs choice. And send a third one to Henry’s room,” Joey muttered, and then moved to hold his head. Everything was spinning, which wasn’t great on top of all the other things. “If Henry can pack away one of those, two should be plenty for us,” he murmured, lowering his voice so Sammy didn’t think it was more of the order. Not enjoying the increasing fluidity of the room, which was perhaps appearing even more rubber hose than usual, Joey fell back into a laying down position, scooting forwards to bury himself against Jack again, only paying enough attention to where his horns were to not stab Jack. Again.

Finally Joey pulled himself together enough to give him an order, and Sammy nodded, diligently repeated it to the front desk, and hung up the phone with a frazzled huff.

He... could use something to eat himself, now that he was thinking about it. There’d certainly been time to get something at the hospital, but... he’d had no idea how much paint or ink or anything else was in his system at that point, and did NOT want to be asked questions if he couldn’t keep food down.

He pulled his coat on, a little more comfortable for getting the door when food arrived, but in the meantime... Joey could use a distraction. He circled around the bed and wrapped his arms around Joey from behind, not quite prying him off Jack, though a hand turned Joey’s face his way as he leaned in close enough to kiss him — softer, experimental, the closest thing the two of them had to asking permission.

It was a relief, almost, when Joey spoke up with a food order, as Jack’s brain continued to stall. He couldn’t help but worry still, that something might go wrong, but… hopefully it hadn’t been long enough that it would cause any major issues.

Jack was pulled out of his worried thoughts by Joey, as the man cuddled up against him again. Jack brought his hand up to run through Joey’s hair like he had before - though he pulled away as Sammy finished with the phone and headed over.

The moment here between Sammy and Joey was… intimate, in a way Jack didn’t want to interrupt. He couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding on this, like he wasn’t supposed to be here. He glanced away from the two... but looked back moments later. No. They wanted him to be here.

There was a slight tense in Joey’s shoulders as he felt himself being moved, simply a reaction to anything being moved at all right now, but it soon melted away when he realized what he was being moved by. It actually… was almost more pleasant to be moved around by someone else, his body complaining a lot less than it had when he was trying to look around himself.

This was… bothersome. Joey didn’t quite like the fact that he was enjoying being moved around more than he was being in control. It was... wrong? Hadn’t he spent enough time letting someone else puppet his body? But Sammy’s lips pressed against his and those snowballing complaints in his head started to fade away. His body became more heavy, more relaxed in Sammy’s arms, though there was still tension from the pain. Meanwhile, his hands were still gripping onto Jack, and had not let go even though they were more extended now, slightly tugging him closer again.

But the tug was only slight, and his grip was slipping, not from a factor of wanting to let go. Joey also attempted for a moment to deepen the kiss with Sammy, but it became evident extremely fast that he simply did not have the energy right now to push things into a more intense state. Joey at least had become more compliant and quieter, but he didn’t seem exactly more content as he noticed all the new shortcomings of his body…

There was a pause, surprised, that Sammy didn’t hide as Joey failed to follow through with the kiss he wanted. Hm. Still sick, like Henry.

Well, whatever. This wasn’t for Sammy’s satisfaction. He pulled back for just a moment to gather Jack closer to them again, Joey’s obvious but struggling want, before leaning in to take charge of making sure Joey got kissed and felt nice, holding him in place so he didn’t have to fight for it.

Jack wasn’t expecting to be pulled in, but in he was pulled, pressed up close to the two as Sammy kissed Joey more. He wrapped himself around Joey’s side, half around Sammy and his grip on the man as well.

He was rusty at this. Unsure of where to fit himself. But, if Joey wanted him close, he could do that. He cuddled against the man, half considering whether he could also kiss him - his cheek, his neck, something. He second guessed himself. Instead, for now, he just nuzzled against Joey’s side.

Joey didn’t manage to hide his displeasure at his own body either, but still made a pleasant hum when Sammy scooped them all closer and went back to giving him attention. As much as he hurt, as much as he couldn’t get his brain to stop screaming in all sorts of ways… he couldn’t help but think back to the nightmare he had. The normal one. The one where everything was normal.

It hadn’t been worth it. But this? The warmth of Jack pressed up against his side, soft, already becoming familiar, something he could bury himself in and feel safe. The delightful tang of Sammy’s kisses, delicious, sharp and addictive, just like the rest of him… Joey moved an arm to wrap around Jack, and rested his other hand on the side of Sammy’s hip, slipped under the coat.

This was worth it.

The studio was worth it.

He’d make it work.

He had to.

He--

Joey’s eyes immediately fluttered open when there was the polite knock on the door, followed by a few sounds of trays being set down, and a service boy declaring that room service had been delivered, before he moved onto the next delivery.

For a moment, Joey gripped onto both of his partners, knowing that at least one would have to leave him if they were going to get that… but also he was uh… starving. And not just for attention… So he did manage to let go, though only with his hands, his stare locking onto either of the two musicians the moment they threatened to move away, already ready to cling to whichever remained.

Sammy didn’t even hesitate.

The kiss did not end abruptly, but afterwards, despite Joey’s brief attempt to hang on tighter, Sammy pulled away with little gentleness, slipping away from Jack and removing Joey’s arm, though he did take a moment to delicately guide him towards Jack before shifting off the bed, adjusting his coat, and heading for the door.

A tray outside their door, and one outside Henry’s... Hm. Henry was moving again, that probably wouldn’t be too much to carry...

No, Sammy decided. Everything had happened without him, and it was the only thing he could still do. Henry wasn’t going to be neglected. Sammy would be back to do what he could to keep Joey and Jack stable, of course, but Henry wasn’t going to be alone either.

Sammy picked up the tray that was meant for the three of them, brought it back with just a short “Here?” to get the others’ attention as he set it down, before turning without a word to slip through the door that connected their rooms.

At the door knock, Jack glanced over at Sammy - and yes, the man was already pulling away and heading away to get the food. Joey's reaction to this would have been easy to guess even if it hadn't been obvious.

Well, he could help with that. Hopefully. With space around Joey now freed up, Jack pulled the man closer to himself, trying to pull his attention away from the lack of Sammy. For a moment, he stopped at just cuddling, uncertain... but then, tentatively, he pressed a light kiss against the man's lips.

Though, it didn't last long - he pulled away again quickly as Sammy returned to the room with the tray of food, face red. Despite Sammy's quick departure again, and his seeming lack of reaction to the kiss, Jack still couldn't help feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't, in spite of it all. He looked back at Joey, unsure whether to move away to get the food or not.

Joey made a slight whimper as Sammy pulled away, but also happily snaked himself around Jack in the meanwhile. He was going to do that anyways, but with the additional prompt he clung much more, waiting for Jack to cling back, or--

Or that’d do. The same noise Joey made moments before was made again, but this time with an extra layer of intensity as Jack pulled away from the kiss. He didn’t even have a reason to go! And Sammy already left! This wouldn’t do.

Paying no heed to the food anymore despite his insides demanding he do so, Joey managed to muster enough strength to wrap his hand around the back of Jack’s head and, just as they met eyes again, pulled him back down for a much more involved kiss. The effort, once again, was short lived, and soon Joey would lay himself back on the bed in a huff of breathlessness and misery, but before he did he’d make sure Jack understood what was desired from him. Because clearly after leaving Joey with such a small, short lived kiss like that, he was missing some crucial information that Sammy knew well enough.

And that just wouldn’t do.

While the rest of Joey had released Jack for the moment as he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to breathe calmly, his tail had now found its way curved between and around one of Jack’s legs, and there was a pained, fanged grin as Joey assumed he had gotten his point across without any proof.

Jack hadn't been expecting this, though in hindsight, he really ought to have been. Either way, after the initial shock, he kissed back. It didn't last long, with Joey's stamina, but Jack enjoyed it regardless, letting himself fall back down against Joey as the man pulled away to lay back down. A part of the tension in the back of his mind relaxed as Joey wrapped his tail around his leg. Whatever this was, whatever they were, it was at least more than just a one time thing.

He would have continued to stay there, cuddled up against the man, had his own stomach not begun to protest as well, the smell of food finally hitting him. He pushed himself up a little, giving Joey a brief kiss to the jaw.

"We, uh, really ought to get that food." He gave a half smile, knowing that Joey likely wouldn't want to move. But, with how weak the man had been, it was definitely needed.

As much as Joey had plenty of other much better ideas on his mind, he hardly had the strength to execute any of them, much less argue against Jack's point. A couple more deep breaths were taken before he started trying to push himself up, to get at least sitting upright. He'd rather not let Jack see this struggle but…

Who was he kidding anymore?

He couldn't hide this.

They knew. Of course they knew. They've known since the previous night and they would continue to know no matter how much he tried to pretend it wasn't there.

Joey, after a moment that seemed like a lifetime of struggling to simply lift himself off the bed, finally let out a strained plea of simply, "... Jack," unable to voice common phrases like 'help' and 'I can't.' He ha thought of them, but he couldn't say them. It might come true.

Joey didn't need to say anything else, the patterns in how he acted more clear to Jack now after spending more time around him. Jack slid his arm around the man's back to help lift him up, get him sitting up on the bed - supporting the man, but not just pulling him up alone. He could tell Joey didn't want to admit how weak he was, even in spite of what Jack knew. So, if he could just help Joey do what Joey wanted to do, instead of doing it for him... he wanted to try at least. Help him feel at least a little more in control of this.

Eventually the door between their rooms opened again, and Sammy slipped back inside, shedding his coat immediately, with a bit of a wince as his injured arm protested the casual movement.

Joey was just sitting up, with Jack sort of holding him to help, so he hadn’t missed much. Sammy climbed onto the bed as well, leaning over on his good arm to give Jack a small kiss on the cheek with a softly mumbled “thanks,” before settling next to Joey, leaning into him without any weight, just touch and quiet affection.

This was not regular. Normally Sammy would sit, aloof, wherever he wanted, and if Joey wanted affection he would come and take it. The impression now, the effect, was of a Sammy that just wanted to touch, in the aftermath of everything; who just needed the reassurance of being close.

In reality, Sammy had not thought about what he wanted at all.

This didn’t stop Joey from wrapping his arm around Sammy and holding him closer anyways. Whether or not this was recognition of Sammy’s less than normal behaviour or simply because he was constantly trying to fulfil his own desires was hard to tell, but the genuine relaxation that happened with both of them pressed close to him was obvious.

Not wanting to discuss his struggles, or worries over Henry, out loud though, Joey simply leaned forwards and grabbed one of the wrapped sandwiches off a platter left on the bed, quietly opening it and starting to eat slowly.

Jack had been about to greet Sammy, as the man returned to the room - but whatever words he was going to say left his mind as Sammy leant over to kiss his cheek. It was so... casual, simple, in spite of everything about this situation. Maybe at some point he'd get used to it.

After a moment of processing that, he was reminded by Joey's movement about the food. He leant forward to grab a sandwich for himself, too, letting himself focus on the normalcy of it as his mind tried to catch up with things. Another moment, and he let himself lean against Joey's side, mirroring Sammy on the other side, careful not to end up in the way of Joey eating. He slipped into quiet thought, not saying much - whether due to exhaustion or lack of words, he didn't even consider.

He'd have to check how Joey was feeling after this. It might not sit well with him after having not eaten in so long. He really ought to check on Sammy's arm again, too, make sure it was cleaned up - if it got infected, that wouldn't be fun, especially if it interfered with his music.

Hm... music. There was a thought. Maybe at some point him and Sam could play together? It'd been a while, and he hadn't had chance to do much with everything else going on. New Orleans during Mardi Gras and he hadn't enjoyed music! If he hadn't gone through so much, he'd call it a crime. But maybe they could fix that... it might be nice. They could use more nice right now.

Joey and Jack started munching on some of the sandwiches, and Sammy’s spidery fingers hovered over the tray for a moment before deciding on a pastry he wanted to eat. As soon as he had eaten a bite he had practically inhaled the whole thing, suddenly aware there was nothing in his stomach but ink, and started to reach for— oh! Right. He pulled himself off the bed again without comment, poured a glass of water, and set the aspirin out in front of Joey, offering him the glass as well with nothing but a quiet, “here.”

Once he’d passed him water and medicine he eased back against Joey’s side again, picking through the remaining sandwiches to find one he would eat.

Joey had completely forgotten about the pain. He still felt it, especially when pointed out to him, but only when he was handed the drink and medicine that he registered it as pain again. Otherwise, he had assumed it was gone with the single sandwich he had consumed. Like eating a piece of food just restored his whole being.

Like it would work in a cartoon.

But after zoning out at the pill for a moment, trying to comprehend what it was there for, Joey finally managed to figure out what his brain had turned off and swallowed the medicine.

The downside to finally convincing himself to recognize his world around him was that pain hadn't been the only thing his brain was hiding from him.

Tired. Light sensitivity. Noise sensitivity. His tail was both hyper sensitive and felt like a ghost limb as he wrapped it around Sammy’s waist when the blond sat down again. His body felt heavier and heavier as he leaned into Jack.

He felt… empty. Not just hungry but… like part of himself was missing.

This reality was poorly written, but it was the one he was stuck in.

Joey reached forwards and managed to shakingly grab another pastry, trying his best to not show how much he was affected by pushing past the blockages in his own mind, eyes glazed over and staring in front of himself.

Not noticing he had simply dropped the water he was holding in front of him, now pooling around where his legs pushed into the bedding.

Jack glanced over as Joey moved, to grab more food - and watched him drop his water in what felt like slow motion. He blinked, realising what had happened, then turned to look at Joey himself. The man didn't look like he was registering things at all, shaky and glassy-eyed.

" -" Jack opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. If he hadn't lost his words before, they were definitely gone now. Slipped from his grasp like the cup from Joey’s hands.

Unable to say anything, he instead leant a hand against Joey’s shoulder and gave a small shake, to see if he could bring the man to his senses, or at least check if he was doing alright. The dropped cup was left forgotten - by this point, the damage had probably already been done anyway.

Sammy actually startled at the tail around his waist. That was new. Joey didn't usually have it, and it wasn't one of the expected ways that Joey casually wrapped around him, and it took him a second to accept that it was still there. He glared down at the tail. Why was it still there? Joey hadn't--

Something about the soft sound of the glass hitting the bed was wrong, but it was still several seconds later before Sammy registered it enough to turn and look, to see Joey alarmingly out of it and Jack trying to quietly shake him into awareness.

It was surprising how little noise it all made.

"What are you doing?" Sammy demanded, abrupt and harsh. He jumped up without waiting for a response from anyone and grabbed the glass, with whatever water was left in it, to move to a side table. "Get up," he snapped, to both Joey and Jack, but he was already leaning onto the bed again to heft Joey's dead weight, hissing as the gashes in his arm protested, and finding a chair to deposit him in.

Joey proceeded to not react, not to the shaking, not to Sammy jumping up and yelling at him, not to being lifted out of bed… but the moment Sammy made noises of pain, his eyes snapped over and he repeated back in a very similar tone to before, “What are you doing?”

Joey didn’t flail or try to get out of Sammy’s grip, actually clinging to him a bit more the moment he noticed he had been lifted; if Sammy dropped him, there was no way he could move fast enough to catch himself. At the same time, he was already insisting on Sammy putting him down, and that he could ‘walk fine on his own’ all while worriedly glaring at Sammy’s arm.

And yet, he still did not register why this was all happening in the first place.

Jack flinched at Sammy's raised voice. It was normal for Sammy and yet, with the room so quiet otherwise, so clouded, it was unexpected. He got up from the bed as well, hovering slightly, unsure of how to help - but no, it seemed like Sammy had Joey handled, at least, and trying to help carry Joey would likely be more of a hindrance than anything.

Instead, he busied himself with pulling the damp blanket off from the top of the bed. Looked like most of the water hadn't ended up on the bed, at least, and it hadn't soaked through the blankets. He nervously glanced at Joey, and Sammy. He wasn't sure what else he could do to help here. Not without speaking, anyway.

“I’m moving you, you idiot, so you don’t get more soaked than you already are. You’re barely awake.” Despite the flippant disgust in his tone, Sammy carried Joey carefully, and set him down in the chair gently.

He didn’t like this, he didn’t like Joey like this. What was wrong with him?! How long would he be like this?

Sammy glanced over at Jack, dealing with the bed, and nodded his approval before going to dig through Joey’s clothes for something drier. “Was he like this while I was out?” he asked, not looking up.

In spite of his best efforts, Jack didn’t respond. No matter how hard he tried, the words slipped from his reach somewhere before getting to actually saying them.

Jack avoided looking in Sammy’s direction, and continued to fuss with the bed - checking it for water, neatening it out. It didn’t really need much organising at this point. He nervously tugged the edges of the covers neater anyway.

Joey had sat in the chair for a moment, somewhat shocked at what Sammy had dared ask. What was that even supposed to mean? Though, as Joey tried to stand up and insist that Sammy was talking nonsense, his knees immediately tried to buckle out under him and he fell right back into the chair, almost threatening to fall out of it. Almost.

And he knew what it meant.

How many times would he have to have this revelation before it finally went away?

Joey balled up his fist and frustratedly slammed it down on the table beside him. It made less noise than usual. It hurt twice as much.

“Why does it matter,” Joey finally snapped once it was clear that Jack would not be answering the question. Though even the anger in his voice was duller than usual. There was just… less of him there. He tried his best to casually rub his hand out of view of anyone, including himself.

A pair of dry pants were dropped on the table next to Joey. Sammy narrowed his eyes back at Jack, studiously and pointedly ignoring the question, and at Joey, trying and failing to reach his usual level of intimidating anger in response, and took a couple of steps to shift himself in between Joey and Jack.

It didn’t matter, not really. It didn’t fix this, or tell them what to do about it. But if Jack had seen him acting more normal, it would quiet the small fear at the edge of Sammy’s mind, that this wasn’t temporary... that this might be all that was left of Joey Drew.

“Alright, it doesn’t,” he snarled. He stood too close to the chair, pressed right up in Joey’s space. “What do you want me to do?”

The slam of Joey's fist, quieter as it was, still grabbed Jack attention away from the bed - and he stared at the man, wide-eyed. Sammy stepped in between the two, and for a moment, Jack continued to stare at the man's back. He wanted to help, but...

He looked back down at the bed. If he neatened it any more, it'd look better than it had before they got here. He checked around the rest of the room instead, wondering if- oh! He spotted the notebook he'd brought over last night - over by his clothes, left where he’d put it down. He headed over and grabbed it, while Sammy was handling Joey. He should... probably have that on hand, like this.

Joey let his eyes trail up Sammy’s body, which was now blocking most of his view of the room, and met the dark glare that hung over him. The most terrifying thing of all was in this moment, as Joey sat there and realized he didn’t know what he wanted.

He didn’t want anything. He just wanted to let the world move without his input, he was tired, he was exhausted and in pain and…

… this wasn’t him.

This wasn’t Joey Drew. This wasn't even Joseph Dempsey.

But he wasn’t about to let himself become a husk.

He wasn’t going to let anyone else win, or take what was his away.

Without much warning, Joey finally stepped out of his own head, reaching up to grab Sammy by the collar. The following motion was a combination of pulling him into a desperate kiss, but also pulling Joey himself out of the chair by using Sammy’s weight and the prediction of him trying to move away from Joey or help him anyways as part of the equation.

The kiss was strong and powerful and intoxicating, not like his last attempts. He wasn’t trying to pull Sammy into that state of mind, but pull himself out of the hole he’d been sinking deeper and deeper in, and surely this sort of collateral would not be unappreciated.

Joey did immediately wrap his arms around the blond as well, holding him close for balance and looking over his shoulder at Jack retrieving his note book once the kiss was finished. Without hesitation, he voiced the answer.

“I want to take a shower. We all smell like the blasted swamp and I’m tired of it. I want us to finish the food. I want to check on Henry. And then I want to be taken to bed by you two and forget the rest of the world until we are hungry again.”

These are the things that Joey Drew would want.

Don’t you DARE was the first thought that shot across Sammy’s mind as Joey’s hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, with obvious intentions. This confused, lost Joey didn’t get to do this! Enough humouring him, while he pretended nothing off was even happening!

But this time Joey meant it, pulled himself half to standing and kissed Sammy fiercely, and despite himself the startled musician clutched his body close, kissed back with a messy mix of anger and desperation, embraced him like he’d just come back from the dead. Joey listed his demands and Sammy buried his face in the man’s shoulder with the heaved sigh of a relief he couldn’t place and was frustrated to feel, arms still wrapped tight around him.

But after a moment to collect himself, he agreed.

“Alright,” Sammy said, only a little breathy. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Joey paused at the question, looking like the answer was obvious and he wasn't sure why Sammy was asking in the first place. Even though there was nearly no precedent for this, of course. Though at the same time, there was an obvious reason why and he was going to continue to ignore it, pretending that his leaning into Sammy was simply affectionate.

"You better; if you're going to keep your hair this long, it needs to at least be kept up with," Joey hummed, running his finger over the side of Sammy's head and down through his locks, gently pushing through any tangles met on the way.

"This will also be a good time to take another look at that arm of yours, hmn?" Joey's eyes glanced over at Jack and the book, and he quickly decided to test his theory at why Jack had withheld comment earlier. "Isn't that right, Jackie?" He hummed with a tone of allurement, more to hide his current weakness than to actually seduce the other.

Jack startled at the question, blushing slightly. He hadn't been expecting to be put on the spot - or the nickname. He glanced down at the notebook in his hands, then back to Joey... and then, simply nodded at Joey, averting his eyes afterwards.

This problem... he'd hoped in vain that maybe it had been tied to the Yellow King, or Moonlight, or something like that, that it would be gone now. But, for now, it was still here. As much as he didn't want to make his problems obvious, he couldn't really help it here. ...and he did want to check on Sammy's arm, voice or no.

He walked over to the two men, a little hesitant, then reached out to gently touch Sammy's arm. Not a full check, just yet - but a quick check beforehand to see how sensitive it was. That, and as a hopefully-comforting gesture towards Sammy. The man had been through a lot too, even if he wasn't showing it as much as Joey or himself. And... maybe it could help to balance out his own lack of voice, too.

Claws felt nice running through Sammy's hair; his lip curled into a sneer at Joey's commentary, despite the fact that his narrowed eyes seemed less angry and more like a content cat.

And then the man addressed Jack with that same flirtatious hum, and Sammy froze. He didn't move, or let go of Joey, or look at Jack, who didn't answer. He didn't know what Jack wanted and he wasn't sure what Joey wanted but he knew very suddenly what he DIDN'T want, and that was Joey trying to cram three people into the shower.

He didn’t snap out of it until Jack’s careful hand on his arm, where the gashes had been bandaged yesterday, earning a slight wince. "Not in the shower," Sammy spat suddenly, as if that was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard. "Jack can look at it after." He glanced at Jack, then back at Joey, making sure no one was going to argue. "Come on." And he tried to guide Joey towards the bathroom, whether he was on the same page or not.

Joey ended up raising an eyebrow at Sammy, but only in a curious way, as if this was not the response he was expecting, somehow, but was interested to see where it was going. There was no protest with him over this, but he could feel protest from within as he was walking towards the bathroom; he had done so little, and yet he was already feeling exhausted. Was this how it’d always be?

Joey did his best not to show this though, keeping his head high and using any sort of leaning he was needing to do as an opportunity to pose in a way, make it look sexy, casual, anything but tired. Once he was done getting what he wanted, Joey would let himself rest once more. But until then, he needed to do everything he could in order to continue to be Joey… or else, he’d have no proof that he was still himself.

At least Sammy’s fire seemed to have returned a little. At least there was that.

At Sammy's wince, Jack pulled his hand away again, not wanting to cause any unnecessary pain. He also nodded at Sammy's suggestion - it made sense to check afterwards, and he got the impression that Sammy had other reasons to not want that too.

He'd be lying if he said that wasn't relieving for him too, in some small way. Not that he was opposed, but it was just... things were moving very fast, and he was... very tired. Sam learning about him might be better saved for a less stressful time.

In the meantime, he could at least sort some things out, maybe grab some more of his things from the other room? He could jump into the shower after those two were done. Maybe his voice would be back by then? Maybe.

Sammy managed to drag Joey to the bathroom, as Jack thankfully went along with this. He opened the door and started to bring Joey in with him; in the smaller room he could lean up against something while Sammy grabbed them both a change of—

And this time it was light enough that a reflection met Sammy’s eyes in the mirror over the sink.

It wasn’t him.

It was his expression, his movements, clinging to Joey just the same, looked exactly like him, but he knew, suddenly and certainly, that it wasn’t him. Horror started to seize him. He knew the other him would move, would smile. That his eyes would go dark. Maybe he would see something in Joey, too, something he didn’t want to see.

Sammy dropped Joey and scrambled out of the doorway, back into the room, pressing himself back against the wall where he couldn’t see the mirror and the mirror couldn’t see him, trying to catch his breath.

Joey had been satisfied enough to go along with whatever Sammy determined was the best method to achieve his demands. He didn’t have the energy to fight or direct otherwise. But he also didn’t have the energy to catch himself when suddenly his boyfriend was no longer under him, a sturdy pillar he had been using to maintain himself upright.

There was the sound of scrapes as Joey quickly put his claws out for the sink counter and wall, but his legs were not ready to suddenly support his entire weight and he found himself crumpled on the floor a few moments later. There were no shouts or swearing, just another frustrated slam of his fist onto the floor, and a few claw marks left behind from his journey.

Well, the relative peace didn't last long. Jack found himself caught, eyes flicking between Sammy against the wall, and the bathroom door where Joey had presumably fallen over. Neither of these were great, and he couldn't tell who to check on first, not right away.

...Sammy, he decided, a split second later. He was closer, and... he wasn't sure if he'd be able to help Joey up anyway. He headed over to Sammy - thank goodness he hadn't sat back down yet, or he might not have been able to stand up - and crouched down next to the man. Not too close - the man was clearly startled by something.

Unfortunately, he needed both hands to write, so he couldn't offer a calming touch. Maybe that was for the better, though. He flipped open his notebook and scribbled a quick ‘You ok?’ in it, offering it to the man.

He hoped Joey was alright... he hadn't said anything, but the fist slam he'd heard at least meant he probably hadn't knocked himself out somehow, right...?

Sammy stared at the notebook that was offered to him. He looked down at the writing, then up at Jack's face, slowly coming back from wherever he was, processing both the words and what he’d just done. "I saw him in the mirror..." he started, trailing off as he realised, only once the words were leaving his mouth, that they were entirely stupid.

It didn’t even do anything! It was just a reflection... Augh, Joey; he needed to—

He shook his head. “Fine,” he grumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. “Just... jumpy.” He leaned over, peering back through the bathroom door to check, to remind himself the mirror was normal.

It was normal as long as he wasn’t in it...

Jack frowned, and followed Sammy’s look around the door. The mirror seemed normal to him - but then, nothing about this trip was normal. (While he was there, he quickly checked on Joey too - the man wasn’t unconscious, thankfully.)

He looked back down at his notepad, the only way he could communicate clearly right now. This was another side effect, then?

He didn’t remember half of what had happened at the party by this point. A lot of it was a yellow-tinged blur. But there… was a mirror in there at some point, right…?

He added another note to the notebook with a scribble, and showed it to Sammy. ‘We could try to cover it maybe?’

Sammy stared sort of helplessly at the notebook, then back at Jack again, then off to the side, not looking at either, with a small, frustrated nod and a harsh sigh. "After," he said. "Joey wants a shower." He said it like it was a work assignment, like he had to cut the chatter short because there were deadlines to meet and he needed to get going.

He stood without another word and quickly gathered the change of clothes, but when he re-entered the bathroom, he was crouched down, almost crawling, next to Joey.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Come on." With another little hiss when it pulled on his arm, he half-helped up, half-dragged Joey to standing with him on the other side of the bathroom, away from the mirror, though his eyes stayed locked on it instead of Joey the entire time, breathing quick and anxious, as though he were pulling his lover clear of some deadly predator.

...He'd forgotten to close the door before he made it over here, so it was just going to have to stay open.

Joey made no response to Sammy’s apology. He didn’t want to talk about his own failure to stay upright the moment someone wasn’t helping him. Clearly Sammy wasn’t interested in talking about his moment of issue with the bathroom, which Joey didn’t even know what set it off. He wasn’t going to admit to his lack of attention, either. So there was nothing to talk about.

But he still made an effort to go along with Sammy as they got to the shower and started preparing, putting strength wherever he could to lessen the feeling of being pure dead weight in Sammy’s arms. The vacant look had returned to Joey’s face again, but at least he hadn’t stopped trying.

No. Joey was in there, he’d seen it, just a moment of it!

Sammy was not alluring and he was not subtle as he pushed Joey into the wall and started aggressively undressing him, as he kept running his hands over him and pressing his lips onto him, rushing through the process of pulling off his own clothes so he could get back to pouring his attention on Joey and shoving him into the shower. There was something desperate in all of it, not to distract him or make the necessary help into something fun, but more like the frantic effort to restart a man’s heart, like trying to revive him, just to know he was only unconscious and not dead.

Joey's initial reactions were vacant, his eyes locked onto the floor he had been laying on and mind stuck on the cold feeling of tiles and failure that had been pressed against his face moments ago. But as the hot water hit his shoulders and Sammy pushed himself aggressively into Joey's space, his world finally started to feel familiar around him again, and his tail went from drooping behind him to wrapping itself around Sammy's thigh. He knew the feeling of water and the smell of soap, he knew the shape and force of Sammy, and while these were not their normal stomping grounds, he knew the dance moves and could still find a needed comfort in it all as he pressed his lover against the shower wall and took control.

It didn't last long, and there was a constant tiredness to everything Joey did, always falling just shy of his standards, but the heart was there even when the energy wasn't. By the time they left the steaming room, Joey was back to leaning against counters and walls to keep balance, fading in and out of a state where he might just fall over any moment, and staring vacantly when not prompted to be doing anything.

He ended up rejecting the clothing Sammy fetched earlier in favour of a dressing gown, no longer interested in dealing with the struggles of trousers or button up shirts while his tail and claws still caused issues. Joey bee-lined for the room temperature food trays, picking up another sandwich and starting to subconsciously eat it from the top down as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Finally, this time, Sammy didn’t panic when Joey fell back into a blankly vacant trance again, finally satisfied that Joey wasn’t gone, just... out of it.

Just half-insane and shellshocked, like the rest of them.

He couldn’t help Joey walk out of the bathroom, though, and there was a lot of nervous, angry pacing in front of the shower before he managed to dart out of the room and slam the door behind him.

But once they’d both made it out and Joey was situated with food, Sammy wandered over to Jack instead. His long, blond hair was still damp and dripping on his back, so he was only in the undershirt for now — well, and the way it sat over edges and ties of the binder underneath could be sort of seen if you knew it was there. But his arms were mostly bare, and bandages had been pulled off, and he turned so Jack could see the gashes clearly, ripped by too-large claws just under his shoulder, miraculously short of going deep enough to make his arm unusable. It was obvious the thing had only grazed him, yet the wound still looked terrifying.

Sammy stared at it too, as if he hadn’t really gotten a good look at his own injury until now.

In spite of the time he’d had, Jack hadn’t really managed to get much done while the others were showering. His brain was still running slow, thanks to everything. He’d managed to get the first aid kit out again, at least, from where it had been left out the last time they’d needed it. He... hadn’t counted on his first aid skills being so relevant on this trip, but… it was a good thing he’d come, at least.

Joey was the first to leave the bathroom, and Jack nodded to him in greeting as the man moved past to get food. He was glad that Joey was at least aware enough now to do that. Sammy followed behind not too much later, and headed Jack’s way.

Jack… tried not to stare too much at the man, focusing instead on his arm. He winced slightly at how it looked. Still painful looking. He didn’t want to imagine trying to carry someone with that.

He got to work cleaning it up more, still not saying anything. He had his notebook with the first aid supplies, in case he needed it, but for now it was simple enough to clean up and treat - though he did take a moment to scribble a quick ‘This might will sting’ before he got to disinfecting.

It was simple work, but he still took his time with it. It was lucky that this hadn’t been worse than it was - for a musician, a serious arm injury would be awful. Infection could be just as bad. He wanted to keep that risk as low as possible for Sammy.

Sammy looked at Jack's message, let out a little huff that wasn't quite a laugh, and returned his attention to the surprisingly large, if shallow, rips across his arm that looked like he'd been attacked by some monstrous animal. Now that he had actually looked at it, not just seeing bandages or a blood-stained, ripped coat sleeve... it was no wonder his arm kept protesting.

"It looks like it should hurt more," he mumbled, staring with what looked like only a mild interest, though there was still a wince at the burn of the disinfectant as Jack worked. "What... did he do...?"

Sammy's eyes glanced over to Jack, then back down as he remembered he was unlikely to get an answer right now. That was fine. He kept watching his partner work.

Jack opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Ah, right. Well, it seemed like Sammy had realised too. He wouldn’t be too much longer with this, at least. He’d more or less finished treating it for now, so it just needed bandaging again. He got to work on that.

It’d still need checking on from time to time. Presumably, he’d be the one doing that. What exactly could you say to a doctor about how you got that sort of injury? And that wasn’t considering Sammy’s… recent issues with keeping quiet about things. It would at least be reassuring, in some way, to be able to know how good (or bad) it was healing.

It didn’t take long to finish up, with a quick check to make sure the bandages wouldn’t come loose too easy. Jack pulled away slightly, with a thumbs up to let Sammy know that he was done. Then, he picked up his notepad again. Better answer that question from before, lest he forget later.

‘Not entirely sure how it happened. Wasn’t Couldn’t Memory’s kinda foggy. There were those “angels” around. I assume one got you.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘Prophet doesn’t have the best self preservation skills.’

Joey had gotten to the bottom of his sandwich and crumpled up the paper as he dusted his fingers off on the side of the bed. Not knowing that notes were being passed and simply listening to silence after Sammy’s question, he spoke up.

“There were two of those monsters around, so we brought out the circle to catch it. They seemed smart enough to not walk into it themselves, so we had to instigate one, and both of us were expecting the damned thing to be unable to reach further than the boundaries of the sheet. They have long arms though.” Joey left the wrapper on the same plate he had gotten the sandwich from and stood up, finding he had just a little more energy and strength now that he’d consumed something. Funny, how that worked.

“I’m going to go check on Henry,” he muttered, tying his robe a bit more securely before slowly heading towards the door. It wasn’t with confidence, but he didn’t seem to be wavering, for now.

Sammy read Jack's uncertain answer, describing the Prophet the way someone might describe Joey, and listened as Joey recounted working with his other self like he was simply a business associate. He shifted uneasily, fingers running lightly along the new bandages on his arm. They'd escaped the Yellow King but... not the Prophet. That was still in his head somewhere. And none of the others seemed... afraid.

"I noticed," he muttered absently to Jack. "Every time I wake up, I'm injured..."

Sammy watched Joey stand, eyes locked onto him as he made his way across the room, uncertain but not unsteady. Sammy had expected to go too, but if Joey had wanted company, he would've declared that someone was coming with him. So he turned to Jack, once Joey had made it out the door. It wasn't the intense gaze Sammy usually had. Just waiting to see what Jack wanted to do.

Jack nodded to Joey as he announced his plans, and watched the man leave. Then, he glanced back at Sammy - who was looking back at him already.

He… wouldn’t be the best company, not like this. Well, maybe, for Sammy. The man did like his quiet. But then again, maybe not so much like this. Either way, there wasn’t much he could do here.

...He still needed to shower. But… His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten much of the food either. Too distracted by other things. That was probably a better idea to deal with first. Slowly, he headed back over to the food tray, hoping that Sammy would follow suit, and then sat down on the bed with another sandwich.

He was still achy and tired from everything that had happened - even just moving to the bed had his body protesting. Showering like this would be a pain - but worse if he tried showering while hungry, he wagered.

Jack... was not happy, but Sammy wasn't sure what to do, other than follow him to get food and sit down.

It wasn't like it had been with Joey, as Sammy climbed onto the bed next to Jack and leaned against him, damp hair pressed against Jack's shoulder. It was unsure, experimental, ready to move if he was in the way.

Jack leant back against Sammy, at first hesitant, then more of his weight, as he got used to this. It was still new, and strange, to be able to do this. Nice, perhaps nicer than he ought to find it, with Sammy's hair still wet from the shower.

Maybe he shouldn't be leaning against the man so much, given that he wasn't clean himself yet. But that didn't stop him from putting more weight than he probably should against Sammy, letting himself rest more as he slowly ate. He’d regret this later, when he had to move again, but right now he didn’t care.

Sammy responded immediately in kind, wrapping his uninjured arm strong and secure around Jack's shoulders and holding him close, as the other man leaned heavily against him.

Having Jack so close, holding him and feeling his weight and warmth so comfortable against him; before this trip, it would've been a dream. Now, it felt like a dream in a different way -- hardly real at all. Sammy fell quiet, but stayed alert as Jack ate, for any change, any new direction, any sudden shift. There had been a lot of those today.

It wasn’t too long until Joey entered the room again, looking like he had gone out and run a marathon in his bathrobe. He didn’t make any motion or voice a need for assistance though as he stumbled to the opposite side of the bed and unceremoniously fell mostly onto it, crawling the rest of the way to turn over. This wasn’t the oddest behaviour, Sammy had probably seen similar before on long work weeks, but the fact he didn’t try to latch onto either of the other two in the bed, or make any noise, was.

Jack hadn’t moved much while he was eating, but as Joey walked back in, he glanced over to check on the man. Joey looked exhausted, and was quiet as he fell down onto the bed beside them. The tiredness made sense, but… still, something didn’t seem right here.

In spite of his body’s protests, Jack pulled away from Sammy, so he could turn to get a better look at Joey.

“... ...Joey?” His voice was faint, quiet even in the silence of the room. Talking was… still difficult, but he didn’t think Joey would be up to reading notes in this state.

Sammy’s gaze immediately snapped over to Joey, following as he dragged himself across the room and into bed, and then stayed there, silently collapsed.

And... Jack spoke up. There was only a little relieved huff of a breath from Sammy before he turned his attention completely from the others, focused instead on grabbing himself a sandwich and a glass of water.

Joey remained silent and unmoving at first, which could have been read as already heading towards sleep again or contemplative. But it was obvious after a moment that he was just sulking, as he curled up away from the other two, and then changed his mind the moment Sammy became busy with his own thing, reaching over and trying to gently tug Jack down close to him again. The strength he put into grabbing onto Jack's shirt and pulling him closer was minimal, more of a suggestion really, until Joey noticed that he still hasn't gotten around to showering.

"Why haven't you cleaned up yet?" He asked, his voice a low rumble and face too close for comfort on such an inquiry.

Jack gave a sheepish half-smile - he’d expected that to come up at some point.

“Got distracted... ...going now.” Still, it took him a few moments to actually get to moving, his body having gotten even more comfortable with not moving now that he’d been pulled down towards the bed more. Eventually he did pull away though. He couldn’t stay here forever, no matter how comfy. He did still need to wash.

It took him a moment to get to his feet, with the way his body was protesting, but he got up eventually, taking a second to stretch slightly before he went to gather a change of clothes and head to the shower itself.

He nodded to Sammy before he went in - he was low words, but he wanted to check if the man would be good to deal with Joey while he was gone. Joey was… clingy, he was finding. For better or worse. And then his new weakness on top of that. Sam was probably fine with this, but… he just wanted to be sure.

Sammy was halfway through downing an entire glass of water in one go, so quickly he was panting for air once he’d finished it, but he glanced up as Jack hesitated, looking his way. Sammy stared back, not sure what the shorter man was looking for — he was talking now, wasn’t he? — but at Jack’s little nod he assumed whatever it was seemed to be in order, and returned to pouring himself another glass of water.

And as the two resolved their silent conversation, Jack disappearing into the bathroom, Joey stared vacantly at the wall, as if waiting for someone to come within his vision instead of looking around himself. And he was quiet. And he was still. And he was still awake.

But he wasn't quite here, and had found out he only had the energy to be so when he had something to prove.

Come on, Sammy... you know water won’t help. He supposed he must be actually thirsty, but it was hard to tell.

Being free to choose when he wanted to interact with Joey Drew was an unfamiliar prospect... Sammy glanced back at Joey, still collapsed silently on the bed, making no sounds of distress, looking at nothing in particular. The next thing Joey had said he wanted, when he’d sounded like himself, was to sleep, but he wasn’t doing that right now.

Sammy took advantage of the break where no one urgently needed him to finish his sandwich and finish his drink and get into clothes that would be okay to sleep in, before sliding up behind Joey, wrapping his arms around him as he lay down beside him, pulling his exhausted lover up close. Familiarity seemed to help.

It took him a while to get moving, but once he did, Jack managed to get into the shower pretty quickly. His showers were usually brief, but this time, he let himself zone out under the water. The pressure was reassuring, the heat relieving for his achy body, and the space gave him some time to think. To process things.

Even so, habits were habits, and it wasn't long before he was getting out again, drying off and changing into fresh clothes. He paused for a moment - then started drying off his hair some more. Best to make sure.

He wasn't procrastinating leaving, no. He just wanted to be sure that he wouldn't drip water on people. Never mind the fact that it had barely been an issue when Sammy had done it to him.

It had been easier, before, when he was too tired to think fully. But now that he'd had time to think, he couldn't help but hesitate at the door. Worry, that he was still intruding somehow...

...He thought, as if Sammy would just let something happen that he didn't like. Jack wasn't sure why he was so concerned. The man was good at saying what he wanted, or what he didn't want. Joey too. It would be fine. Hopefully. A small amount of doubt remained, but he pushed it down for now.

He opened the door and stepped through, his footsteps soft as he headed over to join the other two men again.

Joey went back to his placid state once Jack had gone off towards the shower, only moving himself again once Sammy pulled him close. But that was only to turn over and tangle himself into the other, silently clinging while Jack washed up.

The weirdest part of all of this, for Joey, was that he wasn’t even thinking right now. It was exhausting to think. It was exhausting to…

When Jack did arrive again, Joey immediately reached out both with an arm and his tail to tug the man down into bed again, now surrounded by two who smelled of the luxury soaps picked out by the hotel… and not of swamp.

Joey didn’t want to see another blasted swamp in his life now.

As he shoved the others around slightly to find a comfortable spot between them and also encourage them both to keep close, Joey didn’t speak or give any real good indication of what he was going for, simply finding the final request he asked for earlier and, as soon as he was content between the two, letting his mind fade out of consciousness once more.

Chapter Text

Sammy had only nodded shortly when Jack said he was off to go check on Pete, but anyone who knew him knew this wasn't meant to be curt or displeased, just an acknowledgement of information that needed no comment. Jack didn't need to be told that Sammy would stick with Joey in the meantime, and he didn't need to ask Sammy to do it; that was obvious.

The musician padded quietly into their shared room with only a slight creak of the door, taking note of Joey before finding a spot nearby to sit for himself. Well. If he wanted clarification, this was a pretty good opportunity, before Joey managed to distract them both.

“Who is Allison?” Sammy asked, without a hello or preamble of any kind. “Is she your… teacher?” His face had a suspicious sharpness to it, the usual mistrustful look that greeted anything Sammy hadn’t been fully informed of ahead of time.

Joey had semi-laid down on the bed, still fully clothed and on top of the covers, a few minutes earlier with one of the library books he had others fetch for him, though it was quickly set aside in order to try and capture Sammy when he sat near… but the questioning cause him to hesitate.

“What? No,” he seemed almost offended at the implication someone else had taught him, “She’s just a penpal I’ve had since I started uh, researching into alternative possibilities for the studio.” Occult. “I had actually not met her until this trip.”

While he had paused earlier, Joey finished his move to close the distance between him and the music director, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning just a little too heavily, as if he had been drinking despite being nowhere near alcohol for a shocking amount of time.

Hm. Sammy let that happen, wrapped an arm around Joey as well and pulled him up close, but didn't exactly relax himself.

"What's her interest in the Studio?"

“Well, she is an actress, as well as being well versed with magic. It made sense that after all of this we’d keep in better contact, and we could use a talent like her,” Joey started, shrugging like this was all obvious. Though at the same time, his speaking wasn’t anywhere close to how he had been talking since they got back to the hotel room after the masquerade… This was how Joey Drew talked, but it seemed like he wasn’t even noticing he was doing it, while other times it was clear to anyone close to him whenever he put on that mask.

It wasn’t a mask he had been wearing much since he had taken himself down a few notches. “... so of course I invited her to work at the studio,” Joey continued.

Sammy quickly became the opposite of relaxed, as Joey fell easily into that confident persona of the studio founder out of nowhere, selling Sammy the pitch instead of answering his question. His arm tensed around Joey's shoulders.

"Doing what?" he snapped. "Acting? What would she-- Sound is my department, Joey. You can't promise roles without my input; you can't promise anything before I've even heard her." This was exactly the nightmare he wanted to avoid -- being forced to work with someone who isn't right, someone he doesn't like, just because they happen to be friends with the boss -- and he wasn’t going to do it. Especially not with Allison, who had… well, she’d seen him at his worst, in the worst way. His whole body bristled defensively, voice strained. "We agreed on this."

“What, you’ve met her! You saw how she’s helped us, who knows what else might come up,” Joey started up, still unable to break persona despite Sammy’s anger. He sat up but remained close, this time not being afraid of being in the other’s space more than choosing to invade it affectionately. “It was a long night, we might be dead by now without her, and I was just thinking--”

And then Joey stopped. His eyes slowly slid off Sammy’s own gaze and fell to the bedsheets between them, focused, like he usually was when ‘chatting’ with Bendy, but right now his head only contained himself.

The alarm in Sammy's chest kept ratcheting up as Joey continued to ignore the question of whether or not Allison would actually be a good fit as an actress -- and then Joey stopped, and an entirely different sort of alarm took its place.

Sammy pulled back, narrowed eyes snapped intensely to Joey's face. Was he saying things he didn't mean to say, too...? That didn't make sense, Allison said this was already planned for.

"Joey," he demanded, voice low. "What's going on."

Joey didn’t reply at first, still too caught up in trying to remember the entire conversation from that night. It was foggy, but also he was very exhausted, so that much made sense. And he remembered being friendly with her, being glad to chat with someone who understood, in private, despite being wary of it not moments before.

“I know I… was the one who brought up the idea, who invited her… but I can’t remember why…” Joey murmured to himself, biting his lip as his eyes darted to another corner of the bedspread, as if the answer he was searching for might be there instead. “I always have a reason for these things… what… what was my reason?”

Sammy's eyes went wide as Joey slowly started to piece together how little sense he was making. The sign was gone, but he'd seen Jack at the masquerade with that thing in his mind, shifting him just to the left, so he still talked like himself while everything he should've been alarmed by somehow slipped out of his thoughts.

He didn't know much about magic, but he'd seen this before.

One hand gripped Joey's shoulder suddenly, more harshly than he needed to. "What did she do to you?" Sammy hissed, black eyes still locked on him, an inch from Joey's face. "What else is in your head?"

“I don’t… I don’t think anything else is in my head,” Joey spat out, and he did sound confident even if he didn’t sound assuring. Clearly there was something wrong, but at least he could tell that there wasn’t anything more in his head. He would know. There’d been so many extra things in his head recently, and now it was more empty and lonely than he could ever remember.

“There’s… plenty of reasons I can think of now, I just can’t remember why I would have… All the reasons I have now wouldn’t have been possible at the time…” Joey had been keeping her at an arm's distance before for a reason. None personal to her, he simply just had minor trust in people as a whole.

Joey’s opposite hand reached up to cover Sammy’s grip, whether out of a supporting gesture or as a reaction to the slight pain was unclear… but his eyes did finally lock with Sammy’s instead of continuing to try to seek answers from beyond his range of vision.

“... I should have stayed with you. I knew better, and yet.... Tch.”

Sammy huffed a sigh. “You should have.” He wrapped both arms tightly around Joey, not crushing, just pulling him up close, his head tipped down as he leaned against the side of Joey's face to miss his horns. If every muscle in the musician's body wasn't tight with anger, it might've seemed gentle and sweet. Instead it was defensive, desperate and protective, the one thing he could offer, as if his company would somehow be enough to undermine this weird influence.

It felt... familiar...

"Then we need to be careful," Sammy said, matter-of-fact, pointedly ignoring that train of thought. "If she visits the Studio, no one talks to her alone again. If any one of us does, we know something's wrong."

Joey’s body was just as stiff as he was pulled in, but not out of resistance to Sammy, simply from his own muscle tension being out of control at this realization. Though it started to fade once Sammy gave him a solution. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a rule that could be implemented and followed.

“That should help. I… I didn’t even notice until now… Why didn’t I notice?” Joey growled to himself, fist tightening on his lap, but not at the question he just asked. He already knew exactly why he hadn’t noticed, and as much as he had been trying not to show his frustration at his own stupid mistakes, it had also become a lot harder to control his emotions since the event as well.

Carefully, Joey turned his head and buried his face in the crook of Sammy’s neck and shoulder, finding it easier to hide his face physically now instead of put on a mask. It was a very odd sensation, alien even, not having as much access to everything he’d built himself upon as he normally did.

One hand travelled up to run lightly through Joey's hair as the man hid his face against Sammy. This wasn't how Joey should be. He didn't like it. But... better than cracking his head against the faucet...?

....maybe. Definitely better than thinking it would all be fine, seeing nothing wrong.

"Do you remember the conversation?" he asked. The tone of his voice hadn't softened at all, but now that they could both see the danger, it wasn’t frustrated or desperate. He sounded calm. "Other than her plan to visit the Studio, I didn't hear anything alarming, but I didn't catch all of it."

Joey didn’t respond for a bit, though little taps of his fingers could tell Sammy that he was trying to think through the conversation for an accurate answer in his silence. Eventually he opened his mouth, and while he talked this time, finally started to relax a bit.

“We talked about… normal things. Magic, what’s been going on, possible collaborations in the future. It seemed all very regular at the time, but the more I think back, the more I feel like I had spoken maybe a little more than I would have normally about things…” His voice dropped a level as he finally turned his head upwards to lean into Sammy’s touch and peek over his shoulder, glaring at the backboard of the bed as if he could drill holes into it with his gaze, “I was talking to her like I would talk with you or Henry. I felt like she knew me.” There was that disgusted tone again too, though the bitterness melted off the more Joey realized there wasn’t much to be done about it now.

“But I know I didn’t tell her any private information, and I can remember the entire conversation.” Joey finally started to shift position, wrapping both of his arms around Sammy’s waist and starting to lean on him, waiting for him to get the message and lie back.

"Mm," Sammy nodded. That matched what he'd heard; it's what had struck him as odd in the first place, more than any of the conversation itself -- that Allison should be so close to him, so trusted. "I thought you sounded... familiar."

He and Joey had been intimate for years now, but strange how much more intimate this was; Joey explaining without much of a performance, admitting again to a mistake that neither of them could fix without a solution at hand... He didn't know what to do with the feeling, and was glad to let it slide into something more familiar as Joey shifted and pressed against him.

"Except what she already knows," he grumbled, a half-hearted objection as he followed Joey's lead and let himself lean back onto the bed, pulling Joey with him. "She knows about the stone, about Bendy, about ...the Prophet. I would've filed all of that under 'private' before this trip."

Joey easily found his own cozy spot laying down, directly on top of Sammy, instead of next to him. He was still careful with where he left his head, and thus horns, but less so with where the rest of his limbs settled into. He gave a semi-dry laugh as his arms found their way over Sammy’s shoulders to run his own fingers into the blond’s wild hair. “You’ll have to excuse me, as my perception of ‘private’ has been thrown off for the last… week and a half? The word is starting to lose meaning, no matter how much I struggle to hold onto it.”

The words had a tang of sarcasm to them, a semi-attempt to cover up the bitterness of the reality of the situation. Joey hadn’t forgotten how he managed to just get his mental doors knocked upon by the Masked Messenger for trying to figure out a solution. Maybe if the asshole hadn’t been sticking his stupid skull face into other’s business, Joey wouldn’t be how he is now...

Joey laughed, sort of, as his tone turned sarcastic, and Sammy's dark eyes travelled over his expression with a small huffed breath of approval. This was right. This was better. Joey was normal.

He reached up behind Joey's head to press his face close to his own and kiss him, a real kiss, hands no longer careful of new horns as they ran through dark hair, until he pulled away with the smallest twitch of a smirk on his lips.

"We have some privacy now."

“Oh, do we?” Joey hummed, returning the smirk before moving in to hungrily kiss Sammy again as he shifted himself, now less weighted by carelessness, and more purposely shoved against the other. “That word is really starting to sound like an illusion to me, but when you say it, well…”

Earlier Joey had laid down on the bed for a reason. He had decided that reason wasn’t due to his muscles aching from merely sitting upright for an extended period of time. It wasn’t from the slight breathlessness that he had caught walking up the stairs earlier and been unable to get rid of since. And certainly not from the occasional waves of feeling like he might suddenly collapse as his body was still healing wounds he had caused himself over the days. At the time Joey didn’t know what the reason was, actually, beyond knowing it was none of those. Those reasons were boring and made for a terrible story.

No hook.

“I think I might believe in it,” Joey breathed, leaning past Sammy’s jaw to let his sharpened teeth run against his skin as he pressed a few more kisses up the other’s neck.

No rising action.

“Though maybe you should show me what privacy is really all about again, just so we’re clear.”

But now as energy surged through him, Joey knew the reason he had rested earlier. This was the plot he had been waiting for. And he quickly let himself get lost in the story, already excited at the many possible conclusions it could have.

Chapter Text

Sammy liked composing. He had wanted his whole life to compose — some seven-year-old version of himself would be thrilled to learn he’d one day get a job “making up songs.” In theory, he didn’t dislike working with others, either; he enjoyed the challenge of collaboration.

But he did not like edits.

Today was mostly edits. There were apparently a lot of new thoughts after a week away.

The red notes across his score read like someone struggling to communicate in a second language; suggestions and cuts that were obviously wrong, and it was his job to interpret whatever this idiot with a borrowed phrasebook was trying to say. He’d retreated to his office, desperate not to be interrupted so he could hear Joey’s changes clearly, but it was well past 3 pm by now and he’d forgotten to stop for lunch and admittedly would like to think about something other than this one stupid song for a little bit. And... Jack hadn’t come by since this morning. He often didn’t, when Sammy was in hiding, and it was generally appreciated, so it was nothing too strange, but…

It was only a few days after the trip. Sammy didn’t want to hover; Joey would no doubt be doing enough of that. But…

The edits affect Jack, too; it would be good to check in.

Sammy headed downstairs with quick steps, folder of sheet music under one arm. The gate that normally blocked off the maintenance sections of the Studio remained slightly ajar, a good sign that Jack had squirrelled himself away here. It would be a brilliant hiding spot for, say, someone who didn’t need to breathe.

He stepped through, into the tunnels of the sewers, letting out a small cough at the overwhelming stench of the air in the place.

He didn’t often come here. Usually Jack was the one checking on him; Jack knew how to initiate that sort of thing and Sammy really didn’t. Also! It smelled awful!! Maybe the lyricist really didn’t have a sense of smell anymore.

“Jack…?” he called quietly. He didn’t like to be surprised, and he assumed others would feel the same.

Jack stared down at the papers scattered around his desk, tapping his pencil against the side of his face. Wrote a single word. Scratched out two.

This wasn't working. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he wasn't working. The more he stared down at his writing, the more that English became a foreign language to him, the scribbles meaningless symbols, blurring together into nothing. He'd been working on this one set of lyrics since before the trip, but after everything that had happened, whatever path he'd been on originally was now vague and distant.

Though really, everything seemed vague and distant, at this point.

Originally, he'd started working down here for the quiet. It helped him think, and gave him the space to work out his word choices in peace. He liked to read through them out loud every now and then, if he was stuck or needed to check over what he'd done so far. The lack of people around made that a lot less obtrusive - goodness knew Sammy needed his quiet.

But now, the quiet and the solitude just reminded him of places he'd rather not be. His voice echoed strangely off the walls here and messed with his perception of space. And that was when his voice cooperated. More often than not, his ability to talk had simply refused to work, down here. The silence was deafening, and overwhelming. Too much, and nothing at all. None of it felt real.

...Well. It had only been a few days since they'd returned, anyway. He just... needed a little time to adjust, was all. He toyed with his pencil, trying not to focus too much on the scars on his hands - still pale, no less visible than before. Just a little while longer. He could manage that, right?

At least nobody else ever really came down here. He had some time, to get his mind back in sorts, before he had to interact with anyone-

He jolted at the call of his name down the tunnels, snapping him out of his thoughts. The voice was quiet - Sammy? It had sounded like Sammy, but with the echo, and his distracted mind, he couldn't be sure. He stared down at his work, attempting to muster up some kind of ability to think, to speak, to do something, anything. Maybe if he didn't move, the man would just go away...? Sammy already had too much to deal with lately. He didn't want to add himself to the list.

No answer, which was... well, there were a lot of other possible reasons, but it hadn’t been long, and Jack still went quiet sometimes. Sammy stepped carefully, hands ghosting near the walls he didn’t want to touch, especially now that washing his hands had become something of an ordeal.

But he had been to Jack’s “office” enough times to find it quickly now, the small desk shoved in an alcove that his musical partner preferred for reasons unknown. He said he liked the quiet — Sammy did too, but being assaulted by some other sense didn’t seem worth it. And Jack was there, still focused on work.

“Jack.” Sammy stepped up to the alcove, hair a mess and eyes tired, but interested, close enough that he could be easily invited in to read writing if needed, but giving the man his space for now. “I’m partway through edits. Is now a good time?”

Jack didn't respond, and continued to stare at his work, unmoving. Should he look? Should he not? His mind tugged him in both directions at once, memories of staying blind for safety, of people disappearing when out of sight, of looking and seeing too much. Did he want Sammy here, or did he want to be alone? Was he willing to run the risk of Sammy disappearing for good?

A moment passed, then another. Then, slowly, Jack glanced over at Sammy, his expression nervous. Not wanting to just stare silently, he gave the man a small wave in greeting. Sammy was here, and... normal. Tired, scruffier than usual, but here. Real. At least, he hoped. He second-guessed himself. He wasn’t sure. He looked back to his work, self-conscious again all of a sudden.

There was something appraising in Sammy’s eyes now, at the long hesitation, at the way Jack finally looked back at him as if he were afraid of what he’d find. Apparently, not a good time. Sammy started to open his mouth to say something, then didn’t, instead stepping up next to the man and resting a hand firmly on his shoulder. He watched Jack’s eyes, waited for his response to figure out if this was welcome or intrusive, not moving his hand in the meanwhile.

Jack froze up at the contact. He wasn't sure what reaction he'd been expecting, but... he hadn't expected this, for some reason. It was... reassuring, to be more sure that Sammy was actually there. He relaxed slightly under the man’s hand..

After a minute, he reached up to rest his own hand over the top of Sammy’s. Not the most comfortable position, but… it was grounding. He stared into space for a while longer, trying to control his breathing. When had he stopped doing that? He wasn’t sure.

Sammy stayed, for a long time, just quietly resting his hand on the other's shoulder. There wasn't anything to ask about this... he knew what it was. It was the aftermath. It wasn't strange that Jack didn't try to explain, either. What is there to explain, when your mind just doesn't work, still struggling to survive a wound you can't see? There's nothing to fix or understand -- just, try to survive until your mind works again.

And you need a reason to survive it more than you need an explanation.

The sewer was an awful place to kiss anyone and he wasn't going to do it. Instead he leaned over, affectionate, against the side of Jack's face, almost like nuzzling but really more like just running into him, his other arm wrapped around him for a long moment, to hold him until Jack's breathing sounded more stable, at least.

It was strange, how something small could entirely change everything. The sewers were no noisier than they had been before Sammy showed up, but now that the man was here… It was different. Better.

Jack leant against the man, hesitant, and yet more at ease than he had been before.

It was reminiscent of older times - when it had just been the two of them working together. They’d often sat in silence, when one or both of them needed some quiet or rest. It hadn’t been like this. But it had been a little like this.

After what felt like an age, but was more likely only a couple of minutes, Jack pulled away again, just barely. Just enough to, very tentatively, try to speak up again.

“... … ...sorry, Sam,” he mumbled, slowly. His voice was barely a whisper. The words felt like clay in his mouth. “...be fine soon.”

Sammy backed off a little when Jack did. "Alright," he said simply, and let his partner sort himself out. He stayed very close, though he straightened up again after a few minutes, when leaning over became uncomfortable, and simply took Jack's hand and laced thin fingers into his.

"You didn't break for lunch either," he said at last, sounding very certain of this guess. "Do you want to come to my office for a break? No one should eat anything down here."

Jack gave a small laugh at that, more just an exhale. He wasn’t wrong. Both at the lack of lunch, and the not wanting to eat down here.

He was used to being down here to work, but even he had his limits. Most of the time, anyway.

“...sounds good.” Jack gently squeezed Sammy’s hand, not letting go as he slowly got to his feet. They’d have to stop before they left the sewer, but… he didn’t want to just yet. Instead, he just repositioned his hand, for easier holding while stood, and leant slightly against Sammy’s arm.

Once they were out of here, he could have his hands against the walls for the contact he needed with reality. But this was much nicer.

Jack stood, and did not let go of his hand.

None of the surprise showed on Sammy's face, except for the little pause before he nodded and stepped out of the alcove of Jack's space, the other musician's hand still in his. He didn't say anything, but he held it tightly, almost... protective? as they made their way through the tunnels, his longer stride noticeably slower to match Jack's steps.

There was something in his posture too alert to be sweet. The sewers were, admittedly, pretty private, but he couldn't stop noticing the way the air hit him with each breath long enough to appreciate a dimly lit tunnel where they could walk hand-in-hand and no one would interrupt them. Just get Jack out of here. It must not bother Jack like it bothered him, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to relax with Jack, too.

Once they reached the gate, he moved to slip his hand out of Jack's without prompting, to shift it to rest on his shoulder.

While he'd known it was coming, Jack couldn't help but be disappointed as they reached the gate and Sammy let go of his hand. Even without all his anxiety about things not being real, it had been nice.

He hadn't been expecting the swap to holding onto shoulder - but it was a pleasant surprise, and appreciated. His mind was still a little cloudy, but the contact had been helping a lot. Too tired to struggle with words again, he simply nodded his head in the direction they were headed, and started walking.

He didn't like being so vague, with Sammy - he knew it was easier to just state things outright with the man. But, he was grateful that Sammy was still looking out for him anyway, still trying to work out what he wanted.

For years of working together, his partner falling silent had meant he was waiting for Sammy’s input or leaving a decision up to him, a pattern so ingrained that they didn’t even have to give each other a look to understand. And so Sammy turned towards his own office almost immediately, only belatedly remembering to look over and check that Jack was on the same page. He got a little nod in that direction, and that was enough.

There were sounds of earnest practice in a few different rooms — so soon after reopening, it couldn’t be a recording day — and a few people scurrying around the department, who deferentially slipped out of the music director’s way as he ushered Jack through the halls like he was an urgent and important guest.

Blinds over the window in his office were entirely drawn, which wasn’t regular; Sammy didn’t mind people being able to see when he was working (which was “almost always”), but since the latest trip, he was less willing to encounter his reflection in the glass when the lighting was uneven.

Anyway, the office wasn’t exactly private. “Someone may wander in to use the switch; I can’t lock the door,” he muttered as a warning to Jack as they stepped inside. He still closed it behind them before heading to his desk.

Jack nodded as Sammy closed the door, and let himself relax a little now that they were alone. Despite this not being fully private, they were still out of sight for now - much less likely for someone to see them and try to start up a conversation.

Even then, he didn't make a move to sit down or anything just yet, still second-guessing himself here. He hovered, nervously, and tugged gently at the edges of his sweater sleeves as Sammy got himself settled.

Sammy tossed the folder of music onto his desk and took a seat, only a moment later noticing that Jack had not joined him. He looked back, more confused than anything. The other man looked unsettled, still, but Sammy didn’t know what to do.

“Do you want to… sit?” he tried.

It took Jack a moment to respond to this, Sammy's words helping to break his thoughts out of the feedback loop they'd been stuck in. When he did respond, he settled for just nodding. His words were coming back, but... they were still slow. Easier to not push it too much, for now.

He walked over and finally sat down, close to Sammy. Maybe a little closer than he normally would, but hopefully not too close to look strange if anyone else came in.

In hindsight, he really should've brought his notebook. With this continuing to happen, maybe he ought to be taking one everywhere he went, still. As much as he wanted it to stop, there wasn't much he could do, and it'd be smart to plan ahead for it.

Maybe Sam had something he could borrow in the meantime? ...he'd ask in a minute. He still needed to work up the energy for that. For now, he could just sit in quiet for a bit. Enjoy the relative comfort of an office not in the sewers.

Sammy was quiet, at first.

“...It takes a long time,” he said softly, after a bit. His eyes were on his music, his voice matter-of-fact in a way that could only be described as gentle by those who knew him well, who knew the lack of flippancy in his neutral tone was deliberate. “I couldn’t calm down without... that mask, for months.” Closer to a year, maybe.

Really, it might take even longer. Years later, the mask stayed packed in his things, just in case. He still woke up afraid, very rarely, that he was dead.

“...but I want you here,” Sammy said, turning to stare insistently into Jack’s eyes, still pale and grey, “writing music with me.”

Jack stared back - unnaturally pale eyes meeting unnaturally dark ones. It was... comforting was the wrong word. Nothing about the concept of losing your mind for months should be considered a comfort. And yet, the knowledge that it could calm down, eventually, and the knowledge that he wasn't alone in this... It eased something in him, a tension that had been lurking at the back of his mind.

After a few quiet moments, Jack was the one to break the eye contact, gaze moving back down to his hands. He ran a thumb over one of the pale scars there.

"...thanks, Sam," he said, simply, his voice faint and slow. He glanced back up at Sammy again. Talking was tough, but he wanted- no, needed, Sammy to know he meant it.

Another couple of moments, and he spoke up again.

"You got..." Cmon, brain. You know this one. "...Paper? Spare?" He averted his eyes again, embarrassed. It was like he'd dropped half his vocabulary somewhere. Not a great sign for a writer. But with his head clearer than before, maybe he could get them on paper at least.

Sammy only nodded at the thanks, though there was a quiet "oh!" as Jack managed to ask for paper -- something to write on. Right. The music director turned back to his desk, flipping past sheets of music to find something blank, eventually pulling out a couple of sheets with empty staff lines that would have to do, and a spare pen from one of the drawers that didn’t have any teeth marks on the cap, passing them to Jack with a small frown.

He didn't like it, the way Jack struggled with words like he barely knew English. It was something else; it wasn't just inconvenient. It was like forgetting how to play an instrument.

The paper and pen were taken with a tired, grateful smile, and Jack got to writing, trying to keep the paper visible in case Sammy wanted to read along as he wrote.

‘Thanks’ first of all. Repetitive, maybe, but Jack didn’t care about that right now. His guess had been right - while it was still harder than normal, written words were coming easier than before, and a lot easier than spoken.

‘This is easier,’ he added, and then, ‘Lunch?’ He glanced back over to Sammy, to see his reaction. Sammy had been the one who suggested it, but then, this wouldn’t be nearly the first time the man had ignored the “lunch” part of a lunch break. No harm in reminding him.

Sammy leaned in closer to watch over Jack's shoulder as he wrote, with a slow nod at the first comment, and a slightly surprised raise of eyebrows at the last question.

"...Right." He smirked, just a little sheepishly, opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a candy bar and nothing else. "Did you bring..." There was a pause, partway through unwrapping it, and a displeased curl of Sammy's lip that followed the thought of lunch being stored down in the sewers, and the blond pulled out a second chocolate bar and passed it to Jack without further comment.

Jack didn’t miss the look on Sammy’s face. He couldn’t disagree there - he didn’t really want to leave now and go back to get his lunch. He’d completely forgotten about grabbing it on the way out of the sewer. Though, thinking about that, Sammy’s reaction was probably for a different reason.

Distracted by that line of thought, it took Jack a moment to register Sammy’s “lunch”, only noticing once he was offered some as well. He frowned, but took the chocolate bar, taking a moment to write another quick note.

‘I’m making sure you eat something proper later.’ He raised an eyebrow at Sammy, then put his pen down so he could eat the chocolate. It wouldn’t be his first choice for a meal, but it was very… Sammy. The sweetness was nice.

Sammy didn't react much to the note, instead leaning back in his chair and staring off at the wall behind his desk as he munched, thoughtful.

"I'm not sure Joey can be alone right now," he hummed. "We could go early, and get something to eat before he leaves, or talk him into taking us out." He tapped a finger on the desk. "Might not be hard; he still owes me a cake." He glanced at Jack, apparently having decided the only way to carry this out was to get dinner together.

Jack smiled at that as he ate. One small benefit to all of this madness. Sammy probably deserved multiple cakes at this point, with everything that had happened.

Sammy had always had a sweet tooth. Jack, not so much. He paused on eating the chocolate about halfway through, not wanting it to get too sickly, and swapped back to writing again.

‘I could probably cook something? I’m not too bad, if I say so myself. Couldn’t make a cake though, but Joey’s already handling that part.’

“....oh.”

Sammy stopped, staring at the written message, not sure why this casual invitation had caught him so off-guard. It hadn’t even occurred to him...

It must... mean more to him than it meant to Jack. It was only a meal. Meals were usually just a practical matter — Jack certainly wouldn’t want the results if Sammy tried to return the favour — but something about the idea of being invited over and cooked for was ...nice, and domestic, and.... he didn’t expect it. Not from Jack, but also, not at all. He thought you had to be like Henry to have that sort of thing.

He still hadn’t answered, or reacted, just taking in the offer for a moment, quietly evaluating.

“...That sounds nice,” he said, finally.

The lack of response hit Jack somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Was that... too much? Too soon? Was he misreading things? Had he overstepped? But, no- a moment later, Sammy finally responded, and the tension eased up a little.

It hit him, just then, how tiring it was to be so on edge all of the time lately. He hadn't realised how much it had been taking out of him down in the sewers, but now that he'd had a break...

He wished he could lean against Sammy and rest right now. It wasn't safe, anyone could walk in, but he wanted it. Maybe later. He was realising just how much he'd missed being able to do this type of thing. Just to... be close and affectionate with someone. It had been so long.

Outwardly, Jack didn't do much, aside from toying with the pen in his hand a little as he thought.

If the silence was uncomfortable, Sammy didn't notice. He finished his chocolate and stood, a hand on Jack's shoulder as he moved around him to toss the wrapper, then flopped back into his chair. There was a limit to how much they could really rest here... but Sammy was eager for things to feel more normal. He leaned forward and grabbed the folder of music from his desk.

"Easier than leaving early with the edits he's given us," he mumbled, continuing the earlier thought. "There was a cut to lyrics, too--" He flipped through pages with more purpose. "Measures 16-54 of the one for the shorter cartoon with Boris; not the clarinet part, the other one." Maybe Sammy could remember the actual names of the films if he tried, but he did not often try. He was pulling out pages now, offering them to Jack if the lyricist wanted to take a look.

Jack took the pages he was offered, thankful for some extra things to focus on. Maybe now that he’d had a rest and gotten some company, he could get some actual work done. And yes, that did seem to be the case, as he looked over them - his mind was picking up on things a lot easier than they had been earlier. He skimmed through the edits, spinning the pen in his hand. Edits were always a bit of a pain, but he’d dealt with worse ones than this, at least.

‘Could be worse.’ Back to the paper for talking to Sammy. He might be able to try talking out loud again by this point, but… maybe best to stick to writing for now, not push it too much.

‘Less of a pain than what I was working on before, anyway.’

Well... it was closer to normal, at least. Jack and Sammy tended to be pretty quick with back-and-forth thoughts when they got talking music, but for now, Jack kept writing.

Sammy read the note and shook his head. "It's an awkward transition. This is the best I have," He took up his own pen and added a line of quickly scrawled notes to Jack's paper -- "for 55. Ruins some of the arrangement I had, but I can make it work." The arrangement, this time, that so far only existed in his head; trying to communicate what he heard clearly before the whole thing was fully scored would only result in unhelpful debates about when is the appropriate time to give trumpets the melody. "Can you work with that? Open to ideas."

Jack hummed. ‘Could work. Though maybe we could try…’ He scribbled down a few thoughts of his own, adding onto Sammy’s. It didn’t take long for him to slip back into work mode. Focusing was a lot easier with Sammy around, to throw ideas back and forth, not getting lost in his own head. Writing everything was a little different, but... easy enough a transition, when so much of their work was already on paper.

It wasn't bad, actually, writing back and forth, and before long more of Sammy's thoughts were ending up on paper, too, jotted down alongside Jack's.

There were interruptions, a couple of times, and Sammy was particularly short with them, complaining that he and Jack had a lot to do... but it was not long at all before they'd gotten through all the song's needed changes, and Sammy frowned, uncharacteristically disappointed as they reached the end, and Jack's input was no longer needed. This was usually where the short nod and "that's all I needed" signified the end of the song and Sammy's gratitude for Jack's contribution, but instead, he was quiet for a moment.

"...You can stay, if you like." He looked up, expression serious. Jack was himself again. The sewers were not helping. "Joey will come by in a couple of hours, and you have a good excuse to be here."

Jack glanced up at Sammy’s offer. This wasn’t how this usually went, but… it was a relief, really. He’d been dragging his feet on getting ready to leave, not wanting to end what had turned out to be a relatively nice editing session. His head was a lot clearer than it had been earlier, and he wasn’t fond of the concept of going back to the sewer, and how he’d been before.

“...That sounds good.” The reply was a little slow, but the words came easily, much more so than they had been earlier. More just like he was a little tired - which he was, admittedly. But that was still an improvement.

“...You need my help with anything else? Or,” Jack smiled, that slight smirk he got when he’d thought of a terrible joke, “Do you just need me to sit here and look pretty?”

Things slipped one step closer back to normalcy.

That was correct, that was how it should be, and without thinking much about it Sammy suddenly leaned forward to hug him, pulling him close with relief. The musician was strong, and he hugged tightly when he meant it, but he pulled back quickly, back to his own chair, still set a little to the side so Jack could use the desk, too.

"Looking pretty is all I'll need for the rest of these," Sammy said, belatedly, as though he were giving out actual instructions. "Not too pretty, or you'll distract me."

Jack let out a startled laugh as Sammy caught him off guard with the hug, returning it briefly with a less strong grip before he let Sammy pull away. Seemed like he wasn't the only one pleased about talking being easier.

"Got it. Only kinda pretty. I’ll save being too pretty for the experts.” He leant his elbow on the desk, head on his hand, and watched as Sammy moved onto the next task. It was a shame he hadn’t thought to bring his own work along with him earlier, though he certainly couldn’t blame himself given his day. And maybe that was also a good thing - he might be able to get some new thoughts if he wasn’t staring at things he’d already considered.

For now, though, he was just going to sit here and watch Sammy work. He could do with a bit of a break.

Anyone else watching him would set Sammy's nerves on edge, but with Jack it was... well, not normal. But it was comfortable, and soon Sammy was lost in music again, focused on reading through and listening to the changes he'd need, the little twitches of his fingers following a harmony only he could hear.

This wasn't how it usually went... but maybe it should be. It was nice.

Chapter Text

Okay… Okay.

Sammy breathed. He did not need a third round of prowling the building to make sure no one was here. Things hadn’t really ramped back up yet, most everyone had gone home at a normal time, and the building seemed pretty empty.

And anyway, if everything worked, it wouldn’t matter. He’d just be in this room, the larger storage room he’d found that locked from the outside, just him and a stack of paper and a tape recorder and a candle and an alarm clock and…

He checked his pocket again. And a stolen bottle of Ink.

Everything he’d brought with him was set out on the boxes he intended to use as a makeshift desk for the evening, with the carefully written message, in large letters, at the top:

“DON’T DRINK IT ALL AT ONCE. I WANT TO TALK TO YOU. STAY HERE AND LEAVE SOME AND WE CAN GO BACK AND FORTH.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

He swallowed hard and huffed and paced the little room, wrenching his focus off the memory of the taste of Ink to try to think of anything else he might need before he locked himself in. The cravings sure hadn’t faded yet, but that meant this was a good time to do this, right? When he wasn’t undoing months of resisting… this was his decision. Not the Prophet’s. It was his.

* * *

It was him…

It... really was, wasn’t it..? Unfortunately.

It had been long enough now after the New Orleans...Kerfuffle? Debacle? Trip, the Lurker decided on firmly—that he was having to accept that these intrusive... worries, weren’t just residual aftereffects of being merged with Joey Drew for so long.

All the physical effects had faded by now; no pie-cut yellow eye or human walking around with a snazzy tail. But despite everything looking peachy on the outside, Bendy still found himself prowling the studio vents...compulsively? Was that the right word for this? On alert for anything bad that might happen again.

It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense, exactly.... He’d been caught off guard last time, got trapped in a circle like a dummy and lost the stone and started the whole mess. So of course it made sense to be more on guard, more aware of what was happening in the studio...and of where he was stepping.

But what didn’t make sense was this feeling…heavy and squirming and whispering that all kinds of awful things could be happening anywhere he wasn’t currently looking. Some new undetected intruder, or even more ridiculous things that he just couldn’t shake out of his head when nothing else was going on.

Maybe Henry was using too much gold somewhere, burning it all away ‘till he used himself right up, or maybe Joey was trying to contact the Masked Messenger somewhere and getting caught in another bad deal, or maybe…

The Lurker blinked, and backtracked, so busy with his own fretting that he’d almost missed the flicker of candlelight in the remote storage room below.

He stared.

...Or, say, maybe Sammy Lawrence had somehow got ahold of some of the new Ink and was pacing around in front of it like a man who was about a cat’s whisker away from going Prophet right there and then.

“Hey!” he called out, kicking open the hatch from the vent, and flipping his head down to peek out upside-down. “Strange place to be postin’ a letter, ain’t it?” he remarked with a lopsided grin.

So okay, this probably wasn’t going to do that annoying crawly knot in his mind any good...

But he could deal with that later—right now it looked like he had better things to worry about.

Sammy was already nervous enough as it was; at the sound of the vent, he nearly jumped out of his skin before the little devil even had a chance to speak up. He whirled around, his eyes darting from Bendy to the message he'd left, and he quickly snatched the note up, as if that wasn't the most suspicious thing he could possibly have done.

"Oh. Bendy," he said, catching his breath and trying to sound relieved, the paper held tight to his chest. "...what are you doing here? You startled me." He stepped forward, putting himself between the cartoon and the box where the bottle of Ink sat.

Bendy grabbed onto the edge of the vent and flipped himself out of it, landing on his feet on a stack of boxes. His grin softened to something a touch sheepish as Sammy startled, snatching up the letter and shimmying around in front of the bottle. “...You, uh, been thinkin’a settin’ up a little improvised interview too, huh..?” he asked, tapping his index fingers together with a low swish of his tail.

Sammy blinked. "Oh." He nodded and stepped back, glancing at the improvised desk, dropping the note back in place. "Yes." His voice sounded sure and matter-of-fact, but he looked away and fidgeted his fingers against his arm uneasily. Now that he wasn't acting on a panicked instinct, it was obvious that attempting to hide this from Bendy was stupid anyway. He would hear the alarm. If the Prophet tried to get out, of course he would call for the Lurker.

Sammy looked up again, eyes narrowed, not directly suspicious, just uncertain. "When were you planning on mentioning this ‘interview’ to me?"

“Almost brought it up the day after we got back in town,” the Lurker admitted, plopping down to sit on the top box. “Every time you’re—er, when he’s out, there hasn’t been a lotta time to talk? I thought...maybe this is all just... a misunderstanding, you know? I never asked much back at the ‘Pools. Maybe I shoulda..and I thought, maybe it ain’t too late to.

“But, uh, then I thought you guys seemed to like to wait awhile..rest? In between stressful stuff? So I figured maybe I oughta wait a bit to ask you about it.” Bendy idly kicked his feet, pie-cut eyes growing wry as he scanned the tableau before him. “Guess I still got some things to learn there, huh? Here you are fixing to do it yourself. Anyhow, guess what I’m saying is ...how ‘bout some help?”

Sammy let out a little hum and folded his arms, frowning thoughtfully. Bendy managing this “interview” would be much more convenient than trying to have a conversation while falling unconscious every other comment, much less of a risk than passing out to leave an unsupervised cultist locked in a storage closet, and the Lurker was maybe the only person he'd trust to be able to help. But...

But it wouldn't fix this... feeling, that he and "the Prophet" were at odds. That this entity would swap in to take Sammy's spot whenever he could and Sammy would only hear about it, unless he wanted to try digging through his dangerous memories. He didn't want to feel the Prophet's emotions and see things through his eyes, he just wanted to talk to him. He didn't know if it would help, necessarily, but he didn't like his voice being the only one the Prophet couldn't hear, being the only one in the dark about the thing using his body.

"Maybe,” he said finally, considering carefully. “If you talked to him, it would be easier, faster, and safer. But it would still be second-hand." He was gravitating towards the Ink again, idly turning the bottle where it sat. "I thought he wanted to kill Henry and Joey. But he didn't. From Joey's telling of it, he sounded helpful. But how can I trust someone I can't even meet...?" He glanced at the door, then huffed a sigh, turning back to the Lurker. "I would rather have your help. I can record it; at least I can hear him for myself. But I want a chance to respond to him afterwards."

The Lurker’s eyes flicked to the bottle, but returned to Sammy without comment. Still perched on the box he nodded slowly, and pointed to the slightly crumpled note.

“I think you got the right idea there. Sure, I wanna ask some things, and maybe he’ll listen to me some, but that ain’t new. I figure in the end, none’a this’s gonna actually get better unless you two can get a little more on the same page, so...I’ll see what I can do t’help that along, maybe get you more than a sentence or two of flowery backtalk for an answer. That work for you?”

"Fantastic," Sammy replied, with a short, approving nod. 'Getting on the same page' sounded... overly optimistic, but worth it to work out exactly how naive the idea was.

Well. He supposed they could jump into it, then. "I won't need the alarm, if you'll wake me..." He strode to the door, but his hands hesitated as he reached out to close it. "I'm locking the door, so he can't run off." His eyes flicked up to the open vent. "Can you leave the way you came in?"

“Yeah,” the Lurker replied, “no problem. Could even get around and let you back out again when we’re done.”

He didn’t argue about locking the Prophet in, despite his sympathies in that direction. Even with Sammy bringing up how helpful he’d been last time, the Lurker was pretty sure that might have gone out the window if the Stone had been restored. Can’t do a ritual sacrifice if you don’t have the tools to do the ritual right, after all…

No. This was probably best for now.

Sammy nodded, shut the door with a click, and moved to sit in front of his makeshift desk.

He didn't look at Bendy again, focused now as if he were setting everything up for himself again. The tape recorder was turned on with a little flourish of his fingers and the bottle of Ink was taken delicately from the desk, and uncapped, and Sammy's breathing got more conspicuously slow and deliberate; keeping calm, keeping control.

It looked so strange, gold swirled in with the black as he tipped the bottle. The absence of those little pinpricks of light made it feel... less, somehow. Of course, there was still a thrum of power in the way it smelled and the way it moved, but before, filled with stars, it had felt like something that stretched deeper than it should, almost infinite.

Now, even though it was strange and threaded through with magic, it was only the size of a bottle of ink. Sammy frowned. It was familiar, still; called up the feeling of his lover in a way that was hard to define. It wasn't his scent, but that was how it felt -- the sharp and sudden kind of memory that rises up with one very specific smell.

He dipped his finger in, and the colour didn't mix; it swirled between gold and black on his skin in an implausible way. He set aside and capped the bottle before resting his other hand on the note, and licked the Ink off his finger.

* * *

Sammy perked up, a shift of posture that left him sitting up very straight, alert, like an animal listening for danger. His eyes went wide, and it looked at first like his pupils were dilating until they didn't stop, until black broke out and spread into the whites of his eyes like a dye dripped into water.

He looked slowly around the room, reorienting himself. "You would think..." he said softly, "I would bring the face I was given, when I come to clear my head."

“You use it for somethin’ different most a’ the time lately,” the Lurker remarked simply from up on his box. Despite his casual pose, he was watching closely to make sure the Prophet didn’t go and gulp down all the Ink - he could really see that one going either way, and it would kinda shoot the whole evening if Sammy couldn’t switch back again until morning.

“I bet if you take a go at explainin’, then next time this happens, you’d have it,” he said, with a nod towards the paper left on the desk.

Sammy nodded, distant and self-assured. "Even when my mind was fogged, it comforted me, for reasons I could not recall..." He hardly spared the note a glance, but leaned forward and squinted at the tape recorder for a moment before a single finger pressed the button to pause the recording. He swivelled to face the Lurker, eyes wide and earnest, finger still poised on the pause button as if he were holding it still.

"We have an opportunity, my lord," he whispered. "Do you have the stone...? I do not wish to fracture myself further, but... if you are able to help me return what was stolen from us, the sacrifice is worth it."

The Lurker sighed, cartoon features making the action exaggerated, though he couldn't say he was exactly surprised.

He'd been hopeful when Sammy hadn't just gone for the Ink, but… maybe Sammy was just saving it for an impromptu stone-cleansing circle.

"...Turn it back on, huh?" he asked softly. "What could we possibly say that it'd matter if someone heard?"

Sammy's face fell, but with a small sigh he clicked the button to resume recording and leaned back, fingers twitching at the edge of the box.

"The one who overheard was me," he said softly, a hand pressed lightly to his chest, expression distant as he looked at the items laid out by... himself, in another state of mind, in another place and time. "I understand this test. Lost, I reach blindly for a faith I can't remember..." Fingers brushed carefully over the paper that lay in front of the rest, a message he knew he would write, though he could barely imagine the thoughts that would go with it, a vision of the world that had become so foreign, even as he found himself slipping into it again and again.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak...

He took the pen - not the sort you dip in ink - held awkwardly between his fingers, as if he were the first person ever to use a pen and were just now deciding how they should be used, and answered the message written on this tiny canvas:

"FRIGHTENED SHEPHERD, WE ARE ONE

WE WANT TO BE WHOLE AND TO SERVE OUR LORD

PLEASE REMEMBER"

The writing was more deliberate, but the letters were all formed the same; the handwriting could probably be matched by someone who specialised in that sort of thing, but there was an unmistakeable difference between two, like someone returning to a journal a year later in very different mood.

"Now," he said, satisfied, pushing himself to standing, and he walked up to the Lurker, waiting before him with a small, melancholy smile and head bowed. "I have a little time left. You wanted to speak with me, my lord?"

“Yeah,” the Lurker said, sitting straighter, tenser, as Sammy bowed before him. “Yeah, I do.”

He took a breath, or at least seemed to—really he just wanted the pause to collect his thoughts, and the motion felt all the more natural after all that time sharing Joey’s form.

There was just so much he’d never thought about back at the Star Pools. So many assumptions he’d carried without question, until the people who had become his friends...until Sammy had shown him he could challenge them.

If he was going to be any help to Sammy now, he couldn’t make those same mistakes again.

“I want ya to tell me why yer doin' this,” he said, jabbing a gloved finger at Sammy. The intensity of his expression as he spoke might have looked comical to someone who didn’t know the true nature of the cute little being making it. “Tell me why yer so keen on this? I thought I knew, back at the ‘Pools...but now I ain’t so sure anymore.”

All the while, his eyes stayed fixed on Sammy, unblinking. “...I wanna hear it from you.”

A test... a test made sense, after everything. Sammy nodded.

“I’m doing this to serve our lord, the one who showed me mercy and saved me in the Star Pools.” The smile that broke onto his face was strangely intense for an expression that seemed so sad. “He saves me from death, and now promises a purpose, a new kind of salvation, to be free of this body, this prison, and joined with him! To be swept at last into his final, loving embrace.” He spoke quietly, carefully, but something excited vibrated under his words and twitched his fingers as he gestured widely. “And such a small task in return, such a simple sacrifice, to mark and guard his host, to lead the ritual that brings my saviour here. And yET I CANNOT DO IT!” he shrieked. The emotion hit him all at once, and he crumpled to the floor as if struck. “I cannot blame my sleepwalking. I was awake! I was there! And I was DECEIVED, led astray by a false prophet, a false king! Deceived again, and led sweetly away by that tRAITOR WHO TRIED TO KILL ME AT THE START!” He laughed, the sound loud and hollow. “He promises to wake me up, and I considered it kindness!” Doubled over in another awful laugh, before he finally sat up, arms wrapped around himself, and tried to calm.

“There is no kindness but our lord’s. I know that. I know that. No matter how I curse his name when my faith falters, he has not abandoned me...”

The Lurker jumped at the sudden shriek—for all that it was a fairly routine sound, it wasn’t one common to the studio, or one he particularly liked hearing coming from Sammy. "What... What're you talkin’ about?" Though this matched something else that had been stuck in his head for nearly two years…since the first time the Prophet had roamed the studio…

Tentatively, Bendy slipped down off the stack of boxes, dropping the last bit and bouncing a little as he hit the ground. He walked the last few steps to Sammy’s curled form, and plopped one hand gently on his shoulder.

“Hey…’deceived by the one who tried to kill you’?...that other time, with the knife and the desk, you said somethin’ about ‘returnin’ the favor’ about Joey...are you talkin’ about Joey..?”

"I must atone, this is--" But Sammy did stop, at the hand on his shoulder, all his attention focused at once on the Lurker.

He frowned, not quite following but not wanting to admit he didn't understand just yet, and gave a slow, uncertain nod. "The one... who carried you in his body? Yes."

He leaned back, face tipped upward, ink-flooded eyes gazing at nothing. "I didn't know he was meant to be the host, when we first visited the Star Pools. I was lost, and blind, and he kept me that way, as he does so often still. An innocent sacrificial lamb, led to slaughter without purpose." Eyebrows furrowed hard over his dark eyes, but his speech wavered with an angry sort of hurt. "I don't know why. I only know our lord will raise me up, a trespasser blessed to be a prophet, offered a purpose I could not imagine." A hand raised briefly up in acknowledgement before his gaze dropped down, and he turned to the Lurker, a twitch up in the corner of his lips.

"And I was given the honour to stand next to you. Our lord's love and fury, made in his image."

Bendy huffed, looking to the side uncomfortably. He didn’t like that Sammy wasn’t exactly wrong about that last part. He could still feel it there, like a fishhook fixed through his core...like a Yellow Sign he’d been made with.

His Purpose.

Did it not feel that way to Sammy...? Like something trapped inside, ready to yank on him at any moment?

“It was real nice, havin’ you around,” he admitted. “Havin’ someone...to talk to? A friend, I guess. But the rest’a it…” he shook his head, eyes fixed vaguely off in the distance.. “Why do you talk like serving him is so great..?” he finally asked, nearly whispered. “When you got all these other things you can do, people who wanna help you without havin’ you kill anyone even. Why...why’re you talkin’ like it was Joey who set you up to die?”

He swallowed then, pie-cut eyes fixing back on the Prophet. “Look, I spent a week in his skin, I’ll be the first to admit a lot'a his ‘bright ideas’ ain’t exactly all they’re cracked up to be, left to himself. And... yeah, even if he didn’t know much more than you, he probably knew enough he shoulda steered you all clear. But…”

He let go of Sammy’s shoulder, taking a step back as his arms fell to rest at his sides.

“At the end’a the day, Joey wasn’t the one who killed you, Sammy,” the Lurker said, something complicated twisting its way across his simplified face. “We were. ...I was.”

Sammy slowly but steadily tensed as the Lurker talked, questioned their purpose and their devotion, hands twisting and flexing like he didn't know what to do with them. Why ask this? What else... was there?

He shook his head at the claim of responsibility for his death, dismissing the whole idea. "No, no, that's not..." He faltered, trying to put his feelings to words. It seemed wrong that his fellow servant, formed of a piece of lord, should have killed him unfairly. Somehow, that was correct and right, even if the memory of screaming and choking and dying hopelessly in that dark pool was still sharp and painfully frightening in his memory, even though he dreaded the idea of deserving it, it must be right, it couldn't be a mistake -- if the Messenger bringing him back to life was a kindness, then his death must've been deserved. He was foolish, he didn't know better; his anger wasn't wrong because he was led into it, and they should've helped him, stopped him, saved him... but the death itself was right.

"It... is a trespass." He said carefully, and became more sure of himself as he spoke. "I enter unwelcome and seal my fate. The ocean is not blamed for a death by drowning -- we are only a part of something bigger, my lord."

“Bigger, sure, but the ocean’s mindless,” the Lurker answered in that same tone, uncharacteristically quiet. “If we could choose you, choose to bring you back or make you offers, then the other side’a that is...we chose to kill you. I...coulda chose somethin’ different if…” his face twisted up in a grimace, but he shook his head with a twitch of his tail, continuing, “I didn’t know there was anything different. I hadn’t thought about it yet, how I had a choice then... but I still did. I coulda done somethin’ different. I shoulda.

“...I’m sorry.”

Sammy shook his head, a hand lightly on the Lurker's shoulder. "It doesn't... matter..." He blinked, confusion and frustration mixed on his face. It was getting... hard, to feel and to cling to the truth he knew...

He took the Lurker's hand in both of his own... the little gloved hand, made small and docile by those same wandering hosts. Was it really better, this form? Was it really what he wanted...?

The stars in his eyes had gone, when he looked up. Maybe they had been dimming for a few minutes now. "...I know it seems... cruel... but without that sacrifice, I would not have even these brief moments of clarity. I should... be grateful..."

His eyes wandered, staring off at the one box with the flickering candle, barely seeing it, though he could feel the bottle resting there with his whole being. It was hard to remember why he was leaving it. He had decided to fall asleep.

The Lurker put his other hand on top of Sammy’s, recognizing the disorientation and darkened eyes for what they were now; Sammy would be switching back soon. Not certain if either Sammy would actually remember at this point he nonetheless said, “It matters to me.”

Sammy looked down at the Lurker’s hand; carefully squeezed the one he held. He didn’t look up at him again, just mumbling that poem to himself again — “...rest your head, it’s time for bed; in the morning, you will wake...”

— before his head nodded forward and he slumped over, half leaning against the Lurker as he passed out.

Chapter Text

The Lurker caught Sammy by the shoulders as he slumped, unconscious, from his bout as the Prophet. He stood there, just taking a minute...and not knowing why it felt so necessary to do so.

He should be setting Sammy down, walking Sammy up, turning off the tape recorder, maybe. But he was just… stuck, distracted by that worry-knot that had grown even more distracting somehow.

This was progress, wasn't it? So why...why did he feel this way? That didn't make any sense…

Just... he hated hearing Sammy talk like that. Like there was only one way it was right for things to go. It was too familiar, felt like something crawling under his inky skin. Some small part of him that whispered, What are you doing? That whispered maybe Sammy was right, and something was wrong with him, and he really should just get back in line, should understand why that One Right Way was best like Sammy did…

He caught his grip tightening on the musician's shoulders and huffed, frustrated with himself. Enough already! All that was over and done with! He'd made this choice already, he'd made a choice! Besides, no way was Sammy absorbed and Henry or Joey killed better! In the end, his only real regret about how everything had ended up was that his presence here had brought trouble for the others. So... okay then, he just needed to get back on track and help them out with that as best he could, and that was that.

He shook his head, focusing with some effort. He left the tape deck alone, they could rewind that later, and there was no reason for an extended nap. He gave Sammy's shoulders a little shake and said, "Hey," mustering as much of a smile as he could manage. "So far so good. He's uh, definitely talkin'."

Sammy blinked as someone shook him… Bendy. He was on the floor in the Studio, with a lingering feeling of frustrated confusion for reasons he couldn’t remember, and leaning on the Lurker, who was trying to wake him and saying —

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, meeting Bendy’s eyes with a cautiously hopeful look, before carefully taking in the room, all as he’d left it. “Then it worked? He played along.” He slowly got to his feet, strangely nervous.

Bendy chuckled a little, rolling his eyes. “Well, close enough, anyhow. He did turn off the tape and ask me if I had the Stone first thing, but...we got that sorted quick. Otherwise, yeah. We talked till he passed out.” His eyes fell then, his gloved hands finding each other to fidget. He tried to keep his tone light as he added, “We maybe got off-topic there at the end...it got a little heavy.” Only seemed fair to give Sammy a heads up before he listened.

Sammy nodded absently as Bendy updated him, stepping up to stop the recording with the deliberate press of a single finger, before looking over the rest of it, and becoming entirely distracted by an answer to his note. Delicately, he picked it up to read.

“‘Frightened Shepherd’ must be me, I guess,” he muttered, after a long moment of squinting suspiciously at the slightly crumpled paper. Other than the mirror incident at the party — and he didn’t exactly want to sort out whether that had really happened or not — this was the first time the Prophet had directly addressed him. He didn’t know what to do with the uneasiness that grew inside him or the way his breathing quickened unevenly. ‘Please remember.’ It felt like golden messages.

“He could be a little clearer,” he snarked finally, as if his breathing were normal, as if this all wasn’t inexplicably terrifying in a way he couldn’t place. “Alright.” And he rewound the tape, and hit play.

Sammy listened for a few minutes, expression as impassive as if he were evaluating a voice audition, other than rolling his eyes when his other self complained about what seemed to be the missing mask. Bendy prompted him for a better explanation of what he was doing, and his own voice began to answer, soft and reverent.

Sammy panicked and stopped the tape.

He breathed, deep and deliberate and shaky, ran trembling hands over his face. Come on, Sammy. Shake it off. You know you’re not dead.

“Give... me a minute,” he said.

All the while the Lurker stood where he’d been when Sammy woke up, his usually animated features uncharacteristically drawn; Even his tail was still.

He didn’t seem surprised when Sammy stopped the tape, though he did tilt his head a bit, looking over Sammy’s expression. He didn’t comment on it though, simply nodding. “Sure,” he said. “Take your time.”

Sammy just sort of nodded as he got his breathing... mostly under control, and finally huffed a determined sigh, sat down in front of the box-desk and rewound a little before playing the tape again.

The whole thing this time. He flinched when the screaming started, flinched again at a laugh that was not his. But the rest of the time he just sat quietly, his hands folded in front of his usual wary frown; if he had any reaction to Bendy’s confession, it didn’t show. He stopped the tape immediately when it hit a point he recognised, grabbing the pen at once to furiously scrawl “JOEY’S NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU HE’S JUST AN IDIOT” on the paper in front of him.

He let out a frustrated sigh, not sure that was even what he wanted to do, and dropped the pen, resting his head in his hands. They were still shaking. ‘Trying to kill you’? ‘Trying to kill us’???

“I don’t... remember this part well,” he said, instead of trying to figure out if the Prophet was also himself. “I had a dream about it. And I remember the version where Henry— where I knock myself out of the way. From both sides. But the one where I drowned is... foggy.”

The Lurker had stepped closer at some point, hopping onto another box next to Sammy’s. He read what Sammy had written with a momentary smile, though his arms stayed tightly crossed. And he listened as Sammy started musing on all the different pieces he’d ended up in back when this all started. This obviously was hard on him—Bendy hadn’t missed the way he was shaking.

That was one of those things he’d picked up on pretty early as meaning humans were having it rough, though he’d never really experienced it himself until just lately—that time he’d woken up from a bad dream in Joey’s body. Oh, the shaking thing had happened to Joey pretty on the regular over the week... but that time, Bendy was pretty sure the body had been acting that way because of him.

Really, that week in general had done wonders for his sense of context...

“D’ya wanna?” he wondered frankly. “I remember that time better than the other one...the jump in hosts kinda scrambled me there for a bit.”

The other one, Bendy said, because there had only been one other time, not two, no matter how trying to merge them together made Sammy's head swim.

He looked up, and despite his usual guarded expression, there was obvious uncertainty in his face. "...remembering things hasn't really gone well for me," he said, in a tone of voice that could have been wry if it weren't so nervous. "But it's part of this. It's... what created the Prophet." He leaned forward, and nodded shortly, a decision more than anything. "I want to know."

Bendy smiled a little at Sammy’s almost-joke. “Yeah, it’s been kinda hit or miss there, huh? ...But okay then, I’ll fill in what I can.” he leaned up against a higher stack of boxes, looking Sammy’s way. “How much d’ya already got?”

Sammy frowned, thinking. "The dream I had was jumbled and unreliable, though I... remembered the conversation just before was familiar, and I remembered being stabbed in the back by something I couldn't see, and dragged into the Pool. Past that it's... all static and noise." His gaze had drifted aside as he talked, and at some point he'd reached out to turn the bottle of Ink in his fingers, fidgeting it idly.

He quickly turned his focus back to Bendy. "So what do you remember, when we entered?"

Bendy’s eyes rolled closer to one side of his face, thoughtful. “There’s a lot I prolly wasn’t pickin’ up on back then, but... yeah, it’s like you said. The three a’ you were talkin’, you had that mask’a yours on and were walkin’ in front’a everyone, with your back to the Pools. You weren’t supposed to be there, so...”

He shook his head a bit, crossed arms gripping a bit tighter, but kept going with only minimal pause. “I grabbed you first. Wasn’t careful about whether it was around or through. I sunk you far enough you wouldn’t be swimmin’ back up, and went after the others. Joey was cut, so I just broke his legs, made sure he wouldn’t...get lost, but he was makin’ a fuss. Henry ran off while I was squarin’ Joey away.”

Sammy listened, leaning forward again. He remembered the conversation, and he remembered wearing the mask just to get under Joey's skin.

He listened as Bendy continued, describing the order and reasoning of his attacks on their group, without much reaction, though this sort of anxiety-inducing appraising stare was the normal way Sammy Lawrence listened. It all made sense, from the perspective of the Lurker’s goals at the time.

Was any of this familiar...? All he could think of was being pulled down and drowning, and he could think of that vividly, choking and desperate in a disorienting expanse of infinite glittering stars. He swallowed, steadied his breathing, determined to be neutral, to not interrupt. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face.

“By the time Joey was set up in the hut...you’d turned back up, only you were made more like me. Like he’d just...taken whatever of you was left to scrape out and dumped it into the Ink to see what would come out. You were tellin’ anyone who would listen about how you’d been chosen, an’ how the Messenger was comin’ to reward us...I mean everyone already knew, so no one much wanted to hear it. But at the time it seemed nice how excited you were about it, or that you figured I was worth tellin’ too, so I listened.” He shrugged a bit, staring off at the wall.

He hadn't missed that Bendy didn't talk about them separately when he was speaking to the Prophet, and he was doing it again now, slipped back into describing the Prophet's creation as though he were reliving a wild escapade for the benefit of someone who was too drunk to have memory of the event. In a way, maybe he was.

"I don't understand," Sammy said, and it wasn't a question, fingers tapping against his arm with agitation. "Why would I be excited about that? The Messenger said he knew what I wanted, and that it was 'something to believe in,' but what sheep-headed idiot believes just because he's told to?"

“I did,” Bendy said with a rueful smile, finally uncrossing his arms to shrug properly. He'd gotten better at the gesture over the years. "But I guess that's apples’n oranges."

“You didn’t know,” Sammy said simply, and it wasn’t a disagreement; he was not denying the fact this did, at some point, mean that Bendy had been a sheep-headed idiot.

Bendy curled a hand to his chin, brow furrowing thoughtfully. “From what I know’a the Messenger though, he don’t just full-on remake people, not like the Yellow King. He...he just gives ‘em plenty 'a room to twist themselves up.” he thought of the argument with Joey and Sammy on the balcony as he continued, “An’ I know bein’ able to trust people matters to you a lot…maybe that's where 'somethin' to believe in' came from? ...But that still don't explain why you changed your tune to the Messenger so fast. Or why..” he hesitated then, finally catching himself, “why the other you gets so...on edge? About the idea things could’a gone another way, either? How can he be so steamed at Joey for what happened, if he wanted it to happen?"

Sammy stood abruptly as Bendy continued and paced the room, arms crossed. He suddenly didn’t like that the door was locked. “I don’t trust people,” he said. “I don’t trust most people,” he amended. “You can’t trust anyone with everything. And I’m certainly not looking for someone to worship.”

Bendy looked puzzled at that, though he didn’t question it aloud. But then again, maybe there was still some sheep in his head even now; he’d trusted them with what amounted to his soul, after all. Maybe Sammy’s caution did sound strange to him.

Sammy walked back and forth a couple more times, but the room was too small to pace effectively, and he finally stopped, leaning back against the door and scowling.

“If I could remember... how the Messenger convinced me, maybe I would understand. But... the Prophet says we’re one, and that he wants me to remember...” Just knowing things, seeing things, can change you. What if he did understand? What if just knowing turned him into the Prophet again, merged them together and the Prophet was what came out...? “The Messenger was probably lying anyway,” Sammy sneered. “He knew none of us remembered negotiating with him.”

"He mighta," Bendy agreed, spreading his hands. "If it would get the job done. Or at least helped you along lyin' to yourself. Maybe…"

Bendy abruptly stood up straight, snapping his fingers.

"Hold on, wait though… you used to act that way too," Bendy pointed out, leveling one rounded finger at Sammy from his box perch. "This you, that still said it was better for the future not to be set in stone, that told the Messenger just what he could do with his job opening… but you still had that whole thing in the recording booth, when I asked for the music stand? Or the sodas. Talkin' to me like he does, wantin' to drop everything to help. I know you got over it, but… it musta made sense at the time, right? Why were you actin' like that?"

Sammy’s eyes went wide like he’d been caught, then he immediately winced and glared off to the side. “I... ugh.” The ordeal of Bendy’s “training” had been both nerve-wracking and embarrassing and he was more than happy to pretend it had never happened. But Bendy was... not wrong.

He hadn’t technically moved, still leaning back against the door with his arms crossed, but now his shoulders were hunched up and tight, his whole posture tense like he was ready to either curl up or punch someone.

“You helped us, it... it made sense to want...” He pressed a hand to his temple, trying to keep his thoughts and memories in order. “...I knew you weren’t a cartoon. I think the others saw the same Bendy they animated, but I couldn’t stop seeing that... first? form...? The one that tried to catch me. It was too much, too many pieces, too many limbs and everything out of place. That shifting thing, inescapable, rising out of the pool like a hundred different creatures—“

Sammy’s voice was shortly smothered by his own hand pressing hard over his mouth. A deep breath through his nose, irritated, and he tried again.

“Right. So. I was— I wanted—“ He shook his head. “I was scared. But right then, we were...” He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “...chosen. You weren’t supposed to hurt us, a version of you had helped us, and if we could please you, we could survive. It stopped making sense, obviously, but I couldn’t get rid of it. We were back in the Studio, there were deadlines, but I couldn’t focus unless you were happy.”

“You...wanted to act like we were important somehow to each other, an’ that you were just bein’ nice cuz I’d helped before, cuz if that was true then there was nothin’ to worry about,” Bendy said slowly, with the same deliberate air he’d had on the balcony, like someone methodically testing each new step of ground before putting weight on it, which had been so jarringly out of place coming from Joey.

“But, really, you just didn’t want me unhappy... in case that made all that stuff untrue, in case I hurt you?” He leaned slightly forward as he spoke, tail swishing behind him, intent on trying to puzzle this out, to understand. “You wanted to know I was happy cuz...you didn’t really know if I’d still keep from hurting people if I wasn’t? And if I wanted to, you couldn’t stop me...is that it?”

Sammy shrugged, uncomfortable. “Sure. Maybe?” He ran a hand through his hair, significantly more unruly than it had been before New Orleans.

“First, I was excited to have your attention, to be...” Loved. “...important to you. To please you. But when the stupid ‘training sessions’ started, it obviously wasn’t just that,” he growled. “They made me anxious; I would guess wrong, and lose your favour...” He hadn’t thought about why that was so frightening. Maybe that had also been too much to think about; how much he was in over his head, how utterly he was dependent on the mercy of this creature he had taught about soda and cookies. The idea that the Studio might ever become stifling for the Lurker had terrified him then. “I just... thought I was losing my mind.”

“So….what changed?” Bendy wondered simply, pie-cut eyes still turned on Sammy. “Or are...are you still worried about that stuff?”

“Of course not.” Sammy pushed off the door, fidgety and agitated. “I don’t know! It was stupid to begin with; I just came to my senses.”

He made a couple more jerky cut-short attempts to cross the room, as if he were intending to storm out before realising that he couldn’t, and finally plopped himself down in front of the box and aggressively smashed the button to wind the tape back to the beginning again, hit play before Bendy could ask him any more questions.

He glared over his hands, folded in front of his face, as he listened dispassionately to his own voice shrieking and muttering — with far less nervous suspense and far more frustration.

The tape finished again and he picked up the pen again.

“I DON’T WANT TO REMEMBER THAT. I DON’T WANT TO BE YOU. I DON’T WANT TO BE LOST LIKE YOU.

THE MASKED MESSENGER WILL BETRAY YOU TOO, YOU STUPID SHEEP.”

This idiot. How was untangling his own problems supposed to get rid of this cultist stuck in his head?! Sammy dug his fingers through his hair and into his skull with a frustrated huff.

Bendy took a step closer on the slapdash box-desk to look at the expanded note. “...Too?” he wondered, though with the state Sammy was in, the small query might not even register. “Are you goin’ again right now?” he asked, surprised.

Sammy nodded shortly, grabbing the ink bottle, hitting the record button, and licking Ink off his finger again.

* * *

Sammy blinked and licked his lips. Awake again! This was going surprisingly well, lack of ritual notwithstanding. Fear and anger lingered tight in his chest, and he remembered them, like waking up from an intense dream that makes no sense the instant it's given any thought. The fear and dread he felt, trying to survive on his own, was so strong, so frequent, but still something guided him back. Something would always guide him back, he believed.

...He hoped.

"It's... strange," he said softly, setting the ink bottle down on the box uncapped. "This chance to guide myself." He picked up the note with both hands, looking over it in a way that suggested the paper itself was more interesting than the writing. "It's strange, to not know what to say..."

Bendy sighed, rubbing the closest thing he had to a forehead as Sammy went ahead and switched without so much as a how-do-you-do... He was silent for a beat, and then two, as he tried to sort and stow away the threads of thought that had been absorbing his attention moments ago, to refocus on this. He glanced at the note again, and quickly ruled out convincing the Prophet of any of Sammy’s fresh additions. He had a feeling Sammy had been upset more than having anything specific he was going for, there.

“I dunno if guidance is exactly what you’re lookin’ for with this? It’s more to understand better,” he said. “Because these things you keep tryin’ to do when you’re like this..? It’d destroy a lot’a stuff that means a lot to you, ya know.” Then added as an afterthought, “Though pretty sure the note’s on the mark about Joey—You bein’ dead is prolly about the last thing he wants.”

“No.” Sammy frowned, turning to the Lurker. “But he wants me docile and sleepwalking.” He stood, creeping closer. “Forgive me, my lord, that I withheld my visions from you... but he would keep me that way, if he can.” He stepped closer and closer, leaning into the Lurker’s space as he spoke. “Once he knows everything that I know, he will steal — he has stolen—! The stone is sick once more.” His whole body curled in on itself as he pulled back to the makeshift desk.

“When my clarity fades, it becomes... difficult, to hold to what I know. This small life distracts me; the sacrifice feels too great.” Again, Sammy was trembling, working to hold his breathing steady, as he acknowledged just how lost he was. “I become... frightened, of the very one I knew would come to save me. And yet... I want to be whole. We want to be whole, even as...” The paper wavered slightly in his hands, and then he was leaning into the desk again, taking the pen and slashing it violently back and forth across the one sentence of faithless blasphemy, scribbling it out, as if he could unsay it, fix it, protect himself from it, until the pen tip caught and ripped the paper.

He sat back with a heavy, shaky breath, frustrated and distraught.

“Yeah, you do wanna be whole,” Bendy said, not bothered in the least by the looming proximity, nor really the reaction to the paper. He watched the Prophet scratch away until the fibers gave out and tore, curious more than anything. “But you want you and the stuff you care about to be safe, too.” Would Sammy have done the same, if someone had wrote that about the Lurker after they came here from the Star Pools? Was he afraid the Messenger would turn on him if he didn’t do this stuff..? He opened his mouth to ask more, but then something else clicked in his head. He blinked.

“..Wait. Was there actually somethin’ you were holdin’ back, that time?” the Lurker exclaimed. He’d half-thought the Prophet’d just been saying that in the hopes it would make them more likely to switch him back. “What was it?”

“Knowledge of the ritual,” Sammy replied, looking up with interest, full attention on the Lurker again, as if he hadn’t just been having a violent argument with a piece of paper. “I am blessed with a vision of the ritual needed to cleanse the stone, given the first taste of what is required!” he declared, gesturing widely. “I have faith I’ll be given the rest when we reach the circle from the vision.” It was easy, so easy, to lose his place in time. Of course, caught in this body, he was still tethered to it — the ritual had already gone awry — but when his eyes had been opened to a reality beyond that, it seemed a strange way to view the world.

“Oh,” Bendy said, disappointed. “It was just that?”

Sammy stopped, and seemed to shrink back, hands slowly drawn in close to his chest. That was apparently not what the Lurker had hoped to hear, and he had nothing else to offer.

"Was there... something else you wanted to know, my lord...?" he asked, and the eagerness in his eyes was tinged with something desperate.

Bendy siiiighed, sliding down to sit on the edge of the box-desk with his arms planted behind him so he could throw his head back dramatically. “Sammy..!”

But he paused. The reaction was habit at this point, but not from the Prophet; back then, the Lurker hadn’t realized what was happening when the Prophet acted this way. No... it was left over from Sammy’s weird behavior back when they first came to the studio. It sure seemed like the two were related... similar, at least! He sat back up straight, looking right at the Prophet. “Why’re you upset?” he asked, point blank.

Another question he didn't know how to answer.

Sammy's ink-flooded eyes stayed fixed on the Lurker, to keep from darting, to try to be confident. "I... I'm upset because… the stone is still tainted," he said carefully, trying out the answer. "Because... we failed to fix it, because..." His gaze slipped down, as he curled in on himself a little more the longer he talked. "Because we remain trapped here, so far from home, and these hosts have more influence than they should... I cannot tell if you're testing me, or if their will directs you, but..."

It was as if he'd been trying to do this alone, constantly fighting the one who should’ve been the will of his lord. Of course he would receive guidance but... could he do it alone? It didn't matter. He needed to. At the Star Pools, so many had known and understood. And the false prophet had his own flock of misguided sheep. But here… there was only him.

"The vision; I didn't see all of it. My will falters and my eyes are torn away." He swallowed hard. "Perhaps, I should know more than I did."

The sigh that escaped the Lurker this time was a much smaller one, tired, and a bit more frustrated than he cared to admit—or wanted to show with how this Sammy might take it. He...he needed to ask Henry about this. Or Jack... there had to be something else, something he wasn’t understanding, a reason both Sammies’d had similar reactions...just one pushed to an extreme by the Masked Messenger’s tampering. Something from the experiences they both had...

Neither one of them wanted to say. Maybe they didn’t know either.

Well...maybe this was as far as he could get on that on his own… but with the chance to just talk to the Prophet, and with the things he was saying, there was more Bendy wanted to get out before the Ink faded again.

“Listen...I need you to understand somethin’, okay?” he said, pushing back to his feet and walking right up to the edge of the box where Sammy sat. He planted his hands on Sammy’s arms, staring him in the eye.

“Hosts do have influence on me. Joey doesn’t get it, but it’s just a fact. But there’s somethin’ you don’t get too - I can tell when it’s happenin’. I always have. It ain’t like that Yellow Sign that plays tricks on you…” he shuddered, eyes dropping for a moment. “...Thanks for gettin’ rid’a that, by the way. It was...yeah. Anyway.

“My point is I don’t...like bein’ controlled. I think maybe I hate it actually. So I promise, if Henry or Joey or whoever were makin’ me do stuff...I’d find a way to let you know, in whatever state, cuz I know you’d help me. But that ain’t why I was tryin’ to stop you doin’ whatever you thought I wanted at the drop of a hat before, like you think. I’m not testin’ you or whatever. It’s cuz I don’t...want to see you gettin’ your strings yanked either. I wouldn’t want that for anyone, let alone a...a friend.

“And I don’t...think you actually feel like you have as much of a choice about all this servin’ and sacrificin’ stuff as you talk like you do. And I don’t like it. If you don’t have a choice...then what even’s the point?”

At first, Sammy looked pleased and eager. The Lurker thanked him, and it relieved a tension he didn’t know he'd been carrying. The Lurker didn’t want to be controlled, and hope caught in his chest, that they could work together again, like they were made to.

And then...

Sammy stared, features twisting harshly into something disgusted, or angry, or grieving. This didn't make sense... His breathing hitched and he shook his head, backing away the few steps he could. "A choice?" he cried, teeth bared in a frantic smile. "You want a choice? We are shown the truth! Our eyes have been opened to an unknowable, infinite glory! We are NOTHING, but we are shaped and given purpose, offered salvation by our lord! Why..." A shaky breath, and his voice fell to a whisper again. "...How can you envy the senseless sheep that cannot see him? That will never join him?" His shaking hand reached to the Lurker's face, but did not touch. "There was no choice, because we were given a greater choice."

He searched the Lurker's expression, eyes wide and tense with fear... a fear that any sign of the acceptance he hoped for might not be coming.

The Lurker’s hands dropped as Sammy backed away, not stopping him...nor moving when Sammy’s hand neared to hover by his face. His expression though looked taut, almost ill, as if he would have gone pale if he wasn’t already living in black and white. It took him longer to find his voice when Sammy was finished than he would have liked.

“...Salvation from what?” he finally asked. “Yeah, the Messenger, the ones he works for, they’re out there bein’ all vast an’ inconceivable, I know. They’ll outlive humans an’ galaxies an’ this bubble ‘a time an’ all’a that. I know. So..so what, you wanna be infinite too?” he asked, throwing one hand out to the side as his volume started to climb. “Is that what this’s about? Because lemme tell ya pal, the tiny slice of it I’ve had up till now? Livin’ and changin’ and forgettin’ over and over and over and OVER for the Masked Messenger?? That’s when I felt like nothin’!” he shouted into the small room.

He stood there on the box for a moment, frozen and angry, hunched forward with arms curled to the sides in a posture one wouldn’t expect from a small and cute cartoon at all as ink beaded on his face.

...Only to blink, and catch himself... take a step back and rub at his face with a grimace. When he looked up again it was only sidelong, over his still-raised hand, his visible eye finding Sammy to ask one more time, voice shaky, “What’s so bad that you think is gonna happen if you don’t do this, Sammy..? Salvation from what..?”

Sammy flinched at first, not afraid to be hurt, just the natural reaction of seeing the one he was supposed to serve react with such displeasure. But horror began to creep onto his face the longer he listened.

“You... want to defy him, too...” he whispered, finally, and the realisation left his lips and became real, undeniable. No hosts exerting control that could be escaped, no confusing test of his faith that would finally end when he proved himself. Another comforting lie stripped away and his eyes were opened: the Lurker of the Star Pools, favoured creation of the Masked Messenger, had abandoned them.

It was the last clear thought he had.

The rest came in a swirling fog of uncertainty as he felt himself drifting again. What was he meant to do? Had his own wavering faith brought this about? Could it be fixed? Was he safe? The creature’s questions seemed irrelevant. Starting to flag, he scrambled across the room to the ink bottle, still sitting open where he’d left it, and took another quick sip to keep from losing consciousness.

The Lurker just stared for a moment as—at first—it seemed like Sammy was rushing him, which even given their relative sizes at the moment struck him only as absurd.

It was only a second later he realized what Sammy was actually doing, too late. “Hey!!” he exclaimed, jumping at Sammy to try to tackle him away, though he still hadn’t pulled himself together enough to do much more than blat into Sammy and snatch at the bottle he was already drinking from. “What’re you doin’?!”

“Staying awake!” he snarled back. The Lurker grabbed at him and he curled defensively against the box, but this wasn’t an attack — yet. He immediately capped the Ink and reached out to place it on the other end of the container, as far from himself as he could, but with one hand still hovering over the bottle, not touching it, not quite willing to just let the Lurker snatch it from him. “Not all of it. Just... enough to keep my mind clear. Please!”

Sliding back down to the box-desk Bendy backed off, though his tail lashed behind him. “Why didn’t’cha say so? Geez…” he huffed, wiping another dribble of Ink off his face. He made a flicking gesture, though it had already absorbed into his hand by the time he made it.

Sammy backed off as well, slunk back to the other side of the room, made a distressed, angry sound in the back of his throat, and shoved over one of the boxes of... whatever was in the boxes until it hit the ground with a satisfying crash. He paced over to the door and tested it aggressively, then yelled and threw his whole body against it.

Stars had lit again in the void of his eyes, and his thoughts were starting to settle back into place, but they were frenzied now. Such a soft, quiet betrayal. He wanted to scream.

The Lurker watched Sammy thrash around, knock over boxes, and slam into the door, his brow slowly raising. He started to step closer, nearing the edge of the box again, but stopped himself... waiting to see if Sammy would stop slamming into things on his own.

There was another harsh bang into the door, but the door didn’t give.

Sammy’s body slid down to the floor.

He stayed there, kneeling on the ground, for a long moment. What was he supposed to do...? He could feel that tainted stone, here! in the room! In the wandering Lurker — but, even if he could cut it out of him like that false prophet would do, how could he claim to love his lord and yet strike down the one made in his ever-shifting image? No, that would make it all worse; he had already unwittingly helped those traitorous hosts to tempt him to wander; this was his own fault.

“The shepherd wanders, and the sheep are led astray...” he mumbled softly to the floor, dismayed, head bowed. “My lord, have mercy on your foolish prophet...!”

And finally he stood, stepped softly back to sit before the scratched-through note and the tape recorder.

Bendy shifted on the boxes a bit to not be too far from the ink bottle and the tape recorder, though he didn’t outright remove them from Sammy’s reach. Though he wasn’t dripping any more, he was tense as he watched; he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made things worse.

But...but would it really be better letting Sammy keep thinking he wanted to bring the Messenger here too? That he was just judging him, prodding him, testing him in case he wasn’t good enough, and that’s why he wasn’t helping? That just felt...he wasn’t sure what it felt exactly, but he didn’t like it. In the end he couldn’t bring himself to regret speaking up...even if he did wish it wasn’t causing Sammy this much distress.

He took the pen, again awkwardly, held with incorrect confidence, and smoothed out the paper. He had written to himself for guidance, but he felt more lost than ever.

“SHEPHERD,” he wrote, and if he was to acknowledge they were broken in two, that his sleep-walking self seemed foreign, under some other control, then that was the right word for it. Too attached to the sheep, the Shepherd feared the sacrifice. So eager for the sacrifice, the Prophet had neglected the sheep.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

And he set down the pen delicately and sat back. “My lord?” he asked. Wandering or no, the Lurker was still something more glorious than he was, by birth. “What... temptation in this place has caught your eye?” Sammy didn’t look up, frowning hard at the note.

Bendy perked up a bit as he was addressed, and even if it was still with that ill-fitting title, at least it wasn’t ‘traitor’. He opened his mouth...but hesitated, pensive. “...Can you answer my questions too?” he wondered, stepping around to the top of the papers so they were facing each other a bit better. “I do wanna help you, ya know. Just not...not that way. An’ I think you wanna help me, from where you’re standin’, at least. Maybe if we understand where everyone’s comin’ from better,” and he nodded at the paper to include the other Sammy as well, “We can figure a way we can all get what we want?”

Even as he said it he had to admit it didn’t sound all that likely; their goals seemed pretty at odds. But...well, if there was a way, they’d sure never find it if they didn’t even try, right?

“I will share what has been given to me to speak,” Sammy promised earnestly, as if that were an answer to the question.

Well, probably close enough.

“Okay, it’s a deal, then,” Bendy said with a crisp nod, no sign of the dripping left now. “What I wanna know is, what’re you gettin’ outta this thing with the Masked Messenger, Sammy?” Bendy wondered. “What’d he promise you, what’re you so worried about here that’cha need salvation from it? Do you...just wanna live forever?”

"Our lord arose, finally, from his host," Sammy said slowly, staring off into the distance. "And we small sheep were only wandering across the surface of the world that was his worthy prize from the beginning. The sheep will come to slaughter, but he extends his favour to those that please him."

His voice became breathless, urgent even as he drew out each word. "It doesn't matter how long we live; time is meaningless. But he has favoured us, shaped us with his own hands, blessed us with purpose... how can I go back to those old songs, my old life, lost and wandering?" he cried, spreading his arms. "How small it all seems, these pointless distractions! Only to please that liar's whims. Why please a man, when I can please a god!"

Why did it always keep coming back to Joey..? "You sound like that Moonlight quack," Bendy pointed out. "He was also talkin' about bein' chosen even though the stories about his god never end so well for the people doin' the servin'…"

Sammy's head snapped in the Lurker's direction abruptly, that hostile smile cracking across his face again. "The false prophet?!" He laughed, and again the sound was loud and forced. "No king annointed him! He isn't chosen, he's lured by a deceptive song. I have seen my lord's face; I am given a body shaped by his hand! He spoke to me, he welcomed me; he offered me peace, a loving embrace, the chance to be joined with him! But," he bowed his head, obedient, “love requires sacrifice.”

Sammy’d said that one back at the Pools too…

Bendy still wasn’t sure what to do with all the things Sammy was saying, but...this at least felt more personal than the general exalting he’d been tossing around earlier. He glanced at the tape recorder briefly - Maybe the other Sammy would be able to make something of it.

In the meantime...a deal was a deal.

“I...guess I still don’t really understand what you want from all this, but... Thanks for tryin’ to explain,” he said. Shifting from foot to foot he huffed lightly. “But you wanted to know why I don’t wanna hurry back, huh?”

Sammy glanced up again, frowning. This didn't make sense. The Lurker was part of the Masked Messenger; he was literally created to serve him. Unlike his prophet, who had to fight this constant temptation and fear and doubt that overcame him whenever the Ink wasn't there to help him, for the Lurker... it should come naturally.

How could he not understand...?

But Sammy nodded, head tilted slightly. "I am curious," he said.

For a few moments the Lurker fell still, except for the occasional twitching of his tail. How to even answer..?

He started pacing around on the boxtops, one hand flipped up over the other crossed arm as he started to speak. “I just...look, at the Pools, it was just fadin’ in and out ‘a the same thing over and over...even if we won, it was just a different endin’ to the same cycle, an’ then it started all over again anyways. Anythin’ different was a breath of fresh air. You guys sure were. I would’a missed it when you were gone…well. If I’d remembered anyhow, which I guess I wouldn’t’a,” he shrugged with a grimace.

But after a moment he whirled around to face Sammy, eyes wide, one finger stabbing downward. “But here, there’s new stuff all the time, new stuff bein’ made, new stuff comin’ through, new stuff that needs figured out, new stuff you can learn to do... an’ that’s not even gettin’ into how much there is outside…” the glints in his eyes widened the more he talked, literally sparkling in his cartoon face. “It’s great! Didja know there’s a place where they just have machines to fling people around, without killin’ ‘em I mean, just for fun!”

He paused, caught up in recalling all sorts of exciting experiences he’d had since coming here.

Something lit with interest in Sammy's face for just a moment -- the way it lit in the Star Pools, the Lurker curious about the party they would all have to miss for the ritual, Sammy eager to share with him whatever he could.

"I think... I did know that..." he murmured. It struck a memory of something once deemed unimportant, a hope tossed aside for something greater.

The Lurker nodded eagerly. “You should see it!” he exclaimed. And who even knew how much more there was still to be discovered, experienced out there?

Though...as great as all that was, even that wasn’t really it, was it..? Thinking about it, it wasn’t a fear of losing those things that made something tighten inside him when he thought about whatever time he would end up back at the Star Pools again.

“But I guess...it’s not just that. I just…” his gaze dropped down to his two hands, so ridiculous and useless and small...but his. “I like gettin’ to...be somethin’ of my own,” he said, voice growing quiet, hesitant. As much as he wanted to explain, to be understood, the few times prior that the subject of self had come up around the Prophet had left him with a sense of forboding. “You...asked me what I wanted...even when you guys didn’t have to, even when there was nothin’ you got out of it...even sometimes when it maybe risked things you wanted. You guys gave me a form that I could have for myself, even a name to go with it...I didn’t have to be like the thing it came from, or be opposite of it, or give you anythin’ back for it. You just gave it to me, mine, to do what I wanted with…” he swallowed. “...I don’t wanna lose that.”

Sammy was quiet and still as the Lurker continued, eye contact never wavering, but for once, his expression was hard to read; that slightly wary neutral he usually wore when he wasn't under the influence of the Ink. If it weren't for the unnaturally wide, star-filled eyes, he might've been indistinguishable from his other self.

"Then request it," he replied softly. "All my life, my own form has been wrong, I have been wrong... and when he embraced me as his own, what he generously granted me was... closer... before I was forced back into this prison again. But I know he will set me free. Would our lord deny you that without reason? A form to call your own, among your many?"

Braced for admonishment, the Lurker found himself off balance, blinking at Sammy’s soft words with sudden uncertainty. “I…”

He didn’t know what to say.

There was a small -click- from the tape recorder as the record button popped up.

Chapter Text

In the dim light of a lone candle in a locked and cluttered storeroom of the Studio, The Lurker stood facing the Prophet, frozen. Caught totally unprepared by the softly-spoken suggestion that if he would simply return to the Masked Messenger and entreat him for a form of his own, that it would surely be granted to him, as a reward for his service.

He couldn't offer up an outright denial; He didn’t….know that wouldn’t work. The Messenger was too far beyond all of them to really care, which was the part Sammy wouldn't accept. But from what the Lurker knew, the Messenger was also the only one of his kind who was at least...curious. Taking enough of an interest to be aware of the wants of beings on this world, and to prod at them.

To twist them...

But even if it was worth it to the Messenger to give that to the Lurker to keep his interests here running smoothly...he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t just abandon everyone here to do it.

He was sure of that much.

The stars in Sammy’s eyes began to dim as the Lurker sat quietly, searching for a response, and Sammy fell quiet, too.

The tape recorder clicked to a stop, the small sound louder in the pause between them, but Sammy ignored it, lightly tapping his fingers and looking ahead at nothing in particular. So much to think about, and only a few minutes more to really be able to think.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Bendy didn’t even register the click of the recorder as anything more than another faint percussive noise in a studio often rife with rattling pipes and a million other little noises of life. He sat down on the boxes with his tail curled loosely over his knees, the ink-pen tip flipping up and down lightly.

“I...I’d have to think about it,” the Lurker finally said, voice quiet. “I just...never much got the impression he was bothered about what I wanted before. Humans’re what’s interestin’ to him. I’m just...supposed to be a tool. Somethin’ to help take you guys apart and see what makes you tick…” he made a sound like letting out a breath, rubbing his head. “Look, I wasn’t there when he spoke to you. I may be closer to what he is, but it ain’t by much, so I dunno if maybe he really could like you for whatever reason, and wanna give you things to make you happy. And I know my memory for the details ain’t the greatest, but I still know most’a the people who make deals with him...they destroy themselves. It’s like...like a game for him, to take somethin’ that’s so geared to survive and see if he can find just the right way to make each new one self-destruct. So I dunno, maybe you are different…” and he looked up then, expression conflicted, but entreating. “But I don’t want that to happen to you. To me, to any’a us. You’re important to me...” which reminded him of something else.

“And even though you’re stuck in the wrong form, and even if maybe you got some wrong ideas right now if my hunches are right... if anyone says you’re wrong, I’ll eat ‘em,” he groused, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side.

Maybe the sacrifice needed was greater than Sammy realised; maybe the Lurker didn't understand that. But he was ready. He wasn't afraid of that part. It was the uncertainty that was frightening, the not knowing what to do next or even how to begin.

There was the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth at the Lurker's last comment. "Comforting..." he mumbled. "Though I hope you won't eat me... I still know that... I am nothing... without......."

He nodded hard, then collapsed against the box, face mashed directly against the boards as he fell unconscious.

“Why would I—Ack!” Bendy exclaimed, hopping to his feet, too late. He hadn’t noticed Sammy nodding until he’d already planted his face in the crates. “Oh, geez…” he scooted over to grab Sammy’s shoulders and push his slumped form up enough to check for...breathing? Breathing was definitely good...blood? A little is supposed to be okay, apparently?? But, but heads are really important though, right? “Sammy??”

It was a long moment before Sammy groaned, squeezing his eyes shut at the start of a headache before he blinked and looked around. Bendy was right up next to him... he looked at where he was sitting, half crumpled over where Bendy had pushed him up. Okay. He could guess why his face hurt.

"Ugh," he said, sitting up and rubbing his nose.

The nonsensical lingering emotion of the hour this time was something... lonely, and a distant anxiety as if he were on a deadline and suddenly had to do Jack's job, too.

Bendy sagged a bit, only letting go of Sammy’s shoulders when it was clear he was supporting his own weight. He fell back to sitting once more, next to the box with the partly savaged stack of paper. “Welcome back,” he said wryly, though both his tone and his smile were unusually worn for the usually excitable imp.

Sammy pressed a finger against the raw spot on his nose, a tiny scrape that had been enough to bleed but not much, and stared at his finger without much reaction, just nodding in response to Bendy. He dropped his hand and just stared for a minute at the cartoon demon, at the papers in front of him, before suddenly narrowing his eyes, belated, at the Prophet's.... addition.

It wasn't quite like waking up, still tired or groggy. It was wrestling his thoughts back from something else. But the effect was the same.

Sammy frowned and slowly picked up the paper, part of his message scratched out so thoroughly as to be torn through in a scribble that pressed through into the rest of the stack. "Don't know what I expected," he muttered. But there was another line after it, again in handwriting that was almost familiar, with an unexpected question he was not going to think about just yet (addressing him again as Shepherd, despite the fact that he certainly had a name and his other self should definitely know it).

Sammy turned to look more carefully at the room around him; the tape recorder stopped and one of the boxes knocked to the ground between him and the door. He glanced at Bendy again. "How did it go," he said flatly, with a curl of the lip that did not suggest he expected a promising answer.

“Not great,” Bendy said, confirming Sammy’s suspicions with the same tired smile. “I don’t know what it’d take to get him to change his mind. I tried to set him straight about how things were...mighta lost my head a little if I’m bein’ honest. ...He didn’t take it so great.”

Bendy didn’t even know how to sum up the last part. He settled for, “He got a little more Ink. Ended up talkin’ some more afterwards, anyhow.”

"Alright," Sammy nodded, rewinding the tape to see how much he'd gotten, taking a couple tries to start it before he found a point he recognised, and let it play.

He listened, head in his hands and fingers massaging his temples occasionally, as the Prophet woke up again, described his memories of being Sammy and explained a vision he'd had.

A hand dropped down to stop the tape just before Bendy spoke up to clarify.

This was getting to him. The Prophet and Bendy both talked like he was just drunk -- though Bendy talked like the Prophet was the drunk one and Prophet talked like Sammy was the drunk one -- but the idea of having all of this in his mind, the idea that this was just, what he would turn into when his memory returned... maybe he'd rather be possessed.

"Does he know... where he is," Sammy asked, without looking up, an unimpressed sneer in his voice despite the fact that he was currently leaning over the tape recorder with his head in his hands, overwhelmed. "Does he think he's still in New Orleans? This all already happened."

Bendy held up a finger...and then hesitated. “It’s...messy,” he said. “Gettin’ too close to somethin’ like the Messenger, time and place aren’t...so confining?” He grimaced and rubbed his head, one eye squeezed shut. “Aagh, there’s not good words for it. It’s like with the loops, or at the party, how things went forward an’ back an’ here or there...he forgets it ain’t like that normally here. He don’t care where he is or when, cuz he forgets it matters.”

Sammy shook his head, but accepted the explanation without further comment, took a breath and started the tape again. There were small reactions — an irritated sigh at the ranting, an annoyed cringe at what sounded more or less like a tantrum, and a curious flick of his eyes up to Bendy when his voice on the tape described “machines that fling people around.” But he managed to make it through the whole thing, twitchy and sick of his own voice, only getting flustered and growling “You were made of ink, you idiot!” angrily at the inanimate tape once it had fallen quiet.

The tape recorder clicked to a stop.

“Ugh.” His hands ran over his face, and he stared down at the note again. “What do I want? I want you out of my head!”

As the tape played through Bendy kept his place, watching Sammy. He had his own occasional reactions...making a face at the mention of ‘being tested’ and shaking his head a bit at himself losing his head...a bit of a shrug and a smile shot back to Sammy when his voice described the neat place Joey had shown him. Though as the tape clicked to a stop and Sammy huffed at the paper he blinked in confusion. “Hey, where’s the rest’a it?”

“Hm? Oh.” Sammy popped open the cassette player, glancing at the clock. ...He’d been at this for over two hours...

“It ran out of room; they only hold 45 minutes a side.” He pulled out the tape and held it up to show the Lurker, the strip within it wound all to one side. “I should’ve recorded over the first dialogue instead,” he muttered, “not as if I can save it.” Eyebrows raised, a sort of half-hearted interest in very tired eyes. “Am I missing much?”

Bendy blinked at the tape, never having actually used one himself, though he’d seen the others make notes on them often enough. “Huh…” He turned his gaze back to Sammy, shaking his head. “Not really...just me tellin’ him the Messenger don’t exactly got the best track record’a bein’ trustworthy, an’ that he wasn’t ‘wrong’ or whatever, and him sayin’ he was nothin’ again before fallin’ asleep.” Bendy fell silent then, looking at the little tape in Sammy’s hands. “...Anything from all’a that give you any ideas..?” he wondered hopefully, though he had the same sort of tired look about him Sammy did. It might have only been two hours, but it had nonetheless been a long two hours.

“I am... not sure what I hoped for,” Sammy said carefully. “To negotiate? To understand...? He says he wants ‘to be whole,’ but I don’t think he’s imagining the end result will look much like me,” he sneered, “so I find myself a bit less eager.”

He slid the cassette back into the tape deck, leaning his head on one hand. “None of this makes any sense, he’s just repeating the same lines. Stupid excuses.” Sammy tapped his fingers against the edge of the box, scowling again. If this was him, if this was what he would turn into with these memories, then it couldn’t really just be a promise of reward that made someone who used to be him lose his senses like this. Sammy settled. Sammy always settled. It wasn’t a flaw, it was a survival skill...

“...When I beheld the Masked Messenger’s true face,” he scoffed, with a mocking flourish of one hand, “it was only in a mirror, yet I felt... seen through. Watched. It scared me more than anything ever had.” The haunted look in his eyes passed quickly, and he slipped back into an unimpressed snarl as he turned back to Bendy. “If that’s his god, well. God forbid he ever have a thought out of line.”

Bendy nodded, focused on Sammy intently despite how tired they both were. “He did seem scared,” he agreed, but then hesitated. “Or… I dunno if that’s...exactly right? He was real worked up anyhow, when he heard me sayin’ I didn’t wanna go back, or when he scratched up that stuff you wrote.” he glanced at the written exchange, where the words ‘FRIGHTENED SHEPHERD’ were scrawled, further up from the torn up part. “When he wrote to you, that sure was the first thing he figured you were, though…”

“I get some of his emotions when I wake up; not quite like Haiti, but... similar,” Sammy mused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets some of mine.”

"Like I was gettin' with Joey," Bendy nodded, understanding that. Though it made him wonder… "Is he afraid..? From what you got, I mean?" Sammy would surely be a better judge of that than the Lurker.

Right. He'd forgotten Bendy had experience with that, too.

Sammy made a face, trying to pull back up the emotions he had quickly discarded upon waking. "The feeling was... anxious... not afraid, exactly. I woke up with the impression I had a job I couldn't finish in time; I assume that's his." Sammy sat back, arms folded across his chest. "I don't know why it matters. Either way, he won't listen to reason.” He indicated the torn-up paper with one hand and narrowed his eyes. “If I tried to negotiate, where would I even start?"

“Yeah,” Bendy agreed with a grimace, though he was looking off to the side as if distracted. “Finally talkin’ to him now I don’t...know if you can, he’s…” Bendy fell silent, pie-cut eyes wandering back and forth under a lowered brow as he stared at nothing, tail twitching.

“...Hey…” he said after a moment. “Even... if you weren’t a host, and even if ya ended up pledgin’ to the Messenger on your own, what if…” he squinted, raising a curled knuckle up to his mouth in a thoughtful pose he’d almost certainly absorbed from the cartoons at some point.

“It’s just...he kept talkin’ about ‘bein’ given a purpose’, bein’ ‘given peace’...what if…” he fell silent again, having started voicing the thought before it had entirely finished forming.

This Sammy kept dancing around the edges of how scared he’d been. The Prophet seemed to associate this Sammy with being afraid. Though... the Prophet had definitely seemed scared way back when, when Bendy had yanked him out of the crawl space. He wasn’t fearless, but…

The Lurker didn’t have the whole of it. This still wasn’t adding up, but... maybe he had a start. He finally turned to look up at Sammy, blinking. “Sammy, all’a you guys got split into pieces when you were in Haiti. Part of the Prophet ended up in there, but most’a you is from other pieces. What if... the Messenger did change somethin’? In your head, I mean? The Prophet’s? Somethin’ that right then you wanted changed so bad you’d agree to havin’ it altered, maybe even just plain yanked out?”

Leading Sammy to a place where he’d ask to have his own mind broken...that certainly sounded like something the Masked Messenger would do.

Bendy spoke up quietly, after a moment, with another bright idea about how he thought Sammy’s mind might work. But Sammy did listen, head tipped back a little with that skeptically neutral expression as the cartoon imp thought and thought and slowly put his words together.

And then the musician looked... just a little horrified, eyes growing a little wider. He made a little overwhelmed scoffing noise, with a glare that wasn’t specifically aimed at Bendy.

“Well, having part of my brain removed would explain a lot,” he snarked, but he let out a long breath after, massaging his temple again. He... supposed he couldn’t say for sure what he would and wouldn’t beg for when he was dying, though asking an alien god to turn him into a mindless sheep didn’t really add up as a solution to drowning. “...Maybe???” he half-shrugged, finally, at a loss. “Ugh. You can’t tell Joey that. I don’t want him getting in another fight with the Masked Messenger.”

The Lurker looked a little dodgy at that. He wasn’t too sure about outright lying to any of them, and he talked with Joey about this kind of thing a lot.

Though he also couldn’t exactly fault Sammy’s logic. Joey taking it into his head to tangle with the Messenger again was about the last thing they needed... And, hey, even if it did come up, he could just tell Joey to bring it up with Sammy. “Yeah...yeah, okay,” he agreed. “We don’t need a repeat of New Orleans.”

“Fantastic,” Sammy replied. “Then... we can’t talk sense into him, and trying to merge us again is out of the question. I don’t want to risk his memories — getting a ghost of myself shoved into me scrambled my mind enough the first time — and somehow, I’m doubting we have much in common anyway.”

He tapped his fingers against his arm. “Can we get rid of him? Would an exorcism... work? Do exorcisms actually work...” he wondered belatedly. If possession was real, there must be some exorcisms that are real... this wasn’t a ghost or a demon, but... “The Prophet might be... me, but he’s a version of me that’s not supposed to be there.”

The Lurker’s eyes got wide. “W-woah, wait, exorcise?” he said, bouncing to his feet. “Like kill him...? Are you sure? I mean...even if my hunch is right, then you’d have whatever he’s missin’ anyways, so rememberin’ wouldn’t just make you like him? Maybe if...”

“If you have a spare body painstakingly sculpted of ink to give him, I’m open to the possibility,” he added sarcastically.

Sammy had winced, though, at the notion that he’d be killing someone. It was the same uneasiness that came over him when he learned the others had given his other self a nickname.

“I mean maybe?” Bendy said with a shrug, missing the sarcasm. After all, his body was made of Ink that could be used as a template, and with the Stone back they had a ready supply of raw material. “But him out on his own don’t sound too great either.”

Bendy frowned down at his shoes, absently tugging at one side of his bow tie as his tail curled behind him. “I mean right now this is just a guess an’ all. We’d hafta be more sure he really was missin’ somethin’, have a better idea just what it was. But if it was that, then...well, then that’d mean just rememberin’ wouldn’t be enough to make you go off the deep end—that’d be great! And maybe...maybe we could even figure a way t’merge you so’s he gets back what he’s missin’...and he’d just... become more’a you again.”

Sammy narrowed his eyes. “How do we know?”

If it would go off without a hitch, combining the two of them would technically also get rid of the Prophet... they didn’t exactly have a voodoo priestess handy to make that happen this time, but he was sure Joey and Henry could work something out.

But that was a heck of an “if.”

The Lurker considered the question seriously, letting go of the bowtie to cross his arms, biting his lip. “I can’t tell, myself,” he admitted, “This kinda thing ain’t... really in my wheelhouse...” He’d been made more for breaking minds than repairing them, after all.

But then he turned back to Sammy, snapping his fingers as the glints in his eyes grew. “But hey, hold up, I’m pretty sure Joey still has the stuff stashed away somewhere t’ contact that spirit from Haiti,” he said. “The one who got you out of Henry’s head before? I was askin’ him earlier about that anyhow...in case it might know a way t’help with his whole,” he gestured vaguely, “...Stone situation? But they knew about that stuff before, just the Prophet was buried back then, right? Maybe they’d be able t’tell if somethin’ was missin’ from him now?”

“What?!”

Sammy stared at Bendy for a moment, then glanced back down at the note.

“...I don’t know when the Prophet became... part of me. Until he took over, I had no idea he was there.”

He picked up the pen, chewing idly on the end of it as he thought, still gazing absently at the paper. Involving Joey right now was too risky — trying to fix exactly this problem was what had led to the “stone situation” in the first place — and he was unpredictable lately, still not in his right mind after New Orleans. He couldn’t be trusted with this. But Sammy had no interest in learning magic, and putting the Prophet in charge of a bunch of ritual components was literally the stupidest idea he could imagine.

“Hm. We need to be... careful. I don’t want Joey involved. I’ll need to know how dangerous the spell is, what the cost is, if the spirit is likely to help us... and if there’s a danger of being attacked then I don’t want her poking into my head,” he added, with a little wave of his fingers to indicate said invasive poking. “But... if you can learn more... maybe. Maybe Henry could help, if we need a...” What do you call a person with magical ability? A magician? A wizard? Utterly stupid. “...someone who knows magic.” He tapped the pen against the box a few times and then leaned forward to add to the scratched-through note.

“A LOT OF THINGS. I DON’T WANT TO KEEP FIGHTING WITH YOU FOR CONTROL.

IF WE SET UP A MEETING WITH THE SPIRIT WHO PUT US BACK IN THIS BODY TO FIND OUT HOW TO FIX THIS, WILL YOU COOPERATE?”

“We’d need a copy’a Joey’s notes on those spirits,” Bendy said, uncertain but not actually balking so far. “Especially if ya want the same one that helped you back then. I dunno where Joey stashed em, an’ they prolly need some work before they’d be any use, but like I said, I’d already asked him about breakin’ em’ out anyways…” he shifted uneasily, tail flipping around in an erratic sort of pattern. “I...guess if we get that far, I could go in when he’s gone an’ copy it, bring it to you...”

For as uncertain as he seemed with the idea, the Lurker did become visibly less nervous when Henry was brought up; he nodded as he watched Sammy write. “Yeah, Henry could help! Should...we show him the tape?”

Sammy squinted a bit at Bendy’s reluctance, but as long as the Lurker was willing, he nodded along. Though the last question caught him by surprise.

“This tape?” he asked skeptically, tapping the tape deck. “Why? I was going to erase it tonight.”

“In case he might get any idea what the Prophet might be missin’?” Bendy said.

The musician shook his head. “Not sure half an hour of ‘our infinite lord has blessed us and we will join him’ is all that insightful.” Sammy’s impression of the Prophet was not quite right, but pretty close.

He thought over it though, quiet and uncomfortable, and then shook his head again. Getting the others’ help to figure this out wasn’t a bad idea. Something Jack might be good at, too, actually; Jack had a weird ability to tell what people wanted sometimes. But the tape itself was too risky to hang onto, for him and for Bendy. “Not unless he needs to,” Sammy said, with the air of a final decision. “The tape is incriminating.”

Bendy absorbed that. It hadn’t really occurred to him that people other than Henry might end up coming across it, but...he supposed it was possible. “I could eat it,” he suggested.

Sammy made a face. “Would it... work, afterward?” But then he frowned, thoughtful. “...well, if not, it’s destroyed, at least. Sure!” He shrugged. The facetiousness of his tone and the hint of an amused smile could easily be mistaken for sarcasm. “Why not. But leave it for now; I’m going to do one more round.”

“WILL YOU COOPERATE WITH HENRY?” was quickly added to the note.

“I’M NOT DRINKING MORE AFTER THIS.

LEAVE WHATEVER NOTES YOU NEED TO AND

I’LL WAKE YOU UP WHEN WE KNOW MORE.”

“And I’ll need you to remove the rest of the Ink before I taste it,” Sammy added. “Anything else?”

“Okay!” Bendy agreed, more energized now that they had some plan of action, incomplete as it was. And even though the last two talks with the Prophet had been difficult, he was glad Sammy was trying to extend his other self this small courtesy. Well, okay, it would also be good to check how extreme Prophet’s reaction to this idea was going to be, but still. If they were ever going to integrate, it seemed like a good start. He felt...hopeful.

Though it really was up in the air how Prophet would take it…Well, one thing at a time.

“Oh, d’you need me to grab another tape? That one ran out, right?” he asked. He eyed the inkwell, but that would also be easy enough to deal with.

Sammy flipped the tape and closed the tape recorder. “There’s room on the other side, I just have to flip it over,” he explained shortly. In contrast to Bendy, Sammy just seemed more focused, determined despite the tiredness in his voice. Almost done, for now. A finger dipped in Ink, and the bottle was passed to Bendy.

“Oh,” Bendy said, blinking as the tape was flipped as if Sammy had just done some clever sleight-of-hand. He gave another nod though, accepting the ink bottle...and tossing it in his mouth. He could do with a top off anyhow, no sense wasting good Ink.

“Alright,” he said. “Ready when you are.”

Sammy stared. Right. Of course that’s what he’d do with it. Eventually he nodded, swallowed, hit record, and licked his finger.

* * *

Sammy licked his lips, not pleased with the taste. After a moment, he simply stood, staring off into the distance thoughtfully, and started to... not pace, but slowly stroll the small room, fingers tapping the air quietly.

Bendy didn’t jump in with words this time. The Prophet had the note, and whatever he could make of Sammy’s memories. At this point Bendy had said most everything he’d wanted to say, so he plopped back to sit on the boxes by the papers with his hands clasped around one rubber-hose knee, and let the Prophet think.

“It is... familiar,” he said, to no one in particular. “...but only just...”

What he could recall of the previous conversation was... quite hopeful, actually. The Lurker could see the fear that overtook him, and even in that state, blind to most of the understanding of why he wanted it, the two of them spoke of trying to make him whole. He felt the mistrust of the traitor in his memories with relief... maybe, finally, he could break free of him.

But the spirit that the Lurker mentioned... that, he had almost no memory of. That one long, long, moment of sliding slowly back into an old life, searching for comfort and familiarity as he was severed from his lord and found himself lost... it was hard to remember anything from that frightened place with clarity.

He stopped, and turned to the Lurker, cautious but curious. “...What do you know of this spirit, my lord?”

“The one from when you got back in your body?” Bendy asked. When Sammy slowly nodded, the Lurker hummed. “I wasn’t in the room when it happened, I never met ‘em. I don’t know much I didn’t overhear from you guys, but... “ he cast his thoughts back, his own knowledge fuzzy from the time before they all showed up.

“I know there’s a bunch’a ‘em,” he said. “I know some humans think the Messenger’s one’a ‘em; he’s made a spot for himself or imitates one’a ‘em sometimes or somethin’ like that. The Baron.

“I know….uh, I know they exist without bodies, but can take bodies over sometimes. I think...some’a ‘em used to be human people? And some’a ‘em I think’re made from whatever people believe in? Like...important ideas filtered through humans and crystalized into a being tied to that idea?” the Lurker thought for a few moments more, then shrugged. “That’s all I got off the top’a my head,” he admitted. “But one of ‘em fixed you guys up when you were split apart last time. That’s somethin’ I got no idea how to do on my own.”

Sammy smiled; calm, not the wide, pleased smile he usually wore. “Thank you, my lord. That’s helpful.” He stepped up to the note again, sat down and considered before adding his answer:

“I WILL BE VIGILANT, SHEPHERD.

SOMETIMES THERE WAS DANGER YOU DID NOT SEE.

I WILL BE PATIENT, BUT DO NOT TARRY TOO LONG.”

He gathered the paper in both hands, pressed close to his chest. “I beg your guidance, my lord,” he cried, head bowed. “I pray you hear me. Have mercy on your prophet! Forgive my slow and wavering faith. Show me your will, and I shall not wander. I will serve you best whole, so I would be whole. You can open my eyes to see spirits and angels for what they are!” He was looking up, now, but his eyes were somewhere else, starry and distant. “Make clear the path that leads to the stone, that leads your wandering child home, and I will walk it patiently. I know at the end of it, you will save me! Forgive me,” he said, abruptly dropping down to a whisper, “forgive me.”

Bendy watched Sammy’s entreating with a sympathetic sort of look - that turned abruptly to shock as he bounced up, feeling the change in the room. “Wh-” He took a couple steps back, tail on point, posture alert.

For all that Sammy had done this not so long ago, to clear Bendy of the Yellow Sign no less, the Lurker had been too scrambled in the moment to recognize just how much attention Sammy was capable of drawing, and it was a chilling realization.

* * *

And Sammy feels it when it sweeps through the room. A sensation like the way the Ink should taste, boundless and overwhelmingly present and sharp, chilling him straight through.

Impressions flow with it, and it’s different from the last two times… the lack of urgency especially stands out. Sammy can’t tell if the Messenger is content with his rebuffing of the Yellow King and accepting of his current pace, or if it’s disinterest in one so vast brought on by failing to secure a sacrifice, squandering his opportunities.

Sammy floats there, unaware of anything but his uncertainty for some span of time, meaningless in duration but excruciating in its depth.

And then finally, something new: He sees one of the twisted Angels of the Unspeakable, and one of the glowing spirits the Golden Sheep had shown him with his altered eyes when they had all been sharing a body. The two shapes are mashed together, garbled and indistinguishable, but then they are pulled apart, searingly distinct, definitely not the same thing, and not to be lumped together.

He also feels that there are things in motion for the Traitor, consequences he must address, things the Messenger wants to see play out before his life should end, whether in favor or disgrace.

And something almost like a caress, an assurance that there are harsh trials to come when Sammy shall need to act. And an instruction, the most direct impression yet, that when that time comes, that Sammy must not allow his will to be broken by her songs. To not allow the Angel to rest long in her power, lest the King rise anew.

And then it fades.

* * *

When Sammy came back to himself it was to find himself crumpled and unsteady on the floor, hands stained with mundane ink from the crate he’d knocked over earlier, the Lurker watching him in wide-eyed alarm.

And on the wall stood the records of his vision.

Catching his breath, loose hair stuck to his face with sweat, Sammy looked up, carefully pushed himself off the ground. A smile broke across his face slowly, first cautious and then wide and wild and euphoric, as hope lit in the stars of his ink-flooded eyes. “Thank you, my lord!” he cried. “Your servant hears you! I am ready! I will not fail!”

Still panting, he managed to stand, looking around the room with satisfaction at the prophecies that his lord had given him, the writing that would not need to be added to that tiny paper. And his eyes fell on the Lurker, and that eager grin didn’t fade. Unlike all the rest of his time spent struggling and questioning in this small room, now there was authority in his soft, precise voice.

“I have received word from our lord! Let us move forward with this plan. A Twisted Angel comes.”

* * *

“Sammy? Hey! Hey, Sammy..!”

It was Bendy’s voice.

Sammy groaned, blinking at... okay. The floor. He was lying down instead of smashed face-first into something this time, so that was an improvement at least. He rubbed his forehead and shifted to lean on one elbow—

He stopped, doing a double-take at his fingers, black with ink. His eyes snapped open and he was sitting up now, looking around the room with what was very briefly horror, and quickly turned to frustration.

There were prophecies scrawled manically all over the wall again. Something about an Angel, something about her power and not being broken by her songs, something about the King rising anew.

He read them all, stared at Bendy helplessly for a moment, then leaned his head back with an aggravated sigh, a hand pressed to his temple, smearing ink on his face. “FANTASTIC.”

Bendy seemed more than a little skittish, and when he offered a hand to help Sammy up, his gloves were also stained with black. That coupled with Sammy no longer being able to feel Ink nearby at least reassured him whatever the Prophet had gotten into had been mundane; the other Ink had always gotten absorbed when Bendy touched it.

“Yeaaaah,” Bendy agreed with a grimace, wiping his own hands against his sides once Sammy was up. “I didn’t...know he could do that on purpose. You okay?”

Sammy glanced again at an ink-covered wall, then stared back at Bendy in disbelief, overwhelmed. “Do what on purpose?” he demanded. “Bendy, what happened?”

He accepted the cartoon devil’s help off the floor and finally pulled himself up to standing. His whole body felt exhausted, sweating and out of breath like a workout— from running around throwing ink on the walls, he supposed, though it was a jarring way to wake up. There had been a tension running through him even before he’d seen the state of the room, but it hadn’t been nervous, like before — it had felt excited.

“He got the Masked Messenger’s attention somehow,” Bendy said, voice unusually hushed. “He was yellin’ and callin’ and...then all of a sudden you could just feel it all through the place. He got all quiet, an’ then that’s when he started tearin’ through the crates and dug up some animatin’ ink, dumped it out an’ started writin’ all over the place. I tried t’talk t’him, but he didn’t even blink. When he finally came to again he was sayin’ somethin’ about how we should go on with the plan and that an angel was comin’ and...well, I guess it’ll be on the tape, but he passed out before I could get much else outta him.”

He shook his head, and exclaimed, “It was only maybe five minutes! I wasn’t sure who was gonna wake up...” he huffed out a breath, rubbing the back of his head by his horns.

He hadn’t known what to do. He could have stopped Sammy if he’d actually done something that looked dangerous, but what was he supposed to do about whatever had been going on in Sammy’s head? That was pretty far outside his skillset. And...truth be told, he hadn’t liked the idea of drawing the Masked Messenger’s attention even further by making a fuss.

“Great!!! Fantastic!” Sammy hissed through his teeth, grit in an unfriendly imitation of a smile. “Glad he’s on board!” But his eyes were wide and panicked. He stumbled back, leaning against the back wall of boxes to steady himself, and let his head drop into shaking hands. “Oh god. I just thought he was crazy. He actually is a prophet.”

Of course, all his prophecies about New Orleans had come true, but hadn’t that just been... magic, or something? Or something about the Ink, if getting high on a magical thing brought visions. But no, he had the Masked Messenger’s attention, and that meant Sammy had the Masked Messenger’s attention...

Sammy sunk to his knees, hands just hovering over his face — too late to avoid getting ink in his hair — and tried to get his breathing steady, to breathe both in and out in some kind of sequence. Do not lose it. Come on, Sammy. Shake it off.

A small gloved hand appeared on Sammy’s shoulder, the not-quite-right amount of pressure familiar if nothing else. “Hey, he’s gone now,” Bendy said, though his voice still sounded somehow small. Even the Lurker of the Star Pools could be unnerved by something like this, apparently.

After a few moments of quiet, Bendy glanced up towards the walls. “I dunno what all that’s about, though. I thought... that Allison lady killed all'a the angels?”

Sammy gripped the Lurker’s hand. Gone. He’s gone. Sammy breathed, unsteady, deeper now. Maybe, he had still needed to hear that.

“...Apparently not all,” Sammy finally replied, quiet, matter-of-fact. He hadn’t worked too hard at getting a full picture of how the end of the masquerade had gone, and just took Bendy’s word for it. “Or it’s... poetic. The ‘cur’ wasn’t a dog.” He had another go at standing, pulling himself off the floor more carefully, still shaky. “Not sure why he has to make them sound like they’re about these cartoons,” he grumbled.

The paper with their back-and-forth notes had been crumpled, dropped on the floor near the box they’d been using, and Sammy stepped over to pick it up, smooth it out, and read the short addition in that almost-his handwriting. ....well, if that had been all, he would have considered this whole conversation a relative success!

His gaze dropped down to the tape recorder, still running. Slowly, a single finger pushed the button to stop the recording.

“Cartoons?” Bendy asked, then blinked. “Oh, Alice,” he realized. She’d only premiered this last year, though she’d done well enough she was lined up for bigger features. “Well, good news is I’m pretty sure we’d notice right away if someone was tryin’ ta slip Yellow Signs in the show, ‘specially with it bein’ in black and white,” Bendy noted with a wan smile. “‘An’ for the real ones, we got bindin’ circles now, plus for this place there’s Henry’s wards, so there’s that.”

Sammy nodded absently, not really looking up. “My memory of it is... foggy, but I wouldn’t quite call the noise those creatures make ‘songs,’ either. Alice is the one that sings,” he muttered. But he shook his head. “I’m sure it’s coincidence. I doubt he watches the show.”

His hand still waited, poised over the buttons of the tape recorder. It’ll be on the tape. Him, a version of him, calling out to the Masked Messenger, and being answered. What did that even sound like? He couldn’t shake the part of him that wondered, in this small room that smelled of ink, if he might hear what his other self heard, if the Messenger might speak to him, too... or if that recorded prayer could call him back.

Of course that was stupid. He steeled himself to listen.

Shaky fingers shifted suddenly and hit “eject.” Too quickly, he swiped the tape from the player and held it out to Bendy, not looking at him. “Just go ahead and eat it,” he snapped. “It’s all over the walls; I don’t need to hear it.”

There was a pause as if the action had caught Bendy by surprise...but after a moment the tape was plucked from Sammy’s fingers. “Yeah...yeah, okay,” Bendy said. A noise not unlike swallowing followed soon after. For all that Bendy had no neck to swallow down, it never seemed to stop him.

“Alright, got it,” Bendy said. “So... when do you wanna talk to Henry?” there was shifting as if the little demon was looking around at the wall writing once again. “An’ should… we tell Joey about this part?”

“Ughh...” Sammy glared at the wall and massaged his temple with one hand. Joey should know about the warnings. But if he found out the real reason Sammy’d shoved him off on Jack and insisted he needed no distractions tonight...

“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered. “He doesn’t need to know right now.” He stepped back, looking over the wall again, ignoring those questions for the moment. “I’ll write down... all of this, so we can get it off the walls before tomorrow.” He gathered pen and paper, flipping through to a new sheet, but first glanced to Bendy, brow furrowed with a hint of concern. “You... can get the door unlocked, right?”

"Unless Henry warded it while I wasn't lookin'!" Bendy joked with a smile. Which abruptly turned into an uncertain frown. Everybody had been acting a little weird since New Orleans after all…

"How about I go make sure on that," he said, one finger raised. A moment later he was bounding up onto boxes towards the vent.

His expression barely changed, eyes only a little wider, but Sammy’s whole body just sort of froze in horror, nodding mechanically as Bendy scurried out.

You idiot!! Something to clean ink off the walls. That’s what he should’ve picked up before he locked himself in! Well. At least Bendy could bring him something, if they couldn’t get the door open... He sighed, resigning himself to the worst outcome, and focused on copying his other self’s stupidly cryptic warnings off the walls.

He had time to copy them all carefully down and then some, with no sign of Bendy since he’d disappeared through the grate.

Plenty of time, in fact, for Sammy to revise his initial impression of the worst outcome. Worst outcome would be Bendy leaving him here, to tell Joey when he came in. No, worst outcome would be something happening to Bendy while he crawled through the vents. Worst outcome would be intruders again, tonight; Bendy hurt or trapped and without the Prophet free to start breaking things nobody would find either of them until the janitor came in the morning...

He paced, listened anxiously at the door — it’ll take him time to dig up the keys, calm down — paced again, started trying to work out what all was stored in these crates and whether any of it could be used to force a door or clean the aftermath of his stupid alter-ego painting on the walls like a toddler—

It was at least ten minutes later when Sammy finally caught the sound of little feet in the hall followed by the clinking of keys and the rattling of the knob —thankfully followed by the lock popping open and a slice of darkness from the outside hallway opening into the little candlelit room.

“There you are! Got turned around in the vents, took me awhile to figure which one you were in,” Bendy piped up from the doorway.

“Oh! Good,” he breathed, with relief that belied the casual reply. He was at the door in a second to throw it open the rest of the way, to step out and look around at the rest of the perfectly normal, empty studio.

“Right,” he said. “...Thanks for your help,” he added.

“What are friends for?” Bendy said with the sort of grin that suggested he was moderately proud at having correctly applied the phrase.

He stepped back into the reassuringly normal hallway, pointing with a stained thumb over his shoulder, his tail pointing the same direction. “Say, I opened another room around the corner that had a bucket an’ soap an’ stuff. What say we clean this place up and call it a night?”

Sammy did not smile back. He didn’t smile very often in general, and he wasn’t very good at it, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for it after tonight. Just a little approving nod, and something comfortable and relieved in the way he looked at Bendy despite how obviously worn and frazzled he was.

He didn’t say anything either; simply starting off in the direction the Lurker indicated, assuming he would be either followed or redirected, faded fingerprints left occasionally where he followed the wall with his hand in the mostly-dark Studio, instead of just carrying the candle.

This was all a terrible idea, but it could have gone much worse. And he and Bendy would need to tell the others...soon. They’d had a week, last time the Prophet warned them of a coming King.

But not tonight, at least.

Chapter Text

It was only a couple weeks after New Orleans, and things were…

Well. They were still a long way from feeling normal—especially since Henry still got alarmingly lightheaded if he stood up quickly—but all the trappings of normalcy were there.

The studio was in full swing, working on an ambitious follow-up to Alice Angel’s premiere, and while Joey had kept to his word and made sure Henry’s hours didn’t stretch too far, all of them were scrambling to try and catch up after their absence.

Henry was busying himself with work, as usual. He was close to catching up on the backlog from their trip to New Orleans, and found himself oddly frustrated with his shorter hours now. Animating was the perfect balance of involved and mindless: he could work for hours without thinking about what happened, or about how behind schedule they are, or.. thinking at all. Thinking wasn't something he particularly enjoyed anymore.

He was so absorbed in fact that he didn’t realize someone had walked up to his desk until he felt a tug on his sleeve—though that could also have had something to do with the fact the one doing the tugging was a pint-size cartoon demon.

“Hey, Henry?” Bendy asked, and while the Lurker swinging by was a pretty routine part of the day, there was something about his focused attention and the low swish of his tail that suggested he had more on his mind than chit-chat.

Oh-- he knows that tug. He stops working and smiles tiredly at the little monster. "Hey Ben."

The smile turns to a frown when he notices the swishing tail. "Something wrong?"

The little demon smiled in response, though the almost furtive look he got immediately following Henry’s question gave him his answer even before Bendy spoke. “Uh, well, not...right now? Kinda…? Um, but anyhow Sammy an’ I were talkin’, tryin’ t’figure some stuff out, and...d’you think you could hang around after work a little today?” he asked.

Henry furrows his brow a little at that response, but nods. "Sure. I can do that."

Bendy’s smile widened in something like relief…which probably didn’t help with Henry’s growing concerns. “Great! Okay, then let’s meet in the Music Department!” he suggested. Less likely other animators would seek Henry out there, and Sammy would probably have an easier time chasing everyone out of his department.

Bendy turned on his heel as if to scamper off, but then paused, turned back around, twiddling his fingers. “Hey, mind if I watch you for a bit?” he asked hopefully.

He’d been prowling the studio so much since they got back, but maybe it was alright not to now and then, just for a little while.

He smiles again, and starts to shift his attention back to the unfinished drawing at his desk. "Of course. Though you know me, I don't know how much good I'll be for conversation."

“Pff,” Bendy said, waving a hand dismissively as he hopped up onto the top of the desk where he would be out of the way. “Don’t need ‘t be.”

Henry always said that but Bendy suspected that, really, he just got so into drawing he just lost track of whatever might come out of his mouth in the meantime as long as it didn’t make him think too hard. It was fun sometimes to see how long Henry could go before he noticed he was in a conversation.

But today, tail flipping lazily over the side of the desk surrounded by the sounds of rustling papers and scratching pencils and things being generally as they should, Bendy didn’t mind the quiet.

* * *

“OUT!” bellowed the instantly recognisable voice of Sammy Lawrence, and the recording studio went abruptly silent as every musician froze and turned to see him in the doorway. The music director stormed into the room, wild hair and sleep-deprived eyes doing nothing to make his angry expression look less crazed. “EVERYONE OUT!!! I have three more songs to write in the next 48 hours,” he insisted, tapping a hand on the stack of sheet music he was carrying for emphasis, “and I need the piano, the projector, and NO DISTRACTIONS, you can practice SOMEWHERE ELSE!” Instruments were packed hurriedly while he ranted, musicians beginning to scatter around him to get to the door, as Sammy marched in without another word to set up at the piano.

It was after hours anyway, there was no reason to still be here! Unless the reason was to drive him up the wall with five distinct layers of practice noise while he was trying to jot down some notes. Ugh. Henry was supposed to be stopping by around this time, too, but from how long the Art Department had taken to send him any of the basic information he needed to compose anything, he wouldn’t be surprised if Henry might be running a little later than expected. And he’d rather be doing something than pacing around in his office, waiting.

Henry smiled slightly to himself as he heard a familiar yelling down the hall. He was definitely on time, as once the Lurker had left the quiet grew a bit too loud, and he was left thinking again.

He nodded politely to the harried musicians dispersing from the recording studio, waiting for them to filter out before heading inside to meet with the source of the commotion.

"Hey Sam."

“I SAID— oh!” Sammy’s expression abruptly fell to one of blank surprise as he stopped, one hand paused half-way to pointing at the new intruder. “Henry. You’re here. Good.”

He waved the man to follow him to one of the recording booths, though he kept glancing up as they walked, looking around the room as though he expected someone to pop out at any moment. “I assumed Bendy would join us...” he mumbled.

Henry did not flinch when Sammy's ire was redirected to him, instead standing calmly as though he had expected such to happen.

He followed when directed to. "I'd assumed he was here already. Wonder where he is."

As if on cue, one of the vent hatches dropped open and Bendy popped out, bouncing down from the projector booth. “Oh, hey! Got the place cleared out already and everythin’!” he remarked. “We uh...startin’ with the tape, or?” he asked, following them towards the recording booth.

“Speak of the devil,” Sammy remarked, with nothing in his voice to indicate that he believed he was telling a joke.

The musician slipped inside, shoving a music stand out of the way to make room for the three of them. “If we’re playing the tape, I’d like a little more privacy,” he explained quietly, briefly checking his equipment to make sure everything was off before leaning back against the opposite wall, folder of sheet music still in hand.

“Bendy and I attempted to have a conversation with the Prophet,” he announced, abruptly, as soon as the others had joined him. “We may need your help to contact a spirit and find out if the Prophet can be... fixed.” He opened the folder, flipping through the papers there, still terse and impassive, as though he were simply handing out parts to practice before Wednesday. “Bendy has the recorded half of the conversation and I have the written half, and he wants to know if you have any idea what would compel me to act so stupid.” He held out a sheet of paper to Henry — it was written in two similar but distinct scripts of handwriting, with one massive gash through the center where the paper had been scribbled through violently.

“There was also a prophecy,” he said, with a facetious flourish of his fingers and a tinge of annoyance creeping into his voice, “but I’d like to address this, first.”

Bendy hopped up on the recording booth’s counter, eyes fixed on Henry. The concern Henry had caught a glimpse of in the Art Department was more obvious now, as was the reason for it.

Henry blinked in surprise, wordlessly taking the paper he was handed. This was, a lot of information at once. They talked to the Prophet? They wanted him to contact a spirit? There's a prophecy??

He kept his face carefully still, as not to betray the small but sudden sense of panic welling inside him at the thought of yet more supernatural things happening, especially if there’s a prophecy now. But no, stay calm. Press on. They need him, it seems.

"So you actually managed to talk to him, huh" he said, skimming over the paper again. "And you need a spirit now? Why do you need me for that?"

“Henry, I don’t know anything about magic!” Sammy insisted. He set down the folder and crossed his arms. “Or... people,” he added, much quieter, fidgeting his fingers against his arm. “But now I have to deal with this cultist stuck in my head! You... you’re the one who wanted to help Fowler, and he wasn’t making any sense, either; seemed like a good fit.” Sammy was practically glaring, though it was unclear who he was frustrated with, hunched tight and defensive against the wall.

Henry put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, or perhaps as a calming motion. "Alright," he said. "I don't know much about summoning, but I can find out."

With a snap of his fingers Bendy pointed to Henry, tail flicking behind him. “Yeah, we were talkin’ about that! I know Joey’s got notes on that spirit from that laundry place that we’re workin’ on, we could use that once it’s done! If that spirit helped with fixin’ divided minds before, maybe…” he glanced to the hunched up Sammy.

Sammy frowned, but relaxed just a little bit as Bendy stayed cheerfully on track and filled in the actual information Henry was missing. Maybe Sammy had gotten ahead of himself.

He nodded slowly to Bendy’s part of it. “Right. First, I just wanted to talk to him. I’m the only one who hadn’t,” he added, with something that was almost a smirk. “Negotiate with him, maybe. But he’s out of his mind. It’s not the ghost that haunted you in Haiti; the Prophet isn’t... me.” He huffed. “But he once was. Bendy thinks the Masked Messenger changed something, and that spirit could figure out what it is.”

Sammy glanced at Bendy with just a hint of uneasiness. “If you want to hear what the Prophet had to say, we can play the recording Bendy has,” he muttered. “I don’t know if that’s... necessary. It’s a lot of insane rambling.”

Henry frowned at the paper, looking it over again.

"I've heard a lot of insane sounding things that turned out to be true. I don't want to ignore anything that might be important. But..." His eyes lingered on the blacked out portion of the paper before meeting Sammy's gaze. "If you want me to just try to summon the spirit and not listen, I can probably do that."

"I just figured Henry might be able to tell better than us if somethin' got changed," Bendy admitted. "If there was somethin' missin', I'm hopin' that spirit could tell, once we got the summonin’ worked out? But seems like knowin' about it now could maybe give us a head start in the meantime."

Sammy shrugged. "Sure. I won't stop you," he said simply. There wasn't anything on the first side that Henry didn't already know. He leaned off the wall and grabbed the tape deck that had been resting in the corner of the room, popped it open to pull out the current tape (scrawled with yesterday's date and "Sammy L" on the label), and placed the tape deck on the counter next to the Lurker, making a fluid little 'it’s all yours' sort of gesture while sliding the previous tape into his pocket.

"If the tape still works," he added, "I don’t mind if you listen. Just keep this to yourself." He paused, thoughtful. “... all of this. I don’t want Joey getting involved.”

Henry nodded, then gave a wry half-smirk. "It's probably for the best that Joey doesn't get involved in most things."

And then the smile was gone, and his steady, serious gaze returned. "But yeah, if you don't mind, it's probably best that I have a listen."

There was a little twitch of a smile at the corner of Sammy’s mouth as Henry agreed that Joey should be kept out of this as much as possible, but he only nodded his approval.

“Okay!” Bendy said. He raised a hand as if he were holding something up, but it was empty.

At least until he made a complicated sort of noise and then spat out a cassette tape into his hand. He patted up a few clinging bits of goo and then held it out to Henry, casual as if he’d just pulled it from a pocket. Unlike the one Sammy had switched out, the tape was unmarked. “Should be okay,” he said. “Prob’ly needs rewound.”

Henry looked mildly surprised when Bendy spat out the tape, but took it regardless, wiping any excess residue off on his jeans before inserting it into the tape deck and pressing the rewind button.

Once it was done rewinding, he waited for a second, just in case there were any last objections, and hit play.

He listened, brows furrowed, as Sammy's voice, uncharacteristically silky, filled the room. A few sentences in he was already confused as the Prophet began talking about him overhearing something. It seemed like a small detail to stop the tape for, however, so he let it keep playing.

He listened to the Prophet talk about "his lord", how he was saved from the starpools and freed of his body, etc. Alright. He's talking about when he was all inky. He did reemerge from the starpools, which Henry is guessing doesn't happen too often. He's crediting that to the Masked Messenger, and--

He jumped a bit when the Prophet started shrieking. He screamed that he was led astray, deceived, that someone tried to kill him-- was he talking about Joey?

He started talking again about the kindness of his lord. Henry decided this was a good break to pull out his sketchbook and begin jotting down thoughts.

- came out of starpools, why. mm save him or smth else?

- doesnt like body. ink body better?

Bendy piped up, asking for clarification. Yes, Prophet was talking about Joey. Henry glanced down at the sheet he was given. "JOEY'S NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU HE'S JUST AN IDIOT!" glared back up at him. He shifted his attention back to his sketchbook and continued taking notes.

- hates joey, thinks tried to kill him

- "purpose beyond imagining" ?

Bendy started talking again, and Henry listened. Bendy pointed out the perks of not serving the Masked Messenger, and that he was the one to kill Sammy, not Joey. Prophet rejected this, saying it was Joey's fault for bringing him there in the first place. Bendy apologized regardless. Henry had to keep himself from casting a pitying look in his direction.

Prophet, sounding unsure, said it doesn’t matter, it was a needed sacrifice, and he should be grateful.

- doesnt want to blame bendy

Then he heard the Prophet start singing that sheep song, and then a long silence. Once he heard Bendy and Sam's normal irritated tones, he paused the tape, mumbling "give me a minute," as he looked over his notes.

After a moment of thought, he closed his eyes. When they opened, they were glowing gold. He looked again over his notes and the sheet Sammy gave him.

Sammy had returned to his spot against the wall, leaning back with arms folded again, staying out of this. It had been fine until it was happening again, until “his” voice was filling the recording booth, soft praising and agonised screeching, while Henry listened studiously. His heart was beating harder than it needed to. It didn’t matter if Henry heard it; it had already happened, Bendy had already been there, but now it seemed to get more real as Henry pulled out his sketchbook to jot something down.

Well. Bendy was right, apparently; Henry might be able to find something useful that he couldn’t see.

The tape was stopped after the first session, and Sammy only nodded when Henry asked for a moment to go over what he’d written. But at the abrupt golden glow in the man’s eyes, Sammy’s whole body went cold, his own eyes wide and startled.

Please don’t let there be anything there…

Bendy had kept quiet throughout the playback, pensive little face turned down towards clasped gloves, tail curled in around his feet. He looked up though when Henry’s eyes went gold, as if reacting to a sound. “Oh! Didn’t think’a that,” he admitted.

”See anything..?”

Henry nodded. "Yeah, I do.."

-which he? sammy or prophet?

He tapped his pencil against the sketchbook. He wasn't fully expecting an answer to that question, so he looked instead at the other messages he got. "It looks like the Prophet isn't actually able to blame Bendy for what happened. I'm starting to think you guys are right, and something got changed in his brain."

"It's probably something to do with when you and Joey were, hitching a ride. 'Everybody needs a friend...' That kept coming up whenever I asked about that. If it's coming up again now, it's probably related."

He glanced up, looking between Bendy and Sammy. He was trying to look casual about it, but in reality he was checking to see if either of them had gold on them.

Sammy ducked behind a hand without thinking as Henry turned golden eyes on him. He was breathing too fast, his heart was still pounding. Stop it! This is what you wanted, you idiot! More information! But where are those messages coming from?! Why? If there’s no loop, if they’re not dead—!

His other hand, still crossed over his body, clutched at his side now as he tried to somehow force his body to stop panicking without his permission.

“Stop— slow down,” he managed to snap, out of breath. He finally dropped his hand from his face to look Henry hard in the eye. “What exactly do you see?”

He meant to look away when Sammy flinched, but instead something caught his eye, and he stared at Sammy's hand, trying to make something out. But, when Sam asked him to clarify what he saw, he looked back to his sketchbook and set it on the table with the tape deck, pointing to it.

"Above this," he said, pointing to the note mentioning the starpools, "It says 'everybody needs a friend.'"

"And here," he pointed to the note about blaming Bendy. "Over 'doesn't want to' it says 'can't', with a question mark."

He set the sheet music next to the notebook. "It also agrees with you that Joey's an idiot."

He hesitates, his eyes lingering again at the scratched out portion of the paper. Who did it mean...

"And here," he said after a long moment, pointing to the blackened part, "it says 'he will betray you'." He glanced in Sammy's direction, though taking care not to look directly at him, and gave a half smile. "So if you were planning to stab me in the back or something, now's your chance."

Sammy stepped forward to look at Henry’s notes, cautious and unsteady. One hand reached out to lean on Bendy’s shoulder, but Sammy’s face was determined, focused on the papers as Henry pointed out writing only he could see.

“Oh,” Sammy said, still catching his breath. “That.”

Smile fading, Henry raised his arm and pointed at Sammy. "There's also something on your hand."

Sammy froze, staring. After a long moment he raised both hands, slowly, for Henry to see, first holding them up to show the back, then after a moment, turning them palms-out, watching Henry’s face. He couldn’t stop their trembling, and it got worse as he held them out.

“The... scratched through part,” he said, meanwhile, trying to keep his voice steady at least, “is where I wrote ‘the Masked Messenger will betray you, too,’ and he scribbled it out. I don’t know who your note is talking about.” He let out a breath, long and shaky. “What’s leaving these messages, Henry?” he hissed, whisper-quiet. “It used to be us. ...Who speaks to you now?”

Bendy glanced up at the hand on his shoulder to make sure Sammy didn’t want his attention, but quickly turned back to Henry and his notes, curious.

“Whaddaya mean, it used to be you?” Bendy wondered. Most of the gold messages had faded by the time he’d joined the group in Haiti, and he’d never really asked about their origins.

Henry looked over Sammy's hands as he held them out.

"'You pulled him out'..." he mumbled to himself.

His glowing eyes flitted back up to Sammy's face as he questioned the origin of the messages. He looked back down at the golden notes, tapping his pencil against the book again.

"...some of the messages did sound like you or Joey," he started, slowly, like he was thinking it through. "But most of them feel... familiar. Comfortable. I think..." He furrowed his brow again, trying to decide how to phrase this. "We're not in a loop anymore but. I guess it's like." He looked up at Sammy. "How part of you--" he gestured to the tape and the sheet music "--remembers what happened during those cycles... part of me does too."

"And I think that part can only communicate through these messages." He tapped the paper again. "That Henry stopped leaving messages because we're no longer in a loop, that information was no longer relevant. But now it is."

Sammy dropped his hands and nodded, slowly, unsure but accepting this, and calming just a little as Henry explained in that easy, gentle, always tired voice of his. It was ...better, these thoughts coming from Henry, than from something beyond them, even if it meant they were more likely to be guesses.

“Hopefully yours is more cooperative than mine,” Sammy said dryly. He turned his hands over, staring down at them, as if there would be some hint of that golden writing that he could see. “‘You pulled him out’? Is that what it said?”

He smiled slightly at Sam's dry response, taking that to mean he found the explanation at least somewhat reassuring.

"Yeah, that's what it says."

"Hm." Sammy huffed an unsteady sigh and stepped back, just a little, still sticking sort of close to Bendy. "If you're the one who pulled him out of the Star Pools, that's going to be news to him. But I don't remember anything past the 'dying' part."

"I don't know... I don't think the messages have ever been literal," Henry mused. "But if I didn't literally pull him out then I don't know what it's trying to tell me."

“I mean, didn’t you, though?” Bendy wondered, flipping one hand face up from his perch on the counter next to Sammy. “The Sammy that was ridin’ around in yer head through the loops, anyhow. That sure ain’t what usually happens. Though I guess that wasn’t the Prophet…”

"Do you think that's related?" Henry asked. "Sam coming out of the pool and Sam getting stuck in my head? I guess in both cases they technically didn't die... more or less,"

Sammy frowned, arms crossed again. “I don’t remember anything between dying and ‘waking up’ in the hospital. You’d have to ask the Prophet about that,” he said, with a sneer that did not sound like a sincere recommendation. “And dying,...” He tapped his arm rapidly with his fingers, thinking. “... I didn’t remember that until we saw him, formed of Ink, and he melted at your touch. ...Is that when the Prophet joined me? The death must be his memory...”

“Prob’ly,” Bendy said. “He did grab ya another time, though I guess it was by the sleeves? Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen before. He only melted and got all upset that one time.” he paused. “...Actually, didn’t the leftover Prophet start attackin’ cultists after that? Maybe...he got some’a you too that time?”

Henry continued to stare intensely at his sketchbook. He'd honestly mostly forgotten about the second ink Sammy encounter, with it being in the middle of so much other stuff, but he was trying his best to recall it. "That's right, he did... If he got a bit of you too that might explain why he started yelling about betrayal and such."

Sammy ran a hand through his mess of curly hair. "This is... too many of me to keep up with," he muttered.

He'd had a hard enough time warming up to the idea that he and the Prophet were both people but also the same person, that maybe they could be merged back together like the other two versions of him back in Haiti. But so many different "pieces" of him, of soul or memory or whatever else being traded or remembered or lost between multiple versions of himself in different timelines was starting to sound like Wally Franks explaining soap operas to him when he definitely didn't ask.

But... it wasn't listening to the tape. Sammy tapped his fingers against the counter, anxious. Part of him would've liked to get it over with and stop stalling; the other part was exhausted, and he’d only just stopped shaking.

“Then what exactly am I missing?” he finally asked, frustrated. “A piece of the Prophet? A piece of the ghost that possessed Henry? Does it matter? It won’t be missing if they put me back together, will it?”

“That...ain’t quite how it works,” Bendy said, turning to Sammy. “You can’t lose stuff that way. I dunno what happened between the Messenger an’ the Prophet, if he took somethin’ that’s a whole different thing. But just like how the Prophet in you,” he said, reaching out to tap Sammy’s collarbone, “remembers everything, if any’a you got in there, it don’t mean you’d forget, just that he got everythin’ you had too. And if just that was enough that he broke with the Messenger? That’s gotta be a good sign!”

Okay, so it wasn't that Sammy lost anything, it’s that he and the Prophet are now.. sharing...? Henry was struggling to keep up but trying not to let it on. Regardless, Sam was right, when they join him with Prophet all these pieces should be in the same place. So it doesn't matter.

He frowned deeper as something occurred to him. "When we did this back in Haiti, we were merging Sam with-- there's a huge difference between Sam and Prophet." He looked up between Sammy and Bendy. "If we do this, how do we know he won't start acting like Prophet instead of Sam?"

Sammy’s expression was reluctant and skeptical at best, but he didn’t argue with Bendy’s optimism. Though at Henry’s question, he let out an overwhelmed, noiseless breath of a laugh. “Great question! We don’t!”

“I mean. Yeah, not for sure, not yet…” Bendy admitted. “But see, that’s the thing!” he said, holding up a gloved finger towards Henry. “If Prophet had somethin’ ripped out, mixin’ even a little with Sammy should give all’a that back! And Sammy’d only be gettin’ back memories he had his full mind to handle. So we wouldn’t need ta worry about a Yellow Sign situation. Nothin’ weird there to infect Sammy, just somethin’ new to repair Prophet!”

Though he did add after a moment, a bit of his energy deflating, “Though that’s just what I think’s goin’ on. I’m hopin’ that laundry spirit can tell for sure.” He looked to Henry hopefully. “Or that you could figure somethin’.”

Bendy had always had a pretty lofty view of Henry’s ability to understand how people work; perhaps he should have foreseen this view leading Bendy to expect occult metaphysical wonders.

Henry nodded slowly as Bendy explained. That all did make sense... Though he still wasn't sure what Bendy thought he could do to fix this, other than donate some blood to the ritual circle. His occult knowledge was still mostly wards and defensive spells (though he'd read up a little on.. how to get people out of other worlds...). Not, anything like this. He decided not to mention that again, though.

"Yeah, it sounds like trying to contact that spirit again is our best bet, if nothing else than to help figure out what's wrong."

His eyes strayed to the tape, wondering if he should listen to the rest.

"These are all just guesses," Sammy agreed, with a wide gesture to indicate the three of them. "But the more information we have when we talk to the spirit, the easier to tell if we can trust her. You might notice something we've missed." He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, but glanced down again at the sheet of paper with his and the Prophet's attempt at a conversation on it, with a new addition to the conversation that he couldn't see. "In a way, you already have."

Henry nodded, smiling very slightly. That was probably the closest to a thanks he'd get from Sam.

Henry gestured at the tape deck. "You think we're ready to try this, or should I listen to the rest of the tape first?"

“Ready to try what?” Bendy asked, pie-cut eyes blinking.

"Summon the spirit? Or figure out how to I guess." Ah. Wait. This isn't Joey. They probably weren't already planning on doing the ritual and just hoping that Henry would agree. "I figured it'd be short notice. These things usually are."

Sammy glanced at Bendy, then back at Henry. "I didn't-- no, we can't do the ritual now. Unless Bendy's already got Joey's notes, but--" He swallowed, anxious. His mouth was still just a little too dry, but you know why that is, Sammy, and you're just going to have to deal with it.

But he hadn't expected to summon the spirit today, and it would be an unpleasant surprise. "We're not doing it tonight," he concluded, a final answer regardless of whether they technically could. "The rest of the tape is up to you. The Prophet becomes upset that Bendy's not interested in following his..." He faltered; the flippant 'stupid god' that he wanted to say died on his lips. He swallowed again. "...the Messenger. I don't know that it's anything useful."

Henry met Sammy's eyes in what he intended to be a calming motion, until he remembered that Sam started getting nervous the second his eyes started to glow and glanced away again. So instead he nodded. No ritual today. A relief, honestly. He still had to finish animating that scene...

"You also didn't think there'd be anything to gain from listening at all, but it looks like there was," he pointed out. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hear the rest of it."

Sammy didn't break eye contact this time, just nodded shortly, with a 'be my guest' sort of gesture at the tape deck.

Henry nodded, and pressed play.

Chapter Text

Once again, Henry pressed play on the tape deck containing the remainder of Prophet’s side of the ‘conversation’ he and Sammy had held.

Sammy's usual voice resumed, only to be quickly cut off and replaced by that of the Prophet again. Henry listened closely, this time not hesitating to jot down anything he thought might be of note.

He paused his notetaking as Bendy started talking longer. He frowned.

- ask bendy if can still control him/how to stop that

He frowned deeper as Prophet responded to Bendy's question about choice with more religious fervor. He'd never been the religious sort, but one thing he had heard is that biblical angels were created by God purely to worship him mindlessly, and humans were created so they could actively choose to worship instead of it just being part of their being. He wondered if angels would similarly baulk at the idea of there being a choice in who or if to worship.

- think bens right abt no choice

He was startled out of his thought when Bendy raised his voice. Henry set his jaw, trying again to not look pitying.

For most of this Bendy had been intent on their task, but while his own voice was shouting he actually glanced to the side, arms crossed. It seemed even the Lurker could be self-conscious on occasion.

Then there was more shouting, banging, which Henry assumed was Prophet getting angry that he was about to turn again. Then things settled down, and Henry continued listening.

Prophets rambling about how nothing else is worthwhile only cemented further the idea that something had been changed, that he was no longer able to see value in anything beyond serving the Masked Messenger.

He huffed a laugh at the Moonlight comment.

And then the tape ran out. Henry added in one more question before he leaned back and sighed. His head was starting to get cloudy from concentrating too hard.

Is there anything i missed?

"Alright then."

He put his notes on the table again, and looked them over, hoping the messages hadn't faded yet.

Sammy leaned back as Henry listened and scratched down notes in his sketchbook attentively. This bit had mostly been aggravating, the first time he heard it. The Prophet's emotions were all over the place, and it was frustrating and embarrassing to hear his own voice reduced to this blind, desperate idiot, and to hear Bendy address this version of him as if they were the same person.

But… this time, when the voice on the tape announced he'd been blessed with a vision, Sammy's body suddenly went cold. That was... real. Not some information he'd learned, not a magical spell that he was incapable of describing in non-religious terms... that might actually have been a vision from his horrible cosmic god. Didn't Bendy say the Prophet had pulled the Yellow Sign out of him? The thing trapped in his head was not as deluded as he wanted to believe.

Sammy was quiet, staring straight ahead, as the tape came to a stop and Henry looked over his notes.

Bendy was distracted as the tape clicked to a stop, hitting the end of what it had been capable of recording. He was still looking off to the side, wondering if there was some way to give new forms to his friends, like they’d done for him, without needing the Masked Messenger’s loaded deals involved. They weren’t made of the same stuff, sure, but there were SO many ways for humans to get corrupted by contact with this stuff, and just to get messed up in general. Surely there had to be a way to do it in controlled circumstances, to be helpful instead of harmful…

Henry’s eyes still showed him the calmly glowing gold text, without any feeling of strain. Maybe he was...getting better at it? Was this the kind of thing you could get better at? And more text was showing up every now and again...usually when Henry was looking away with his thoughts wandering for a moment, never when he was focused on it.

Henry studied the new text, taking care to look away every now and then when he noticed it was more likely to appear when it wasn't in his direct line of vision. At one point he smiled slightly, which quickly turned into a puzzled frown. The confusion on his face only deepened as he finished reading.

Both his notes and the sheet he had been handed had gained new messages. He put both on the makeshift table and began reading out the golden text.

"Here," he said. "Under 'what do you want' and across the next line, it says 'where did it go?'

"And here, where you mention the spirit, it says 'bring cake; she helped us before'.

"And, here," he pointed to the Prophet's mention of danger Sammy did not see, "It says 'like what?'"

He shuffled the paper aside and moved his sketchbook to the forefront, still pointing at each question and answer as he went.

"Alright, up here, where I asked if the ink body he had was better, it says 'it was his?' with a question mark. And where I asked if the Masked Messenger has actually shown him favor, it says 'anyone will favor a toy while it remains interesting...' And where I asked about him calling both Bendy and the Masked Messenger his lord, it says 'does he see a difference now?' And here, over ‘loving embrace’ it says ‘unlikely’.

"Here's where it gets weird. The words 'amusement park' here have a bunch of stars around it, but specifically the word 'muse' in it is underlined and has a halo over it. I dunno what that means.

"And it doesn't get much clearer from there. Under where I asked if i missed anything it says,

"'Orchid ---- soup', 'oh, what if Wally ate it???' with three question marks, and 'the key is in the trash'."

He looked up at the others. "Does any of that make sense to you?"

Sammy peered over the papers, as if he could read any of the notes Henry pointed out. “Nnnnnno,” he said slowly, apparently just as baffled as Henry. “None of that last set are familiar to me...”

He tapped the message about the spirit with a small smirk. “I understand the cake, at least. If I were a spirit, I’d spend my limited time in a body eating cake, too.” But another realisation clicked into place, and his eyes widened just slightly. “Oh... she’ll need a body to possess.” He frowned, glancing over at Henry. “I hadn’t meant to volunteer you for that.”

Bendy had refocused as well, getting up to walk closer to the conversation with a curious flick of his tail. He rubbed his equivalent of a chin with one gloved hand, looking puzzled. “No idea...what even is an orchid?” Though at Sammy’s comment he blinked. “Wait, really?” he was starting to wish he’d tried to peek in on whatever had originally happened with this laundry spirit a little bit harder.

"An orchid is a kind of flower," Henry started explaining automatically, used to these kinds of questions from the Lurker. "I'd draw one for you but I don't remember exactly what they look like."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise when Sammy pointed out that they'll need someone for the spirit to possess; he'd forgotten about it too.

"But yeah, when we encountered the spirit, she was possessing Josephine," he explained to Bendy. "She's the one who told us Josephine wanted me dead.

"Either way," he shrugged. "Someone's gotta do it. It's not like I never been possessed before."

Bendy looked troubled at this revelation, almost bristling, though he didn’t immediately speak.

Sammy only nodded, and turned his attention back to the invisible notes. It would’ve been nice to have Henry... present, especially if the Prophet was going to get involved, but he didn’t have any better suggestions.

“I... can answer some of your questions,” he said, but his voice immediately dropped down, low and quiet, as he tapped the question about the Prophet’s ink body. “The Messenger obviously gave him a man’s body.” Sammy stared Henry in the eyes, spoke every word tense and careful, as if that could somehow make the others careful, too. “This isn’t a disguise. It’s ...me. So if that was meant to be a gift from his god,” he sneered, “the Prophet won’t find fault with it.”

“The other side of the tape,” he continued, turning back to the sketchbook, less stressed but equally hushed, “is the Prophet calling on the Masked Messenger and being... noticed. He’s right about his visions; Bendy says he could feel the Messenger’s attention. And... this vision apparently mentioned an Angel.” Sammy took up the folder of sheet music again and shuffled through for another non-music paper he’d hidden inside. There were deep impressions of a scribble half-way down — this paper had obviously been sitting under the first sheet when the line was scratched out — and across the top was written, in handwriting that was messier than usual but nonetheless Sammy’s:

"Her songs will seek to BREAK YOUR WILL”

“Do NOT allow the angel to rest long in her power, lest the KING RISE ANEW"

"BEWARE the coming of the Pallid Mask, he seeks that which escaped Carcosa, and no corner of this earth can avoid his gaze forever"

He handed it to Henry with a hand that was trying very, very hard to hold the paper still and untrembling. “When I woke up, these were written on the walls,” he whispered.

Henry looked puzzled at Sammy's explanation. What does he mean it's a man's body? Doesn't he already-- oh. But before he could do much with that revelation, Sammy moved on.

He didn't like the sound of any of this. He took the paper wordlessly and read it over. Lest the king rise anew... seeks that which escaped Carcosa... he doesn't like the sound of this at all.

"And this is the prophecy you were talking about?" he asked, glancing up at Sammy again.

“The Prophet broke open some ink from the storage crates,” Bendy explained, since Sammy didn’t remember that part, “and wrote those all over the walls after he got the Messenger payin’ attention.” And even he looked uncomfortable at the memory, voice going quieter. “And yeah, that was all of ‘em.” his clasped hands were fidgeting, as if he were still distracted.

Sammy nodded, just as uneasy as the others. "I'm going to share this part with Joey," he added, with a small sigh. "And Jack. We all might need it, whenever it comes up." But he'd wanted to show Henry first; to have a second opinion, at least, from the one who was the toughest of all of them.

"How long does your... vision... last?" Sammy wiggled his fingers in front of his own eyes in lieu of anything actually descriptive. "Is there a literal key in the trash to be found in the recording studio...?” So many of the golden messages they’d seen in the mirror had been practical tips for the moment - Look here! behind a dresser or You’ll need this! on a matchbox. Running out to see if any of the trash cans had an arrow pointing at them seemed crazy, but not out of the question... “Usually I'm the one with the poetic predictions."

Henry nodded when Sammy said he would tell the others about the prophecy. They ought to know too. His eyes wandered back to the last bit of gold text in his notes. Something felt... almost off, about it.

"It usually lasts about fifteen minutes," he answered. "But.. it feels like it's already been longer than that. If we want to search the studio, we should do it soon."

He glanced back at the prophecy he'd been handed, and blinked with mild surprise. "Oh, there's gold on this too."

He hesitated, unsure if he should read it off or if the others wanted to go straight to searching, but hearing no objections he continued.

"Here, above this part, it says 'work hard work happy', but its crossed out and next to it is 'please stop'. Here, it says 'we have to help her...', and at the bottom," he continued with the slightest hint of amusement, "it says 'well that doesn't sound good'."

“Thanks for that insight,” Sammy said with sort of an unpleasant smirk.

"Help an angel?" Bendy said dubiously. Though.. Sammy had suggested earlier an angel with songs might not be one of the beings from the swamp.

“It’s poetic, then,” Sammy replied, “not the monster. Some person who— Susie!” He perked up suddenly. “She voices our angel, and she sings.” He frowned, with the smallest shake of his head. It shouldn’t be Susie. She was nice to work with and actually liked the Studio for some reason. He didn’t want her dragged into this.

Henry blinked, and read over the prophecy again, squinting to see past the golden text obscuring some of the writing. It did make an odd amount of sense...

"It says 'don't let her rest long in her power'. Maybe it's not something that's happened yet, but will happen soon?" He sounded uncertain. He wasn't very familiar with Susie, but she didn't seem like the type to get involved in the occult. But he supposes the same thing might have been said about Fowler... or himself, for that matter.

"So we watch out in case she starts breakin' people's wills, I guess?" Bendy agreed with a frown. He didn't know Susie that well, but she had always seemed nice. Though then he turned to Sammy. "Or wait, is that somethin' she already does?" he suddenly thought to ask. His standards for what was normal for humans was perhaps a little skewed by the company he kept.

“No, not at all,” Sammy almost snapped, contempt in his voice at the idea. Susie was more ambitious than anyone gave her credit for, but if anything she was too nice for this industry. “But none of us wanted to be waist-deep in gods and magic, and yet, here we are,” he muttered, throwing open the door and stalking out of the booth.

Henry would be better able to search, if there were golden arrows or hints that only he could see, but Sammy still circled the room to peer into the trash cans that were nearby, at least, for anything obviously out of the ordinary.

Henry blinked at Sammy's outburst. His immediate thought was that perhaps Sammy was hiding something, but he quickly dismissed it. He knew Sam was fond of Susie, it makes sense that he'd leap to her defense.

He stood up with a grunt, and stretched. "Well," he said to Bendy. "I guess we better go look for a key."

“Yeah, let’s see what we got before yer eyes go out,” Bendy agreed, and hopped off the counter to land on Henry’s shoulder. For all that the action had the general look of a being who was very used to pouncing things, he landed well balanced, and wasn’t terribly heavy.

The music department remained abandoned, and being the end of the day there was still a fair amount of detritus left in the various rubbish bins. There weren't any golden signs anywhere near the recording booth, though.

The Lurker kept his eyes peeled for anything shiny as they passed the first set of wastebaskets, though Henry could feel him fidgeting as much as see it. As they stepped out into the Music Department proper, he wondered quietly, “Say......Do you gotta let that spirit possess you? Ain't there some other way to talk to her?”

Sammy squinted as the other two passed by to step out into the rest of the Music Department... he didn't have his keys on him at the moment (they were Somewhere in his office; he knew where they were, obviously, everything was just a little disorganised right now), so he stepped back into the booth to grab his folder of sheet music, stuffing prophecies and conversation inside, and to pop the tape out of the tape deck and add it to the folder, before stepping quickly back out to catch up with Henry and Bendy.

When the recording studio yielded no results, Henry turned his search towards the wider music department, Bendy a comfortable weight on his shoulders. Something seemed to be bothering him, but he figured they all had plenty to be worried about. But then he spoke up.

"Not as far as I know," he said. "I mean, I was hoping I'd get to talk to her too. She seemed to like me, so I thought maybe I could help convince her. But if she needs a body to possess, and Sam doesn't want to tell anyone else what's going on, then it looks like I'm the only option."

“I couldn’t,” Bendy said soberly. “I don’t think we’d mix so great.” There was an unusually neutral tone to his voice, as if he was torn between being glad about that or guilty about being glad. He was quiet a few moments more before he leaned over to pat an unoccupied part of Henry’s shoulder firmly, and said with more energy, “I’ll make sure we got a way to kick her out if she’s a problem, promise.”

“See anything?” Sammy asked, stepping up behind them with the folder in one arm and no acknowledgement of the conversation he was interrupting.

He did not know the locations of all trash bins throughout the Music Department (that was Wally’s job, not his); but hopefully Henry’s vision would catch whatever he missed.

Henry smiled faintly at the Lurker's promise. "I don't think you'll end up needing to. But thank you."

He looked over when he heard Sammy. "Nothing yet."

And there continued not to be as they circled the rest of the Department. Eventually they started doubling back, and the Lurker even hopped down to reach into some of the fuller cans searching for anything noteworthy. By the time they’d circled back around to where they’d started, Henry’s eyes had faded back to normal, some thirty minutes since he’d first started finding gold in Sammy’s papers.

“Nothin’...” the Lurker said with a frown.

“Your eyes aren’t glowing anymore,” Sammy added, unsure if Henry could tell.

He lingered outside the booth instead of stepping back inside. There was the other side of the tape, still, but... Henry had the wall writing. That was the important part.

“Well. If I notice anything that makes sense of your other self’s prophecies,” he said, with a little flourish of a gesture in Henry’s direction, “I’ll pass it along.” He tapped his fingers along the edge of the folder. “...Can I destroy the tape?”

Henry's hope began to wane as they fruitlessly walked the studio. It occurred to him now that, if he was correct about what the gold text was, there wouldn't be anything of this sort anyway unless they were in a time loop again, or otherwise there was something he might have forgotten that the gold text would know. He still wasn't sure why the messages had persisted for so long... was it that him pushing himself to the brink a few weeks ago strengthened it somehow..?

He was roused out of his thoughts when Sam asked permission to destroy the tape. He paused for a second, thinking it over; he'd hate to lose information, but..

"If there's nothing else I should hear on it," he answered, "then go ahead. I, uh, imagine you wouldn't want anyone coming across it."

Bendy opened his mouth to point out the remaining recording...but then paused as he cast back his own memory. The only other thing besides the prophecies he remembered was him telling Prophet about the spirit, and Henry knew more than him in that respect, so what could it matter?

"Yeah, it's late," he agreed instead. "You guys oughta get home." Even he needed sleep, and the humans certainly did.

“Fantastic,” Sammy replied. “I’m sure Henry does, in any case; I need to get at least one of these songs on paper while there’s some peace in here.” He nodded to Henry. “Thanks for this.” He held eye contact for a little too long, a little too intense, meaning it.

Henry met Sammy's gaze and held it for just as long. "No problem. Let me know if you need me again."

Sammy said nothing else and simply stepped past him, pulling tape out of the cassette as he walked back out to the recording studio and the piano. A few moments later music filled the room, long stretches of upbeat piano occasionally cut short and punctuated with scribbled notes on the blank sheets in front of him.

There was almost no sign of the harried, suspicious man who’d been discussing warnings and prophecies not long ago; Sammy’s focus was somewhere else entirely. He would certainly complain about the frenzied planning and pace of the current project... but truthfully, it was a distraction he was grateful for.

Bendy cracked a smirk as Sammy turned his focus entirely to the piano and the decreasingly blank music sheets. “Guess we better leave him to it, huh?” he said to Henry. “Howsabout I see you off?”

Henry nodded, a little tiredly. The late night was starting to get to him, it seemed. "Yeah, I better head home. Linda'll be wondering where I am."

He turned his head towards the Lurker. "You let me know the minute you need me for anything, okay?"

“Sure,” the Lurker replied with a flick of his tail. “You too.”

He was quiet most of the way as Henry went to collect his things and head towards the front in the dim building, quiet but for the thrum of the pipes. Though partway along he remembered a question he’d not got around to asking before. “Say, Henry?” he wondered. “What’s muse?”

Henry paused in the middle of gathering his things, thinking. "A muse is... a kind of old greek god, I think." He resumed packing up as he talked. "They're women who are supposed to inspire artists. Sometimes you'll come across an artist who calls a person their muse, because they inspire them. I don't know much about it beyond that."

“Huh,” Bendy said, putting a hand on Henry’s head to steady himself as he stood up. “Thanks, though I guess that don’t answer much.” he looked toward the front doors as they drew nearer, and his weight shifted as if he were about to hop down, though he paused. “Say….you gonna be okay?” he asked. Barring being a hitchhiker in Joey’s skin and New Orleans in general he hadn’t been off the premises with any of them since he’d first arrived, but lately he’d been tempted more than once.

"Hmm?" He didn't seem to expect that question. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm more worried about Sam. Looked like all this has been pretty hard on him."

“Yeah,” Bendy agreed, looking back over his shoulder. Maybe he should swing by and grab whatever the latest reel was in case Sammy needed it on the way back. He fuzzled Henry’s head while he still had the height to do so, and then bounded to the floor. “But whatever’s goin’ on, we’ll figure it all out,” he said with a smile. “See ya tomorrow, Henry.”

Henry smiled back, tired, but warm. "Seeya, Ben."

The Lurker gave a nod, and scampered off into the darkness, leaving Henry alone at the front doors.

Henry watched him run off, and sighed, weary. He hoped he would be okay, at least.

He pushed open the doors and started to head home.

Chapter Text

Joey found himself in the bathroom nearest his office, urgently washing his hands. Usually this did the trick, but somehow this time no matter how he tried, he just kept finding missed smudges of Ink…

This was bothersome of course. There were so many things he couldn't touch as long as the ink remained. So many people…

Perhaps he should ask Bendy about this. Long term side effects? Hopefully not, but also if it was just simple discolouration that'd be better than forever having ink on his hands.

Joey avoided looking in the mirror. He had been for a while, only because he already knew what he looked like.

The water kept coming, still running off dark. This had been fine since they left New Orleans! This wasn’t even supposed to be an issue. They’d been focusing instead on that...other issue, the one that had him avoiding the mirror.

Bendy was worried, still talking about how a human wasn’t meant to take the kind of bond Joey had somehow managed to forge. The little imp had been urging Joey to look into the other idea he’d originally had, his preliminary research into the spirits they’d learned about in Haiti, anything that might be able to take some of the strain off of Joey. And as much as Joey was loath to admit it, he did have to wonder if perhaps he’d been feeling... a little worse over the following weeks, when he’d expected to feel better.

And now this. Was it related? Where was it all even coming from? It was like...

Actually, now that Joey looked for it, it did seem like the ink was dripping down his hands... from under his sleeves?? Not actually oozing from his hands directly, like he’d thought before.

While not extremely open with it to everyone he chatted with, Joey had been open into looking for alternative methods to… power the stone, especially if it was draining him. But whatever he did next he wanted to be rather sure of its ability to work; this was no longer an emergency situation, and now Joey was the one who could be harmed by this the most. It had to be perfect.

Joey paused, shutting his eyes hard and trying to calm the racing thoughts in his mind, before unbuttoning the cuff and yanking up his sleeve, as if he was expecting something to be hiding there and to run away the moment he spotted it.

Ink was there, dribbling down the whole length of his arm, much more than the little stray drips from before. It didn’t appear to be coming from anything he could see there either, the rivulets flowing from the direction of his still-covered shoulder.

Okay, enough of this. If it was flowing from beyond that, the rest of his shirt must be ruined already. He’d just buy another one, or make this one another one of his late night activity shirts, since the cost of getting all of them cleaned or replaced was… a lot. Maybe he could make a better effort to keep them from getting dirty, but even when doing nothing wrong he ends up leaking ink on them? Might as well just have a few as stained shirts.

Joey looked over at the bathroom door, glaring at it, almost challenging it to open and have someone walk in… For a moment, he hesitated on the thought about locking it. But this wasn’t Haiti and it wasn’t something he couldn’t handle on his own, so with a huff he marched over and flipped the lock shut before starting to yank off his jacket and shirt proper to reveal whatever was creating the mess underneath.

It had to be coming from somewhere. The circle maybe, something could be wrong with it. Out of balance, perhaps. Or maybe it was…

Ink spilled down his front and spattered on the ground as Joey pulled open his shirt, pouring out as if he’d pulled out a plug rather than undone some buttons. It was not coming from the circle, but instead from a darkly gaping cavity carved right into his chest, where something oily black and veined with gold was beating.

There was a moment of staring, followed by a swear under his breath, and then a louder command of, “This is ridiculous,” before Joey simply buttoned up his shirt again like it’d stop the flow of ink. He didn’t know what was happening, but simply that he didn’t have time for it, and instead looked around to the ceiling, hoping to spot one of the vents that was the size that Bendy ran around in.

Not seeing one right away, he called out anyway for his companion, rather sure he could hear or feel Joey looking for him even at a distance. “Bendy? I think I have a… situation?”

It was only a moment later he heard light footsteps, and saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye. But when he turned to look, it wasn't Bendy he found - It was just the reflection in the mirror he’d been trying to avoid. Or...wait, that dark shape wasn’t him. Thin as he’d grown, the shadowed silhouette in the mirror was gaunter still, almost like…

A skull.

A skull, which tilted to the side, and tipped the shadow of a top hat plucked from nothing as the color fell away from the room and the spreading spills of ink were abruptly shot through with twinkling stars.

My lurker isn’t with you this time, a voice sounded in the room, in his head, in his bones. But, you do surprise. All that effort, all that fuss, only for you to turn around and bond with me again, Joey Drew?

...You’ve lost weight.

There was less than a second’s worth of fear that flashed through Joey’s expressions, but it was only from being startled about seeing one more thing he wasn’t expecting to see.

From there, everything about his glare became stern, critical, and unyielding as the Masked Messenger started to speak to him. Fueled by spite and hatred, Joey let his hands drop and straightened his back, taking up his position and daring anything to try to make him back down at this point.

Because he wasn’t going to let anything succeed in the presence of this asshole.

He would show no weakness.

Joey Drew had no weaknesses.

Not right now, at least.

“And you failed to gain any, but at least I make it look good. What are you doing here? I don’t remember inviting you for a tour,” Joey growled, refusing to look away in defiance to his own natural instincts screaming at him.

It’s not a tour I’m here for, at least not of your flimsy little excuse for a domain, the silhouette informed him with a dismissive wave of one hand. So many wards! I do hope you didn’t delude yourself into believing that was all it would take to keep me out. Even as Joey forced himself not to look away, it was hard not to note every little flicker or shift of that suggested form, the sight of which had struck down Henry and set Sammy to raving in a graveyard years ago, and promised to peek out of the protective darkness at any moment.

And all the while, the splashing of the spreading, pooling Ink his ears.

While something in the back of his head told him that the spilling ink was probably not a good sign, now that his space was threatened, all he cared about was trying to bring into reality his imaginative destruction of the stars in favour of the gold and black that flowed from himself.

Joey pushed back...and somehow succeeded, if only a little. Gold spread in threads and swirls out from his chest, his feet, winking out the stars in the black in between, creating an island around him in the sea of stars that had now overtaken most of the floor. The gold-lined perimeter didn’t stretch far, however; that glittering disorienting window into infinity was still visible if he glanced to the sides. But around him at least, the Ink answered his call.

And something like a chuckle, in feel if not truly in sound, shook through him. The two obscured hands clapped together once.

You call yourself a Dreamer... how appropriate. By human standards, you certainly are. But can you truly control them so well when mixed with the heady canvas of reality? The King in Yellow’s Pallid Mask -

And then the shadow paused, shapes of fingers tapping on the outline of an arm thoughtfully. But, ah yes, forgive me. Unlike my loyal prophet you need things in order, sorted in rows and lines for you so you can comprehend. Let’s move back.

And like flipping a switch, everything went stark, his surroundings thin and hardly there as the lights winked out. The swirled gold was shoved back with a casual force like a sledgehammer to Joey’s chest. The Ink moved to hold him upright, glittering as it curled around him like a fist. And from the darkness two naked human eyes—horrifyingly lonely with no proper face to house them—stared at him, through him. You have my Stone; R E T U R N I T.

Joey coughed hard as the ink hit him, unable to keep himself proper with such force executing itself on his chest. His hands immediately flew up and started to grip and scratch at the ink holding him, though it seemed more like a panicked set of actions than something he was intentionally doing.

Especially when his glare did not falter while staring down the eyes that looked back. Baring his fangs as he spoke, every word was soaked in a hate running so deep in his bones there’d never be a way to remove it at this point, “You should have thought of that before you just left the damn thing lying around.

“Which, by the way, took you an awful long time to finally seek it out again. Didn’t care about it at all when that Moonlight asshole stole it, hmn? I don’t think the stone matters really, I’m sure you have others to throw around willy-nilly and watch all the humans dance for you.”

Joey probably should have stopped talking, stop trying to provoke the eldritch horror that clearly held hold of his entire being right now.

But he didn’t.

And the only reason he was breathing normally instead of hyperventilating out of fear or having the wind knocked out of him was due to his need to keep yelling.

“And your loyal Prophet? Loyalty requires a level of willingness, don’t you think? I know Sammy, and I don’t think you have a prophet; just a puppet. Emptied out his brain and shoved whatever you wanted in there; if he could realize how shittily you treat him, how clear your false promises are, he’d be loyal no longer.”

And then suddenly Joey made an attempt to reach out and grab one of those floating eyeballs. He was rather sure they were still a simple illusion, his hand would just run into the mirror. But it’d sure be satisfying if he did manage to grab it; somehow rip another thing away from the Masked Messenger and crush it in his palm.

But no, his hand passed right through the glass to claw towards the eyeball in that darkened skull, and it was only then that he noticed the eye he was reaching for had turned gold and its fellow dark...like his.

He would not be tricked like this.

He did not stop.

His fist closed, and it was every bit as visceral and satisfying as he’d imagined...except that the scream that split the air in the moments following wasn’t the Messenger’s, it was his own.

His vision swam, or at least half of it. His own left eye, the one thing that had still been his even when he had been this abomination’s vessel-in-potentia, was ruined. A beat of Joey realizing this again before screaming louder, but this time full of pained anger. It was almost like a guttural growl, never in his life could he muster so much hatred for anyone before.

For a while, Joey had just been wishing to be left alone, but every time he got close to simply letting things be… This asshole had to come along and ruin it.

Oh, he would find some way to make this jerk realize he messed with the wrong human.

He was still able to see the one-eyed skull grinning from the mirror...only to step through to the other side, the patently Wrong Bendy mask materializing to hide it as he crossed over. He circled Joey, far enough away to avoid being grabbed again, and tsked—even that soft sound grating and reverberating.

It still somehow managed to sound as if it was right next to Joey’s ear as the voice spoke again, as if his grievous injury were merely punctuation in the conversation. Perhaps he would, the Messenger agreed, not debating Joey’s claims. However, I merely picked up what you discarded carelessly. I found him, failing to die, unable to live, wishing you would come for him. But you are wrong about one thing; he accepted my offer, and was given the peace he had always wished for but never known. Can you really say that the one you know is happier in your care…?

“Last I checked, theft is not discardment. He was by my side when he was taken from me, when everything was taken from me. And your offer was rigged!” Joey screamed, his shoulders stiff and chest heaving wildly in an attempt to reign any sort of control over himself.

For a moment, there wasn’t any left; Joey’s form, even while he didn’t realize it himself, had started to morph and pull into something far more animalistic and monstratious, a warped version of how he had perceived himself when losing control with power back when he was fused with the Lurker. But, only for a moment.

Joey had noticed the distance the messenger kept from him in his limited view.

That was enough.

That was enough for him to realize he still had power, as long as he kept his head. Even if a little… he hasn't lost yet, this was his studio after all.

The figure paused and the distorted mask rotated as Joey seemed for a moment as if he might simply come apart—melt away and be consumed in the ink—as if interested to observe the process. But as Joey fought his way back to himself, the mask righted itself, and the Messenger continued to circle.

“And happiness? An illusion for the ignorant. It pales in comparison to free will, to satisfaction.” Joey did keep his gaze on the Masked Messenger as he circled, though started to refuse to turn his body, only letting his head tilt to keep the other in view as he took up his normal posture again.

“And I know you will never be able to give him that; it just isn’t in you. Infinity, something that never has an end goal, is simply despair. Meanwhile, me? Well,” he smirked. “I already know I can give him a much better life than the one you tricked him into. How many times did we go through this process, and in the end he chose me.”

Heheh...I wonder. You raise an interesting theory...but how confident are you, really? Shall we test it? With all his memories, I wonder what he might truly choose..?

Joey simply glared at him, and directly sneered, “Don’t speak like we’re on the same playing field when we both know I’m making due with a fraction of what you have. This playing field is unlevel, and I have absolute confidence you’ll abuse it in any way you feel like.”

Of course, the only time Joey would ever admit he was lesser was only to confirm that he was better.

Between Joey craning his head to its limit one way and turning to the other side, the Messenger was gone, and Joey turned to find only the Bendy mask with the gaping eyes right up in his face. IF you survive the path you have put yourself on, of course.

The words felt almost as if they were thick strands swirling through the room, choking it out, the walls decaying and dripping around him, like that dream from before…

Why does he feel like he’s seen this even before that? Why does he feel like there’s something he’s forgotten..?

The Messenger spoke on. You reshape my lurker, blind my prophet, disrupt my stone. You claim my tools, but I wonder if you are truly ready to claim the consequences..? There are things you have set in motion that will draw attention far less compromising than mine. I wonder how long you can continue to surprise me before you go the way of all the others? How long can you survive…

Joey didn’t respond right away this time. The words he wanted to say were sticky, he didn’t want to admit how right the Masked Messenger was about the situation, and he knew that exactly this would happen. But that doesn’t mean that everything was correct, and the storyteller wasn’t about to let this poor tale simply continue.

“There are things I’ve done, choices I’ve made that are wrong, but I did not directly set myself on this path. The initial cut, the offer, the stone was given to me with malicious intent to steal everything I have. So all those things? I am doing what I need to, or else I lose myself.”

Joey closed his damaged eye, a tic that he had passively picked up from before, when he didn’t want someone to see within his motives. Even though he currently could not tell if he had permanently ruined his vision, or something deeper about his spirit, he would still try to regenerate the golden glow meanwhile, imagine it there as if it had never been touched.

“You think I’m not aware of the situation I’m in? I’ve been aware of it from day one. I know of my own mortality, you dangling it around like it’s some new cosmic concept is simply boring and kind of pathetic. But I will face whatever consequences I have to in order to keep what is mine. Something I’m sure you know nothing about.”

Joey reached up and adjusted his tie, flattened out his shirt, evened out the corners of his jacket, and gave a slight dusting to his chest despite already being his perfect model version of himself. Other than the closed eye, he was trying his best to appear perfect, though his words were still dripping with venom compared to his usual inspirational speech voice when he looked this way.

“You don’t have to worry about those do you, consequences? Why are you so insistent on fucking with me, huh? Got a crush? Don’t you have billions of other humans you could be messing with?”

Even the affront-of-a-mask faded from sight as the shadows in the room thickened. The dripping, mouldering space—so unsettlingly familiar—grew small and claustrophobic, the snarl of ink still holding Joey fast halfway up his body.

Yet somehow in the midst of all this Joey only seemed to stand in sharper contest, his image of himself enduring, though his eye still hurt like hell as the Messenger replied, his tone amused.

Why all of you, you ask? Have you so little faith in yourself as a Storyteller..?

The tone dropped low, confidential, as the inky room faded entirely to black.

...I want to see what happens next, of course…

And then, all at once Joey's vision slid straight through to total white, so bright it chased him even when he willed his eyes closed, and he felt himself lurching, no longer sure of up or down or where the ink began and he ended, or was it even there at all?

...Was he?

I'll be sure to stop by again, for the next chapter…

Until then, Joey Drew.

....Drew..."

"Mister Drew?"

Someone was calling him.

Everything felt wrong.

Out of place.

He was in the wrong shape.

Until suddenly he wasn’t, and Joey realized what had happened.

Of course he had been sleeping. That’d make… sense.

Joey’s hand immediately found its way to cover his eye with the palm, not just preventing him from opening it but also blocking out any light that threatened to get to it. He didn’t want to know. He’d know eventually, but for now, he wanted to live in his own reality that he still had control over that entire situation. Especially if it was his own dream.

He blinked open his black eye and looked up at whoever was trying to get his attention, doing his best to ignore the fog of drowsiness, and become Joey Drew once again.

For a moment his vision remained all white...but then it resolved into papers spread across his desk, where his face had been lying. He’d...been working, that’s right, and must have fallen asleep.

It wasn’t studio work, either. Some of it was the loa notes he’d made in Haiti, ideas for how to isolate the...domain for lack of a better word a spirit might be associated with to ensure a specific summon.

That didn’t look all that questionable, but next to it was a different project. The one he’d had in the back of his mind since he’d set up the ink pipes in the studio, that could benefit from the spatial manipulation he’d seen in Moonlight’s gate spell, from the research on the angels Allison had been true to her word and corresponding with him about.

Those papers were full of eldritch symbols and unnatural circles and illustrations, and someone was saying his name and had even just put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh!” the voice exclaimed - Susie Campbell, he now realized. Her hand darted back in surprise as he jerked his hand to cover his eye. “Oh, you’re awake...I hope I didn’t startle you, but you were asleep!” She blinked at him from a few steps away, though behind her Joey saw another person as well. Norman Polk, their new projectionist. Without his trenchcoat here, but still apparently with the tendency to notice unnecessary things. He didn’t even have to lean to the side to see past Susie towards Joey’s desk. He was frowning.

“...Everything alright?” he drawled. A simple enough question, but with a tone that suggested he might have already formed his own suspicions as to the answer.

Great, just what he needed right now. Knowing he couldn’t just continue faking through all his insecurities from dreaming, Joey rubbed his face with the hand to make it look more natural to why he covered his eye immediately.

“I’ve just been working late a few times recently, nothing to worry about,” Joey confirmed in a tired voice. He stretched with his other arm. “Nice to see you’ve made it in one piece, Norman. Give me a moment to freshen up and I can give you the tour.”And with that, Joey tactically got up and turned away from them both, heading towards his private bathroom in the office and keeping the eye closed meanwhile.

He just needed to… check on his own, first. As much as he wanted to believe it was just a dream, he wanted to see the proof first hand before anyone else did.

Outside he could hear Norman and Susie’s muffled voices, though he was too focused on the mirror to pay full attention. Something about Susie welcoming Norman to the company, probably telling him he’d love it here because Susie had good taste. Hopefully it was distracting Norman from being too nosy about his papers.

In the mirror he found himself as vaguely gaunt as the last time he’d deigned to look at one. And his eye…

It was all too easy to imagine all the horrible things he might find.The memory of the pain was still vivid even after waking, and he still felt as if there were lingering echoes of it. He moved his hand…

And blinked in the bright light. With two eyes, still mismatched, and it would seem, perfectly functional.

Joey let out a heavy sigh, quickly got the water running to refresh with a cold splash, fixed his hair and suit and turned on his heels to head back out to chat with the two, motioning them towards the door.

“Sorry for that again, deadlines can be rough if not fulfilling sometimes. Shall we take a walk downstairs?”

If not for the frail look of the rest of his body, it’d almost be easy to guess that he had taken a shot of espresso or potion of youth from the medicine cabinet. The paranoia had washed away with his tired face, for now at least.

Susie looked up to beam a smile at Joey when he reappeared, though Norman was still looking over his desk. He didn’t object to being ushered out however, seeming to take things more or less in stride. “Wouldn’t mind getting a feel for the place, it seems easy to get turned around in here,” he agreed.

“You get used to it,” Susie assured him. “Well, I’d better be getting back to my lines, but congratulations! This is a hard studio to get into you know, Mister Drew wants only the best,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.

“I’m a lucky guy alright,” Norman agreed in the deadpan tone that seemed to be his default. “Why I’ve been waitin’ for a chance to work here forever.” He paused. “Practically three weeks.”

Joey couldn’t help but smirk at that.

Susie laughed, and even swatted Norman lightly on the shoulder before stepping down a different hallway. “You’ll fit in here just fine,” she assured him. “We work hard, but it’s worth it, we make the best cartoons in the business!”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Norman said, raising an eyebrow in Joey’s direction. “Believe me, I can’t wait to see what this place’ll get up to next.”

“I’m sure it’ll be something to behold,” Joey hummed as he watched Susie wander off. Another piece was in motion, and what seemed like a bothersome opportunity before could easily become a boon to them in the long run. He was glad the projectionist was so insistent on keeping an eye on them. He was reliable, and Joey could keep an eye on him better now himself.

“Well, the day's awasting. Let me show you where you’ll be set up.”

Chapter Text

Joey had been acting weird today. He always acted weird, but this time it was more in how he wasn’t acting that was weird. He had stopped by once earlier to show someone around the Music Department quickly, but instead of lingering to introduce them to Sammy and the rest of the workers, the tour moved on the moment Sammy confirmed he was as he normally was, in the middle of working just fine without someone interrupting or distracting him.

The second odd instance was later in the afternoon, closer to finishing hours, Joey had stopped by again, alone this time. He checked on Sammy and asked him what he needed, and when the music director responded with his usual declaration of being left alone and a lack of distractions, Joey… disappeared. He did just that. No tantalizing seduction attempt or whiney monologue before wandering off to let Sammy know what he was really expecting out of the interaction he had started. Simply agreed and left, heading back up to his office to continue working until whenever the composer had decided he was finished composing for the evening.

Joey had spent part of his evening wandering around checking on other members of his entourage; Henry first, expecting him to wish to leave early for his family, making sure everything he needed was at his desk and he did feel free to head home at any time. Joey even stopped by a little later after Henry had headed home and refreshed all of his tools, making sure to leave the old familiar ones but also top up his ink, paper supply, bring over a few new pens, anything to make the place nicer for the long hours ahead.

Joey had also found himself down in Jack's new office, checking over all the work he had gotten specially made for it. Everything Jack would need, so he wouldn't have any reason to go off into the sewer again and Joey had no hesitation at getting that access point to his studio closed up. It did not occur to him that by barging in and asking Jack a laundry list of questions about his well being and how quiet and away from people the office was, he was defeating some of the purpose of the office itself, but soon he was on his way after delivering Jack some fresh coffee.

Right now though, Joey was pacing around his own office, which had been cleaned up some. It still contained stacks of all sorts of work papers in every corner, but he had made an effort to at least keep them in their respective boxes and folders. He was holding an old book with no notiontion of its contents on the cover as he paced, and occasionally wandering over to the window to view out onto the lot, making sure Sammy wouldn’t dare leave and try to walk home at this hour of the night without him.

It was... late, by the time Sammy was ready to head out. Joey, for once, had retreated without interruption after the workday ended, leaving Sammy free to go as long as he needed without the threat of his lover becoming more and more insistent throughout the night. The first drafts of needed songs were in a state to run by Joey and Jack tomorrow morning, at least, and that was about all he could do until Art caught up.

It was not often he left the Studio alone. Joey had been sticking close the last couple of weeks. But there was no forlorn head of the studio haunting the music department tonight, so Sammy simply gathered his things and set out. Perhaps it was for the best. Tonight had been exhausting.

Not moments after he stepped past the door, the sound of a brisk walk showed up, followed by Joey's voice calling out to him as he exited the studio himself, taking just a moment to lock the door before catching up.

"Sammy! I half thought I had missed you on your way out. Didn't think you'd be heading home so late tonight; have you gotten everything done?" He was a little too joyous, and perhaps a little too loud for the empty parking lot that surrounded them. Though it was New York City, so noise was in the distance at any hour.

Joey put his arm around Sammy's shoulders, but in the way he did whenever he wanted to guide someone somewhere. To the outside, this just seemed to be a normal Joey motion, but Sammy could feel the extra grip he applied and how he tugged his lover closer to his body. "Why don't I call a driver, surely you don't wanna be walking around after all that hard work."

Sammy narrowed his eyes at Joey’s insistence, trying to figure out what was happening. “Sure,” he said, skeptically, letting Joey lead.

“I have the three songs you need for the feature,” he continued, matter of fact as they walked. “Obviously nothing finished for the longer pieces until Art gets me something to play to, but Jack should be able to start lyrics and any rewriting we need for Susie’s part, so we can get that recorded this week.” He massaged his temples with a hand. It would be tight.

"Perfect, excellent! I knew I can always count on you," Joey hummed, rounding the corner and waving over a driver that had been sitting, waiting, in one of the company cars this entire time. It swung around to the road right in front of them and Joey opened the back door, motioning Sammy to enter the vehicle.

Sammy glanced back at Joey, suspicious, but climbed in as normal. Some weird notion had probably gotten itself lodged in Joey’s head, but he wasn’t going to find out about it until they were home — whichever apartment Joey wanted to be at tonight.

Though it was... strange that Joey should be acting off right after the conversation with Henry... that Joey left him alone to meet with Henry in the first place, if he was still at work all this time...

Sammy settled in his seat but didn’t quite relax.

Joey scooted in next to him, closed the door, and then made a gesture to the driver that told Sammy nothing about their destination, simply that they were heading towards it now. And then he turned back to Sammy and continued.

This line of questioning wasn’t too odd for Joey, especially when getting closer to finishing a large project. He always wanted to stick his fingers into everything and micromanage, and boy was he already trying to dig himself into songs that Sammy hadn’t even finished yet. No, the odd part of it was that there was usually only a surface level that he actually pried into. He wanted to direct the feeling and artistry of the entire cartoon, but when it came to details on how those things were actually achieved, he left that leg work to the departments themselves. It didn’t matter the process as long as the end result he wanted was on his desk in time.

But this time, he was going into that, not in a way to correct things or muck about in areas he shouldn’t be, but more checking in on making sure Sammy had everything he needed… It was almost in a way of checking on a child’s backpack to make sure they had everything for school, except Joey was specifically looking for things he could fix, and not bothering with anything that wasn’t his to touch.

The driver made a turn that cleared up the earlier question: they were most definitely heading towards Joey’s apartment.

“What?”

What... was this for...? Sammy kept a wary sidelong glare on Joey as he answered questions that were, ostensibly, work questions, arms crossed, every answer guarded. He was sure it wasn’t just him, wasn’t just the increasingly important information he’d been hiding from Joey making everything feel like an interrogation, but that wasn’t exactly helping. Joey’s questions had nothing to do with magic or Ink or the Prophet, but it all kept bubbling to the front of his mind anyway.

“Why?” he finally asked, not sounding terribly welcome toward Joey’s eagerness to help and fix the entire Music Department all of a sudden. “Why do you need to know this?”

"Why wouldn't I need to know of all this? We have a big release coming up, I think it's perfectly normal to know what's going on in all the departments, and make sure you have what you need to do your best work! We are the greatest animation studio of our time, we have to live up to the legacy we've made of course." Joey winked, closing his gold eye for a moment.

The driver pulled over outside of a large, newly built complex that reached into the sky. It had a whole turn around, grand lobby, even a chandelier. He motioned to leave the car with Sammy, waiting for the driver to head off, before leading them back to the familiar residents only entrance… for the much smaller and older apartment building that confidently shared the same walkway.

Sammy sighed, with an unimpressed look as Joey started into his usual Joey spiel that he should know by now worked on everyone but Sammy.

“Sure,” he said finally, unconvinced. “If I need a new piano, you’ll certainly hear about it.” But he gathered his own things and followed Joey out of the car and back to his apartment without any further fuss, letting him lead the way.

Joey quieted down for the climb up to his apartment. It was the middle of the night and he didn't need anyone bursting into the hallway as he led Sammy up the stairs, though it was possible enough people in the building had seen the musician now to put two and two together. Especially when you lived in this part of town.

Joey's apartment wasn't small, but it wasn't large either. A one bedroom penthouse at the top, where he had taken the actual bed room and turned it into an office, walls filled with boxes of work, archives, and more recently, a few mystical tomes.

Where people would normally have a living room he had placed his large bed, and the 'dining' area had a single table shoved to the side, holding more boxes of animation sheets, with a loveseat and a coffee table squished within the remaining space.

This wasn't a place to have guests over. This was truly the most honest place for Joey to exist, where he could just envelope himself in anything he wished. Though instead of any of his usual activities, he wandered into the kitchen and started fussing about. "You've been working all night long, have you eaten? I can order something. Maybe a drink to cap off the evening?" He was already pulling out a couple of glasses and an unmarked bottle.

The bed looked very comfortable at the moment, but Sammy squinted at Joey, set down his things and padded after him into the kitchen.

“What are you talking about? It’s midnight and I have work tomorrow.” He stepped closer, suspicious. Something had happened to him... maybe something had happened to Joey, too. He thought through all the gold messages he could remember, but none of them were about Joey that he could tell.

“What happened?” he demanded, uneasy.

Joey paused for a moment, as if not expecting this answer, and then screwed the cap back onto the bottle and set it aside, mumbling under his breath "Of course, of course."

He fiddled with a few more things on the counter top as Sammy questioned him, as if looking through those for an answer, before turning back to the musician, "Today's just been a very long day. Surely it's not that ridiculous to want to make sure you're…" Joey took a few steps closer as the words died on his lips, and soon his fingers found their way up and across Sammy's chest, to play with his suspenders, threatening to slip them off.

"Maybe there's another way I can help you relax?"

That felt more like a temptation than it ever had. Something was wrong, this was never how it went — but if he let it be, then here was Joey, ready to serve.

Sammy swatted the hands away with a huff, face hot. It pressed against his mind, building and urgent; he could only hold his ground for so long, and he needed to get at whatever the other man was working so hard to ignore. This was Joey trying to distract him, Joey with Allison in his head, Joey playing coy about things the musician couldn't remember. Something obviously happened -- out with it!!

“The Prophet heard from the Masked Messenger,” Sammy blurted out instead.

Joey’s hands managed to find their way back onto Sammy rather quickly, but what was initially a second attempt at an alluring touch turned into a desperate hold… which might have felt like an attempt to keep Sammy from moving away, but was more likely to keep anyone from taking him.

“What…?” Joey let the breath slip from his mouth, taking a moment to run his hands up Sammy’s sides a bit more and get a better hold, originally grabbing onto his hips. “... when did this happen, today? How did the Prophet even awaken, was there a pipe burst I didn’t know about?”

His eyes almost glowed, not supernaturally, but with a deep anger, not aimed at Sammy but radiating through his direction nonetheless as he was the only one in the room Joey could focus on. “Did the Masked Messenger awaken him somehow…?”

Sure!! Great!!! You’ve got his attention now!! Sammy slowly tensed as he found Joey’s hands on him again, gripping him possessively now, and tried to catch up with his own idiotic split-second decision.

But at Joey’s questions and intensity, there was that urgency pressing at his skull again. “No, he called out to the Messenger!” Sammy could hardly stop himself from snapping back, taking Joey by the shoulders; for some reason this was the most important thing for Joey to know, immediately, before anything else— “And the Messenger answered! His presence was there in that small room,” — no, wait a minute, this wasn’t what he wanted to say, — “Bendy felt it, we have his attention, his eyes are on me and—”

Sammy’s hand abruptly clapped over his own mouth, eyes wide and angry, with a long, frustrated exhale through his nose before he removed it.

“Last... week...,” he tried again, voice slow, careful, and painfully precise. “It was my fault. ...It was stupid. ...I got my hand in it.” Another long, slow breath, eyes locked on Joey. Don’t start any sentences you can’t stop. “Bendy was there, the Prophet was locked in... but... he wrote more prophecies on the walls.”

Another uncertain pause before he let his hovering hand drop.

Joey practically bristled at all of this; if his hair wasn’t already gelled down it might have been standing on end. But as Sammy calmed down, Joey started to as well, backing off from the tipping point of going into a frenzy. Slowly, his hands slipped off Sammy as he started pacing a small oval in the kitchen, grumbling to himself and clearly caught spinning his wheels in this new puzzle left for him.

If the place was louder, it might have been harder to hear what Joey was mumbling about, but other than the faint buzzing of the light above and a dull roar of the city outside, Joey’s muttering could be heard well enough, “How did ink even get near you, I’ve been having all the pipes put into the dang walls? Someone must have put it there, an intruder from the inside? Did the masked messenger move the ink on its own? No, he shouldn’t be able to, it’s not his ink. Why is he even… Is that how he got in? Did Prophet let him in?? Is it as simple as that, he just needs to be invited? That damn--”

Suddenly Joey turned on his heel, reaching out to grab Sammy again, this time on his shoulder. “Where did you run into the ink? I’ll make sure none of it is there next time. I’ll make sure the ink doesn’t bother you again, but I need to know where it was.” Joey’s eyes were locked onto Sammy’s intense and focused, but his voice didn’t have the same tone he usually took when instructing people around. Instead it almost sounded… pleading? Like he was still desperately looking for something to do.

One eye twitched as Joey’s frenzied attention fixated on the wrong thing. “Shut up. That doesn’t matter!” Sammy shouted, shoving Joey off him and pushing past. “Last time, the Prophet’s warnings came true. If we can make any sense of them, we could use the information.”

He dug through his things, pulling out a crumpled, folded piece of paper, but slowed as he started to unfold it, as the rest of Joey’s muttering sunk in. ‘Is that how he got in.’ ...

He already knew the Messenger was here.

Sammy looked up at Joey with an expression that was hard to read, but wasn’t angry anymore. “...is he in the Studio still...?” His voice had fallen quiet, all of his defensive bluster suddenly gone. “Did you...?” He didn’t even know what to ask. Did you.... see him? Feel him? Hear him? How did you know?

Joey paused for a moment, simply staring, as if trying to process what Sammy had said, before following him over to his things, giving a simple “Yes, of course,” under his breath as he did so. When Sammy turned around with the paper, he was met with the taller man's focused gaze, awaiting instruction on what to do next, only to finally be snapped out of it when the question came.

“He better not be,” Joey grumbled, snatching the paper out of Sammy’s hands to look over it, clearly that’s what Sammy needed from him at this moment… but his eyes weren't reading it. He was simply looking through it as his mind continued to turn, remembering layers and layers upon conversations he’d had with his lover before.

His… partner. One of many in a way; Henry was also his partner, and so were others in the studio. But how long had it been that Joey had kept Sammy by his side? How many times had the music director yelled at him before for not giving the full truth on everything, even though whenever Joey did involve him things just got worse…

Was this the satisfaction he could give to Sammy? Could he bear to admit that he wanted a constant, stable, untouchable connection with this man enough to simply tell the truth, and then he would be…

Joey slammed the paper on the kitchen counter instead, his other hand going to rub his brow as a headache tried to form. Something still bothered him about how much simply doing things just made him… ache and feel tired now. But after a moment he spoke once more,

“He shouldn’t be in the studio, but… He… made contact with me. Through a dream. I thought, earlier… that maybe it was just in my head, because there should be no way for him to get inside the studio…”

Unless someone invited him in.

Sammy's face went just a little pale as a mix of fear and guilt twisted inside him. He didn't... do this!! The Prophet did this!!! Then why did he feel so... embarrassed, and angry, that the Studio wasn't safe, and it wasn't Joey's fault?

"What... did he tell you?" he asked, voice still hushed and tense. "What did he do?"

Joey stayed silent, his mouth just open enough to see the pointed tips of his fangs as they caught on his bottom lip. He picked up the paper and stared down at it again, thumbs trying to rub out the wrinkles he had created, or maybe they had been in it already, but at least try to make it look less carelessly crumpled. He still wasn’t reading it though.

“He didn’t tell me anything, he just… blew hot air into my face until I exploded at him.” Honestly, the Masked Messenger didn’t have to do much to get him there. “Ran me around in circles, claimed impossible things, messed with my perception of reality, the usual. It was all a dream though; physical harm didn’t carry over to the real world, so it doesn’t matter.”

The folded paper, when Joey’s mind decided to process it, had just three sentences written across the top in Sammy’s scrawled handwriting:

"Her songs will seek to BREAK YOUR WILL”

“Do NOT allow the angel to rest long in her power, lest the KING RISE ANEW"

"BEWARE the coming of the Pallid Mask, he seeks those who escape Carcosa, and no corner of this earth can avoid his gaze forever"

Joey sighed, folding the paper up and handing it back to Sammy. “There’s a whole hecking city-worth of people who escaped Carcosa and of course we got someone coming after us instead. It’s just what we needed!”

Sammy leaned back against the counter, accepting the paper with an unsteady hand and folding it again. Every part of his body felt both weak and heavy as his insides continued to twist.

"You were harmed," he said simply. No reason to point out that it didn't carry over, if there wasn't any pain.

It... didn't keep Joey out of it. It only got Joey tormented by some cosmic deity, with no idea how or why it had happened. He couldn't just be left out of it; he was tied to the Stone now, just like Sammy was tied to the Ink. Of course he wanted to pinpoint the Ink that "got out," of course he'd latched onto the one flaw in a system that should've been sound. And the one flaw's name was Sammy Lawrence.

"I stole the Ink," he spat, finally. "I wasn't out of control. I wanted to talk to the Prophet." He didn't sound sorry. He sounded defiant. But he wasn't looking at Joey, still folding the paper more carefully than necessary. "I stole away one of the bottles, before they were hidden in the safe."

“I was harmed in some messed up dream, it doesn’t count for anything--” Joey had started when Sammy finally admitted to him the key part of the chain of events he was missing. The stark contrast of his bright gold eye and the void like black eye was far more obvious when lined with the whites in surprise, as Joey continued to stare at Sammy, waiting for more of an explanation. He had been mid gesticulation when he stopped, and not moving a muscle since, as if he needed to hear more before he made up his mind where his outstretched hand was going to end up.

Sammy leaned off the counter with an agitated energy. “We talked, with messages back and forth. Not much useful to say, but he was... reasonable," he added, with an unimpressed sneer. Other than the part where he called the Masked Messenger’s attention onto the Studio, and other than throwing a tantrum and breaking things when Bendy didn't want to play along, and other than virtually all his speech being full of nothing but an anguished desire to do his stupid ritual, sure, other than all that, he was perfectly reasonable!!!

But... the tiny amount of trust he'd extended his other self wasn't a foolish risk. Sammy wasn't an idiot. “He cooperated, otherwise,” Sammy insisted, voice aggressively unconcerned. "He didn't try to break out or attack anyone, and he was willing to talk.”

Joey nodded slowly as Sammy finished his explanation, shoulders dropping a bit as he relaxed. That was… actually what he wanted, what he had been aiming for, what he thought he’d be struggling to get Sammy to even consider, and he had gone off and did it on his own! Joey should feel glad that progress was being made, but instead he was just filled with a raging sense of jealousy. Upset that he was not told about this until after, he was not involved…

It didn’t surprise him, no, but he couldn’t help but wonder how he was falling short. Why didn’t Bendy talk to him about this? Why did Sammy not request his help, unless Sammy thought of him unable to fulfill the duties that were required to help… Was it because he was weaker now? Was it because he thought Joey wouldn’t listen to him?

“Then that’s… good,” Joey said carefully, voice low, as he approached Sammy again. This time it was his turn to get right up in Sammy’s face, when his usual method of intrusion was more sneakily from behind. His palm pressed against the side of Sammy’s face, then he trailed his fingers down the musician's neck to leave his hand flat against his collarbone, thumb fiddling with the open edge of his shirt. “... Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me get you the things you needed for this?”

Despite how dismissive Sammy was trying to act, the obvious tension coiled up in him started to ease, uncertainly, as Joey didn't push back, as he took the whole thing... pretty well, actually. But he glared at the question.

"Because the last time you tried to 'help' me with this, you aligned the Stone to yourself!" Sammy hissed, pulling Joey's hand off of him but not letting it go, ink-black eyes staring harsh into the mismatched eyes of his confusing lover. "Do you think that's what we need? You doing magic behind our backs, to fix everything?! To..."

...to take control.

Sammy trailed off, apparently tense again, his own face not an inch from Joey’s, breathing quick. Everything about the Prophet felt out of his control; even the Prophet himself always spoke like he had understanding Sammy didn't. For whatever reason, that idiot kept all the memories, and some of them were genuinely dangerous, and Sammy had to hand his own body over and... trust everyone else...? Being able to talk to him was the first time he'd felt like he even had a say in any of this.

He finally dropped Joey’s hand. "...It's my business," he snarled, but it was awkward and defensive.

“How am I supposed to know what you need if you don’t tell me?” Joey barked back, but it had minimal bite to it.The slight tone of whining, pleading, filed in behind his voice. “And I told you, I hadn’t… planned on… It just happened, you weren't there--” This discussion had been had multiple times, and it became more unbearable each go around. Joey could admit he had messed up, but he still couldn’t remember exactly why he had chosen to do so. It made talking about everything around it more and more difficult, and only in this dim lit apartment would Sammy get to see his more-gaunt-than-they-should-be features show regret.

Sammy hesitated, as Joey struggled to explain what had happened with the Stone. He’d just... been out of his mind, then, Sammy was pretty sure; the man could see his actions didn’t make sense, and they’d wrecked him. That was half of it, though... he didn’t want Joey to wreck himself, by accident, again. “No, I wasn’t—” he started, quietly. He hadn’t been able to stop Joey then, but he was here now...

It didn’t last long though, and with a frustrated and shaky shout, soon Joey’s hands were on the other again, this time his fingers wrapping around the suspenders and yanking Sammy a little closer, as if they were not near enough already.

“It doesn't matter! Your business is my business damnit, so either start telling me what you need already or I’ll have to decide for you,” he growled, chest heaving slightly at this small show of force. Joey’s eyes were locked onto Sammy’s so intensely that water started to well at the edges due to his refusal to blink. In the moments it took for Sammy to even comprehend his sudden flip of emotions, more words managed to spill from his mouth, messily, his fangs bared at a distance where Sammy could smell his oddly clean breath.

“I will not let him win you over.”

“Wh- what?!” Sammy stared, face flushed a little bit at Joey suddenly grabbing and shoving him around, just caught off guard for a moment before letting out a long, overwhelmed wheeze of breath that more-or-less functioned as a laugh. “You think I need a god of my own?” he cried, incredulous. His lips curved into a defiant challenge of a smile, but there was still something frantic and confused in his eyes. “Are you auditioning for the part?!”

“What are you talking about? What? No!” Joey shouted, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and obviously having no idea about how nonsensical some of his statements were becoming. “I don’t want to become anything like that monstrosity! He just keeps making claims to, to everything! By threatening that his back-stabbing deals are better than anything I can ever give and I--” His hands released Sammy’s suspenders to slam on the countertop to both sides of Sammy’s body, trapping him against it. “I just need to prove him wrong.”

Joey’s voice had started at an angry grumble, but as he hit his ending point, it had risen to a desperate yell; something that might have been more concerning to the neighbors if he didn’t live on the top floor of an apartment in New York City. He was doing his best to feel intimidating, using his height over Sammy, subconsciously making it known just how serious he was about this, though with a tinge of his normal possessive values.

Sammy actually pulled away, eyes widened in surprise, leaning back over the counter as Joey pinned him in. This was a threat. This wasn’t just Joey bossing him around, getting in his face; there was something strange and desperate in it, something unpredictable.

Sammy surged forward, grabbing suit lapels in his fists and shoving, hard, with a loud, sharp “Joey!!” to try to snap him out of, whatever this was.

“I’m not joining the Messenger!”

There was a touch of resistance, or attempted resistance, before Joey staggered backwards and into the opposing counter. After a fruitless scramble, he slid down the cabinet side, breathing hard and left palm shoved over his eye, as if fending off a headache. But after frantically glancing over Sammy and back down to his own crumpled legs, he finally managed to regain his breathing and lean himself into a more comfortable half kneeling position on the kitchen floor.

“I know,” Joey mumbled, hand falling away from his face, but eye still shut tightly closed. “I know… but I couldn’t do anything the first time… how can I…” Be good enough? Succeed this time? Prove himself worthy? None of these were phrases that Joey had actual spoken words for.

Sammy slowly crouched next to him, still watching Joey warily, unsure when that switch would flip again.

“Not like this,” he hissed. But then he sighed, massaging his temples with a hand. How to stop it this time, how to keep it all from happening again... that was the same thing Sammy was afraid of; him becoming the Prophet again, and Joey antagonising the Masked Messenger in some ill-advised attempt to fix him.

“I don’t want you to try to fix it.” Slim fingers reached out and ran along the other’s jaw, tilted Joey’s head to face him, frowning. “Don’t... don’t do anything stupid.”

Joey cracked a smirk as he leaned his head into Sammy’s hand, and then nodded, repeating “I know,” a few more times under his breath. Carefully, he finally managed to will himself into opening his other eye, and more tension from his body melted away as he got confirmation that it still worked. He could breathe, for this moment, and regain his senses… but there was still something tugging in his mind, an itch that needed scratching. At least he could identify it now rather than letting it blindly take over, but it didn’t stop the urgent desires and constantly bubbling desperate demands from trying to escape him.

Joey leaned forward, kneeling more properly in front of Sammy, leaning in past his arm to rest his forehead against the musician's collarbone.

“I won’t try to fix it… but let me do something…”

It took him a moment to come down from watchful alert himself, but as Joey leaned in, Sammy wrapped an arm around him, thoughtful, considering whether there was actually something he wanted that wasn't work or ink or magic...or being shoved against the counter...

"I'm tired," he said finally. "Today has been... tense. I want to get out of these clothes and relax." A slight smile quirked on the corner of his lips. "I don't mind help with that."

Usually dilation of the eye was referred to as a sign of love, and perhaps that’s what this was. Or perhaps it was simply the sexual stimulation of the current moment. Or more likely, finally getting what he needed.

“I think I can manage that,” Joey hummed, pressing his body closer to Sammy’s before leaning in to catch those smirking lips into a kiss that quickly turned feverish. His motions were no longer desperate, but there was a pulse of energy to him that hadn’t been the norm for quite some time. And there was still an oddity to the actions he took, choosing to undress Sammy right then and there instead of waiting for the two to rearrange themselves elsewhere in the apartment, and all of his follow through being only things that were to help Sammy relax… unless he spoke up for something different.

But at least Joey finally seemed… relaxed now, no longer wound up like he had been since he had awoken.

It wasn't long before Sammy figured out that Joey needed instruction; whatever weird notion had lodged itself in his brain, Joey was looking after Sammy's desires rather than his own, which was... well, not that Sammy had any trouble being direct, but it was a strange change of pace for them. They didn't usually ask or explain much when they went to bed together, but in this strange situation where Joey seemed to be looking for orders... eager to please...

Hm.

The little flare of a temptation to experiment more flickered out. He had badly wanted orders once, too, and Bendy had been careful to keep them harmless.

So he only directed them to bed, let Joey take care of him, and drifted off before long, holding tight to the arms wrapped around him. Maybe that was for the best.

It had been a long day for both of them.

By morning, Joey was back to his normal self, and casually ignoring any oddities from the night before. That is, except for his clinginess. He always tended to be more clingy to those around him for a bit after each run they had with the supernatural, and this was no exception. For once, Sammy didn’t seem annoyed, let Joey stick close without much comment.

And for that he was grateful, but, as always, it’d never be voiced, only found in the smallest gestures to be seen by someone looking for them.

Chapter Text

Henry was sitting up and hunched over before he was even fully awake. His head swam, his stomach twisted, his hands shook. The implications of his conversation with Sammy and Bendy were suddenly glaring, searing, blinding. It's happening again. It's happening again its happening again--

He tried to force himself to take deep breaths and calm down before Linda woke up, but instead a sob forced its way up his throat.

“Henry?” The word was sleepy, questioning. But then a moment later he heard her sitting up, felt her hand on his back, steadying. “Bad dream?”

It was what she had started asking him after Haiti, when she had noticed he was avoiding any questions that were more direct. She wanted to help, he knew she did, but had made an effort not to press him to say more than he was ready for.

Even after three years, she seemed to understand that was what this was; she hadn’t forgotten.

He crumbled into proper sobs at the familiar touch, and turned to hug her, burying his head in her shoulder. "It's happening again." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, hushed and breathless. He held her tighter. "It's happening again, it’s happening again.."

Her arms wrapped around him just as tightly, solid and warm and reassuringly real.

If only everything else that had happened that evening wasn’t real too...

But for right then it was just the two of them, and she held him as he let out at least that little bit of what he’d been bottling up since that evening...that he’d been bottling up far longer than that.

There was a moment when Henry wasn’t sure if that would be it—if they’d stay there together until he was able to make his breathing even, if she would ask him if he was alright and he would say yes whether he was or not, and try again to sleep...

But then he felt her fingers curl slightly against him, decisive.

“...What, Henry?” she asked gently, leaning back just enough so he could see her face, so familiar and concerned and unmistakably determined. “What’s happening again?”

He held back fresh sobs as he saw her face. "I want to tell you, hon, I really do..." He had said this to her before, but this was the first time he sounded quite so broken while saying it. "You wouldn't believe me."

“Henry,” Linda started to say, but she stopped. Her eyes slid away uncertainly, and while he could only imagine how unnerving words like that would be to hear from your partner, he could also tell that she was thinking, hard.

Her hand reached out to find his in the pause, threading their fingers together during the lull.

“I...don’t know if it would be right of me to promise that I’ll believe anything, no matter what it is…” Linda finally murmured. “I... don’t know what happened while you were away,” she admitted, “whatever it is you’ve been afraid to say all this time. I just don’t know.”

But then she let out a breath, meeting his eyes again with a squeeze of her hand, and there was something so fond in her smile in spite of everything that it made his chest hurt. “But I do know you, Henry Stein. And whatever this is, I want to hear it. We can work it out together, just like we’ve done everything else, like we promised we would,” she said, the fingers of her other hand finding the ring on his finger, gently turning the warm metal. " ‘For better or worse’ doesn’t just mean you—remember?” she said, giving him a teasing nudge, though her words were nothing but sincere.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to handle it alone. So please... Talk to me..?”

He tried so, so hard not to break down into fresh sobs. He ached with love for her, and longing to have her on his side in all this. He wanted it so, so desperately.

He leaned forward and gently let his forehead rest against hers. "I just..." he murmured. "I'm so scared that you'll think I'm insane,"

Linda lifted her hand up to the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone as their foreheads rested together, not in the least deterred by his tears. “Listen to me... unless you’re about to tell me we need to hurt the kids, then whatever it is, I’ll hear you out. And even... if something sounds like it can’t be real, that doesn’t mean either of us would be going anywhere, alright..? We could talk it out, agree on ways to make sure, make plans for what to do next, together.” she paused. “But... also...honestly, after you came back last time, with a living cartoon character somehow, and... your eyes? And Joey’s too. I think...I think right now there’s a lot that I’d believe.”

He put his hand over hers, listening. He let out a shuddery breath that tried real hard to be a laugh. "It's... it's related to that, yeah."

He clenched his jaw, thinking. After a long moment, he made his decision. He pulled away, and when Linda next saw his eyes, they were glowing.

Linda blinked, mouth falling slightly open...but surprised as she was, she didn’t back away, didn’t let go of his hand. “What-?”

He looked away again, a bit ashamed. "It... wasn't chemicals that changed my eyes," he said, choosing his words carefully. "It was... something.. unnatural.”

He paused, uncertainly, but continued with hesitation. "Those cults we've run into... their gods are real. I've seen them. I've..." His voice faltered as he thought about that final encounter with the Masked Messenger, about seeing that, that thing rise out of the lake in New Orleans-- He clutched his head, it almost ached with the memory. "That's what the 'research trips' are. Joey dragging us into gods and magic and-- and it's happening again. Sammy got a, a, a prophecy--" he almost hissed the word, hating how fictional it sounded. "--that the King, the Yellow King-- I can't do it again, I can’t--" He was starting to break down again as the words tumbled out of his mouth, no longer slow and careful but instead charged with fear and pain.

Linda’s eyes had grown wide as his words became faster and more frantic, and she reached out again to catch his hand, drawing his attention as he started to babble. “Wait, j-just a minute Henry, What...what is it Joey’s roping you into doing?” she asked.

He calmed down at the touch again. He found himself out of breath, and started trying to breathe more deeply. "Joey-- Joey has always been into the occult, but I thought it was all superstition," he started again. Another huff, a vain attempt at a laugh. "Turns out it's not."

He thought for a moment as he processed her words a little better. "He-- he's not making me do anything right now. But these "research trips" he keeps dragging us on..." His head was starting to swim. He was telling her. He was finally telling her. Would she understand? Or would she look at him like he's crazy...

Linda’s eyebrows lowered a bit at, ‘he’s not making me do anything right now,’ but she nodded...“It’s alright,” she told him, “Take your time…” She hadn’t said much, but at least she hadn’t told him he was being ridiculous, or insane... not yet.

He hesitated, not sure what to say from there. The beginning, maybe. But the Haiti trip was even more unbelievable than New Orleans... "It's.. it's all because of the stone. Joey dragged us to Haiti initially to get it, I don't know why. We--" He hesitated again, choosing how much to say. "We almost died. ... Joey, Joey used it to make, a, a deal, with-- with the-- the god that the cult followed. And-- hah, long story short, I ended up getting, weird, p- powers...?" He gestured to his face, indicating his still glowing eyes. "We would've left it there, I think, the stone, but-- Bendy, he's not a cartoon, he's a shapeshifting monster we, rescued? He needs the stone to survive outside of Haiti, so we brought it with us."

He could tell from the way her breath caught, from the way her hand squeezed his more tightly the more he spoke that it was a lot to take in...he’d known it would be. How could it not? But to her credit Linda listened to it all. And if she swallowed, and had a tremor in her voice when she next spoke, well, she didn’t let it stop her. “A...deal? What kind of deal? Henry, are you saying Joey involved the three of you in some sort of…” she hesitated, but seemed again to notice his glowing eyes, “magical bargain to...to get this... stone, and it’s the reason your eyes changed and why there’s an actual Bendy living at the studio?”

He took her hand in both of his and squeezed back, using that feeling to ground himself. "Y..yes and no. Joey, cut himself on the stone, and that's what initiated the deal, it wasn't voluntary, I, think he wanted it for something else." He took a breath. "We got out of it. We managed to, confront? The, the god, and... he really just let us go. He could have killed us but he just let us go. No more bargain, no more danger. Its just, over the course of everything that happened that I got this." He raised one hand to tap his head next to his eye, then returned it to hers. "It's, the only thing that let us actually stand a chance to him, I doubt he meant for it to happen." Another shuddery breath, another squeeze of the hand as he voluntarily recalled that encounter for the first time in years.

"That and the Lurker-- Bendy, helping. He didn't have anything to do with the deal except to enforce it, but we were nice to him anyway, and he decided to help us out instead."

He glanced up at her, but couldn't hold it. He shook his head. "I know this all sounds crazy, I know. This isn't even the half of it. We... I didn't think I would make it home," he finished quietly. This isn't the first time she heard that, but before it was in the context of cults and gun runners, not gods and monsters.

Linda leaned in and wrapped an arm around him again. “You did, though,” she said, tone firm, reassuring both of them, perhaps. She swallowed again, after a few moments admitting, “I...I’m not sure what to think. I thought it must be something...really strange for you to not want to say for so long, but I guess I still wasn’t expecting…” she huffed out a breath, as if to keep herself focused. “I’m still glad you’re telling me. And it...it does sound crazy,” Linda admitted, but then she hugged him all the tighter. “...But you don’t.”

He let out another shakey, shuddery breath and hugged her back, almost crushingly, as fresh tears started to line his face. She doesn't think he's crazy. She doesn't think he's crazy...

"When I was in Haiti..." A shuddery laugh. "People looked at me like I was insane. ... You don't know how scared I was, that I'd see you look at me like that too."

Linda shook her head next to his, denying that possibility, though not able to reply at first, just taking a minute to try to absorb the things he was telling her.

Or to remember the things he’d said earlier. She finally leaned back again, wiping at her own face distractedly. “But….before, you were saying it’s happening again? What is? Who…” she glanced towards the wall closest to where the children slept. “Who’s in danger? I want to talk about all of this more, these...trips, as much as you can tell, maybe the next time the kids are visiting your folks...but right now, what’s happening?”

He hugged her tightly, both guilty to have caused her tears, but also, oddly, relieved, that she was taking it so seriously.

"In... in New Orleans, we encountered another god," he began, hesitantly still. "We, banished? him, but we just got word that he might come back. And..." he looked past her, in that direction as well. "If that's true, then everyone's in danger. The Masked Messenger-- the one we encountered in Haiti, if he'd gotten his way it would have been bad for the town, or maybe the country. But if the Yellow King comes back…”

"So…whatever warning you got, nothing has happened yet?" Linda asked. "If this…. This whatever-it-is these cults follow comes here…that's when everyone is in danger?" She frowned, "And you've had to stop something like this… Twice now?" Linda still held his hand, though her other hand had fallen to worry the edge of the blanket.

She shook her head murmuring "Why would this keep happening now, to you? People would know if this was something that happened every few years… There must be a way to stop it, to really stop it?" She said, perhaps hoping by pointing this out she would make it true.

Finally she asked, "...Can we do anything tonight?"

"No, nothing has happened yet," he confirmed.

He glanced away as she continued. "I don't... know, why this keeps happening. Maybe it's something that's always been happening, and we just didn't know. Or maybe something caused it."

He met her eyes again. "I don't know how to stop it. But I'll do everything I can to find out."

He glanced away again, in thought. Was there anything they could do tonight... He didn't think so, but he wanted to give her some sense of reassurance before they went to sleep again, or tried to at least. What could they do...

"I... you know those weird books I bought that I told you were for work? I could tell you didn't believe me for a second," he said, with a tired but fond smile, and the faintest laugh in his voice. "Those were ritual books. Runes and spells. I used them to ward the house, so nothing supernatural can get in. But I haven't checked them in a few months, they might need redoing."

Linda couldn’t help but smile as Henry mentioned her not being fooled, not denying it. Though she did say, “Is that what that was? I...there’s a lot of books on the occult that are almost certainly nothing but fashionable trickery... how do you know these aren’t?” she had swung her legs off the bed, finding her slippers.

"Yeah, they are," he confirmed, following her lead. "I hit a lot of dead ends. But I saw some real stuff in Haiti, so at first I just, grabbed anything that looked similar. And Bendy can tell what's real and what's not, so I'd take it to him to check. After a while I started to get an eye for it. There's an old bookshop on the other side of town that actually has some real stuff. That's where I've been getting most of them from."

He fished a book from their bedroom bookshelf, unmarked except for some odd, gold colored stains. "This is the one with the wards. I have one over every door and window. I have some memorized, but good to bring a reference anyway." And indeed, as he glanced around he could see the invisible gold runes throughout the room. The only room better warded than this one was their children’s bedrooms.

Linda nodded, pulling a robe on over her night clothes as Henry pulled down the book. She had looked at it, and some of the others he’d brought home, but the best she had guessed was that it was information relevant to whatever group he’d run across in Haiti.

Well, she hadn’t been...entirely wrong.

“I know you went outside some nights, I saw you with a brush, but I never saw anything when I looked...where did you put them?” she wondered. Some part of her was aware that this was probably an odd way to take all of this. But...she had meant what she said. Whether that might be the sensible assumption now or not, she didn’t think Henry was crazy… he was shaken, yes, scared. But she knew him, with his big heart and his unassuming smile and his less than discerning eating habits and his ever present drive to help, and he was still her Henry, of that she was sure.

He got his pocketknife out of his dresser. "They're, um. Well, if you haven't thought I'm crazy so far... they're invisible. When they dry, at least. It was, tricky to get everything warded without you seeing what I was doing. I can see them when my eyes are glowing like this, but otherwise, it's like they're not there. I'll show you."

Normally for an entire ward he would cut his arm, to get a decent amount of blood. But he didn't want to alarm her more than necessary, so instead he pricked his finger as he walked to the bedroom door. A golden, luminous liquid began to flow from where the knife had broken his skin.

"Heh... and now you know why I would panic every time I got cut around you."

He touched the bloody finger to the door, and it lit up with runes and an arcane looking circle, the same color as his eyes.

Linda frowned slightly at the trickle of glowing blood, but outright gasped when the sigil lit up across their door at Henry’s touch. “What…” she stared a few moments more, reaching out towards the glowing lines, alien symbols drawn by a familiar hand. Her fingers hovered without touching, and she turned back to Henry, worried. “If this is keeping the house safe, that’s...that’s good, but is that...hurting you? I don’t mean the cut, I’ve seen your arms, and I think we’re going to have to talk about that too, but...your blood? Glowing..? Are you alright?”

Just like before, this she actually felt worried about.

Even if she had already resolved to learn more in the coming days so they could make a plan to protect their family and whatever else they could, that whole part still felt...surreal. As if they were only discussing theories, possibilities that probably weren't real, but that fit the facts well enough they couldn't be discredited…a working model to some...academic puzzle. She would just have to take all of those things as they came. But right here and now her tangible worries, her tears, they’d all been for Henry. For the relief she'd felt that he was finally able to talk to her, for the upset brought on by finally understanding just how much distress this all had been quietly causing him. Somehow that was the only part of all this that actually felt real... like the off-color blood still shining on his finger.

;

"I'm, I'm alright. I've had this four years now. I think if it was going to cause health issues it would've come up by now."

He rubbed his arms self consciously. "If I use too much, it... can be bad," he admitted. "But that doesn't happen often." He decided not to mention he had been briefly hospitalized for magical overexertion in New Orleans.

Linda mentally filed “it can be bad” under a growing collection of “things to ask more about later”, but for right then she nodded, looking back to the symbol over the door as it slowly flickered out and faded back to invisibility. Henry’s eyes seemed to be dimming as well, everything going back to how it had been, back to “normal”, at least in appearance.

“Alright…” she said, and then...simply didn’t know what else to say. She brought her hands up to rub at her face, trying to sort her thoughts.

Well, there was one. “Thank you...for telling me about all of this,” she said. “I...I know it wasn’t easy.”

Henry smiled, a tired, relieved, anxious, hopeful smile. "I'm still half expecting to wake up tomorrow and figure out this was just a dream. I've wanted to be able to talk to you about this for so long..."

He glanced away again. "I'm... sorry, for trying to hide all this from you. I know you worried." He looked back at her. “I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“I...understand why you did, but...I’m glad that we’re talking. And I do want to know all of it,” Linda said, stepping up and taking Henry’s hand. She smiled a little, giving his hand a squeeze as she continued, “...But it doesn’t have to be tonight. Maybe... when the kids go to visit their grandparents this weekend...maybe then?”

She was still unsettled by surreal feeling she had about much of this...but then again, if something dangerous was coming, it wasn’t as if panicking would do anyone any good either. No, maybe this was alright. As long as she could accept what he’d seen and learned, whether it felt imminent or not, she could still help.

And for now, perhaps that was enough.

He squeezed back, and nodded. "Maybe then."

He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. "Thank you," he murmured.

He hadn’t really said what exactly he was thanking her for, but she returned the small kiss, seeming to understand anyways.

He smiled again, tired and warm. "We can check the rest of the wards if you want,” he said. “But, to be honest they don’t really need it right now. I just… thought maybe it would help to show you.”

She nodded, finally touching the door, though the symbol had faded. She wondered if it was just her imagination that it felt slightly warm. “I think...I’m ready to call it a night for now,” she admitted with a quiet laugh.

Henry nodded, and stepped away to reshelve the book. The night felt surreal for him as well as her, but for a very different reason. He finally told her... he knew this whole time that she would not argue with him over what happened. She was far too understanding a person for that. What he was afraid of was that look of wariness, concern, confusion. That look he had received so many times in Haiti. He couldn't bear even the possibility of seeing it on her face.

But that didn't happen...

He realized he was exhausted.

"Yeah... let's go to bed," he agreed. "I still got work in the morning."

He looked back at her, as though just now realizing how much this all must be for her to take in, but unsure how to word his concern. 'Are you alright?' didn't sound right. Nothing had actually happened, they'd only talked. But he still wanted to say something...

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "About all this."

She laughed again, shaking her head a bit. She stepped up to him, brushing back some of his hair to place a kiss of her own to the side of his face. “Henry, I appreciate the sentiment, I do... but not everything under the sun and the moon is yours to take responsibility for,” she told him, taking his hands and tugging him back towards bed. “Let’s get some sleep. Maybe I don’t know what’s going to happen, o-or if this will hit me harder later, but I think the important thing is that whatever tomorrow brings, at least now we’ll be facing it together. Alright..?”

He laughed sheepishly, and allowed himself to be pulled to the bed. "Alright," he agreed, settling in next to her. She was right. Whatever comes, they'll be in it together now. And that was enough to finally put him at ease.

He laid on his side, facing her. "I love you.."

It didn’t matter how many times she heard it, some part of her still felt a little caught off guard each time. “I love you too,” she murmured, meeting his eyes for just a moment. And in the next she had settled next to him; a familiar presence, warm at her side.

As long as they had that, they could deal with everything else tomorrow.

Chapter Text

“We’re recording tomorrow,” was all Sammy said as he finally set his baton down on the music stand, and it was clear from the way he looked over the band, this was a threat. The scramble to catch up after a two week break must be getting to him, visibly sleep-deprived and hair a mess despite his usual attempt to tie it back, but his gaze was no less intense.

He gathered up his score and hopped off the platform, distractedly flipping through papers as the musicians behind him started to pack up. They were good, and he could trust the issues in rehearsal with hitting the right amount of snappiness would be sorted out by then. “What time is it?” he asked without turning around.

“12:37,” replied one of the trumpets, and he nodded distractedly.

“Then I’ll be recording lines in an hour, so no practicing in here,” he hissed. “I don’t want to re-record good takes.” Sammy did not dismiss them before turning to leave the recording studio, but then, he never did; once his attention moved somewhere else, he was done.

He found a familiar face in the hall beyond, though one that was rather jarring to see, as this was not the setting he’d come to associate it with. Its owner had just come down from the projection booth, and was looking Sammy’s way as the door to the recording studio shut. “You got a strange way of runnin’ things but your band ain’t bad,” he remarked, mostly managing to not smirk. “Which way you headed next?”

Sammy’s eyes snapped up to the taller man’s face, and he stopped abruptly, staring in some mix of offended disbelief.

It was the trenchcoat guy. From New Orleans. Here???

Sammy blinked. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t hallucinating this. “What are you doing here?” he snarled, suspicious.

“Well, let’s see... for the last couple hours, runnin’ cartoons for your band,” Trenchcoat - what had his name been? - said, amusement still obvious on his face. “Smoothly enough that you were never yellin’ in my direction long enough to notice, it sounds like, which I’ll take as a compliment.”

.................oh god, Joey hired him.

“You’re the new projectionist.” He said it flat, just a statement. “Fantastic,” he added through his teeth. Of course, why wouldn’t Joey hire the man who’s almost certainly here to poke his nose into their supernatural affairs! Just what they need!!

Sammy stepped a little closer than was polite, only glaring up rather than craning his neck. “I keep odd hours, so leave the equipment set up in case I need to run it later,” he said, brusque and all-business. “I’m going to my office.” And with no indication of whether this was an invitation or a disengagement, Sammy turned back down the hall to leave.

“Uh-huh,” the new projectionist deadpanned, falling in step next to Sammy without bothering to ask which of the two his comment had actually been. “Because runnin’ film’s a necessity for those times you just gotta compose music in the middle of the night,” he said, his tone conversational, hands in his pockets. But his sharp eyes were on Sammy, one eyebrow raised.

"Exactly," Sammy replied, eyes narrowed at a joke he was missing. What else would he need it for? "I compose for cartoons."

At Sammy’s confusion, the other man hesitated as well. “...You’re serious?” he asked, looking Sammy over. “I’ve heard my share about this industry, and I’ve never heard of the music bein’ composed after the animation’s finished. Wouldn’t that be a lot more work?”

Sammy shrugged, disinterested. How anyone else worked was irrelevant to him. "Even incomplete, I need something to play to. Otherwise, it wouldn't fit."

Even if the other man hadn't run across it earlier, their destination was not hard to identify; a larger office with a window looking in -- though currently, blinds were drawn over it from inside -- and a large sign marking it as the Office of Sammy Lawrence over the window.

Sammy stopped at the door, snapping his book of sheet music closed, and glanced up at the trenchcoat guy again. "Did Joey hire you to stick your nose in my work?" he sneered. "Got tired of doing it himself?"

The trenchcoat guy huffed a laugh. "No, I'm doin' that on my own time. Too bad; wouldn't mind gettin' paid twice." He tilted his head at Sammy, seeming… Interested? Surprised?

"That's... really just how you do music? After that talk of shinin' lights to connect to other worlds in crystals and such, I thought it must be somethin' to do with that. Like those strange pipes you got runnin' everywhere, or whatever those drawings are Drew's been workin' on…"

Sammy’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, before turning to step into his office.

The room was, mostly, a normal if slightly scattered office, other than the giant, glaring control switch in the corner across from the door, built out from the wall so that it almost hid the pipes running down from the ceiling into the floor, which Sammy entirely ignored on the way to his desk.

This was a mistake. He tried to stay calm. Joey had made a mistake. Trenchcoat couldn’t be here, not with... whatever was happening with the Messenger and the Yellow King right now. The last thing they needed was some lost sheep following them across 5 states to look for more magic.

He was followed. Trenchcoat stepped right in after him, and now he was frowning. “ ‘No idea’? You really gonna turn around and pretend none of that happened?” he asked, and while he wasn’t raising his voice, he also wasn’t bothering to lower it in his incredulity.

Sammy whirled around, again moving in too close, a hand suddenly gripping the other man’s arm. “The work of the Music Department is to add sound and music to the Studio’s cartoons,” he sneered, showing his teeth a little too much as he spoke. “We keep a tight schedule, and we don’t need any more supernatural interruptions. If that’s all you’re here for,” he added, sounding unimpressed, ink-black eyes widening just slightly, “you can leave.”

He released the other man’s arm, but continued to stare him down.

The man didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the grip or the snarling, though perhaps a little...concerned? He raised one eyebrow at Sammy. “I don’t see why I can’t do both. I’ll do my job and do it well, but stickin’ you head in the sand won’t make anything that happened stop having happened. Besides,” he remarked, glancing around the office, “ I’m not the one bringin’ supernatural things to this place.”

"Neither am I," Sammy said brusquely.

But he was.

Shouldn't he explain? The other man may have seen flagrantly occult things, but he didn't know about the Messenger, didn't know they were being watched and taunted. Shouldn't he warn him? Before he could stumble blindly in--?

Sammy turned too quickly back to his desk, the back of his fist pressed against his mouth, and that pressure building behind his eyes again, like it was physically bottlenecked in his head. No, no, absolutely not! Get a hold of yourself, shake it off. Sammy took a slow breath, dropped his hand, but didn't turn around.

"Nevermind. Why are you here, now," a gesture to indicate the room, "in my office?"

“Wanted to clarify a few things,” the projectionist said mildly. If he found Sammy’s behavior odd he didn’t show it. But then again, when they’d crossed paths in New Orleans Sammy had been out of his mind half the time, so it was possible his current difficulties didn’t even register as strange.

Or the man just didn’t react to things much in general.

“Like just what actually goes on in this place.”

Sammy was quiet for a long moment, annoyed but thoughtful. Obviously, onboarding a new employee that he didn't even hire was Not His Job, but... he could imagine why Joey might have glossed over some important information, this time. And it would be easier to give Trenchcoat an answer than get rid of him...

"The Studio makes cartoons, we add the sound, Joey inevitably mangles the schedule," Sammy said, voice smooth and delicate as he turned to face the other man. "And Bendy lives here, with the Ink to keep him stable... Any stories you've heard about 'offerings' are more superstition than magic, from a bunch of sheep who don't trust their work." He scoffed. The Lurker had no ability to make anyone meet their deadline. He just wanted treats.

"Other than that, we mind our business,” he insisted, arms folded, still a bit aggressive despite his attempt to answer the question plainly. “Why would we want to attract attention? The Studio's doing fine, and it doesn't need any magical help. Everything Joey and Henry do in 'this place' is just to keep the supernatural out of our hair."

“Like this ‘shrine’ I hear Drew needs donations for?” the newcomer wondered.

A pause. "Sure," Sammy said.

Joey wasn't still... adding people to that, was he? How haunted exactly did he want the Studio to be?

“...Hm. Well, alright, if it’s to keep supernatural things from happening, I guess I’d better take it seriously then, pick something good,” the projectionist said, but his head was slightly tilted, like he was clocking Sammy’s reactions.

Sammy's eyes narrowed. Just an obedient little sheep, then, doing as he's told? That didn't seem right. It didn't feel right either; there was something in the whole conversation that felt like a joke, that felt like being made fun of. What did this guy get out of making him look foolish, trying to make him slip, trying to call his bluff?

Well, if Trenchcoat wasn't going to use his brain before joining in a magic ritual just to spite the music director, that was his own problem.

"Fantastic," he said, dismissive. "Is that all? I have work to do."

“Just to make sure I got this right, everyone here’s goin’ along with Drew’s good-luck shrine, and leavin’ superstitious bribes for your resident demon,” Trenchcoat said, crossing his arms and still standing in the same place just inside Sammy’s door as if he was in no hurry to be anywhere else. “But they don’t really know what the shrine is for, or what their mascot is. So how much do folks here know? Do they know how your boss merges with that demon sometimes, about what you four were out of town for?” he wondered.

“Do they know about that 'other' you?”

"Of course not," Sammy snapped, followed by a little incredulous breath of a laugh. "It sounds insane." He paced across his office to approach Trenchcoat again, who was neither backing off nor actually fully entering the room; just standing there, blocking the door. "And knowing too much is dangerous, even seeing is dangerous; you can't see without being seen!" His eyes were wide and intense, he leaned in as his words got faster. "And now the Yellow King seeks us and the Messenger's eyes are on us, and no one canmMmng--!"

His own hand slapped hurriedly over his mouth, though it looked less like he was reacting in shock to having said something he shouldn't say, and more like he was abruptly trying to stop someone else from talking. A second later the hand was sliding down and away from his face as he stared off to the distance, exhaling slowly, shaking with anger.

Trenchcoat’s eyebrows quirked up as Sammy started explaining, and only rose further as the explanation turned into a rant. Though even then, he didn’t actually shy back. “Are...the both of you in there?” he asked cautiously. Sammy could tell the man was double-checking his eyes.

Sammy's eyes snapped up to the man's face -- normal eyes, not full of starry ink, just dark -- and he took a couple of steps back. "Mind your own business," he growled, but then hesitated.

He already knew. According to the others, and to foggy half-memories of the swamp, Trenchcoat had interacted with the Prophet a lot already. The precise details of exactly how his mind was split in two would be stupid to share with someone who still hadn't explained what he was doing here, or why he wanted to know all of this, but... another person who knows about him could be... useful.

"...If you meet the Prophet, on his own..." Sammy spoke slowly, carefully, "then something's gone wrong. Get Bendy if you can, or one of the other three. It shouldn't happen." But it could.

From the way the Projectionist frowned, it seemed likely the unsaid addition had occurred to him as well. He gave one slow nod, though his expression seemed dubious. “Really,” he remarked. “That whatever-it-is posin’ as this place’s mascot is your first pick? ...Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. You said somethin’ about ‘needing ink’? Does that make the Art Department the first place to go looking?”

For just a moment, Sammy’s blood ran cold. He… hadn’t mentioned that... had he? Of course he was thirsty, but all week he’d been so careful to keep his cravings under control, and they’d been quiet enough that he didn’t think anything would slip throu— oh, no, the Lurker. He said he needed Ink to keep stable. Obviously Trenchcoat was talking about the Lurker. Come on, Sammy.

“Hm…” He didn’t like the way the man talked about the Lurker, but with a strangely large amount of practice at not jumping to the cartoon demon’s defense, he didn’t comment. “Bendy wanders the Studio as he pleases, but it’s not a bad place to start.” He folded his arms, fingers tapping thoughtfully with precise rhythm. “To answer your question with more clarity,” he added, still quiet, “most in the Studio don’t know magic is real.”

He got another nod from Trenchcoat, though something seemed a little less keen in his posture now. He shifted to the side a bit, no longer standing directly in the doorway, though it was hard to say whether the action was deliberate or not. “Good to have that cleared up,” he said. “Seein’ that little imp skitterin’ around here made me not so sure, but I guess just one crazy thing is a little easier to write off for most folk.” He gave Sammy another thoughtful look. “...That used to be you too, didn’t it? You said before ‘Joey and Henry’ were the ones handlin’ the magic in this place. But you, and that friendly little fella with the hat, you just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time to get mixed up in all this, didn’t you..?”

Sammy squinted at him. Then, slowly, smirked; an unfriendly expression that was technically related to a smile.

"You just got here, Trenchcoat. Don't push it."

Trenchcoat chuckled, sticking his hands back in his pockets and nodding half to himself as if this was expected somehow. “True enough,” he agreed. “Well, I -”

Just then one of the studio runners appeared in the doorway with a folder of papers, though he paused when he saw someone else in the office. Most of them knew to think twice before interrupting Sammy when he was in the middle of something. “I could...come back later if you’re-”

Trenchcoat waved a hand, cutting the paper-bearer off. “Nah, about time I was leavin’ anyway. Can’t go and take up too much of your music director’s time, even if he does work like a man possessed,” he said with an amused smirk of his own.

He stepped out onto the hall, turning back to Sammy once more with a tap to his forehead. “You need film run, you know where to find me. I’ll see you 'round, Smiley.”

It looked like it was only with an effort of will the wide-eyed runner didn't gape at the exchange.

Sammy stared in disbelief, both at the nickname and at what he was sure was a pun at his expense; the kind of stare that might actually unlock someone's latent magical abilities just to kill a man where he stands. But the worst part was the absolute certainty, deep in his soul, that Joey would find this hilarious.

All of the impotent anger in Sammy's body turned abruptly on the one who'd interrupted them, with a snarled "What do you want?!" and no patience at all for whatever news they might be bringing.

That guy worked here now. Fine. Fantastic!

He'd better be a VERY good projectionist, or else he was on thin. Ice.

Chapter Text

It had been months since Sammy had told Henry about his ‘prophecy’, and things had been... thankfully low-key since. Well, not on the cartoon-making front where they were still playing catch-up, but on the eldritch horrors front. By all accounts research was underway on how to summon the particular spirit who had helped them before, the one Henry had maybe possibly volunteered to be possessed by. He’d had a weekend to talk to Linda with the kids visiting their grandparents. It had been...difficult, but ultimately good. She’d started doing some research on her own on Henry’s condition, since that seemed to be an exception to this pattern of increased knowledge risking a damaged mind.

There was still the threat of whatever the Prophet had foreseen hanging over them, but for now the lull in activity had been...nice. Though...one particular lull was unusual in its own way.

He heard the tell-tale rummaging in the vents overhead before a hatch flipped down and the Lurker’s Bendy-shaped head appeared, pie-cut eyes scanning the room for a moment, before he gave a nod of satisfaction. When he caught Henry looking, he gave a little grin and a wave. “Heya Henry, How goes the pencil-pushin’? Keepin’ those drawings in line?” he asked, grin growing a little wider.

Henry smiled, tired, but happy to see him.

"Heya Bendy. It's taking some wrangling but I'm getting it done. You doing alright, though?" he added, his smile dropping a bit. "I haven't seen much of you lately."

Bendy opened his mouth as if ready to make another joke, but then paused. He still hadn’t come down out of the vents. “Whaddaya mean? You can see I’m fine,” he said, sticking an arm out and wiggling his fingers as if to offer proof of concept. “Why,” he wondered a moment later, his cartoon brow furrowing. “..Is there somethin’ worryin’ ya?” And he did drop down then, landing perched on the shelf topping Henry’s desk and leaning forward with an intent sort of look. “Somethin’ wrong, Henry?”

Henry frowned as Bendy questioned him. This is exactly what he was talking about. "No, nothing's wrong. I just. Noticed you seem more. I don't know, serious? Than usual. I wanted to check in with you, make sure you’re doing okay.”

The Lurker blinked at him, but did rock back to sit more normally on the shelf, gloved hands resting on what passed for his knees. “Oh,” he said, thinking he understood now. Henry hadn’t run into anything, he just wanted to make sure no one else had either. “Yeah, so far so good! An’ don’t worry, If somethin’ did get in, I’d let you guys know quick as I could,” Bendy assured him. “Y’know, I can go check again if you want, I was meanin’ to anyways,” he said, bouncing back to his feet.

Henry frowned deeper. He wasn't sure how Bendy came to the conclusion that he was concerned about security, but decided not to question it.

"No, I'm not worried about anything like that right now. I'm worried about you." He held steady eye contact, as though to emphasize his point. "You haven't been pulling your usual tricks and pranks, and you keep checking on things.. is there something you're worried about?" He paused. Dumb question. "I mean... I know the world keeps trying to end and all, but. Is there something happening right now that's got you all nervous?"

“Well,” the Lurker said, hedging a bit as Henry peered at him. “N-no, not right now I guess, I just…” he frowned, looking off to the side as if trying to make sense of things himself. “I mean...I don’t think so anyways? But…”

His expression softened a bit. "You're just worried something's going to happen, huh."

Bendy hunched forward a bit, cheeks puffing up. He didn’t immediately answer, but his tail lashed in and out of sight behind the desk as he wrestled with how to respond. The short answer of course was ‘yes’, but...he’d never been bothered about something this way before. Except vicariously, when he’d been hitchhiking with Joey. Was..that what it was? Was that even still the same thing as ‘worried’? Was that even what Henry was asking..?

Finally he blurted out, “But something could happen!” His pie-cut eyes snapping up to Henry’s face, nervously trying to read his reaction. “It almost did before, If I hadn’t been out lookin’, I would’a missed Sammy tryin’ ta-”

The Lurker remembered Sammy’s repeated injunctions to keep that whole thing quiet in time to ratchet his voice down to a whisper in the still-busy room. “...Tryin’ ta set up his little heart-to-heart on his own… a-an’ that other time, when I wasn’t ready enough? I got caught, neat as you please. I lost the Stone, and all’a that stuff in New Orleans happened because of it.” He huffed a frustrated sigh, rubbing at the spot between his horns. “Yeah, I guess I am worried, but...am... I supposed to be?”

Henry set his pencil down and leaned back in his chair, assessing how to answer.

"...My oldest daughter, Anna," he started. "She worries a lot. She tells me she always feels like something bad could happen at any moment. She would work herself up into fits after we had Mary; she'd refuse to hold her in case she dropped her, she would get out of bed to check on her in the middle of the night because she was convinced something bad might happen if she didn't. Later she got a teddy bear, Mr. Berry. Holding Mr. Berry made her feel a little better."

He looked back at Bendy. "I don't know what goes on in her head to make her so worried. Honestly, it almost reminds me of Sammy and his mask, or when I felt like I had to draw back in Haiti. There's just something not right, and you don't know what it is, but you find something that makes you feel better."

He paused, as though realizing he'd gotten off track.

"Things can happen at any time, yeah. But they usually don't. It’s okay to stop worrying sometimes, and just let things be. But if you can't stop worrying, maybe we need to find a different way to make you feel better."

Bendy’s eyes were fixed intently on Henry, and though he was still curled forward on the shelf, a subtle sort of tension seemed to relax in him the more Henry spoke.

“Y-yeah..?” He hadn’t known that people like Anna, who had never been strained by contact with the unknowable, also had problems like that. “So...you’re sayin’... if someone’s worryin’, even when it don’t make sense to... you shouldn’t just ignore it? You should find a way to fix it...or at least find somethin’ else that don’t make sense that tips things back the other way?”

"Pretty much? When Anna first started getting worked up over nothing we'd just tell her to calm down, that nothing was wrong. But it honestly only upset her more. You can't just turn off emotions like that, even if you know they don't make sense. From what I've seen, you got to find a different way to calm down, even if that, also doesn't make a lot of sense.

"Is there anything that helps you feel better when you're nervous like that? Other than just checking on everything again?"

Bendy crossed his arms, cheeks puffing up again in thought. He...was still a bit off balance that Henry was taking this in stride? For this to seem...manageable. Maybe it shouldn’t have - after all, it was Henry, and he'd seen the others dealing with what seemed like similar things, but...he wasn't supposed to break this way? He knew his mind was made to take a lot of the realities that were dangerous for theirs. But...if someone like Anna could also have a similar problem, without that being the cause...maybe... so could he? He shook his head a bit, pulling his thoughts back to Henry’s question.

“Somethin’ that makes me feel better? Like... an object, somethin' that feels reassuring..?" he made a face, not even knowing where to start with such a prompt...was Anna really reassured by a toy bear? What was it supposed to do, keep watch for her?

But then he blinked, and snapped his fingers. It always sounded like something straight out of the foley files even though his fingers were theoretically made of some sort of solidified ink. “I know just the thing! Golly, why didn’t I think’a this sooner?” he hopped back to his feet on the shelf, looking energized, and flashed Henry a wide grin. “Thanks Henry, you’re a real pal!”

Henry was surprised by Bendy's sudden change of mood, but grinned back at him, happy to see him looking more like his old self already. "No problem, Ben. Glad I could help."

Bendy hopped down to the floor as if to scamper off...but then paused and turned. Henry had always given good advice, hadn’t he? Maybe… “Say, uh, Henry? Mind if I pick your brain on one more thing? ...If you knew someone, an’ you didn’t get along so great last time you talked, so you’d been avoidin’ em...but you hadn’t really talked to ‘em about it cuz you were worried it might make things worse...what would you do?”

Henry frowned, trying to think who Bendy could be talking about, but nothing came to mind. "Hmm. I'd suggest taking things cautiously. Apologize if you have something to apologize for, ask if they're alright with talking things over. In my experience, the other person usually either isn't as upset as you expect them to be, or have been nervous about it too.

"But," he added after a moment of thought. "Remember they might say no instead, and that's okay. Sometimes what people need is to be left alone."

Bendy nodded with a little flip of his tail, though his smile had taken on a sober sort of cast. “Yeah...That’s more or less what Sammy said too, just wanted a second opinion.” He brightened up again to repeat, “Thanks, Henry!” And with an energetic wave, he ran off.

Henry smiled as Bendy turned to scamper off. He thought about telling him good luck on whatever relationship he was trying to mend... but he was already gone.

He sighed and stretched, and went back to work.

Chapter Text

Today was a busy day—as it had been for the last few weeks, and as it was looking to be for at least a few weeks more. But for Sammy Lawrence, at least it was a busy that was normal.

Meetings, edits, recording... and of course the simple but incredibly nuanced art of putting strings of notes down onto pieces of paper. Hectic, yes, but still so very much better than the sort of hectic they’d had on their latest ‘working vacation’.

Bendy stopping by now and then was also normal, though lately he’d been ducking in and out more quickly—and more frequently—than usual. Sometimes Sammy had even spotted him standing on tip-toe just to peek through the office window, and then moving on.

This time though, Sammy heard the distinctive pattering steps as his door swung open, announcing his visitor even before he spoke.

“Say, Sammy! You got a minute?”

"One moment," Sammy growled without looking up from where he was scribbling furiously at his desk, trying to get the entire harmony line of this song out of his head and onto paper in one go. A few seconds later he'd dropped the pen, holding up a couple sheets of music and reading over them, with the little twitch in the fingers of his other hand that said he was listening to something only he could hear. And then, with a little huffed sigh of good-enough approval, he set the papers down again and turned to glance over the back of his seat.

“What is it, Bendy?" There were the same tired lines under his eyes when he turned around, but something about him was just slightly less haggard the past couple of days. For once his long hair was pulled back fairly neatly; not perfectly slicked back or anything, of course, but he looked like he was supposed to look, rather than the wild, just-out-of-bed mess that had become so common lately.

Even the former Lurker of the Star Pools knew better than to rush Sammy when he was in the middle of something. So he waited more-or-less patiently, rocking on his feet until Sammy turned to face him.

When he did, Bendy broke into a grin, somewhere between sheepish and proud. “I’ve been kinda worried lately about not bein' able to keep an eye on the whole studio at once, what with...y’know, everything. But!” and he held up a finger excitedly. “I think I know what to do about it, if you’re willin’ ta lend a hand. Ooor a candle, say.”

Sammy stood, squinting suspiciously, pretty sure there was some step of this thought process he was missing. Maybe several steps.

“What for?” he asked shortly.

Bendy raised his hands together and then moved them both down to make an outline of a silhouette in the air—literally; for a moment or two little dotted lines were left hanging. “Y’know those effigies you used to enchant for me for no real reason back in the day that let me see places I wasn’t?” He looked back up to Sammy, staring intently as the lines poofed out of existence. “Well...I think maybe we got a pretty good reason for ‘em now. ...Whaddaya say?”

Sammy hadn’t dropped the wary look, even as he nodded slowly to Bendy’s explanation. Right. He did remember those. Bendy had shown him how to do that back when he was... somewhat pathetically looking for anything he could do that their new friend would appreciate...

“You said no more training,” Sammy said, just a statement, trying to work out what Bendy was getting at. “You’re serious? It’s not a prank. Why do you need to see the whole studio at once.”

Bendy waved both hands reassuringly. “No more training, no prank!” he promised. Though after a beat he added, “Though.. Henry did say I oughta be doin’ more of those too…” the thoughtful pause stretched for a moment before the Lurker remembered the original sentiment he’d been in the middle of, and firmly shook his head. “But no! Right now I’m bein’ real serious!” he said, leaning forward with spread hands and an intent look. “...I just think it’d be better for everyone if we had eyes on the place on the regular, y’know? I’m sup- I wanna make sure everyone’s safe. If anythin’ else dangerous comes knockin’, I wanna know right away.” His hands clasped together, fidgeting a bit as he added, “...I don’t wanna get blindsided again. Get trapped, or not be in time to stop one’a you gettin’ grabbed again. I just figured... this’d be a way we could do that.”

Sammy frowned skeptically at the apparent insistence from Henry that Bendy should get back to pranking. He didn’t have to be their cartoon character, y’know, if that wasn’t what he wanted to do...

But Bendy explained, earnest and worried, and Sammy listened. It was about the possibility of intruders again, of danger in the studio — which was more than a hypothetical fear, with the vaguely prophesied threat they’d gotten. Of course the cartoon devil would be worried if a repeat of last time was possible. Having more eyes in the building would be a good step.

“Okay,” Sammy agreed, with a short nod. “The song stays with me; I think I remember...” He threw open a drawer of his desk, rifling through his things. He had candles in here somewhere... “Do you need... me?” he asked, sliding that drawer shut and digging through the next one. “Is it something you can’t do on yourself?” It was probably a practical question, but also the closest Sammy was likely to get to a conversational tone.

Bendy beamed as Sammy agreed, his tail giving a little flip behind him. He pattered closer, peering into the drawer as well even if he didn’t know what Sammy was currently after.“Yeah, pretty much. I can’t remember specifics, but I’m pretty sure I tried it a couple times before you came along, but human magic never really worked for me,” he explained, “So I need your help. I already checked though, and there’s still a big stack’a cutouts stashed away in storage. I could bring ‘em up here after hours!”

Sammy nodded as he stood up again, regarding his desk with arms folded and a displeased squint. “Right. And sometime before then, I’ll figure out where I put my candles.” The odd request had thrown him off enough that he nearly forgot he was already in the middle of something. Ugh, no more of that, Sammy.

He tapped his fingers, thinking through schedules and trying to remember how long it took to enchant a cardboard cutout; it hadn’t seemed inconvenient at the time, but his past self’s perception wasn’t entirely trustworthy on the matter. “Tonight… should work. I’ll set up as many as I can.” He considered the rest of the department, and whether anyone else might have reason to stop by after hours, but his mind lingered uneasily, instead, on the projectionist. “Though... not in my office.” He glanced back at Bendy, eyebrow raised. “Do you have somewhere more private in mind, or should I meet you in storage?”

Bendy hopped up onto the side of Sammy’s desk to keep closer to level. “Not really,” he admitted. Back before, Sammy hadn’t been as cautious about their creation as he probably should’ve been, which apparently had not occurred to the Lurker. “The storage room is kinda tight, but it could work I guess? I could drag ‘em somewhere else, too.”

"Nothing springs to mind. Stick with storage," Sammy said, decisive, though this wasn't a topic he had any authority or expertise in.

It seemed enough for Bendy though, and the little cartoon demon flashed him a thumbs up before hopping right back to the floor and scampering off again. “See ya then!” he said, and that was the last Sammy heard of it for the rest of the workday.

Eventually the music department grew quiet as the band and actors made their way home, but as he’d guessed, locating his candles wasn’t his only problem; their new projectionist seemed in no hurry to leave either.

The few candles he still had stashed in his desk (at one time intended for late evenings when Joey didn’t want to run the lights) did turn up eventually — everything always eventually turned up by the end of the day. A couple were shoved into the case behind the instrument as he packed up his banjo.

But that was the full extent of his concern, for the moment. Bendy wasn’t going to be lugging a stack of promotional cutouts that were nearly as tall as an adult human up to his office, so the rest of Music could do whatever they wanted. Instead, Sammy gathered his things, mind still lingering in arranging and debating a couple of his clarinet choices, and headed out to the storage area.

He was only part of the way there when a voice called out behind him, “Oh, Sammy, wait up!” followed by the sprightly click of someone hurrying on heels. It was Susie, already with her bag on her shoulder and wrapped in a light coat. “Norman said you went this way, I thought maybe I’d missed you!” She looked around and then raised an eyebrow at him as she caught up. “You’re not still working, are you? I thought we were more or less back on schedule!”

"Oh, Susie." Sammy stopped and waited, free hand in his pocket as she ran up to him, with a sort of questioning look that could perhaps be generously described as "pleasant" or "curious" by those who knew him well. "No. Just sorting some things before I leave. What do you need?"

“Oh good, well don’t let me slow you down, I can walk and talk,” Susie said, placing a hand on his arm. “In fact if it’s restocking, I’ll even help carry—I have a favor to ask, and I’m not above bribery,” she said with a wink.

Sammy let her hang onto him -- nothing out of the ordinary -- but frowned at the timing all the same. Of course, Joey and Henry cover the studio in wards and rituals and no one cares, but the instant he touches something magical…!

Fine. They could walk to storage at least. He narrowed his eyes. "What's the favour?"

“Alright, here’s the thing,” Susie said, and then started chattering away about some acquaintance of hers who was trying to make it big in a stage show or something and needed ‘moral support’ as they walked. Susie was often talkative, ready and able to carry the conversation on the occasions they did chat. She would listen to his interjections when he made them, but didn’t do that thing where she would say something and then stare at him expectantly without making it explicitly clear what she was waiting for. At the moment though, it did mean they were getting quite close to the storage room Bendy had mentioned.

“I just found out about it today, and, well, what with things being more on schedule, and it being a ways out yet, do you think you can try to get the Alice voice work squared away first once they’ve finalized what they want for it, so I’d be able to take a day or two for her tryouts?” she asked, giving his arm a squeeze and batting her eyes. And, because she hadn’t been lying about the bribery thing, she added sweetly, “I’ll buy you a cake if you can manage it! The good kind, from the bakery by my apartment.”

This was no idle offer. In Susie’s words, she had no time for light or mild desserts—if she was going to indulge, then she was going as rich as possible, and her bakery tastes reflected that. Susie had never actually named her source, and at times he had to wonder if that was solely so she could reserve it as a bargaining chip. Well, savvy move if so, because it was a very good bargaining chip. The cake there was always moist and rich, and they had some way of doing frosting that was practically fudge, but not so dense that it weighed the rest down.

Despite Sammy’s question being clear, Susie took her time getting to actually answering it, talking instead, enthusiastic and bright, about some other actress auditioning for a part in some other show, and eventually getting around to the relevant bit where she wanted to get a few days off in the middle of work on a major feature.

It wasn’t, in theory, unreasonable. Susie only needed to be in for recording days and sometimes for practice; a few days free could be unnoticeable. But predicting which days those would be, in this studio...

Sammy stopped walking and turned to her, considering it with an expression that was more tired than anything. “Hm. Maybe. Get me the dates. You don’t need the extra rehearsal time, but I don’t control edits.” Or lyrics. That was his department, at least, but he hadn’t failed to notice, despite Jack’s assurances that he was feeling much better lately, the way each song’s lyrics took just a little longer than they should’ve... and he had no interest in calling attention to it. “I can’t help you if Joey has some last-minute rewrite. He’s the one you should be tempting,” he added, with narrowed eyes and a little wave of his fingers.

Even if she’d taken the scenic route to her point, Susie hadn’t come unprepared; she produced a folded slip of paper from one pocket to proffer at him as he asked about dates, and then leaned in to steal a kiss to his cheek. “That’s all I was hoping for, and don’t worry, I’ll talk to him too. Thanks, Sammy, you’re a doll.”

Sammy accepted the paper, and his eyes only flitted aside for a moment as she leaned up to his cheek, just a little huff of a breath, but it would be enough, somehow, to tell. Susie knew, though Sammy had said nothing to express an interest in her — and wasn’t planning on it for a host of complicated reasons — that her affections weren’t quite unwelcome. And that’s probably as far as it went, anyway; just a little way she’d found to increase her chances of getting what she wanted, same as the cake.

Not that he minded. He liked both, and he knew better than to take it too personally.

She took a step back, as if preparing to be on her way, but then blinked over Sammy’s shoulder and gave a little laugh. “Oh no, are the boys starting up with those funny little shrines again?” she wondered.

There, at the far end of the hallway, was a half dozen Bendy cutouts leaned in a stack against the wall. “I’m not above a little innocent superstition, but...well, don’t get me wrong, Bendy’s a darling, but he’s not going to be able to make anyone’s takes better!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms with a bit of a smirk. She’d been one of the few who, after the initial surprise, had adapted quickly to treating Bendy like just another coworker rather than as an actor or some kind of entreatable ghost. “And really, if you’re going to ask for help from anyone, wouldn’t you usually prefer the attention of an angel? Maybe I should tell them to put up a few of those next time…”

Though he didn’t react much beyond a little shake of the head, nervous energy vibrated in the back of his mind as she mused about the cutouts. Not that she specifically needed to know their real purpose, but... leaving Susie entirely in the dark on the occult dangers that were building in the Studio felt less and less right. Shouldn’t she know... something??? Should—

“Wouldn’t you usually prefer the attention of an angel?”

“The attention of an Angel?!” Sammy repeated without thinking, wide-eyed and incredulous. “The Angels that seek us are neither beautiful nor kind; escape their notice if you can!” Oh god, oh god no sTOP— “Do not become the one foretolmMn—!“ He didn’t know what else to do, panicked and slapped a hand over his own mouth. He could feel the whole prophecy pressing against his mind, desperate to tell her, warn her; it was all he could do to pull away.

Susie jumped at the outburst, staring as Sammy started ranting only to slap a hand over his own mouth a moment later. While it was hardly unknown for the Music Director to shout, that wasn’t usually like this. “I...it was just a joke,” she said, still startled. But after a moment she frowned, taking a step closer even as Sammy stepped back. “Are...are you alright?”

“Fine!” Sammy growled, dropping his hand, though his shoulders were raised and tense. “Just... fantastic.” He pressed a hand to his temple; the more he lingered on what he’d already blurted out, trying to come up with some explanation that wasn’t completely insane, the more that nervously desperate feeling started up again, twisting in his guts and pressing behind his eyes.

He huffed something that wasn’t really a laugh at all, but was trying to be. “This catch-up schedule has been getting to me more than I thought...”

“O-oh…” Susie said, visibly trying to recover from her surprise. “Well, I’m glad Joey’s got you off overtime, then; you always manage to take care of the sound, but it’s important to take care of yourself too, you know!” she said, trying for one of her usual smiles as she stepped forward to nudge him, joining him in pretending that whatever had just happened was nothing all that strange.

But then she hesitated, looking him over. He wasn’t sure what she found there, but her hand settled on his arm again, this time without the playful air from earlier. More...careful? Concerned, maybe. “And, well...if there’s ever anything you need I can help with... you can let me know, alright? No bribe required,” she said, still flashing that conspiratorial smile, though the way her shoulders were set seemed earnest. “This part, this place, it...it’s really special to me, you know? And you are too,” she said, not looking away when she said it, though her cheeks did flush a bit. “I... feel like you’ve always had my back here. So I just wanted you to know, you can count on me too, that’s all.” the touch on his arm turned into a pat, and then she was moving back again, out of his space.

Sammy sighed, frustrated. It shouldn’t bother him, to be looked at like he’s crazy. He’d known there was something wrong with him well before Joey’s mucking with his soul had split his mind in pieces, well before he learned that monsters and magic existed and were more than his mind could take.

But then... she wasn’t afraid, as she stepped closer again, still careful, but determined and sure. He liked that smile — the one that wanted to be in on it, to get in trouble with him. If he had some normal trouble that could be fixed with her smile and her beautiful voice, maybe that would be enough, and maybe he would tell her, and maybe she really would have his back. ...More reason to keep her out of this mess, to let her stay sure and fearless.

“Okay,” he said, and he did mean it, and he didn’t look away either.

Something subtle in Susie’s shoulders eased, and she nodded.

And then she was looking down the hall, pushing a bit of hair away from her face. “...Anyway, I’ve held you up enough from getting home. Did you need help carrying anything after all?”

“No, nothing to carry,” Sammy replied, as if the conversation were wholly back to normal. “Just digging out some things.” And without any further comment, he started for the end of the hallway.

“Get some rest,” Susie called after him, and then he heard her distinctive shoes departing the same way they had come.

Reaching the intersection, Sammy could see the stack of cutouts they’d spotted was not an isolated occurrence; similar stacks were scattered up the hall around the doorway to the storage room, which was ajar. The Lurker had both gloved hands on the doorframe, peeking up at Sammy from around the edge.

“Everythin’ okay?” he wondered. “Thought I heard raised voices?”

"Ugh," was all Sammy said, until he had ducked into the room himself, set down his banjo across the chair that had been shoved into the space and leaned back against the boxes stacked there. "I just, lost it for a moment." His voice was soft and tense, with a bit of a wince to his expression. "She brought up Angels and I lost it."

The room was cramped, and upon entering it became clear that if the extra cutouts hadn’t been moved outside there wouldn’t have been room to put a chair, let alone work on anything.

Bendy followed Sammy inside, nudging the door shut with one foot. “Lost it?” the Lurker repeated. “Lost what?”

“You’ve seen it,” Sammy insisted, frustrated. “When I can’t shut up. Some idle mention of magic or Angels and I can’t stop myself from trying to tell everything. Good thing that never comes up!” he hissed, teeth grit in a sarcastic imitation of a grin.

But Sammy stopped grousing long enough to lean down, crack open his banjo case, and pull out the candles he’d hidden inside. “The projectionist thought it was the Prophet talking,” he muttered, closing the case again and finding a spot to shove it in upright, out of the way in the tiny room. “I almost wonder if he’s right.”

“Oh, that,” the Lurker said, scrunching his mouth to the side in a frown. He hopped over the chair and up onto a shelf that was pressed against the back wall, which he clung to the side of, monkey-like. It put him out of the way, at least. “Didn’t know that was still givin’ you trouble,” he admitted. He peered down at Sammy thoughtfully, taking the worry at face value. “D’you get that way when people bad-mouth the Masked Messenger too, or d’ya just feel like you oughta be warnin’ ‘em not to get mixed up with him?” he wondered.

He’d already set up the cleared space as best he could, even written out the words Sammy had previously put music to, just in case; they were resting on a box. There were even matches.

"No... it's a need to warn them," Sammy admitted, sliding a little awkwardly into the chair and looking over Bendy's set-up. He was right, of course; it didn't quite sound like the kind of thing he'd heard on the tape. It just sounded insane. Would've been nice to blame his other self, instead.

It had been a few years since the Lurker, fresh out of Haiti, had shown him how to set the cutouts up to be the little devil's eyes. There were candles lit a specific way and a chant with it, so of course Sammy had set music to it then, in order to hold it more easily in his mind. He hummed through the words left out for him just to be sure he remembered it.

Looking over it now, it was hard to deny this… was, in fact, magic; one ritual Sammy did know. But it was simple; nothing like what Joey or Henry did, no glyphs or runes or circles. The most drawing he had to do was to trace the cartoon demon's face to mark it.

"Lock the door?" he added, without looking up. "Or put something in front of it, in case the janitor tries to put the rest of the cutouts back while we're in the middle of this."

“Oh, good idea," the Lurker said, skittering around the edges of the room to land by the door again. This room opened with a key, which wouldn't stop Wally (well, depending on how absent minded he’d been today) but it also swung inward, and there were definitely enough boxes piled about to serve. It did however mean the room was briefly much more crowded with pointed tail and bent limbs, as Bendy stretched out into his bigger form to plop a couple crates in the way. “All set!” he chirped, his voice the same in either form. He placed one claw on the crate and shrunk in around it, flipping back to his feet to land on top of it in the form that had become his usual.

Everything was set. What he was planning to do, it...was magic. Perhaps usually the hard part would be making an object that sufficiently resembled the being it was meant to represent, but even then, that part would be mundane. Despite the exodus into the hallway, there were a couple stacks of cutouts still conveniently in the room, staring at Sammy with their expectant, frozen smiles.

Sammy huffed a little breath before taking one of the cutouts, setting it up with the candles around it. When Joey had first ordered these, Sammy had not been quiet about his opinion that they were unnerving... That opinion had shifted a bit in four years, but it hadn’t changed. Bendy was charming. These weirdly staring effigies were not.

He did his best to focus, struck a match, and began to softly sing the foreign words, slowly lighting candles as he did.

Sammy couldn’t say what magic felt like, precisely, but he could feel the charge in the room, something unnatural in the air that set him on edge. It didn’t feel like it was under his control; like electricity following some path he didn’t understand — just throw the switch and trust it will do what it’s supposed to.

The switch, in this case, was using the final candle to trace the cartoon’s face in wax. His breathing was very intentional, slow and careful, trying to hold his hands steady and focus on what he was doing and not the nervousness jittering in the back of his mind, that this might somehow wake up a more magically-inclined version of himself.

It was all the more tense because he could feel the strange energy in the room was not just around him, but permeating him, or...drawing on him..? as the feeling in the room built. Whatever circuit he was forming, he was a part of it too - a reality that had seemed inconsequential the last time he’d done this.

Now he was starkly aware of it. Had his other self felt this when he’d called the Masked Messenger into a storage room not unlike this one..?

With the final stroke in melted wax, that odd tingling pressure in the room popped like a bubble, leaving him dizzy for just a moment in its absence. The room felt... normal again, and a glance at the effigy caught the last traces of wax vanishing from sight, sinking and melding into the cutout as if they’d never been.

In the same moment there was a small inhalation by the door, Bendy blinking from where he was still perched on top of his crate.

Sammy took a second to catch his breath, a hand pressed to his chest as he replaced the candle in its holder, as if he could somehow feel that he was still okay from the outside; that nothing important had been pulled out of him. But he didn’t feel tired, physically, and he didn’t feel foggy; it was just that extra energy.

He glanced back at Bendy, and raised the cutout to face him. “Seemed to work?”

“Woah,” Bendy said, stumbling as the cutout was turned to face him. He recovered quickly though, and laughed, waving a hand in its direction. “Yeah, that did it, alright! Workin’ great!” he exclaimed, and then mugged a couple exaggerated faces at the cutout, just because he could. That hadn’t even taken that long; they’d have the Studio covered in no time, and he could finally stop worrying about what was happening where he couldn’t see..!

“Thanks for this,” he said, turning to Sammy, a relieved smile in place of the silly faces.

Sammy squinted as Bendy made an exaggerated series of faces at the cutout. Huh. Like a mirror.

He simply nodded, and set the cutout to the side, glanced at Bendy to make sure he didn’t look... disoriented...? A lot of things had changed for both of them since the last time he did this. But when the Lurker seemed himself, he put out the candles, grabbed another cutout, and started again.

He didn’t plan to stay late into the night, but the process was straightforward, and he could probably at least get Bendy a stack of these to work with. Another round of lighting candles, another soft song of words Sammy only knew phonetically, another built up charge in the room that pulsed through him in a way that threatened to pull something out of him.

It would use him up, that energy. He didn’t know what it was using and that made it worse. Again the wax face became part of the cutout; again, the tension broke and the feeling dissipated and the cutout was hastily flipped around and shoved face-first into the other.

It didn’t... help; they were printed on both sides, and the other side had a face too. Sammy leaned down to rest his head on the heels of his hands, breathing deliberately as he took a moment to collect himself.

“Is this... dangerous?” he asked, sounding out of breath despite having spent the last several minutes doing nothing more strenuous than singing. “Am I putting my soul in them, or something?” Before he sat down this evening, the idea that Bendy would ask him to do anything like that would have seemed laughable. But for a moment, the nerves and that intangible feeling were louder than anything he knew about his friend.

“Yer soul?” the Lurker asked, giving a little shake of his head as he switched his focus from the latest cutout. He turned a puzzled look on Sammy, tilting his head. “Whaddaya mean? You’re still in yer body, d’you mean like yer music?” He’d heard talk around the Studio of pouring one’s heart and soul into creative endeavors, but considering no one saying it had seemed particularly maimed, at the time he’d taken it for figurative.

Sammy looked up to see Bendy's befuddled expression staring back at him and realised he didn't have a terribly clear idea of what a soul was, either. With a frustrated curl of his lip he turned back to the circle of candles, taking another cutout uneasily and setting it in place.

"I... I don't know. Joey tied himself to that rock somehow. It's..." He looked to Bendy again. "...he isn't the same."

Bendy grew pensive, shoulders hunching slightly as he glanced down at fingers that were suddenly fidgeting together. “...Yeah. Yeah, he’s not,” he agreed. “He changed the Stone, like he wanted to, but...I think as much as he yanked it around to where he wanted, it’s still pullin’ back on him too.”

Bendy huffed at least the semblance of a breath, then looked back up to Sammy, veering back to the original topic. “He did pour a bunch’a himself in the stone, if that’s what yer talkin’ about,” he said. And then, mirroring Sammy’s gesture from before, he tentatively settled one hand over his own chest, just under the jaunty little bow-tie. “Kinda like he and Henry did with me. Just... a whole lot more. That kinda thing, it sticks. But I don’t think that’s happenin’ here? Pourin’ yourself into somethin’....it changes it. More than what’s happenin’ with these. Deeper. But magic can still take it outta ya pretty good if you do a lot of it? Just don’t push it too far and that kinda thing oughta be fine after some rest, though.”

Sammy only frowned as Bendy fell quiet on the topic of Joey; nobody was happy to see what it had done to him. But the little devil explained, and Sammy nodded. It wasn’t nothing; he wasn’t imagining it.

“Alright,” he said. “Stop and rest if I get tired.” Which... honestly, might be sooner than he liked. He didn’t feel tired, exactly, not in any way he could quantify, but he certainly felt low on... anything extra. Though magicking two pieces of cardboard could hardly be called “a lot.”

He struck another match, and with a soft hum, began to light candles again. That electric feeling in the room surged into him so eagerly this time, and Sammy struggled to focus, to push down the part of him that was sure he was losing something vital.

His trembling hand traced the cutout’s face, unsteady but careful, and no sooner had he finished it than something tore violently out of him, his whole chest seizing with a sudden gasp of pain. He kept his grip on the candle but coughed hard into his other hand, harsh and wet and spattered with blood.

The wax melded into the cutout’s surface, smooth and subtle as it had always been, until it had faded entirely.

The quick breath thing hadn’t seemed worrisome. The humans did that a lot, either when exerting themselves or when really intent on something, and this was both, after all. It never seemed to do any lasting harm. The shaking was a little more concerning, and Bendy wondered, “Sammy?” just as the third spell resolved.

Sammy immediately doubled over like he’d taken some kind of physical blow. He coughed and - ohhhh no, okay, blood from face, that one was never good, despite what Henry tried to insist. Bendy was at Sammy’s side in a flash, small hand on his back, not that he knew of anything he could do about it. “Sammy?! Are you okay, did somethin’ go wrong??”

Sammy shakily replaced the candle, barely taking his eyes off the blood on his hand. Bendy’s voice spoke up, and the little gloved hand touched him, and Sammy sort of jolted back to awareness, curled his hand closed, but was still staring at the cutout he’d just finished like it had betrayed him somehow. “S-sorry,” he stammered, frantic. “That’s all I can do. I’m sorry. I can’t do any more.”

With a dismissive wave of his other hand Bendy exclaimed, “Yeah, no kiddin’! Don’t worry about the cutouts, are you okay? Should...should I call Jack?” his tail was twisting about behind him as if it would tie itself up in knots. Had Sammy messed up a mark because of the shaking? But...this spell shouldn’t have been that bad even if Sammy messed up, it was human magic, and a benign kind at that.

Sammy slowly calmed, as whatever had happened continued to be finished happening. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. He pressed his free hand to his chest; ran it over his face. If it weren’t for the slight soreness lingering in his chest from that sudden cough, it would be like nothing had really happened at all.

“...It felt like that magic pulled something out of me,” he answered finally, softly. “The first two times it was fine. Then it felt wrong.” He reached over to lift up the cutout one-handed, to place it delicately with the other two. “...I’m not Henry or Joey. I don’t do magic. Maybe that’s all I can manage...”

“I...I guess you never did this many at a time before,” Bendy admitted. “I... guess you coulda just hit your limit?” he cautiously stepped away again as Sammy didn’t seem to be immediately in danger.

But... he shouldn’t have been in any danger at all! The whole point of this had been to keep them all safer, not… “Hey, w-we don’t gotta do this again,” he blurted, clenched hands held close while his tail twitched restlessly. Sammy was usually the first to speak up if he didn’t like something he was asked to do, but Bendy still felt the need to make it clear. “Okay? If...if you don’t feel like you got a handle on this, it’s fine, I’ll figure out somethin’ else.”

Maybe Sammy did just have an abnormally low magical reservoir. But the Lurker had never hit his own limit, and he wasn’t made of the same stuff so as to compare effects anyways. His knowledge of humans was purely anecdotal, and much of it only hazily remembered, at that.

A method where Sammy would just end up hurting himself wasn’t worth it.

“Sure,” Sammy said, though he huffed a little at Bendy’s nervous fretting. If that’s really all it was — well, too much practice before your fingers are used to it, and the strings will hurt; it... could make sense — then Bendy wouldn’t be so worried, would he?

He put out the candles and stood, grabbing his banjo from where it had been perched against the wall and opening it on the chair, fished out a rag to wipe the blood off his hand. And then he squinted at the little cartoon devil, whose restless tail would be giving him away if every other part of his body language wasn’t sending the same anxious message.

“Bendy. What are you afraid happened?” It was not gentle. He just wanted to know what danger the Lurker could see that he couldn’t.

The sharp tone snapped Bendy’s attention away from those same crawling, unwelcome thoughts long enough to focus on Sammy. He opened his mouth to answer reflexively... and then blinked. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? There wasn’t any particular awful thing he thought had happened.

“Nothin’,” he said.

Then, before Sammy could interject, he went on, “That’s the thing? I just keep... worryin’...about nothin’? Ever since we got back from New Orleans. Worried somethin’s happenin’ that I don’t know about. Somewhere else in the Studio, o-or like right now with you.” He climbed back up onto the crate, just so he could plop down to sit on it, rubbing the back of his head for lack of a neck.

“I dunno if it’s somethin’ leftover from sharin’ with Joey, like the gold eye? But that already went away. I tried to ignore it, in case this went away too, but so far it ain’t.” He spread his hands, looking down at them as if their need to fidget were coming from some outside source he could somehow suss out.

“Henry told me it ain’t that strange, at least for humans. He said it’s okay not to worry all the time, but that if you can’t, you should find somethin’ that can help you feel better, even if it don’t make any sense either.” He looked back up to Sammy then, earnest. “But what with it bein’ pretty likely somethin’ will go wrong sometime soon, I figured, maybe it’d be even better to find somethin’ to make you feel better that does make sense, you know?” he glanced to the new stack of effigies, only for his pie-cut gaze to shift to the bloody rag still in Sammy’s hands.

“The thing is, really, what you’re sayin’? It makes a lot’a sense. You’ve barely done any magic, so yeah, it makes sense you just can’t do that much in one go, an’ didn’t know yer limit yet. The same kinda stuff happened to Henry and Joey when they pushed themselves too far too. It ain’t that I know some other thing it could be that’s scarin’ me. I don’t know why it would be anythin’ else, just…I keep thinkin’, what if it is somethin’ else? What if I don’t know enough t’ be sure, an’ you get hurt worse?” He sighed, letting his spread hands drop down onto his knees, frustrated.

“That’s what’s scarin’ me.”

"You sound paranoid," Sammy said, which wasn't an accusation, just a statement, standing with arms folded across his chest as he listened to Bendy describe a sourceless fear he didn't understand.

It... well, it didn't make sense, that was sort of the point, but it wasn't that strange. Sammy had been afraid of a lot of things that had no apparent basis in reality. “But you can tell,” he added, with a point. “You know something’s likely to go wrong because of the prophecy, and that’s real. Other fears don’t have reasons, so you’re skeptical.” He gestured with one hand, as if he were dividing them into two categories in front of him. “If you can tell, you’re fine.”

Sammy shoved the rag into his pocket and started gathering candles to hide back in the banjo case again. “The idea to keep an eye on the Studio is still good, though.”

“Paranoid?” Bendy echoed, though he didn't sound offended so much as attentive.

Was that what this was called?

It was reassuring somehow, to have a term for it. He fell silent, mulling over the rest of Sammy’s words, trying the idea out. Telling the difference, huh? He supposed he was. Telling the difference wouldn’t stop that unpleasant feeling, but...in a way viewing it in that light made it seem less horrifying, and more like an inconvenience that could be handled. Like an injury that hadn’t yet mended, but wasn’t actually so bad it limited your range of motion if you were aware of it. Even if he did still feel worried, it made the issue of the worrying itself a little less worrying.

And hey, for the rest, maybe Henry’s methods would help.

“Yeah…” the Lurker said. And then he nodded, repeating with more energy, “Yeah! I guess so.” He got back to his feet then, looking over the effigies. “Try again tomorrow, then?” he wondered, craning his head to look at Sammy. He sounded less tentative than before, at least. More like himself. “Or whenever you’re feelin’ back to normal, anyhow...” he added, frowning. He touched the corner of his own mouth and said, “You got a little…”

Sammy pressed a hand to the corner of his mouth to check, and fished the rag back out to wipe off his face.

“Hm.” Sneaking out after work every day to magic a couple of cutouts was... more complicated than taking off one evening. “...leave one in my office tonight. If I can manage, there’s no reason to come out here for one or two cutouts.”

“Okay!” the Lurker said with an eager nod. That would be less hassle than clearing space here over and over, and besides, if Sammy only had one a day, that would be a pretty good way to tell for sure if he’d just overexerted himself this time.

And in the meantime, every cutout they had would be one more place he could keep an eye on, for angels or anything else that might come looking for trouble.

The rest of the evening went uneventfully. Thankfully.

And the next day, too -- though Sammy had completely forgotten his previous instructions and startled horribly when a grinning face greeted him on opening his office door the next morning. But the idea turned out to be sound, nonetheless -- all he had to do was take a moment to close up the office and try the ritual again. Probably better that Bendy wasn't there to see how stupidly nervous and shaky he was, when it went fine after all, when that charged current didn't hurt him; after last night, he almost felt like he could put more of a finger on the energy it was drawing from.

Bendy seemed encouraged by the news, and it wasn't terribly hard to repeat; not every day, but any day over the next week or so that Sammy could find the time to close up the office and set up another cutout, he did.

Though the little devil would find his new viewpoint slid behind furniture or hiding in the corner where he couldn't see Sammy and Sammy couldn't see the cutout more often than not.

The Lurker didn’t object to the way the cutouts ended up tucked out of sight after Sammy enchanted them. He had caught on that Sammy didn’t particularly care for looking at them, and what with Sammy doing him a pretty big favor as it was, he wasn’t going to complain. (Besides, he’d already tucked a cutout into an out-of-the-way corner outside, so he could see in most of the time anyways!)

A cutout here and there still added up. This did result in an increase in unnerving rictus smiles dotted about the place, but it also meant that Bendy could tell with increasing assurance when everything was going as it should in the studio.

It was a couple weeks later when Sammy entered his office to find yet another smiling Bendy waiting for him, only this one’s smile grew even wider and it raised a hand to wave at his arrival.

“Heya, Sammy!” the Lurker said in greeting.

Sammy jumped noiselessly in response and dropped half his music in the process.

“Bendy,” he said, in a breathless voice that was hard to read, before leaning down to pick up several sheets off the floor. “What... are you doing here.”

“Woah!” the Lurker said, sliding off Sammy’s desk to help collect stray sheets. “I uh, had somethin’ a bit different to run by you, so I figured I’d wait to chat.”

Looking at the room again, there was also a fresh cutout leaned up against the wall. But there was also what looked like a children’s doll resting on his desk. It seemed about like the sort Heavenly Toys made; a prototype of Shawn’s perhaps. It wasn’t any of their characters though - it looked more like a small, fairly normal girl.

“Right,” Sammy muttered, accepting the music sheets from Bendy and shuffling the pages back in order in the stack he carried, more embarrassed at his own reaction than anything.

He narrowed his eyes at the toy on his desk, then looked back at Bendy. “What’s this?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk t’ya about,” Bendy said, peering up over the edge of the desk at the doll. He turned back to Sammy with a flick of his tail. “Think you could enchant it too?”

Sammy set down his music and picked up the doll, looking between it and Bendy a couple more times. "Why? Would that even work? It has to look like you, doesn't it?"

"Oh, that's no problem," Bendy said brightly. "It's not for me!"

Sammy's eyes somehow managed to narrow more than they already were. "You want me to create a spying device for an unknown party?" he sneered. That chipper tone felt too much like Joey with Allison in his head. "No. Who is it meant for?"

"Aww, why not?” Bendy puffed up his cheeks for a moment, looking indecisive. “Look, it's supposed to be a surprise, but if you won't spoil it… It's for Anna."

When Sammy showed no immediate sign of recognition he added, "Henry's older kid."

Bendy was still treating this all very casually... Was it... a joke? Sammy's posture became no less wary. "Why... would she need to see the Studio?" he asked carefully. Honestly, there were a lot of things in this Studio a small child definitely shouldn't see.

“No no no,” Bendy said, waving his hands. “Not the studio! She’s got a little sister, she needs it for that.” When Sammy still didn’t look enlightened, he sighed, folding his small arms. “The thing is... well, when I was talkin’ ta Henry, an’ he was givin’ me advice? He said Anna had that same problem. ‘Cept for her, what she was worried about was her little sister. That somethin’ would happen to her. And I thought….the effigies are already makin’ me feel better. So maybe she could have one too.”

Sammy hadn't moved much, but there was something about the way he was holding the doll now that seemed to be putting himself in between it and Bendy.

And all the suspicious tension in Sammy erupted suddenly into a wheezing, unfriendly laugh. "You want to give -- what is she, seven? -- you want to give a seven-year-old child a magic doll, that her eyes may always be on her sister?!" Another incredulous breath of a laugh. "You want to give the sister a doll that will watch her, always?!"

The Lurker blinked, but nodded. “Why’re you laughin’?” he asked, confused.

"Do you know why the Masked Messenger scares me?" Sammy's voice was whisper-soft, barely loud enough to carry over the muffled, ambient sound of the pipes, though his expression was still just as intense as the laugh. "Why the Yellow King scares me? Why the cutouts scare me." He was leaning closer, an inch away from Bendy's face, hissing through his teeth. "The feeling. Of being. Watched."

He huffed, and after a moment, stepped back and turned away. "It's one thing to watch the Studio! Don't do this to a person, hiding eyes in their home."

The Lurker didn’t fall back when Sammy and his whispers crowded his space. If anything he leaned forward a bit too, brow furrowed intently in an attempt to understand. “But...but people’re watchin’ ya all the time!” he protested. “Like when you’re conductin’? Everyone’s lookin’ at you! I don’t understand…” He pointed at the doll that Sammy had angled away from him, even though Sammy was no longer looking. “An’ I wasn’t gonna hide anythin’ either! I asked ‘em first!” he exclaimed.

“You — what?!” Sammy’s attention snapped instantly back to Bendy, still tense and agitated. “Did you ask Henry? Does his family know about magic? What did you ask them?!?”

“I just asked ‘em if they’d like it if Anna could keep an eye on Mary even when they weren’t together,” the Lurker said.

“An’ why would I ask Henry?” he wondered, still baffled. “It’s not for Henry, if I was tryin’ ta make you somethin’ I wouldn’t need to ask Joey!”

Sammy stared, though the disbelief in his face... shifted. He was still staring in disbelief, but his shoulders lowered and his arms went slack and that angry smirk that happened when he was irritated slid off his face, as he suddenly realised he was going to have to explain the concept of “children” to the Lurker.

Sammy set the doll back down. He massaged his temple with one hand, the other tapping fingers quickly against the desk.

“Joey and I are adults,” he said. “...Supposedly,” he added under his breath, before continuing with the attempt. “But… Humans... learn slowly. Little ones don’t know or understand the world, and they’re under their parents’ care. Henry knows more about children than we do, so you have to ask Henry.” Stern, pointed eye contact followed the statement.

He turned the doll in his hand where it sat on the desk. Despite the fact that being given a toy that is also watching you sounded like actual nightmares his younger self had, if... everyone knew about it, he supposed it was just a strange telephone. Everything about the idea was unnerving, though; putting magic in Henry’s house, attaching magic directly to Henry’s daughter... Absolutely not. “Can you even turn it off...?” he muttered.

Slowly, the Lurker nodded. “Y-yeah, I know. Henry told me that too. It’s just...you don’t need t’know about the world t’know about yourself. I guess if you really think so I could talk to Henry...” After all, there wasn’t a reason to not tell Henry, specifically. Even if part of Bendy was...uneasy with the idea that the ‘right’ thing to do could be overriding Anna and Mary’s choices in this. Still...he knew Henry. Henry who had gone out of his way to ask what the Lurker wanted when Henry had been in a position where there would have been no practical downside to utterly disregarding those wants. And of course he knew how much Henry cared about his family. It... couldn’t hurt to talk to him.

As to Sammy’s other question: “I mean, it won’t tell you much if you cover it up, same’s the cutouts,” Bendy said. “An’ breakin’ it’d end the spell, if that’s what’cha mean…”

Know yourself, sure. But magic carries consequences. Sammy nodded, satisfied Henry would do a better job explaining the problems of surprise magical gifts for children... and then his eyes suddenly widened, just a little. “Wait. Then if the toy was lost, you couldn’t shut it off? You’d just have...” Sammy’s hands hovered over his face, fingers curled, the gesture strangely similar to a night in a New Orleans hotel, when he couldn’t get the images out of his head.

Finally, Bendy started to look uncertain with his plan. “I...I mean I guess, if you weren’t good at pickin’ your focus…” Even if his current form didn't have that many eyes, he'd had enough practice with more he could compensate well enough. Could... a human do that? Sammy'd had trouble with something similar back before, and he was a more experienced one.

What if it ended up near something that bothered her? "... There might be a way to turn it off? But I never learned one. I didn't think'a that," he admitted.

Sammy shook his head, with a bit of a shudder. Everything about this was horrifying. “I won’t enchant the doll,” he said, handing it back to Bendy.

Bendy took the doll back with both hands... and nodded. “Okay,” he said. Maybe that spirit would know, once he and Joey worked out the summoning spell, (and the banishing one too, just in case). It was her kind of magic, after all...maybe there was a way to turn it off. But without that...he realized it was possible this could have gone very badly. He had to remember that even after four years, there was a lot he couldn’t assume about humans, especially little ones. Which... kinda reinforced Sammy’s other point.

“I’ll talk to Henry,” he agreed. He did still want to help if he could, but… “Maybe this isn’t such a good way to help her after all.”

“Good,” Sammy said, not unkindly, and turned to his desk without another word to sort out the pieces Joey would want a look at this morning.

Bendy took the doll and headed out, hopefully dissuaded from any catastrophic magical plots for the moment. The latest cutout remained to grin over Sammy’s shoulder as he got a much needed start to his work—

Today was going to be another busy day.

Chapter Text

Henry’s car pulled to a stop, and Sammy only belatedly looked up and hopped out when the others pointed out that they’d arrived, still half-distracted by a smattering of quick, neat notes dashed out on the piece of paper torn out of Jack’s notebook.

(He had another paper on hand, as well, one torn carefully from Henry’s sketchbook, but that one was less interesting at the moment).

Past 3 AM, Joey had said, but it hardly felt it. Sammy hummed softly to himself as he followed the others up to the doorway of Jack’s house, looking over the notes again, almost afraid they’d sink out of his mind again if they fell out of focus; like at any moment the markings would stop making sense, would have to be painstakingly studied for their meaning again, like translating a foreign language. Sammy’s own voice was not very strong, but it was a relief all the same to hear it, as if he hadn’t been able to breathe until now. The brightness in his face would’ve seemed more in-character of his other self; something hopeful and eager that was almost a smile.

“... Right.” Pay attention. The door was open. Sammy stepped inside to join the others.

Since it was past 3 AM, Joey had no worries about Bendy simply riding in on his shoulders. He did end up ducking slightly as he went through the door, not quite sure of how tall Bendy was added to his own height, but better be safe.

What seemed like adrenaline from earlier shenanigans at first had put a certain pep in Joey’s step, though oddly enough it did not kick in until after they had decided to spend the rest of the night resting. The moment his brain wasn’t struggling to stay focused on the task at hand, well, he was just filled with all sorts of energy. Staying quiet outside was easy enough, but once everyone was in the room and the door shut, Joey instantly started chattering, excitedly pointing at all sorts of things around Jack’s house and introducing them to Bendy as if they were each a character of the cartoon running in only Joey’s head.

While Jack had been enjoying finally getting to write down some things, he'd been the first to set aside his newfound inspiration in favour of getting inside. If the evening had taught him one thing, it was that Joey was no stranger to picking a lock, and he'd rather get the door open himself, before Joey started trying to break in.

The house seemed much the same as he'd left it earlier. It was little on the messy side from the rough morning (had he left the cat food out?), but overall relatively tidy, especially compared to Sammy's apartment. He ushered the others in, and closed the door behind them.

"Make yourself at home," he said, though maybe it wasn't necessary, given how Joey had started talking the moment he'd gotten indoors. He was thankful that his house insulated sound enough to not bother the neighbours. Strange that Beans hadn't shown up immediately at the noise - maybe she was sleeping? - but regardless, he had to admit that seeing Joey so animated was a relief.

Bendy had been out of the studio a time or two before with Joey, but never to Jack’s. As Joey started his circuit of the room he stood up on Joey’s shoulder, tail flicking. For every knick-knack and fixture Joey presented to him, the Lurker leaned forward with all the attentive fascination of one being shown priceless artifacts in a museum. “It’s...cozy, huh?” the Lurker said, trying out a word he was still on introductory terms with.

On the way through the kitchen, the Lurker spotted the same out of place container of food that Jack had noted, and the image on it. “Oh! Beans is here!” he realized, having talked about her often enough with Jack. He glanced around from his perch wondering, “...Where is she, though?”

“She’s here,” a voice spoke up from a chair tucked into the far side of the living room, rough with either sleep or relief, perhaps both. A lamp chain was pulled near the chair, revealing its occupant: Peter Sunstram, looking somewhat haggard with his hat off to one side resting on a pile of notes - and with an unconcerned pile of Beans uncurling on his lap just enough to blink in mild disapproval at the abrupt light and the noise that came with the new arrivals.

She meowed in greeting to Jack a moment later, getting to her feet in no particular hurry while Peter stared first at Jack, then the others too, still apparently getting his brain into gear from waking up.

Joey was about to answer Bendy’s question with an on the spot tale about Beans' possible adventures and reasons for not being immediately present, but fell silent as another voice entered the room.

The soft hum of Sammy's voice abruptly stopped.

Well, he was paying attention now, immediately stepping up next to Jack to give a wary once-over to a face he immediately recognised -- the very same reporter they'd just decided not to visit tonight.

"What are you doing here," he growled, eyes narrowed.

Joey had sidled up close beside Sammy and Jack, almost protectively, but anyone who worked with him could easily tell that he was judging Peter’s work right now, probably his choice of entrance. Whether it was accidental or dramatically planned, it was cliched and not even that surprising now that it had happened.

In stark contrast to the men beside him, Jack's face lit up as Peter spoke up.

"Pete!" He pulled away from the others to move over to the man's side, giving him a quick check over, before letting out a faint sigh of relief. "You're okay."

He paused for a moment.

"You're okay?" A question, this time. He'd rather hear it directly from the man, just to be sure. With how everything had been today, he didn't want to assume anything.

He reached out to give Beans a satisfying scritch behind the ears, trying to ignore the itch in his fingers to start writing something, lyrics to some off-the-cuff ditty about reassuring company. He settled for humming faintly instead.

Ever since Peter had resigned himself to wait here for the night, it had been easy enough to imagine every little footstep or sound might be Jack or his coworkers arriving - or worse, passing by. Easier still once he had started dozing off. But no, this time was actually real, or at least seemed to be...

Peter gently scooped Beans to the side, still intent on Jack as he got to his feet and pulled him into a hug, fiercer than he’d meant to...but very reassuringly solid. “Am I okay?” he exclaimed. But, Jack wasn’t the sort to ask that if he hadn’t been worried, so he added, “I’m fine now, I’m just glad you are! I heard the news when I got in, and you weren’t anywhere!” A moment later he stepped back just enough to shift his grip to Jack’s shoulders, worried and appraising in turn. “You are alright..?” he asked, and did pull his attention away from Jack for a moment, just long enough to scan the room again. He hesitated on Bendy, but it was Sammy he seemed to be seeking out specifically, brow furrowed. “All of you..?”

From his perch Bendy watched in interest, as if this was just another exhibit in the Museum of Jack.

Jack seemed pleased, so Sammy settled for hanging back, arms folded, watching the embrace and conversation with a suspicious squint. Their words were quiet and sparing, a quality that had never in his life bothered Sammy; but now, with Joey’s running commentary paused for the moment, it left too much quiet in the neat little room.

Sammy tapped his fingers, agitated. His focus tried to wander back to the song on the scrap of paper. It felt urgent.

“It isn’t over,” he growled, as Pete’s attention turned his way. “Apparently, it’s only getting started.” He dropped his hands and pressed forward, more insistent, aggressive, like he could frighten Pete into getting it. “We could lose everything again, if we don’t stop this ‘angel’ from doing something stupid, calling back the Yellow King, pulling our music out of this world so his songs can rise in the silence left in their wake—!”

Joey’s arm fell around Sammy’s shoulders as he pulled the blonde into him a bit, cutting him off with a hearty “Sammy!” that sounded like it should go into one of his normal absently minded charming lectures filled with pride and desire for things to go as Exactly Like Joey Planned. But it stopped there, as it was only done in order to stop the musician from carrying on. His arm didn’t leave though.

“Peter, while you are a bit early and your entrance definitely leaves more to be desired, I must admit I’m glad to see you. You said you heard the news, hmmn? That means you haven’t been affected, right?”

There was… a slight tenderness to Joey’s grip on Sammy, as he gesticulated with his free hand, only paying enough mind to Bendy on his shoulders as to not make any wide movements to throw him off. It was hard to see, since he was in full acting mode at this point, but Joey’s touch was becoming possessive more and more as he watched Peter be close to Jack. His words hadn’t been lies, but deep down, Joey wasn’t pleased about the detective’s early arrival… He wasn’t happy about another element of his story being thrown out of place. He continued to hold onto Sammy… knowing that right now, there was no way for him to hold onto Jack.

Jack hugged Pete back just as strong. The relief lifted more weight than he'd realised he'd been under, the physical contact comforting in a way he'd almost forgotten, this many months after New Orleans.

As Pete pulled away, Jack followed the man’s gaze, as he turned to check on the others in the room. They were quick enough to respond, quicker than Jack, but maybe a little on the concerning end of things... Though, Joey's judgement aside, he did bring up a good point. Jack turned back to Pete.

"How much have you run into what's... happening, so far?" He glanced down at the pile of notes next to Pete, then over to his own notebook in his hands. When had he pulled that out again...?

"The, uh.... symptoms, seem to have changed..." He trailed off, looking back at Sammy and Joey. He toyed with the pen in his hands.

The notes by the lamp were in what Jack likely recognized as Pete’s most hurried shorthand, hard to read at this angle.

Peter tilted his head at Joey, confused at how his words seemed that little bit at odds with his demeanor. Back in Nola, he'd been off balance by how little all of them had cared about he and Jack being close, but for some reason now, there was something tense radiating from Joey. And… ‘his entrance’? What did that mean? They were the ones who'd just come in…

“Believe me, this wasn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind either,” Peter said dryly, “but it’s been a day. I didn’t know where else to look, I’m lucky Jack’s neighbors let me in...eventually,” he added ruefully.

To their questions, Peter shook his head with a grimace, absently picking up some paper and pencil from next to the lamp to take notes on what the others might say. “Me? No, nothing like what I’ve heard about.” He… had tried to write some things on the train ride over and utterly failed…It had worked itself out a few hours ago, and he’d gotten back in the swing just fine, chalked it up to nerves, but… perhaps that had been hasty. “Something did feel... off today, but not in the way people have been talking about musicians." He shuddered a bit, remembering how the news had only seemed to get worse and worse while he failed to find word of Jack or the others anywhere. Breakdowns, violent fits, even deaths. He still didn't know what Jack and the others had been up to all day, and for every reassuring explanation it was easy to imagine five more that were awful. He went quiet for a moment, the back of the pencil tapping against his lip in thought…

Wait, what was he doing? He must be more scattered than he'd thought.

He pulled his attention back to Sammy and Jack with a bit of effort, looking between them as he rewound their words in his head. "Hold up, ‘lose everything again’? So something was gone, and it's back now?” he wondered to Sammy. For that matter, “Angel? Yellow King? So you have reason to think this is related to what happened before in New Orleans?”

There was that brief, split-second moment of surprise on Sammy's face, as Joey interrupted, and the momentum pressing his words forward died out abruptly -- augh, this again. He scowled, petulant and self-conscious at Joey's "friendliness," but half-crossed his arms with a hand pressed against his lips as if he were only thinking, and let the others handle this.

Jack and Joey and Pete carefully asked each other questions to determine who knew what without sharing any actual information, and Sammy decided his attention was better spent on the snippets of music swirling around in his head, bright and vibrant; expanding it out into parts and harmonies, pieces fitting together with a creative ease that was rare these days... This was the worst time to feel so eager to work. It should be written down, or played at least. He'd never lost a song idea to poor memory in his life, but after this morning...

Pete was still talking, though, addressing him directly, and Sammy felt himself jerked back into the conversation. Half of his mind was still trying to write music and the other half couldn't unfocus from questions about the Angel and the Yellow King.

He didn’t move his hand. He just nodded. But he couldn’t pull his mind back to his music, now; too many thoughts churning over a prophecy that was coming true in front of them, a warning that seemed terribly relevant to Pete, too, and all these small, meaningless signs that were suddenly falling into place. He couldn’t think until he said something. Just tell him!! TELL HIM.

“The Prophet wrote it on the walls,” Bendy chimed in helpfully, crossing his arms on Joey’s head.

Joey simply continued off of Bendy, giving the smallest nod in the world as he felt the cartoon arms on his head. "There was some prophecy that included phrases that sounded close to what had been happening so far. And also had some lines about Carcosa and those who've escaped… which could include us. Definitely includes you." He tapped his fingers in a rhythm against Sammy's shoulder.

"It doesn't explain the numerous others who had been affected though, and you're right there's something to do with music. But also acting. Performers on the radio struggled or simply didn't work as well. I am worried about the state of any theatres in the city…"

"Eh... might have different problems now..." Jack had started writing again. He needed his hands to be doing something. "If they're going through what we are, they, uh... They..." Hm, what was a good synonym for 'compelled' to use for this line. Joey's mention of it being more than musicians was interesting, too. Maybe he could link that in to this song and...

Wait. Not just music, but acting. So, maybe other skills too? His pen froze as his eyes darted over in Pete's direction - the man already scribbling down notes, and notes on those notes. And like Joey said, escaping Carcosa definitely tied Pete into this too...

He forced himself to put his pen away. This... this wasn't the time to be writing lyrics. They needed to work out what was happening before he started indulging himself with songs again. Or before things got worse…

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he started up again.

"It came back again, but now it's... more. Like it's more important than anything else, like you have to do it." He couldn't help but notice Pete's fidgeting, the way he'd always been back when was really fixated on his work. He frowned. "Even if everything doesn't disappear again..."

"It doesn't mean that something isn't still wrong," Peter agreed, still jotting down a few more things as he spoke. "So it’s more like a compulsion, now. Hm… And it seems to be hitting multiple creative fields, not just music..."

He did looked to Joey then. "You were warned about something to do with people who escaped that crazy city? Then...do you think there's some connection with the creative fields being affected and the ones that group is skilled in? Do you have any idea what set it off?"

Only then did Peter take another look around the room, realizing what had often just been a quiet presence in their group was in this case actually missing. "...Wait, where's Stein?"

BEWARE THE COMING OF THE PALLID MASK, HE SEEKS THAT WHICH ESCAPED CARCOSA--

Sammy almost looked like he was trying to cover his ears as he held his head, like he was trying to block something out even though the conversation in the room was fairly quiet. It wasn't helping, even with the others answering questions he struggled to disengage, his mind still caught and pulled tight in opposite directions, he just wanted to go back to his music, he wanted to focus on the music and he couldn't, he couldn't until--

"He seeks that which escaped Carcosa, and no corner of this earth can avoid his gaze forever," Sammy blurted out, all in one breath. He shrugged off Joey's arm; he needed to say this. "It was part of my other self's 'prophecy,' about an angel who would 'seek to break your will,' with the warning, 'Do not allow the Angel to rest long in her power, lest the King rise anew.' We knew nothing of this Angel before, but we've seen signs now; it's a person we must stop, it has to be, it's--"

Sammy slapped a hand over his mouth before the name "Susie" could come tumbling out with the rest. GREAT!! There you go! You certainly did say something, Sammy! Happy now?!

A frustrated growl, and he shook his head with a huff. "I'm going to go play," Sammy grumbled under his breath to Jack. "Nothing's making me. I just want to." And he turned to stalk off to Jack's little upright piano.

Joey had glared in confused frustration at Sammy shrugging him off, but most of it was surface level. He knew why all this was happening, he just didn’t want it to. He wanted Sammy to stand by him, not leave his side. He wanted Jack or Henry or anyone to just not leave his side for once for the sake of someone else. Sighing and unclenching his fists as Sammy retreated, Joey folded his arms and continued the conversation with Peter, more aware of Bendy’s weight than ever. At least that was comforting in a way.

“Henry is at home. He has not been affected like the rest of us, and wants to make sure his… family is doing well.” The metallic taste of admitting, in a way, that he wasn’t part of that himself. “What Sammy repeated was essentially what we had been given, and upon trying to get a better explanation we only received more cryptic bull. But I have noticed one thing…”

Joey held up a finger to hammer in his point of this perhaps being the most important fact, simply because he was bringing it up right now, “Everything affected revolves around theatre, and when we were dealing with the Yellow King, a lot of that had to do with scripts, plays… there was a book we had found that had it all written out in it, and Fowler had been playing his part instead of making his own decisions by the time we were at the party.”

Jack frowned as he watched Sammy walk off. He couldn't help but worry - he wasn't sure what, exactly, but something about these compulsions felt like they ought to not be indulging in them. But then, he couldn't bring himself to stop the man, either. With how he'd been this morning, maybe the worst Jack had ever seen him...

...no, Sammy deserved to play something, after what he’d gone through. He couldn't take that from the man.

Peter had no interest in getting between Lawrence and the piano, not without a considerably clearer reason. Instead he focused on Drew, tap-a-tapping the pencil to paper as he nodded. That’s right, they’d mentioned a strange play last time, though Peter had never seen it. And while the thought of Lawrence penning more portents of doom was more than a little unsettling, it was still a relief to be getting facts. More than he’d expected, really, considering how bad the situation sounded with or without them. It just felt… better to know he’d be writing a story working with a solid foundation.

He blinked, mentally correcting himself; not officially, of course. He couldn’t print any of this. But maybe it’d make more sense if he wrote it out, now with more of the pieces to work with. “Okay... So some... ‘angel’ of that Yellow King...and a woman? Not one of those... malformed monsters with the yellow eyes,” he said, not quite able to suppress a shudder at the memory. “This woman is doing something that’s interfering with the theatrical arts, and...someone else is looking for us on top of it? Dandy.” That part sounded considerably less than ideal, but when it came to these sorts of things, that was kind of a given. It just meant trying to keep out of it was all the more pointless.

Aloud he said, “It’s somewhere to start, anyhow. Is that everything? I suppose it’s too much to hope you already have another spooky party being thrown by the one responsible all lined up to crash?”

Sammy ignored them.

He didn’t play to drown the others out and he didn’t keep the notes carefully quiet, either. He played as if he wasn’t aware of them at all. And before long the rooms were filled with an easy and upbeat reminder of what Sammy Lawrence could do with a piano, how music could rise up as effortlessly as laughing.

Normally, when he was writing, the process sounded stranger, with music halted jerkily over and over to write it down and adjust. Tonight, though, it was hard to want to stop; hard not to just feel each phrase sing through him and play out, and Sammy let it happen, just for the simple, stupid joy of how good it felt to make music right now.

He did stop occasionally, pausing to jot down more notes, neater than usual — clear enough, at least, that someone not musically inclined could make sense of them later, since that someone might end up being him. And then back to the music, more experiments and improv and play, and then more notes; eventually too many for the little sheet of notebook paper and spilled onto the back of the folded page from Henry.

Bendy leaned on his crossed arms, listening to the group as they talked. He wasn’t watching though; his eyes were trained on Beans, utterly fascinated as she debated if she wanted to remain on the couch after being disturbed. She circled around a few times but ultimately moved on, though rather than down she went up, bounding with a nimbleness he could respect onto the top of a shelf. She looked so small and soft and fuzzy, but then, right there as he was watching, sharp claws sprouted where there had been none before, and she licked and picked at them fussily. Bendy’s mouth fell open. He’d thought that was just a cartoon effect for Boswell in the cartoons to show when he was angry! Cats really did that?? As Sammy played and Joey shifted that little bit after him, it brought Bendy that much closer, and he took the chance. He shifted to stand on just one of Joey’s shoulders and reached out to pat Beans companionably on her back, remarking, “You’re full of surprises, arent’cha??” Moreso than he was counting on it turned out, as she jumped in surprise and swatted him right across the hand, startling him enough to lose his balance and slip off Joey’s shoulder.

“No, no parties to crash, at least not yet, but Jack had something…” Something was going on above him, but for some reason it was easy to ignore whatever was happening between Bendy and Jack’s cat. What wasn’t easy to ignore with each note was growing urges to follow along with the melodies, finish the stories that kept being cut off right before the best part. “He saw… something that was with your letter--”

At that point was when Bendy had fallen from Joey’s shoulder, in which he just made a startled jump back from the event instead of even trying to foolishly attempt to catch the toon. Not only was it unneeded, but they both know it’d probably harm Joey more than help Bendy.

But beyond that, he didn’t pay attention to the ongoing discovery of the two anymore, his feet continuing to step over closer to Jack, hands finding their way onto the shorter man’s arms now, smoothing down his sleeves to points where Joey could start to pose his partner with himself.

“I don’t remember exactly what it was, there was a lot going on at the time. You saw someone with a flower?” Joey asked, slowly pulling Jack along with him as he continued to move with the music coming from across the way.

It took Jack a moment to register what had happened with Bendy, but it didn't take too long. So much had happened, he hadn't had time to let him know how to interact with cats-

Though, he didn't have time to explain fully, as Joey pulled him into an unexpected dance instead, startling enough that he entirely forgot what he was originally planning on saying. He shot an apologetic look Pete's way - as if the situation hadn't been hectic enough right now.

"I, uh... something, what was it... I know this," he mumbled to himself. He still hadn't pulled away from the dance just yet. It was hard enough to piece together his thoughts, never mind words, and then half of his brain was still trying to think up lyrics instead…

Ultimately, Peter wasn't that surprised when Joey started hovering around Jack with that vaguely possessive air. After last time, he'd come to accept that he didn't have so much as the first clue who was with who at that studio. And even if that wasn't what was going on here, he could understand being protective of one's people.

The dancing though, that was surprising. Ten seconds ago they had all been in the middle of a discussion of world-threatening proportions, only for Peter to now find himself in a room filled with extemporaneous piano and an energetic Joey Drew spinning Jack around the floor… All the while a probably-literal demon and a cat were trying to sort themselves out somewhere off to one side just for that added surreal touch.

But if there'd been any doubt that theatrical talents were still a far step to the side from what should be normal, well…this pretty well cinched it.

Though... it also couldn't be helping everyone's focus that it was currently so late as to start counting as early. Peter'd had a nap of sorts while he’d been waiting, but he had a feeling that wasn't true for them. He waved a hand to cut Jack off, saying, "It's alright, Jack. It's late; we can fill each other in tomorrow.” They could. It made sense, it was the middle of the night…so he was a bit surprised at just how much the idea of leaving things be for now put him on edge.

Hmm. Maybe whatever was happening was affecting more than the strictly theatrical arts after all…

If Peter had thought this was enough to stop Joey from pulling Jack around close to him, he was sorely mistaken. Even if there was a hesitation in attempting to hold a conversation, Joey was in full swing now, and it was always harder to stop momentum than to keep it from happening in the first place. His moves were not precise or forceful though, and Jack could truly pull away if he wanted, but Joey was a stream that refused to stop just because there were a few rocks in the way. Calm, completely going with the flow, but never ceasing.

Joey did not pay attention to others in the room any more, lost in the music, and even letting his hands and pose slide from something proper to a more intimate dance as he brain worked on playing it’s own version of this scene instead of observing anything around him.

Even with the increasingly theatrical situation, it still caught Peter off guard to see Drew all but manhandling Jack into a dance that...well. Suffice it to say it seemed pretty sure Drew knew where Peter himself stood, if he wasn’t worried about putting on such a cozy display in his company.

It was an odd sort of trust to be afforded, all considering.

Jack didn’t seem bothered in any case, so Peter took a step back to grab his hat and jacket from the arm of the sofa.

“I’m going to be at the Times tomorrow, I have friends there and I was planning to work the week anyway even before all this whatever-it-is fell on our heads. You can find me there.” He scooped up the notes he’d made as well, nodding to the room in general. “Glad to know you’re all alright. Guess it’s just as well you asked me down here, Drew.” His mouth quirked up on one side as he squared his hat on his head. “And hey, assuming we all manage to survive this, I’m looking forward to seeing that ‘latest and greatest triumph of Joey Drew studios’ next week,” he said, borrowing some of Drew's patter as best he recalled it, the imitation not half bad if he said so himself.

"Yeah, sounds like a good plan. It's uh, been a day, that's for sure," Jack turned to Pete, about to give some kind of Look regarding all the music and dancing, but paused as he noticed the man getting his hat.

"You're heading out, then?" He didn't quite manage to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "We've barely had a chance to- whoa-"

He stumbled his way through a spin he hadn't been expecting from Joey, caught off guard, not able to predict what was coming with his attention split the way it was. He took the opportunity to finally slip his way out of the dance - he didn't want to get sidetracked again just yet - and he stepped over to Pete.

"You gonna be okay getting back to your hotel this late?"

Little did Jack, or anyone else, notice, but all of Joey’s movements for the last few moments had been completely muscle memory, and at the first sign of messing up, when Jack tripped, that was the true trigger point. Initially he had just been trying to keep a straight face, trying to prove that Peter was wrong, that Joey Drew was better than whatever the reporter had been seeing. But one slight misstep and…

A door slammed, particularly the one to Jack’s bedroom, causing the nice little table outside of it that normally held items needed before heading out to fall over and crash onto the floor. It was probably the fastest Joey had moved that night… or whoever it was, since there were no more signs of Joey Drew at this point.

Peter opened his mouth to say he’d be fine – he’d grown up in New York and knew his way around, even in the wee small hours, after all – But the hint of disappointment from Jack made him hesitate, long enough to consider that giving any assurances might ring pretty hollow right now, not five minutes after hearing something might be hunting them all.

So instead he started to admit, “I didn’t -” only to startle as Drew all but vanished to the accompaniment of a slamming door and the side table crashing to the ground.

“Joey??” The little cartoon thing had been intently watching Jack’s cat as she cleaned herself up on top of the shelf, but apparently hadn’t worked out his next plan of approach. Now it...he? darted over to the door, slipping in after Drew.

And through it all, Lawrence’s music didn’t so much as miss a beat.

This was all growing increasingly bizarre the longer it went on.

“I... didn’t want to presume,” Peter said to Jack, still blinking at the door. He unfroze enough to set down his things by the lamp again so he could go and help right the fallen items. “I did invite myself in, after all. Is he... alright?”

Jack stared at the door for a while as well, tugging at the edges of his shirt sleeves. Longer than Pete did - it took him a moment to realise what Pete was doing, before he moved over to try and help put things back again.

He glanced back at the door again for a moment, before answering Peter. "He... should be fine, I think. If something's wrong, Bendy'll let us know." Hopefully, anyway. He'd seemed more clear-headed than the rest of them, but it wasn't always easy to tell what the toon was thinking.

"Anyway," Jack turned away from the door and back to Pete. "You're not intruding, stay as long as you like. Uh, if you're fine with the music and the late hour, anyway." He gave a sheepish smile.

Peter had to chuckle at that - as if a little late-night piano could hold a candle to even half the disruptions they’d all dealt with in New Orleans. “I don't have a problem with music. Especially when it’s that good,” Peter noted, glancing back to Lawrence. He’d seen the pianist pausing to write things down, but if he hadn’t, Peter wouldn’t have guessed Lawrence might actually be making up the things he was playing. Was...that normal for him? Another question to add to the queue. …Wait, Jack had been talking to him, saying he could stay.

He wanted to stay.

“And...Thanks. I wouldn’t mind skipping out on trying to catch a cab at this hour. Especially with everything going on…” Peter looked around the room again, from Lawrence’s oblivious extemporizing, to the door where Drew had.. fled? followed by his cartoon demon, back to Jack who...save for a few nervous tells, seemed alright for the moment. But after the day they’d all had Peter was sure that he at least would rest better knowing Jack was there. Or...well. Possibly in the next room over, as the case might be.

Peter was prepared to accept either, though he’d be lying if he pretended not to have a preference.

He really had let this guessing game go on too long. And…for the moment at least... they seemed to have some time. He reached out to gently disengage Jack’s hand from where it had started worrying at his sleeve again; both to reassure, and to catch his attention.

"Actually, if you’ve got a minute..." he began, trying to pull up all the things he'd thought of saying over the past months, all the things he hadn't been able to put to paper on the train, but that he'd told himself would surely come back to him when Jack was there in front of him...when it mattered.

And...they did! Clear and concise, heartfelt and eloquent, everything he'd been mulling over, gratifyingly at his fingertips. Just the right phrases to express his resolutions and realizations, questions, maybe even some hopes…

But Peter froze. He’d had time to think and he was ready, ready to finally sort this out, whatever Jack’s answer might be. But...even if the words were there... the focus wasn't. He didn't like having to divide his attention when he was focused on the people he most cared about, and while he put considerable energy into his work, he'd always took care to put all of that aside when it was important. Like this.

But...to his own shocked confusion, he couldn't. Everything from earlier was still there too, swimming in his head, wanting to be written and realized too. Lawrence's prophecies, Drew's explanations, all the questions still left unknown. Even some of the fearful theories he'd formed for what might have happened to Jack and the others were still swirling around in there, and they weren't even true! Even the words he wanted to say felt subtly wrong, like some sort of ideal, abstract concept of such a conversation, not the actual practical one he wanted to have with Jack.

Why couldn’t he…

He glanced to Lawrence, still laser focused on the piano, to Jack, his hands still fidgeting as if wanting to write… oh. This… really was the same thing, wasn’t it?

“Uh...” As much as he disliked the idea of continuing to leave things unsaid… he couldn't bring himself to start such an important talk like this.

“...You know…nevermind. It’s… late, it can wait.”

Maybe it would be better in the morning.

Chapter Text

Jack was in trouble.

He was, in fact, being kidnapped.

It was hard to say much more than that with his head swimming from the sickly sweet fumes he’d been unable to fully avoid, but he wasn’t unconscious at least, somehow.

Sammy shouting at the top of his considerable volume had – understandably really – drawn most of their kidnappers’ attention, apparently leaving the quieter Jack an afterthought. He’d been able to mostly hold his breath and fake falling asleep when a chemical-smelling cloth had been held to his face, all while their kidnappers hissed at each other to put Sammy out before he drew attention. They’d continued complaining about how troublesome Sammy had been to deal with as they tied Jack’s hands rather haphazardly.

If it wasn’t all so horrifying it would almost be funny… Usually Jack was the one deflecting unwanted attention from Sammy, after all.

He really wasn’t sure how long he lay there on the ground with his hands tied behind him, waiting for his thoughts to stop swimming in and out. He didn’t fully notice people reentering the room until he felt himself getting picked up and carried. That did jolt him closer to wakefulness, though he couldn’t tell for sure where he was being taken without risking opening his eyes. Why was it every time things went horrible he ended up unable to see..? At least it meant he wouldn’t have to look at whatever had happened to the man(?) that Joey had somehow half-melted. He could hear though, and he heard a metallic rolling sound and then distantly the street.

Jack tried to focus on listening. If he was able to hear something, anything, that might be useful... He had no idea what would be useful, but he had to at least try. He'd already caused enough problems.

But... in his current state, he wasn't much good at that, either. His addled mind was foggy, struggling to focus, unable to keep his thoughts from drifting back to what had happened. What was happening.

Maybe, if he hadn’t frozen up, he could have helped, and they wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. Now they were being taken to who-knows-where, and the thought of what might happen to them, what they might do to Sammy - Sammy had already been injured as it was, they might--

He stopped himself before he got too carried away, trying to slow his breathing down. He didn't want to get caught and actually put to sleep this time. He needed to work out what to do.

So. They had him and Sammy. The others had gotten away, presumably. Hopefully. If they were able to follow, or track down where the group was taking him and Sammy, then maybe they could do something. Or Peter could have seen where they were being taken.

Leaving his own body was an option, now that he thought about it. That way, he could see what was going on without it being obvious. But with his head as dizzy as it was, he couldn't focus enough to do it. And... he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to follow, if they took his body somewhere. Probably best to stay, at least for now. He went back to listening, trying to resist the urge to fall asleep.

There was more discussion as he was set less-than-gently on a metallic floor that bounced slightly under him, and felt what had to be Sammy unceremoniously shoved in next to him.

“Where should we drop him off?” he heard a voice...a vaguely familiar one, that saxophone player from before JDS. It sounded slightly garbled, and it made it all too easy to imagine what state his face must still be in...

“Hold on, first we’d better -” a door swung shut, and the voices muffled near to nothing, along with what light he’d been aware of.

Wherever they now were, it was dark… and quiet.

Jack waited a moment, then two, unsure whether it was safe to open his eyes now. He was relieved, at least, to feel Sammy against him - if they’d been separated during this, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

Sammy still wasn’t moving, though… probably due to the chemicals, but Jack couldn’t help but worry. After another moment of silence, he finally chanced opening his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the darkness.

The space in which he found himself was pitch black, not so much as a glimmer of light no matter which way he looked. The cold floor still had a slight bounce to it when he shifted his weight that he was becoming sure wasn’t just from being dizzy.

Especially when, a minute or two later, the floor rocked all on its own… only to start faintly shaking. Jack realized that under the sounds of him and Sammy breathing he could pick out a faint rumbling, like an engine…

And then another sound: a different familiar voice off to one side, cursing quietly and steadily under its breath.

Even moving slowly, Jack’s head spun, but he turned towards the direction the voice was coming from.

“Pete…?” His own voice was barely a whisper. Whether that was due to keeping quiet, or from the stress of the situation, he wasn’t sure.

The voice fell silent, only to sound closer a moment later, urgent but similarly hushed. “Jack?? Is that you? I thought you were unconscious, are you...are you alright?” and then, perhaps realizing how ridiculous that question was, he amended, "Are you hurt?"

“Hmm…” Jack had to stop to question that. He wasn’t in any pain that he could tell, and he didn’t remember getting injured, but. Well. They had used to use chloroform as an anaesthetic. If he was injured, he couldn’t tell. Probably not, though - just a little uncomfortable, tied up like this.

He wondered, actually… they’d tied him up fairly loose. If he tried, maybe he could get free. But, then, what would he do after that? He didn’t feel like trying to jump from a moving vehicle. Something to keep in mind for later, then.

It took him a moment to realise he hadn’t actually replied to Peter yet.

“Don’t think so…? They, uh… didn’t do the best job,” he breathed a quiet laugh, in spite of how not funny this situation actually was.

It got an echoing soft laugh from Pete as well, at least. “Good…That’s good.” The vehicle rocked into motion, picking up speed, and for a moment Jack worried that Peter might have just been left behind, standing in the street, until he heard more quiet words from about the same place, “I talked to Drew. He got out, and once we know where you’re going, we’re gonna get you out too, so hang in there.” A momentary pause and then, “How’s Lawrence?”

“...Not sure.” The man leant against him was still breathing, thankfully - from the sound of it, probably still asleep. It was hard to tell with how dark it was. Jack tried to nudge him with his shoulder, to see if that might help wake him.

“They put more effort into knocking him out. He put up more of a fight than me. I…” Guilt hit him again, and he resisted the urge to apologise. It wouldn’t help them here.

“He’s alive, at least.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Pete agreed soberly.

He had. That was literally all he’d been able to do, and he had a feeling quite a few unpleasant things were going to be seared into his mind after this as a result. At least he’d managed to physically write down some of the less horrifyingly unforgettable information he’d seen while he’d been on the phone with Drew.

But that ominous room, that melting face, those people grabbing Jack even after they’d told Lawrence they’d let him go…

He...hadn’t expected that level of dedication from Lawrence. Though thinking back on it now, it kind of put into perspective that time Pete had asked about destroying the stone, and gotten such an emphatic denial on their little imp friend’s behalf. “...When he backs someone he backs them all the way, doesn’t he? I can see why you like him so well.”

Jack laughed again, softly. “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

There was only a belated, quietly unhappy groan from Sammy after being nudged, but another moment later, his breathing picked up with an unsteady start.

He blinked, and kept blinking woozily, struggling to get his eyes to wake up and focus on something... but he still couldn't see. He'd heard a voice, maybe, a second ago...? His clothes were uncomfortable, something tight around his wrists, his throat hurt, his head hurt... Something urgent was lingering in his mind, and he wanted to, to move, to act on it somehow -- barely remembering what it even was -- but his entire body was too sluggish and his head was heavy and dizzy and where even was he… this wasn’t ink…

Another voice, and Sammy managed to sit up and... he couldn't focus on that either, the words fading in and out like something half-real. "C-come on, Sammy," he muttered, forcing the words out of his mouth, as unsteady as the rest of him, just to hear them, to hear something. "W... wake up. Come on."

"Oh, he's awake?" Peter said, relieved that Lawrence also seemed to be recovering.

The vehicle made a sharp turn, though with the sounds outside so muffled it was difficult to say where they were going.

"Sam?" Jack's attention immediately swapped back to Sammy as the man began to stir awake - still not quite there, from the sounds of it. At a loss of how to try and help him wake more, he nudged him again with his shoulder, then nuzzled his face against the man.

"C'mon Sam, stick with me here. You can do it."

If he could get his arms free, maybe he'd be able to shake the man awake easier. But then... if their kidnappers decided to stop and check on their 'cargo', maybe it was best to stay tied up for now. Easier to fake being asleep again. He didn't want to waste the opportunity he had, if he could.

"You okay?" It was still a stupid thing to ask in this situation - but then, maybe asking something stupid would help wake Sammy up, if he was lucid enough to question it.

“Jack...!” The reaction was slow, but Sammy knew that voice for sure, as the man’s face pressed against him, glasses poking the side of his face and the scruff of Jack’s beard against his skin.

...OH. ...Jack.

Everything started to clear. He remembered the fight. They’d been knocked out. His hands were tied, he could still feel the gash in his arm, the vehicle they were in jostled them and he could hear the engine, faintly, over the quiet; they were being taken... somewhere... like Joey had said. Sammy groaned again and fell back against Jack.

“You idiot...!” he muttered into Jack’s shoulder, ignoring the question. “You should’ve run...”

"I know... I know. Sorry..." Jack fell silent, taking the moment to lean close against Sammy and just feel the other man against him. What more could he say? Sam was right.

“I’ll be right back,” Peter noted quietly. He ought to check and make sure he still knew roughly where they were, and it seemed only decent to align that with Lawrence pulling himself together, especially if he didn’t realize there was someone else here.

Jack’s voice slipped back into quiet, leaving nothing but their breathing, the muffled sound of the engine, the shift of fabric whenever they moved, and it felt... it was probably the drugs, but it felt more like darkness than anything, like the quiet was something that could stifle and smother noise.

"Joey used that dream spell to talk to me," Sammy said, soft and whispered even though he trembled to stay quiet; his voice would die out if he didn't scream. But he kept trying, hushed and breathless. "He said Pete's eyes are on us, and they'll come for us when they know where we are." His breathing grew louder, uneven and halting and obvious. Talking wasn't what he wanted, but the music in his mind all seemed untrustworthy, all of a sudden... what if he tried to hum something and it came out deranged?

"Jack," he said, no longer whispering, and something sheepish and resigned in his tone, "can you... sing something. I don't care what."

"Sure thing, Sam." It was obvious to Jack, the effect this was all having on Sammy. Which part was causing it, it didn't matter. He'd dealt with this enough himself to know that you couldn't just fix it. But you could try to help, to put a breaking mind at ease, if only a little.

So, Jack took a shaky breath, and started to sing. An old song of theirs - older than their work at the studio, when they were still just performing as a duo. The song they'd done the night Joey hired them, even. Jack's memory wasn't the best, but this one stuck in his mind even now.

He wasn't going to be winning any awards for his performance, not like this, with his throat dry from chemical fumes and his voice catching from every unexpected shift of the floor beneath them. But it didn't need to be perfect. Just good enough to help, if he could.

The first few notes hit and immediately Sammy recognised it -- all at once the feeling that had been so overpowering just seconds ago, the fear that all the music in his mind had been ruined somehow, seemed completely stupid. His breathing slowly began to relax. Of course he knew this song.

It was a happier-sounding tune -- a lot of their work was -- but that didn't seem strange or out of place to Sammy, here. They'd actually written it when they were both feeling pretty frustrated with work, and something upbeat and cheerful they could pour themselves into instead had been an obvious response. It was a good choice. The whole piano part came back to him immediately, and he couldn't help but hum along with Jack in places where that part seemed particularly to be missing, fingers twitching behind his back with the memory of it.

He winced, silently, as the motion brought abruptly to mind the cut down his arm that still didn't feel... right. It wasn't a bad wound, but the stinging was still accompanied by a crawling, numb feeling in his arm that he didn't like.

"Hey." Jack had hit the end of a chorus and it was as good a stopping point as any. "Can you turn your back to me? Maybe I can get you loose."

Jack nodded, shortly followed by an "Alright," once he remembered that Sammy couldn't see him. He hadn't been too sure of trying to get free before, but... With Sammy awake, he was a bit more confident that they could work something out, maybe.

It took him a moment to turn around - being tied up made it difficult to balance - but he managed to shift enough to get his hands closer to the other man.

"They tied me looser than you. Shouldn't take too long, I don't think." He could probably manage it alone, given enough time, but he wouldn't turn down the help.

Sammy hadn't thought it would take too long, either, until he was feeling blindly behind him to find Jack's hands, find the rope, avoid hitting the Ink smeared on the back of his jacket, trying to figure out, in pitch black, with his own hands bound, exactly what piece to fuss with to start to untie him, and actually this was very frustrating??? Sammy huffed and muttered as he struggled with what had seemed like it should be a fairly simple task.

"...I don't know if I can run," he admitted, still grumbling. "My head's still swimming." He finally pulled something loose that felt important, though he still hadn't fully undone the ropes. "Can you get out from that? And play obedient sheep until we see what they have for us..."

A quick test of the ropes confirmed that they were indeed looser - though Jack didn't push them too far. Keeping himself 'tied up' still would be useful for playing along, 'til they got a good opportunity to do something else.

"Can do." He shuffled back to his original position as best he could. Best to avoid suspicion if possible. And... being able to lean against Sammy again was a comfort, too.

“Not sure where they’re going, but we’re still downtown.”

There had been no noise heralding Peter’s return, right up until he started talking. “They were saying something about being glad they didn’t have to go all the way to the harbor...something about wanting you handy, though they weren’t helpful enough to clarify what they meant by that,” he muttered dryly. “How are you two holding up?”

He felt Jack move, and looked back over his shoulder, more to listen than to see. "Wait,” he hissed, “my hands are tied too, can you--" Sammy froze. There was a sound, but it wasn't coming from Jack... A voice, or something like a voice. But... it didn't sound right... Even in complete darkness, somehow, he knew, it was nobody else with them. It didn't sound like a thing in that space should sound, it wasn't real, and he curled in on himself, desperately trying to unfocus from what he knew would rise out of the silence. "Stop!" he yelled, half just to cover it up, "Stop, sTOP, SHUT UP!!"

"Sam-!?" Jack jumped at the outburst, shifting away on reflex. "What's- are you okay, what's wrong?"

The man's shouts seemed deafening in the enclosed area, bouncing off the walls and making him all too aware of the confined space they were trapped in, in a way he couldn't tell before in the dark - immediately too small, suffocating.

Suddenly panicked, he pressed himself back up against Sammy, trying to calm his breathing. None of the words in his head were right, nothing reassuring he could say that wasn't a comforting lie. But he held himself close against Sammy anyway, and hoped that might help.

"What happened?" Peter exclaimed, unnerved by the sudden, panicked shouting. What had he missed? Was someone hurt? Had something else gone wrong...?

Even out of his body, Peter felt a cold jolt. In the dark, it was suddenly all too easy to imagine something horrible had taken place, was in the process of taking place. He was acutely aware that, as he was, he couldn’t see or even feel to tell what it might be. He couldn’t do a damn thing.

“Jack, what’s happening?!” he said more urgently.

When Jack leaned against him, Sammy immediately responded in kind, burying his head against Jack's chest as if he could hide there, unable to cover his ears or block out sound any other way, and muttering a long stream of "shut up," "go away," and "I don't want to hear it"s into the other man's shirt.

He paused for breath and that whisper of a voice drifted in and out again in the quiet, still sounding horribly unreal, but... he could pinpoint it. He could tell where the speaker should be standing.

"Do you hear it?" he asked, hushed and frantic, suddenly unsure if the sound was only in his own head.

Hear it? Whatever it was, it must be something bad, to affect Sammy like this... But, Jack hadn't heard anything different, just driving noises and the two of them and...

"...Pete? He- Pete was talking, maybe you-" He paused, unsure. Why would Sammy be able to hear Pete? He'd never been able to before, but- it was the only thing he could think of, unless it was something... worse.

"Pete," Jack turned his head towards the direction the man had been, "Maybe it's- Could you... say something? Doesn't matter what. I think he can- maybe he..." He stumbled over his words, the panic at the back of his mind scrambling his thoughts. He pressed closer to Sammy.

“Me?” Pete’s voice answered from the darkness, uncertain. Could that... really be all it was? “Usually you’re the exception, Jack, but...are you hearing me, Lawrence?”

Sammy fell quiet to listen as Jack speculated. There wasn't any music behind his words, not like when Joey had stepped in to muffle his dream behind a safe apartment and a warm bed, and the discordant layers of notes under his lover's familiar voice had never fully died out. There wasn't anything like that here. They didn't have to keep talking and singing to smother it.

Easy enough to say. But Jack, uncharacteristically scattered, wanted him to try to hear Pete, who was apparently here in the car with them. That... made sense... Sammy's breathing was short and shallow and he hadn't moved from where he'd curled himself up against Jack. Just stay quiet and listen. Come on, Sammy, it's not that hard. His whole body was tense, his eyes shut, like that would help somehow.

"...are you hearing me, Lawrence..."

He blinked. That unreal voice… was a voice, after all. "...yes." He frowned, looking up, catching his breath. "Yes! Why can I hear you?!" he snapped, suddenly irritated. "What did... there's some kind of ink in the cut, my arm feels numb... and now the songs of the Yellow King find me in my dreams, and now I can hear ghosts... what are they doing to me...?" Had his hand felt numb like this when Henry was the host...? It was hard to remember... trying to think of Henry's marked hand as "his" during that stretch of doubled memories was confusing enough on its own.

"Oh- uh. That doesn't... sound good." Jack hadn't thought- the injury they gave Sammy was pretty nasty, but he hadn't considered that it might be more than just a normal injury... If it was something worse...

He wasn't sure what he could do in that case. Maybe- Henry might be able to do something. Or Joey. If- when they got out of here. They'd know better than he would. They had to, right...?

He fell silent again, not sure what he could say that would make any sense, or any difference. He was woefully underprepared for any of this. Hah, as if ‘being kidnapped by cultists’ was something someone should be prepared for.

Certainly not normal animation studio musicians.

“It wasn’t anything I did, far as I know,” Peter replied with a frown. Though it would sure be handy if he could be heard or seen when he wanted to be. Could he do that? Generally it had only been Jack, but then again, back when this had started, he and Jack hadn’t been able to see each other either... The first clear glimpse he’d gotten of Jack had been after Pete got clipped in the head in that warehouse on the way to his own kidnapping...

Perhaps it was a reaction to the stress of their situation, but Peter huffed a laugh despite himself. If getting kidnapped by a cult was what it took, he couldn’t say he was in a hurry to keep replicating it.

Though then again, maybe that wasn’t the only commonality...

Hm. Something to think about later. For now he said, “Lawrence, your arm, is it getting worse? If not, let’s leave that until we get you two out. You were talking about getting loose when I came in, how’s that going?”

Sammy shook his head, despite the fact that this didn't benefit anyone else, and the world seemed to rock woozily when he did. "I can't tell a difference," he added, wincing.

"Right." The way Pete's voice faded in and out was still unnerving, but he could focus on it now, at least; it was a sound, a real sound. His heart was still hammering, apparently having missed the memo that he was done panicking, as he sat up and shifted, a little slowly, back facing Jack again so the other man could get to his hands, and maybe, loosen, something? He wasn't hopeful...there was absolutely no slack in the rope when Sammy tried tugging on them himself.

It took Jack a while to even find Sammy's hands, with the lack of visuals. Even then, he struggled to get much purchase on the ropes. They really had tied the other man tighter than him - worse than he'd realised. And... he'd not been thinking of it before, but now that it had been brought up again, he was nervous about injuring Sammy's arm more.

He continued fruitlessly for a while, not wanting to give up that easily. But... He stopped as the vehicle they were in pulled to a stop - fully this time, it seemed, as the sound of the engine disappeared, leaving the area even more quiet than it had been before.

When the sound of the engine dropped out Sammy perked up, immediately alert. "It stopped. Where are we?"

“I’ll check,” Pete said.

And assumedly did, though there was no sound to tell for sure.

Jack pulled away, shooting a (completely imperceptible) apologetic look Sammy's way.

"Sorry, Sam," he whispered, suddenly feeling far too loud in the silence. "I'll... try something, later. If we can..."

The light when it finally came was blinding, catching on the metal floor and parts of the walls, though most of them were paneled with something white. The now open door - once their eyes adjusted well enough to make sense of it - looked very thick, with the same white panels, almost...reminiscent of a refrigerator. By the sounds now pouring in on a wave of fresh air, they were somewhere inside...a garage? A well lit one then; the glare outside was still too bright to make out details, though it made the contrast all the stronger when a large silhouette stepped deliberately up to the opening, the slow turn to face them punctuated by the sharp clack of a cane.

“So…” a low and measured voice said, “I hear you two are composers…”

Sammy cringed and whined at the sudden light as if it were physically painful, just too much all at once, before gritting his teeth with a huff and pulling himself together, at least enough to squint into the light and see what was coming for them.

Composers...? Sammy blinked, surprised. A stupid little spark of hope lit inside for just a moment, the idea that maybe all these supernaturally warped gangsters wanted out of him was a song. Still, it was… a strange thing to kidnap someone for. It didn't make any sense.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously up at the shadow of a figure he couldn't make out, not quite ready to pull himself to his feet.

"...Sure."

Chapter Text

As the Prophet calls upon the Masked Messenger with an intensity unequaled by anything he’s achieved before…Henry has a vision. He sees himself in Dr. Northeast's house in Haiti, back when they were in the process of summoning the Messenger. Except everyone else is strangely faded and frozen....everything is hard to focus on, understanding of the room and his surroundings coming only in flashes…

Until the Masked Messenger just steps right out of the containing circle as if it were nothing, putting an arm around Henry's shoulders to say, So… what you want is your family, hmm?

The arm around his shoulders is a mix of feeling not really there and just WAY TOO THERE, as if just that light contact was threatening to crush him in some way, and Henry is too shaken in the moment to say anything in response.

The Messenger lets go a moment later to face Henry with his Wrong Bendy Mask, and chidingly waves a finger in Henry's face. But then again...you are a part of two families, aren't you...? You're trying to have it both ways, Henry. He reaches out towards Henry again, slowly musing, I wonder...what would it take to tear you between them? How long would you be willing to go without both for the sake of not losing either...? And then he shoves Henry in the chest, knocking the breath clear out of him as he's snapped back to reality.

He still hears the fading words, Perhaps someday we can find out.

Chapter Text

“So, how about you fill me in on what you did to piss off my mom?” the newcomer said curiously, leading the way away from the Savoy household and the confused policeman. He had an easy energy and a glint in his eye, as well as the kind of lackadaisical polish to his dress that was much easier to achieve with a lot of money. It would be easy to take him for someone who had never encountered a day of work in his life, though...on closer inspection a few things didn’t quite match up with that presentation. There were callouses there on his hands if one was looking, as well as some lingering dark smudges caught around a few of his fingernails.

“To be fair, she started it, by pissing me off first,” Joey hummed, offering his hand out to shake with the other well dressed fella. “You’re part of the Savoy family then, how close are you to your sister?” He continued, while also trying to replay the previous ten minutes in an attempt to remember if this man had walked out of the house or came from somewhere else…

Yes, Joey was pretty sure he’d come from the grounds of the expansive estate behind them. “Sure am,” the jaunty youth replied, shaking Joey’s hand with a firm energy. “Timothee Savoy! And yeah, that sounds like my mom; she, uh, doesn’t bend very easy on things once she’s set. My sister and I are pretty close, sure! You fellas friends of Nichole?”

“Not directly, but a friend of ours is. How much do you know of your sister’s friends, Colette and Susie?” Joey paused to watch the reactions on the other’s face, but immediately tacked on, “How much are you aware of their recent outings and whereabouts?”

“Well, I know Nichole’s been plenty huffy about Colette’s beau,” Timothee chuckled, showing only affectionate amusement on his face. “But otherwise? They’re close friends, been thick as thieves for years.”

At the following questions he tilted his head curiously, looking the two of them over again, especially Henry. “A friend of a friend, you said? Say, you aren’t PIs, are you? I might not be as stuffy about it as my folks, but you gotta know I’m not gonna tell you anything to cause my sister trouble, right? And she’s said plenty of nice things about Colette’s guy too, I think she just doesn’t like the idea Colette might move out if they get serious.”

"Haha, no, no, but I know some of those have been skulking around recently as well." Joey casually did not mention that he was friends with one such reporter type, but he did think about it. Jack would be upset if something happened to him…

"We're just concerned friends. We've lost contact with Susie but have discovered in searching for her that the three of them might be in over their heads. Apparently your mother doesn't think so but… it feels more like a matter of pride. Nobody likes to admit when something has gone wrong…"

Timothee winced a little. "Yeah… Yeah that's the truth." Though he then looked between them, the beginnings of concern on his face. "But what do you mean? How in over their heads are we talking, here?"

"That's what I was trying to find out tonight. But since mother dear is uncooperative, it's hard to say. I know there's a least some kind of mafia cult tangle going on I'm not too pleased about… and I'd rather make it to the three before they do."

Joey lifted a finger to his chin, tapping as he looked the other over again. "How privy are you to your sister's, and also I assume your mother's, unique… hobbies?"

They both caught the slight wince and eye roll to the side that answered Joey's question even before Timothee replied. "Oh, they've got a fair few! But uh, I know about their 'gardening', if that's what you mean." The way his fingers waggled as he said it suggested he'd been only a hair's breadth away from making outright air quotes.

"Have you noticed that things have been odd since Friday? Especially with musicians, dancers, and vocalists?" This time, Joey didn't wait for a reply. "Your sister and her friends are messing with things that may seem harmless, but has already been hurting vast swatches of this wonderful city we live in. The longer this goes on, the more eyes are on them, and I have no idea what damage is done to themselves meanwhile. Your mother thinks it's fine because her specific corner isn't being harmed, but."

He gestures to the nice way Timothee is dressed, "I'm sure you can understand how unfun of a time it would be if everything around you was dead, even if you were sitting pretty. You don't look like a fella who stays cooped up in his solarium."

Timothee's concerned look turned to straight-up alarm as Joey continued. "Dead?? Look, I dunno what my sister's gotten into this time, but have you been to her place? She wouldn't want to get anyone hurt, just tell her to knock wherever it is off if it's that dangerous!"

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of them, but it hasn’t been that easy. Also, like I said, there’s a mafia-cult wandering about that has already been getting in our way. Our friend hasn’t been to work or her own home since all of this started, so we’re running out of strings to pull, not to mention getting more and more concerned.” Joey gestured towards the house, perhaps a bit more dramatic than needed. “I’m sure they don’t want to be hurting others too, but your mother doesn’t care about that over her own pride. So now we’re here.”

Joey stepped forward, invading Timothee’s space some, but not in an assertive way. Somehow he managed to make the sweeping motion into something more like an old friend about to give advice. “You do care though, I can tell,” He reached forwards and grabbed the other’s hand, running a finger over the callouses. “And a good work ethic too. Surely you’re willing to assist in making sure your sister and her friends are safe and sound, that everything is restored to how it should be.”

Joey was attempting to make this a touching scene in some movie, some key point before the action starts building again to the climax. Where people had the clear change of heart in a good direction, where a master plan was finally hatched, where they’d start towards the ending they truly deserved. All they needed was Timothee on their side, and because of this scene, he was sure to say yes.

It was clear to both of them how much of a chord it seemed to hit every time Joey mentioned Lady Savoy’s troublesome pride. Timothee was already looking torn even before Joey swooped in and grabbed his hand. “Sure I care, but…” At the mention of his work ethic however he snatched his hand away, flashing Joey a look somewhere between awe and alarm. “How’d you…how’d you know about my shop?” he said, his carefree tone from before falling to something startled and off-balance.

“Your shop? When did I say anything about that. Though colour me even more impressed than before, quite a feat to have a shop at your age. No, I simply was observing the one thing that gives everyone away.” Joey held up his fingers, wiggling them slightly, vaguely remembering seeing someone else do that once and thinking it was good for adding flavour in this moment. “Your hands.”

He swooped in again, wrapping his right arm around Timothee’s shoulders and leading him closer to Henry while giving a few encouraging and calm, ‘C’mere’s, like an old mentor about to reveal the secrets to his life’s work. With his other hand, he picked up Henry’s right hand gently and showed it to the younger man. “Ink stains, some dried around the fingertips, and look,” He flipped over his artist's hand, carefully so as to not pull it so much from the sleeve that any scars could be visible. “Callouses, ones we both share,” he continued, opening his left hand to show off the matching set on his own fingers. While Henry’s were thicker, they were indeed in the same places, as the two used the same pens and ink to draw or write notes on pages. If Joey pressed his left hand to Henry’s right, they’d match up perfectly… a detail he perhaps took too much pride in.

“These are the marks of animators. Whenever I go to work with anyone, I always look at their hands first. You can tell a lot about someone by their hands… they tell you what the person has done, where they have been. A hand can tell you a good work ethic from a bad one.”

Joey gave a knowing smile, like he had perfectly passed along all this information and the scene was still unfolding as planned.

Henry had found himself paying less attention to the exchange happening before him and more to how Joey was acting. He had always been a little more dramatic around strangers he wanted to impress, but something about this almost seemed.. scripted. Like he was trying to imitate a scene from a movie or something. This wasn’t the first time Henry had noticed this either, in the past couple days.

He started somewhat when Joey dragged Timothee towards him and grabbed his hand, demonstrating how it showed signs of animating. After he felt Joey had made enough of a point, he withdrew his hand and cast Joey a quick look, one he would likely recognize: we're going to talk later.

Joey gave him a quick squinting glance back, though turned his attention to Timothee again within seconds as to not let his mask be seen.

Timothee let himself be led along, and watched the demonstration with wide eyes, not catching Henry’s concerned looks. “Animators? Like cartoons? I’d’ve sworn you were detectives,” he exclaimed, though he seemed to be recovering from his initial shock. He looked Joey in the eye again. “You’re right though, in any case. I’m...I’m a craftsman, and a pretty good one too, even if it’s me saying it. My, uh, folks don’t know, though.” he sighed, gesturing to the side. “They don’t care what we do as long as it’s not ‘embarrassing’. Playing with dangerous spells? Fine, as long as no-one can prove it. Nichole only caught grief for getting seen being taken to a hospital. But me? I’d rather she just didn’t end up there at all...”

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded at Joey, holding out his hand to shake. “Okay, Mr. Animator...if you find her or need any help just let me know, and I’ll come running. And say.. if there’s crooks dabbling in magic threatening Nichole and her friends, well, for starters I bet I could give you some things to even the odds at least.” And the half smile on his face was one easily recognizable by anyone who spent time around JDS: it was the smile of someone confident in their own work.

“Joey Drew,” he replied with the same amount of confidence, taking the hand to shake firmly, while quickly offering a business card he flicked out of his coat pocket at some point. “And this is Henry Stein. We’re the founders and creators of the Bendy cartoons.” He pointed quickly at his lapel pin once he had a hand to do so.

“Please, keep me up to date with anything you come across yourself. I’m glad to know there’s at least one reasonable Savoy in town.”

Chapter Text

The radio was still low from when Jack had been sharing his findings and they had been discussing their next move. Neither of them wanted to turn it off, but they'd had to make it VERY quiet before they could reasonably have a conversation without getting distracted.

That was fine; Jack was chatting attentively enough, even though he still seemed groggy from re-entering his body... maybe it felt to Jack like Ink felt to him, like shaking off the dreams of something different from sleep.

But after Sammy had offered to drive, and they'd switched places, Jack went quiet as he shifted into gear and started down the road. Sammy tapped his fingers nervously against the wheel. There was… he could swear, a different soft song, in the back of his mind, and he badly wanted Jack’s voice back again.

"Are you sleepy,” he blurted out suddenly, without preamble or explanation. “When you come back."

It hadn't taken long for Jack's thoughts to drift off, once Sammy had started driving. It was... nice, in a way, to be able to sit and relax - or as close as he could get, anyway. Between his current fixations on writing and everything else that was happening, it wasn't easy to clear his mind, but the mental fog that came with leaving his body managed to mask that.

He startled once Sammy spoke up again, pulling his gaze away from the streets outside the window and shaking himself awake a little.

"It's, uh..." Hm. He knew the feeling, but not quite how to put it into words. "Sorta? Not quite sleepy but... Like when you wake up too soon and everything's kinda fuzzy. Things don't feel entirely real."

It was easier to deal with now than it had been before. At least, he hoped so. It was easier for him to ground himself these days - at least, he didn't quite need to hold onto walls like he had before, to remind himself that he was physically here. Lately, he'd been more prone than usual to leaving his body accidentally, thinking he was awake when he wasn’t. But... he didn't need to worry Sammy with that.

"Gets easier to deal with the more I do it, I think. Doesn't help that it's hard to sleep lately, though." He laughed a little, quietly - more to fill the space after the sentence than at anything actually funny.

Sammy nodded at the answer, not taking his eyes off the road. "You, too," he asked, though it didn't have the inflection of a question. "Even when I drift off, it doesn't feel like I slept. ...Can't imagine why, with such a relaxing weekend," he sneered.

"Hah, yeah. Not exactly great for resting, when half of you is worried and the other half wants to be writing." Jack sighed, resigned. He hadn't missed the pressure of having to stop occult disasters, and everything else wasn't helping matters.

"...Was kind of hoping that we'd be done with this stuff after last time honestly.” His voice got quieter, more hesitant. "But it's not that simple, huh.”

Sammy let out a little huff of a sigh. He'd felt the same after Haiti... hoping that, despite all they'd seen, with Bendy in the studio, they could be safe.

"I'm not sure I can be done with it, with half of me so eager to be involved." His voice was quiet, too, and it didn't come out with the bite he intended; less a complaint about his other self and more a frightened confession.

He threw his attention too quickly back to the road, gaze flicking over to look for an opening to shove his way into the next lane. After a long moment, he spoke up again.

"He's not... making the choice, to write on the walls, by the way." Eyes flitted over to Jack, then back to the road. "The Prophet."

"He's not?" Jack wasn't sure what to make of this. He'd assumed that the Prophet was just... like that, but it... did explain some things about the way the Prophet's last showing had gone. The concept didn't sit right with him, though - the foggy memory of the yellow sign's influence on him lurked at the back of his mind. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

He paused for a moment as another thought hit him.

"How can you tell? You usually don't remember much of the Prophet's, uh… ‘visits’." Had he missed something happening? He tried to suppress the slight guilt that came with that thought. Maybe he’d just forgotten. It was hard to tell, at this point.

"Not usually." Sammy threw up a hand with a bit of exasperation. "I avoid it. But... the writing on the wall jogged my memory."

He frowned, thoughtful, gesturing slightly with the hand that wasn't resting on the wheel as he tried to pinpoint exactly what had happened instead. "I was angry the first time; he wrote to me on paper until the end, and then made a mess of it. But this time, I could remember... understanding filled him and poured out of him, like it was too much to carry..."

Sammy abruptly shook his head, shaking himself out of the thought, trying not to focus too closely. "I’m not sure I can describe it," he said, more shortly. "The memory feels… inspired," he pronounced the word like an unpleasant flavour, “but we were overwhelmed. I think he knew he was recording it, but it was barely a conscious thought.”

"Oh," Jack raised his eyebrows, "That, uh... hm. Might explain a few things. The Prophet can be a lot, but that time was... different." It was Jack's turn to gesture this time, trying to fill the space while he gathered his thoughts. He wasn't sure how to describe it, but...

"I could... feel it, somehow. The whole room felt different."

Sammy winced a little at that.

"Bendy said the same, last time it happened. He's calling the Masked Messenger, and..." Deep breath, Sammy. "...and the Messenger hears him. His visions and prophecies aren't magic. They're," -- a facetiously grand flourish with his free hand -- "word from his Lord."

“Do you… think that’s what’s happening with Susie too, then…?” Jack toyed with the edges of his shirt sleeves, needing something to do with his hands - the urge to get distracted with writing was back again, now that he was waking up more.

“No, I think she’s possessed. Like Henry was, or the spirit we met in Haiti who put us back in our bodies. She— wait,” he growled, glancing over his shoulder before abruptly laying on the horn and swerving over just in time to make the next turn.

“Ugh. The notes she ‘borrowed,’” he continued, as if this were a normal interruption, twitching air quotes with one hand, “ were meant to summon that spirit, so, if they aren’t complete idiots, there won’t be any gods involved.” He hoped, anyway. The Yellow King’s cult hadn’t found them, so... she wasn’t the avatar of anything yet, right? They could still stop it.

“And... I’m not sure we could undo that.”

Jack hadn’t been expecting the car to turn so suddenly - in honesty, he’d almost forgotten about the drive in general with the current conversation on his mind. Still recovering from the surprise, it took him a moment to process what Sammy had said properly. His eyes widened.

“Wait, you don’t think- You can’t undo- you and…” He trailed off, slowly realising that this might be a rough topic he should be handling more delicately, and maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up, and… but, well. He’d already tripped this far into it. He spoke up again, softer this time.

“Surely there’s… got to be something you can do, right…?”

Sammy shot a glance at Jack, eyes narrowed, before registering the obvious concern on his partner's face. His own mind had been caught on Susie, on the possibility that she could end up like Fowler -- but... Jack was worried about him. He frowned, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

"My situation is... strange," he said slowly. "According to Bendy, my soul was split in two when I drowned. Half of... me, followed Henry and possessed him, thinking I was still alive. The other half... the Masked Messenger made into the Prophet. I have both pieces now, but..."

Sammy fell quiet for a long moment. But, how do you put them together, and... what comes out? Is he still the Masked Messenger's prophet, in the end? How do you... escape...? It was too big to put into words.

"...we both want to try; we had hoped to ask the same spirit for advice." He huffed. "If we survive all of this without losing our minds, maybe we will."

Jack really should get the full story at some point. They'd been trying to protect him, but... juggling all these pieces blind wasn't any better.

"Hmm," Jack didn't respond immediately, taking some time to pick his words more carefully this time.

"Well," he eventually settled on, "It sounds like a good plan. And I'd be happy to stick around with you then, if you need- I mean, hah, it's not like I'd be much help but, you know..." He sighed, sinking back against his seat.

"I'd like to help, if I can. If we manage to sort this whole mess out. ...When we sort it out," he corrected himself. "You said that she was probably possessed? If you've dealt with that before, then..." There should be something they could try, if it was familiar territory. “...We just have to find her.”

Sammy sighed as well, staring out onto the road, a long exhale as his shoulders untensed, just a little. He'd wanted so badly not to drag Jack into this, too... but he had to admit, having Jack with them would be a relief. Everything about the Prophet and the Prophet's awful god was tangled up in so many different fears he wouldn't have the first idea how to even voice them -- but he didn't need to, right now. Jack was ready to get on the same page, no questions asked.

Just have to find her.

"Right," Sammy nodded, determined. "Almost there."

Chapter Text

Joey had ended up being silent for most of the trip back to Sammy’s place. It was unnatural of him, but not in the sullen way he had been back in New Orleans. He was still clearly thinking of things, trying to work out problems, just didn’t have the energy to be entertaining while doing so at midnight. Quiet was probably better, considering their circumstances of needing to keep their heads down.

It was even stranger as Sammy found himself uneasily trying to find a topic that would start Joey up. Ordinarily he'd be tripping over a speech by accident, but now, a couple of attempts in, nothing seemed to take for long, and Sammy had no idea how to smoothly pry conversation out of the man without anything specifically to demand.

What was he even trying to do? Getting Joey to talk about work wouldn't... do anything. Sammy fell quiet, arms folded and shoulders hunched, trying to imagine the silence in the car was pleasant, that the ambiance of the street outside wasn't fading away. It felt suffocating.

Once the front door was closed though, Joey instantly shedded his coat and hat, followed by his jacket and shoes. There was a slight attempt made to get them hung up, but if that didn’t work the first time, he merely made sure they were out of the walkway before heading towards the closest empty seat in the living area. The only empty seat.

“What… happened when you tried to do the spell,” Joey immediately went into, though his voice was strained, attempting to hide the exhaustion or pain he was struggling with. There was a long pause as he sat down and caught his breath.

“... What happened was just what had happened to me every time. You got thrown and Henry managed to catch you, but after…”

Sammy frowned as Joey made a half-hearted attempt to sort of shrug his clothes in the direction of being hung up, but stepped quickly after him as he walked inside, settling for leaning up against the arm of the chair next to him instead of actually moving a banjo case over so that he could sit down. He gave a small nod, expression unreadable and focused, not taking his eyes off Joey.

“... You were talking like Prophet, but not in the same… way. It wasn’t fully him, you hadn’t come into contact with any ink, your eyes didn’t look like his. They were… yours. But you were not there, and I…”

Joey had already said it once, which made it even harder to say a second time. The more you talk about these kinds of things, the more they’re bound to happen. Someone mentions failure and people start to imagine all the ways it could happen, a step in that direction and all momentum and motivation is lost.

You talk about death, and the next thing you know…

Breathing was hard. It’d been difficult for a while. He didn’t want to talk about that either.

“You were still talking though, saying something about seeing an angel and a spirit, separated. Then you went quiet. If I had managed to cause your death by my hand again, at least I’d figure out how to reverse it, get some information out of it, make sure that…”

Joey gritted his teeth and unclenched his fist.

Sammy shook his head. "I don't remember that," he said firmly, as Joey for once took responsibility for something Sammy had wanted to do, as he tried to insist that he had a plan even if the musician were dead. It’s a bit late for plans at that point. "I certainly don't feel dead. I must've blacked out. Maybe he just..." He trailed off, uneasy. That didn't make any sense. If the Prophet could just show up any time Sammy wasn't conscious, they'd have seen a lot more of him lately.

He quickly tapped each finger against his thumb -- one, two, three, four -- a small fidget he hadn't done in a long time, as he glanced around the room.

“Do you remember anything else he said? Did he do anything?”

“No... just mumbled about the spirit or something, and while I was trying to get anything useful, you gained consciousness again. There wasn’t any passing out between either like usual, you just became aware.”

Joey’s eyes flickered over to Sammy’s hands when he started moving them, trying to replay the moment in his head, trying to remember if possibly he had caught any movements, anything else that could prove something about the headspace Sammy had been in.

“Not doing anything was the weird part… That’s why I didn’t think it was the Prophet, because usually he leaps to action so quickly. But instead he just… you just… stood there.”

Joey suddenly leaned back into the seat, hand going to head to angrily ruffle his own hair. “We’re trying to finish a damn cartoon here and now this is on my plate? I don’t have time for these distractions.”

“Huh,” Sammy said, without much change in expression. He didn’t know why it had happened. Joey didn’t know why it had happened. But nothing seemed different, other than the burn that lingered in his chest, the energy of a spell coursed wrong.

He didn’t remember that, either, but he remembered being braced for it; feeling an energy terrifyingly larger than the little zap of power in the only spell he knew. He’d felt it breach something in him and threaten to tear through him, he’d done his best not to flinch, to shove his way through it — and then he was waking up in Joey’s horrified arms.

To be honest, it had left him with more adrenaline than fear... Sammy leaned off the chair to go click the radio on, though he didn’t search for music right away, just letting the quiet voices of some evening news drone in the background, staring into the radio as if he were listening.

“All I know,” he said, “is that I found her. I touched her dream.” His words were careful and slow. “I made it through, for a moment.”

Joey’s eyes snapped back up for a moment, and he stared. The piercing gold of his one eye… the void like blackness of the other… Neither natural, and while they didn’t glow like Henry’s, there was always an extra level of strangeness to them after he did magic.

“Are you… sure? Are you sure it was her?”

"Of course I'm sure-" Sammy started to snap, but his voice died as his eyes met Joey's, and there was a small, frustrated shift in his expression before he turned back to the radio. "...I was sure I knew why I wanted to hire Allison, too," he growled. "So I don't know. But it was her. It felt like her."

Joey nodded, tapping his fingers against the arm rest for a moment before looking over at Sammy once more.

“Was it… only her? There had been talk of… two. Which would fit our description, but I couldn’t figure out if one was Susie, or if…” Joey’s finger taps sped up. They were not musical, they were just a frustration as he tried to figure this out with minimal information. The more he was thinking about it though, the more he struggled to… the moment he had experienced just kept welling back up in his throat, and becoming more and more impossible to swallow down, despite the fact Sammy was right there in front of him.

“I could feel something... powerful. I assume that’s what kicked me out, but I don’t remember that part.” The drumming of Joey’s fingers was oddly distracting; felt like it should be a rhythm even though it obviously wasn’t.

He could try to remember. If he could recall more about how that energy felt, at least...

Joey stayed quiet for a long moment, though whether the man was thinking or... ruminating... he couldn’t tell. Sammy finally stepped back from the radio, though, and carefully pulled down one of the banjos that sat comfortably in the chairs throughout his apartment, pondering for a moment before setting it down again to click the case open and take out the instrument.

So apparently neither of the… Sammys had an idea of exactly what they had run into. But they had gotten through that first barrier, and then there was another. Another that, even with the assistance of Henry and Joey behind him, he fell to. So what did this mean?

Obvious answer, this wasn’t the way. This isn’t supposed to be successful, this is just another failure point to push them towards the true answer, build up to something more. Either another way, or another part of the equation that would allow them through.

Or… Sammy was to be the sacrifice, open up the build up to the climax by risking everything to complete this objective. And he kept pushing for that… Was it really the answer? Was Joey supposed to sacrifice him to finish the story?

It’d be dramatic.

It’d be unpredictable.

It’d be a glorious way to go out.

Joey wondered how often characters in other media felt put out by the endings to their own stories. He didn’t want this.

He finally finished staring into space as Sammy picked up the instrument, watching his lover’s hands carefully, welcoming a distraction from all this. Welcoming a reason to know that Sammy was not the sacrifice the story was begging for.

Sammy flopped into the chair and began to strum, idly at first, like he just wanted something to do with his hands.

It was something.

He couldn't remember, he couldn't cast the spell himself, he couldn't tell if he'd been mind-controlled, he couldn't contain the Prophet, he couldn't reach Susie, he couldn't even figure out how to find her. But he could play. It was the only thing.

Everything that he couldn't do poured into his hands and his fingers and vibrated through the strings into a song that was intense and driving, upbeat as any song he ever played. It was something new, and it came so easily, and he leaned into feeling so confident, finally, about something.

Joey eventually started to relax in some ways as he let the music take over him, and tense in other ways. His foot tapped along with the invisible percussion, actually on beat this time, head filled with thoughts of dance and cartoons. Little jigs that would be stuck in people’s heads for days, if only they got to experience this in such a theatre.

He needed to write it down.

The storyteller sat up, looking around for paper almost frantically, before remembering where Sammy kept his stash. He moved to stand up.

…

He moved to stand up?

Joey breathed in hard, and he moved to stand up, though staggered as he got to his full height and caught himself on the arm of the seat.

He was just… tired, from last night. From all that’s been happening. He needed to go write down these thoughts before they fled him, before Sammy finished his song and the cartoon sank back into the abyss, before the reel ran out in Joey’s mind. He managed to walk towards the desk he was looking for, but one foot just felt a lot heavier than the other.