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Henry stopped counting the loops after he hit the 50th. This was an endless cycle and he knew now that escape was a pipe dream. Pun intended. Puns were an unlikely thing he’d found himself thinking of more recently. Anything to keep himself entertained in this sepia toned nightmare. The repetition was scarier than the monsters these days. And it was on such a day, Henry decided he’d try something different.
Sure, he’d tried talking to them all before. Very little of it seemed to ever get through to any of them. Buddy Boris seemed to remember a thing or two about his former life via their talks about the studio, but that was about it. This kind of talking would be different though. If Henry was essentially deathless, and evidence was backing that point, why not abuse that power a little? Was giving the ink beings a piece of his mind stupid? Absolutely, yes. But was Henry about to lose it from not seeing anything new in what felt like months? A very strong yes.
The idea started when he passed the door into the studio again, finally free of the spell that made him walk in here from Joey’s apartment every time without fail. So what if he died? At least he’d come right back and be able to continue his rant. Henry was usually known to be a calm, level headed man that held his tongue even at the worst of times. Think it was safe to say being trapped in your former business partner’s basement with demons of his creation in the likeness of your creations was worse than the worst of times, though.
He would not be holding back on these creatures as they had not held back on him. They’d bear the full brunt of his emotional trauma come hell or high water.
Henry grabbed and placed the objects on the altars in record time. He also made sure to grab an extra ink bottle while he was at it. From his many times in the loop, he knew that approaching the boarded up ink machine would get Bendy to show up. So he didn’t. He stayed at the end of the hall and threw the ink bottle at the boards. It shattered immediately, the inky tendrils of Bendy coming but not as quickly as normal.
“I hate seeing what Joey did to you, Bendy.” The mix of pain and anger thrumming through Henry’s being made him shake. “I hate that you never get to see anything but rage and neglect. It’s not your fault!” The ink was getting thicker now, curling around Henry’s ankles as he kept going.
“It’s our fault; mine and Joey’s. I made you and he put you through this. You have every right to be mad and I just hope you know I’m sorry! Sorry I couldn’t stay because the wife wanted to move to California. Sorry that I left you to Joey.” The boards broke as the ink demon beat against them. Henry didn’t even flinch when he died. It was expected, and he managed to get a bit off his chest. The animator woke up in the altar room. And right back he went.
Gurgling was already coming from the place behind the boards where Bendy was. The ink bottle wasn't needed this time.
"You weren't meant to be so much more and it's my fault you're a disappointment. You shouldn't suffer for my sins. If I could, I'd put you out of your misery so you could finally know some kind of peace." The ink demon was getting close to breaking through again as Henry smiled. "I wish I could do so much more for you, son."
For the second time, Henry woke up in the altar room. This time completing this section of the loop as usual. He’d said all he needed to to Bendy. Sammy might be a bit of a challenge.
Henry had a bit of a secret. The world had come a long way since he’d known Sammy Lawrence, back in 1929. It was a good thing too. If this hell wasn’t where he’d re-met Sammy, he’d be tempted to ask if his dance card was full. He never told anyone the real reason he left for California. Now might be the day that he did.
After getting up off the floor where he usually passed out, Henry got to work. Played Sammy’s audio tape and listened for the footsteps.
Sammy’s usual “I said; can I get an amen?” sounded around him. Henry felt a bit guilty that Sammy’s voice still warmed him up a bit. It was a bittersweet feeling.
“Sammy! I know you’re there! Will you quit the disappearing act and just come out so we can talk?” Despite his invitation, Henry kept his grip on the ax tight. He didn’t know how the ink man would interpret what he’d said, after all. When no response came, Henry wandered around a bit. “Fine then, I’ll talk and you just listen.” Listening or not, Henry was going to say his piece. These words were things he planned on taking to his grave. Now that he was in it, what better time to let them out?
“You know, I used to love coming down here on my breaks to see you work. You could really tell how much you loved your music. Every instrument had to be perfectly written for, perfectly tuned and perfectly played or you wouldn’t hear of it,” No one responded though Henry knew better; there was always an audience in this place.
“I bought an old Bendy record a few years back at a new shop in town. Can you believe they called it vintage? Playing it brought so many memories. I didn’t know how much I missed your music until I heard it again. You were so talented, Sammy.” A creak came from somewhere down the hall. Henry gave the sound a sad smile. At least he knew his words had an impact on more than just himself. That or this place was falling apart more than usual.
“Out of everyone, I missed you the most. As if that wasn’t obvious.” His feet carried him into the recording studio and over to the banjo that sat pressed against the wall. Couldn’t play it worth a damn, not like his teacher. Instrument now in his clutches, Henry played a few notes. The instrument was a bit out of tune and Henry wasn’t the best. The notes did not fall on deaf ears. They knew who they were being played for.
“Do you remember teaching me? To this day that was one of the best days of my life. You even cracked a smile, can you imagine?! I only ever learned a few notes, since we only had one impromptu lesson. Couldn’t pick music back up without you. It just wouldn’t be the same.” Henry sighed, strumming the instrument again. “I guess nothings the same here, save for what happens.”
In the dark of the projection booth, something stirred. A small shadow of movement that made Henry smile. That warmth wouldn’t leave either. It reminded him of what the sun Sammy was missing felt like. Henry kept going.
“Sometimes I’d stay later than I wanted to just to take breaks when you did,” the banjo took its spot on the floor again. “I know I’d never say much but that was the point; I liked to listen. It made me happy to be the person you could come to when you were stressed.” Henry left the recording studio after that, flipping the usual switches. Picking Wally’s keys up out of the trash he smiled again. That was another fond memory.
“Do you remember how often Wally would lose his keys? You’d go absolutely ballistic on the guy every time but he never learned.” Henry shook his head as he pocketed the keys. For all of his ‘I’m outta here’s’ Wally took being yelled at pretty well. And from Sammy ‘two seconds away from snapping like a twig’ Lawrence, no less.
With the closet now open Henry got the new ‘song’ Sammy requested to be played to enter his sanctuary. He sighed a bit sadly. Their time was coming to an end soon.
“Do you think it’s funny that you’re the musician but I’m the one playing you something?” Of course there was no response but Henry smiled anyway. He thought it was a bit amusing. The song now played, the doors opened to the crank wheel Henry had to turn. He couldn’t bring himself to move much more.
“You’d think after 30 years I’d miss you less. That all of this would make a difference. That the time would make a difference. Time doesn’t erase anything, just dulls it a bit.” Henry sighed as he heaved himself into a chair and ran a hand through his hair. He’d almost never felt so lost. Close to crying in a place like this was ill advised, but wasn’t this whole exercise? Let it out once so he could clam up again.
"Seeing you in this hell hurts, Sammy. You deserved so much better. You still deserve so much better." He was stalling the inevitable and he knew it. That didn't change the fact that he just couldn't move. Henry took his glasses off, face pressed into his hands, and took a shuddering breath that came out as a broken sob.
The horrors of this place had no effect on him these days, but this? It was a flood he couldn’t stop now that he had the lid off. He didn’t stop crying when the seekers spawned from the ink. Didn’t stop when they entered the room. Didn’t stop until they finally killed him. When the animator did wake with a strangled sob it was tied to the beam Sammy usually tied him to. Guess they were skipping steps this go around.
“You said so many things, sheep.” The unmistakable voice of Sammy said next to him. Henry turned as much as he could to see the man himself sitting at a desk but facing Henry. It seemed like he’d been writing something. If Henry strained his eyes enough he could see a list but not what it said.
“Were all of those things you said true? Or are you just trying to distract your shepherd?” The ink man tilted his head, leaning forward as he waited for a response.
Henry took a deep breath before speaking. Needed some courage. “I don’t think I’ve said truer words in my life, Sammy. I’ve missed you for the last three decades and now I finally get to say; I’ve loved you for all of them.” Sammy recoiled from the words like he’d been burned. He knew that he knew the man before him from before all this. That he was important but not why he was. It was a lot to process and Henry wasn’t done.
“The ‘public’ reason for my leaving the studio was Joey’s slave driving work ethic but that was all a lie.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “My family set me up with Linda. Said that it was a ‘good thing for me’ and I agreed at first. Thought marrying a swell gal like that could change something. I’ve never been more wrong.” He looked up at Sammy with a look that could only be described as pure longing. A need that was half a lifetime overdue.
“She was never even half as beautiful to me as you are.” Henry whispered, tears threatening to spill down his ink stained face. “I regretted not telling you every single day. She took us to California before I could ‘do something I’d regret’ but the real regret was not doing it sooner.” Henry struggled against the ropes, tears pouring down his face. He’d die a thousand times just to hug Sammy this once.
The ink man rose from his chair, Henry watching with his breath held. The musician approached the animator slowly, leaning down so his Bendy mask was nearly touching Henry’s face.
“You bear your heart so readily, my sheep. I must have been very special to you once upon a time.” Henry’s chest heaved another sob, Sammy wiping his tears away with an inky hand that only left more ink stains.
“Please, please untie me. I know you normally sacrifice me to the ink demon and normally I don’t care that you do, I just,” another hiccuping sob tore at his chest. “I just need more time.” He’d meant to say more. So much more. The words couldn’t make it past the full on sobs that were tearing at him more than the ropes did his skin.
Sammy watched this all with a pained fascination as Henry spoke and cried for him. No one and nothing had ever loved him like this before. Strangely sad he could barely remember the man before him. But if what he was saying was true, he had to be preserved. He could watch no longer. The ropes were cut with the nearby ax that Henry normally grabbed on his way out. There would be no sacrifice today. The animator's knees gave out but Sammy picked him up before he could hit the floor.
“There there, sheep. Your shepherd will take care of you from now on. You’ll never be lost again, I promise.” He gave Henry a reassuring squeeze as he was carried out of the room and down, down, down to Sammy’s home in the lost harbor. It took a while, but sobs evened into quiet breathing that calmed the false shepherd until they got to the harbor. There he told all the other lost ones not to ever bother Henry, if they valued their lives.
“You may rest here, dear.” Sammy whispered as he set Henry down on his cot as gingerly as possible. Still, even with the animator situated, he lingered.
“Thank you, for everything.” Henry whispered. He pulled Sammy’s blanket around himself. Under the ink scent, it still smelled the way Sammy used to. “Even in ink, you still smell like pine trees.”
Sammy felt a tug in his chest that he hadn't felt in a very long time. “I may not be the man you loved, not anymore, I can’t say that I don’t want to be him again.” He knelt in front of Henry, taking the animator’s hand. “I swear to you now; I’ll do what I can to make you the happiest I can to make up for those 30 years. This may be a hell but I can be your lighter side,” Sammy paused and added a tactful ‘if you’d like’ at the end. Had he a heart, it would be racing.
Henry looked from their hands, to Sammy and back down to their hands again. “I’d like nothing more, Samuel.” He gave Sammy’s hand a squeeze, the other happily returning the gesture.
“Get some sleep, sheep. Tomorrow we can talk more.” Sammy leaned in, the mouth of his Bendy mask tapping Henry’s forehead in the best approximation of a ‘good night kiss’ that he could give.
Henry nodded with a small smile, pulling Sammy’s blanket closer to himself and breathing in that scent he loved. Pine trees, coffee and 1929. He’d never get sick of it.