So I have fallen violently in love with thelostmoongazer's awesome role swap "Henry and the Ink Machine" au. So I jumped on the band(trash)wagon with this.

I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine. That belongs to The Meatly. The HatIM au belongs, as stated before, to thelostmoongazer on tumblr

September, 1972

Hiding in an alley behind an internet cafe, Bendy tried to juggle a brush, a flashlight, a mirror, and a book all at once. With careful, steady strokes, the toon made sure to copy the image on the page exactly. The lighting made it hard, but determination made it possible.

Satisfied that he had perfectly replicated the picture, Bendy put down the brush and reached for his sunglasses. Pulling his hat down low and his scarf up till it hugged his chin, he picked up the mirror. It was the moment of truth.

But even as he turned it around, his inky heart sank. Even with all that makeup, he still didn't look even remotely human. In fact, he looked even worse than before.

With a muted sob, Bendy rubbed away at his face in frustration. He scrubbed till his sleeves started to get inky and his cheeks were raw. No matter what he tried, it simply wasn't possible—noses were too complex a shape for him to recreate with just contour. He'd need some sort of clay or prosthetic to even get close. His face soured. Not that he could get his gloves on anything like that. And if he could, that still didn't change the fact that his head was too wide, his hands were too big, he was black as night or pale as death, and he didn't even have proper joints.

With a silent curse at the man who made him so inhuman, Bendy stood to him feet. Already, he'd wasted half the night, and he had to skip town soon. He'd have to stock for that; he didn't have enough ink to get himself settled in a new place. Stuffing the useless makeup products into a plastic bag behind the dumpster, he started into the night. There was a whole town for him to hunt up food in, and he still had a few hours before dawn.

Edith was searching. What she she was searching for, she did not know. Why she was searching, she also did not know. And Edith did not care. For so very long, everything had been so dark and confusing, with yelling and tugging and so much pain. But now things were clear.

Edith was to search.

That's what the Master had been trying to make her do all along. It had been so hard to understand, now that she couldn't hear or see.

Once, a long time ago, Edith could see and hear and touch. Once, she had a beautiful body, and a clear mind. Back when she played a saxophone. Back when she had homemade dumplings for dinner. But those were gone—long gone. Old.

For a long while after the change to New, or maybe only a minute, Edith had been too scared to move. Then all these new senses, new stimuli, came about. Edith couldn't see, but she could feel. And it wasn't touch, either. Touch was Old. This feel was New.

It took a lot of time and a lot of pain, but Edith had learned that if the Master gave her a feel to become familiar with, she was to go find its source. Like a dog, hunting rabbit.

Maybe before, the comparison would have been humiliating. Maybe before, Edith would have considered ignoring the Master. But after so long in the unending dark, Edith clung to the one bit of clarity in her dark world like the lifeline it was.

The Master was cruel, depraved, and deserved nothing from Edith—he'd done this to her in the first place, she knew—but Edith couldn't let herself drown in the ink again.

And so, Edith searched. Soon, she would find.

Bright, sunny rays were just peaking over the horizon as Bendy made his way back to the cafe to pick up his bag. It was really useless to try and look human. His design was just too silly to ever pass as natural.

Wouldn't stop him from trying, though.

Rounding the corner, Bendy pulled up short. Something was off.

Creeping low against the wall, the toon inched towards the entrance of the alley. A woman with her hair all up was making her way to the factory. If this were a bigger city, like the city of his birth, Bendy wouldn't have been so worried. But this was a small town. He'd have to be careful; he couldn't afford to get caught.

Taking careful steps deeper into the gray morning shadows, Bendy slipped on a puddle and fell with a startled gasp. He held his breath, and heard the woman do the same, before hurried footsteps approached the alley.

Instinct, honed from years on his own, took over. All senses focused on not making a sound, he slid behind a dumpster. It was a cramped space, too thin for even a kid to get into. Bendy had to squish his body beyond human limitations, his head flattening to half its original width, but that only made it the perfect hiding spot.

At least, it would have been, if he didn't have company. It was hard to see in the tiny space behind the dumpster, but he saw it immediately. The puddle—the ink puddle—had followed him. Almost as if to confirm it, the liquid burbled and spasmed.

"Hello?" a voice sounding from outside. The woman stepped into the toon's meager sanctuary, "Is someone there? Do you need help?"

Bendy felt his heart pounding in his ears as he stared. A dark hand emerged from the black substance, and a whimper built in Bendy's throat as a body followed. It moved with weird, twitching motions, grasping fingers reaching for the toon's face. Bendy jerked back, ready to bolt, but the footsteps just outside stopped him short.

Swallowing a sob, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed himself against the wall. Ink dripped down Bendy's chin as he shook, his world white with terror. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

Slowly, so slowly, a slimy finger smeared sticky ink on his cheek. Bendy flinched.

Then, suddenly, the air felt clear. The chocking fog that had filled the alley was gone, and Bendy could breathe again. He closed his eyes and sagged with relief. Distantly, he could hear the woman walking down the street, having given up on her search some time ago.

Rolling out of the hole, Bendy rubbed the ink off his cheek. "What was that?" he mumbled, though he already had an idea. Looking back at where the thing had disappeared, a bit of white caught his eye. It was a piece of paper. A letter.

Sudden hope fluttered in the demon's chest. He knew that paper. He was born from that paper. "It's from the studio!" he cheered.

Snatching the envelope off the ground, Bendy tore it open eagerly. The message was clearly written by Joey: messy, short and simple. But the implications were earth-shattering.

My dear Bendy,

It seems like so long since you ran away.

30 years can feel like forever, can't it?

We all miss you here. Please, come home.

I have something I want to show you.

Your loving,Father,

Joey Drew

The grin on Bendy's face grew so big his cheeks hurt. He was going home.

April, 1942

"Joey! Joey! Look what I drew!" The little demon was bouncing in place, holding a piece of paper up proudly.

Joey leaned over his armrest and grinned widely. "My, that's some mighty fine work there, son. But what are you doing out here and not practicing your routines?"

"Um... I dunno." Bendy looked off to the side.

"Bendy..." Joey trailed off with a warning.

"I'm sorry, Joey—I really am!—But Henry just gotta new brush fo'me an' I wanted to draw you! It's you, see?"

"I do see, my devil darlin', but I'd rather see your progress on that new step I taught you." Joey wheeled his chair to the front of his desk. "Now, put those down and show me where you're at."

Bendy pouted, but perked up quickly. Placing his brush and drawing on the desk, he asked, "Can I show you some'a my moves, too?"

"Hmm, if there's time."

And so the two fell into the familiar pattern of critic and instruction. It was hard, sometimes, because Joey couldn't actually show Bendy what to do, but that was alright. They were used to it. And besides, Bendy didn't mind working hard for Joey.

Bendy was bouncing through the routine for the fifth time when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Joey? Do you have a second?" It was Henry.

"Of course, Ross," Joey turned his chair away from Bendy, "Come on in."

The door opened slowly, and the pensive look on Henry's face told Bendy that he didn't have good news. Joey caught on to that too. His eyes zeroed in on the official looking letter in Henry's hands.

"Bendy, my little darlin,' I do believe it's getting late." Joey said, eyes not leaving the letter, "Why don't you hop along to bed, now?"

Bendy opened his mouth to protest, but Henry cut him off, "Tell you what, there's a jar of ink in my desk. Go on and grab it, and head on upstairs. I'll come by later to tuck you in, okay?"

Now that both men had sided against him, Bendy know he stood no chance, "Okay."

Halfway down the hall, Bendy realized he didn't have his brush and picture. They were still on Joey's desk. Backtracking quietly, the toon found himself stopped by a crash. It came from Joey's office.

What was that? Was someone hurt? Bendy sprinted over the last few feet to the door, dread in his heart.

Shadows danced through the frosted window. Muffled yelling surprised Bendy with its intensity. The doorknob twisted, and the door started to open. Bendy could hear what Joey and Henry were saying clearly, now.

"It's a draft Joey. I can't ignore it. I have to go!"

"No, you don't! I can help you. They won't remember anything, there will be no trouble, you just have to trust me."

"And you'll what? Brainwash the government with your voodoo? Oh, don't play stupid with me, Drew. You can't get a whole studio to keep a secret like the toons. Not without some sort of spell."

"And what if I did? Look around. Our people are happy! They love coming to work. And it's not like my spell changed who they are or anything. It just...convinced them that they are part of something more. We are part of something more, Henry. Don't throw it all away for some idiotic war."

"Joey...You're sick." The door opened farther.

"So help me Ross, if you walk out that door, don't you dare try to come back!"

Henry didn't say a word, leaving the door open behind him, he walked out of the studio without looking back.

He never saw the little black and white blur follow him out the door. Bendy watched his favorite animator climb into his car and start to back out. For a moment, he hovered by the door. Tires squealed as Henry took off.

It couldn't end, not like this. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Bendy took off after the vehicle. He had to get Henry back. No matter what.