A/N: Things begin to heat up, a brief alliance forged, and not all is as it seems in these twisted corridors...
Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine, only this story and my OC.
8: An Angel's Call
"Where are we going?" Henry asked the wolf as they traversed the empty corridors, which immediately filled him with suspicion; it was too quiet here for his liking, but he trusted Boris, for some instinctive reason, and knew, somehow, that he would not lead them into a trap. Speaking of…
He looked down to the girl, whose eyes were trailed aimlessly ahead of her. She appeared to be in deep thought.
"Hey, are you okay?" Henry asked her gently. He had no experience with children, having been an only child and having none of his own (he had always been single), but he figured it wouldn't be too difficult with her.
She nodded her head. "I'm fine. I just don't understand why we ran away from Bendy. He's really nice, and he cleaned me up—see?"
At the mention of the demon, Boris froze and turned to look at the girl with big, frightful eyes. He glanced at Henry for an explanation, having already deduced that she was blind, but the man could only shrug. Boris continued forward uncertainly, but a pit of fear had opened up in him.
"What's your name?" Henry asked the girl.
"Alice."
"Oh, like Alice Angel."
"Nothin' like Ms. Angel," Boris spoke up suddenly in a deep drawl, causing both humans to startle. "Sorry," he apologized, "I usually don't speak much. But what I mean is, well, Bendy's not the only one who's become corrupted."
"Has everyone?" Henry asked. "All the employees?"
"All except you," Boris replied. "Then again, you left before we toons were even brought to life."
"That wasn't my fault," Henry said defensively.
"I know 'twasn't," Boris said calmly. "I am your creation, after all."
Henry didn't know what that meant, but decided to ask about it later.
They passed another Bendy cutout and a flimsy-looking wooden box with the words MIRACLE STATION inscribed onto it, with a halo insignia.
"This is it," Boris announced, gesturing towards a tough door, and unlocked and opened it, allowing Henry and Alice entry before following them himself.
Henry looked around the space, awed by how homely and bright it appeared compared to the rest of the studio. It almost felt he wasn't in the same place anymore, but an alternate reality; almost like he had jumped onto the page of one of the old skits, only with a more colorful and three-dimensional air.
"What is this place?" Henry asked, turning to Boris, who replied, "This is my sanctuary."
It made sense, now that he looked closer and saw what looked to be a mini kitchen complete with stove and fridge, and a small wooden dining table. He was willing to wager there would be at least one bed in one of the rooms leading off the hall to the right. It was pretty big, and cozy-looking.
"Does everyone here have a sanctuary?" Henry wondered aloud, thinking back to one of Sammy Lawrence's recordings and the door he had had to open to get to the pipes that would drain the ink from the staircase. Which proved to have been a fruitless journey, he thought, but then pushed the mental image of the ink-covered man from his mind. He wouldn't think about that now.
"Pretty much," Boris replied, crouching down to open a cabinet. "Alice, Joey, even the Butcher Gang's got one somewhere. I think. Hey, are you guys' hungry?" He straightened, holding a can of expired Bacon Soup in either gloved hand.
"Uh, is that stuff even safe for humans to consume?" Henry wondered, eyeing the cans suspiciously.
"Of course."
"…But it's expired."
"I've had some. It's really good," Alice piped up.
Henry looked down at the girl uncertainly, then back to Boris. "Well, if you two say so," he relented, and accepted the can of soup offered to him. Boris helped Alice with hers, and then got one for himself. He gestured for them all to sit at his table.
Henry glanced at the Bacon Soup in his hand for a long while, then thought, To heck with it, and tipped it back. The contents were cold and slimy down his throat, but it didn't taste all bad. Henry supposed he shouldn't be so easily surprised by this place. He glugged the rest of the soup down, as his stomach just realized how hungry it was; it must have been hours since he'd eaten, and he wondered just how long he had been in the studio.
Can't have been long. Six hours, at most.
But he was beginning to wonder if time worked weird down here, too.
"So," he prompted once they had all finished their quick meal, and Boris leaned forward in his chair. Henry still couldn't believe it: His own creation, come to life in front of him; it was like a dream come true. Or rather, a fragment of a dream stuck in a nightmare.
"What happened here?" Henry asked. "How are you and the other guys alive? And how did things get so messed up?"
"First, I've got a question for you, Henry," Boris said, his usually jovial voice taking on a tone of absolute seriousness, which was completely out of his character.
"Sure," Henry said, and the wolf leaned in closer.
"Why did you come back?"
"Joey sent me a letter," the man explaining, withdrawing the yellowed paper from his pocket. He showed it to Boris, who frowned as he examined it.
"That's not possible," he said.
Henry's brow crinkled. "What?"
"Joey's not in the right state of mind, you could say, to send that letter."
"What d'you mean? Is he like Sammy?" Henry asked, hoping that Boris would say no, but knowing in his heart what the answer might be.
"Like I said, everyone down here's been corrupted. Employees and toons alike."
"I know," Henry sighed, the letter falling to the table in his limp grip. "I just thought, him being the run of the place…wait a second." He lifted his head again. "You're not corrupted. You're totally fine."
Boris began to rub his arm, looking uncomfortable. "I, uh." He stuttered and did not look at Henry, his eyes creased with fear.
"Boris? What's wrong?" Henry asked gently. "You don't have to tell me, but I'd like to know what happened to my creation." And he found this to be true. He'd made Boris, after all. In a way, he felt that whatever happened to the cartoon wolf was his responsibility.
Boris quickly glanced at the girl before returning his gaze to his arm. "Not in front of her," he muttered almost too quietly to hear, and Henry nodded in understanding.
"Hey, sweetie," he said, turning to Alice and assuming the best parental tone he had, in spite of never having been a parent before and having no idea of what he was doing. "Do you wanna get some rest? You only have to sleep for a little while, just a quick nap. You must be tired after all that walking."
"I guess I am a little sleepy," Alice admitted, just as a huge yawn left her mouth. Henry couldn't help but grin a little.
"Come on, I'll carry you to bed, if that's all right."
She nodded sleepily, and stretched out her arms to hold onto him.
Boris pointed his thumb to his left, saying, "There's a couple of hammocks and a mattress off the hall, to the left."
Henry nodded his thanks, then travelled down the hallway and turned the corner. He entered the room Boris had described and set Alice down on the bare mattress. There was a blanket curled up at its foot but no pillow. Alice didn't mind, though, and thanked him when he tucked her in.
"Mr. Henry?" she said.
"Yes, hon?"
"Thanks for being so nice to me."
"Of course," he replied, though her words broke his heart. "All you deserve is nice people and things in your life. Are you comfy?"
She nodded.
"All right. I'm going to talk to Boris, 'kay? You get some sleep."
"Thanks, Henry," she mumbled just before she fell asleep. Henry brushed some of the hair out of her face, then got up and left the room.
…
Meanwhile, an Alice of a quite different kind was surveying the ink-tipped needle she held at arm's length from her body. The freshly mutilated corpse of a cartoon wolf splayed on display before her, head hanging dollishly to one side. She looked down at herself in disgust.
No, this would never do, she fumed. The process was simply taking too slow; she still looked too much like him, that inky filth. She needed that Boris; just one more, and she would be complete. If only the process weren't so messy, she fretted, but soon she would be perfect, and would not have to dirty her hands ever again.
If only it hadn't escaped into its sanctuary. She crossed her arms and scowled. She would have to lure the Boris out somehow, or otherwise wait for it to leave the place. Having no idea how to lure it out, she settled on the latter option, impatient but determined to see it through to the end. She would regain her beauty, her pure form, and no one and nothing would stand in her way.
"Not even you, Devil Darlin'~", she purred later as she smashed some cutouts and ran into the nearest Miracle Station to hide, watching the Ink Demon rage for the pure glee of it, as she often did. She had only gone out to get more ink and gears, but angering him was a treat she couldn't pass up.
But something about him was different this time. His rage was more sullen. He did not emerge from his portal in the wall yelling threats and smashing things in his path; instead he trudge along slowly, smiling but glaring at every cutout smashed. He paused directly in front of the Miracle Station, and for the first time in a while the Angel felt a thrill of fear. He couldn't actually see her, could he? No, impossible. The Stations were of her own creation, designed specifically as places to hide in plain sight from the Demon, but without him ever knowing where she went; it was like the Stations entered her into another plane of existence entirely, or made her incorporeal, beyond his sense.
Now, however, he stood, and slowly his head turned in her direction. She gulped as her one eye watched his leer grow, and he trudged forward. Alice Angel stayed absolutely frozen, feeling the instinctive urge to back up but afraid to make a sound.
He reached the slot and pressed up close. The beat of his heart filled her eardrums, but she looked up at him through the slot with what she hoped was an impassive expression. She never betrayed her fear, even when alone—or out of sight.
An inky, clawed hand reached out and traced the door, and for a moment, Alice thought she was caught. But the Angel breathed a sigh of relief as the Demon growled in his throat and turned away, obviously frustrated. Then, quite suddenly, he began to laugh; it was a warped, manic sound.
"Alice, when I get my hands on you….Oh, I can't wait for that day. The feel of your throat as it crinkles in my grasp, the sight of your ink disassembling, congealing on the floor as I tear into you….Hehehahaha!" he giggled.
Alice didn't know what to think; he had never spoken like this before. Even in this form, even when enraged, there had always been that trace of Bendy the Dancing Demon, no matter how faint.
Now she could sense nothing of the toon left. She wondered if their new arrival had anything to do with this sudden change in attitude.
She looked back up through the slot…and nearly jumped when she saw him glancing back at her, grin wider than ever.
"I know you're there, Alice," he purred, his whisper carrying as easily as if he'd been speaking in normal tones. "You're there, right there—" he pointed right at her "—just out of my reach. You can't hide there forever. I'm going to make sure that today is the day you die."
And with that unsettling proclamation he leaned back against the fence and continued to stare in her direction, his gaze never moving, and his expression unchanging.
Alice's fingers twitched with longing, but she knew she stood no chance, even with an axe in hand. Nothing worked on him, damn him! She cursed herself for being a fool by pushing her luck, but how was she to know that he would behave differently today? Smarter and calmer—and angrier—than usual?
Some time passed as the two of them studied each other (although one could not actually see the other).
Finally: "I can get you the girl."
"…What?"
His grin had faltered, if only for an instant, and Alice Angel smirked to herself. Just a few more intricately placed words, and she'd have him ensnared in her web. In spite of her lack of strength, she was a quick thinker, and she wondered if her luck hadn't run out in this situation after all.
"I've seen her with that man—Henry, right? You're not the only one with eyes all over this place, you know."
Bendy straightened—now she could see some of the old him again, and this much relieved her, for this meant her plan was working.
"I know that," Bendy snarled impatiently. "What about the girl?" His fingers curled into fists, slightly trembling, and this time she laughed.
"Listen to me," the Angel cooed, "and I will bring you what you desire…in exchange for one eensy-weensy little favor."
"Right, as if I would ever make a deal with you, Angel," he spat.
"Oh, come now, Bendy. You know you will need help. I can distract the others. Bring me some of your ink and gears from the Machine and I will make it so you can snatch her back before the others can react."
There was silence as he seriously considered her offer. It was a good one, and in spite of their mutual hatred for one another, she knew he would take it; he held his own cards, but the ones she was dealing were too delicious to pass up.
"Come on out," he said at last, "and I will trust your word."
Alice Angel knew better than to just come out into the open; she could tell by his tone of voice—he would attack.
"Show me your own display of trust, and I will come out," she replied.
Bendy thought for a moment. Then he held out a gloved hand, giving an air of intense concentration, and she could feel the ink—the cursed filthy muck!—moving through the studio, towards her own sanctuary, stopping just beyond the two metal doors marking the entrance, as it could travel no further. She wished she weren't connected to it so much that she could sense its movements throughout the building, but at least this time it gave her assurance that the Demon kept his word.
"There are your supplies, waiting for you at home," he said carelessly, lacing some sardonicism in the word "home", but Alice did not care; she knew he wasn't lying, and a feverish excitement filled her. She would still have to go after Boris, to obtain his still-beating heart from the crevice of his open chest, but everything else she now possessed; no more shopping.
No more cracked mirrors.
"Very well. I'm coming out," she announced, and opened the door to step out into the open. The air was tense, but all Bendy did was push off of the fence and saunter over to her.
He towered over her, but she did not flinch as she said in her sultry voice, "So do we have a deal?"
"Never deal with a demon," he growled, but in a slightly teasing manner that let her know he was in. She grinned.
"No safer is it to deal with an angel," she replied.
And with that the two went somewhere private where they could conduct business together.
