That face from the hall stuck with you. It plastered itself so thoroughly in your mind that, when you closed your eyes at night, all you saw was that smile. That wide, unholy smile. You had been struck with such a sense of fear that you had been unable to even blink. But then your thoughts traveled to your office, your cluttered work space, and the black tulip within your pencil cup. Your mind replayed it wilting and dripping, like little Bendy himself.

"We couldn't fix him. He got worse. You won't be able to take him back, [Y/N]."

Had that tall, spindly thing really once been the tiny rambunctious devil you'd called sweet? Were he and the fussy demon you hefted in your arms one and the same? It seemed impossible, but Mr. Connor had been sure of it.

And Mr. Drew. Joey. He had tried to murder Bendy on more than one occasion, and no doubt killed and reincarnated Boris, and possibly even Alice.

"He's tried to erase Bendy in the past, but nothing ever worked."

All those times Bendy went to Joey's office, returning terrified or insanely fake. You couldn't forgive him. Joey was nothing more than a conman, twisting people into whatever shape pleased his fucked up ideals. And here you were, helping him write his cartoons so he could make his fortune. If anyone was a demon, it was him.

It was mid-morning now, and you could do nothing but stare at the dying black tulip in your hand. If that thing down in the lower levels was indeed the same Bendy, then he was probably sad, and scared, and angry. He would be losing mass and wilting just like the flower in your hand.

And you had told him to stay back. How could you?

You took a deep, steadying breath. Fuck writing scripts for Joey, you had more important things to occupy your time. The ink tulip was decaying as if organic, and the only objective searing into your brain was to bring it to Bendy. That strange, swaying thing had frightened the daylights out of you. But if it was him, and if you just tried, perhaps you would be able to bring out the Bendy he was before. Curiosity, impatience, mischievousness. You would be able to feel if he was the same devil you had known. With any luck, the tulip would spring his memory.

And, if you could not find a droplet of familiarity within his smile, you resolved yourself to let go. Not that it would be remotely easy. It would be no different than a death. And then after that, you would quit. If Bendy were dead you would not be able to wander the halls any longer, not without feeling a terrible emptiness. Even though you were slowly parting from the brighter sides of religion, you gave a silent prayer that you would not have to give up on he nor your job just yet. So, you grasped the tulip's stem firmly, and took the elevator down.

After a short time treading the maze-like corridors and seeing nothing, you found yourself tapping at Mr. Connor's door. No answer. A harder knock and the door gave; it was unlocked and open.

"Mr. Connor?"

You gasped. Thomas wasn't there, but the maybe-Bendy was. He had his back to you, facing the desk with something in his hands. The only indication he'd heard your voice was the twitch of a horn. Well, you supposed his inclination to not give his attention hadn't changed. You couldn't help but notice he no longer had a tail. Rather, there was the sharp jut of his pelvic bone. He looked very much like the ink had swallowed a whole human skeleton, before soldering on Bendy's head.

Frozen in the frame, you had half a mind to run and flee. But there he was- wasn't he the one you'd been searching the halls for? A hard look at the flower in hand helped steady your rising blood pressure. No, you weren't going to run. And even if he took a step towards you, you would not turn him away again. This was happening, and it was happening now.

You cleared your throat. "Bendy? Are you Bendy?"

He still didn't move. You were forced to take a tentative step inside the dimly lit room, hoping to stir him from his stupor. The light switch didn't work.

"It's [Y/N]. D-do you remember me?"

Anxiously, and so so slowly, you tiptoed closer. A trembling hand outstretched, and carefully swiped at his back to call attention. He jerked, perking up with a slow swivel of his head. You leaped back in fear, but he was at least watching you now. The tulip was gripped closely to your chest in tight fists. For a while, you just stared, unable to look away from his head. The maybe-Bendy stared back.

"Do you remember me?" you asked again, voice catching.

He gently sat down what had been in his hands. It was a picture of Thomas and Allison, though now the glass of the frame was smeared with black, so you couldn't see the photograph.

He thought. Did he remember you? The ink mixed and mingled and dripped and consumed, but he was his own person, he was his own thing entirely, and he could distinguish his thoughts if he concentrated hard. So, Bendy would concentrate hard for you. He tilted his head, the curvature of his boney spine well defined as he shifted weight.

He was remembering something. He remembered 'stay back' and Thomas's bad smelling smoke from yesterday. He tried to remember more. He remembered Thomas chasing after him, because he did not want to stay in that boring office all day. But today Thomas had not come in, nor had come chasing after him, so Bendy had limped into the office of his own accord, until you showed up to distract him.

His head slowly arched the other way. Bendy tried to remember further, past that. It made him cringe, closing his fists. He remembered being coaxed somewhere he did not want to go, with a strange human, and then an all consuming mass of ink, because they had tried to fix him. It hurt. He remembered Sammy's voice and how it pissed him off. And he remembered nervous Allison, and then Alice screaming at her, and Thomas crying a lot. He felt bad for Thomas.

His head went back to the first position. You were starting to wonder if there was anything in his mind at all. He was simply standing and staring at you, occasionally cocking his head one way or the other. And though that did remind you of the little Bendy in the after-hour halls, surely the similar body language was coincidence. The longer you waited, the further your heart sank. A lump formed in your throat, and you couldn't swallow it down.

"Bendy?"

He remembered a river of ink among the deep caves of Joey Drew Studios, and the ink-blood that dripped into the mirror below. Then he remembered the gentle tingle of Wally's stolen keys, the way the pages of a Bible tasted, and the sweetest voice he'd ever known whispering regretfully in the dark of a foreign room 'sleep, Bendy.'

The creepy caricature of Bendy straightened and shook, and the sudden movement had you taking a step back. His attention fell to the tulip in your grasp. The single gloved hand sprawled open, and he waited patiently for you to drop it into his palm. A twitch of the fingers beckoned you to comply.

When the flower hit his hand, it began to dissolve into the glove. You watched with fascination as the black swirled and curled into the white, like watercolor, before siphoning off into the black of his body. He had reabsorbed it, and it totally mesmerized you. But then your focus snapped back up as the creature wobbled towards you. Instinctively, you backed until you pressed to the wall. You cornered yourself; this had been a bad idea.

"Wait," you whispered harshly without thinking. "Stop!"

He stood in front of you, much too close for comfort. You wondered if he could sense the rapid beating of your heart as it tried to rip from your ribcage. After a moment of thought, he lifted both his hands and grasped your shoulders carefully. You squeaked, tensing and shutting your eyes. Pressure pushed downwards, and when you didn't budge, he pressed harder. You found your knees crumpling; you slid down the wall until you sat on the floor and he squatted in front.

Eventually your eyes reopened, just for you to realize his black humanoid hand moved up from your shoulder. It was mere inches away from cupping your cheek, unmoving, like he was conflicted. He dropped it. Then he readjusted uncomfortably onto his bony rear, laid awkwardly beside you, and pillowed his wide head into your empty lap.

"Oh."

He just wanted to cuddle. He just wanted to cuddle. Hope sprung forth, blossoming out your mouth with words like sugar. You so desperately wanted to believe it was him. "It really is you! Oh, I'm so sorry! What have they done to you?"

The head on your legs grumbled, and he wrapped his (now much longer) arms around your thighs and calves, making it more comfortable.

Tears were actually falling, now. Your body shuttered with the choked sounds, but the drops dripped in spite of the silence. An unsteady hand sat itself against one of his amorphous horns, running down it and pooling ink against your human skin.

Bendy turned to his back, so that he could look up. Then, with his gloved hand, he wiped at your face. It was a little too rough, and you imagined it looked rather silly, but you appreciated it. With his human shaped hand, he oozed out a stream of steady flowing ink, until it smoothly solidified. A new flower was formed. He plucked it out, and offered it up.

You sniffled. "The tulip.. you fixed it for me."

He gave a single, barely noticeable nod.