Quatorze - Waking nightmares are still nightmares.

/

Henry could safely say that he didn't want to repeat that.

Frustrated with Buddy as he was, at least one positive came of this; Allison seemed to believe him when he said déjà vu wasn't the truth. He hoped it'd stick, but he'd know that in a while. A long while. First things first? Find Sammy and offer an apology. He didn't live life wearing blinders; the ink man wasn't happy with Buddy willingly sacrificing himself, or with the cartoonist for not putting his foot down. Reading someone he'd been fighting alongside for possibly months was a cakewalk.

... and that since it had been months, he had to move faster. Do more.

But Henry knew that something was off about last loop. Sammy hadn't shown up. Not even to swing an axe and curse Bendy for abandonment! His last Sammy sighting was a puddle by the wrecked elevator. Henry wouldn't be shocked if the ink man waved it all off and got back to working on freedom. Henry shook his head. He just had to get the valves, drain the stairs, and…

A ripple of unease washed through him. Why hadn't Sammy popped up by now? He'd half expected that the ink man would show mask and hop a railing, but…

He shook his head and paused at the tunnel. Jack was waiting for him, at least. He held the valve out to Henry this time, not pitching it his way as usual.

"Hey, Jack." He took the valve and frowned at the hatted searcher. "You seen Sammy?"

The searcher's melted face twisted from discomfort. He nodded, then lay a flipper on Henry's near arm.

Odd. Okay. "What's wrong? Is he okay?"

The searcher gargled, shaking his head.

Oh. There came the waves of unease again. "Is he in the music department?"

Jack withdrew and gave a shrug, before melting down and slinking backwards from the boards.

Not helpful or unhelpful, but it was something. "Alright. Thanks, Jack." Henry pressed forward and held the axe at the ready. He kinda hoped for a better explanation, but Jack wasn't a talker. None of the searchers were.

The music room was as it had been, the projector off and no cartoons playing. Swallowing, Henry called out, "Sammy?" No ink man waiting in the wings, from the looks of the empty loft above. He frowned. It was possible Sammy was angry with him. It'd make sense, seeing how last loop ended in death for the ink man. He'd probably have to get the sanctuary open if he wanted to-

A sharp blow sent him sprawling to the floor. Henry's darkening vision found Sammy Lawrence, armed with a dustpan, leering down at him.

"Rest your head. It's time for bed."

No.

/

Henry came to, tied to the beam once more. His heart sank, the ropes creaking as he strained against their rough strength. The broken Bendy mask withdrew from his view, and he found Sammy looking back at him. He had all his fingers, and his mouth worked behind his mask as he spoke.

"There we go now, nice and tight. We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn't." Sammy glanced down at the axe. He freed and raised a hand to his chest, a gesture Henry had seen to mean honesty from Sammy. He did it here and now, as if to rub it in. Just madness and a broken mask. "I must admit I am... honored you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I'm about to do seem cruel."

No, cruel was seeing so much progress set back to square one.

The prophet strode away to set down the axe. His voice was soft and ominous, not the tense and sarcastic one he'd only just got back. "But the believers must honor their savior. I must have him notice me. Wait."

The mask filled Henry's vision, Sammy's puzzled observation a painful prompt at how far back he'd fallen.

"You look familiar to me... that face..." But he pulled back and shook his head. "Not now, for our lord is..."Sammy's attention shifted to his raised right hand. How many fingers? "My little sheep, our lord is..." When did he gain the lips that brushed against the rough cutout of the mask?

"Sammy." The cartoonist locked eyes with the Bendy mask. "Sammy Lawrence, I need you back."

The ink man recoiled as if struck. Hands raised chest high, his breathing hitched. "What? I-" He turned over his hands with shaking, perfect fingers. He couldn't get his breath. Why did he need to breathe? He couldn't think over the murmurs of lost souls, the thrum of the ink, the thundering of his heartbeat-

A sharp, dreadful gasp, and Sammy lay a hand over his heart. He had his lungs. He had his heart. He had his lungs and heart because of dozens of loops helping the man called- "... Henry." His voice broke on the word. "Oh, god." The ink man released a muffled sob and clasped a hand over his mouth. Bendy was drawing close. What had he almost done? He fell to his knees and frantically undid the binds, a stream of brittle apologies flowing out of his mouth.

Henry shook the ropes free and stood up. "It's okay." It wasn't. He snapped up the axe and turned back to the ink man on the floor. "Let's get out of here." He grabbed Sammy's hand and pulled him to his feet. He hadn't bothered to stand after Henry got free of the ropes.

"Leave me."

"No." Henry tugged.

"I almost-"

"I don't care," he deadpanned with a sharper tug.

Sammy didn't argue further, and the two ran. Feathery rings of black crept along the walls and puddles bubbled sickly from the floor.

Henry opted to take the path that wouldn't lead directly to Buddy or Bendy. Back out through the music room and past Jack's tunnel, away from everyone and thing. Just had to find somewhere to talk, figure out what went wrong...

"I don't know why I did it!" Sammy shouted as he was pulled along. "I don't know what pulled me back to him!"

Henry spied an open doorway to his right across a hall and ran inside. It held a crate, some ink bottles, a brass bed… why was there a bed? It didn't matter. He kicked the door shut and finally let go of Sammy's hand. The cartoonist shoved a chair under the handle. Okay. That was… what was that noise?

Sammy had pushed up his mask to cover his face with his hands, much like when Henry would knock it loose down at the harbor. Rather than running to hide what lay beneath the cardboard, the ink man shuddered with sharp, tiny breaths. "I don't know." He hunched and panted with hooked fingers against his brow. "I don't know."

"You died."

Sammy pulled his face from his hands and looked up at Henry. "What?"

Henry nodded, head meeting the door behind him with a sigh. "Susie. You were between her and Buddy. I think dying set you back."

A swallow. "I… when… when Norman took me down, I fell in the ink. Was there any deep ink where I died?"

"No."

A soft nod. Still hunched and desperately trying to shrink. "I… I can't promise it won't happen again, Henry."

"I know."

Sammy's hands shook. Looking up meant insubordination. The pressing, rippling push to bow and beg forgiveness from your lord was crushing. His breaths grew ragged, and he rasped, "Hit me."

Henry's worry doubled, brows up as he took a step forward. "No. Sammy, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You should." His words were curt, but he still shook. "Love requires sacrifice and that sacrifice lead me to-"

Henry's warm hand clasped an inked shoulder. "Sammy, I'm not angry. I was worried. You've been such a big help down here. I thought I lost you for good."

Not angry? "You should be angry!" he snapped. "I threw myself forward to stop the process. I was furious! I-I wanted to stop Buddy from doing what he was, because you wouldn't force him to do it!"

The cartoonist drew back. "What?"

Sammy spoke on like he'd heard nothing. "I told you he was the reason we weren't making progress, and you didn't push him at all! Nothing! You break yourself to get things done, but he can't do one thing?" He barked a staccato laugh, no mirth and all hysteria. "A-and look where it landed us! I almost set us back further than the wolf ever could! You should be furious! You should be-"

Sammy's self-loathing tirade cut out when Henry grabbed the ink man by a strap to pull him up and forward. It took Sammy a moment to string together the action that was a hug. He was… getting a hug? A perfectly normal, warm, human hug. But why? This made no sense. He didn't deserve this, he deserved punishment. Reprimand. Scolding. Something that wasn't... so soothing. "No wrath for this foolish shepherd?" He whimpered.

"I'm saving that for Joey. Not you." Holding hands gave Sammy an anchor, but what good was an anchor with a snapped line? Henry held the slim, cool body to his own. "Never you. Okay?"

A sharp inhale. "Okay." If Henry started it, it must be okay. Henry was not Bendy. Henry wouldn't hurt him. Remember that above all else. To hell with ink stains. Sammy Lawrence graciously accepted the hug and returned it desperately.

He could also confirm hehad regained the ability to cry.

/

Buddy's first act upon seeing Henry and Sammy was to lope forward and give Henry an apology hug. The gangling creature did his best, at least.

Taking a dustpan to the head didn't make one keen on staying awake. For once, Henry didn't argue when Sammy ushered him off to bed. He was out of the sepia-toned safe-house a minute after unfurling on the cot.

"Old friend, we've gotta talk. I wish it could wait, but it just… can't. I know we have our deadlines, but those aren't as big as this." Joey wasn't smiling. That was worse than his manic, crazed smiles that said he had another idea. This? This was serious business, not jokes and jibes. The man offered his hand to the chair before the desk.

Henry sat with a creak, peering over his glasses at his friend. "What's wrong?"

A grimace. "You know I'd never be mad at you, pal."

"I don't get where you're going, Joey." His brows furrowed as he leaned forward. "Let's talk this out, okay?"

Joey, a grown man, pouted. "Now, I thought you knew better than to lie to me, Henry."

He made a face and shook his head, a hand raised in honest confusion. "I'm not following at all. Can you just tell me what's going on?" For once?

Joey slicked down his mustache with thumb and forefinger. "I don't like rumors being spread about friends and coworkers." He leaned on his elbow and frowned. "So… you mind telling me what happened on the roof? Norman told me about it, but I'd rather hear it from you."

The roof. A nonevent in the grand scheme of making Bendy come to the silver screen. "I needed some fresh air. I guess I could stay on the ground floor?"

His lip twitched. "I'm talking about you and Sammy Lawrence."

"The guy smokes." Henry frowned, arms crossed over his stomach. "Joey, we're coworkers shooting the breeze about cute cartoons. You're gonna have to explain what's got your hackles up." But he knew what he was talking about. He just didn't see why Joey was making his private molehill into a personal mountain.

Joey rapped his knuckles on the desk, brows scrunched in deep annoyance. "I don't enjoy interrogating people, Henry. You know me! I enjoy making smiles and dreams come true!" His bombastic voice emerged from the scowling mask, but quickly faded. "But if you don't wanna tell me on your own, that's fine! I could just… ring Linda. Tell her the reason you're staying here late. Dunno how she'd take it."

"Take it? There is no 'it', Joey. She knows me. Better than you, it looks like." But the accusation didn't hurt him. It fueled him, and the patient man stood. "You'd call my pregnant wife and feed her lies because you can't stand that I have friends that aren't you? I have a life outside of what you want, Joey."

The humidity changed, and something hissed behind Joey. "Not about friends, Henry." The damp heat rose to a feverish high, the lights above Joey flickering with amber before going out. "Never was." The liar's face went blank, eyes consumed with black.

A shadow moved behind him, dark and with spines across its back.

A gloved hand slammed itself onto the desk beside Joey, who didn't even breathe. A steady stream of ink dribbled from his hairline. A humanoid hand joined the gloved one on the other side as a set of curled, slick horns rose from behind the chair.

The Ink Demon, dripping and crueler than anything, fixed Henry with its undying grin and lunged over Joey's head. Wide, flat teeth split open to-

Henry awoke with a gasp. Of all the times to remember that day. He exhaled sharply and lay limp on the cot. "What the hell," Hazel eyes scanned the room, finding Sammy with his head resting mask down on his bent knee not far away. Buddy was snoring lightly in his hammock.

Slowly standing from the cot, Henry quietly headed to the bathroom. Splash chilly water on his face, take deep breaths, try to sleep after a little time passed. He just had to get his mind off that dream. Dream. How did Joey ruin the word dream?

The water was cool and tinted with ink. He didn't want to think about what happened if he drank it. It never affected him, even when he'd fallen into the deepest lakes of the stuff. Running damp hands through his hair, the man turned back for the main room.

Going for a walk wasn't an option; Buddy hid the lever as always. The lever always went in a toolbox, but Henry didn't know which one, or if that's where it'd be. The noise might wake Buddy. Not worth it. The cartoonist took a deep breath and quietly let it out. Again, in, hold, out. Just like he'd learned after he left the army; just keep breathing and the shakes would fade-

"Henry."

Breathed gently enough to get his attention, but not startle him. He turned to look back over his shoulder to find Sammy awake and watching him intently.

Head tilting forward in question, Sammy asked, "What's wrong?"

Henry swallowed, pulling off his glasses to clear the lenses on his shirt. "Nothing." Affixing the frames to perch on his nose, he smiled faintly in the dark. "Take the cot. I'm not laying down anytime soon."

The ink man tilted his head further and stood. He didn't quite have bones, but his body remembered how to move if he had them. Careful not to make too much noise, Sammy headed to the table and sat where Buddy usually sat. Folding his arms at the man, he watched uncertainly. "Nor am I."

"Not up for talking."

"Fine." He didn't move.

"Go to bed."

"No." But it had no bite.

Henry sat back with a huff. The Bendy clock ticked aimlessly. Buddy snorted and shifted. Sammy stayed still, save his lungs at doing their purpose once more.

Brief noises that meant safety. "Sammy."

The ink man's head snapped his way.

"Do you… remember the day I quit?"

Sammy frowned. "No."

"I remembered it. Changed into a nightmare."

Sammy nodded once, slow and uncertain. "I could try to remember it."

"I don't want you to push yourself."

"Little sheep, your shepherd is stronger than he seems."

Henry frowned in the dark. "It wasn't a pleasant day."

"I'd worry if it were." He carefully picked up the sketchbook from the table. Henry hadn't shown that he'd rather Sammy not look. He hummed, carefully flipping it to the most recent scrawls. A roughly drawn stove, Buddy from behind, an intact Edgar on his back and laughing, Sammy playing his banjo… the half-done portrait hurt a little. Sammy had no mask in it, and the eyes and mouth were just barely-

-had a deadline looming, the guillotine ready to send some poor soul to the chopping block if Tombstone Picnic wasn't ready in a week. Halfway done, serviceable, but Sammy had to see part two. He had to know what horrid shadow was scaring the darling devil. Had to get this right. He was itching to get some music done!

He'd have knocked, had he shut the door. But Henry's office door was halfway open, and the man inside was packing a plethora of things into a briefcase. "-him so much of my time for what?" Henry growled, not realizing Sammy had leaned close to the door.

Sammy's heart sank, brows furrowed. "Henry?" He leaned into the room.

The auburn turned, tensed, then turned back to what he was doing. "I can't talk. I'm done here."

A deep frown creased Sammy's face. Who the hell upset one of the kindly people in this place? "What's happened?"

Henry turned and fixed Sammy with red-rimmed eyes. "Bull is what happened."

Sammy's free hand tapped out a tango. "Bull?"

"I'm nothing to Joey and his empire, so nothing's what he gets." Henry pulled on his coat and headed for the door. He clapped a hand to Sammy's shoulder on the way out. Hazel eyes set harder than stone. "Sammy, when you get the chance, get out of here."

Sammy's confusion faded into concern. "Henry, i-it can't be that bad."

Removing his hand, Henry sighed, smiling in a strained, sad manner that made the blond even more tense. "Then don't say I didn't warn you."

There was a flurry of footsteps in the hall. Joey Drew burst into the room, grip on the handle tight enough his knuckles burned white. "Henry, I can explain-"

Henry frowned. "I quit."

Joey was shouldering into the office with his smile burning across his cheeks. "Henry, ol' pal, I know we can-"

A tanned hand shot upward, finger an inch from Joey's nose. "We are not pals, and you made clear we were never partners. I don't even want to hear your name."

Joey almost seemed intimidated by the shorter man, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Henry, you know I'd never-"

"Get out of my way."

"Henry!"

The cartoonist grit his teeth and growled, "You son of a bitch, move!" On the last word, Henry gripped a fistful of Joey's shirt and pushed him back out of the doorway like he were nobody. Right then, he looked like nobody.

Sammy followed out the door and paused after a few steps. He watched Henry head to the exit, turning a corner out of sight. "Henry!" A noxious combination of ire and disarray churned his gut. He turned to Joey, who stood next to him with his mouth agape. "Joey, what the hell did you do?"

Joey wasn't smiling anymore. The man looked like a kicked puppy. "Get back to your songs, Sammy." He pivoted, slinking back to his office.

Sammy'd never seen the gratingly jovial man deflate that far. From his point of view, he had that coming. But now what? What the hell was this place going to do without the lead animator? He looked back into the room, jaw set. So… that was it, then.

Something on the floor caught his attention. Bending at the knees, the blond carefully plucked the small, worn sketch pad from the ground. Flipping open the cover, he found Henry Stein's name glaring up at him. Filled pages of old works, ideas, prompts, and the lil devil himself all but glowed from the pages.

Taking the deepest breath he could, Sammy let it, and his turbulent emotions, out in a sigh. It could have bowled over an army with the sadness and unease it held. Joey's idiocy lead to this… but moping wouldn't solve anything. Wouldn't bring Henry back. He pulled the animator's door closed, light still on. "Shake it off, Sammy." He tucked the pad into his pocket and headed back to the music department. There'd be a memo. There'd be questions. He'd hold on to the pad if Henry came back, and they could talk about it all then. "There's too much-"

"-left to do." The musician glanced at the hand still holding the pad. "Oh." He leaned back in the chair and frowned. "Oh, that was awful," he deadpanned before looking back at Henry. "You're a fright when you're angry."

Henry couldn't help but smile sadly at the ink man. "Which is why that's all for Joey."

Sammy nodded, brow knotted behind his mask. His mouth twitched in thought, before he lay his hand on the table, palm up.

Henry took it without looking over. He welcomed the chilled grip in his own in this dark, warm room.

Everyone needed an anchor.

\

Okay, little math here. I figure each loop in the studio lasts anywhere from one to four weeks. On average, a loop takes 2 weeks inside the studio, and aging isn't a thing because of how wonky time is.

Outside the studio? We'll get to how that works eventually.