"Into the drawing pad?" John asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Into my old home, yeah." Cassy's cheeks flushed with red ink.

Come home with me.

John's own face flushed with red, just not ink.

Not yet.

Cassy took his hand. "Come on! It'll be fun! The old me couldn't really do much, but now that we can play with words, we should. Come on. Hop us in there." She jerked her head playfully to the drawing pad.

John couldn't quite find the words for either acceptance or denial. He had pulled Cassy out of her home before, yes, and he had done it again; she was sitting beside him, after all. But to put her back in? As well as go in there with her?

"Why not?" He concluded without really thinking about it. John put a hand on the drawing pad. He then turned back to Cassy. "So, what should I expect?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Cassy perked up. "You should expect...expect…" Cassy pondered it for a moment. She shook her head. It would be better if she just showed him. "Just pull us in, come on. Let me show you the ropes."

"Okay."

#

White. White as far as the eye could see. He had no muscle nor did he have bone; he was ink. He lost his balance and fell to the floor. Actually, no. No, he didn't. He was flowing.

He was ink. He was letters; they spelled John repeatedly, and he could tell that they did, but he wasn't quite sure how. SCP-507 was intermingled with his name.

He hated that designation. Codes or designations of any kind detracted from the humanity and respect that a human deserved.

John?

He could tell that this word did not come from him. Also it had a question mark next to it. John turned—erroneous as that term may be—around and saw Cassy. 'Saw' was also erroneous.

He felt her. Sensed her.

Words drifted closer to him. Cassandra. SCP-85. Clinical depression. Hope. Thanks for being my friend. Thanks for taking me with you.

Thank you for saving me.

"I didn't save you," John's words drifted from his intangible form and gently bombarded Cassandra's print-body, which communicated his pure intent directly to her art-bound psyche. "Agent Egrene did."

"He saved my body. You kept your promise to take me places." Cassandra responded. "You basically saved me. You can't convince me otherwise, John."

Arms. Arms. Embrace.

These words drifted from Cassandra and intermingled with John's incorporeal, text-based 'body.' They firmly wrapped themselves around his waist.

She hugged him like the old friend that he was quickly becoming.

Words drifted from her form and encircled the two of them, a light current that was not dissimilar to the caress of a flowing, ankle-deep stream of water.

And it was all around him. All around them.

John, in turn, encircled his own written essence around Cassy. "How is this possible?" John asked. "I've never hopped into a world like this before."

Cassy's face was just inches from his. Her eyes were represented with the capital O on both sides. There was no color to her cheeks. Only words.

Love you.

"I don't know. I'm not the drawing pad. I'm Cassandra, the drawn woman. How did that machine bring me back? I was completely erased. And why did it add words into my art form? This is the Foundation, John. Nothing makes sense." The O's on Cassandra's face closed into em dashes and she pulled his face closer.

Two bodies of text, symbols and hand-drawn shading merged together, encapsulated by the artistic flares and flourishes of whoever originally created Cassandra, designated SCP-85. This was her home, once devoid of any and all life except for the ink-based woman who accidentally learned of her own existence by stumbling into her case file.

The Soul Press, designated SCP-318, had changed small parts of her nature, but regardless, she was sharing—no, she was giving half of it—her home with John.

He pulled away, breathing heavily. No. Not breathing. Shaking? No. Words didn't shake, and neither did art.

"C-cassy..." For the first time, John's cheeks showed a blush blush blush.

Cassy smiled. "Thanks for visiting." She then looked down.

Fear. Fear. Fear. Anxiety. Worry.

"Cassy?" John asked. His words drifted slightly below to get her attention.

"Sorry." She said. She made a gesture that John assumed was her head shaking. "There's another Cassy here, right? That's the Cassy of 'this' world...well...'that' world. Your Foundation. Mine's gone. It was taken by that black thing, I think..."

"What are you trying to say?" John's arm letters fell over Cassy's head letters; he was caressing her.

"I was meant to die there. Egrene broke so many rules, it's insane. That Cassy is the 'right' Cassy...am I even the same Cassy that died? I have the memories. I remember being crushed. I remember screaming and being squeezed so tightly, I couldn't breath. I remember the first time I breathed." Cassy rested her head against John's shoulder. He cradled her. He was growing more accustomed to this form. He was even starting to like it. Skin was much too restrictive in communicating emotions.

"Please don't think about that." John told her. He meant this as a whisper, but volume didn't exist here. "You're alive. You're here. Focus on that."

"The universe I'm from was a 'failed' one, right? Egrene gave us a few details, but he wouldn't say anymore. He says he's 'everywhere,' but I don't understand. Is he even part of the Foundation? Is he an SCP?"

Shocked. Stunned. Epiphany?

John had never even considered that. No other Agent that ever interacted with John beforehand had ever displayed this much authority or power over the Foundation. Or empathy. Egrene was not natural.

"Do you trust him?" Cassy asked him as she brought his face close again. She rested her forehead on his.

"Yeah. I think." John responded with only a smidgen of hesitation. "He brought you back. It's weird, I know, but every time I look in his eyes, I see something that makes me think he means it. He means it when he sees he'll do something for you. Every other agent or researcher or whatever never meant it. It was all pure business. But Egrene?" John shook his head. "He's different. I...like him. I think he's genuine."

"Ok." Cassy smiled. "Let's stay like this a little longer. Okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Love you, too.