Vingt et un [Shedding light on a tragic memory.] [Trigger warnings – self harm]

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Sammy eventually exhausted himself. He didn't think he'd had that much remorse in him anymore. He lay still, grip around Henry slack but not ready to let go.

Henry's arm and back had cramped a while ago, but he didn't pay it much mind. Some part of him was complaining most of the time, anyway. His hand lay against the back of Sammy's neck. Gently, he drummed his fingers to the cool nape. "You okay?"

"Mm." The ink man slowly let go his hold of Henry and leaned back to stare up at the booth roof. "I suppose."

The cartoonist rolled his shoulders and stretched his back, before leaning back against Sammy again. "You sure?"

The ink man let his arms lay limply around the man's middle. "I… don't know."

"We can probably stay longer if you-"

"No. We should get going." He let Henry go and moved forward, silently begging to be let out of the booth to have this horrible lapse in composure fade away.

The man hummed lowly, but pushed the door open and stepped stiffly out.

Sammy didn't look Henry's way, focused on the floor. "I ask too much from you."

A frown. "You're dealing with a lot, Sammy."

Amber eyes flicked to Henry. "As are you."

"Eh." He shrugged. "I've… never really been a crier? Takes a lot to get me to that point." And he considered the Studio loops to be quite a lot. Henry offered a friendly smile Sammy's way. "I think you remembering something awful and breaking over it is… understandable?"

Sammy huffed and frowned, looking away. "Tell that to your ruined shirt."

Henry blinked at the stain covering his shoulder and back. Okay, that was… big. "Well… we'll just say a burst pipe did it."

"Burst pipe is my new nickname, then?" He asked in a clipped tone.

"Mm." Henry shrugged. "Well, you kinda soaked me. The fact you even feel bad means you're not so bad. Bad people don't care if someone gets hurt."

"The bar cannot be that low, little sheep."

Henry shot him a look. "How is that low?"

"Low enough I could step over it."

"Then step over it and fix this with me, I guess?"

Sammy blinked, lips parted. He closed his mouth and nodded sternly. "I can do that. I can try."

"Let's get back." He held his hand out for Sammy to take.

The ink man's mouth twitched. "I… need a moment." He didn't want to break down again because Henry was such a kind soul. He couldn't afford to turn Henry into a soft place to land if he fell down every step forward.

Henry nodded. "Join us when you're ready, Sammy." He turned and left the ink man to himself. There was only so much he could do for him, anyway.

Seemed that Buddy and Norman had found something to do. Ticktacktoe, a game of hangman that was clearly abandoned halfway through, a few rounds of pigs-in-a-pen… and the middle of a game of rock-paper-scissors.

"Having fun?"

Buddy turned and nodded. He quickly grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote something for Henry to read.

WE WERE PLAYING TO SEE WHO WOULD CHECK ON YOU AND SAMMY BUT WEVE BEEN TIED SINCE THE FIRST GAME

The cartoonist chuckled. "What about hangman?"

Buddy took a new sheet and wrote again.

YOU DONT WANT TO KNOW

"Fair enough." He turned to Norman, who still had his left hand held out in rock form. "Hey, uh-" Right. Deaf. Okay. Henry waved a hand where he thought the amalgam could see, and waited.

Norman turned his head slowly and tilted it down in recognition. Unfolding his legs to stand, the amalgam groaned from his speaker.

"We're back. Well, I am. Sammy… needs a minute."

The Projectionist ticked slowly, and a curious grumble emerged from his chest.

Henry ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. "He remembered something that upset him. Badly. We need to leave him alone for a bit, okay?"

But the Projectionist shook his projector slightly in a no and pointed behind Henry.

The cartoonist turned to find Sammy in the doorway, grim as anything but not as broken as before. "Sammy, you sure you're ready to come back in?"

"Yes." He adjusted the mask on his head and stood in arm's reach of Henry.Don't be greedy. Let him come to you. Let him lead. Don't be greedy. "I'm alright."

Norman groaned and grabbed Henry's nearest arm.

Oh boy. "Norm?"

The amalgam turned Henry back to the screen and pointed with his free hand, before his light cast a new scene upon it.

Norman was looking at a far younger Henry. Hair still an utter mess, but less in the beard. He was shooting Norman a curious look. "So, you get to see the band from up here?"

"Yup. Best seat in the house." Norman looked down to his wrist and exposed his watch. "Bout time he showed up, anyway."

Just then, the door to the music department opened, and in walked Sammy. His expression was stern, straight-backed as he strode to the conducting podium. "I'm three coffees deep and can't play nice today."

Jack, sitting at the piano, smirked his way. "You playing nice means hell froze over."

The blond pointed without looking over. "Sass me again and I'll send you there to find out."

"I'll bring ya a snowball, Sam."

The blond pursed his lips at the sheet music in hand. "First thing, everyone's sheet music is here." He held up the pack and made a circle around the room. "Found this in my inbox, no warning, no note. So Mister Drew approved the score after three rewrites." Hands empty, the man took to the podium and cracked his neck. Free hand fanned and other with the baton, he conducted.

They barely got thirty seconds in, before Sammy locked up and waved his free hand at the group.

"Stop! Stop." The slender man shut his eyes and pointed at the woodwinds. "There's no bassoon in this piece. Who had the bassoon?"

"I did," said a woman in the back.

A slim hand pointed the conductor's baton her way. "Why were you playing?"

"You gave me sheet music."

The wand was set down with a sharp slap. "Did I?" He strode forward and held a hand out to her. He held the sheet music and let out an irate hum upon reading it. "Seems that Mister Drew has added back in the bassoon, despite my advice. I'll have this sorted in a few minutes, everyone." He headed for the door, glowering on his way there.

Henry spoke up. "He's at lunch."

Sammy jumped slightly and turned to look up at Henry. His sharp features relaxed at seeing him, then a frown dragged his mouth into a snarl. "What?"

Henry shrugged. "Investors meeting."

The blond splayed his arms and shrugged to the rafters. "Fantastic!" He dropped his arms and turned back to the band. "Seeing that I have to rework this single goddamn piece again, for, mind you, the fifth time? Everyone take your lunch early. Miss Carmine!"

The bassoonist blinked. "Mister Lawrence?"

"Head home."

"You sure?"

"Unless you can play a different instrument?"

"Piano."

Jack spoke up. "Margie, right? You can take the piano for this set once Sammy and I get the sheet music sorted. Gotta make sure the lyrics didn't get screwed up along with selection."

Sammy nodded, glaring down at the papers in his hand. "Sounds fine. Everyone out."

There was a set of collective groans and pushing of chairs, but the group filed out. The music room was empty, save for four.

Norman's view panned from Sammy back to Henry, who was leaning on folded arms to look down at Sammy with anamused smile.

The blond looked up at Henry and gave a crooked frown. "So, Henry. Enjoy the show?"

"Not much of a show, but I liked what I saw."

A dramatic huff. "Trust me, I aim to please." He glared at Norman. "But next time, let me know you're coming?"

"Why? You never knock."

An offended noise and an open mouth that quickly shut. "Touche. Jack? You can grab lunch and come back if you like."

"If I let you be, you'd down another thermos of coffee."

"Not wrong." The blond looked back to Henry and smirked. "You. Go to lunch."

"You never eat. You go to lunch."

"God. Fine. You're both worse than my mother. Jack? Let's do this in the lunch room since the art director is directing for once."

"Amen to that." The music duo headed out.

The projectionist shook his head, the view shifting with it. "Dunno how he keeps friends. I'm one of 'em, and I say that."

The cartoonist chuckled. "So am I, and I'm on thin ice."

"Not a bad guy, jus'…" A pause, and a chuckle. "Temperamental. Y'know what I mean?"

Henry blinked, brows lowered. "Yeah." He smirked and straightened up. "And he shouts a lot, too. Still, good guy to have around."

Norman let out a laugh.

The reel ended, and Norman let Henry go.

The cartoonist took a breath and looked at Sammy over his shoulder. "You still okay?"

Sammy's gold gaze danced about the floor. "I… Norman." He huffed before taking a step to the turning amalgam. "You say we were friends?"

A nod.

"Well… the reason I was upset was…" He swallowed to quell the ache in his throat. "I remembered killing you."

Norman tilted his projector down, not at Sammy but at the ground. He lifted it slowly and grasped Sammy's closest arm. With his free hand, he pointed back at the screen.

Henry stepped forward to be in Norman's line of sight. "Too much in one day might hurt Sammy. We don't want that."

There was a hum from the speakers, and the view clicked on, anyway.

The youngest version of Sammy Lawrence yet came into view, standing on Normans left. He looked a fine mix of cross and bored.

"You know anything about projectors, mister Lawrence?"

"Only that you shouldn't touch the bulb bare handed."

Norman nodded, and the view went with it. "Know why that is?"

Sammy shook his head.

The older man held up a white-gloved hand. "Oil from your fingertips gets on the bulb, the bulb gets so hot the oil boils. Bulb shatters, and then I get sent up here to disassemble and clean a projector." He screwed the new bulb into its socket and hefted the projector onto his left shoulder.

"I'm impressed. I'd think you'd need a manual for that thing."

He shrugged his free shoulder. "No need. Been fixing these for decades."

"I didn't think someone like you could do such a complex task."

Norman's tone changed. "Someone like me."

Sammy raised his hands in defense. "I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, Lawrence. Don't change the fact if you don't learn you don't eat. If you're gonna fiddle with my machines, you're gonna learn how to treat the projectors right. You breaking the biggest part of my main job ain't gonna fly if Grant has to budget out for more parts every other week."

Sammy huffed, then managed a smirk. "Right. Fantastic. What else do you do here?"

Norman's brow smoothed. "Projectors, some electric. Gotta wear more than one hat with mister Drew as your boss."

"I'm fine being a music director and composer."

"Give it time, he'll give you more to do." Norman set the projector back down with a thud. "You wanna learn, Mister Lawrence?"

The blond blinked, frown relaxing. "Can't hurt."

"Good. First thing, make sure they're strapped down. These'll take your foot off if it lands on it."

"Not surprising. At least the piano has wheels."

"Don't trust a projector trolly not to tip if ya push it wrong."

"Speaking from experience?"

"You'll never know. Second, once you got it set up, check the speed settings."

"You can change the speed of a reel?"

The man chuckled. "You really are fresh on this kinda thing." A dark hand urged Sammy closer. "C'mon, get a look."

The scene changed with a click.

Sammy was scowling at Wally Franks, arms crossed. The view was from up in the projectors booth. "This is the fourth time today, Franks."

The younger man smirked and shrugged. "Not my fault, I'm a busy guy! I go plenty of places and clean plenty o' things!"

The blond grimaced. "Fourth time today and none of those times was your key ring in here."

"You never know, Sammy, I sure get around!"

The taller man sneered. "I'm sure you do, now get around to leaving me the hell alone!"

"Sure thing, Jammy Sammy!" He grinned cheekily and booked it.

Norman leaned over the railing and cleared his throat a minute after Wally left.

Sammy turned and frowned at the man. "Insufferable."

"Yeah, but you gotta admit that he's got his own brand o' clever."

The blond squinted. "How is that loud mouth clever? Did he find a new way to scrub a toilet?"

"Naw." The projectionist chuckled, and his left hand came into view, pointing at something. "But he kept ya yellin' long enough to swipe ya coffee mug."

"He what?" The shock faded to a snarl as he spotted the empty top of the standing piano. "That little-"

"Oop! Hang on now, that's not all! Check the wastebasket by the piano."

Sammy's expression remained annoyed, but his face turned darker across his cheeks and nose. He turned stiffly to the bin and froze, arm dangling down. With a growl, he lifted the key ring from the bottom of the waste bin. "Norman. Excuse me while I throttle a certain janitor."

The projectionist let out a laugh. "Don't call me for bail money!"

"No corpse, no crime!" and he stalked out of the room, keys in hand. "You're next after him!" Norman barked out a laugh when the door shut.

"... you…" Sammy cleared his throat and blinked at Norman. "You put up with me, even though I was an ass."

A nod.

"...but why bother to show me? I-" He held his hands to his chest, half curled and stiff. "Norman, I killed you! You should despise me!"

Another nod.

"... I wish you could speak. I don't understand."

The projector tilted to the side, and the amalgam waved to Sammy to get his attention. He pointed to Sammy, then himself, and pressed his hands together to be flat. He the pointed at himself once more, then his lens, then Sammy, then… made a circling motion with that same finger against the side of his projector.

Norman's light lit up again, and he gestured to the screen.

The screen showed Sammy, older and exhausted as ever. The view was from a supply closet, not the projection booth. The blond sipped coffee from his mug, and a dark stain stuck to his upper lip. His tongue slid out to clean it off, only to show the flesh to be a far darker color than it should have been.

The screen flickered, and the scene switched.

The thin man's face pinched in a snarl that made the bags under his eyes seem all the darker. "For god's sake, shut up back there! I can't think straight with you clucking on like that!" His teeth were defined by the darkened spaces that encased his even darker mouth. "This one piece alone is due by morning and the next person to hold us up is getting canned!"

Again, a change.

The bags under Sammy's eyes were bruise-dark and mottled with hairline black veins. Strings of greasy hair hung free of the generally well-groomed ponytail. Snarl lines marred his roman nose and curled his lip with disdain that didn't match the situation. "Move it."

"Not til you tell me or Jack what's up. Ya ain't been right since the pipes got you."

He gave no razor sharp smile, only bared teeth. A shaking hand with a chewed off nail aimed dead at the camera. "Neither of you deserves to know. My life, my issue. Now move your ass, Polk."

The camera swept to the left, and the blond stormed by.

Another scene change, and the view was from a fire escape, looking down upon a hunched, smoking Sammy.

A paltry collection of butts littered the ground. The man paced and muttered, teeth clenched and shirt a rumpled mess that hung loose on his frame. The man paused, swaying in exhausting, taking a drag of maybe his fifth smoke. It burned to the butt to singe his fingers, but he didn't flinch. He blinked drowsily at the ember… then pressed it to the exposed flesh of his left arm to join the half dozen already there. Not even a blink.

Again, the scene shifted.

Sammy was only heard, not seen. Beyond the walls of the empty music department, he could hear Sammy screaming. The noise was muffled, the pain wasn't. A heavy, shaking thud as something was thrown. Something caught between a sob and a shout. A hard slam and a string of curses… and Norman backed out of the room and shut off the lights.

Beside Sammy, the Projectionist lifted his hand and held up a single finger.

Norman traveled down in an elevator, past a few floors and deeper into the dark. A flashlight lit what came ahead as it halted with a thud. Winding down dark hallways and shining the light here and there, the man slowly came upon the ink machine.

The device lay still, silent and swaying on chains. Before it stood an emaciated figure. Blond hair hung limp and slicked with black, and equally blackened arms hugged a shaking, shirtless form. The form jerked and made wounded sounds but didn't turn.

"Sammy?"

He turned, slow and pained at looking away from the ink and at Norman with empty eyes.

"Hey bud… you okay?" He took a step, just one. "I haven't seen you in a while. You… Jesus, Sammy. Did ya fall in?"

Sammy arched his back and bared his teeth, eyes wide and bright in the dark. "You will not take him from me!"

"Calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you-"

Sammy rasped as ink ran from his eyes. "Stay away!"

Norman held both hands up."Sam-"

He screamed and lunged, swinging with slicked, black hands.

"Whoa!" Norman stumbled backwards but got back his footing. He circled around, facing the blond and shuffling his feet. "Easy. Easy now. I just wanna help. What'd you do?"

The inked man heaved a ragged, gargling breath. Ink and blood drooled from his nose and mouth, an eye slowly growing covered in black. "You took him from me." He lifted the axe at his hip and bared his teeth, slicked with blood and ink. "You… made him leave. I know it!"

"I don't know watcha mean, Sammy!"

"I don't care! I have nothing!" He swung the blade in an arch through the air.

"Put it down, man! I don't wanna hurt you!"

They went in a circle, Norman with his hands raised and Sammy unhinged.

The blond screamed, and the ink that consumed him curled into his mouth and covered his eyes completely.

"Jesus!"

The ink man swung, and the memory ended before Norman could scream.

The ink man understood. He swallowed and looked fully at Norman. "Norman. I'm sorry. That doesn't fix what happened, but-"

The Projectionist grabbed both of Sammy's arms and pulled him tight in for a hug. Had Sammy any bones, they'd be cracking from the force of it.

The ink man let out a strangled noise. "Norm… uh, Norman." He half returned the hug and patted what parts of his back he could reach. "I can't breathe, Norman."

Henry laughed and waved to get Norman's attention. "Okay, you can let go."

The amalgam did and stood straight, before he planted a hand on a panting Sammy's head and walking back to Buddy.

Buddy had gotten out of the way with a sheet of paper to doodle on, letting the three older men figure stuff out. When the Projectionist wandered by, he grabbed a loose cable and followed him out. He might as well monitor the guy and give Henry and Sammy space.

Sammy heaved in a breath and scrubbed a watering eye. "Henry."

"Yes?"

"If Norman tries to hug you, run."

"Noted."

/

In my research on 'proper 30's-40's slang' the two least offensive words to describe a gay man were Temperamental and Daisy. There was no way I could have Norman call Sammy a daisy and make it not stupid.