25- Safe

"'Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.'" – John 14:1

Through dust and grime, the silhouettes of the disciples held a golden outline from the light of the room. Their expressions were barely visible, but the hazy vision could still discern the aura they emanated. Panic was merely a leaf in the wind in their storm of determination. Why did they trust each other after all that happened?

As this question was pondered, it made someone smile.

The chitter chatter of gears was overwhelming, but it was certainly the events that had just taken place that swallowed their usual conversation. Again and again, the incredible happened and left both the woman and the man completely unsure of the world around them. It was such a strange situation- granted that the former had total knowledge of the life outside the studio and the latter had been enveloped by this dark, twisted fate far longer than he was supposed to be alive.

And yet neither of them knew what to think, even as their understanding melded two halves into a whole universe. As such, both welcomed the talking of the machine over their own. It bit them to ignore the inquiries of Sammy's relation to the angel, of course, but both had resolved to find someplace safer than where they had stopped to rest before anything else.

It was pitch black where Sammy had taken them; she hadn't noticed before how she only barely traversed this hall in her earlier, fretful pursuit for her friend. It was only highlights of dim, glowing buttons and signals on the devices that made corners navigable.

There was a light skidding noise across the floor as Francine gripped his arm to stop his leading. His mask turned parallel to his shoulders, a sliver of a mouth revealed and open in breathless waiting.

"I- I have a light." True, he didn't seem to need it, perceiving how confidently he weaved the maze, but it would make her feel more secure.

The edge of her phone case glimmered a dark, dusty rose, and just when Sammy shifted his upper body to investigate more closely, his sight was gone.

As the flashlight hit him square in the-…eyes? - he shouted in agony and his arms swung with wild alarm; it was a failed attempt to keep balance, it turned out, as his heel slipped and something cracked behind his spine once he tumbled backwards.

As he half sat, half leaned onto a shelf in the path, the source of the light that had blinded him clanked to the floor, and its stream haloed the frizzy edge of her hair as it was flung toward him in urgency.

"Are you okay?! Oh gosh, I heard something break!" The shadows couldn't hide her grimace as she loomed over Sammy. "I am SO SO sorry!" It was true that she hadn't anticipated the ink man would place his face squarely in front of her phone- although he did that last time she showed it to him, stupid- she should have at least warned him. How easy it was to forget that her modernity was not a blessing but a curse if not used in utmost care.

With a few groans, Sammy pushed himself back up to his feet. He was otherwise silent, until-

"M-my lord…!"

Her quizzical gaze was ignored as he brushed past her side, addressing someone that wasn't there.

Or were they?

Where the smash had sounded now held the splintered remains of a Bendy cutout, its broken sneer only recognizable thanks to its distinct design and its history in their lives. The dust lit up and dispersed into the air as it passed over her flashlight, greying out of view as it drifted further and further away. Sammy, too, seemed to be drifting away as he bent down to hold a shard of wood between his fingers in veneration and lament.

It was such a discernable act of regret that it came as a surprise for Francine to simply see him lift his shoulders in a sigh and stand up. Her anxious fidgeting filled his peripheral, blurred by the lantern. Quiet and shaken, his voice was bitter and weary of all her presence brought with her.

"…Don't do that again."

Hands held over her chest clenched together in both embarrassment and relief, accompanied by hurried nods and a brow furrowed with worry- which then rose in curiosity.

He hadn't resumed their journey to the safehouse, and he would not. This is where he had intended to be.

After gingerly picking up her phone once again, she pointed its stream of radiance where the Bendy cutout had been set. Her mouth opened in wordless but questioning awe and her eyes darted back and forth.

Despite being surrounded by them since the moment Bendy saved her life, this was the first time she had noticed a pentagram.

In reverent comfort, a gleaming hand rested against its thin streaks, shaped with sinister magic. It was a tender, worshipful touch- but then it pressed harder, knuckles clenching with force-

And then his fingers were gone. Just. Gone.

The set on the other hand reached for her, as if it required no explanation.

Finally, Francine identified why she didn't catch up to Sammy when she first sought for him- why she could not catch up at all. When he left for the band room, he never made it further than this spot.

Of course, Sammy was perplexed to see her shock; this was the third time he had led her to a portal, after all. It didn't come across his mind that on the previous occasions, she was numb with horror and was just allowing herself to be guided - genuinely a lamb in the arms of its shepherd. But she was more now- a fellow disciple- and she was conscious to this impossibility he now made real.

And since he didn't know, it was assumed that it was his reach that made her pause; he began to retract his revolting, oily hand-

Just as she grabbed it and shut her eyes, gritting her teeth in preparation. She remembered now. She remembered his feet press through a wall, how when he found her alone in the pool of Bendy's flesh and took her to a barrier, only to suddenly reappear somewhere else.

She only asked of him, once again, that she not see it happen.

Two hands- one wet and one dry- closed in on each other, drastically different textures obvious as a white flame glazed over them. The darker one pinched tighter just before dragging them out of existence.

It was an all-consuming sort of oblivion. As she refused to open her eyes, it was unclear where she was. Would they open to something that was as empty as this seemed to feel? Was it a limbo of some sort, phasing between the walls? She could only feel the goosebumps on her skin.

"Wake up, Francine," a voice hummed.

There was a slit between her eyelids where she saw her trembling hand rattle his arm, trailing up until she saw that well-known mask regard her in either- or both- patience and annoyance. She finally let go of her anchor to turn around and find proof this was real. They were surrounded by yellowed wood and floorboards, a large collection of soup cans shelved by their side…

And a pentagram behind her back.

A shiver crawled up her neck as she realized her wild assumption was entirely correct. It was a quickly interrupted terror.

"It's about time we sing our old songs, my friend."

And without another word, Sammy turned away and walked ahead, as if the portal was merely an obstacle in their path rather than a miracle that had delivered them here.

As she began to follow, the corner of her sight recognized the trench of ink in the first hall to the right. Steps instinctively slowed before adrenaline took over and she ran as fast as possible to step in tandem by Sammy's side.

She never thought she'd see the place where Bendy enveloped her ever again, and so it was far too soon to be here, even in passing.

The flashing light of the "RECORDING" sign had been waiting for them, burning with enthusiasm as the two approached. Francine seemed to match its vigor, finally comprehending where they were- the place which's draw had led her to Alice in the first place.

…Wait.

"Why are we here?"

As Sammy lifted the vertical tin door to the room, he cast her a look. Oh, he didn't explain, did he?

"It's…best you stay by my side, for now." Certainly, it was his intention even before he came to retrieve the woman that he wanted her to be here with him, having regretted to insist she stay behind in the first place. He hid this truth in another- the sting of his vexation for her. "It seems you can't be trusted to do as you're told."

The chagrin of her actions and the acrimony of being scolded like a child fought over what she should say to that. They found a compromise.

"I didn't intend to leave! I-" She hesitated as Sammy dropped the entrance cover to oppose her, arms crossed and index finger tapping in a rhythm of provocation, anticipating how she could possibly explain herself.

Her chest rose and fell as she realized this anger was the kind of humanity she had wanted from him since when they first fled Alice. Maybe it had been a long time coming, but it had arrived. There was an irony in how the clear return of his personality, once so longed for, now made her upset. Francine held her lip between her teeth just a second before releasing it, finding that honesty was the only acceptable response.

"I was…scared."

The incredulity in his tone was obvious. "Scared?"

Their newfound "home" was the safest place he had ever found in this nightmare of a studio. Why wouldn't she be eager to stay, let alone sprint into darkness with no one to be by her side? What madness was that?

Her mouth pulled back in thought and her eyes slid to the floor. "Y…yeah." A slow blink came as she tried to recall that flurry of emotions. "When I heard the door close, I realized that I wanted to leave with you and come back, well, here. So, I ran after you until- until I couldn't tell which way I came from." Her fingernails scratched against her knuckles in mindless disquiet. "I called for you and called for you and... you were just…gone."

Abruptly, Sammy recognized how hollowed the woman was. It wasn't an excursion of naïve, joyful troublemaking like he had envisioned; she had left to retrieve him and was instead pulled into the embrace of what lay in the studio, like an angler fish luring a nosy creature to its doom. All along he had received tastes of her distress, but it wasn't till now that she realized that maybe, just maybe, she could actually die.

From then on, he would have a conscious reason to pray for Bendy to never allow that.

Her chin lifted as a weight fell gently upon her.

As she did for him in the room with the vent, Sammy had placed a hand onto her shoulder. Compassion wasn't his strong suit, but he didn't need to put forth effort this day…not when what caused her fear had bestowed it to him as well. He felt her slowing tempo of breathing through his palm, witnessing anxiety slide into calm with his touch.

How strange it was that even as the cold struck through her shirt and sank into her skin, that it made her feel a bit warmer inside. At least this time.

How odd it was, too, that he took less and less time to think about offering contact, even when he dreaded what it may bring.

His hand fell back to his side and a small beam upon her face briefly graced him, falling back down as she stepped forward to open the gate.

His heartbeat pounded until it bounced inside every bit of him, rushing his fingertips. He couldn't ignore the excitement- the mixture of elation and unsureness that swathed his entire body as he made for the instruments. Finally, they would feel her caress, just like they had asked for. Finally, someone besides he would give praise to their lord.

Finally, he wouldn't sing alone.

It was an all-out, teeth baring grin that he kept behind his mask, a level of eagerness he hadn't felt in what must have been years. As his thoughts danced, his feet almost did, moving from instrument to instrument in uncontained whimsy.

Was she a string player? A horn? Piano? Did she even play? Did she even need to?

No, she certainly did not, he decided. The bliss in his heart was enough to assure that. She could learn. And until she did, Bendy would most undoubtedly be pleased another cared to chant his songs at all.

He finally decided on the smaller of their options. Yes, the sharpness of the violin would certainly suit her.

"Here, Francine, come and-"

Behind his back, Francine had begun to stare up at the ceiling, arms raised at her sides as she turned to peer at every corner. He turned just in time to see her spin end in a flourish, plopping to the ground and then laying face-up upon the floor, skyward like it was a picnic blanket underneath the passing of puffy Sunday clouds.

It was so ludicrous that every bit of his passion melted into utter confusion. Little did he know that the love he had for the things around him was not dissimilar; it had been quite a while since she was in a band, but it was a love that would never, ever die. As soon as she saw that box up at the front of the room- the recording booth that housed the oh so familiar shape of a music stand, she was helpless but to feel…

Safe.

Even as a broken banjo was left rested on one of the seats, said seat having been pushed aside as a searcher chased after her, the solace of this room could not be gotten rid of.

Sammy didn't know it, but they both for once had something in common. God bless that this was that something, but for now? He'd only be beside himself at her bizarre show of appreciation.

Hair falling where it may, a dreamy glance returned his as he stood over her in disbelief. All he got in reply was two comedic raises of her eyebrows before pupils returned to their upward stare, a poor but fitting excuse for her silliness.

It wasn't only testiness Sammy felt. It was… foreboding. Dismay. This was time he set aside for his lord. He knew he was watching, listening, waiting. Francine must have caught a glimpse of the tension building up inside him, and so she flashed him a smirk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch all that. I'm quite…" She flopped a hand upward, congruent to her gaze. "Distracted."

Harmonizing with her childish contentment, the apprehensive man responded with childish curiosity. In search of meaning, Sammy's neck craned to the ceiling. Hm. It didn't…seem different, nor unusual. It still held the viewing box of the cutouts and the refuge of the projector, but there was nothing else to note.

He gave in to temptation.

"What do you see?" he asked.

Another, slighter elevation of her brow followed, unable to answer in words the kind of peace a change in perspective could bring. Despite being a lesson taught at such an early age, it was one that only reared its head when it was truly needed. Just for a second, memory tainted her expression. She remembered how Gabby would do exactly what she just did almost every time he went somewhere new, as if it was the only proper introduction.

Her painful nostalgia was derailed as she felt something rest next to her.

Unbelievably, Sammy found himself lying down on his back, staring up along with her. She turned her neck to face him, but he either ignored her or didn't recognize her gape as he searched for what she found.

…Well, she supposed that she probably had surprised him just as much, and so she was soothed he had joined her, that her aestheticism wasn't as remote as she thought. It was good to have a friend.

"Isn't it nice?" It was a confounding level of sincerity. He didn't comprehend, and yet he accepted it as true. Even if it did make his mouth slant in annoyance.

Suddenly, a soft laugh erupted. Amid the quiet, it was as loud as a volcano. She had laughed. It was the third time she had done so, but it was the first to move him. He felt his entire face stretch in surprise. Something above them that he just could not see had captured her and brewed delight until it bubbled out of her mouth.

The microphones dripped down like icicles- like dangling threads- and the novelty of it had tickled her to the core. The purest of joys are the humblest, after all, especially within a world where few joys were to be had in the first place.

The chortle had hardly stopped skimming her tongue when a new sound came to be.

"Hey Sammy, I forgot to tell you something."

He did acknowledge her this time, head shifting to lay at its side- or at least as far as it could without the rim of his mask stopping him. Her fixation was upward again, but that sincere smile was still curving her lips open, wisps of eyelashes dipping and raising like gates to her reveries- dams that took and released the marvels she seemed to find around them.

"You know…every time you call me 'Francine,' I feel like I'm in trouble," she confessed with another giggle, eyelids squeezing with humor. "My- uh…" The arc of her lips abruptly faded, the stillness of loneliness taking her cheeks and forcing her expression to drop. "My mom…was the only person that called me 'Francine.'" Her head rolled over again to watch him. "And she only did it, well- when I was in trouble."

She could almost see the concern sweep over him.

"You…told me to call you that. Why then?"

One side of her mouth stretched in guilt and their gazes no longer locked as thoughts flitted inside her mind. The air about her saddened just for a second, but then she returned to him stronger than ever, rapt with jest.

"I guess I haven't stopped feeling like I was in trouble till now."

And then she smiled again. Smiling at him. Unbelievable.

"You can-… you can call me 'Frankie.'"

And inexplicably, the tide of memory lapped over his arms as if their recline on the floorboards was really them washing up at the beach of his unconscious. He still saw her, unlike the past occasions she caused him to almost grasp who he was, but there was…something about that last word that took him.

It made him uncomfortable- unbearably aggravated, like a fly that buzzed about his head, landing only long enough for him to end up slapping himself in the skull. It was a name that was accompanied by a trained irritation; he felt his lips pucker slightly in itching displeasure for a word he knew but could not recollect. Little did he know it was only one syllable off from something far, far into his previous life, the ghost of an unnecessary but ever-present frustration that could not be destroyed even in death and rebirth.

An artificial poker face stared back at the woman in awkward pause…until in complete and utter exasperation, Sammy pledged to her:

"I'm not going to call you that."

Maybe it was the curtness, the tone of it, or the fact that it seemed to wittily retort the hell they endured- always being "in trouble." But she did not feel his depths, only his cutting sarcasm, and so she burst into laughter.

Yet again he did not understand, but even so…a chuckle slipped out of him too.

And so, hymns of struggle made way for the wonders of heresy. They forgot their obligation to the savior, and they could ignore the angel's warnings just for a moment, couldn't they?

They could and they did now that for once in their cursed lives, they were okay.