37- His Blessing

"But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." - Matthew 9:13

She wouldn't let him touch her, and he wasn't sure that in any of these horrible, agonizing years of entrapment that he had ever felt quite like this. Once again, just as he reached for understanding, his foot slipped the second he began to see it within grasp.

Disgusting.

Unworthy.

Something inherent in his very nature made him inexplicably bad. And it was so much worse now; he had unconsciously allowed himself to believe, thanks to her, that maybe something was still inside him that was worthwhile.

He turned his head to look at her again. Yes, yes, she was different, and different was everything he didn't want her to be.

And indeed, she was very, very different.

Francine leaned into herself as she sat on the gurney in the apartment, legs dangling over the edge. Usually they'd kick a little - usually it was as if there was something inside her that demanded she not stay still. It's absence now was the only reason he had noticed it ever existed. The woman seemed frozen, chilled inside out. A half open mouth, half open eyes, and in the brief seconds he caught her gaze…a half open heart.

Of course she didn't trust him, he thought. Of course.

But understanding doesn't lessen the burden of acceptance.

The feeling when you hurt someone you care about to the point where offering closeness, tenderness bothers them may be the worst fate of all. It means you're helpless, totally useless to fix what you've caused. You can only sit there and watch the future unfold without you.

…Unless you're especially desperate.

"Francine," Sammy muttered, voice tripping inside his throat. It was rough, clumsy, and hardly became audible at all…but it was all he had. He had to give something, he had to give something to fix this.

Her eyes only flashed up to him, then back down when he had no further words to give. Usually she'd be so skilled at reading his faceless expressions, so willing to at least try. Its lacking now made him sick.

"Francine," he begged again.

Nothing. Her brow only furrowed just a touch tighter, weighed with weariness. He didn't know that it wasn't the journey that had harmed her; she had asked to go after all and still did not regret it. No, it wasn't that- it was the uncertainty that followed. And so she retreated into herself, unsure how to reconcile everything she knew with everything that seemed to elude her forever.

But he didn't know, so anxiety overcame him. Unbearable silence; it needed to end. Please talk, please talk, please talk, please talk-

"Francine-!"

And before he knew it, he couldn't tolerate the quiet any longer. He looked down at his hands and saw her shoulders beneath them now. He felt them tighten. He centered his gaze and-

He saw her gape turn into a frown, and as he retracted with a small gasp, a frown turned into a scowl.

"SAMMY-" How could she be so loud? She was never this loud. "Take a FUCKING chill pill for TWO MINUTES, DUDE! Don't freak out on me!"

Both she and him retracted in surprise. Her outrage thawed into shock, and she was back in the studio once more instead of inside the machinations and assumptions her own head. For the first time since they reunited, she actually saw him as he was instead of what the twists of this mystery made him to be. The shadowy figure of her mind- the one that loomed over her when they first met- turned his mask away and dissolved into who was before her now.

It only brought her more conflict, and so the only thing she knew to do was groan loudly and keep him out of her sight. She immediately regretted how she didn't take that split-second opportunity to meet his guise's painted eyes before she pushed past him, but she could only keep going. And so she made her way to the hammock and sat once more, same half open expression now meaning an entirely different thing.

And if you caught her eyes again, you'd see a glint of fear as they trembled in their sockets.

Even as he could still feel his presence, she couldn't meet his gaze. Not after that. But he wouldn't leave. She squeezed her eyelids shut and gritted her teeth. Let this moment pass. Please, let it pass-

A noise.

A noise she had never heard before. Not from him.

Laughter.

A soft chuckle roughened his throat. She turned her chin up, and as she did, she grasped maybe it wasn't laughter after all.

Maybe underneath that mask, he was crying.

"…I don't understand what you're saying." Hardly a whisper, hardly voiced at all. Finally, thanks to her outburst, everything unconscious inside Sammy had culminated into reality. It didn't only expound his shaken faith, didn't only unsettle his existence; like a pebble tossed into water's reflection, it broke his entire vision of what he could be.

His whole world was falling apart all over again, but only this time, he saw it coming.

She didn't see the depths of his suffering, and so she thought she could remedy it with a mere:

"I'm sorry."

It may have taken a lot for her to say it- maybe it represented a lot to her- but it went so much deeper for him; it was a difference as vast as the length of their lives. Of course, Francine conceding at least momentarily for the sake of peace was validly a disturbing experience.

But breaking the very foundation of who you are?

A watch turned to the wall only briefly came to her after a pause, almost as if there was a delay in the sound of her lips; the surprise took him only for a second, however, and his head shook such simple reconciliations away.

Flecks of him landed underneath her feet.

"If-" No, don't give up just yet. "…when our lord releases us…what will I come back to?"

And just like that, Francine realized she had released a few strange words into this world trapped in time. Sammy had already been stripped so far of his spiritual comfort that now all that was left was who he was. So with her final blow, the prophet found his god's armor could not prevent a piercing through his very being.

With a few bits of slang, the disciples realized that the life he longed for wouldn't be the same. He couldn't recognize the remnants she had brought with her.

Suddenly and abruptly, it wasn't so hard to want to forgive. His stability in this moment was hers- and always had been. That's why she tried to uncover his secrets. She hoped that maybe their existence could be a bit easier, if he could just understand. If she could just understand.

How uncomfortable was it to feel both empathy and bitterness for the man she put all her faith in. How difficult it was to figure out what to do about it. And so her stare at him merely sharpened with worry, thumbs anxiously fiddling with each other between her dangling legs. Just past her sight of them, Francine saw Sammy grasp his upper arm, oily skin shining as to reveal that he was really, truly melting away.

It was a thought worth melting over.

"…I'm sorry, Francine." He spoke to her, but his face was pointed as far away as he could.

Shame.

Humiliation.

Despondency.

And as she battled with her growing sympathy from him, anger emerged.

"Why are you sorry?! You don't-" And he finally looked at her, so she stopped where she was. Somehow without a face, he was expressing probably the most profound sadness the woman had ever seen in her entire life.

He slowly let go of himself and his lean into the wall became a lurch towards her, a small, dark smear on the wood panel appearing where he used to be. Soon Francine's hair started to dangle further along her back, his height so tall over her even in her elevated seat that he needed to adjust her head to meet his eyes. That wasn't where she was supposed to look, she found, as her peripheral revealed two black smudges near her stomach.

He had laid his palms flat, unsure if it was for her to observe or for him to lament. Either way, it was all he could focus on. Drips continued to fall, almost in hope that enough of them leaving would reveal his original skin once more.

"This flesh isn't a disfigurement," Sammy admitted to himself, "It's a coma."

And so it was. Just as he knew not who he was, he knew not what existed without him. It was like a flower left behind in a dark closet, forgotten as a family moved out and on without remembering to take it with them. And even as he was that bloom, he was unsure if he was still alive or dead. He wouldn't know until someone opened the door.

…So he may never know, he had begun to dread.

And they were left there, staring at the inky soma that tried to leave him. And in a way, it did. Like drops of blood, small orbs formed at the back of his hands and splattered between them once their weight grew too heavy. Over and over, one by one they slipped off. But the disciple knew the curse couldn't be washed away so easily. It would only reveal more of how he had rotted thoroughly inside out; what left him sank into the floorboards, returning to the puddles, the pipes, and the ink machine. From whence his form came, his flesh would always feed. It was the price for keeping a flame lit that had long wished it could die.

Francine feared the machine. She feared the words of the angel, the fate of the projectionist. She could see the demon's face smiling down upon her, and she was unsure if it was a blessing or an omen. For a brief second, he could see Bendy stand over Sammy too. And as she did she was suddenly so, so aware of how much trust she had put into the two, and she had begun to close off her heart.

It was a very inopportune time to realize how vulnerable she was.

She swallowed and let her lips pull down. Now had come a conscious choice. She could either fear Sammy and live the rest of this imprisonment wary of he and his god, or she could do her best to accept it, blindly letting belief envelope her until the demon set them free.

…Neither were to her satisfaction, of course. Suddenly, her scowl returned, but it wasn't one of hatred- oh no. Determination. Time to make her own path. Even if it was trouble, she couldn't live with herself any other way. As she had resolved before, if she was stuck here, she was going to have to survive not just physically but emotionally.

"Sammy."

He didn't move, but she could feel him finally look back at her...just as her own head turned away. She could hardly look inside herself to say this, let alone him anymore.

"You-" His body finally shifted as she spoke again, the quakes in her voice reawakening him to her presence. "You'll be with me." It was resolute all the same. But of what? Sammy's neck tilted his wooden face closer to her, either in confusion or incredulity.

Her hands rubbed each other, slowly but roughly over and around each other and their fingers, impatient to release this anxiety.

"When we get out of here, I-…" The woman needed to pause. This would change everything all over again, so soon after she had come to see the studio for what it was, Sammy more for who he is. They didn't know who he used to be, and so it was a shot in the dark if whatever he had done to anger the angel was worth forgiving-

Francine had to stop herself again. No more "if or." It was her life. She'd find a way. And so there was only one question left to ask herself:

Did she really want to make this promise?

-She saw his hands once more between them, fingers still curled as if he was begging for something that could save him-

Yes, she did.

"When we get out of here," she began again, "…I'll take care of you."

Underneath her brow, her eyes slid back up to look at him; the chill was still there, but much like he, Sammy saw something that still burned inside after all.

The dabs of paint that served as eyes almost seemed to shine alongside as they were both taken by revelation.

"We- maybe, maybe we're not the only ones that lived through this like I thought we were-" Frustration was tangible in her voice at this fact, but she pushed on. "But we're living through this together. You- you were…" She frowned once more, gaze falling to their pairs of hands. "…there for me when I needed someone."

He watched his set finally leave their stance and bend into his chest, shaking.

"I'm going to be there for you when you need someone, too. And besides." And then her own hands moved, her arms folded. A show of bravado and stability that tried and failed to balance her downright helpless words. "…I think I may still need you then too." And it was true. A lot had occurred, much more than anyone was supposed to experience in a single lifetime. With the agony of years of suffering came with it a sort of wisdom, and maybe, just maybe, he could help her learn to live not only through it but in spite of it.

A mutter came from his mouth, a sigh broken into bits. Sammy was a philosophical man, one always filled with responses. But not to this. Never before had someone besides his lord promise him hope. And it was such an incredible hope to give when one promises not to leave the other behind. The future was terrifying, but maybe less so if she could still find some good in him. Maybe less so if they went hand in hand.

But as with his lord, hope came with a price.

"But no more funny business!" Francine was loud again, her self-preservation turning from a need for companionship into a need for honesty. "I…I heard a lot of things down there-" Saw a lot, too. "-and I know you don't know a lot, but that should give you more reason not to keep secrets."

Sammy's shoulders fell back and his clenched hands flinched a little more upwards in softness at her next words:

"If you really want me safe, then that's the way it has to be."

Yes, it was still a struggle to trust him, but she wanted to. So she was going to meet him halfway. Even in its uncertainty, it was worth a shot. It meant she wouldn't have to be alone, after all.

She wasn't going to ignore the angel, she promised herself. But she had seen too much in Sammy to ignore that he really, genuinely seemed to make his soul bare in her presence. That much deserved consideration.

And the woman had a feeling it wasn't Sammy that was the "he" she needed to distrust.

It was only now that she was done that Francine realized Sammy hadn't said a single thing since she began. His scratched face was directed straight down at her, but she couldn't be sure what he saw.

After a second of quiet, another light laugh.

And then his knees bent a little, and through his mask was a mouth open in awe and disbelief. Then...relief. His world and his faith could survive another day. "…A blessing," he decided. She was his blessing.

The question of Bendy allowing her harm would live on to haunt him, but for now, he was satisfied. In his desperation for firm ground, he allowed the worry of mere moments before to be buried beneath this one good thing his lord had bestowed upon them. The demon had brought her to his prophet, after all. Not only today but into his existence, and the time they spent together had already seemed like so much more than anything he'd gone through his entire life. Her mortal hand brought with it the graces of life beyond the ink. Wasn't that what he had asked for all along? Wasn't that enough?

Indeed, the lights seemed to flicker just a bit brighter when she was around. That was surely a sign God was with them.