38- Your God and Mine

"But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person." - Matthew 15:18

Chapter Text

"And well…that was it." Her tale ended on a high, soft note. Out of context it seemed to understate the absolute blood-pounding revelation of her epoch, but it came out mildly as the weariness of recall gripped her shoulders.

Once again, Sammy found himself sitting across from the woman in the living room of this strange apartment, overcome by flabbergast. So Alice didn't hurt her after all…although she did threaten her life. Such behavior was expected; however, it stood in stark contrast to everything else she described.

"He…didn't try to attack you?" Sammy asked with both hesitation and disbelief about the newest being she had met.

The corner of Francine's mouth pulled back. "No. He-" She put a hand to her throat, a gentle recognition of a past sensation. "He was just…feeling, I think." A questioning gaze looked up to the prophet. "Norman can't- can't hear, right?"

A slow, wordless nod from across the table and nothing more. Norman…Norman… Sammy had never called him that but…it felt correct. If the angel called him so, then it must be the projectionist's former name.

But now that he thought of it, there was a lot of things they had accepted from her as truth without question. Yes, she did know Sammy's name, but who was to say that in her own desperation to find fulfillment in this cursed immortality, she hadn't designed her own history- her own fabricated reality of once was? Alice would certainly have reason to; this world was at times…unbearable.

Certainly so if one didn't have faith. And if she didn't believe in the ink demon, she could only believe in herself and her own machinations.

As a mental mention of his lord grazed his conscious, both his eyes and his heart were grasped by the sight in front of him. The woman's head was slightly downturned, eyelids shut with fatigue. Her arms were folded into her chest almost to hold herself. A few black stains soaked into her current short-sleeved shirt; he could see traces of where drops of ink trailed along her head and arms. The thin object in her grasp trembled, mirroring her current instability.

Yes, there was one thing that he hoped above all that Alice was being honest about.

"Praise be the demon was by your side."

All she did in response was look up at him again and let her gaze fall just as soon. She wasn't ready to try to describe her newfound fears of his lord, and even if she was, she wasn't sure she'd even know what to say. Just as Sammy gave his entire soul to the ink demon, Francine had begun to do the same. And now she was in limbo, spirit lost as she had yet to push forward or to turn back. It was insufferable.

She had to change the subject. Thankfully it wasn't difficult; the thing between her fingers had not been forgotten. And so the only sound for a minute was the crinkling of paper, unfolded as delicately as her shaky hands could muster.

"She…she gave me this." Sammy only saw the back of the parchment; even as it covered the lower half of her face from this angle, he could still glimpse a growing expression upon her face. There was something about it that he didn't like.

"Alice…she made me leave before I could ask about it." The photo was gingerly placed upon the table faceup for him to see. "Do you…" she began to ask, hesitation slowing her voice, "know who they are?"

It was wall to wall.

Black.

Black.

Black.

It was wet. It was cold. It soaked through cloth then flesh then bone. He could feel it chew at his legs like a starving dog pouncing on tablescraps.

He looked back. A wave gushed once more and had begun to swarm her waist. He knew somehow it longed to rise further, until nothing was left of them. It wanted to take everything- everything they were, everything they had. In the back of his mind, maybe he knew it wanted to take everything they would be.

The woman with auburn hair reached out just as the ink washed over him.

He heard her scream.

He could hear Susie scream.

Sammy's shadow loomed over the faded image of a white woman with dark hair and a black man wearing glasses. Francine felt worry eat into her. Every time they brought up his past, he seemed consumed by it, almost like he couldn't remember anymore, almost like trying stopped his brain entirely. So it was no surprise when he finally said:

"I don't know who they are."

So soon after she asked him to not keep secrets.

"Well there goes that idea," she sighed. And then she misinterpreted the silence of horror for that of guilt. "…Thank you anyway, Sammy. Don't worry about it." A tender glance fell upon him with words to match. "I know you can't help it."

No, he could not, but it was still his choice to lie when recollection finally succeeded. It was terrifying. Utterly terrifying. Was that him? Was that Susie? Who was Susie? That name was so fresh on his false tongue, like it was spoken or heard so many times before that he could feel it shape his lips by memory alone; surely it had mattered to him at some point.

It took him not even a minute to decide it didn't matter. Yes, he'd keep telling himself that, for Francine's journey and absence taught her one thing: that this was not their lord's way.

Certainly her barely scraping past death was not only the demon's grace but also his lesson. In his entire accursed life, Sammy had never strayed far from the path as this. And with it became fear. Just as he had been punished by the demon before, he had been now. He could still see the glorious silhouette of his lord stand above him after shoving the prophet to the floor.

Yes, he could see it now. For his sins, he had been forced to wait as the lost lamb found her way through the mazes of hell, helpless to coax her back. Sammy hadn't been that frightened before- not since…

He gulped as he caught remnants of when the ink demon first called upon him as his prophet.

"Hey," she said to wake him.

And he was back with her again. Suddenly she seemed much more…fragile. Not in the same way as when she was physically broken, bleeding internally and limp in his grasp. No, all he could see when he looked at the woman was the fear of her being spiritually broken.

It was something he had felt himself, and so it was something he couldn't bear. She was his blessing, and he was her steward. Her soul was his duty. His obligation. His purpose.

Oh how such care can contrast with that belonging to another.

As she stared down at the picture, an idea firmly clasped her heart and wouldn't let go. The demon's sneer was emerging over her. Like vines choking a sapling, it grew and grew until-

"I think we should try to talk to him."

Her eyes were wide with urgency, adrenaline suddenly filling her veins.

Him? Sammy shook his head, concern quickly coming. "He's mute, Francine. The projectionist-"

"No," she interrupted. That word came quickly but it was so much more difficult to allow the unthinkable into reality. "Bendy." Determination flashed over her eyes. "We need to talk to Bendy."

And certainly this was the most inconceivable idea possible. "Bendy" was a god. A being who only blessed disciples with his righteous presence by his own omniscient choice. Seek HIM out?! "R-" Sammy stuttered as absolute dread began to take him, the most taboo of concepts materializing from thin air. "Ridiculous! Absolutely not!" And just as she had unexpectedly become so bold, so had he. But he had to know. It didn't make a lick of sense- "What would be the purpose of seeking out our lord?"

Oh, would he regret having asked, as she had an answer at the ready like an arrow in a bow's string.

"I mean- I mean, it makes sense right?!" Her hands were thrown up in a gesture mixing both upset and a begging for him to understand. "We wanna know who you are- what the hell happened to you guys and this entire fucking place. Why not just ask him?" She shrugged. "He seems like he owns the place. Gotta- gotta know something about it, right?"

To think she could even approach him-!

And as her shrug lowered, she found Sammy rising. The shadow cast over the photo became longer and longer until it fell upon her face. Her bravado wavered as the shepherd became overwhelmed with a feeling she hadn't seen from him before- not like this.

Outrage.

"Don't." A pause. His voice almost shook. "Speak of him so recklessly."

It was a tone of seriousness that could never be surpassed, its icy frost piercing her until she could no longer meet his gaze. She brought her hands to her chest again, fiddling with them anxiously as her eyes fell upon-

Wait.

No.

It mattered. It still mattered.

And soon the woman had lifted herself over the table, thrusting the faces of the two lost souls of the photo right up to Sammy's mask so he could ignore them no longer.

"Don't you wanna know?!" Francine begged of him, "What about them?! They were PEOPLE, Sammy!"

His dark figure did nothing, even as he gazed upon who they used to be.

It teased him, it teased him so so much, but-

"These are forces we aren't to tamper with, my sheep." The return of his old term for her, a signal of his previous way of life returning, maybe even stronger than ever. "We are but specks of sand at the feet of our lord. We will never be worthy to understand…" His chin lowered and somehow his mask's hue became only more shadowy, emphasizing how desperately he needed to communicate this with her, how deeply mistaken she was. Abruptly, the photo placed in front of him was snatched from her grasp with a speed, with a force of disgust and certainty unmatched by any other. "…Until he deems us worthy."

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Give it back! I was just- I'm just-" Her torso leaned further across the table, in vain as he was so much taller than she. "I just want to help! I don't understand why that's so hard for you to get! Just let me help!"

"To 'get?!'" Oh what a terrible, meaningful scorn in his voice. It made her feel ghastly. "I don't want to know! I don't need to know!"

And in a finale, one last stretch and a groan led the woman to falling over the table entirely, a thud sounding as her ribs slammed against its surface.

And they were back in the past again, back when she first fell down from the spotlight onto her chest, back when he first found her in agony, hoping that through her, his lord would finally bring salvation.

And like before, he again offered no help as she struggled to pick herself back up, merely standing back and watching in amazement and outstretched limbs. The old, inky heart in his chest had never beat so fast before. This was everything he had ever feared- things he had never known existed to fear at all. And so even as it would sound so apathetic to her, his next words were of utmost kindness:

"I…shouldn't know, Francine." His shoulders drooped as her face lifted up to him, radiating confusion. "We are only meant to look ahead, not behind." And then his marred, wooden smile was level with hers, lowering to his knee. Maybe if he was truthful enough, maybe if he was vulnerable enough, she'd understand. She'd stop this foolish game of cat and mouse with the curse of the studio, pleading for it to take her as well.

"That is what our lord wants from us."

Her half-lidded eyes grew softer, and hope in his heart grew as she opened her mouth-

"You…deserve to know."

And the tides of longing took it away.

So he rose again alongside the boiling rage in his chest. He was going to say something utterly evil- please, please don't say it-

"Then go."

Breath left her as the woman saw Sammy merely stride out of the room and into the hall. Not another word, not another regard. That was the end.

How deeply ironic after having pledged to one another they would never leave the other's side.

Indeed, they both had made touching promises too soon out of hasty desperation, and their breaking was much more painful than the burden of patience would have been. The man that only wished to protect Francine threw her to the lions, and the woman that only wished to give Sammy what he once had would have to do it in spite of him. Funny how people so confidently do the opposite of what they want most.

And as she stood alone- truly alone- outside the closed door of the saferoom with her backpack slung over her shoulder, she had begun to realize that she could verbally dismiss the demon's power and presence but could not stop believing in her heart that he was something to be mortally afraid of.

But if he was death, then death's wisdom held more comfort than living in ignorance.