56- Rest

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."– Matthew 11:28

"Sammy?"

"Yes, Francine?"

"I'm tired."

"I know."

A conversation of few words that still meant much. She was exhausted. A harrowing adventure where she had to run, dodge, and leap until she was breathless, only to be toppled over by the overwhelming weight of discovery.

Not finding another place with a bed only made this ache worsen.

Now she was strangely grateful for the searcher to chase her away from Sammy's sanctuary that time so far back when he left her alone in the band room, settling that it was the apartment she'd live in and not here. Not that her curiosity of this space wasn't finally satiated- not that she wasn't glad to yet again have some closed off space to call her own, but…

Sleeping on the floor gets really old really fast.

And well. The room itself didn't help.

Francine was currently leaning her sore spine onto the wall as she sat upon the floor, opposing Sammy as he sat upon a stool next to a…toilet. She had asked out loud some time ago, "Why would someone install a toilet in here?" but of course Sammy didn't design this room- he simply made use of it, and so he had no answer. Her head thumped so hard with a painful pulse that she could hardly note the details of his haven…

…But it was still enough to make her feel doubtlessly unsettled.

Some sort of giant switch with pipes to the left and a bit ahead on that wall…and to the right, another banjo. That made her smirk. As much as Sammy cared for the one that she broke, there always seemed to be another one of those things within his reach- like it was his destiny.

Well, as her eye trailed towards the desk next to the instrument and then the musician himself, she remembered that to say music was his destiny wouldn't be incorrect.

Francine barely sighed as she looked him over. He was hunched slightly as he sat- or nearly leaned, he was so tall- upon the stool, hands on his knees and mask still facing her way as it had done for probably hours now. How funny was it that a broken piece of wood made her feel…comfort?

Well, maybe "comfort" wasn't the right word, she surmised as he caught her staring back with a head tilt. It's more like…she knew who was there. She knew his real face now, and even when he couldn't live without his mask, to see him even as he couldn't see her had been a gift to her fatigued soul.

Her shoulders laxed back in this reminiscence, and the slight but certain shift it caused in her gaze's focus was about to be a reminder of why his sanctuary wasn't serving as her own right now.

Next to Sammy were yet more words scrawled with ink; a poem about a song, a hymn of "his" coming.

She remembered.

Yet again she began to be consumed by how other people felt about the ink demon, agitating her as they seemed to shout and whimper as she herself was curled up in her own mind much like she was now on the floor, still dealing with her own developing feelings about an inky god.

And she swore that the more tired she got- the more she wanted to sleep but couldn't- the more she actually seemed able to hear these voices. They crawled over her and drifted into her head like wind blown into her ears; it felt like spirits in the pipes up ahead had come to put their hands on her shoulders and-

It was all too much.

The young woman stood up with a groan, cracks in her bones a welcome noise to shake away what must have been the speeches of delirium and insomnia. Sammy remained as he was, but it was clear that his attention was sharply on this sudden change of hers. Francine had relocated often enough since he took her to his sanctuary, getting up or moving around as her body grew restless of wooden surfaces and cold floorboards, but this seemed…different. This seemed purposeful.

As she picked up her bag in confirmation, his heart dropped.

"I gotta go, Sammy," she confessed as she slipped her pink sack over her shoulders, "I really need some rest."

Now Sammy up till this point had done a reasonable job adapting to the considerations of human mortality- especially considering he hadn't needed them himself for as long as his memory allowed. He had abided by her wishes before for food, water, and a place to rest. But to him…she still had all that now. Sure, there wasn't a bed anymore, but…

This was his place of rest. And to be frank, he was hurt by the idea that what had always had been enough for him wasn't enough for her.

You could hear that in his voice.

"Are you not resting here, my shee-" Ah, there it was again, before he interrupted it. He called the woman his "sheep" much as he had referred to the man who visited long, long ago; it came to his tongue whenever he was driven by his obligations to her and their savior. And certainly, he was now.

He stopped himself because now he wasn't sure right now how he felt about the lord who charged him as her steward.

Francine's eyes flickered over him as the quiet that followed grew. As much as she lamented that he couldn't understand, she felt sorry. There was a combination of frustration as well as sympathy for his lack of comprehension; he didn't know what it was like to need a proper place to sleep, but that wasn't his fault.

And in all her exhaustion, a drive to fulfill this need softened her words but still proved determined to move forward.

"I'm…not, actually." It came out with almost a light laugh, it felt so obvious to her, subdued just a touch by an acceptance of his ignorance. The stretch of her lips, however, was not a smile.

As he slumped further and a mouth behind his mask seemed to stretch as well in concern and incredulity, it was only then that she realized how personal it was for him.

"Sammy…your place is…" A pause as she looked over the room yet again. As much as it bothered her now…- "…special to you. I can tell. And I'm…really happy to have shared it with you- that you'd share it with me when you never had to."

That much was true. At this point she could be in a room on fire and Francine would be happy to see him. The thought of his cares, certainly, counted.

"…But I need to go somewhere else, just for a bit."

And as this was sighed, she realized it meant a bit more than she had first thought. They had just been here together for who knows how long in silence. Neither of them had the energy for conversation nor distraction. They had proven before to be capable of entertaining one another in the past, but this atmosphere was…thick. With what?

She couldn't name it, but there was a gut feeling that she needed breathing room.

"…Alright," Sammy agreed as he stood up from the stool, careful not to step on a sheet of music titled "The Lighter Side of Hell" that laid face up on the floor, "We'll search for another place for you to stay."

She frowned.

"Sammy…" Several blinks fell, pushing away both tiredness and worrying thoughts. "I was thinking I would just go alone."

It took a second for him to register what she had just said. There was no way she could mean that. Every single time he left her side, something happened. That wasn't even an exaggeration; each time they separated, fate had proved it to be the choice of a fool, and he was left looking at her bruises.

Harm that maybe he could have prevented.

But that was only one way to look at it.

Before he could argue- and she could see he was going to- she elaborated.

"Sammy…you gotta stop being scared for me!" The woman shrugged, desperate to convey what she had learned the hard way. "I've- I've made it out okay. I know how to keep those 'search' guys away and I'm not going anywhere that'll have anyone else."

She walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I can take care of myself."

After all she did to chase Bendy, her friend would have no idea how much she meant that.

"And after all that's happened with us…I think it'd be good to remember that." A small smile, hoping to get him to grasp what she meant. "I don't want you to be scared for me forever, so let me show you I'll be okay."

And then a truth:

"If we're just gonna be scared every single moment, then what's the point?" She shrugged again, fully aware she was helpless to this reality. "I can't just…think I can't make it here. That'd be terrible- for…both of us." She blinked up at him. "Right?"

And wasn't that right indeed. A hopeless, fearful existence it would be for both if they continued as they did now; Sammy's anxiety for her was justified- and of course Francine was rightfully unwilling to be without him in the face of many dangers- but it was…doing no one good if she could be by herself and they both ignored that. It'd be like attending a papercut as if it was a gaping would.

Exerting energy upon things when it should be conserved for something much more important, maybe even more dire. Especially now that Francine had survived what must have been the worst this studio had for her with only a few scrapes to show for it.

And even though she couldn't see those dents inside his head she'd call eyes, Francine could almost see him blink behind his mask. She prayed in this moment of ponderance that even if he didn't get what she meant, he'd trust her.

God only knows how awful it'd be if she couldn't be trusted to even catch her breath like she asked for. As much as she cared about him, how the prophet would respond next would say a lot about how they moved forward:

He would choose if they were both disciples upon equal ground of if he was the shepherd and the woman was merely his sheep.

His shoulder adjusted as her fingers rested upon it, as he moved his arms up to grip both of her own respectively.

"Please…please come back."

And even as every muscle hurt to do so, she smiled.

How grateful she was for this. Who would have thought that walking by herself in those dark, dripping halls would be…relieving? Certainly not when she had first arrived to the haunted studio. But now she knew that at least vaguely, she was safe. She wasn't chasing after anything this time, so the weird twistiness of the studio would leave her alone…

…Right?

She tried to push this thought back, realizing she hadn't considered the possibility she was wrong. No time for fears; she was already in too deep now.

And it wasn't only Sammy she was trying to prove something to either.

She had to live here. As much as the idea sickened her, she was beginning to accept it. She couldn't feel like she had to be glued at Sammy's hip or else she'd die. But wait, what if that was true?- No, no, no, no, no, no. Stop that. You're okay. You'll be okay.

What came into sight was not only a good distraction from her doubts, but a sight for sore eyes.

And as she slunk into the couch, it was certainly the same for a sore body.

There was a very good reason that Francine was grateful Sammy didn't ask where she had planned on going. The woman knew she'd be fine, but heaven knows how he'd react if he visualized her as she was now…

… Unwinding by herself amid the comforts of the Heavenly Toys.

Francine could admit that she had thought about doing this for a while. Hell, that couch looked more comfortable than that gurney she called a bed. But when you only got so much, sometimes you push things away to survive.

For a while that meant the temptation of resting out in the open where searchers could be, but right now that meant anything but.

And besides, even if Alice came around, she…wasn't scared. Francine wasn't going out of her way to talk to her- or rather bother- and even if she did? She wasn't…worried. Sammy would never believe her- sometimes she wouldn't have either- but she wasn't afraid of any wrath the angel would have. Mortally, anyway.

For some reason she never felt she'd hurt her. Just for some reason.

And as these meditations passed by, suddenly everything felt so comfortable. Francine had been singing as loudly as her sleep-deprived voice would allow, knowing that would keep those half-man things from going after her as long as she did. The way her backpack grazed the sides of her legs as it rested between them was almost a blanket to someone so tired. The low hum of the electric lights above fell in tandem with her voice as she sunk further and further into a seat every bit as comfortable as it looked, and suddenly the room filled with toys seemed like a dream.

It wouldn't hurt to close her eyes, right? She wouldn't fall asleep. No need to turn her phone on for music when she would keep singing.

Silly girl.

A wonderful, beautiful hum floating around her head and through the room. It didn't know the words, but it was still utterly enchanting as it tried its best to imitate Francine's melody. Smooth, sweet, and soothing.

As the woman woke up, there was a delay to identify that something was very different.

Maybe even very, very wrong.

Across the room as her eyes adjusted out of the blurriness of the sandman's touch, black figures organically shifted back and forth, swaying ever so slightly with the sound she heard tint the air. The searchers, yet again, were caught under her spell.

Satisfied, they disappeared as Francine shot up from her seat, leaving the woman alone with her guardian angel, the seraph's legs crossed and an arm stretched past her cherub's back as they now lounged together, side by side.