83- Father

"And he identified it and said, 'It is my son's robe. A fierce animal has devoured him. Joseph is without doubt torn to pieces.'" – Genesis 37:33

"Fix this…and maybe it'll bring me back."

Francine had no idea why Alice said that. That wasn't part of the plan. They just had to do something- that was it. They only knew something had to finally change- no real fucking idea what that actually meant.

Alice would come back, Sammy knew; she hadn't "died" in a long time, but the puddles would keep her, of course. They kept her before.

…Then why? Why say it like that?

What was at stake besides Francine's own mortality? And what was she in this world beyond a hope that if she can survive, maybe there's something worth living for?

"Plenty more," Alice would have said if she could.

Because facing the demon, she had already seen something that would make itself known very, very soon.

After all, there was one toon that died and never came back.

"Copper and gumdrops-"

"Joey-"

"-And flower chains and rings-"

"What are you doing, Joey?"

"Listing a few of my favorite things!"

A young man chuckled at his strange father. His hands squeezed the grass at his sides as he sat next to a fellow that looked nothing like him, perhaps, while being in a place in his life he never expected to be.

But even if it wasn't the expected didn't mean it wasn't right. That's how it felt to him- right.

Their second day on vacation, the budding- no…blooming artist looked up to the puffy clouds in the sky and felt sunshine tangle his hair. There was something in him, something that always wanted to reach up to the heavens since he was just a little boy. Joey did, too, and perhaps that's why he and his adoptive son felt so safe being vulnerable about dreams and loves with one another. There was a difference though; one man wanted to touch what was above their heads, and the other wanted to take it as his own.

But they admired that difference. A gentle grasp upon fate versus claiming tomorrow with a clenched fist, and perhaps neither was entirely bad nor good.

The young man thought of this in this moment, a smile flickering softly upon his face as peaceful but bright eyes caught light of the sun and the fire in Joey's red hair.

"You're a strange guy, Joey." Not as if this phrase hadn't been used as an insult towards the old man, but in this case his son meant it as a tease; it was taken as such.

"I'm a lot of things, my dear," the other cartoonist replied, humor dripping off his tongue like sap thick on a maple tree. "But-"

And then, with a similar, sharper light in his own eyes, the old man said something the younger did not anticipate.

"-What are you?"

Father and son looked at each other, the latter turning his head against the soft wind to someone already facing him- evaluating him, perhaps, in the most loving way one can. And, as always, nothing was there that was new, and yet- as Joey always was- it somehow felt distinctly, importantly different. Smile dropped not in unhappiness but ponderance, the young man held his gaze a bit so two soft, blazing lights locked in their meeting eyes. His head turned, breeze combing dark locks as pursed lips opposed what was in front of crossed legs.

Of course, Joey knew how to make something so silly into something so suddenly significant to life itself.

The man saw green blades of grass and the tiny wild bluebells hidden in their overgrown shadows, swaying back and forth…back and forth…back and forth…as the wind moved him the same way too.

And with the father who adored him so looking on with nothing but total adulation, the person sitting in the greenery upon the tallest hill in the field brought his stare up to the sky that seemed so close to here when he was standing at the bottom just before. His words were tender, but bold- ready to be picked up by the air and blown through the clouds and past the planets all the way out there.

"I am…-"

"Henry."

Sammy murmured the name he had remembered seeing not so long ago, but the man himself gone for 50 years. Even longer, though, he had been gone until Sammy remembered the person that left a shadow for Francine to walk in had been someone he had truly known before it all had gone to hell.

The woman that reminded Mr. Drew of his own lost son was in Sammy's arm now. The door had closed behind them and as they listened to Alice die, her back slid down on the wall until the young woman was slumped on the floor. Sammy, in all he could do for her, held his lamb as her heart race and tired, tired eyes tried not to cry; he fulfilled her only request-

"Who was he?"

She wanted to know more about he that motivated Joey to curse them all to this. He knew Joey missed him, knew he had gone, and knew Joey would have done anything to get him back…apparently, twice.

And both times had failed so, so terribly, it seemed.

And so the Lawrence who knew him, hardly stable himself as his body melted with fear and stress of what was behind them and what he knew loomed ahead, abided in remembrance- reverence, perhaps.

Because Henry didn't deserve this either, did he?

The lost musician tilted his chin up as dripping, dripping arms held around her back and a wet chin rested upon her head. Certainly, this was as much for him as it was for her.

"He was a young man…" Sammy began, tone soft and grip shaking, desperate to forget something he used to long for- his lord sending the angel back to the puddles. "…Even younger than me, and I was damn young."

She didn't see ahead- couldn't with Sammy in front of her- and so they were both blind to the few falling papers from the chamber behind, shelves upon shelves of books and pictures and keepsakes Joey tried to keep locked away. An archive- a different sort of sacred place than the kind Sammy himself once found sacred; ironically, it could have been to him now with all it represented.

Afraid of the demon returning for them, focusing on what mattered became desperately natural with calm or silent voices.

"Joey…he saw so much in us, Francine. We were just kids. Henry and-…Susie-…and I…and others- we were kids. And he believed in us. At least, for a while. But goddammit, he-" And his voice cracked. "He really did."

The two shivered, knowing he was listening, and Francine nudged against Sammy to indicate that for that very reason, they need to keep moving. He could only be so distracted.

"Tell me more," Francine insisted, squeezing her hand in his; a calm voice hid a desperation- a high ground upon which to stand as the rest of the world began to sink.

"He was…a kind person," Sammy continued to narrate of Henry, the sounds spinning around his head as Francine led him by the hand slowly around, her eyes gazing over all the things here for the lost artist's name. "Quiet, at times, and didn't raise his voice unless you were really that much deserving of it. Smile scrunched up his whole face, reached his eyes…-"

Sammy stopped in place here, momentarily, his fingers gently rolling over his own face; perhaps he was trying to replicate that grin from so far back. Of course, the curled lips faded back down as urgency filled them again.

"…And he was a…wonder to work with. He and Joey? They fed a lot of pipedreams together, but…" He chuckled, sourly. "Look at all the pipes this dream of theirs got us. Art come to life all come true."

Bitter? Yes. But perhaps nothing could be bitter enough after all the years.

He shook his head, squeezing Francine's hand again as he heard a rumble in the distance. They had to keep going.

"Animator. Lead animator. Good at it, too. He designed Bendy singlehandedly-…well. So to speak. Rumor was that the he based it on a real person. He-"

A bookshelf fell in front of them, causing the woman to shriek and the man to reflexively pull her back. They stood there, limbs outstretched in panic, before nothing more came just yet and Francine pulled herself out of Sammy's arms again to lead them on and past the obstruction. The man's voice shook, but it still kept him solid- despite his melting self in this distress- to recall what put them here.

"I…I know for sure Boris was inspired by him. Kind, calm- I can see it." A pause. "…Yeah. I can see it," he added more somberly.

Francine frowned as she helped guide her friend over the overturned shelf, eyes flickering all over for signs they could finally stop that wouldn't come. Indeed, it looked like a breeze was blowing through the room, maybe trying to hide the word she was looking for with its rustling and distractions. And likewise, something stuck Sammy with deadly, deadly seriousness.

He realized something.

"Francine," he whispered. The one by that name did her best not to let her heart beat any faster; the tension was tangible not just in the dark, moving room but strung within his words.

"Boris."

And her eyes shot wide because if Boris represented someone, it meant something, too, that she had never been able to meet him.

But…it turned out to be for another reason, as well, that her breath hitched. As they finished crawling over the books the studio had thrown down in a fit, there was a loud, distinctive screech.

"…What is that?" Sammy nearly squeaked. "It-…"

"A door," Francine answered.

In the archives they've traversed, it had been full of shadows. Lightbulbs dangled overhead with such dim light, swinging back and forth, back and forth. She gasped and jumped in her skin as they went out in a blink then and there, and suddenly a light was flooding up ahead, past the next corner.

Both their hands gripped at once as they braced themselves for the truth ahead.

"I never meant to hurt him."

A whisper of his own as a young man, staring at his feet, only had the strength to move his hand under his lover's arm. He didn't reach for the fingers resting on the bed, but they ended up clasped all the same.

"Of-…of course you didn't, Henry…" Marvin, a man so confident, so vibrant and loud, was for once hushed and wide eyed after all his partner had told him happened that day. Dark eyes flicked over the man he adored, lips slightly parted with words he was still trying to find. "You were just…asking for advice, darlin'. Who the hell was he to take it so…so…-"

The man whose daughter Joey called his own grandchild still couldn't believe all that had happened, and yet somehow saw it coming. So attached- so easily attached Joey was. Ain't all bad but…-

…As he saw tears drip down Henry's face, Marvin knew that attachment had to come with preparedness, and apparently 50 years of age wasn't enough for Joey to be ready when things don't turn out as expected.

And so instead of paying mind to a gut feeling proven right, Marvin chose to brush the bangs out of Henry's face. The strands of hair moved as gently, as softly as ever through his fingers as he made room to lean in and place a kiss slow and apologetic onto his forehead.

Henry just squeezed his hand tighter as he tried not to sob.

"All you did was ask what your dad would think about moving," he repeated a fact, pulling the smaller Henry so his powder blue shirt was much closer to his own red flannel. "That's all! It's…normal, darlin'- it's normal for people to wonder."

Another kiss, Marvin pulling his future husband into his chest.

"Not your fault that he couldn't wonder himself."

Finally, the other man twisted his head in response, allowing Marvin to put his chin on the top of his head and stain his shirt a darker shade with tears.

"I just…I thought…-"

"I know," the taller one interrupted with a soothing, affirming murmur, his stubble scruffy against Henry's forehead. He knew he couldn't finish, and he didn't have to.

Joey didn't mean to, but he had always been hiding something. And when something came to light under threat of change, the perfect image Henry had of him fell apart.

Marvin sighed into his love's black locks, Henry feeling warm breath into his scalp and making him sigh himself- albeit much more shakily. That was more than enough for the comforter, rubbing his nose against the other's skull as he began to contemplate too. What a mess…what a mess…

Only so much left to do with it. Marvin shouldn't have been so surprised at the logical conclusion.

"I think we should go."

Henry's response was muffled into his chest, and maybe that's why it seemed to cut right into him. But…it was in the other man's heart too. Marvin closed his eyes and began to rock them both back and forth as they sat upon their bed.

"I think so, too."

Blue and red wrapped into each other in the dull brown backdrop of their bedroom with the blinds closed, so tangled in the grief of change that maybe they never fell asleep that night. But their daughter was- safe and sound- just a few feet away in her crib, and making sure she had a stable life to rest her head in was what mattered most.

Joey agreed, but in an entirely different way. People can love just as much as the other but express it so that they never once match. And like the father and son- so very, very unalike yet kindred in spirit to the very core- found much in common in their different ways, and so it meant that much more when it was truly put to the test.

Sometimes, love becomes rash decisions. Henry, afraid of the first real glimpse of negativity into the man he set his foundation upon, ran away in fear of the floor crashing beneath his feet. Marvin, in his love for his fiancé and their child, encouraged it. And so it only made sense for Joey to feel all alone in a world he created to share with his cherished family.

And in his love, he did not blame them.

In his love, he blamed fate.

In his love, he found himself entitled to take back what was meant to be his.

Just as a good father should for his beloved son.

But as we all know so well, it took everything but.

Now Francine and Sammy just wanted to know if it had taken Henry after all.