BENDY X HENRY ONESHOTS *cough*(CLOSED)

pillow

TW to any sensitive to lifen't

Take care of yourselves. Be safe.

Rope furled over the wooden beam. The loop swung, then steadied in front of him.

The Ink Demon watched the man from the doorway.

"I know you're hurting, Henry. I can make you feel good."

I am that man.

I pull the thin pillow from beneath my head. I bury my face in it.

"What is wrong with me...?"

Henry wasn't hungry anymore. His stomach was full of hell. So full and empty he wanted to throw up. But it was in him now. He couldn't.

The rope swung like a pendulum. Ink poured from the walls. The room filled. The rope. He had to get to the rope.

His battered hands reached. They connected with a burn as his body strained to keep hold.

"̷̧̢̧̦̻͚̥̗͔̻̞̘͖̬̗̦͈̗̖̹̣̰̯̰͉͇͓̭̟͆̔̎̀́̑̏͊̎̊̈́̍̀̏̀́̅̐̋̓̃̒̏̽̿̆͗̚̕͘I̸̡̧̡̡̛̛̩̻̱͖͇̰͙̮̤͍͉̼̳̦͈͉̔͐̇̅͆̀̽̈́̉̇̾̓̌͑͌̐͊̉̋̆́̈́̽̂́͛̕͝͝͠ͅ ̵̢̢̛̖͖̰͖̱͉̰̥͓͖͛̔̈́̏͂̈́̅̐̍́̃̈́̈́̽̕Ķ̸͕̮̟̟̣͚͖̦̰̖̥̩̞̰̤̲͈̙͉̱̱̤̭͉̒ͅn̵̨̢̥̙͍͈͖̘̖͙̼̬̺̭̦̱̖̦͛̒̃̓̄̽̀̃͆͆̓̌̈́́̋̾̃̌͒̒̒̈́̀͒̒̉͐́̾̔́͜ͅƠ̶̡̡̨̛̭̭̖̞͖̳̣̭̜̬͉͕͎̥̹̯̥̤͍͎̦̣̣̺͍͈̞̲̭̮͇͕͍̳̤͓̗̌̿̇̈́͌̀̅̒̂͊̐̒̓̒͊͛̔͒̃̆̔̑̔̏̇͊̋̔̽͑̓͒̑̀͑̌͘͜͜͝ͅw̵̢̢̢̛̝̝̱̥̰̯͎̗̲̰͙̮̱̦̫͕̺̟̬̳͚͇̣͈͓̝̗̻͍̙̱̮̯̓͋́̈́͊̔͐̅̆̎͛͆͊̎͌͘͘͜͜ͅ ̷̯̜̝̼̳̝̞̞͚̼͇̘̭̈́̋Ý̸̢̨̢̞̙̼̮̥̠̬̼͍̤̣̘͍̜͉̥̗̫̖̫̤̟̲͔̦̗͈͍̭̦̪̯̫͎͖̙̮̬̼̘͍̮͗͛̎̓̏̀̐͊́͒̒̍̇̊͗̂̕̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅờ̶̢̨̧̨̦̝̮͈͔͖̱̗͙̩͙̜̯͎̬͓̱͓̪͍̗̖͖̥̘̠̲̩̩͈̪̮̜̟̪̙̻͈͂̎̒̈́̓̿͆̒̏͜͜ͅŲ̸̡̛͙̘̫̯͚̣͇̮̼͍̰̪͖͇̲͐̊̈͗̉̐̈́̐̾͋͊͒̔̍̀̉̓̆̓̆̍͛̊̒͐̈͒̌̑̏̆͋́́̂̊̌͆̌̅̒̔̽͘̚͘͝͝'̵̛̝͕̺͎̯̂͊̑̀́ͅr̵̢̛͔̦͚͖̖͕̋̈͗̀͑̒́̀̍̄͋̇̇̾̀̋̈́͋̋̉̆̍̀̎̃͛̓͋͆͛́̇̈͆̚̕̚͠͝͝͠Ȩ̸̧̝͈̹͙̺̟̠͎̤̬͊͂͐̐̊̉͐̓̓̿̐͜͜͝ ̸̢̡̛̛̜̠̩͙̩̖̹̮̹̫͚̮̳̯͈̹̻̱̣̣͋̍͛̋͌́͗̿͆̈̉͊̏͊̄̂̒͆̾̓͛̓̑͂̽͒̎́́̀̿̀̇̈́́̕̚͘͠͝͠͝͝H̷̛̤̥̑̊̅̓̂̈́͊̊́̆̈̇̇̈̂̍̓́̇̓̆̕̚̕͝ų̵̛͕̘͚͕͓͍̞̞̝̜͈͚͇̠̮͕͕̯͖̦͚̣̦̹͐̐͌̎͋̽͑̅͗̐̓̒̎̈́̃͋͛͊̏̆̌̔̉̈͗͌͒̾͌̅̋̾̏́̓͘͘̚͝͝͝ͅR̸̠̱̖̗̞̜͊̒̓ț̵̨̛̥̮̫̖̮̭̞̰̫͒͗̉́̎̔͐̀̈͊̍̿͛̆̌̌̀̂́̓̾̿͋͊̂̈́̐̉̽̈́͆͛͑͘͘̕͠͝͝I̷̢̡̢̩͎̘̩͖̣͈͎̖̖̘̫̤̪͚͊̓̈̉̀̄̋͐̀̇̀̉̅̃̈́̄̊̔̿͐͗̽̆̄̊̂͊͑͊̋̉̓͛̚̚̕͜͠͠ͅṉ̸̡̧̢̢̢̢̢̨̢̨̧̛͖̮̟͇̗͉̙͎̙͎̖̰͉̲̣̲̻̙̬̺̩̳̞̣̜̯͋́̋̏̌͌͒̄̾̅͛͆̂̈́̐̔͘̕͜͜Ğ̵̢̧̧̧̛͉̗̲̗̞̗͕͕̭̲̹̦͉̺̦͔̞͚̤͖͚̩̝͕̭̠̦̮͉̠̟̣͍̥̭̜̰̖̊̍̄̎̽̌̐̆̄͐̈́͑̈́̄͛̆̈́͌̓̾̀̉̍̈́͆̒̽͆̀̍̓̎̏̃͘͠͝͝,̵̡̛̭͙̦͕͈̻̻̩̰̻̲̫̰̪̤̯͍̻͇̈̽̔͆̉̈́̔̔̇̂͌̾͌̎͆́̒̋͂̆͆̈̎̈́̾̈́͐͗͘͜ͅͅ ̷̢̢̨̢̘̪̳̗̰̞͈̼̬̣̼̭̙̫̻̯͕̫̞̮͎̦̹̳̘̥̯̹̮̤̼͔͔̪͉͎̹͕̙̓̏͌̅̈́̒͜͜ͅḨ̷̡̡̨̨̢̢̨̡̛̛̦̝͇̝͙̭̺̼̼̹̲̜̫̤͚͔̬̺̻̝͙̬̗̞͙͍̱̠̙͙̤̺̦̼̞̭̉͒̄͒̋͗̅̀̉̒̌̊̈́̆̌̌͛͒̍͗͊̋̈͑̅̈͛̂̌͌̆̿͋͑́̌͑̊̚̚̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝e̵̡̖̭̰̺̟̜͉̤̾͐̌̍̊̑͐̄̀̿̓͒̏̅͒̓̍͋̃̄͌̈̌͒̑̕͘̚̚͝͝Ņ̵̡̡̢̹̮̯̰͙̬̱̬̠̮̖̻̟̼̗̝̤̮̜̠̣̲̥̮̹̭͎̺̹̉͛̾̂̋͑͂̚͜͜͜ŗ̶̨̛̥̭̣͇̯͙̞̥̖̟̻̝͙̱̬͇̰̭̫̮̺̙̦̬̪̌̇́͂͗͒͑́͆̍̽̆͒̔͌͗̅̊̀͒̈́̈́̎͐́̾̕̕̕̚͘͘͝͝͠Y̸̛̗͒̇́́͌̉͗̑͆͂͗̓͗͛̐̉͊̎͂̇̈̅̄́̀̀̿͊́̓́͆̏̑͗̌̾̈́̚̚̚͠͝͠͝.̵̧̨̘͖̤̩̫͓̺͓̫̞͖̺̰̻̲̰̭̠͚̜͙̥͉̖͉͕̩̯̱̰̰͇̤͖̱̌̀̉̍̈́̏́́̇̓̆͗͗̾̓͑̔̍̀͌͜͜͜ͅ ̶̢̨̨̗̲͈̜̳̘̦̞̤͖̭̼̠͖̝̠̹̠̲͓͓̖̭̤͇̯̫̹̙̦̮̜̠̬͍̟̞̯̦̲͕̣̔͌̍͛̓͌̑̌̇͋̎̅͐̈̿̋̂̋͌̄̀̍̎̆̆̏͑̑̑̉̇̅̂̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝ͅI̴̡̧̮̱̫̣̬̟̰̗̺͚̙̘̪͚͕͔͓̜̩̜͈͍̭̫͎̗͙̔̇̂͝ ̴̨̢̨̢̛̹̠̲̦̟͚̥̬̤̻̻̺̤͚͚͍͚͚̬̥͖̜̣̹̟̲̘̮̯̳͇̳͙̼͈̐́̏̑̂͊̏͂͊̊̈́́̎̔͐̓́̈́͛̑̐̑͑̓̾̃̽̓̋͂̑͌̇̂͋̽̅͊̋̚̚̕͜͝ͅç̴̡̢̨̛̣͙̲̥͍̳̺̲͔͎̘̥̗̗̖͕̝̺͇͕̯̼̭̹͍̤̭͍̰͇̤͔̞̜͕̮̩͑͌͗̇̋̈́͗̎̇̽̀͛̇̆́͛̄̈͌̓́͌͒̍͒̃͐̐̓͊̽͒̎́̕͘͘̚̚͠͝ͅͅÁ̷̡̡̢̡̧̛͕̦̣̫̯̦͉͍͓̞͙̗͎͙̰͖͇̼̙͍̗͇̝̣͚̱̞̝͔͎̞͙̱̮̮̪̤̫̪̭̺́̐̀̀͋͑͂̊͛́̾̿̋̈̿͆̇̉͑̐̎͌̍̐̂͛̓͛͐̈̓̋̒̂̿̉́̏̄͘̕͝͝ͅͅn̶̡̨̧̡̡̧̝̦̹̭̘̬̠͔̻̜͕͉̰̙̪͈̠̜̤̣͓͓̝̺͕͓̦͕͙͕̼̠̙͗̉̀̀͑̋͋͛̆̓̃̎͗̂͂̀̌̀̏̌̃͒͊̉̊̇͛̄̒̓͛͌̊̆̕̚̚̕͜͠ͅ ̵̧̢̡̛̪̩̫̤̥̬͈̳͇̫̪̙̗̮͍̑́ͅM̸̢̛̛̛̮̬͙͇̻̳̘̦̩͖̜̫̼̻̠̍̄̊́̾͗̊̐̒̍͐͛̀̾͑̄̈̏̈́̏̾̓̄́̄͒̋̕̕̕͠͝a̷̛͍͋͋̂̐͂̇̏̍͆̉̓͗̽̔̋͑̇͐͊͆͂̈́̾̂̾̍͌̃̒̈́̈́̆̀͂̏̈̕͠͠K̵̡̨̧̨͕̫̪͚͍͚̫̮̺̘̮̭͍͈̻͉̱̩̰̮͈̬̼͓͎̣͍̮̘̰̤͖̯̟̋̊̈́̅͌̊̍̆̒̀̎͛͋̎̅̚͜͜ͅͅe̷̡̡̡̬̘̱̱͕͕̘̟̳͙͉̥̘̪͔̣̱̤͎͉̰̯̪͈̚͜ͅ ̵̡̧̡̛̦͓͕̯͎̙̲̖̲̗̺̖͙͍͕͉͕̟̗͚͚͈̤͔̬̗̯̤̣̝̯̟̘̹̤̮̜̻͈̫͗̆̋̈̀̉̉̀̽̈̾̄̑͂̄̉̎̔̒̑̐́̽̒͑̓̈́͐̀̏̓̓̓̿̚̚̚̚͝͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅY̷̛̩̭̼̦͚̱̜̗͙͑̎́̎͂͂̅̍̆͂̄̀̏̇̏̚͜͜o̷̻̖̣̥̫̣͚̠̟̲͎̦̩̖̞͎͙͔̳̼̲̝̹̜̝̞͊̔̄̿̏̇̎̆̃̈̃̈́͜ͅŨ̷͕̃̈́̔̒̔͑̏̆̿̋̎̀̌̓͛͂̃̓̓̊̈́͗̔̈́̔̈́͆̇͌̏̾͘͘̚͝͝͝͠͝͠ ̶̧̢̨̨̧̧͖̝̥̻͈̗̭̖̹̼̮̙̖̼̤̫̫͖̟̞̪̘͈̜̖̗̘̲͔̝̑͐̈́̂͒f̵̡̡̨̨̛͔̪̞̭̝͇͎̰̻̳͉̭̼͓͓̦̤͕̱͔̙̺̪̱̦̜͉̙͖̠̪̗̣̹͕͉̭̻͇̭͖̈́͑̂̃̊͒̈́̑̀̂̅̊̐̆̿́͛͗͑́̿̊͛͌͛̀̌̓̈́̒̾̑̆̐̒̀̈͘͘̕͘͜͝͝Ȩ̵̧̡̡̧̧̡̨̢̥̺̳̲̠̞͉̭̦̟̣̞͓̣͚͚̖̗͉̫͔̻̰͕̞͎̳̣̙̘̼̻̯̇̍̃̀̂́́͒̑͑̇͆͒̄͂̋̓̕͘͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅe̸̦̊̌͒͌̐̄͐̿͑̉̾͑̔́̄͌͘͘͘͜͝͝͝L̸͈̰͍͓̈́͂̑̑̏̂̿͌͊̽́͌͂̒̚̕͝͝͠͝ ̴̡̢̧̭̱̰̯̭̫͔̮̜̦͆̄̔̀́̀̽͐̌̂̊̑͐͌̓́́̃͆̊̾̽̍̽̉͗̎͗̍̈́͋̽́̇̃̂̆̾̚͘͘͝Ǵ̶̨̛̞͕̥͚͈̫͚̞͍̞̖̙̱̐͊͛͒̋̿̌̇̈́͛̊̅͂̌̽̐̑͗̈́̓̓̍̏̄̅̋͂͒̂͒͋̌͐̊͑͂͂̆́͝͝ͅǫ̷̡̧̧̠̥̫̱̮̠̫͉̯͙̻͔̹̥͇̮͓̺̹̲̺̝̰̪̠̪̠̯͇̠͕̊̔͛́̇̓̃̋̔̽̾́̉̉͊̊͊̑͌̕̕͘͠ͅO̸̡̡̲͖̮͈̹͖̥̼̗͓̙̹̻̩̭͖͖͍̟̝̳̲̣͎̥̳̩͇͎̙̟̼̘͇̖̟̖̟̮̐̾͋̃͑̊͒̄̂͋͛͆̓̿̓̕͝ͅd̸̻̝̬̜̹͔͈̺̯̺̮͗͋͊̀͊̉̔̏̐́́̏͘͠͝ͅ.̵̢̙͉͎͉̖̦̝͔̮̲̼̮͓̮͖̳͉̪̝̞̗̼̘̫̗͔̥̭̭̪͔̤̯̤̲̗̼̺̠̳͂͗̈̓̄̆̋̾̈́͐̉͑̏̀̉̿́̾̓͒͂̇̄͂͑̑̓̏͆̃̆̋̀̇͌̈͘̕͜"̶̛̳̮̻͓̞͎̥̞̦͚̓͛̒͐̋̇̅̈́̓̐̅̎͐̽͂̈́̂̃̈́̌̃̇́͊̃͘͘͝͝͝͝

I throw the pillow against the wall. It hits like a brick and falls to the floor. I get up. I grab the ladle on the wall. The wall slides open. I collect the axe from the toilet.

I. I. I.

Alison and Tom's ink pools the ground.

I'm so sick of doing things.

I take the rope and curl it around my hands.

I leave the safe house.

I find a beam.

I throw the rope.

"I know you're hurting, Henry. I can make you feel good."

The voice fills the space like smoke on a hot summer's day.

But there is no pillow.