Dances of Duality (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

3- Painted Over

"And have mercy on those who doubt..." – Jude 1:22

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To already believe you're disgusting and then be described by someone who utterly loathes you is an experience so upsetting that it has no concise words. It's an affirmation of the worst things about you, a promise that however you go forward may not be any better than where you've been. So of course, Sammy was tired. Of course, he was exhausted.

And of course, after all these years of hoping only to find that his true identity was not a blank canvas but one already painted in hues he felt sickened to see...he didn't know what to do.

He just knew he had to get back to her, even if he didn't have an answer anymore for who he hoped to be at the end of all this. "It will still be better," he pledged to himself, "There is nothing else left but better."

But for his past to be painted by Alice's brush, regardless of knowing that her bias and hatred could be clouding the true image, was still a horrid sight to behold. Maybe that's why even if he understood the demon less and less, he would still trust. He would trust that to have his sight taken and given back was somehow good, and to be alone until Francine was thrown into his arms was even better...even if he was reminded moment after moment of what he no longer had.

And now? Also of what she always had that he never did- integrity. If even an inkling of Alice's account of Susie's life in the studio was true, then he did not retain the cornerstone of his faith and life's meaning.

The age-old prophet under a new light took his time to mull over fresh reality but did eventually return to his own department, reading his name all over the walls as if it was something of pride profession. But he wasn't proud of it.

For once, Francine was actually there waiting for him in his sanctuary when he came back- something that had never happened before. Surely this was a sign that the world was upside down, he thought sarcastically at first, but...-

...He was grateful. At least one thing had remained- she did come back. And with this, Francine was surprised not only to see him- having expected him to stay here in wait with nail-biting anxiety until she was satisfied with a taste of independence- but also surprised to see him exhale with a groan and-

And drop her own bag to his feet.

Her eyes popped wide.

He knew.

Shit, he knew.

He knew she saw Alice. She tried to relay the entire series of events in her mind; did she take the bag with her to Joey's- what would she call it?...-office?

For some reason it felt necessary to confirm mentally that she did not recall doing so, despite literal, tangible evidence fallen right from his fingers to prove that she had not. As Sammy stared at her blankly, unreadable with the face that gave him sight, now it was pulling all together. Her feet flew to stand up and arise her from the stool, mouth slightly agape with dread. That's why Sammy wasn't back when she came; he must have gotten worried about how long she was gone and followed a gut fear that she had gone where she was forbidden- Heavenly Toys.

And that he found signs of her but not she herself.

God, what if he thought Alice had her? What if he chased Alice down, demanded she give Francine back? What if they fought?! God almighty-

And then something even worse that made sweat fall from her brow.

What if he knew about Joey?

Her stomach lurched as Sammy finally, finally sauntered his way over, one heavy step at a time.

"Sammy-! Sammy, I can explain-!"

And just as he had stepped so close, his flat, painted eyes gradually tilting down to glare at her until they were almost perpendicular to the floor...-

One hand on her shoulder.

Then other on the back of her head.

And then she was pulled in a flush to his inky chest.

It left her breathless, an already gaping mouth releasing an involuntary grunt with her gasp. Her scalp tingled as icy fingers curled into her hair. Her cheek numbed with the cold of his torso as she was pressed in closer and closer. And the touch on her shoulder gripped tight, as if he was afraid she'd fly away with an unfelt wind.

He was...holding her.

"Thank you, my...friend," he whispered, voice lacking power because of all the words someone else spoke. "Thank you for staying," even though it was rather that she had left and come back.

She'd never have any idea how much and in how many ways he meant that, Francine being the only one in the world besides the ink demon himself to prove loyal to the prophet despite all his inherent sin.

He'd never have any idea how Francine knew now how to compare his freezing touch to the warm one of another man who cared for her safety too, and how the recency of both upon her skin made her feel sick as their feelings mixed inside her heart but could not seem to combine in peace.

And they both saw this world and themselves so, so differently now even if nothing had changed at all besides the exchange of a few words with someone else who knew better.