#lavadog

Bendy paced restlessly outside a Little Miracle Station. The weak magic on them had worn off years—and over a dozen victims—ago, allowing him to see them, but no matter how many times he lost his prey to one, he never wrenched the door open to steal them away. The former employees who were lured here one by one might not appreciate the game they were playing, but Bendy did. And part of their game said the Stations were safe places. But that didn’t mean he was going to play entirely fair this time, not after the destruction of his cutouts. No one had ever made it this far before. Though Alice rearranged the order of her little tasks with each poor man or woman that ended up down here, she’d never gone through all of them, such that she had to resort to the absolute annihilation of Bendy’s property just to keep the game going. He stared at the little rectangle carved out of the front. With the shadows the way they were, he couldn’t see inside it from his height, but he supposed Henry was likely watching him. “I wonder if you’ll try to fight me,” he said lowly. “Try to defend yourself one last time. You seem like the type to do it.” It was true, too. Henry hadn’t seemed truly afraid of anything he’d encountered since entering the studio. In fact, seeing the fake Boris upstairs with his chest blown out caused him the most horror, and he’d been sure Joey had been the one to do it. Ha. Drew was long gone. The toons were the ones running the show now. Some people had screamed. Others had sobbed. A few had even tried bargaining for their lives. Bendy had taken great pleasure in ending all of them. They deserved it. Each former worker who had been lured back was there to pay the price for some sin in the past. Using the toons, abusing the toons, being plain old cruel to the toons—in Henry’s case, he’d abandoned them. The thought sent Bendy seething. “Was it worth it?” he hissed as he loomed over the box. “Did you find some greener pastures elsewhere when you left us all behind, you traitor?” Just as he was about to continue with his pacing, he finally heard something from the Station’s occupant, who had so far remained silent. It took Bendy a moment to recognize what it was: a quiet little snore. He crouched down and yanked the door open. Despite the almighty creaking, Henry didn’t stir from where he was slumped against the wall, completely out of it. “Henry. C’mon. I’m tryin’ to murder you here, you could at least stay awake.” Nothing. Bendy sighed and started to reach forward. Maybe a bit of strangulation would make the traitor wake up. Just as he did so, however, Henry shifted slightly, perhaps to find a more comfortable position. In the movement, a flash of something in Henry’s hands caught Bendy's attention. He twisted his head to get a better look. It was a picture, small and square. Black and white. But so very familiar. He could remember the day it’d been taken: him, in his on-model form, sitting on one of Henry’s slightly raised shoulders, the man himself beaming up at him despite how many times the photographer had asked him to smile at the camera. Why would Henry have that picture, of all things, with him? One of Henry’s legs stretched out a bit, sending something small and ink-stained falling to the Station’s floor with a wet splat. Bendy picked it up despite himself. It was a wallet, and when he opened it out of sheer curiosity—why would Henry have it sitting out, anyway?—a little line of plastic-encased pictures unfolded. In each one was a different memory of the studio, captured years ago by a camera. There was Bendy, Alice, and Boris, all squished together; Henry with his team of animators; a candid of Henry’s face—filled with wonder and amazement, a tear or two streaking down his smiling cheeks—from the first time one of his animations made it onto the big screen; Henry and Joey, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing in front of the studio. There were others, too, and only one spot was empty—the one that would lay on top when the pictures were all folded up. A thought entered Bendy’s head as he crouched there, Henry’s wallet in hand, as Henry remained fast asleep just a foot or two away from the very creature who’d been ceaselessly trying to kill him: a man who’d abandoned them wouldn’t keep photos like this, so clearly treasured. Bendy stared at Henry, at the dark smudges beneath his eyes, at his skin with a pallor that spoke of his trials, at the looseness of his face in slumber. “We’ve been watching you,” he said, even though Henry couldn’t hear him. “You haven’t slept since getting here, even in the rooms you thought were safe. And yet—” he glanced down at the picture clutched between Henry’s fingers, dulled by age and a frequent touch— “you’ve fallen asleep with a monster outside your door.” Perhaps… they’d been wrong about Henry abandoning them. Unlike the others, who they had all seen first-hand do terrible things, the idea that Henry had abandoned them hadn’t been one they’d come up with. It was something they’d been told. “I think we oughta hear your side of this story,” Bendy whispered. He prepared to stand and wait for Henry to wake up, but… the man didn’t look all that comfortable, crammed inside the Little Miracle Station. He sighed. “I’m not gonna be able to kill you, am I?” But even as he reached in and scooped Henry up, all without him stirring, he thought that might not be such a bad thing. He loped off at a steady pace towards the elevator. He’d send Boris to get Alice and have them meet him and his cargo at the safehouse, where Henry could rest for as long as he needed before facing them. Yes. That sounded like a good idea. And maybe if they were lucky, Henry wouldn’t need to be killed after all. But it’d be better to remain neutral until Henry had explained himself. Bendy abruptly realized how tightly he was still clutching the wallet. Hm. Maybe not as neutral as he’d like. But, maybe that was okay.