#i also love bendys wincing face its so expression

[just-bendy]

Wait there are more than one bendy? Does that mean bendy has brothers?! :D

You've uh.... hit a r-rather sensitive topic there, pal... haha......

......

I-I don't know where you got that information but... I don't.... I don't really like talkin' about what happened to the other Bendys, but if it'd help clear up some confusion, then maybe I should explain it at least a little....

They weren't my brothers, but they were like me, imperfect and flawed abominations as that Joey guy liked to call us. He hated seein' any sort of flaw in a Bendy. Maybe an eye was crooked, rejected. Maybe one was missin' a mouth, rejected. Maybe one was a little too grumpy, rejected. He was an extreme perfectionist y'see, and he never gave up tryin' to get that perfect Bendy... but he'd never get that chance.

The very last attempt he did, the one we liked to call... B-Bendy Number 66... an' no one knew how it happened but... h-he...

... he came out a monster.

[internalsealpanic]

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form. 

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

 

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention.  He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse. 

 

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you. 

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’.  Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion).  Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two- 

 

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin. 

 

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

 

“It isn’t bullshit!”

 

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

 

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth. 

 

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

 

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face. 

 

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz. 

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week. 

 

Cosmo

 

Space Case

 

Space Nuts

 

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

 

ET

 

Marvin (the Martian)

 

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

 

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

 

 He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

 

 Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long.  Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

 

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to. 

 

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you. 

 

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

 

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

 

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you. 

 

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid. 

 

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them. 

 

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said. 

 

Him?

 

Out of your league? 

 

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around? 

 

What the hell? 

 

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence.  You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape. 

 

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise. 

 

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.  

 

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

 

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,” 

 

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

 

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

 

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

 

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table. 

 

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in. 

 

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year. 

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining? 

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

 

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

 

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

 

 Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

 

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

 

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,”  Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.   

 

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive. 

 

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

 

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him. 

 

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

 

“What?”

 

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode. 

 

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim. 

 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination. 

 

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-” 

“Preach!” Steph jokes. 

 

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

 

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears. 

 

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response.  You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank. 

 

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse. 

 

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.  

 

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy. 

 

Now’s your chance.  

 

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

 

“No,”

 

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.  

 

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

 

“Oh, I-”

 

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

 

“9 AM?”

 

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

 

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity. 

 

-------------------------------------------------

Bonus: 

 

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown. 

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

---------------

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Henry's Unfortunate Ink-antation Part 6

[submitted by: @the-elusive-blue-skittle]

Day 2 

In the morning, the smell of coffee wakes Henry up from a nice, restful slumber. He sits up in bed and rubs his eyes, soon finding that Bendy had curled up next to him in his sleep. Henry shuffles out of bed, stumbling as he has to get used to his noodly legs all over again. Slugging over to the nightstand, he finds a note with his name on it next to an inkwell.

  To Henry…          In order to keep your strength up (you were melting when I found you in the music department last night…), you need to drink this. It may taste funny, but you can’t go on without drinking it forever.

Joey

Henry winces. He doesn’t want to drink it! God, it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever heard of, and he HAS to do it. The little toon whines,

“I don’t wanna drink it…”

Bendy rolls over and opens an eye, muttering to Henry. “Quit whinin’ an’ just do it, ya big baby…”

Henry rolls his eyes and uncorks the bottle. Grimacing, he plugs his nose with one hand and chugs the black fluid. Once he’s finished, he coughs a small amount of the liquid up and into his hands. “Oh, gross!! So disgusting…”

There’s a mug of hot coffee also sitting on the nightstand, poured into Henry’s favorite mug, which is ironically labeled:

HENRY’S MUG

And if it’s in HENRY’S MUG, it must be for him. He picks it up and looks inside, tilting his head a little. Aren’t toons not allowed to drink coffee? He takes a sip…

Ew, decaf. Well, it’s better than nothing to get the taste of ink out of his mouth. The little toon wanders out into the rest of the studio, where people are waiting in line to punch in for the day. A few employees stop what they’re doing to gawk at Henry, and it makes him feel two inches tall…

Maybe in heels.

He gets nervous, legs quivering beneath him in a comical fashion. “Wh-What’re you all starin’ at me for?”

Oh, right. He’s a toon. Perhaps he’s getting a little TOO used to this. His co workers continue to stare at him, making the toon unbearably nervous.

“Hey, stop that, would’ja? Please? It’s not polite to stare!”

At Henry’s escalating frustration, the majority of employees quickly glance back to their work, though some of the older individuals still raise an eyebrow in confusion.

Henry pouts, waving them off. “Feh.. To heck with you all…”

Chugging the rest of his decaf coffee, the toon makes his way to the staff lounge to put his mug away. Before long, he fails to pay attention to his surroundings and proceeds to run straight into one of his co workers, knocking his glasses off his face in the process.

Uh-oh. He can’t see without his glasses. LITERALLY. Everything is black around him, unable to see who he ran into.

“Oh, my, Henry, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you…”

“S-Susie? Is that you? I can’t see a thing!”

The blonde-haired woman notices Henry’s glasses on the floor in front of her. She helps the little toon to his feet, and carefully pushes his glasses onto his face with a smile.

“There. That better, sugar?”

“Yeah, much better… Thank you, Susie.”

“It’s no trouble! What happened, by the way? You, uh…”

Henry sighs. “Pranks happened.”

Susie snorts at how high-pitched and Bendy-like Henry’s voice had become. Though not quite on-par with how he usually MOCKS the little devil, the pitch is nearly a perfect match. She’d know about that kind of thing.

“Hey! What’cha laughing for?”

She waves him off. “Oh, n-nothing, I just- eheh- I was just thinking about somethING-”

Susie gets thrust into a full-blown laughing fit, though with no ill intent. “I’M SORRY, I CAN’T-”

Henry seems terribly confused. He’s gotten more into the mind of a toon, so when Susie started laughing at him without him having done anything funny, you can bet the little toon would be met with befuddlement.

“No, really, Susie, I don’t get what’s so funny!”

Susie wipes a tear out of her eye, going back to meeting her co worker’s gaze. “It’s just… Heehee… I’ve never heard that voice before! Are you doing that on purpose?” “No, I’m not doing it on purpose! It’s stuck like that!”

“Oh, Henry, you’re the second cutest thing I ever did see..” “What’s the first?” “Ah, well… I won’t say a word!”

Susie looks at the clock. It’s already eight-thirty!

“Oh, golly.. Look at the time! I’ll see you around, Henry. Take care, now!”

Susie wanders off, humming to herself as she goes to her own department for the day. Henry blinks.

“What just happened?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Norman stands up in his projector booth, joyfully drumming his fingers to the beat of the band playing down below, when Sammy Lawrence bursts in and shouts,

“STOP THE BAND! STOP EVERYTHING!”

The violins screech to a halt as the trombone honks pitifully.

“YOU’RE DOING IT ALL WRONG! MY LORD, WERE YOU ALL RAISED IN A BARN?!”

The music director throws down his clipboard in a small fit of rage, stomping down the stairs to confront and conduct the band himself. If it can’t be done right…

Meanwhile, Henry’s having a chat with one of his co workers over a cup of decaf coffee. The toon is standing by the door, finding it too difficult to squirm up and onto one of the high-up chairs in the break room.

“And that’s when I said: ‘How are we gonna get that many cucumbers this late at night?!’ ”

The other man in the room, Shawn Flynn, laughs boisterously. “AHAHAHAH, AH WOW…  Henry, you are a RIOT!”

“Thank you kindly,” Henry replies with a smirk, adjusting his tie in a conceited fashion.

Just then…

SLAM. Sammy storms in the room with a bitter scowl, with Susie following close behind to try and talk some sense into him. Shawn stares at the door in disbelief as Sammy shouts at the top of his lungs about the clarinet players.

“Uh, Sammy-”

“AND THEN MICHAEL STARTED PLAYING IN THE WRONG KEY! CAN YOU BELIEVE-” “Sammy, I-”

“WHEN THE DRUMMER STARTED PLAYING ON TWO AND FOUR INSTEAD OF ONE AND THREE!! OOOH, THAT JUST-”

“SAMMY!!! GET’CHER HEAD OUTTA YER TROUSERS AN’ LISTEN TA ME!”

“Oh, for the love of.. WHAT, SHAWN, WHAT?!”

“Henry was behind the door you were slammin’!”

Sammy turns around to look at the entrance, where a half-splattered Henry peels himself off the wall and lands on his face on the hardwood floor. Susie gasps, and turns to Sammy with an intense stare.

“Sammy! Look what you did!” “But Susie, I-”

Susie approaches Henry with a panicked expression.

“Sugar, are you okay?!”

Henry, feeling the most nauseous he’s ever been, can’t seem to find the motor skills to open his mouth and speak, not to mention that his voice hasn’t exactly found its way back to his body. The toon nods, soon slapping a hand over his gooey mouth. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

Susie turns back to her partner. “Sammy, if you hadn’t been waltzing around and slamming doors, this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“He had it coming to him!! Maybe he shouldn’t have been standing behind the door!”

“What if he was about to leave?!”

Henry stumbles to his feet with the help of Susie. The toon wobbles, holding a hand to his forehead as he adjusts his glasses with the other.

“Hooh, wow-wie… That’s less fun on this side of it…”

Just then…

SLAM! Bendy bursts in the room, frantically glancing around. “Where’s Henry?! Is he okay?!”

Shawn is trying his hardest not to bust out laughing. The door slowly swings shut, revealing a re-splattered Henry all over the wall.

Again.

The little devil panics and produces a giant spatula out of nowhere, proceeding to shove it underneath the splattered animator to pry him off the wall. After successfully peeling Henry off, Bendy carefully and fearfully coaxes Henry to reform.

“Aaaaalright, nice and easy.. Find yer face, pally….”

Henry slowly forms a body of pure black ink. He rises to… Whatever replaces his feet and stumbles. He can’t see a thing! The splattered toon tries to communicate this problem, though only soft squeaks and growls come out of his half-formed mouth. Henry almost immediately goes into panic mode, and Bendy has literal alarms going off inside his head.

“H-Henry, ya gotta calm down! Yer fine!”

The taller toon shakes what could be perceived as his head as he grasps at what could be perceived as his throat.

“Yer throat? No, no… Yer voice? That’s gotta be it! Henry, yer voice is gonna come back, don’t worry, but right now, ya gotta focus on the rest’a yaself!”

Henry gurgles and coughs, seeming to nod in understanding. Bendy goes back to gently coaxing the other to reform, small bits at a time.

After about half an hour, Henry is mostly reformed, but still fairly blackened and goopy. At least he’s got his face, body, and hands under control. His little friend carefully helps him stand up once more. The taller toon coughs hoarsely into his hands, threatening to keel over again. Bendy pats his back softly with a small smile.

“Easy now, pally… You got this..”

Henry shudders. Everything is cold, his inky hair won’t stay out of his face, and he can’t stop shaking. He glances down at Bendy for a moment before swiftly, though wobbily, scooping him up in a big hug. The little devil opens his mouth to tell him to put him down, but this time…

He doesn’t quite mind.

Bendy smiles big, wrapping his arms around his beloved animator in a tight squeeze.

“Eheeheehee… You’re welcome, Henry.”

// I WILL NOT DISAPPOINT, EVEN THOUGH I’M AT DETENTION

((THANK YOU FOR ANOTHER PART, I’m sure people will appreciate this after all the Pain ‘round here lately. I mean this chapter’s a little sad too, but it’s got some cute in there still.))

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part seven