Debt Repayed

NOT SUITABLE FOR ALL AGES

WARNINGS

Cursing

Angst

KEY

/*insert line*/ = italicized

DESCRIPTION

Joey believes his has a valid reason to have gotten payback against Henry.

Henry and everyone else knows he has to pay for what he’s done.

And all that’s left is an endless loop.

NOTES

Yes, repayed ^^

Now, the gorgeously talented artist and writer Sammy Jammy :tm: had made a post of The Meatly having Bendy fans guess the next game! It’s not their only post and I highly suggest you look at their brilliant content and hard work!

They had shown the ‘rules’ about guessing the new name. I thought of ‘debt’ and they commented ‘Debt Repayed’ and inspired this story!

The title is technically all Sammy Jammy’s so if you’d like it back I’d be happy to! But you did inspire me, and for that I want to give you credit. Thank you for discussing with me! And I agree, I personally head-canon Bendy as Joey too.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day!

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Joey Drew stares down at his hands, unable to understand what’s in front of him.

He doesn’t hold anything, nor is there actually some/thing/ in front of him. His hands are different, and yet he can’t understand why. They’ve been the same for so many years. Not stained by ink, not rough from making repairs, or even with a callus for writing. g papers was all he ever did with few notes on contracts and plans.

So then /why/ is this escaping him? Why is his heart thumping erratically? Why is he so worried? Why does it feels like someone’s looming behind him?

“Here.”

Joey can’t move, even to cover his ears from the booming voice, the sheer power behind it nearly forcing him to his knees.

I know that voice. I know-

The ex-studio owner’s thoughts are cut off when a shadow suddenly descends upon him, bringing a cold wind. And as he attempts to become unfrozen and actually move, think, /something/, the surface beneath his feet erupts in what seems to be an earthquake.

It’s a miracle Joey manages to stay on his feet. A few steps stumbling back manage to allow his balance to catch.

It’s also a miracle over the fact he doesn’t faint.

An arm lies before and beside him, the limb large enough to surround him without even trying, so tall it’s taller than the man. Joey would need a running start just to /think/ about reaching the top.

Power. It holds so much power over him. Capable of crushing him, corralling him, grabbing him...

At that his grey eyes lock onto the hand with fingers longer he is tall. It can hold him, pin him down with just its /pinky/. And just to state it’s complete control over the man that once had everyone and everything under /his/ thumb, an inked pen is sketching something.

The tip can skewer him. The small amount of ink overwhelms the man from the toxins it possesses. He’s threatened to constantly trip as whoever holds him captive simply /draws/. He’s lightheaded when it’s clear /anything/ can happen to him.

“Maybe this’ll help you.”

Joey stands completely frozen as the arm, hand, and pencil withdrawal with a gust of wind ruffling his hair, the voice clearly attempting to be quiet and yet ears feeling as if they’ll bleed from the booming comments.

...hair?

Hands fly up to the top of his head. The mirror that hadn’t been there before is then rushed to.

He doesn’t understand. He’s /young/. Young! Full head of brown hair! Loose t-shirt and blue jean pants. Tennis shoes. And he’s standing tall. No wheel-chair.

“How?”

He’s twenty again. But he can’t. It’s impossible. Why-?

Joey’s shinning gaze locks onto a different reflection inside the surface, staring in disbelief. But as the mirror cascades into ink, he’s forced to turn around, though not before finally noting he’s standing on a table. On a page on a table.

Henry Stein looks down at him with bright blue eyes, the giant appraising his friend as the other does the same.

The now eighteen and /out of the loop/ man doesn’t attempt to speak or explain. His cheek is held on his left fist, right hand hovering above the paper, ready to draw something else. There’s no ink well to be seen, but the pen won’t be running out anytime soon, won’t dry out either.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

“Henry.”

A smile stretches across the face holding a gaze with eyes bigger than Joey’s head. The soft call shouldn’t have been heard, but he clearly did. “Hey, Joey.”

Why aren’t you in the loops?

Why is Henry here? Where /is/ here? Why is this reality?

“What makes you think you have any right to do this?”

The two inch tall man stiffens as the person in control, the person he insulted, straightens up. The shadow from the poorly lit room nearly drapes over Joey. But he doesn’t back down. Henry has no right to put who was once his best friend in this position.

Not after leaving.

Suddenly the table shakes gently as the pen moves forward. It presses into the paper and begins sketching. “Henry, answer me.”

Not even a glance.

“St-!”

The older’s blood runs cold when something rises from the page where Henry finished his drawing. A three foot tall figure, to Joey at least.

A round head. Two horns. Bow tie. Giant smile.

A smile that quickly becomes an off-model frown.

”Drew.”

“Bendy,” Joey swallows, staring at how his name had been spat, clearly still ing the demon being his ticket to immortality. To becoming the demon himself. “Henry, explain.”

Get him away.

A powerful shake of the head as if the smaller’s thoughts can be heard.

“Why did you put me inside of loops, Joey?” he questions instead.

“You deserved it.”

“No.” The eyes harden as they lock onto his former boss. “Why /loops/, Joey.”

...to see if Henry could understand that’s how /he/ felt. As soon as the animator left, the older kept going in circles. Constant hellish circles. There was no distant path, and no matter what he accomplished, what happened, it all came back around.

His ideas couldn’t be implemented. Whether it be money, motivation, anything, Joey walked in giant circles. Like he was running on his own reel, around and around and around.

Always ending up right where he started.

“Why else?”

A glare up at the younger with pure hatred. “Are you really reading my mind?”

“No.”

“You talk out loud.”

Bendy doesn’t attempt to erase his glare on the person before him. On the traitor. The true liar. “You never noticed. A habit you’ve always had.”

“When thinking deep enough,” Henry confirms.

“Well there’s no other reason. Now /let me go/. I have no business speaking to you, Stein.”

No reply. But his hand moves as the darling devil looks smug. Someone else is drawn. And when they form, Henry is forced to hold her back as she attempts to lunge at the man, his heart beat skipping.

Susie.

“You LIAR! I WILL MAKE YOU PAY!”

“Calm down.”

And the voice actress stands still, even with tears streaming down her face. A burning hatred toward the man who has broken promises to amend. She wants him to feel the same pain. To have his studio taken just as he was about to receive the keys. Needles stabbed into him as he screams for it to stop. Left as a hideous monster lurking in the basement to slowly go insane.

“What about her?”

Joey looks away. “/Just/ her and Bendy. You wouldn’t be a part of any apology, stein.”

More drawings. More figures. He recognizes a few: Wally. Sammy. Norman, Jack, Grant, Shawn, Thomas, Bertram, Lacie, Allison.

Boris The Wolf. Alice Angel. Barley, Charley, and Edgar.

So many more he doesn’t recognize, for names at least. All just souls he needed to make the perfect living cartoon. Those who became twisted versions of who they were meant to become. Simple and unimportant casualties.

“Henry.”

Those eyes lock onto him, calm.

“I owe them /everything/.

”I owe you NOTHING!”

Hands slam onto the table and with it Joey falls onto his back, left to stare in fear at the /anger/ rolling off the giant before him in waves. The figures, every last one of them melted back into the paper, leaving him completely alone.

Henry stands standing even though he doesn’t need to. /He/ needs this. To make Joey /understand/.

“WHY NOT ME!”

Unable to help it, hands slap onto the older’s ears. It doesn’t stop the ringing.

“WHY EVERYONE BUT /ME/!”

Joey forces himself to look up. And as he does he sees the /sorrow/ coating the animator, tears building up and giving the blue color a sheen.

The table rocks again as Henry falls back into his seat, looking away from the man. Just as he begins to silently cry his eyes squeeze shut.

“Do I not /deserve/ it? Even after I forgave you. And /not/ for the studio. For taking me /life away/. Do you not know how /long/ it look me to be good at drawing? Do you? I practiced every single day. Every, single, day. I had to use napkins. I collected the dried and expired ink. Broken chalk. Everything I possibly could. I drew and drew and drew. I copied characters, and then I made my own.

“They are /me/. Those I made when I was young. Those I’ve made in your /studio/. My drawings are /me/, Joey. And you will /never/ understand that. The story boards I helped with, I put /myself/ inside those. Bendy is /me/. I /made/ him and he isn’t mine, he’s just /me/. These characters, Boris and Alice, they’re /me/. Not mine.

“And you /took/ them. Made them yours. You made /me/ something to /own/. You didn’t see it and you didn’t /care/ and I worked hard for someone who claimed /me/ because I didn’t trust you with myself. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did, I shouldn’t have. You hurt me. You used me. Own me. And when I leave...you kept me.

“My hard work. My drawings, my ion, myself and my /life/. I was named a traitor. And when you made Bendy come to life...I can’t believe you never told me. Those were /my characters/. And I could’ve met them. I /should’ve/ met them. I should’ve been the person you /asked for permission/. But of course even if you did or do understand, you don’t /care/. Don’t care they’re /me/.”

Joey stares as a glare looks down at him.

“And you, so /high and mighty/. You think you /deserved/ getting to keep them. To have them and bring them here and /experiment/ on them and trick every last one of your workers and treat them like they aren’t actual /people/ and doing /whatever you want/ to those you think deserves the wrath of Joey Drew when ALL WE’VE EVER DONE IS GET USED BY YOU AND HAVE YOU TAKE EVERYTHING THAT WE’VE EVER LOVED AND WHO WE ARE AWAY AND GET

”USED OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN EVEN PAST THE POINT WE CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE AND EVEN AS WE SCREAM AT THE TOP OF OUR LUNGS YOU’LL NEVER TRY AND UNDERSTAND NOR OFFER SOMETHING SO SIMPLE AS AN APOLOGY BECAUSE YOU THINK YOU DESERVE THE WORLD!

”BUT YOU DON’T!”

And with that the pen stabs the paper directly beside Joey, allowing Henry to lowering himself right above the cowering man, growl echoing around him like thunder.

“It’s /my turn/, Drew.”

Suddenly ink leaks into the paper, spreading beneath Joey as it forms a picture, a familiar one. Then it begins to form.

A hallway from the studio.

“How many loops before you finally learn your lesson, Joey?” Henry questions, ignoring the pleading look as the ceiling forms to effectively trap the one person who deserves a fate like this one.

“At this rate, I’m going to assume you’re never going to get out of there.”

A little patronizing wave.

“Have fun!”

With that the world is sealed away as Joey stares up in disbelief.