Flickers of Faith (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

2- His Blessing

"But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." - Matthew 9:13

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She wouldn't let him touch her, and he wasn't sure that in any of these horrible, agonizing years of entrapment that he had ever felt quite like this. Once again, just as he reached for understanding, his foot slipped the second he began to see it within grasp.

Disgusting.

Unworthy.

Something inherent in his very nature made him inexplicably bad. And it was so much worse now; he had unconsciously allowed himself to believe, thanks to her, that maybe something was still inside him that was worthwhile.

He turned his head to look at her again. Yes, yes, he knew she was different and different was everything he didn't want her to be.

And indeed, she was very, very different.

Francine leaned into herself as she sat on the gurney, legs dangling over the edge. Usually they'd kick a little - usually it was as if there was something inside her that demanded she not stay still. It's absence now was the only reason he had noticed it ever existed. The woman seemed frozen, chilled inside out. A half open mouth, half open eyes, and in the brief seconds he caught her gaze...a half open heart.

Of course she didn't trust him, he thought. Of course.

But understanding doesn't lessen the burden of acceptance.

The feeling when you hurt someone you care about to the point where offering closeness, tenderness bothers them may be the worst fate of all. It means you're helpless, totally useless to fix what you've caused. You can only sit there and watch the future unfold without you.

...Unless you're especially desperate.

"Francine," Sammy muttered, voice tripping inside his throat. It was rough, clumsy, and hardly became audible at all...but it was all he had. He had to give something, he had to give something to fix this.

Her eyes only flashed up to him, then back down when he had no further words to give. Usually she'd be so skilled at reading his faceless expressions, so willing to at least try. Its lacking now made him sick.

"Francine," he begged again.

Nothing. Her brow only furrowed just a touch tighter, weighed with weariness. He didn't know that it wasn't the journey that had harmed her; she had asked to go after all and still did not regret it. No, it wasn't that- it was the uncertainty that followed. And so she retreated into herself, unsure how to reconcile everything she knew with everything that seemed to elude her forever.

But he didn't know, so anxiety overcame him. Unbearable silence; it needed to end. Please talk, please talk, please talk, please talk-

"Francine-!"

And before he knew it, he couldn't tolerate the quiet any longer. He looked down at his hands and saw her shoulders beneath them now. He felt them tighten. He centered his gaze and-

He saw her gape turn into a frown, and as he retracted with a small gasp, a frown turned into a scowl.

"SAMMY-" How could she be so loud? She was never this loud. "Take a FUCKING chill pill for TWO MINUTES, DUDE! Don't freak out on me!"

Both she and him retracted in surprise. Her outrage thawed into shock, and she was back in the studio once more instead of inside the machinations and assumptions her own head. For the first time since they reunited, she actually saw him as he was instead of what the twists of this mystery made him to be. The shadowy figure of her mind- the one that loomed over her when they first met- turned his mask away and dissolved into who was before her now.