Hello again! Know it's not an exact continuation, but I figured I'd be better off at least rounding things out. Besides, it did help me kill the last few weeks while waiting for chapter three to come out, though my best to theMeatly and his team, and hoping for a quick recovery from Irma.

Anyway, if anyone's come in late, the plot here deviates from the original one of the game in that Bendy is the one that left the studio thirty years ago instead of Henry, the idea coming from the wonderful mind of thelostmoongazer on Tumblr whom I seriously recommend people go check out as he's got a lot of cool art pieces regarding this and his other BATIM AU, the Mob AU which is also a fun ride.

At any rate, on with the story!

Come Little Children:

The cool of the summer night had sapped some of the heat from the day, much to the relief of all who relied on the good turns of the elements for their comfort. Birds seemed to sigh songs of quiet happiness at the fresh breeze and the few stray cats and dogs seemed to grow more placid as the humidity began to leech itself from the air.

Everything simply relaxed, people easing out of their homes and workplaces to go out for the night and venues filling with couples of all ages, families, just a smattering of folks looking to enjoy the seasonable July weather. However, as with all fun, there were those that were enjoying, and those that were maintaining the scene for others to enjoy. In the backdrop of things, work never truly stopped, though it could take a breather every now and again. Such was the thought flitting through the mind of a chef as he stepped out the back door of his small restaurant to the alley, just looking for a quiet spot to indulge in a smoke break before getting back to the hectic rush of food service on a summer night. Taking a drag, he let the smoke vent through his lips with a push of air that came as easy as blinking, the tension from the past few hours unknotting a little as he did.

Though a slight clatter from a little ways down the alley ruined the good mood, the man hardly seemed surprised at the noise, merely sighing and keeping the cigarette in his mouth as he reached back through the door to grab a small paper bag that had been waiting on the counter. If he peered into the darkness, he could make out a small shape that had just run in from the streets, huddled down in the shadow of some of the garbage cans. Despite the warm weather, his eyes could pick out that the figure was wearing a jacket that was a bit baggy on its short frame, as well as what looked like a hat pulled low over its face.

Quietly he gave a smoky sigh, tapping some of the ash off his cigarette before deciding to make his presence known.

"Hey, kid!"

The effect of his shout was instantaneous, the figure almost rocketing to their feet though they hadn't figured out where the shout came from. The man could see the small head swiveling around before seeming to notice him, and tension settled into the small frame as the shape seemed poised to run. Not that the chef really gave them much chance, tossing the small bag with a call of 'catch!'. Admittedly, if he were hoping to sap some of the strain out of the air, he could have probably picked a better way to go about it, but oh well. The kid still caught the bag at any rate, cautious but still opening it to see what was inside. Light was still poor, but the chef could make out the way in which the small head tilted upward, looking from the contents of the doggie bag to the man still standing by the door tapping more ash off the end of his cigarette. Giving another smoky sigh, the chef decided to take some pity on the small vagabond.

"Relax, kid, I'm not calling the cops on you. Just figured if you're gonna be hanging out in my alley again tonight you oughta at least have something to eat." He doubted the kid would stick around for the cops either; little guy was skittish as a feral cat and no one really wanted to try chasing him down and risk scaring him away for good.

The small head bowed for a few minutes, quietly surveying the meal inside the paper bag; half a chicken sandwich, and a mess of French fries. A moment later he looked up, and though the visibility was still poor the man could feel the incredulous stare of the kid on him.

He gave the small shape a brusque, 'off with you' sort of gesture, quietly stubbing his cigarette out and going back into the kitchen. The figure simply stood there in silence for a moment, before glancing between the bag and the door and letting a small, grateful smile play across his obscured face.

"Thanks."

It was a little too late, but the gratitude slaked some of the little vagabond's need to pay back the chef for his unsolicited help. Glancing behind at the street, the character huddled down in his coat as he quietly padded back to his spot a little ways from the garbage cans. Leaning against the brick of the building, small hands quietly fished out the chicken sandwich and pulled the scarf away from his noseless face to give it a quick, automatic sniff before taking a bite.

The taste of chicken made the small, pale face light up with a contented smile, the rest of the sandwich quickly gone in the next few minutes. Opening the bag again, a white-gloved hand quietly pawed at the fries inside, taking one out to eat before closing the bag and tucking it away into his patchwork, oversized coat. Black, pie-cut eyes blinked slowly, quietly drinking in the brief moment of silence on the warm summer evening. Still, he didn't let himself relax too much, especially at the sound of pedestrians on the sidewalk beyond going by, voices loud as they talked and laughed about something or other that had happened that day.

In fact, he thought as he settled down to rest his arms and chin on folded up knees, perhaps now might be a good time to move on entirely. After all, while the chef's kindness was certainly appreciated, the fact that he had known when the pint-sized vagrant would be stopping by to dig through the trash meant that he'd hit this place one too many times. Maybe it was time to make tracks for a different town, start over again…

Honestly it was the one bit of interesting, positive change that he had, might as well make some use of it. As the small form leaned back against the wall, a quiet flick of motion off to the side had him straighten, briefly frowning as he steered a small, spaded tail back to shelter under his coat.

Yeah, it was definitely time to move on.

With that thought in mind he pushed himself up from the wall, tired from the day's heat and the dodging he'd done to get to this little sanctuary. Still he had to keep going. He could rest once he'd gotten to his hideaway he reassured the part of his brain that cautioned against exhausting himself any further. Black shoes squeaked a little as he skidded out onto the sidewalk, immediately going back into the mindset of dodging around couples, families, partiers, though the exertion was causing some heat to build under the baggy coat, scarf, and knitted hat. By the time he made his way back to the abandoned warehouse that he had taken refuge in, his breath was coming in gasps, and once he was sure no one was around he quickly began peeling off his hat and scarf and unbuttoning his coat, exposing a small, black body and head topped with horns that resembled the ears of a cat, something that would not have looked too out of place on an animation reel from the 1940s. Some of that black had started to dribble down the white face, and the being reached up with a cartoony gloved hand to wipe at the droplet, staring at it for only a moment before sighing and rifling through his coat pockets. Along with the bag of fries he managed to produce a small bottle of ink that only had a little left at the bottom, just enough for a sip.

Alright, maybe a run to the general store in the morning and then he would leave town. Not that the little devil toon really wanted to round off his stay here with stealing, but ink was a precious commodity for him, especially in the months where it could easily be lost in the heat or summer rain. Water was good and all, but nothing let him keep his energy and stamina like ink. Quietly screwing off the cap he threw back the small bit of black liquid and sighed at the modicum of relief it brought, behorned head resettling on his neckless dark body as his eyes closed in a long blink. The light from the city around him was bright, but if he looked to the dark expanse of sky above he could just make out the suggestion of stars.

At least thirty years ago, the thought of such a big, open space overhead would have filled him with some sort of wonder and awe. Now…now it just made him feel tired and empty.

"Sure movin' up in the world, aintcha, Bendy?" He murmured to himself, voice hoarse and littered with quiet, self-aimed bitterness. Why was he even still trying anymore…?

Slinking down to a spot just a few feet away from the open doorway, white-gloved hands worked for a moment to rearrange a few ratty, stained blankets into something that could at least be passably comfortable for the night. Without much fanfare, the little devil quietly collapsed onto the cloth, pulling his coat around himself as a blanket and retaining just enough awareness to pull his hat over his head to hide his unusual features. The scarf he left just off to the side to cushion the fries, and he was asleep within a few moments.

"Bendy…"

"…Huh?" The devil mumbled, shifting under his coat before blinking, looking around before sitting bolt upright. This wasn't the warehouse, the long, poorly lit hallway so familiar to him even though he hadn't seen the like in thirty years.

He was…but how did he get back here, he didn't, what happened, how…?

"Bendy…" The call was quiet, barely above speaking volume, but something about it caused both hope and ice to leap in his stomach. It was another thing that he hadn't heard in so long but memory did not diminish, and he knew exactly who was calling him from somewhere off in the dark.

"Alice?"

"Bendy…" This time the tone changed, sounding more relieved, happy even at the answer. But there was still no sign of the angel in question.

"Alice, where are you? Th-This isn't funny, c'mon out." Bendy squinted, pie-cut eyes trying to sort through the black beyond the small pool of light he was sitting in. He got to his feet, shoes squeaking slightly on the wood as he looked about. Taking a step forward, Bendy stiffened as the angel's voice suddenly lit up with a frightened gasp.

"…stay where you are…"

"…Alice, what's wrong? Why do I gotta-?" Bendy started, before a faint vibration went through the floor under his feet, and a noise came from somewhere off to the right causing Bendy to jump and try to peer fruitlessly through the dark. It sounded like a muffled, sort of high-pitched whine, almost like a dog, or-.

"Boris, buddy, is that- are you alright?"

Another noise, this time somewhere to the left, a low, gurgling groan that also sounded very familiar once Bendy had a moment to process it.

"H-Henry?!"

But no one responded, and Bendy felt his breathing grow stilted in his nonexistent throat. In desperation, he reached out for the one person that had responded to him, calling out to the dark.

"Alice, A-Alice, please, where are you? Where's every-what's going on?"

"…watching…" It was almost too quiet to be heard, and Bendy took a moment to properly process what was said.

"Wh-Who's-?"

And now a new sound came into hearing, seeming to come from all around the small devil. Loud, steady footsteps, like there's someone sauntering casually around just out of Bendy's view. Despite the fact that they're more than loud enough for him to consider clamping his hands over his ears, he kept listening, trying to pinpoint exactly where the person was. The echoing quality to the footfalls stopped that endeavor cold, and Bendy could only shy away from the edges of darkness that seemed to grow closer and closer, pushing him back to the small bundle of cloth that he had initially sprung from. His hands fumbled for a moment before grabbing at his jacket, instinct dictating that he try to hide even if it was only in the ragged shelter of the baggy old coat. As he did, the clacking noise seemed to almost narrow, coming to what seemed like a point somewhere behind the devil.

Then the footsteps abruptly stop, though Bendy was not relieved because there's a new warning emblazoned in his mind. Don't turn around, don't look behind you, it'll get you if you look.

Still, his head turned, mechanically following the partial rotation of his body even as he leaned in the other direction, ready to run.

There's someone standing at the edge of the light, the back of them in shadow, though Bendy can easily make out the prim, polished shoes, and the neat slacks. His eyes traveled upward, taking in the neat, well-dressed, familiar outfit, one that he'd seen plenty of times in those first few years of living, though none of it calmed him or that sensation of dread and trouble that had his insides twisting in knots. Even still, he kept going, eyes going from chest to neck, to face-.

And suddenly the devil flailed his way out of the small, makeshift bed he'd set up on the warehouse floor, a rivet of ink running from his brow and his breath coming in frightened pants. Completely disorientated his head swiveled around for a moment as he tried to pick through his surroundings, wondering where the hallway had gone, and why he could see faint sunshine filtering in through a door a few feet away and through the old windows far overhead.

Then reality crashed back in and Bendy just kneeled on the floor for a moment, trying to focus on the sensation of air going through his lungs at a steady pace. Just a bad dream…

Course, he'd never had a dream that bad for years now, and not really one involving the studio for even longer than that. They'd been, kind of bad in the first five years, but after a bit…well, he stopped having them. It wasn't much better than thinking on the dream itself, but the devil latched onto the oddity with more readiness than thinking on, that…

The details of the dream were already fading from his mind, but he distinctly remembered the feeling, a gripping sensation of panic assuring him that his old, long-estranged friends were in trouble. That part, may have been a first. Before, most of the dreams that involved the studio had things like him running down corridors, maybe hearing someone calling him, but…never had anyone sounded like they were hurt before…

The fact that he'd even had this dream now was a little weird to begin with, and shying away from the exact content of it allowed Bendy some more room to consider why it'd cropped up after all this time. He hadn't exactly been thinking of the studio, though his friends were usually on his mind a fair bit.

He hadn't really been thinking of them last night though, at least, not specifically…

Bendy sat for a moment with his head propped on his hands, still feeling faintly tired but too wired from the nightmare to go back to sleep. Besides, it was basically morning, might as well start the day. He grabbed the small paper bag, and after checking it over to make sure nothing had gotten into the fries last night started to dig in. Polishing off the few handfuls that were inside, Bendy quietly eased himself back into his jacket and hat, hiding his tail and carefully wrapping his scarf around his neck over a white bowtie.

The little devil had turned to the door when an odd splotch of color caught his eye, a bit of beige that stood out against grey concrete. There was an envelope propped up against the far side of the doorframe, sitting there as innocently as if it were dropped off by the mailman. And, as Bendy drew closer to the small envelope, he could make out a name scrawled where the address would go.

Problem was, it was his own written there.

That fact alone made the small toon's mind come to a screeching halt, even as the rest of him moved to snatch up the letter and look at the front more closely just to confirm, yes, that was the name 'Bendy' scratched in right there. No smudges, smears, or possibility of a misprint in how it was written. Question was, who the hell would be writing him a letter? And who even knew he was here?

Though there was some suspicion settling uncomfortably like a mass of live snakes in his stomach, jittery white gloves pried open the flap, and produced a slightly dingy and spotted letter. As he read the neat, flowing text, pie-cut pupils steadily shrank, and a chill settled over the small frame despite the warm weather.

Dear Bendy,

It has been quite a while since you left home, about thirty years, if I am remembering correctly. Despite my initial worries, it seems as though you have performed sufficiently in caring for yourself. I hope your experience has been quite the enlightening one.

The studio has, unfortunately, suffered during the decades in your absence, and everyone has had to make sacrifices to make ends meet. It has been difficult, and not without some costs, but we will persist nonetheless. Boris and Alice have been particularly instrumental in making the studio run smoothly, though I worry that Boris may be pushing himself too hard in trying to help me. He and Alice both have expressed an interest in seeing you again, and Henry has also asked after you, so if you can find the time to make an appearance down at the old studio, it would be greatly appreciated.

We all hope to see you soon,

~Joey Drew

Bendy turned the paper over, examining it and the envelope it came in from every angle before he was forced to conclude that this was no joke. One way or another, his creator had managed to track him down, and though he didn't seem to feel the need to drag the devil back in person, he did leave a, rather compelling letter to come back to the home he hadn't seen in thirty years.

And still, the demon's feelings were mixed. The part of him that did desperately want to go back had leapt to attention the moment Boris, Alice, and Henry were mentioned, especially with the nightmare from before still foggily in mind. He had wanted to bring the other toons with him, but Boris had tried to stall, clearly unwilling to choose, and Bendy couldn't find Alice before he felt he had to leave. Perhaps it was better he hadn't dragged the wolf out with him, even if he were physically able, given how much hardship the devil had had to deal with these past few years.

In his life, especially when the most he could consider beyond tomorrow was a vague idea of where he would hang his hat, Bendy would never have thought that he would be going back to Joey Drew Studios. Not in a million years, he figured after the first decade he would likely be dying on the streets first. But with the letter in hand, and remnants of the dream from last night in mind, what else could he do but go?