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WARNING: Brief depictions of violence

The first day of Tom refusing to leave his shed was shrugged off by the family. Maybe he was in a mood - he often went to his shed to escape stress or keep himself busy with other things.

The second day, he’d actually stayed in bed all day. Certainly strange, but again, shrugged off. Mostly because the rest of the household had plans already to be out of the house that day and only realized their resident wolf man hadn’t moved in hours after returning home.

However, the third day was when it was recognized as a real problem to be dealt with. Tom had, again, refused to move from bed. And when Henry questioned him about his reasons, whether he was sick or stressed or tired, he’d managed to get a good look at Tom’s face. Up until now, Tom had been good about hiding himself away or only moving at night, when the light was low and hard to discern details. But now, with the midday sun peeking through the drawn curtains, Henry could see the ink splatter across Tom’s snout and brow.

Suddenly, the mess in the bathroom made a lot more sense to the old animator. Initially, it had been chalked up as a more explosive outburst than normal. Tom was never violent… well, he’d been good about keeping his temper under check after leaving the Studio almost eight months ago. They’d all seen his slow climb to a more relaxed attitude over the months after setting up shop out back of the house and finding an outlet for his stress through his pet projects. He seemed to be doing better. Happier.

Apparently, they were wrong. Finding his own art supplies in the trashed bathroom was confusing enough, but the closer he looked at Tom’s face, the more he understood why they were there. His eye for details hadn’t waned over the years, and with a clear image of what a Boris should look like, Henry could now see the muddled patch work to Tom’s mouth. Most of the line was spattered with ink and broken up anyway, but there was a clear area where the mouth had been redrawn at some point.

Leaning into Tom’s personal space, the old animator questioned what had happened. Getting nothing more than a huff of annoyance, Henry continued to push, pointing out all the little changes and asking about how and why this happened. Tom continued to refuse to answer - exasperated, Henry let out his own huff of air, muttering some off-handed remark about fixing the ink once he knew the problem.

But oh, that was the wrong thing to say. For someone who usually took his time getting around, Tom sure knew how to move when he wanted to. It helped when all he needed to move was an arm. And Henry quickly found himself unprepared for the punch that hit him square in the nose.

Reeling back with a grunt, the old man held his face as the pain began to register. It was a bit dulled, likely from his exploits back in the Studio, but also on account that Tom hadn’t actually hit him that hard. It felt less like malicious intent to harm and more like he was trying to stun Henry. That or he was too tired to put real effort into it.

Well, real effort or not, it still hurt like a bitch.

Watching as Tom retreated back under the covers, Henry decided that was his cue to leave. Best not to poke the bear… er, wolf any more than he already had.

Back downstairs, Henry joined the resident angel and devil in the kitchen, catching them at the end of lunch and giving his son’s head a pat as he walked past to the fridge. While he rifled through the freezer for something to cool the pain on his face, Allison walked up beside him.

“Is he coming down to eat?”

Securing a bag of peas from the back, Henry let out a sigh as he held the icy relief to his face, “No. I didn’t even ask. Something’s bothering him but he won’t talk about it.”

Raising a disbelieving brow at the peas, Allison asked, “He hit you?”

“He…” Henry began, but stopped when he caught a glance of Bendy watching them across the room. The little devil was waiting for his answer, but Henry would rather not let the mental image of he and Tom fighting take hold in the kid’s mind. Instead, he lowered the veggies and gave his son a smile, “Ah, don’t worry about me. I’m a tough old man, but… why don’t you run upstairs and make something for Tom? He’s not feeling well and could use a little cheering up.”

Bendy’s brow sunk, not at all fooled by the clear attempt to get him out of earshot. But despite knowing his old man’s game, he obediently dropped his dishes in the sink before running off to his room and drawing desk. Once his door was heard closing shut, Henry continued his answer from before, “Yes, he hit me. But it doesn’t hurt… much. But that’s not important. There was something wrong with his face when I saw him. He’s got white ink all over. I think from the bottle we found in the bathroom. But there’s even more than that.

“Remember those brushes we found in there too?” Allison nodded and Henry continued, “I think he was painting on himself. The line on his mouth was different like… like he erased it and redrew it.”

Despite leaning casually against the counter, the angel grew more tense as Henry spoke, “Redrew?… What? Why?”

Replacing the slightly melting peas to his face with a shrug, Henry explained, “I don’t know. Like I said, he won’t talk about it.”

With a head shake, Allison looked down, “Tom wouldn’t just do something like this. There’s got to be a reason. Maybe… maybe he’ll talk to me.”

She looked back up to Henry nodding his head the tiniest bit, “Maybe. You’ve known him longer than any of us, after all. But- hold up!” Allison, who had turned to go upstairs, paused for Henry as he put the peas back in the freezer and joined her side. “Just… think it’d be better if we were both in there. You know, being supportive.”

Smiling coolly, Allison remarked, “You think he’s going to hit me.” It wasn’t a question, and she was right on the nose.

“Well, maybe. I don’t know. He’s… unpredictable right now.” Henry chose his words carefully as he followed Allison to the second floor. Tom wasn’t crazy or unhinged, but they couldn’t be sure of what he’d do next. And the ex-soldier’s instincts would always put him on the side of caution.

But Allison shook her head anyway, “I don’t think that’s it. You just need to know how to talk to him.”

–

The bedroom that held their troubled wolf was at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs, right after the hall bathroom and Bendy’s room. They quickly stopped in to see if the little devil wanted to see Tom with them, to which he happily agreed. Secured in his father’s arms with his Get Well drawing secure in his own, Bendy joined the duo as they all entered the main bedroom to confront Tom.

Allison was the first to enter. After a quick knock and call out to Tom that they were coming to see him, she swiftly moved to the side of the bed he was huddled on and sat by his knees. Though, despite her presence, the troubled man didn’t relax a bit. He remained stoic in his tension and resolve to stare at nothing but the wall.

“Tom?” she began, placing a hand gently on his knee. If anyone looked close enough, they could see his resolve loosen the smallest amount. “We’re worried about you, Tom. This isn’t like you and we… we want to help you.”

But still, Tom refused to move his eyes. So Allison moved closer to his line of sight, sitting close enough to where she could see the damage Henry had been talking about. There was quite a bit of white ink. Just the sight of it flipped her insides - what had Tom been thinking?

Carefully, gently, her fingers brushed against the stray specks of white over the weary wolf’s brow. His eyes fell shut and a deep sigh escaped his nose, though his posture still held its tense form. He should have relaxed - normally, he would have. But she wasn’t touching his face. It never was his. And despite how nice her presence felt, it didn’t dispel the self-loathing he harbored.

He wished she would just stop. Just leave and stop reminding him.

But her touch stayed. It traced the white spots and specks further up, to the crown of his head.

Further up, to his ears.

Those long floppy cartoon ears that he hated. And she was petting them.

Like he was some dog.

He was one.

It took every ounce of self-control he had left to not violently rip her hand away. Instead, Tom gave a sharp jerk of his head to get out from under her hand and immediately covered his head with the blankets.

Confused and concerned, Allison sat there thinking this over. Sure, it stung to be shunned so coldly, but she could handle it. For Tom’s sake. He’d had nasty tantrums before anyway. Mostly back in the Studio…

A cough sounded behind the angel, and she remembered the other two that had joined her. Henry and Bendy, who was growing fidgety in his old man’s arms from watching Tom retreat under the blankets. That wasn’t the Tom he knew - Tom didn’t cower.

Motioning to be let down, Bendy slid out of his father’s arms and walked to the lump in the blankets that hid Tom’s head still clutching his little drawing. With Henry nearby and Allison right by his side, the little devil reached out and gave the blankets a shake. With any luck, Tom would come out again.

It took two more shakes and a few prods from Allison, but Tom did emerge from his hiding spot once again. Only this time, he was much more pissed. It was clear as hatred burned behind his misshapen eyes and bore right into Bendy not a foot away. He was not in the mood for games. But the little devil wouldn’t be swayed.

With a little smile, the cartoon-come-to-life proudly held up his drawing for Tom to see. It was a finger painting, his go-to, of Tom standing tall with comically large muscles and a huge toothy grin to boot. A childish interpretation of the man’s tough-as-nails attitude and fighting spirit that managed to get a couple smiles out of the other adults in the room. But not Tom.

Tom only stared at the drawing. At how Bendy saw him.

Of course the devil wouldn’t draw Tom as a man. He’d only really known the man as he looked now.

And that was how he’d drawn him.

Just another Boris.

Slowly, Tom sat up. The covers fell off to reveal more white splotches on his chest and neck but he didn’t care, didn’t think about how Henry and Allison must have been looking him over. His eyes were locked on that drawing.

Far gentler than anyone had seen the old dog act before, he reached out to Bendy and took the drawing for himself. Everyone assumed to get a closer look at it.

There was a brief pause where he did look it over. Took in each stroke of ink. Then with a final glance to the little devil by his side as he beamed and smiled wide at the apparent approval his drawing was receiving, Tom rested the drawing in the crook of his left arm.

And proceeded to rip it up.

For a second, everyone was too stunned to properly react. The three family members in utter disbelief simply sat there and watched as Tom ripped the drawing in half. Then in half again. Then again. Again and again.

Until finally he was satisfied and threw the tiny scraps of paper back in Bendy’s face. A few fell into his eye sockets and the rest simply fluttered to the ground. The ripping had stunned him, but the slap to the face snapped him out of it just as quick and when it all caught up to the poor devil, it started.

Hic

The hiccups.

Hic hic

The crying.

Humiliated, confused and distraught at being treated so coldly just sank his poor little heart to the ground. Just like his drawing. Inky black tears began to fall and before he knew it, Henry had picked him up again and marched them both out of the room. Maybe Allison came with, Bendy wasn’t too sure. He was too busy hiccuping and clinging to his dad’s sweater to notice much else.

He’d just wanted to make Tom feel better. Why would he do that? Why did Tom rip up his drawing?

As Bendy continued to sob into Henry’s shirt, he could hear Henry and Allison talking above him. Talking about Tom. They were asking the same questions that danced in the little devil’s head.

“Why did he do that?” “What’s wrong with him?” “Why is he so angry?”

At some point between leaving Tom’s fortress of solitude and pacing in the living room, Henry had begun to rock the crying pile of ink in his arms. It was slow, rhythmic and doing a damn good job of helping Bendy return to his senses. The hiccups subsided over time until he was just left tiredly clinging to his dad’s ink-stained shirt and listening to the adults talk over him.

“I just don’t understand what got him started like this,” Henry spat, clearly fed up with the wolfman’s poor attitude, “Did something happen after we left on Tuesday?”

Allison hadn’t moved too far from the stairs, still looking up to the halway as if she could see Tom over the ledge, “No, no. He… I was outside and he was fine. I thought he was…”

There was a good stretch of silence in the room as that sentence repeated in their minds.

They thought he was fine.

He seemed fine.

Apparently, they were wrong.

But for how long?

“…Maybe he… “ Allison began, looking back up to the father and son across the room, “He’s never liked how he looked. Even back in the Studio, I could tell. And he’d get aggressive if we ran into another Boris or steer away from them entirely but I never really knew why.”

Looking up to his father as he spoke, Bendy soaked in every word the two exchanged. “So… what? He hates how Boris looks?”

“No, I think it’s more than that. I just… I feel like we’re missing something. Something that happened to Tom that made him like this.”

Something… that made him like this.

Made him.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Bendy’s memories from before his… birth? Awakening? His memories from before Henry used the reel on him in the Ink Machine were admittedly fuzzy at best. A lot of useless images with almost no meaning behind them. But since leaving the Studio, they’d started to make more sense. They started lining up in order, like pieces of a film reel. And at night, they would turn his dreams into nightmares, making him relive all the horrors he’d done in the past. Only this time, he’s aware. He understands what’s happening.

And this time, he understood what he did to Tom.

Suddenly wide awake, no longer lulled by Henry’s continued rocking, the little devil wiggled free of his father’s grip and trotted his way back upstairs, this time to his room. The two adults were quite confused by Bendy’s quick departure. Thinking it to be another emotional outburst, Henry followed after the little devil to his room, “Bendy? Hey, it’s okay kiddo. We’ll get this figured out.”

It was common knowledge in the house that Bendy drew his dreams and nightmares. It was almost routine. But what the rest of the family didn’t know was how many more pictures there really were. Two books almost filled with his horrific childish scribbles that he only shared a fraction of with the rest of the family. These pages were different. They had Papa on them. And no one else liked hearing about Papa. But this time, for Tom, Bendy made the exception. And in those pages, in those memories, was the explanation to Tom’s outburst. He was sure of it!

Moving quickly to keep the complete books hidden from Henry before he could enter the room, Bendy dug through the loose pages, looking frantically until finally securing the three he was looking for and managing to hide the books again just as his father walked in.

“What are y-” Henry cut himself off as Bendy began shoving the drawings into his hands, all but pleading he take a look.

The three pages he had grabbed told the tale of a man who stood up to his boss before being killed and stripped of all that he had. It was Tom and Bendy. And Joey. Henry noticeably cringed when he finally learned who the other man in the drawings was, and scowled even deeper when it was all put together for him.

It was almost shameful how quickly the old animator had forgotten Tom had once been a man like himself.

Returning to the living room and a confused Allison, Henry and Bendy explained the images and their thoughts behind Tom’s breakdown. He hadn’t gotten lucky like Allison in the ink - he’d come back less than a man on the outside, and it’d been eating him away on the inside for too long. He didn’t hate Boris. He hated being Boris.

But now, with the why settled, they shifted their focus to how.

How were they going to help him?

And so they sat there for the better part of the afternoon. Plotting and planning, thinking up ways to undo what Drew had done. The living room was starting to look like Henry’s old desk - scraps of paper everywhere, rejected ideas tossed to the ground. They’d considered everything from masks to acetone, but nothing stuck.

Nothing, until Bendy took his drawings of Tom’s demise and changed them. Or, more precisely, rearranged them.

And suddenly, they had a plan.

–

They had taken their time planning and perfecting this plan. They were far from experts on this matter, despite what past events or personal origins would lead you to believe. Nothing could be left to chance. And so, the sun had begun to dip over the horizon line by the time the family filed back into Tom’s quarters. Irritated at the second invasion that day, the wolfman stuck his head under the covers once again. It wouldn’t deter them, but at least he didn’t have to look. Or be seen.

Allison dropped to her knee beside his head and began to explain, “Tom, listen. I- we think we know how to fix this. Not the ink spill, no I mean, a way to make you look human again.”

That caught his attention. Though he still moved slow to uncover his face, there was a distinct sharpness in how he looked back at her. An awareness he’d been lacking for a few days.

“That’s what you were trying to do right? Look human?” She spoke softly, as if not to startle him. There was a pause, and he nodded. His gaze flicked to the other two in the room, curiosity and suspicion rolling off him in waves. He wanted this… but what did they have in mind?

Bendy was the next to step up, Henry hovering over him carefully. He was here to help, but Tom’s outbursts had put the old man on edge.

In his arms, the little devil had more drawings. Newer ones from their planning session moments ago. And while he held the pictures up for Tom to view, Henry explained.

“We know how you ended up… like this. And we think the best way to change you back is to… well, put you through the machine, in a sense.” And on cue, Bendy held up the matching images: a Boris shaped figure standing in a circle first, then a wave of ink rushing over the circle and finally, a man standing in the Boris’s place.

While flipping through the pictures, Tom’s eyes grew and grew. Wider than he was normally seen with - wide, unblinking pie cuts taking in the plan they were laying out for him. Unreadable, even from Allison’s position.

This next part was the harshest of all - they had decided Allison would handle delivering the news. And so, she began, “Even though the actual machine’s shut down, we’re sure we can handle all the parts of it. We’ve got Henry to draw a body for you, and Bendy can supply all the ink we need. The uh… we don’t…” she paused, looking back to Henry for a moment before continuing, “… it might not work unless we do it exactly the same as when-… as the first time.”

His eyes once again bounced between each of the people surrounding him - Tom didn’t know what they were referring to. The plan sounded crazy enough on its own, but he didn’t understand what had them each so anxious. Papers rustled next to him and he glanced back to Bendy, watching as the little devil pulled out a new drawing. Or rather, an old one.

The second page from his nightmare drawings.

Allison elaborated, “You’ll… have to die again.”

Then it was quiet.

Nothing was said, but something was brewing. Bubbling up to the surface. It was almost tangible. And it was coming from Tom.

Fear. Confusion. Betrayal. And anger. So, so much anger flooded Tom all at once as those words were uttered. He couldn’t think, didn’t understand. Die again? Kill him? They wanted to kill him?

He could feel it - that dread and terror. The same rush of emotions from years ago when he had walked into Joey’s office that final time. He was there. It was happening again.

The Ink Demon stood before him, reaching towards him. It would strangle him. Again. It was going to kill him.

Except.

Tom knew it was coming this time. He could…

He could stop it.

He’d stop the Ink Demon.

He’d save himself.

This time, Henry saw the violence coming. There was a shift in Tom when Bendy had stepped closer to the bed. He’d grown more tense, like a cornered animal. Coiled up, ready to strike. Henry reached out to his son, trying to pull him back to safety, but he was too late.

Tom didn’t just throw a punch this time - he lunged out of bed, fangs bared and one poor little target in his sights. And Bendy had no time to react as he was hit with over a hundred pounds of furious ink. Something got into his eyes and blocked his vision. Blindly, the little devil kicked and clawed at the wolf that had pinned him.

He couldn’t see, but Tom had used those bottomless pits as a place to grip as he took hold of the devil’s head and reeled his good arm back. Bendy’s feet were kicking as he dangled in air, Allison was yelling beside him and Henry had moved to stop his arm, but they wouldn’t stop him. Tom wasn’t there.

He was back in the Studio fighting for his life.

Down he swung, slamming the little devil’s head into the ground. The carpet did little to soften the impact and Bendy was stunned, limbs going limp as fear and pain made him forget how to defend himself. Up and down again, repeatedly. Ink spreading across the floor and splattering onto the wall above them. Tom pounded Bendy’s head into the ground twice more before Henry managed to get a grip on the deranged wolf’s arm and twist it back.

A knee dug into his back and Tom was pushed to the floor, Henry keeping him pinned despite the inky wolf having lost all his fight once again. He just laid there, felt as Allison pried the beaten devil from his grip and Henry continued to restrain him. Even after they left him alone in that room again, he just laid there. Laid in that puddle of ink he’d created. Staring at the ink on the wall. He stayed there until the sun had disappeared completely and he couldn’t see the ink anymore. Only then did he crawl back into bed.

–

They had gotten lucky. Bendy managed to escape Tom’s assault with minimal ink loss and little more than a splitting headache. Henry and Allison had tended to him for at least an hour before they decided it was time for bed. Nothing else they could do now besides sleep it off and revisit their plan and Tom the next day.

But Bendy didn’t sleep. He wouldn’t. Not after what had happened.

As everyone else slept, the little devil made his way out his second floor window to the ground below. It would have been safer to take the front or back door, but Allison had fallen asleep on the sofa, preferring to keep some distance between herself and Tom for the time being, and for what Bendy had in mind, she didn’t need to know.

So Bendy climbed out of his window and dropped to the ground with ease. Quickly making his way to the shed in the backyard, the little devil found the lock open. Tom must have forgotten the last time he was out there.

He slipped in and out in no time at all, quickly grabbing what he came for and returning to below his bedroom window. There was no need to climb back up - Bendy walked straight into the side of the house, disappearing in a splatter of ink and reappearing through the wall beside his door. He grabbed three other things from his desk before heading to his door. He was ready.

This time, there would be no Henry. No Allison. Just Tom and Bendy.

And a wrench.

While the other two adults slept away, Bendy quietly made his way down the hall to the room Tom had made his. The door creaked as he pushed it open, but thankfully not loud enough to wake Allison just down the stairs.

It was dark in the room, even more so after shutting the door behind him. But that was no problem. Bendy had always seen well in the dark. He practically lived in it. So it was easy to see Tom watching him as he entered into the wolf’s chamber.

The old dog hadn’t fallen asleep like the others, or like Bendy had hoped he would. Instead, Tom had been laying there facing the door. Almost like he was waiting.

Almost like he knew Bendy was coming.

Bendy wasn’t sure what the look on Tom’s face was in that moment. Was it anger? Exhaustion? Humor? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like Tom had any fight in him in that moment. That meant there was nothing to keep the little devil from moving forward with his plan.

So, Bendy stepped up to the bed. Clenching the wrench with both hands, eye-level with the man who had made it a daily chore to torment him. The man who always had some bone to pick with him. The man who had, just hours prior, beaten the kid into the ground in a fit of rage. Just being so close to him put the devil on edge, inky tears falling from the corners of his eyes. But despite this, Bendy put on a brave face. He needed to do this.

Ripping the blanket away, Bendy tugged and pulled until he was able to get Tom’s good arm out from under him. There was little resistance - besides a confused look from the wolfman, Tom did nothing else but watch Bendy as he took his arm and the wrench and opened the man’s cartoon hand and…

And placed the wrench in his grasp. And closed his fist around the tool.

And pushed it back to Tom.

Then, the little devil waited. Waited for… any sign of life from the man before him before he went any further. And slowly, but surely, Tom’s eyes started to focus. First on the wrench, still confusingly clenched in his hand, then back to Bendy with an almost suspicious glare. It wasn’t much, but there were gears turning behind those pie cuts. Bendy could see it.

Now, if only Tom could.

Bendy had brought two things with him into the room. The wrench, and the drawings from before. The ones from his dreams, his memories. The ones of Tom’s death.

After climbing onto the bed beside Tom, the little devil carefully laid out each one in order. First, the argument where Tom was still human, then the death itself, and finally, the melted Boris clone that Tom had become. They sat there in order, as the devil watched the wolf look them over with a look of disgust, replaying the events as he knew them most likely.

But before Tom could take his eyes off the childish drawings, Bendy took the first and third ones and switched them. Reversed the order of events right before Tom’s eyes. First a Boris, then a death, and finally, a man. The plan from before. It was ugly on paper, and they all knew it was a long shot. But still, it was the only one they had.

Tom just needed to trust them.

Digging through the bedside table, Bendy pulled out the pen and paper he’d gifted Tom at Christmas and began to write. Not draw. Write. Because this time, he needed to get through to Tom. Not with pictures, but with words.

And though his hand was unsteady and the letters were hard to form, he managed to scrawl them down and recreate words he had seen the family use the best way he could. It was choppy and littered with mistakes, but that didn’t matter. Because for the first time in his life, Bendy had written out his thoughts.

“IM SORY I KILLD YU”

“I WANTTA HELP YU GET BETR”

“WE NEED UR HELP.”

“YU AR GOOOD FIXXER.”

“YU DONT STOP IF THEENG IS HARRD.”

“YU AR SMORT”

“PLEES HELP US FIXX YU.”

“IM SORY.”

It was hardly legible, but Tom understood it just fine. And he read it over and over again. Just staring at the same page, reading the words and soaking them in all while Bendy watched anxiously from beside him on the bed.

Finally he dropped the pad from view and continued to stare out, this time in thought. He’d had plenty of time to think by himself after his assault earlier. Plenty of time to look at the ink he’d spilled.

It hadn’t felt good, not in the slightest. Not during or after he snapped. And besides the waves of dread he felt at having lost himself like that, there was also the most annoying pang of guilt. Not for the attack, though he did regret it. But something else. Glancing down at the poorly written apology, Tom felt that pang again. And he knew.

It was guilt… for never really giving Bendy a chance. They’d escaped the Studio, but Tom never let it go. He had played nice, acted the part, but his heart hadn’t let go of what happened.

Tom hadn’t trusted Bendy since he died. But Bendy…

Bendy had trusted Tom since they escaped. When they watched TV together, when they played their games and pulled their pranks, even when Tom was cruel, Bendy trusted him. Hell, the little devil had come back alone to the wolfman just hours after Tom had brutally beaten him to the ground. Bendy had come back and apologize. He came still offering help.

Yet, after all that, Tom still hadn’t believed in him. And in that moment, looking at those wide eyes watching him, still so trusting that he was safe with Tom, the old engineer felt ashamed he’d held onto that grudge for so long.

Maybe it was time to believe.

So, Tom sat up and took the pen from Bendy. On a new piece of paper, he carefully scribbled out two letters of his own for the little devil.

“OK”

Unrestrained delight broke out on the little devil’s face. Tom was on-board! They could do this!

Not thinking, Bendy leaped onto Tom wrapping his tiny arms around the man’s neck and shoulders in a hug. It was awkward, not just from Bendy’s angle but Tom’s breath hitched. It was nice, but he couldn’t help the terror at having his neck squeezed. It took every ounce in his inky body to not lash out again.

The tension in the man’s shoulders quickly became apparent to Bendy and he let go with an apologetic smile. With a quick wave goodnight, the little devil hopped off the bed and vanished through the bedroom door to his own bedroom, leaving Tom with his drawings, his apology and the man’s wrench. Tom idly bounced it in his hand. It was his favorite one. He knew from the weight and chip below the thumb in the handle.

Such a small thing. It gave him so much comfort going forward.

Whether the plan would work or not was still up in the air, but… he could push past that. After all, he didn’t just stop when things were hard.

And who knew, with how much he’d messed up his first second chance, maybe he’d do better with this next one.