A/n : hey! I'm currently working on making a oneshot update with Allison Pendle and Susie but I currently have zero muse to write them right now. So! Here's an update to the Sammy plot line that I wrote a while ago. Hope you enjoy!

——————————————

Seconds pass.
Minutes pass.
Hours pass.
Days pass.

Awaking abruptly you the sound of your own scream, you struggled desperately to cling onto the reality you've woken up to. The nightmares kept getting worse and worse.

But it wasn't all a nightmare. As you took a look around, this really was your reality now.

You tried not to cry, for now really wasn't the time to. Sammy told you that you had to stay quiet because the demon could hear everything. Still, the need to cry was overwhelming.

It seemed your cry had awoken the others, Sammy and Boris running into your room in a panicked state. Once they saw you were okay, both let out a sigh of relief. Boris left you alone, but Sammy?

Sammy had the guts to stay in the room silently while you calmed down.

You looked over at him and glared, still not over the fact that this inky . . thing tried to kill you a few days ago. Judging from the sulk in his figure, you could deduce that he knew this too.

He walked over and sat on the chair next to the bed, rightfully giving you the space you needed.

"There is a lot to explain to you, but I had faith that you have a few ideas on where you are and what you're exactly dealing with."

The figure looked serious and somber, so your sarcastic jokes weren't going to land at this moment, you sighed and nodded in agreement to his statement.

"I believe I got stuck in an abandoned animation studio. The thing chasing after me . . I'm not really sure what that was and why you decided to worship it, but I'm guessing he's not the only monster we should be worrying about."

The inky creature nodded before reaching up to remove his mask for the first time in front of you. You took a closer look at him and really began to observe his features. You could make out a hint of his eye sockets and his mouth, but it was so covered in ink that he was barely recognizable as human. Apart from his body of course.

Right. You meant to ask about that.

"So," you started, deciding to divert away from such a serious subject. "Why do you go shirtless?" He looked at you, and you could almost see a hint of a brow raising suspiciously.

"I mean, I don't judge. The abs are stunning. I just . . assumed you might be like an old timey stripper before you turned into an ink man—"

He held up a hand in front of you to make you stop talking, before he made a noise of confusion.

"What are you talking about?" He asked curiously, a hint of a defensive tone in there.

"Oh, nevermind," you replied defeatedly. You still wanted to know about his previous job though. "If you weren't a stripper, then what did you do before all of this happened?"

Nice save.

He let out a frustrated (but soft) growl and shook his head disapprovingly. He didn't seem to appreciate your lighthearted jokes. You couldn't really blame the man. He's seen so much and he's covered in ink permanently. It's no wonder he hates your jokes.

It's not a joking matter.

"I used to be the music director here," he started. "Before all of this happened, I was worked to the bone by the boss to crank out tune after tune. There were also too . . many . . distractions," he said and slowed his sentence down. You could feel the powerful and evil aura surrounding him again, and you reached out to hold his hand out of instinct. You hoped it could work, and maybe a touch of humanity can come back to him.

And it did.

He went on to continue his story and who he really was, but you drifted off into your own thoughts. No wonder the man went insane. You knew exactly how he felt, having to always be rushing to edit and write music and for what? To get paid decent salary and not get any credit or appreciation for the hard work you've done?

Once he finished speaking, he saw your eyes drifting off into another world and he couldn't help but worry. He waved a hand in front of your face.

"Hey? Are you there?" He called out to you. You quickly shook your head of your thoughts and directed a reassuring smile to him.

"I was just thinking of what you've been through. I completely get it. Actually," you paused, pondering about something. "you and I have pretty similar jobs. Not necessarily the same meaning as what it did back in your days, but still. Similar jobs."

He perked up at that, curiosity causing him to forget their current situation. Someone who understands him . .?

Now that is rare.

You continued on. "You keep working your ass off, hoping to get at least one of your songs to break through and make you famous. You keep working and doing what you're told, hoping to get a promotion or to have your boss notice your talent and help you finally become a star."

You looked at him with a sad smile.

"I have to work for artists that have made it. I have to write and accompany their stupid voices and I have to make sure they sound good. Even if they don't have the talent."

"And yet," you paused, looking down. "You never get the appreciation nor the fame and glory you clearly deserve."

He was stunned. Truly stunned. That was his exact feelings, and you finally put it to words.

Emboldened by a possible new friendship, he sat down next to you on the bed and looked at your somber face, looking down in shame.

"I want to leave this place, sure, but. While we're here, we can be whatever we want to be," he replied enthusiastically. "We can be the most famous musicians and be able to express ourselves freely. Free from all the work that our bosses give us. Free from, well. Everything."

His thoughts were teetering towards dangerous, rather than ideal. You let out a sigh.

"We need to get out of here, Sammy. I don't belong here." You looked at him. "And you don't either."

How could you convince him to leave?

Got it!

"Where is my backpack?" You asked curiously. The ink man didn't know what you spoke of, but he assumed it was the satchel you carried with you before he. Well. He pointed to the corner of the room where the satchel lay and watched as you rushed over to grab it and come back to the bed.

Emptying the contents of the bag, you let him see all the things you have brought from the world you now live in. Still, you were looking for one thing.

"There's my iPod," you muttered while carefully lifting up the small device. He eyed it curiously, unsure of what it was. It looked . . alien-like.

"It's an iPod," you clarified to him while letting him take a good look at the device. "The world is evolving quickly. We now have devices that can help us listen to music wherever we may go."

He still couldn't believe you. After all, he lived in another era. Another century, in fact.

"Here. Watch this." You made him look over your shoulder as you turned on the iPod.

"See? These are my songs I downloaded."

You held up an earbud and guided the object to secure into his ear (it looked like his ear, so close enough). You watched him panic and you quickly hushed him.

"Relax. It's to help you listen to the music," you said calmly. It seemed to make him relax reluctantly, so you decided to continue to find some songs.

"In the real world, we have a different style of music now. Take the popular music you had back in your day, and quadruple it. There is a lot less orchestration, and a lot more sounds coming from an electronic device."

He could barely keep up with what you were saying, but he was still able to follow you. He nodded and allowed you to continue. He was too curious, curious as to what 'music' will come out of this . . object in his ear.

"Perhaps you are curious as to what I was listening to before you made your dramatic appearance," you said to him jokingly before hitting play.

Michael Jackson. Do your thing.

Curious, you looked at him the entire time, observing his reactions intensely. A fellow musician from a different era? That is something you get to experience once in a lifetime.

Hearing the familiar beat and the melodic voice once more brought a sense of security again. You were able to focus on the music and Sammy's reactions without worrying about anyone coming in to kill the both of you.

You watched him in amusement, watching Sammy's range of emotions throughout the song. At the beginning, he was confused, unsure of what some of the sounds he was hearing, but his critical mind fell in the background once he started listening to the voice in the strange device. It all made sense to him now. While it sounded different the popular songs he used to listen to, the concept was essentially the same. He started to even enjoy the strange song and it's addicting beat with the beautifully crafted violin accompaniment.

Once the piece ended, you looked up at him with an amused grin. "So?" You asked, knowing full well of what his opinion would be.

He looked at you with a smile. A genuine, big smile. Now that was new. "I loved it," he replied confidently.

"Is there more?" He asked, pointing to the device. You looked down as well at the rest of the album ready for you to listen to. Well, you have some time, right?

"We can listen to the rest of the album together," you offered.

He nodded and scooted closer to you, happy to finally have a nice . . friend to talk to.

"I would love that."