Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The noise of lottery machines and dice clattering across tables filled the casino, a chaotic symphony of sounds that most people found obnoxious. But most people weren’t Chance. The grey-skinned, white-haired Robloxian sat back at the poker table, his posture relaxed and confident as he pushed more chips into the center, raising the bet to an absurdly high amount with a cocky grin. The man sitting to his left scowled, eyeing Chance with suspicion.

"You’re bluffing," the man said with a sneer, calling Chance’s bet by shoving his own chips forward.

Chance immediately recognized him. He was one of Mafioso’s goons—one of the many muscle-bound underlings working for the crime lord who owned the casino. A normal man might have backed down from a showdown with one of Mafioso’s men. But not Chance. Thanks to a fortune recently inherited from his parents, he was well-equipped to keep playing, and honestly, the idea of going head-to-head with one of the crime boss's lackeys was too tempting to resist.

Chance's smirk only grew wider as he leaned back in his chair, not even sparing the goon a second glance.

"Am I?" He replied, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

The other players at the table quickly folded, leaving just Chance and the goon alone. The goon was trying to hide the beads of sweat forming at his temples, the desperate tug of his poker face betraying his confidence. Chance’s smile only widened, watching with increasing amusement as the man tried, and failed, to hold it together.

"What’s your hand?" the goon demanded, his voice just a little too shaky.

Chance didn’t respond immediately, instead flipping over his cards with a flourish. A straight flush.

The goon, in the same motion, flipped his own cards. Four of a kind. Not bad—but it wasn’t enough.

Chance's grin stretched across his face.

He shooed the man away without a second thought, already turning to the dealer and rambling excitedly about how he couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t even care about the winnings—no, it was the thrill of the game, the rush of playing against someone who thought they had the upper hand. That was the real prize.

But as Chance was babbling about his "beginner's luck," a figure approached him.

The air around him shifted, and Chance turned, expecting some congratulatory words or maybe a compliment from a casino regular. But no, it was Don Sonnellino himself—the mafia don, the owner of the casino. The imposing figure moved toward him with purpose, his deep voice carrying across the noisy room.

"Come with me."

His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Chance, ever the naive one, nodded without hesitation, following the Don down the winding corridors of the casino. They entered a back office, the walls lined with plush furniture and expensive artwork. Don gestured to a chair, his movements slow and calculated as he sat behind a large, imposing desk.

"Congratulations on your winnings," Don Sonnellino said, leaning back in his chair, his voice softening just a little. "Not many people can beat my boys."

Chance leaned back in his own chair, stretching out and slumping comfortably, his southern drawl slipping out as he mimicked the Don’s tone. "Thanks! Lady luck seems to have blessed me tonight. Your boy almost had me worried for a second there."

"Almost," Don chuckled, his smirk widening. "You’re a unique one, Chance. Real shame you ain't gonna keep any of that money."

Chance froze, his smile faltering as the words sunk in. His eyes narrowed behind his shades.

"Wait, what?"

Don's smirk only grew as he slid a packet across the desk, smacking it down in front of Chance. The title on the front of the packet read DSM-5: Gambling Addictions. "House always wins, sweetheart. Can’t have someone like you walkin' out of here with that much cash, now can we?"

Chance recoiled, his mouth going dry as he leaned forward to examine the paper. "I won that money, fair and square. You don’t have the right to—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Don’s voice boomed, cutting him off. "According to this, you’ve been here seventeen times in just a week, spending ludicrous amounts of money and staying far later than anyone else. That ain't coincidence."

"What are you talking about?!" Chance yelled, rising to his feet in disbelief. "This is my first time here, you liar! I don’t—"

Don was calm, unfazed. At that moment, two figures entered the room. Both wore hospital scrubs. The taller one, with dark grey skin and black-green hair, wore the name "1x" on his badge, while the other, gentler-looking figure had the name "Azure" stitched into his scrubs.

"This one," Don said, gesturing toward Chance, "is gettin' all feisty because I don’t want him in my casino. Real bad addiction."

Azure nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Dr. Sonnellino." Then he leaned in and whispered something to 1x that was inaudible to Chance.

Chance took a step back as 1x, a scowl on his face, pulled a syringe from his pocket. "What are you gonna do with that?" Chance’s voice was shaky as the reality of the situation started to hit. "You’re a liar! This is my first time here, can’t you believe me?"

Before Chance could protest further, 1x approached and injected the syringe into his neck. His vision blurred, the world spinning before his mind went blank.

 

When Chance came to, everything felt wrong. His back ached, and his head spun as he slowly sat up, his surroundings unfamiliar. The sterile, cold walls of a hospital room. His hand immediately went to his neck, feeling the remnants of the syringe.

"What the hell...?" He muttered to himself as he looked around, confusion clouding his mind. His eyes landed on a bed just a couple feet away. A figure groaned from the bed and sat up, rubbing his nose in annoyance.

Chance blinked in disbelief.

The figure, a man in black scrubs, had long blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and Chance’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd seen someone with such striking eyes.

"Woah, um... where am I?" Chance muttered, voice rough. "Last thing I remember, that idiot—he... injected me with something..."

The blonde groaned again, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Chance. "Are you really this dense?" he snapped, his tone biting. "We’re in a hospital, obviously. What, you think I’m in here for a vacation?" He muttered something under his breath before standing and moving to the door.

"Hey, 1x!" the blonde shouted, his voice dripping with frustration. "Anyone? My roommate’s awake. Can you switch me to a new one? This guy’s already annoying me."

Chance blinked, still trying to process everything. A hospital? Was this some kind of joke?

1x—now appearing at the door—snorted, clearly irritated. "Itrapped, go back to bed. None of the doctors are here right now. It’s 2 AM."

"I don’t care! I can’t deal with this guy!" Itrapped, the blonde, whined, crossing his arms in annoyance. "Switch him out. I’d rather have that cultist freak as a roommate than this guy."

"You know I can’t. Just go to sleep and we’ll talk to the doctor in the morning," 1x said, scribbling something on his clipboard before disappearing from the room, his long black ponytail swinging with each step.

Itrapped slumped onto his bed, throwing a pillow over his face, groaning in frustration.

Chance, now unsure of what to do or say, pulled the blanket over himself, staring at the ceiling. He was still reeling from what had just happened. How did it come to this? What was Don Sonnellino playing at? And why was he here—in a mental hospital?

His mind raced as the hours stretched on, the confusion leaving him with no answers.

Chapter Text

Chance actually managed to fall asleep, though not without a fight. The low muttering of nurses down the hall kept seeping into his dreams, blending with the soft squeak of shoes on tile and the faint hiss of vents overhead. When he finally stirred awake, it wasn’t sunlight that greeted him so much as a pale, sickly glow pressing through the barred window.

He rubbed his eyes, jaw cracking with a yawn, and stretched until his spine popped. The bed creaked under him — thin mattress, hard frame. Definitely not a hotel, that was for sure.

Maybe today he’d finally get some answers.

Now that he could actually see the room in daylight, he realized how strange it really was. The single large window had steel bars across it, like a prison cell. The bathroom corner was separated only by a flimsy curtain instead of a door, and the fixtures looked stripped down — buttons instead of levers, a mirror pressed flat into the wall like it was afraid to reflect him.

It was a room built for people who couldn’t be trusted with sharp edges.

Chance frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “What kinda place even is this…”

A sudden bang on the wall jolted him out of thought. A nurse’s voice cut through the silence, way too cheerful for how early it sounded.
“Nine A.M.! Time to wake up!”

Itrapped groaned from the other bed, half-buried under his blanket. “Oh my god, shut up!”

The nurse flicked the lights on and left without another word.

Chance squinted against the glare and stumbled out of bed, tugging the curtain aside as he stepped out of the bathroom. “Aren’t you gonna get up?” he asked, voice still scratchy with sleep.

“Are you — ? Fuck off! Go away!” Itrapped snapped, shooting him a glare so sharp it could cut glass.

Chance blinked. “Well, alright then,” he muttered, hands raised as he backed toward the door. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

The hallway outside was cold, the tile biting at his bare feet. The air smelled faintly of bleach and something stale, like recycled air that hadn’t been fresh in years. He walked slowly, glancing through half-open doors as he passed. Each room looked the same — white, silent, still.

At the far end of the hall sat a nurse’s station behind thick glass. Chance knocked on it lightly, peering inside.

A blond nurse with bouncing hair and a bright, too-wide smile popped into view. “Hi! What can I do for you?” he chirped. His badge read Elliot.

“Hey, uh…” Chance hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I woke up here last night, yeah? Pretty sure there’s been a mistake. I ain’t sick or nothin’. I was hopin’ I could talk to a doctor or someone who can clear this up.”

“Oh, of course!” Elliot said, his tone bubbling like soda. “Doctor visits start at noon! You’ll be first since you’re new. Don’t worry, he’ll explain everything.”

Chance frowned. “Explain what, exactly?”

Before Elliot could answer, a voice from the back of the station yelled, “Elliot! 1x didn’t clean up her mess again — can you help?”

“On my way!” Elliot chirped, snapping the window shut.

Chance stared at his own reflection in the glass for a long moment. The way Elliot had said “Don’t worry” made his stomach twist.

He sighed and turned toward the lounge area beside the nurse’s desk — a small open space with no door, just a wide entryway leading to a scattering of ugly chairs and a flickering TV. The tables were covered in half-empty board game boxes, and one corner reeked faintly of coffee and disinfectant.

He picked up a pack of playing cards from one of the tables, smiling faintly. “Well, guess I’m back at the tables again.”

He shuffled the cards absently, the sound of plastic on plastic grounding him a little as his thoughts drifted. A hospital…? No. He remembered the casino. The lights. Don Sonnellino’s voice. The syringe.

He’d been set up.

The thought barely settled before someone suddenly chirped right in front of him.

“Hi!”

Chance almost dropped the deck, his heart lurching. “What the—! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

The Robloxian in front of him stepped back immediately, their movements oddly graceful. They were pale, almost ghostly, with black messy hair that looked like it hadn’t met a brush in days. Their wide eyes sparkled with something between curiosity and chaos, and behind them swayed a spiked black tail.

“My apologies,” they said, voice soft and shaky. “May Spawn forgive me.”

Chance blinked. “Spawn?”

“I’m Two Time!” they introduced, grinning. “Do you know where you are? Or who you are? You look quite lost.”

“Name’s Chance,” he replied warily. “And yeah, I’m lost alright. My roommate said this was a hospital or somethin’. You — uh — don’t take offense, but you one of them Spawn cultists?”

Two Time giggled, a light, almost musical sound. “I’m not a cultist! None of us are. We’re children of Thy Spawn. As for where you are, this is a psychiatric care unit!”

Chance’s brow furrowed. “Psychiatric… You mean like, for crazy people?”

Two Time tilted their head, tail flicking. “That’s one word for it.”

He slumped into the stiff chair beside them, sighing. “They told you why I’m in here?”

Two Time nodded brightly. “Mhm! My favorite nurse said you were admitted for gambling addiction. Apparently, it was pretty bad.”

Chance groaned. “That’s bullshit. I ain’t got no addiction. The doctor who put me in here’s a lyin’ snake, that’s what he is.”

Two Time hummed thoughtfully. “Worry not, lots of people are in here for fake reasons. There’s nothing wrong with me, either. I’m only here to keep an eye on my nurse.”

Chance arched a brow. “You’re watchin’ your nurse?”

They nodded eagerly. “Azure. You’ve seen him, haven’t you? The one with the flower in his hair? Pretty and sweet?"

Chance couldn’t help a snort. “Yeah, that’s him. emember him tryin' to stab me in the neck with a syringe before I woke up with some bitchy roommate." It was it 1x that stabbed him? Chance can barely recall last night.

Two Time leaned closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Your roommate’s name? It’s fake. The doctors call him something else when they believe no one’s listening. I’ll ask Azure about it later for you, yes?”

Chance blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Of course!”

Before he could ask more, two patients entered the room — one with nervous blue eyes and messy blond hair, the other with brown hair and a… literal burger sitting on his head. They sat near the window, speaking quietly to each other.

“Who’re they?” Chance whispered.

“Noob and 7n7,” Two Time answered fondly. “They’re sweet. Spawn bless them both.”

“Uh-huh,” Chance murmured, leaning back. “Lotta characters in this place.”

Not long after, Itrapped shuffled into the lounge, slumping into the chair farthest from everyone. A hooded figure followed, their scrubs a deeper red than the rest.

“Are we allowed to wear other clothes here?” Chance asked quietly, nodding toward the hooded figure.

Two Time shrugged. “Only if you’ve earned trust. Taph’s been here for ages. They say she’s harmless now.”

Chance wasn’t sure he believed that.

Moments later, the familiar blond nurse reappeared, clipboard in hand and grin brighter than the ceiling lights. “Good morning, everyone! It’s exactly 9:40, which means it’s group time! Breakfast is pushed to 10:30 due to a kitchen error.” He glanced around. “And I see we’ve got a new face!”

Chance stiffened as every gaze in the room shifted toward him.

“Would you introduce yourself?” Elliot asked kindly, smile genuine but rehearsed.

Chance rubbed his palms together. “Uh, sure. ’Suppose I gotta.” He stood awkwardly, leaning on one leg. “Hey y’all, name’s Chance. I ain’t gonna be here long ’cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with me. But glad to meet ya anyway.”

Itrapped let out a sharp snort. “If there was nothin’ wrong with you, you wouldn’t be here, idiot.”

Chance gave him a tight smile. “You’re real pleasant, ain’t ya?”

The group laughed quietly. Even Elliot chuckled, though his eyes flicked to his clipboard like he was making mental notes.

The rest of the session dragged by in uncomfortable circles — icebreakers, meaningless questions, forced smiles. Chance did his best to play along, though his eyes kept drifting toward the windows, calculating how far the drop might be.

When the group was finally dismissed, he didn’t waste a second. He made straight for the nurse’s station, tapping on the glass until Elliot turned around.

“The doctor’s ready for you,” the nurse said with a sunny grin.

Chance’s stomach tightened. “Finally.”

He followed one of the orderlies down the hallway, past closed doors and silent rooms. The air grew heavier with each step, until they stopped before a heavy oak door — the only one that wasn’t white.

A gold plate glinted under the fluorescent light: Dr. Sonnellino.

Chance’s heart stopped cold.

The nurse knocked once. “Doctor, your new patient’s here.”

“Send him in,” came a deep, familiar voice.

Chance stepped inside, his pulse hammering.

Behind the desk sat Don Sonnellino himself — the casino owner, the man who had smiled while signing his freedom away. Only now, he wore a pristine white coat, his gold rings replaced by a name badge.

“Good to see you awake, Mr. Chance,” Don said smoothly, lacing his fingers together. “Please, sit. We’ve got quite a bit to discuss about your recovery.”

Chance didn’t move at first. His throat felt dry. “You…” he breathed. “You did this.”

Don’s eyes glimmered. “Correction: you did this. I simply made sure you’d be taken care of.”

Chance slammed his palm against the desk. “You drugged me! Locked me in this madhouse! I ain’t crazy!”

Don chuckled softly, voice smooth as silk. “Mr. Chance, outbursts like that don’t help your case. Sit down.”

Chance’s hands curled into fists, but he forced himself to sit. “You can’t keep me here. I’ll find a way out.”

Don leaned forward, his smile thinning. “Everyone says that at first. But the sooner you accept where you are, the sooner you’ll stop fighting it.”

Chance glared, jaw tight. “And where’s that, huh?”

Don’s grin returned, slow and cruel. “Exactly where you belong.”

Chapter Text

Thy Spawn’s love is everlasting, right?
That’s what Amarah always told them. That’s what they always said, too, whenever doubt began to gnaw at their ribs. Thy Spawn loves all His children. Thy Spawn’s mercy reaches beyond even the farthest stars.

So why did it feel so empty — so far away — when Two Time’s hands wrapped so tightly around their dagger and their mentor’s eyes bored into them like judgment itself?

Amarah was really sweet, usually. Two Time would always insist that. They’d defend him even when others whispered that he was cruel, that he punished too harshly, that he’d lost the soft hand of their god long ago.

But his words were not very kind that day.

Maybe something happened before he called them into his office — something that made him angry, made his patience run thin. That had to be it. Amarah was a good man. He was always a good man. Thy Spawn loved him, so Two Time had to love him too.

“Two Time.”
His voice was rough, the kind of rough that could draw blood if it touched bare skin.

“Yes, sir?”

“Thy Spawn has sent a message for you,” he said through gritted teeth, fingers curling so tightly around the hilt of his ceremonial blade that his knuckles went white. “A task.”

A thrill ran through Two Time’s chest. A task! Thy Spawn had noticed them. Thy Spawn had found use for their trembling hands, for their faithful devotion.

“He requires you to follow someone,” Amarah went on, his tone carved sharp. “Someone special. You will act as his watcher. You will keep him safe until the designated time.”

He gestured toward the dagger that lay between them on the desk.

“You’ll be in a hospital. A care unit. The man you’re to watch is a nurse. He is… very special to Thy Spawn.”

“I understand, sir.” Two Time’s voice came out small and trembling, but filled with adoration. Their tail flicked, curling tight. They reached for the dagger, cupping it with both hands like it was a holy relic.

“His name,” they asked softly, “may I know?”

“Azure,” Amarah said.

 

Two Time doesn’t remember much after that.

When they woke, it was to the sterile sting of antiseptic and the burn of gauze against their arms. Their skin itched where stitches held it closed. Every breath hurt.

They were lying in a hospital bed, dressed in black scrubs they’d never seen before. Their wrists were bandaged, their ankles restrained loosely to the metal frame.

The thought of someone undressing them while they were unconscious made their stomach turn. To be seen — to be laid bare like that — felt wrong, unholy. They whispered a half-formed prayer for forgiveness, for modesty, for understanding.

The room was small and bright and impossibly quiet. The window was locked, the cabinets bolted shut. The air felt heavy, unnatural. Like a cage made of light.

Two Time didn’t remember how they got there. They tried to piece it together — Amarah’s face, the dagger, Thy Spawn’s name — but the memories flickered like a dying candle.

Then: the click of a lock.

Soft footsteps.

The door opened, and Two Time’s breath caught.

In stepped the most beautiful man they had ever seen.

His hair was curled, long enough to frame his face like silk ribbons. A small nightshade flower sat nestled near his bangs. His eyes weren't very visible, but Two Time just knew they were beautiful. His voice proved it when he spoke.

“Two Time, is it?”

Oh, Spawn above, even his voice was divine.

“It is,” Two Time breathed. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

They tried to sit up, only to feel the restraints tug against their wrists.

The nurse hurried forward. “Ah—don’t do that!” he said, gentle and alarmed. “You’re still in bad condition.” He placed a warm hand on their shoulder. “Azure, by the way.”

The world went very still.

Azure?

Azure.

The name pulsed in their head like a hymn. This was him. This was the one. Thy Spawn’s chosen.

“Ah, what a beautiful name,” Two Time cooed, their tail curling into loops. “Do you know… why I’m here? I don’t remember much after speaking with my mentor…”

Azure sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You were brought in for self-inflicted wounds. Your arms were covered in gashes. We got a call from your teacher — Amarah, right? — he said he found you in a bloody mess after a disagreement. We’re lucky we found you in time. You’d lost a lot of blood.”

Two Time blinked. Slowly. “Self-inflicted?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” they said faintly.

They didn’t.

They would never.

“I’m not suicidal,” Two Time murmured, the words quiet but absolute. “That’s a sin. Life is Thy Spawn’s gift. I would never throw it away.”

Azure hesitated. “You tried to kill yourself,” he said gently. “You might not remember doing it, but — ”

“I didn’t,” Two Time bit back.

Azure’s tone softened. “Sweetie — ”

That word sent a shiver down their spine.

“Self-inflicted wounds along your wrists suggest an attempt to bleed out,” he said, worry heavy in his voice. “Your teacher said you’ve been struggling with religious guilt. Sometimes that can — ”

“I told you,” Two Time whispered, their tail curling so tight it nearly knotted. “I didn’t.”

Azure just gave them a sad smile. “Then rest for now, okay? We’ll talk more when you’re stronger.”

He turned to leave.

Two Time couldn’t stop watching him. Couldn’t stop counting the seconds he was in the room, memorizing the sound of his voice, the faint scent of antiseptic and nightshade that lingered after him.

Even after the door closed, they stared, unblinking, at the spot where he had stood.

“Thy Spawn,” they whispered, “I’ve seen the one You cherish. I will not fail You.”

 

Days passed. Or maybe weeks. Time blurred between dream and waking. The seizures didn’t help — flashes of color, sound, memory bleeding into hallucination.

Sometimes they’d see Azure bending over their bedside, haloed in holy light. Sometimes they’d see him shadowed and sharp, whispering words they couldn’t quite hear.

Other nurses came and went, but none of them mattered. Only Azure. Only his voice could bring peace. Only his hands could make the pain quiet.

They began memorizing his schedule. When he arrived, when he took breaks, which hallways he favored. They prayed each time he passed.

He was the messenger of Thy Spawn. He had to be.

 

One morning, they awoke to the sound of Amarah’s voice in their head again. Not a hallucination, no —something else. Divine instruction.

“Keep watching him,” it said. “Until the day comes when he no longer shines.”

Two Time smiled, tears welling in their eyes.

When Azure came in for morning rounds, he found them sitting up for once, restraints gone.

“Look at you,” he said, surprised but pleased. “You’re improving.”

“I’ve been blessed,” Two Time said softly. “Thy Spawn has forgiven me.”

Azure chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

He didn’t see the way their eyes lingered on him, or maybe he pretended not to. Didn’t see the notebook under their pillow, filled with shaky sketches of his face, his name written over and over between prayers.

They followed him down the hall that afternoon, pretending to look for the restroom. He didn’t notice at first.

He spoke to another nurse — a tall one, Elliot maybe — and Two Time stood at the end of the corridor, just close enough to hear the rhythm of his laugh.

They couldn’t help it. The world didn’t make sense without him in it.

Every time they blinked, they saw him anew. His hands. His voice. His calm, patient eyes. He was a miracle in flesh, a proof of divine mercy.

 

Days stretched like ribbons of gold and gray. Morning lights slanted through barred windows, sharp and holy, while night dripped its violet ink across the ward. Time itself seemed to bend and warp, slipping between waking and dream, the hum of the fluorescent bulbs punctuating every heartbeat.

Two Time rose at first light — or at least, what they perceived as first light. They performed the rituals with trembling precision: wash hands, fold scrubs, whisper the prayers of Thy Spawn over every movement. Every step a psalm. Every breath a devotion.

Azure will enter this hall today. He will pass. I must be ready. Thy Spawn will see.

They memorized the shifts. The brief halts at the nurse station. The way his shadow stretched across the linoleum floor. His voice, each note a command they obeyed without thought.

Sometimes the seizures came like divine visions. Colors burned behind their eyes, washing over the sterile walls. Hallways shimmered, doubled, stretched. Azure’s figure could appear in three places at once — leaning over a patient, adjusting an IV, smiling down a corridor — each version more perfect, more radiant than the last. Two Time could not look away.

He is holy. He is sacred. Thy Spawn’s blessing made flesh. I must watch him. I must not fail.

When Azure moved through the ward, Two Time followed at a careful distance, timing their steps to match his. If he paused, they paused. If he tilted his head to read a monitor, they copied the gesture in the empty reflection of the window glass.

At night, when the ward quieted and other patients slept fitfully, Two Time lingered at the edge of the hall, watching the soft glow of his office light behind the frosted door. They cataloged everything: the angle of his shoulders, the rhythm of his typing, the faint scent of antiseptic that clung to him like a halo. Every detail was recorded in a small notebook hidden under their pillow, surrounded by prayers written in shaky, fervent loops.

I will not fail. I will not sin. Thy Spawn has given me this duty. I will guard him, even in darkness.

Compulsions whispered in their mind. A crooked shadow on the wall. A misplaced pen. A thought unclean. Two Time would scrub the surfaces with antiseptic, align the chairs, and whisper over each action: Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. Thy Spawn, guide my hands. Their tail twitched, flicking like a pendulum of divine judgment, each flick a confession, each curl a hymn.

The hallucinations pressed in when the world became too bright, too quiet, too real. Sometimes Azure’s eyes would glow faintly in the dark, a spectral blue that sent chills down Two Time’s spine. Sometimes his voice echoed long after he had left the room, speaking truths Two Time could not comprehend but repeated anyway: I am watching. I am blessing. I am chosen.

Other patients noticed. Some whispered about the black-scrubbed figure whose eyes never left the nurse. Others crossed the hall to avoid them, sensing the feverish intensity, the pulsing devotion. Two Time did not notice — or they did not care. Everything was filtered through the prism of holy observation.

Meals were taken with trembling hands, fingers arranging utensils in exact alignment, chanting quiet prayers over the trays. He will eat. He will move. I will follow. Thy Spawn has chosen him. I must protect him.

Every shift, every step Azure took, was mirrored in Two Time’s mind. They rehearsed his movements over and over in the dayroom, pacing the linoleum, tracing the pathways with invisible steps. If he stopped by the medication cart, they imagined the angle of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. When he spoke to Elliot or any other nurse, Two Time cataloged the intonation, the breath between words, the weight of each syllable.

One afternoon, they followed him into the quiet of a storage room, pretending to look for supplies. The world shimmered, colors bleeding along the edges of their vision. Azure bent over the shelves, and in that moment he was more than a man: he was holy light, a living relic, every movement a prayer Two Time felt in their chest.

Thy Spawn! Thy Spawn! Thy Spawn! Keep him safe. Keep him sacred. I am the watcher. I am the instrument.

Every night, when they returned to their room, they knelt by the bed, pressed the dagger to their lips, and whispered their sins, their fears, their devotion. I have not failed. I have not sinned. Thy Spawn has given me this sacred charge.

Even as they slept — or perhaps when the seizures claimed them — the visions continued. Azure’s shadow lingered in the corner, luminous hands reaching, eyes reflecting starlight. They could feel the tug of duty, a holy magnet pulling them through fever, prayer, and obsession.

And yet… something gnawed in the back of their mind. The hospital was a cage. The other patients were distractions. The nurses moved in rhythms, but only one mattered. Only Azure. Only the one blessed by Thy Spawn himself.

Two Time’s journal filled with sketches, prayers, and meticulous notes: the direction he moved, the cadence of his breathing, the gentle flex of his fingers as he adjusted an IV. Every motion was scripture, every glance a sermon. Their devotion was a furnace, burning brighter with each passing day.

They began to whisper aloud, even when alone. He must be safe. I will not sin. Thy Spawn has chosen him. He is mine to guard. I will not fail.

By the end of the week, when Azure recommended transfer from isolation into the general ward, Two Time bowed deeply. “Wherever you lead me, I will follow.”

The orderlies led them through brighter halls, past the other patients, who watched in awe, fear, or indifference. Two Time’s gaze never left Azure, now a distant figure in the sunlit corridor.

“I will watch you,” they whispered, voice trembling and fervent. “Always. Thy Spawn has sent you. I am your sentinel.”

And in the quiet of the new ward, among the hum of fluorescents and the whisper of prayers, Two Time repeated it to themselves like a mantra:

Always. Always. Always. He is holy. He is sacred. He is mine.

Azure chuckled sometimes when Two Time verbalized their thoughts. “Don’t make it sound like a vow.”

But it was a vow.

Chapter Text

Chance shuffled his cards, careful and meticulous as he laid them out across the table, face down. Each motion was deliberate, his hands steady in the low light of the rec room. The hum of the fluorescent bulbs above was soft and dull, blending with the distant sounds of the hospital — metal carts rolling, someone coughing, a nurse’s shoes squeaking against linoleum.

“See, this is called memory,” he began, voice casual but bright enough to sound like he was teaching kids. “We’re tryin’ to match the cards with their numbers and all that. Flip over two cards, and if they ain’t the same number, then put ’em back and let the next person have their turn. That make sense?”

Taph and Two Time nodded obediently. Across from them, Noob and 7n7 watched from the edge of the table, both clutching their snacks like currency. In a place like this, sugar was as valuable as cigarettes.

“Got y’all’s bets?” Chance asked, eyes flicking up from the cards.

“We do,” Two Time said cheerfully. “I have a honeybun Thy Spawn graciously gifted me.” Their tail flicked behind them like a metronome, barely restrained excitement in every movement.

Taph signed something quick and fluid.

“Taph says he has a donut,” Two Time translated, placing both their snack and Taph’s carefully at the center of the table like sacred offerings.

Chance grinned. “A’right then.” He reached into his stash and added two cookies and a slice of cake. “I’ll bet more since Lady Luck seems to like me best, heh.”

Two Time tilted their head, amused. “Lady Luck has terrible taste.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that.”

Chance held up his hands, checking which was left and right. “I’ll go first. Then Two Time, then Taph. Got it?”

They nodded.

The first card turned with a faint snap — Ace of Spades. His hand hovered over the others before choosing one from the far edge of the grid, near Two Time’s side. Ace of Hearts.

“Huh. Two for two! Since I made a match, I get to keep goin’,” he said, flashing them a grin that teetered between smug and playful.

The others made small noises — Taph’s hand flitted through a few lazy signs, and Two Time let out a chirp of approval.

But before Chance could move again, Two Time tilted their head, resting their chin in their palm. “Are you enjoying yourself, Chance? This just crossed my mind — but I was given some information about your roommate earlier. If you win this, I’ll tell you.”

Chance paused mid-reach, narrowing his eyes. “Information? About my roommate?” His grin turned tight. “What kinda information?”

Two Time smiled all teeth. “Ah-ah, no spoilers. Win first.”

“Figures.” Chance leaned back in his chair, tapping his thumb against the table. “Guess I’ve got somethin’ to play for then.”

He flipped another card — three of clubs — and then, after a pause that made Two Time tilt their head, he picked another — three of spades.

“Ha! Look at that. Told you.” He stacked the pair with a flourish, the sound of paper brushing paper echoing faintly.

Taph signed something fast, hands cutting through the air like punctuation marks.

“He says your luck’s suspicious,” Two Time translated, smiling.

“You accusin’ me of cheatin’, doc?” Chance asked, pretending offense.

Taph only shrugged, his expression unreadable.

Two Time giggled. “He says maybe.”

Chance laughed, loud and genuine this time. “Maybe I’m just good at rememberin’. Maybe y’all just don’t pay attention.”

The game went on. The rhythm of flipping and setting cards filled the room. The table slowly became a mosaic of red and black faces. The smell of sugar — honeybun, donut, cake — hung heavy, sweet enough to make the air feel thick.

Noob whispered something to 7n7, and both snorted quietly. The sound only fueled Chance’s confidence.

He flipped the seven of hearts, then the seven of diamonds.

“That’s three in a row,” he said, leaning back, proud and easy. “Might as well call me the king of cards.”

Taph’s hands moved again, signing with a smirk.

“He says kings fall faster than fools,” Two Time translated through laughter.

Chance clicked his tongue. “Then it’s a good thing I’m neither.”

His movements grew fluid, sharp with focus. Every match was another small victory, every failure a quick correction. The others played too, but it was clear who the table favored.

When the final two cards were revealed — the Jack of clubs and Jack of spades — Chance didn’t even hesitate. He turned them both over in one smooth motion.

“Looks like Lady Luck’s still got my back,” he said.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Two Time clapped, slow and deliberate. “Well done, Chance. The game is yours.”

Chance leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Guess that means you owe me.”

Two Time smiled softly. “A deal’s a deal.” Their tail swished. “Your roommate’s name is Isaac. He’s here for trying to break his friends out of prison. They called it an attachment disorder — so they sent him here instead of jail.”

Chance blinked. “Isaac, huh?”

Taph signed something quick.

“He says he’s surprised. It’s such a basic name.”

Chance snorted. “Yeah, I was expectin’ somethin’ cooler. Like… I don’t know, a name with bite.”

7n7, who’d been quiet for most of the game, suddenly spoke up. “Wait — Isaac? You mean Itrapped? I thought I recognized that guy. He’s an exploiter. I ran a few gigs with him before I got caught. Used to be pleasant, believe it or not.”

Chance chuckled low. “Ain’t that somethin’.”

Before anyone could say more, the bell rang for curfew. The sound cut through the laughter like a blade.

“Tell me more about him tomorrow,” Chance said, standing.

7n7 nodded and left with Noob. Two Time and Taph followed, chattering softly down the hall.

When Chance reached his room, the lights were dimmed to the soft blue glow of night mode. He collapsed onto his bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling’s cracks. The smell of disinfectant and laundry powder hung faintly in the air.

Ten minutes later, the door clicked open. Isaac entered quietly, already changed into silk pajamas. He crossed to the bathroom, tying his hair into a perfect bun before stepping out again.

Chance watched him from the corner of his eye, smirking. What a damn prince.

When Isaac settled into bed, neither spoke. The silence stretched until Chance couldn’t stand it.

“You’re a real bitch for someone with an attachment disorder, Isaac.”

Isaac froze mid-breath. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Chance said, sitting up. “You’ve done nothin’ but glare at me since I got here. I’m a likeable guy — funny, nice, hell, even charming. Everyone else here sees that. But you? You act like I kicked your damn dog.”

Isaac turned his head slowly, eyes cold.

Chance went on, voice rising. “Thought I knew you from a few games years back, but nah. Turns out you’re just a washed-up hacker with a hero complex. You didn’t save your friends, did you? Probably your fault they’re in jail in the first place.”

Isaac laughedv— short, sharp, and fake. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Seems like I hit a nerve.”

Isaac moved fast. One second he was sitting up, the next his fist connected with Chance’s jaw.

Chance stumbled back but recovered quick, tackling Isaac down onto the bed. Sheets tangled, a lamp toppled and hit the floor with a shattering sound. Someone in the hall yelled for quiet, but the two ignored it.

Isaac landed another hit, knuckles glancing off Chance’s cheek. Chance swung back, catching him in the shoulder. They grappled, breathless, furious, rolling from bed to floor.

“You — don’t — know me!” Isaac hissed, trying to shove him off.

“Don’t need to,” Chance grunted. “You’re loud enough without me askin’.”

Isaac kicked him away, both of them scrambling to their feet, panting. The fight should’ve burned itself out — but the energy in the room didn’t die. It changed, thinned into something uneasy.

“You think this place’s gonna fix either of us?” Chance asked suddenly, wiping blood from his lip. “You think they actually care?”

Isaac froze, chest rising and falling.

Chance pointed toward the locked door. “You’re smart. You’ve got skills. I know that look — you’re not here to get better. You’re here ‘cause they didn’t know what else to do with you.”

Isaac’s expression darkened. “…What are you getting at?”

“I’m sayin’ you wanna leave just as bad as I do. So maybe, instead of breakin’ each other’s ribs, we figure out how to walk outta here.”

A long silence stretched between them. The broken lamp buzzed faintly, the room soaked in shadow.

Finally, Isaac exhaled, slow and cold. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” Chance said. “But I’m right.”

Isaac’s shoulders eased, just slightly. “Fine. I’ll work with you. But don’t talk to me unless it’s about the plan.”

Chance grinned, falling back onto his bed. “Deal.”

Isaac glared at him. “We’re not friends.”

“Never said we were.”

They both lay in silence again, bruised, tense, and unwilling to look at each other.

Somewhere down the hall, the night nurse’s keys jingled faintly.

Chance stared at the ceiling and muttered, “Guess we’ll see if Lady Luck still likes me.”

Neither of them slept. They just listened to the quiet, each waiting for the other to break it first.

They couldn’t stand each other.
But they both wanted out.

Chapter Text

The night passed quickly, thankfully. Everyone had settled into their usual rhythms. 7n7 and Noob stayed close, whispering and shooting the occasional glance toward Elliot, who pretended not to notice. Taph lingered near Two Time, the two of them speaking softly with the head nurse, Dussakar. Chance sat apart from everyone, shuffling his comfort deck between nimble fingers, every so often flicking a glance toward Itrapped — Issac — across the room.

Everything was normal. Just another quiet night in the hospital.

Until the screaming started.

Well — yelling, technically. But it was sharp and ugly enough to make the difference irrelevant.

Chance froze mid-shuffle, the cards slipping from his hands and scattering across the floor. He shot to his feet, heart pounding, and pressed up against the small window of the door. Down the corridor, 1x was dragging a struggling man — or something like one — over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

1x kicked the door open, nearly smacking Chance in the face, and strode inside. The restrained man was dumped onto one of the hard plastic chairs, wrists bound by a frayed restraint strap. He writhed and kicked, eyes wild, feverish.

“I am a God! You’ll regret laying a hand on me!” he screamed, voice cracking on the word. “The Great Telamon will not be disrespected by mortals!”

The room fell silent.

Two Time was the first to move. They stepped forward, curiosity flickering in their eyes as they knelt in front of the man. Their head tilted slightly, studying him as if searching for something long forgotten.

“You’re Telamon?” they asked quietly. “The Robloxian God? The one most people think’s a myth?”

The man’s grin was sudden and too wide. His teeth were yellowed, his lips cracked and bleeding. “I am. But I accept the name Shedletsky now. The name of a God should change as He evolves.”

Two Time’s tail flicked once, slowly. “That’s not possible. Thy Spawn is the only true God.”

Shedletsky laughed — a shrill, scraping sound that rattled down the sterile hallway. “Thy Spawn?” he mocked, leaning forward as far as the restraints would let him. “A fraud dressed in scripture. You think your little deity built this world? I did. I wrote the code that holds your existence together. Every mind in this asylum is a line of me.”

“That’s delusional,” Two Time snapped, their usual gentle tone slipping. “You’re just another patient.”

Shedletsky’s voice dropped into something reverent. “You feel it though, don’t you? The hum of the lights when I speak. The static in your dreams. Those aren’t coincidences. They’re my scripts, running free.”

Two Time’s expression hardened. “If you’re so powerful, then why are you strapped to a chair?”

“Because gods test themselves.” His grin didn’t waver. “Mortals call it madness. I call it ascension.”

He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “You should be grateful. You’re standing before your creator.”

Two Time rose to their feet, tail lashing in agitation. “You’re no creator. You’re a narcissist. Thy Spawn created you, not the other way around.”

Shedletsky’s smile flickered. “Every believer says that — until their god asks too much of them.” His tone grew soft, coaxing. “Tell me, little follower. If your god commanded you to kill, would you do it?”

Two Time’s answer came too fast. “Of course..! Thy Spawn knows what’s best. Always.”

That earned a laugh, full and ugly. “How is that not a cult? I love my creations, even the broken ones. I wouldn’t order any of them to kill.”

Two Time’s tail twitched erratically now, more like a threat than a gesture. “Are you suggesting Thy Spawn doesn’t love me? You know nothing. You’re a sinner — you—”

They were cut off by a soft hand on their shoulder.

Two Time froze, head snapping toward the touch.

Azure stood there, calm as ever. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “Leave him be. Come, bring one of your friends. It’s time for group therapy.”

Two Time’s shoulders slumped, eyes darting away in shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t wish for Thou to see me in such a state…”

Azure smiled faintly and patted their head like one would a frightened cat. “No harm done. Let’s go.”

Two Time hesitated, then glanced back toward the others. “Chance.”

Chance nodded, gathering his scattered cards and following them both out of the main hall.

 

Azure’s office was another world entirely.

The air was thick with humidity and the smell of damp earth. Plants filled every corner — vines crawling up the walls, fat-leaved shrubs soaking in the glow of hanging grow lights. It was almost suffocating, like stepping into a greenhouse disguised as a confession booth.

Azure sat behind his desk, flipping through a binder, the faint scratch of pen against paper filling the silence. He gestured for Chance and Two Time to sit.

“I didn’t have time to prepare a topic tonight,” he said gently. “So — what do you two want to talk about?”

Two Time didn’t hesitate. “Do you believe in a God?”

Azure blinked. “A God?”

“Yes.” Two Time turned toward Chance. “You often thank Lady Luck. What is she? Is she God?”

Chance blinked at them. “Not really. Just a habit, I guess. Grew up real Christian. I stopped prayin’, but I still like thinkin’ there’s somethin’ watchin’ over me — even if it’s just luck.”

Azure nodded slowly. “And you, Two Time?”

They straightened in their chair. “I believe in Thy Spawn. The one who gave us our first breath, and who will take it away to grant us our second life. Everything comes from Them, and everything returns to Them. Those who prove their devotion are rewarded.”

Azure studied them quietly. “Rewarded how?”

Two Time’s eyes brightened. “Through sacrifice. To be remade, one must give up something living — something of worth. It’s not cruelty, it’s an offering. A fair trade for rebirth.”

Chance shifted in his seat, visibly uneasy. “You’re talkin’ about killin’ people.”

Two Time’s tail flicked behind them. “Killing is mortal language. We call it purification.”

Azure leaned back, his voice still calm, almost too calm. “And what happens if someone refuses to sacrifice?”

“They’re reborn wrong.” Two Time’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Soulless. Hollow. That’s why there are people like Shedletsky — corrupted by the illusion of their own power. They didn’t pay the price.”

Chance swallowed hard. “That’s… messed up.”

Azure tapped his pen against the desk thoughtfully. “And yet, there’s logic to it. You believe life has meaning because it can be given away. Because something only matters if it can be lost.”

Two Time nodded eagerly. “Yes! That’s why Thy Spawn loves us. Because we offer ourselves. We remind Them what creation costs.”

The silence that followed felt heavy.

Chance stared at the plants lining the wall, their leaves trembling in the faint breeze from the vent. “So you think killin’ — sacrificin’ — makes you closer to your god?”

Two Time smiled faintly. “Not killing. Obedience. It’s proof of faith.”

Azure tilted his head, watching them closely. “So if your god told you to end a life, you would, without hesitation?”

“Of course,” Two Time said softly. “Faith isn’t meant to be easy.”

Chance scoffed under his breath. “Sounds like bein’ brainwashed.”

Two Time’s ears twitched, their voice taking on an edge. “Then what do you believe in, Chance? Randomness? Chaos? You throw your life to the dice and call it freedom?”

“That’s better than givin’ it to someone who tells me what to do.”

Azure held up a hand, quieting them both. “You’re both talking about the same thing,” he said. “Control.”

They looked at him.

“Religion,” Azure continued slowly, “isn’t about faith or love — not really. It’s about control. Control over what frightens us. Over death. Over meaning. Some people call that submission. Others call it devotion.”

Two Time tilted their head. “And what do you call it?”

Azure smiled faintly. “Adaptation.”

That single word seemed to unsettle them both.

He leaned forward, voice soft but sharp. “You think belief makes you safe. But belief is a leash, and the one holding it decides how far you can wander. The real question isn’t if there’s a god — it’s whether you’d notice if one took your place.”

The hum of the grow lights buzzed louder.

Two Time stared, unblinking, and for the first time, didn’t answer.

Chance shifted in his chair again, muttering, “You talk like you’ve seen that happen.”

Azure’s eyes didn’t leave Two Time’s. “Maybe I have.”

The plants rustled as if something unseen had exhaled.

Azure leaned forward, voice soft but sharp. “You think belief makes you safe. But belief is a leash, and the one holding it decides how far you can wander. The real question isn’t if there’s a god — it’s whether you’d notice if one took your place.”

The hum of the grow lights deepened, a low electric drone that made the air feel alive.

Two Time’s eyes gleamed faintly in the greenish light. “Then Thou believes men can be gods?”

Azure’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyone can be, given enough followers.”

Chance shifted in his chair, uneasy. “That’s a scary way to put it.”

Azure chuckled quietly. “The truth often is.”

Two Time didn’t laugh. Their tail swayed once, then stilled completely. “I don’t think men can become gods,” they said after a moment, tone oddly gentle. “But I do think gods can be mistaken for men.”

Azure met their gaze, something flickering behind his composed expression — amusement, maybe, or wariness. “Then I’ll try not to give you the wrong impression.”

The corners of Two Time’s mouth curved into a small, devout smile. “I’d never mistake Thee.”

The light above them flickered, just once, washing the room in momentary shadow. When it steadied again, Two Time was still smiling, hands folded neatly in their lap — like they were praying.

Chance glanced between them, uneasy. “We done here?”

Azure nodded, closing his binder with a soft thunk. “For tonight.”

They rose together, the chairs scraping against the tile. The air smelled heavier now — like damp soil after rain. Two Time lingered by the door, looking back at Azure.

“Thank you for your guidance,” they said softly. “It’s good to be reminded what gods really are.”

Azure gave a small, distracted nod. “Of course.”

But as they turned away, Chance caught a flicker in Two Time’s eyes — a look of reverence so fierce it almost looked like hunger.

The hallway outside Azure’s office was dark and humming with the faint, mechanical rhythm of the hospital’s life support systems. Chance and Two Time walked in silence. Their shoes made soft squeaks against the floor.

“You okay?” Chance asked eventually.

Two Time didn’t answer. Their eyes were distant, unfocused — like they were listening to something no one else could hear.

“Hey.” Chance nudged their shoulder gently. “You’re doin’ that thing again.”

They blinked, slow, and smiled in that serene, unblinking way that never failed to unsettle him. “Sorry. I was thinking about what Azure said.”

Chance snorted. “About what — men bein’ gods?”

Two Time’s smile didn’t fade. “No. About belief being a leash.”

“Didn’t seem like a compliment to me.”

“It was.” They said it so softly that for a moment, Chance wasn’t sure he heard it right.

Before he could ask, they stopped walking, glancing down the hall toward Azure’s closed office door. The glow of the grow lights still leaked through the frosted glass, painting the floor in pale green squares.

Two Time’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He doesn’t even know what he is.”

Chance frowned. “Who — Azure?”

They nodded, eyes wide, shimmering with a kind of feverish awe. “Thy Spawn works through chosen vessels. Sometimes They hide inside flesh to test us — to see if we can recognize Them without Their crown.”

Chance blinked, confused and a little afraid. “You’re sayin’ Azure’s… what? Your god?”

Two Time shook their head slowly. “Not my god. A god. For now.”

The words hit like a chill draft down the hallway.

Then, without another word, they turned and began walking again, tail flicking rhythmically behind them.

 

Later that night, the ward was silent. The others were asleep — or pretending to be.

Two Time sat cross-legged on their narrow bed, hands clasped tight in their lap. The small metal cross on their bracelet glinted in the weak overhead light, swinging gently as they rocked back and forth.

Their voice came out in a breathy murmur.

“Thy Spawn, forgive me if I falter. Forgive me for seeing divinity where there may be none. But if this is a test, I will not fail Thee.”

Their tail curled tight against their leg as they pressed their palms together until the skin blanched white.

“He said belief is a leash,” they whispered. “But what he does not know is that Thou hold the other end. And if he walks too far… I will bring him back to Thee.”

The light above flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied.

Two Time smiled faintly in the quiet, head tilting toward the ceiling. “I understand now. Thou test me through him. And I will pass.”

They leaned down, pressing their forehead against their folded hands.

The sound that came from their throat wasn’t quite a prayer anymore — more like static, broken syllables and half-remembered hymns, melting together into something alien and tender.

“Thy Spawn loves what bleeds,” they murmured. “And I will give Thee something beautiful.”

Chapter Text

"Guess we do gotta actually plan this, huh?"

Chance plopped down beside Issac on the cold floor of the recreation room, crossing his legs and dragging his journal along with him. The thing had bent corners and doodles scrawled across every margin — a forced therapy habit turned personal sketchbook, mostly full of nonsense and bored rambling. He flipped it open to a fresh page and looked over with that familiar half-grin.

Issac didn’t even look up from the cracked linoleum he was staring at. “Do you even know how to plan an escape?”

Chance hummed, tapping the pen against his chin. “Not really! Thought you might. You seem like the ‘thinks about this kinda stuff at night’ type.”

Issac shot him a glance — sharp, tired, but with the faintest spark of interest behind it. Then he sighed, leaned forward, and snatched the pen out of Chance’s hand. “You’d get caught before you even made it past the elevator,” he muttered.

“Hey!” Chance protested, though there wasn’t much heat in it. “I could probably make it halfway to the lobby.”

Issac ignored him and crouched closer to the journal. He started sketching quick, clean lines with a focus that made Chance go quiet. The sound of pen on paper filled the room. Bit by bit, the hospital began to take shape — the hallways, nurses’ stations, even the vents and emergency exits.

“Jeez,” Chance said after a moment. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I think about a lot of things,” Issac muttered, circling one corner of the map. “Mostly because no one else here has the brain capacity to.”

“Ouch. I’ll pretend that ain’t about me.”

“It is about you.”

Chance leaned in until his shoulder brushed Issac’s. “You’re kinda mean, you know that?”

Issac froze — only for a second — before subtly inching away. “You’re annoying.”

“See, you say that, but you don’t sound too sure,” Chance teased, leaning even closer. “Almost like you secretly like me.”

Issac looked up, unimpressed. “If I liked you, you’d be dead.”

Chance grinned wider. “Romantic.”

“Delusional.”

The air between them buzzed — not unfriendly, not warm, just alive in a way the hospital rarely was. Beyond the door, someone’s laughter echoed faintly from down the hall, muffled by distance and cheap walls.

Issac tapped the pen against the paper again, muttering under his breath. “We can’t just run. The main door’s always locked, cameras in every hall, security rotation every thirty minutes. We’d need distractions, multiple ones.”

“Good thing I’m a natural,” Chance said brightly.

Issac shot him a look. “You’re not distracting on purpose. You’re just a problem.”

“Same difference!” Chance leaned closer to look at the sketch. “So what’s the plan, then? You want me to talk my way out while you crawl through a vent?”

“I want you to stay out of my way,” Issac said, scribbling notes in the margins. “But since I know that’s impossible, I’ll use it. You keep the staff’s attention, I’ll handle the doors. Simple.”

Chance gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over his chest. “Me? The decoy? What a cruel world.”

Issac didn’t react, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “You talk too much to be anything else.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Chance said with mock sadness, before perking up again. “But hey, I know people. You know Taph? Mute person, real quiet? Think she makes stuff.”

“Explosives,” Issac confirmed. “I’ve seen her hiding them in vents.”

“Right! She could make something loud. Not to hurt anyone, just enough to freak people out. Smoke, noise, whatever. I could convince her if we’re careful.”

Issac nodded slowly, tracing his finger along the sketch. “If she’s in, that could work. We’d still need another diversion for the cameras.”

“Easy. That new God Complex guy—what’s his name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, well, he’s weird enough to pull it off. He could keep 1x busy. Draw him outta the way. She's the one usually on cameras, yeah?”

Issac actually smiled this time, small and fleeting. “Not a bad setup.”

“See? I can be useful.”

“Barely.”

“Rude!” Chance swatted his shoulder lightly. “You ever say anything nice?”

Issac didn’t answer, but the silence that followed wasn’t cruel. He shifted the pen between his fingers, eyes flicking across the paper like he was seeing something only he could understand. Chance caught the faintest sigh before Issac finally spoke again.

“If we do this,” he said, quieter now, “you can’t panic. No jokes. No distractions that aren’t planned. You follow what I say, when I say it. Got it?”

Chance gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

Issac groaned. “You make everything worse.”

“And yet here I am, helping you escape.”

“You’re not helping. You’re… existing loudly in the same room as me.”

Chance laughed — a real, bright sound that bounced off the walls. “Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

For a moment, they both just sat there. The hum of fluorescent lights, the faint drip of a leaky pipe, the distant shuffle of night-shift nurses — the usual soundtrack of the hospital’s insomnia. Issac’s hand slowed over the page, pen stilling. Chance’s grin softened a little, the sarcasm melting into something almost genuine.

“You ever think about what it’s like outside? We've been in 'ere for a while now.” Chance asked quietly.

Issac didn’t look up. “Not really.”

“Bet it smells better than this place.”

“Probably.”

“And maybe the food doesn’t taste like cardboard.”

“Doubt it.”

Chance smiled. “You’re real good at ruining nice thoughts, huh?”

“Someone has to.”

That earned another laugh, but softer this time. Chance leaned back against the wall, stretching out his legs. “Well, when we get out, I’m gonna find somewhere warm. You can come too, if you want.”

Issac gave him a look that was halfway between suspicion and disbelief. “You’re inviting me?”

“Sure. Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a total hermit.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

“Yeah, you say that,” Chance said, eyes twinkling, “but you don’t mean it.”

Issac looked away, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“See? You didn’t deny it that time.”

Issac sighed, finally closing the journal. “We’ll go over the rest tomorrow. Try to keep your mouth shut until then.”

“No promises,” Chance said cheerfully, pushing himself up. He brushed off his scrubs and gave Issac a lopsided grin. “Night, boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Issac looked ready to throw the pen at him, but Chance only laughed and walked toward the door, humming some tuneless song under his breath. The door creaked shut behind him, and the room fell quiet again.

Issac stayed there for a long moment, still crouched over the journal. The ink on the map was smudged where Chance had leaned too close, fingerprints pressed faintly into the paper. He frowned, tracing one of the marks absently.

He didn’t need him. Not really.

But when the thought of doing it alone crept in, it felt emptier than he wanted to admit.

Issac leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. The light flickered once — a soft, electric pulse — before settling again. His chest ached in a way he couldn’t quite name.

“Idiot,” he muttered to the empty room, though the word came out quiet, almost fond.

The journal lay open beside him, map half-finished, corners curling up. On the page, two little stick figures had been drawn in the corner — one tall, one shorter, both holding what looked like smoke bombs. Chance’s doodles.

Issac stared at them until his expression softened — just slightly — and then shut the book, careful not to smudge the ink.

Tomorrow, he’d finish the plan.
Tomorrow, they’d make it real.

For tonight, he let himself imagine — just for a second — what it would feel like to walk out beside him.

Chapter Text

Thy Spawn loves all.
We are His children — grown from the damp earth, tended by His unseen hands. We bloom where He places us, and we wilt when He commands. There is no greater peace than to be cultivated by Him.

Two Time whispered this as they knelt before the altar. The air in their room was thick with wax and smoke, the small flames of their candles trembling like frightened things. Their tail swept in slow, solemn arcs across the floor, brushing over spilled ash. Their voice was hoarse from repetition, every prayer blurring into apology.

They hadn’t slept in days. Their reflection in the window was unrecognizable — their eyes rimmed in red, their hair greasy, their shirt stiff from dried sweat. Somewhere on their assigned phone, a new message from their mentor blinked. Another voicemail, probably, another sermon disguised as a threat. They couldn’t bear to hear it.

Amarah’s call that morning still rang in their skull: “The plan is ready. It must be tonight. You know what He requires.”
And Two Time had said yes. Not because they wanted to — but because there was no language left for refusal.

They rose from the altar and touched their forehead to the wood one last time. “Spawn forgive me,” they breathed. “Spawn guide me.”

 

The hospital garden was quiet when they arrived. The lamps hummed faintly, halos of amber light stretching over the frozen path. The pond was still, reflecting the building’s pale windows and the silhouettes of trees swaying in the wind.

Azure waited near the bench by the lilies, hands tucked into his coat pockets. The moonlight touched him softly, and for a second Two Time wished it would burn instead — that it would make this easier.

He smiled when he saw them. “You came,” he said, and it was so simple, so trusting.

Two Time forced their lips into something that looked like a smile. “I did.”

Azure stepped forward, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. “I wanted to give you something before we talk.” His hands fumbled inside his coat, pulling out a small stack of folded papers. “It’s official now — the evaluation went through.”

He handed them over. The ink was still fresh. Patient deemed mentally stable. Released from care effective immediately.

Two Time’s stomach turned.

“You’re free,” Azure said, voice bright with relief. “You can go wherever you want. You don’t have to come back here.”

They nodded dumbly. Wherever you want. As if there was anywhere left for them to go.

Azure hesitated, eyes searching theirs. “And… I wanted to ask something else.”

He dropped to one knee before they could speak. The motion was clumsy, unpracticed. From his pocket came a small silver ring, shining faintly under the lamps.

“Two Time,” he whispered, smiling as if afraid the world might interrupt, “I love you. I want you to stay with me. Not as my patient. As my partner. As someone who deserves better than this place.”

It was unbearable — how soft he sounded, how real. Two Time’s vision blurred. For a heartbeat, they thought maybe Spawn would forgive them for saying no. For sparing him. For being selfish.

But then the whisper came — not in words, but in that sick, divine pulse in their chest. Do it.

Their hand moved before they could think.

Azure blinked, confused. “Two Time?”

What followed was motion and silence tangled together — a cry half-formed, the world narrowing to breath and heartbeat and the sound of their own prayer breaking apart. Their dagger was inside him. Deep. Twisting.

When it ended, the garden was still again.

Azure lay against them, breath faltering, eyes wide with disbelief. “Why?” he whispered. “You… didn’t have to.”

Two Time held him, rocking as if to soothe a child. “It’s for Spawn,” they murmured, the words shaking. “He’ll take you back to the garden. You’ll bloom again. You’ll see.”

He tried to speak, but the air left him in a sigh. His hand fell, brushing against theirs once before going still. He felt like he could vomit. Blood poured from his gut, his guts were violated and parts were shredded.

Two Time stayed like that for a long time, their tears soaking his shoulder. The night pressed close, heavy with silence. The smell of iron and lilies filled the air. Their hand held his wound, fingers slipping into the torn flesh just to know what it felt like.

Finally, they laid him down beside the pond, smoothing his hair back. Their hands shook as they reached into his coat — he'd brought flowers for the altar, offerings meant for Spawn. A kind gesture he made a habit of. Nightshade and gardenia. Azure’s favorites.

One by one, they laid them over his chest. The gardenias first, white and trembling, their petals glowing under the moon. Then the nightshade, dark and poisonous, curling around his wrists like veins.

Two Time arranged them carefully, whispering between each placement — half-prayers, half-apologies. “You’re part of it now,” they murmured. “You’ll feed the soil. You’ll be reborn.”

When it was done, they sat back on their heels, staring at what they’d made. Azure looked peaceful now — as if the flowers themselves were forgiving him, forgiving them.

Their vision swam.

“Spawn forgive me,” they whispered again, voice cracking. “Spawn, please—”

The wind stirred, carrying the scent of gardenias and blood through the air. Somewhere far above, the stars shimmered — faint, pulsing, almost alive.

Two Time looked up, trembling. For a fleeting second, they thought they saw something move between them — a warmth, a shimmer, a blessing.

And then it was gone.

 

When the footsteps came, they didn’t notice at first.

Elliot’s voice cut through the stillness, ragged and disbelieving. “Two Time?”

They turned slowly. He stood on the path, coat half-buttoned, flashlight shaking in his hand. For a moment, neither spoke — just the sound of wind, and the quiet hum of the hospital behind them.

Then his eyes fell on Azure. The breath left his lungs like he’d been struck.

“God,” he whispered. “Oh— oh my God.” He dropped to his knees beside them, hands trembling as he reached out but didn’t touch. “What did you— why—”

Two Time could barely hear him. Their ears were full of a rushing sound, like the ocean pressed against glass.

“I had to,” they said dully. “It was the blessing. The offering. He’ll come back.”

Elliot stared at them, horror and heartbreak tangling in his expression. “He’s not coming back.” His voice cracked. “Two Time, he’s gone.”

They looked at him blankly, tears spilling over. “Spawn promised—”

“Spawn isn’t real,” Elliot said, almost pleading. “He was trying to save you. And you—” He stopped himself, covering his mouth. His whole body shook. “You need help. Please, just… come with me.”

Two Time didn’t resist when he pulled them up. Their legs felt hollow, as if they might fold under their own weight. They looked back once, at the flowers, at the pale shape lying so still among them.

“I love him,” they whispered.

“I know,” Elliot said, voice barely audible. “That’s why this hurts so much.”

 

They walked back to the hospital in silence. The sirens never came; Elliot had called quietly, not wanting the noise, not wanting anyone else to see the garden.

Two Time sat in the back seat, hands in their lap, watching the frost creep across the window. The night blurred past in streaks of light. The smell of flowers still clung to their clothes.

Inside, everything felt slower. Staff voices were hushed. Someone took their coat. Someone else murmured something about observation and safety protocols. The doors shut behind them with a heavy click.

Their old room was waiting — the same sterile walls, the same faint hum of machines. It was like time had folded in on itself, dragging them back to the beginning.

Elliot stood by the doorway, face pale. His uniform was smeared with dirt from the garden. “They’re going to keep you here for a while,” he said softly. “You’ll be safe. I’ll… check on you.”

Two Time looked up at him, eyes hollow. “He wanted me to be free.”

“I know,” Elliot said. “He really did.”

The silence stretched. Then he turned and left, the door locking quietly behind him.

Two Time sat on the edge of the bed, staring at their hands. The faint scent of gardenia still lingered in their hair. They pressed their palms together and whispered the prayer again, but the words felt wrong now, like stones in their throat.

Thy Spawn loves all.

They waited for the warmth to return, for that divine pulse to touch their chest again. It didn’t.

Only the hum of the lights answered. Only the emptiness.

Two Time curled up on the thin mattress, their tail wrapping tight around their knees. Outside, somewhere beyond the walls, the garden waited — white and purple blooms swaying gently in the dark.

They closed their eyes and imagined the flowers growing over Azure, soft and patient, until the whole garden smelled of him.

And when sleep finally came, it was quiet, colorless, and very, very alone.

Chapter Text

The pen in Issac’s hand barely stopped moving.
He was quick, methodical — sketching out hallways, alarms, shift changes, everything they’d need to slip out unnoticed. The notebook looked more like a war plan than something two patients in a locked ward had any right to make.

Chance watched from the opposite side of the table, chin propped in his palm, pretending not to be impressed.

“You are far friendlier than you should be,” Issac mumbled without looking up. “We barely know each other.”

“Huh?” Chance blinked, caught mid-thought. “Hey, I try to be friends with everyone. I like people, y’know?”

Issac didn’t reply right away. The tip of his pen made a quiet tapping noise against the paper before he resumed writing.

“You’re good at this,” Chance said, leaning a little closer to see. “You escaped before?”

“Once,” Issac said, matter-of-fact. “I was caught a week later. This time, I think I’ll win. Once we get out, do you know where you’re going?”

Chance froze.

He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. The idea of freedom was nice and all, but… where did that actually lead? He’d lost touch with his friends a long time ago. The casino might let him back in, but not if they knew where he came from. And if he didn’t have that, he didn’t have rent money. And if he didn’t have that… well.

He forced a grin. “Yeah, I, uh… got a girlfriend. She’s keepin’ an eye on my place. Real sweet of her.”

Issac finally looked up. His gaze was unreadable behind that censor bar, but the furrow of his brow said plenty. “Hm.”

Chance laughed a little too quickly. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t particularly care,” Issac said. “But you don’t seem like someone with a girlfriend.”

Chance sputtered, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Issac shrugged one shoulder. “You’re restless. People like that don’t stay still long enough for relationships.”

It stung more than it should’ve, mostly because it was right. “Yeah, well,” Chance said with a lopsided grin, “I’m full of surprises.”

Issac hummed under his breath and went back to the plan.

 

They sat in silence for a while after that. The kind of quiet that wasn’t quite comfortable, but wasn’t unpleasant either. Chance busied himself by idly doodling in the corner of a spare page — crooked stars and half-finished cards — pretending not to notice that Issac’s leg kept brushing against his under the table.

It wasn’t on purpose. Probably.

“You ever think about what you’ll do once you’re out?” Chance asked, flipping his pencil in his fingers.

“Yes,” Issac said, and left it at that.

Chance waited, then prompted, “And?”

“I’m going to get my friends out of jail. They need me. They probably think I’ve abandoned them.”

Chance tilted his head. There wasn’t much emotion in Issac’s voice, but the way he said friends sounded careful, like he was testing whether the word still meant something.

“Will your friend be coming with us? The cultist?”

Chance hesitated. “No. They have their boyfriend 'ere. They won’t leave him.”

Chance tried not to let the small twist of jealousy show in his tone — not jealousy of the cultist, exactly, but of that kind of loyalty. Having someone who’d stay behind for you.

He smiled again, too wide, to hide it. “Guess that means more room for the two of us, huh?”

Issac gave him a flat look. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“Didn’t mean it like that,” Chance said quickly.

“Didn’t you?”

Chance froze, pen half-raised. “You’re real sharp, huh?”

“I have to be,” Issac said simply.

 

The light in the common room was that pale, sour color that always made Chance feel like a ghost. Fluorescents hummed overhead. Someone in another hallway was crying — distant and rhythmic, like background noise they’d all gotten used to.

Issac worked without pause, drawing arrows, labeling vents, underlining times.

Chance tried to focus, but his eyes kept drifting to Issac’s hands. His fingers were long, precise, always steady even when the rest of him looked exhausted. Chance wondered how anyone could move like that — so calm, so deliberate — when they’d been stuck in here this long.

“You’re thinkin’ real loud,” Issac said suddenly, not looking up.

“Huh?”

“You keep staring.”

Chance jolted, laughing nervously. “Sorry, I just zone out sometimes.”

“On me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re in my line of sight.”

Issac didn’t respond, but there was a faint shift in his expression — amusement, maybe. Or just disbelief.

 

A few minutes later, Issac spoke again, softer this time. “Why are you helping me?”

Chance blinked. “You asked me to.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, but… you seem like you got a good head for this stuff. I’d be stupid not to follow along.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Chance hesitated. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me, then.”

Issac’s pen stopped. He looked up, and even with the censor bar, Chance could feel that gaze pinning him. “You don’t owe me anything. You act like you do.”

Chance’s throat went dry. “You ever think maybe I just wanna help someone for once?”

Issac considered that for a moment, then said, “You talk like you’ve got something to prove.”

That hit closer than Chance wanted it to. He forced a grin again — too bright, too easy. “Maybe I do.”

Issac didn’t push. He just went back to writing.

 

An hour passed. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken things. Chance started pacing, too restless to sit still anymore. Every so often he’d glance over — Issac was still at it, pen scratching quietly.

“You ever stop workin’?” Chance asked, leaning against the wall.

Issac looked up at him, mildly annoyed. “You ever stop talking?”

“Not really.”

Issac sighed, but it wasn’t harsh. More… resigned. “Then I suppose we balance each other out.”

Chance blinked. “Is that your way of callin’ us a team?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He smiled anyway. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

When Issac eventually stood, stretching his back, Chance noticed the faint wince he tried to hide. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Yer not. You’ve been sittin’ like a statue for three hours.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Chance hesitated, then, before he could overthink it, reached out and brushed a bit of dust off Issac’s sleeve — just an automatic gesture, really. But the second he did, Issac went very still.

“Sorry,” Chance muttered, pulling his hand back. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.”

The words were clipped, but Issac didn’t move away this time.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The hum of the lights filled the air, and Chance could feel his pulse in his throat, loud and stupid.

Then Issac stepped aside, breaking the spell. “We should finish this tomorrow. The nurse does her rounds soon.”

“Yeah,” Chance said, voice a little too casual. “Tomorrow.”

 

He couldn’t sleep that night. The ward was quiet, just the occasional shuffle of someone turning in bed or the soft rattle of the heater.

From across the room, he could see the faint outline of Issac sitting up by the window, still reading over the notes.

Chance rolled onto his side, watching him in secret.

Issac’s silhouette looked different in the dark — less sharp, less untouchable. There was something almost lonely about him like that, framed by the moonlight, face half-hidden.

Chance told himself he was only watching because he couldn’t sleep. That was all.

But even when he closed his eyes, he could still see the outline of Issac’s shoulders, still hear the quiet rhythm of his pen.

He dreamed of corridors that led nowhere. Of voices calling his name. And somewhere in the dark, Issac walking ahead of him, always just out of reach.

 

Morning came too early. The light through the windows was the washed-out gray that always made him feel like the day had already given up.

Issac was awake, of course. He’d already gathered their things into a neat stack.

“You didn’t sleep,” Chance said, sitting up.

“I don’t need much.”

“Everyone needs somethin’.”

Issac looked at him for a moment, then went back to his notes. “You’re not subtle, you know.”

Chance froze halfway through a yawn. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You hide your thoughts like a child hides stolen candy. Badly.”

He laughed, trying to shake off the sudden spike in nerves. “Hey, I’m a mystery. That’s part of my charm.”

Issac raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

There was something in his tone — not teasing, exactly, but aware. Like he knew more than he was letting on.

Chance busied himself with folding his blanket, trying not to think too hard about it.

 

Later that afternoon, when they were reviewing the final version of the plan, Issac pointed to one of the drawn corridors. “You’ll need to distract the guard here. I can handle the door.”

Chance leaned over his shoulder to look, close enough that he could smell the faint antiseptic soap on Issac’s skin. He immediately stepped back, pretending to stretch. “Yeah, I can do that. No problem.”

Issac didn’t acknowledge the near-collision, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he’d noticed anyway.

“Yer really good at this stuff,” Chance said after a moment. “All the thinkin’ ahead, all the detail. It’s like you were born for it.”

“I don’t take compliments well,” Issac replied.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

Issac glanced up. “And why’s that?”

“You don’t trust anyone enough to believe ‘em.”

Issac’s pen paused for the briefest second. Then he said, “Hm. How observant."

The air between them felt strange after that. He wasn’t sure if he’d hit a nerve or just said what Issac already knew.

Either way, Issac didn’t look at him again for a long while.

 

By the time evening came, the two of them had nearly everything finalized. The plan was airtight, maybe even hopeful — something Chance hadn’t felt in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “Guess that’s it, huh? One more good idea away from freedom.”

Issac closed the notebook and handed it to him. “Don’t lose this.”

Chance took it, his fingers brushing against Issac’s. The touch was brief but enough to make him forget what he was about to say.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, Issac?”

“Hm?”

“You’re… not as scary as people say.”

Issac blinked, then gave a faint, almost incredulous laugh. “That’s a lie.”

“Maybe. But it’s a nice one.”

Issac shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Chance said softly, smiling. “Kinda my thing.”

 

When Issac left that night, Chance stayed behind, flipping through the pages they’d written together. Maps, notes, escape routes — all of it precise and clean, his handwriting neat beside Issac’s small, angular script.

On the last page, in the corner, Issac had scribbled something almost too faint to notice:

"Don’t improvise. Don’t get sentimental."

 

Chance stared at the words for a long time, thumb tracing the edge of the paper.

He wasn’t sure which part stung more — the warning, or the fact that Issac already knew exactly what he was trying not to feel.

Chapter Text

“Chance! Doctor wants to see you!!”

Elliot’s voice cut through the rec room noise, too bright and too casual for the chill it carried. Chance looked up from where he’d been sitting on the couch, half-listening to Issac ramble about his plans or his friends, Chance couldn't really tell.

He blinked, then sighed, stretching his arms dramatically. “Guess I’m up. Keep my seat warm, yeah?”

Issac hummed, eyes flicking up from his notebook. “You sure you don’t wanna fake a seizure? Might get you out of it.”

Chance grinned, that lazy little gambler’s smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Temptin’, but the good doc gets pissy when I skip. Think he likes me.”

He left before Issac could answer.

The walk to Don’s office felt too long. It always did. The hall lights buzzed faintly overhead — that sterile hum that set Chance’s teeth on edge. The doctor’s door was already open. He pushed it wider and slouched inside like he didn’t care.

“Hello, Chance,” Don said, voice all syrup and teeth. He was leaning on his desk, a heavy figure in that pristine white coat. His smile was the kind that thought it was a knife.

Chance dropped into the chair opposite him, legs spread, arms crossed. “Hi, Don. I’m real busy havin’ a mental illness so can ya make this quick?”

Don chuckled. It wasn’t kind. “Busy? Oh, I’m sure you are. Busy talking to that blonde, hm? Issac, is it? You two seem rather close lately.”

Chance rolled his eyes. “You checkin’ my social calendar now? How romantic.”

“Individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder often become… attached to sociopaths,” Don said lightly, like it was a weather report. “It’s textbook.”

Chance’s grin faltered. For a moment, the air in the room felt tighter. Then he let out a sharp laugh. “Yer lies are so borin’, Doc. Can’t ya stop all this and jus’ let me go? I ain’t any interested in cryin’ or pretendin’ to be sick for yer amusement.”

Don’s eyes glimmered. “Very well. I just thought you’d want to know that Issac escaped a few years ago."

Chance’s heart stuttered.

Don continued, slow and deliberate. “He wasn’t alone. He had some desperate little cutie with him. They almost made it, too. But he stabbed his partner in the back — literally. You know he’ll do the same to you.”

Chance stared. His throat went dry. The words buzzed in his ears like static.

“Bullshit,” he managed, voice too quiet. “You just like talkin’ out yer ass.”

Don smiled. “You think I’d lie to you?”

“Yes,” Chance snapped. “Every damn time.”

“Mm. Then go ahead and prove me wrong,” Don said, leaning back. “See if your little friend doesn’t turn the knife when you’re not looking.”

He dismissed him with a lazy wave of his hand.

 

The hallway felt colder on the way back. Chance shoved his hands into his pockets, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He hated that it got to him — hated that Don could still crawl under his skin like that.

He’s lying, he told himself. He’s gotta be lying. He always lies. That’s his thing. His little hobby, his favorite pastime. The man lies for sport.

He tried to laugh at that, but it came out hollow.

But what if he wasn’t?

Chance’s thoughts tripped over themselves, spiraling fast — faster than he wanted. Don could lie, yeah, but sometimes he didn’t have to. Sometimes the truth was worse than the fiction.

And Issac — Issac was smart. Too smart. Smart enough to play anyone.

Don said Issac stabbed his friend… but Issac ain’t like that. He wouldn’t—

He stopped walking.

Would he?

 

Issac was still on the couch when Chance came back, flipping through a deck of cards like he was born to be bored. He looked up when Chance came in.

“You alive?”

“Barely,” Chance muttered, flopping down beside him. “Doc’s still doin’ his best impression of Satan. Thinks he’s got me all figured out.”

Issac smirked, idly shuffling the cards. “Let me guess. He thinks you’re delusional, manipulative, addicted to gambling, and secretly in love with me.”

Chance froze for half a second too long. “…You forgot handsome.”

Issac giggled, shoving a hand over his mouth to stiffle the noise.

Chance’s laugh sounded normal — too normal — and Issac, perceptive bastard that he was, tilted his head slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Chance said quickly. Too quickly. “Just— y’know. He said somethin’ weird.”

Issac hummed, setting the cards down. “He always says weird things.”

“Yeah, but—” Chance hesitated. His hand drifted to the back of his neck. “He said… he said you tried to escape. With someone else.. Said you stabbed ‘em.”

Issac’s expression didn’t change much, but Chance swore he saw a flicker — something tight around the eyes.

“And you believe him?” Issac asked softly.

“No,” Chance said, too fast again. “I mean— I don’t not believe him, but—” He groaned, pressing a hand over his face. “You know how it is. Coin flips, right? You can get ten heads in a row, don’t mean the next one ain’t tails. But it feels like it should be, right? Like, statistically, he’s gotta be lyin’ at some point.”

Issac smiled faintly. “That’s not how probability works, Chance.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that!” Chance said, throwing his hands up. “But my gut says he’s just messin’ with me. He likes it when I squirm.”

“Mm.” Issac leaned back, folding his arms. “So why’re you still squirming?”

Chance shot him a look. “You’re enjoyin’ this too much.”

“Maybe a little.”

They sat in silence for a while. The hum of the rec room faded into background noise — cards on the table, the faint buzz of fluorescent light, someone laughing across the room.

Chance looked at Issac out of the corner of his eye.

He really liked him. That was the problem. Issac wasn’t good for him — none of this was — but hell, Chance had never been known for his good taste. The guy had a face built for trouble and a voice like static after midnight.

He wanted to trust him.

 

A little while passed before Two Time ran into the rec room, all tears and crashed into Chance's arms, limbs tangling and almost whaling.

Two Time was pathetic.
That was the first thing Chance thought when they clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder like a kid. They shook so hard he could feel it in his teeth — the kind of shaking that comes from somewhere bone-deep, the kind that makes the air feel heavy.

Their breath hitched against his neck. Spit and tears smeared across his shirt. Chance froze for a second, not out of cruelty but confusion.

He hadn’t seen them in days. Figured they’d been off with Azure — wrapped up in whatever half-romantic, half-devotional thing they had going on. But apparently, that wasn’t it.

“Hey, Timey?” he started softly. “You, uh… what’s wrong? Do I need to get ’Zure for ya?”

The name made Two Time jerk like he’d hit them.

“Don’t—” their voice cracked. “Chance, no. Don’t say that.”

Chance blinked. “Say what?”

“I killed him.”

The words dropped heavy and stupid between them, like a stone in wet concrete.

Two Time’s breath caught. “Azure’s gone. He’s— Spawn, I—” The sentence broke apart into noise, desperate and wet. They collapsed into him, shaking so hard that Chance had to steady them before they fell off the couch.

He stared at them, unblinking. “You… what?”

“I killed him!” they choked out. “It was supposed to work. It was supposed to bring him back. That’s what they said, what the sermons said — sacrifice, rebirth, two lives become one—”

Chance put a hand on their back, slow and careful. “Hey, hey, slow down. Breathe for me, yeah?”

They didn’t. Couldn’t. The words just kept spilling out like water through a cracked pipe.

“I didn’t want to do it! I loved him, I loved him, Chance, but he— he looked at me and I thought—” They hiccupped. “He forgave me. I think he did. I think—”

Chance swallowed, feeling his stomach twist. He didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t built for comfort; he was built for bluffing, for snark and deflection and luck that only hit when it didn’t matter.

But Two Time was crumbling right in front of him.

So he rubbed circles on their back, slow and mechanical, like he’d seen people do in movies. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s— well, it ain’t okay, but— just—” He trailed off, huffing out a shaky laugh. “Christ, I’m no good at this.”

“I can’t be here anymore,” Two Time whispered. “I can’t stay here, I can’t— he’s everywhere, I see him everywhere, I hear him—”

Chance glanced toward the hallway, half expecting Don to be standing there with that smug look, waiting for another opportunity to twist the knife. The thought made his chest tighten.

“You’re safe here,” he lied automatically.

“No I’m not.” Two Time’s voice cracked again, raw and small. “Please, Chance. I need to leave. With you. With Issac. Whoever. I don’t care. I can’t stay.”

The sound of their voice — that hopeless pleading — dug into him.

“...Timey,” he said quietly. “You’re askin’ the wrong guy. I ain’t exactly got an escape plan hidden under my hat.”

“But you’re smart. You and Issac — you can think your way out. Please, Chance, I’ll do anything, I’ll—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, more harshly than he meant to. “Don’t— don’t say that.”

Two Time froze, staring at him through wet lashes.

Chance sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I just mean… you don’t owe me anythin’. You’re scared, I get it. You did somethin’ awful and you’re payin’ for it. But lettin’ Don find out you’re plannin’ to run? That’s suicide. Literal.”

Two Time stared down at their hands, fingers twitching like they couldn’t stay still. “Then let me die somewhere else.”

“Jesus, Timey.”

“I mean it. I can’t stay here.”

Chance looked at them for a long moment. They were trembling again, face red and wet and broken in that way that didn’t feel temporary.

Something inside him — some leftover instinct to gamble on the wrong thing — cracked.

“...I’ll talk to Issac,” he said finally.

Two Time blinked up at him. “You will?”

“Yeah. No promises, but… I’ll talk to him.”

They nodded, shoulders shaking. “Thank you. Thank you, I—”

“Shh. Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered, half to himself.

They stayed like that for a while — Two Time pressed against him, sobbing quietly, and Chance staring at the far wall like he could see through it.

When they finally calmed enough to breathe, Chance helped them up and guided them toward the dorm wing. “Go lie down. Lock the door. Don’t talk to anyone else, yeah?”

Two Time nodded faintly. “Okay.”

He watched them disappear into their room. Only when the door shut did he let out a slow exhale.

Azure’s dead.
He hadn’t even realized how much that stung.

Azure had been… bright. Annoying, sure, but bright in a way that stood out against all the gray. Someone who didn’t deserve this place. Didn’t deserve them.

And now Two Time was falling apart, and Issac—

Issac.

Chance’s jaw clenched. He remembered Don’s voice, lazy and smooth: He’ll do the same to you.

The thought felt louder now. Like it was following him.

He turned and started down the hallway, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’d find Issac. Tell him what happened. See how he reacted. See if there was guilt there, or shock, or— something. Anything.

Because if Don was right, if Issac really was planning something—

Well.

Chance wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop him or join him.

 

This is not what Issac needs.

Chance was already enough to deal with — the constant chatter, the smirking deflection, the way he looked at him like Issac was something worth saving. Exhausting. Utterly exhausting.

Two Time was worse.

They were like a more distraught, traumatized, frantic version of Chance — and that was saying something. Every word out of their mouth sounded like a plea, every breath like a prayer. It was unbearable.

Whatever. He’d handle it.

He had to.

He wasn’t happy about it — about any of it — but this was the only way. He needed Chance to get through the door, and he needed Two Time because they knew the corridors and the guard rotations. That was all. After that? They were liabilities. Loud, emotional, unpredictable liabilities.

He’d wound them both quickly. It wasn’t personal.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Issac sighed, raking a hand through his hair. It had gotten long lately, the pale strands catching the flickering fluorescent light of the med wing. He hated it — it made him look softer, less in control. He wasn’t supposed to look human.

He checked the clock.

Five minutes.

Taph had already set the distractions in the vents — a handful of smoke bombs wrapped in duct tape and wishful thinking. He could hear 1x yelling somewhere down the hall, which meant she was off the monitors. The noise echoed sharp and tinny, bouncing off metal and tile. Perfect.

Everything was going according to plan.

He adjusted his scrubs, fingers brushing the inside seam where the dagger was taped. The handle pressed cold against his skin. Familiar. Steadying.

He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t.

This was just procedure. An operation. A simple equation: three in, one out. Two removed variables. The math was clean, predictable. The outcome? Freedom.

He repeated that word to himself like it meant something.

Freedom.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Hey, Doc Blondie, we’re ready,” Chance said, voice softer than usual. Almost hesitant.

Issac turned. Chance stood in the doorway with that lopsided grin — the one that didn’t reach his eyes anymore. Two Time hovered just behind him, face pale and blotchy, sleeves stained with tears and something darker.

They looked awful.

Issac forced a smile. “Good. The cameras are down for at least ten minutes. We move fast, we make it.”

Two Time’s hands trembled. “And if we don’t?”

“Then we die,” Issac said simply.

Chance shot him a look. “Real comfortin’, Issac.”

“Just being honest.”

He didn’t bother looking at Chance too long. It was easier that way. If he looked — really looked — he might hesitate.

Chance was standing too close again, that unshakable warmth radiating off him like a bad habit. Even now, even after everything, he still smiled like he believed in something.

Issac hated it.
Or maybe he envied it.

“Alright, Timey,” Chance said, checking the hallway. “You’re sure the vents’ll pull the smoke this way, right?”

Two Time nodded quickly. “Yes— I— I did what Taph said. It should be enough.”

“Good. ’Cause if this place starts burnin’, I’m blamin’ you.”

Issac almost smiled at that. Almost.

They slipped out into the hall.

The hospital was dim, humming faintly with the sound of distant alarms. Somewhere down the east wing, a door slammed. The vents hissed. Everything smelled faintly of disinfectant and burnt metal.

Perfect timing.

Issac led the way. His steps were measured, precise. Chance followed a few feet behind, quiet for once. Two Time trailed after, wringing their hands.

They reached the security door — the last barrier before the outside corridor. The keypad flickered, red and unyielding.

“Can you get it open?” Chance whispered.

“I can get anything open,” Issac murmured, kneeling. He pried off the panel cover, exposing a nest of wires. His hands moved automatically — red to green, green to yellow, spark to spark. He didn’t have to think about it. Thinking was dangerous.

Chance crouched beside him. “Y’know, if this actually works, I might kiss you.”

Issac didn’t look up. “Don’t.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ to. Just thought it’d be funny.”

“Mm.”

The lock clicked. The door slid open a fraction — just enough for a sliver of cold air to leak through.

Issac’s heartbeat slowed. Everything was falling into place. One more step and—

“Wait,” Two Time said suddenly, voice trembling. “We shouldn’t— what if this is a trap? What if Don knows —”

Issac stood. “He doesn’t.”

“But what if he does? He always knows, Issac, he— he knows everything —”

“Timey,” Chance interrupted softly, “we gotta move, yeah? Can’t freeze up now.”

Two Time shook their head, tears already forming again. “I can’t— I can’t do this—”

Issac’s grip tightened on the dagger inside his sleeve.

Not yet. Not yet.

“Two Time,” he said quietly, and they looked up, eyes wide and wet. “It’s okay. Just breathe. I promise it’ll be over soon.”

Chance looked at him sharply — maybe at the tone, maybe at the words.

Issac smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes.

He stepped closer. One more second, one more breath, one more clean motion—

The vent above them rattled. Smoke poured out, thick and gray. The alarm screamed to life.

Chance flinched. “Shit — that’s now?”

Issac cursed under his breath. The timing was off — too early, too loud. He reached for the door. “Go, now!”

Chance grabbed Two Time’s arm, pulling them forward through the haze.

They stumbled into the next corridor, coughing. The lights flickered. Issac followed close behind, every muscle tight, every instinct screaming do it now, end it clean.

Chance turned back, eyes watering from the smoke. “Issac! The exit’s up ahead!”

He nodded, raising the dagger.

But then Chance smiled.

Even with the chaos, the alarms, the sirens blaring — he smiled. “Told ya we’d make it.”

Issac froze.

For a split second, the blade wavered.

He could see everything reflected in those stupid, bright eyes — the trust, the exhaustion, the reckless faith that maybe they’d actually survive this together.

It would’ve been easier if Chance hated him.

The moment shattered.

Two Time screamed.

Issac barely processed it before something heavy slammed into the wall behind him — a guard, maybe, or another patient caught in the smoke. He stumbled, the dagger clattering against the tile.

Chance grabbed his arm, dragging him forward. “C’mon, don’t just stand there!”

Issac blinked, dazed, and followed.

For now.

The door to the outside was ahead — wide and gray and humming with the promise of open air.

He still had time.

He could still finish it.

He reached for the dagger again, breath steadying, the noise around him fading into static.

Everything was fine.

It had to be.

 

The exit light flickered, a washed-out green bleeding through the smoke.
Issac ran the last calculation in his head — timing, distance, weight of the air around him — and knew there was only one way this could end cleanly.
He told himself that again and again: cleanly.

Chance’s hand was on the door lever, coughing, laughing through the smoke like this was another round of cards. “Told ya! You and me, Blondie— we’re gonna walk right outta—”

The sound that followed cut through everything. Not a shout. Not a crash. Just the sudden, awful silence that comes when something irreversible happens. Issac's dagger goes deep into Chance's abdomen and he collapses. Issac's dagger is out quicker than it was in. There's a woosh of blood spilling onto the hospital floor.

Two Time’s voice broke it first: “Chance—? Issac, what—”

The alarms screamed louder. The world turned red.

Issac didn’t look back. He couldn’t. If he turned, he’d see what he’d done, and he couldn’t afford to.
He shoved the release bar; cold night air burst through the gap like a punishment. He slipped into it, smoke curling around his shoulders.

Chance was still on the floor, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. He reached out, fingers brushing the metal threshold, the outside air so close he could taste it.
Two Time dropped beside him, hands pressing uselessly against his side, begging, shaking, crying his name.

Through the haze, Issac’s silhouette paused once — just once.
Then he was gone.

The door slammed shut, the lock resetting with a heavy, final click.

 

Minutes passed like hours. The alarms faded into low mechanical whines.
Two Time stayed kneeling, whispering, half-prayer, half-confession.
Chance forced a smile that looked wrong on his face. “Guess he… really wanted a head start, huh?”

It hurt to breathe, but he still tried to laugh. It came out as a cough instead.

Two Time shook their head, tears streaking their cheeks. “He left us.”

“Yeah,” Chance rasped, "Don't bet on gambler's fallacy, heh.."
They stayed there, both too weak to move, watching the faint outline of the door that had almost led them out. Beyond it, they could hear sirens, voices, the inevitable footsteps of the staff who would drag them back to their rooms.

Somewhere out there, Issac was free.
And Chance knew — knew in the hollow of his chest — that freedom bought with betrayal never lasted long.

He let his head fall back against the tile, staring at the ceiling lights that blinked on and off like dying stars.
Two Time kept whispering Azure’s name, over and over, until it turned into static. Their hands on Az— Chance's wounds as the blood coated their fingers and they started to tremble.

Chapter Text

“So… what did I tell you?”

Don didn’t need a smile. His voice did all the smiling for him — that smug, knowing little curl at the end of every syllable that made Chance want to hurl the chair at him. If Chance could even lift a chair right now.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t dare. He sat hunched in the molded plastic seat like a kid outside the principal’s office, his hands hovering near the fresh bandage across his abdomen. The skin felt too hot, too tight, every breath a reminder of how stupid he’d been.

“Ain’t here to amuse ya, Doc,” Chance muttered, fingers brushing the edge of the gauze.

“Punishment?” he added after a beat, pretending casual, pretending he wasn’t bracing.

God. Humiliating. The nausea simmered low, like it was waiting for the right moment to lunge up his throat. His entire body felt off-balance, like he was tilted over a cliff and Don was watching to see if he’d fall.

“Nothin’ much,” Don said lightly. “Lucky I like ya.”

Chance flinched. He hated that he did. Don noticed — of course he noticed.

“You’re gettin’ raised a scrub color and put on permanent lockdown. No campus. No yard. No mingling. No leaving the dayroom unless escorted. Phone privileges cut to once a week.”

Chance blinked. Once. Twice. He lifted his head an inch.

That was it?
Seriously?

After the alarms and blood and trauma? After Issac turning on him? After he almost died?

He expected… he didn’t know. More.

His stomach knotted. Thinking of Issac was a mistake. Every time he did, his vision pulled sideways like a rug yanked under him. The blond’s face flashed in his mind — the hesitation, the way he’d said Chance’s name. The knife sliding in.

Chance swallowed hard enough it hurt.

Don kept talking, cheerful as ever. “You should count yourself lucky. Two Time’s on full seclusion. No leaving the room. No visitors. Bed, bathroom, padded walls. Murder and a failed escape in one week? That’s a career low.”

Chance’s heart stopped for a second.
Two Time.
Locked up. Alone.

He pictured them curled in that too-bright room, rocking, their hands still shaking with Azure’s blood. Something ugly twisted in his chest.

“That’s it?” he asked finally.

Don’s grin sharpened. “Didn’t know scrub colors meant anything, huh?”

Chance shrugged. “They’re just colors.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Don said, voice thick with amusement. “How stupid.”

Chance tensed like the words were a slap.

“You’re yellow scrub now,” Don continued. “Highest-risk. Means every camera sticks to you like glue. You’ll have eyes on you twenty-four-seven. Every hallway. Every meal. Every piss break.”

Chance’s stomach dropped.
Oh.

Don leaned back like he was settling in for a show.

“Now… onto more important matters.”

His gaze slid over Chance with surgical dissection — slow, cruel, curious. Chance felt stripped under it.

“How’s it feel?” Don asked.

Chance blinked. “…How’s what feel?”

“To fail.”

The word was soft, quiet, lethal.

Chance felt it hit. Felt it burrow under his ribs and lodge there, acidic. He wanted to shrug, crack a joke, roll his eyes — anything to stay above water. But the air felt thick. His throat felt tight.

He looked away first. Don caught it. Don always caught everything.

“Aww,” Don crooned, leaning forward. “Don’t get shy on me now. You were plenty loud when you were bleedin’ all over my floor.”

“That wasn’t—” Chance stopped, jaw grinding. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“No?” Don blinked slowly. “You follow a murderer out, get stabbed, collapse, nearly die — and that ain’t your fault?”

“He— Issac—” The name came out before Chance could stop it. His whole body stiffened like the syllable was a live wire.

Don smiled like he’d found treasure.

“Issac,” he repeated. “Right. The pretty one.”

A chill crawled up Chance’s spine.

“You really didn’t see that coming?” Don asked.

“Shut up.”

“That’s a no.”

Chance pushed up from the chair — too fast. Pain ripped through his gut like someone twisted the knife again. He hissed, grabbing the seat to stay upright. Don watched with mild disinterest.

“You think you were special to him?” Don went on. “Kid, he used you. He used Two Time. He’d have used the whole damn hospital if he could carry it on his back.”

“You don’t know him,” Chance muttered, weakly.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Don chuckled. “I know him better’n you ever did. He played this place like music. And you—” His finger flicked at Chance like he was pointing out a stain. “You were the easiest note.”

Chance’s fists tightened.

“Fuck off.”

“Make me.”

Something inside Chance snapped. He slammed his hand on the desk — loud, stupid, instinctive. Pain shot up his arm, across his stitches, through every nerve he had left. He almost folded.

Don still didn’t look impressed.

“Look at you,” Don said. “Can’t even yell without almost passing out. And you thought you could survive out there?”

Chance squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing shook. “Why’re you doing this?”

“Because,” Don said simply, “someone has to yank your head outta your ass before you bleed out trying something stupid again. Consider it preventive care.”

Chance let out a broken laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re heartbroken.”

Chance went still.

“I ain’t—”

“Yes, you are,” Don said. “You don’t almost puke when someone says a name unless somethin’ was important.”

Chance’s chest constricted.

“He hesitated,” he whispered, barely audible. “Just for a second. I saw it.”

“And then he did it anyway.”

Chance looked like he might crumble. His hand flew to his mouth — whether to hide a sob or hold his stomach together, Don couldn’t tell.

“You wanted him to care,” Don said softly. Cruelly. “But he didn’t.”

Chance folded in on himself, the whole world pressing down. Pain, betrayal, disappointment — all of it hit him like the smoke they’d run through.

And for the first time, he didn’t try to outrun it.

He let it hit.

He broke.

Don sat back, satisfied.

Finally.

 

“So… how’s room life?”

Chance’s voice came out too soft. Too cautious.

The isolation wing hummed behind him — fluorescent lights, buzzing vents, muffled security doors. Two Time’s room was barely bigger than a closet, padded corners, one bed, one chair, nothing sharp. They sat on the mattress in that stiff animal posture they had, eyes following him with something unreadable.

Their gaze flicked to the bandage under his shirt.

“I miss Azure,” they said.

“That ain’t an answer.”

Chance lingered by the door because stepping further felt like tempting fate. Don’s words echoed in his skull: murderer, highest-risk, watched, stupid, stupid, stupid.

Should he really be talking to someone who—?

His brain didn’t finish the sentence.
Didn’t want to.

So instead he said, stupidly, “Why’d you kill him? Yer a murderer like Issac — maybe you can tell me why he tried to do it to me?”

He didn’t even get a breath after.

Two Time launched.

Chance hit the padded floor hard enough to see white. Their weight pinned him down by the shoulders, their pupils blown wide with something feral. Their tail lashed behind them.

“I am not a murderer,” they snarled. “Azure died because Spawn chose him. It was purification. Not murder.”

Chance wheezed. “Okay — okay, damn, I hear you, calm — ”

But Two Time wasn’t calm. Their hands trembled on his shoulders. Rage trembled through them, yes — but grief too. So heavy it felt like it pressed through their skin.

Chance forced his hands up slightly, palms open. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… Issac tried to kill me. I don’t get why. Why people like—”

Their expression darkened.

“People like me.”

“…Bad wording,” Chance muttered.

They didn’t let go.
Didn’t even blink.

Instead, slowly — almost unbearably slowly — their grip softened. Their breathing steadied. They leaned closer.

“You look like him,” Two Time whispered.

Chance froze.

“…Like who?”

“Azure.” Their voice cracked. “When you’re scared.”

The world tilted.

Two Time’s fingers brushed the edge of his bandage — light, almost reverent. Chilling. “He bled in my hands too,” they murmured. “Just like you. Same hospital, out in the garden. Same look.”

“Two Time…” Chance whispered.

“I miss him,” they said, voice small and raw.

Chance’s chest tightened. “I know. I’m… sorry.”

Two Time blinked rapidly, like static across a screen. “He wanted me to have the sky.”

Chance hesitated. “And… you want that too?”

“No,” they said. “You do.”

Their forehead pressed to his. Chance tensed — but didn’t pull away.

“We can leave,” Two Time whispered. “Together.”

Chance’s breath caught. “We?”

Two Time’s tail curled loosely — tender, strange, desperate — around his leg.

“You and me,” they murmured. “Azure wanted freedom for me. You wanted Issac. You still do.”

Chance flinched. “Don’t—”

Two Time cupped his jaw gently, dangerously. “But he is gone. Azure is gone. You are not.”

The room felt too warm.

“And if I say no?” Chance asked quietly.

“Then you will die here,” Two Time said simply. “Like Azure.”

Silence. Thick. Electric.

“You’re… seein’ him in me,” Chance whispered.

Two Time’s eyes softened. “Only sometimes.”

The honesty made something crumble inside him.

Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was Issac’s shadow still carved into his ribs. Maybe it was the way Two Time looked at him like he mattered in a way that hurt.

Chance swallowed.

“Fine,” he breathed. “We’ll figure somethin’. A way to get you out.”

Two Time’s expression brightened — feral, fragile hope.

Their fingers brushed his cheek again.

And this time…

Chance didn’t flinch at all.

Chapter Text

"So, uh… Issac never got rid of his map.”
Chance tried for a smile, but it wobbled. “Still got the plan we used before he… y’know. Decided to gut me. We can use these things and go for a more stealth approach, yeah? Sneak out in the middle of the night?”

He held up the battered notebook like a shield. It shook in his hands. God, sneaking into Two Time’s room every night was killing him. He kept his notebook and deck of cards on him at all times — stupid coping skills, but they kept him breathing.

Two Time tilted their head, eyes bright with too many emotions at once.

“Anything you need, Az—” they caught themselves, throat tightening, “Chance. Spawn is pleased you have decided to let me join you. We are pleased.”

Chance’s stomach lurched. The name hit him like a punch — so automatic, so wrong, so mournful that it made him want to sink to the floor and cry for someone he had never even met.

He swallowed the reflex down. “...Yeah. Guess I’ll handle all the plannin’ stuff. I can sit here to keep ya company, yeah?”

Two Time gave a small, broken nod. Their tail curled forward instinctively, like they wanted it to wrap around his ankle but didn’t dare without permission. Their face kept twitching — tiny microexpressions slipping through like static bursts.

Chance sat beside them on the thin mattress. Slow, careful. Like approaching something spooked and wounded.

Two Time watched him with wide, aching eyes.

“Tell me,” they murmured. “What is the plan you are building for us?”

Chance exhaled. “Okay. So… Issac’s map still marks every blind spot in the cams. Most of ‘em are patched by now, but not all. If we time the rotation right, we can get from your room to the maintenance hallway without gettin’ seen.”

Two Time drifted closer, leaning until their shoulder brushed his arm. Chance stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

“Azure always planned,” they whispered. “He made lists. You do too.”

Chance’s throat tightened. “Timey… I ain’t Azure.”

“You smell like him,” they said, voice trembling.

Chance looked away fast.

Two Time’s hand hovered near his wrist — then landed gently, warm and trembling. “When we reach the outside,” they said, “will you stay with me?”

The question hit harder than anything Don had said.

Chance blinked, startled. “I — I mean… yeah. I ain’t plannin’ on ditchin’ you in the woods or nothin’.”

Two Time’s breath shuddered out of them like it hurt.

“Good,” they whispered. “If you left, I would die like Azure.”

Chance’s heart cracked straight down the middle.

“Hey.” He squeezed their hand — shaky, soft. “No one’s dyin’. Not on my watch. Not again.”

Two Time’s gaze softened in that eerie, reverent way — like he was the only stable thing left in their dissolving world. Their fingers climbed slowly up his arm, resting just at his shoulder.

“Show me,” they murmured. “How we escape. Tell me slowly. I want to imagine it.”

Chance nodded, swallowing the grief that kept rising like floodwater.

“Right. So… first step is waitin’. We move at two a.m., during the guard break. I’ll unlock your door from the outside — Don showed me how to hotwire the damn panel by accident. Then we follow the old path Issac made.”

Two Time leaned in closer, their forehead nearly brushing his cheek.

“Azure used to whisper plans to me,” they said softly. “In the dark. With his face this close.”

Chance froze.

Their breath warmed his jaw.

“You can do that too… if you want.”

Chance’s heart hammered. He could hear the instability under every word, the grief, the echo of a dead man superimposed over him like a mask.

And he still whispered back, because he didn’t know how to abandon someone this lost.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll whisper.”

Two Time went very still — hopeful, trembling, so fragile it hurt to look at.

Chance leaned closer, lips by their ear.

“When the lights dim,” he murmured, “you stand by the door. I’ll be on the other side. And we walk out together. Quiet. Fast. No lookin’ back.”

Two Time made a sound — half-sob, half-sigh — and rested their head on his shoulder like they were finally allowed to breathe.

“Together,” they echoed.

Chance closed his eyes.

 

There was a knock.

A sharp, impatient tok-tok-tok that made Chance’s soul evacuate his body.

He shot upright so fast he nearly tore his stitches, eyes wide, breath choking in his throat. Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT. He wasn’t supposed to be in here. If Don found him — if ANYONE found him — he’d be thrown into lockdown and their entire escape would collapse.

“We’re dead,” Chance hissed, scrambling off the bed. “We’re so dead — Two Time, I swear to God —”

Two Time didn’t even blink. Their tail flicked once, calm and regal as someone who was either deeply holy or deeply insane. “Come in.”

Chance’s jaw dropped. “WHY WOULD YOU — ?!”

The door swung open.

And in waddled the absolute last person Chance expected to see: Shedletsky.

The weird chicken-headed freak with the God Complex. The one Nurse 1x always muttered murder threats about. His stupid wings rustled as he stepped inside like a discount archangel.

“Heard you two were planning an escape,” he said flatly. “Let me come with you. Gods have no place here.”

He said it like a decree. Like he expected applause.

Chance stared. Two Time stared harder, eyes narrowing like a cat spotting something filthy.

“You are no God,” Two Time hissed, tail lashing. “How blasphemous. Thy Spawn will—”

Chance slapped a hand over their mouth before a sermon could break out. “Nope. Nu-uh. No God wars. Not today.”

Two Time growled under his palm.

Chance turned to Shedletsky, desperate. “What can you do for us?”

Shedletsky paused, then puffed out his chest proudly.

“I have… connections at Roblox HQ,” he announced, like this was the punchline of history. “Once we’re out, I can get us a place to stay. Also, if you don’t let me come with, I’m going to tell on you.”

He said it like a spoiled child threatening to break his own toy.

Two Time lunged so fast Chance had to grab them.

“You insolent morta l— !” they snarled, claws practically digging into the air.

Shedletsky shrieked, wings flapping. “HEY — keep the demon-cat on a leash! I’m delicate!”

“You dare call us creature?!” Two Time hissed, writhing in Chance’s arms. “Spawn shall rip the feathers from your skull — ”

“They’re not feathers, they’re plumes,” Shedletsky snapped back. “And I’ll have you know I’m divinely ordained!”

“You are divinely delusional — ”
“You smell like expired lunch meat — ”
“I’ll turn your bones into scripture — ”
“I’ll report you to HR — ”

“GUYS.”
Chance shoved himself between them.

His blood pressure was going to explode.

“Okay,” he said, massaging his temples. “Jesus Christ — fine. FINE. Maybe we can use him.”

Two Time recoiled. “We do not want him.”

“Timey, it's fine. Azure would want you to get along with him." Chance shot back.

Two Time went silent, eyes softening in that way that made Chance’s heart twist.

Shedletsky slapped his wings together smugly. “See? The mortal understands my worth.”

“No,” Chance rolled his eyes. “I understand that if we kick you out, you’ll sprint down the hall screaming about treason.”

Shedletsky tilted his beak. “Correct.”

Chance resisted the urge to smack him.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Here’s how this goes. You help, or you stay quiet. No drama. No yelling. No weird god speeches. You follow what I say or we leave you behind.”

Shedletsky lifted his chin. “I accept your terms. Mortals need guidance.”

Two Time hissed again.

Chance grabbed their tail before they could pounce.

“Timey,” he murmured, low. “Just… let me handle this, okay?”

Two Time froze. Their eyes softened. The anger melted into something fragile, breathless, devoted — like they were trying so hard to see him and not Azure.

“Okay,” they whispered. “For you.”

Shedletsky made a fake gagging sound.

Chance and Two Time both glared.

“Alright,” Chance said, snatching his notebook. “If you’re in this, Shedletsky, you’re here for one job. A distraction. Just one. You cause any issues? I swear to God — ”

“You mean me,” Shedletsky corrected proudly.

Chance closed his eyes. “Lady luck must hate me.."

Two Time tapped his arm gently.

“Show him the map,” they murmured. “Tell him what to do. And then… tell me the part where we run. I like that part.”

Chance softened despite himself.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay. Lemme explain it.”

And the three of them huddled close — the grief-stricken, the terrified, and the unhinged chicken-god — plotting an escape doomed to fail in every logical sense.

But for the first time…

Chance felt a spark of hope. Felt like maybe he could survive this without Issac.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly — almost disturbingly — Shedletsky was easy to work with.

Two A.M. crept over the hospital like a held breath. Outside the reinforced windows, thunder rolled across the sky, distant but getting closer. Chance could taste the storm in the air.

They waited under the camera blindspot exactly where Issac’s map had marked it. Chance could feel his pulse in his stitches. Two Time’s hand wrapped around his wrist — gentle, possessive, terrified he might vanish if they blinked.

He didn’t pull away.

Down the hall, a sudden crash echoed, followed by Nurse 1x’s furious, muffled yelling.

Shedletsky limped back toward them, feathers ruffled and one wing clearly bent at an uncomfortable angle.

“Got it!” he whispered, smug as a raccoon that found a treasure chest. “The nurses’re distracted. One threw a clipboard at me. Very unholy display.” He puffed up. “Anyway, now we can stop by Don’s office, get rid of our files, and crash the whole system. It’ll be like we were never here.”

Chance nodded, his throat tight. He could feel Two Time trembling through their grip on his wrist.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

They slipped through the halls like shadows with a deadline. The storm outside groaned louder; rain peppered the windows like warning fingers.

Don’s office was dark, lit only by the glow of the screensaver bouncing across the monitors.

Shedletsky dove onto the computer with theatrical flourish. “Fear not,” he chirped. “The great God Telamon shall purge our sins!”

Two Time shot him a murderous look but said nothing, their tail curling tensely behind them as they watched the door.

Chance dug through the filing cabinet, hands shaking. Every folder smelled like Don — bleach, salt, cheap coffee, and something sharp. He found his file, Two Time’s, and Shedletsky’s easily.

Curiosity gnawed at him.

Issac’s file sat wedged between two others.

Don’t.

He grabbed it anyway.

A single folded note was pinned to the front.

Chance froze.

Slowly, he opened it.

"Hi, Chance.
I assumed you’d try to steal this before attempting to escape… again. Hopefully this murderer is nicer than the last one you got attached to."

Chance’s stomach collapsed inward.

"Lady Luck’s calling, Chance.
She isn’t very happy with you."

Don’s signature looped across the bottom, along with a doodle of a rabbit and a phone number.

The paper trembled in Chance’s hands.

Two Time’s voice broke through the silence, barely a whisper. “Chance… something is coming.”

A bang echoed down the hallway.

Louder this time.

Closer.

Two Time whimpered, tail tucked tightly. Their grip on Chance’s wrist tightened painfully.

“We need to go,” Chance breathed. “Now.”

Shedletsky hit one last key on the computer and the screen went violently black.

“Done,” he declared proudly. “The system’s fried. No alarms. No cameras. No proof we exist. I am excellent.”

Chance grabbed the stack of stolen files and stuffed them under his arm. “Great — run.”

They moved.

Fast.

Through the hall, past the flickering vending machine that always ate money, through the back corridor that smelled like too much bleach and too many secrets. Chance tried not to look into the observation rooms. Tried not to think about Issac standing behind the glass weeks earlier.

Two Time clung to him like his shadow.

“You’re doing good,” Chance whispered, almost chanting it. “You’re doing good, Timey, almost there—”

Thunder cracked so loudly the windows rattled.

Shedletsky jumped. “The God's are angry — ”

“Oh my GOD, shut up!” Chance hissed.

Another bang. Footsteps this time.

“Move!” Chance shoved the emergency bar.

Rain slammed into them immediately, cold and heavy, soaking through their scrubs in seconds.

The night air smelled like freedom. And terror.

Two Time nearly collapsed. Chance caught them by the elbow.

“You okay?!”

Two Time blinked water from their eyes, pupils huge. “It is loud,” they whispered. “The sky is screaming.”

“It’s just a storm,” Chance said softly, tucking them closer. “Just weather. We’re okay.”

Shedletsky flapped his wings, trying to shield his head. “I hate rain. It offends me.”

Chance ignored him.

They scrambled across the back lot, through the tall grass, into the tree line. Mud sucked at their shoes. The wind howled. The storm swallowed the hospital behind them.

Chance didn’t look back.

They reached the road — a cracked strip of asphalt leading into the distant city lights.

Shedletsky pointed dramatically. “Roblox HQ is approximately… that way. I know because the wind whispers corporate secrets to me.”

Chance sighed. “Christ.”

Two Time pressed closer, shivering from cold or fear or grief — maybe all three. Their tail curled around Chance’s ankle.

“You said we’d run,” they murmured. “You said you’d tell me the part where we run.”

Chance squeezed their hand.

“This,” he said, voice soft and steady despite the storm raging around them, “is that part.”

Two Time’s eyes glowed with something fragile and holy.

“Together?” they whispered.

Chance nodded.

“Yeah. Together.”

Shedletsky took the lead, stomping proudly into the rain.

Chance and Two Time followed after him, three silhouettes swallowed by the storm as they made their way toward Roblox HQ — toward whatever the hell waited for them next.

Once they stepped into the tall, intimidating building, Shedletsky immediately bolted toward the receptionist desk. His feathers were still dripping from the rain, and every step left a miniature puddle on the pristine tiles. He leaned far over the counter— way too far — wings flapping aggressively to shake water off himself as he peered down at the exhausted-looking worker.

“I need to speak to Builderman,” he declared, like this was supposed to be the part where the trumpets played.

The receptionist blinked slowly. “Listen, kid, everyone needs to speak to Builderman. Do you have an appointment? Paperwork? Anything?”

Shedletsky growled under his breath, paling slightly. “Just… just go tell him Shedletsky needs to talk to him. I’m his friend.”

The woman gave him a long, skeptical stare — the kind that suggested she’d seen several thousand ‘friends of Builderman’ before noon — but eventually exhaled and pushed back from her chair.

“Fine. Wait here.”

She disappeared through a side door.

Shedletsky spun around instantly, giving Two Time and Chance the most triumphant thumbs-up imaginable. “He can get us a place to stay. New clothes, too. He’s an old friend of mine!”

Chance mouthed old friend? with an arched brow, but Two Time just nodded, expression tight and tired. They looked like they could collapse where they stood.

A few minutes passed, until the side door swung open again — this time revealing a tall man with greying hair, glasses pushed up onto his forehead, and stress written all over his face. Builderman stepped out in a hurry, scanning the lobby.

“Shedletsky?” he called.

Shedletsky immediately perked up. “Builderman! Heyyy buddy!”

Builderman’s expression cracked — part relief, part genuine disbelief. “You’re — oh, thank god. I thought you were still missing.” Then his gaze tracked to Chance and then to Two Time, lingering with real concern. “And you brought… guests.”

“They’re with me,” Shedletsky chirped proudly.

Builderman eyed the three of them — the soaked clothes, the shaking, the exhaustion — and motioned them urgently toward him.

“Come on. Come to my office. We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

 

The moment the door shut behind them, Builderman was already moving, grabbing towels, pushing a space heater closer, offering water bottles.

“You all look like you’ve been dragged through three disasters back-to-back,” he muttered, voice tight with worry. “Are any of you injured?”

Chance held a towel awkwardly. “Uh. Nothing that’ll kill us.”

Two Time didn’t speak. Builderman noticed.

Shedletsky flopped dramatically on a couch. “We need a place to stay. Like, temporarily. And some clothes. And maybe food? And maybe like… a new life, possibly.”

Builderman stared at him for a long, pained moment.

“…Right. Okay. I can handle part of that.”

He pulled out his phone, typing quickly. “There’s a hotel two blocks from HQ. I’ll book you a room under my name — no questions asked. Just get some rest. You all look…” He swallowed, eyes flickering again to Two Time. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Chance crossed his arms, suddenly uncomfortable with someone showing them real concern. “Heya, I can probably pay ya back when I get back in the casinos. I ain't meanin' to make you spend much."

“No, you won’t,” Builderman said firmly. “You’ll rest. That’s your job right now.”

He printed out a confirmation sheet and handed it to Shedletsky.

“One room with two beds and a pull-out. It’s the closest place I trust and the safest option.”

Shedletsky looked proud and relieved at once. “See? Told you he’d help.”

Builderman placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once — something quiet and fatherly.

“I’m helping because you asked,” he said softly. “But please… don’t make me regret not dragging all three of you straight to the infirmary.”

Two Time finally looked up, eyes dark, voice fragile. “Thank you.”

Builderman froze for half a beat — caught off guard — then nodded. “You’re welcome. And if anything else goes wrong, you call me. Immediately.”

He didn’t specify what he thought might go wrong.

He didn’t need to.

He could see it written all over them.

 

Builderman didn’t ask many questions on the walk to the hotel.

Chance kept waiting for it — the interrogation, the suspicion, the “Why are you three dripping wet, shaking, and smelling like hospital-grade disinfectant?” But Builderman simply held the umbrella over them all, even though it left his own shoulders soaked. His face was carved with worry, a little stern, a lot tired. The kind of tired you only see on someone who’s spent years cleaning up other people’s messes, and still chooses to do it again tomorrow.

Two Time hovered close to Chance, tail curled tight, eyes flicking to every car that drove by. Every sharp sound made their shoulders jump. Chance kept brushing their hand to reassure them he was still there.

Shedletsky walked ahead like he owned the street.

Once they reached the hotel — something high end, beige, covered in too many fake plants — Builderman slipped through the lobby like he’d done this a hundred times. He talked in that calm, firm voice that made people listen, and in under a minute the receptionist was nodding, typing, and passing him a keycard.

A suite. Not a room. It has been.. a remarkably long time since Chance had been inside a suite.

Builderman insisted.

They took the elevator up in silence. Chance’s heart thudded in his throat the whole time, expecting sirens, security, Don running out from behind a ficus. Nothing happened.

The suite door unlocked with a soft beep.

Inside was warm light, soft carpet, and the faint smell of industrial lemon cleaner. Two big beds. A couch. A kitchenette. A TV bolted to the wall. Shelves with nothing on them.

A place where no one knew them.

A place where no one was already dead.

Shedletsky burst in like a tornado. “DIBS ON THE BIG BED!”

Builderman pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re the same size.”

“YES BUT I CALLED IT.”

Two Time drifted in slower, eyes wide, taking in the unfamiliarity with equal parts awe and suspicion. Chance’s shoulders sagged, just a little — like the room gave him permission to breathe.

Builderman shut the door gently.

Only then did he speak.

“Tell me what happened.”

His voice wasn’t demanding. Just steady. Worried.

Shedletsky flopped sideways across the bed like a corpse. “Long story short, we staged an Ocean’s Eleven-style escape from an absolutely deranged hospital, and I was the mastermind.”

Chance dragged his hands down his face. “Dude. You were not. You almost got us caught like four different times.”

“BUT I DIDN’T,” Shedletsky said, kicking his feet up proudly.

Builderman turned to Chance. “Are you safe?”

Chance hesitated. “I… yeah. I think so now. I just need… a minute.”

Builderman nodded once, like he understood that better than he wanted to.

Then he looked at Two Time.

Two Time stiffened. Their tail tucked so sharply it hurt to look at.

“Are you safe?” Builderman asked them.

Two Time’s voice trembled. “Spawn sees all. Spawn knows all. But… we are… here.”
They touched their own chest, struggling. “We are breathing. For now.”

Builderman knelt slightly so he was on their level — not towering over them, not crowding them. Just present.

“You don’t have to explain anything tonight,” he said softly. “Just rest. All of you.”

Two Time stared at him like no one had said something gentle to them in years.

Chance felt something in his ribs ache.

 

Builderman hung up the wet umbrella, set out towels, and rummaged through hotel drawers for extra blankets like a dad traveling with three chaotic kids. Shedletsky began narrating loudly about which pillow “matched his aura.” Chance ignored him.

Two Time drifted toward the window, staring out at the city lights with a kind of hunted fascination.

Chance walked up beside them, slow, careful.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Two Time’s eyes reflected the neon outside. “We thought the storm would follow us inside.”

Chance swallowed. “It didn’t. You’re safe. With me, yeah?”

Two Time’s tail twitched, brushing his hand — not on purpose, just instinct seeking comfort.

“Azure always said that,” they murmured.

Chance’s breath hitched, but he didn’t correct them. Not tonight. Not after everything.

“…Guess he was right,” Chance whispered instead.

Two Time leaned the slightest bit into him, trembling like a skittish animal finally allowed to rest.

 

Builderman returned from the kitchenette with three tiny hotel water bottles and an entire armful of single-serve snacks.

“I don’t know what any of you eat, aside from Shedtetsky." he said, setting it all down on the small table. “So I brought everything.”

“Builderman, this is like six protein bars,” Chance said.

“You’ll eat them with gratitude.”

Chance almost laughed.

Shedletsky already had two gummy packs open.

Builderman crouched beside Chance again, lowering his voice. “Do you know if anyone saw you leave the hospital?”

Chance flinched. “Don might’ve.”

Builderman closed his eyes for a second. “Alright. I’ll handle it.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell them I predicted it,” Shedletsky said with a mouth full of gummy worms. “They always believe me.”

Builderman stared at him flatly. “They believe you because you lie with unwavering confidence.”

Shedletsky grinned. “Exactly.”

Two Time whispered, “Spawn sees through all false idols.”

“Good,” Builderman said, “because I’m not counting on Shedletsky for subtlety.”

Chance finally laughed for real at that — a short, sharp burst he couldn’t stop.

Builderman looked relieved to hear it.

 

After they’d all eaten something (Shedletsky stole most of it), Builderman insisted they take showers so they wouldn’t get sick. Shedletsky tried to hog the bathroom until Builderman physically removed him by one of his wings.

Chance helped Two Time find the hot water setting, talking them through every step until the steam filled the small room and their trembling slowed.

“Stay close,” Two Time whispered through the door.
“I’m right outside,” Chance promised.

Builderman waited with his arms crossed like a quiet guardian by the hallway. “They’re going to need more than one night,” he said softly.

“I know,” Chance murmured.

“What are you planning to do?”

Chance looked toward the bathroom door. The sound of running water. Soft breathing. A world of hurt that didn’t fit in a single person.

“…Help them get a better life,” he said. “I don’t care how long it takes.”

Builderman’s expression softened. “Then I’ll help you.”

Chance blinked hard. “Why?”

“Because someone helped me once.”

Chance didn’t ask more.

 

Two Time came out in one of the oversized hotel shirts Builderman found in the closet — their hair damp, tail twisted around itself, eyes glassy. They looked like a scared cat prophet who’d been forcibly enrolled in a spa day.

Chance helped brush their hair dry, gentle, patient. Every pass of the comb loosened something tense in their shoulders.

“You are kind to us,” Two Time whispered.

Chance felt his throat tighten. “You deserve kindness.”

Two Time closed their eyes like they didn’t know how to accept that.

 

Builderman arranged the blankets on the couch for himself.
“I’ll take first watch,” he said.

“Watch?” Chance blinked.

Builderman nodded. “In case anyone followed.”

Two Time tensed immediately.

Chance put a hand on theirs. “He means if anyone normal followed. Not… you know. Storm stuff.”

Two Time eased slightly.

Shedletsky was already face-down on his bed, snoring like a broken leaf blower.

Chance and Two Time took the other bed. Two Time curled close without thinking, head nudging Chance’s shoulder like they’d done it a hundred times before with someone else.

“Goodnight, Azure,” Two Time murmured faintly.

Chance closed his eyes, breath shaking.

“…Goodnight, Timey.”

If he lied to protect them — that was fine. He could do that for now.

Builderman dimmed the lights.

The storm outside quieted.

For the first time in what felt like a century, the room held something that wasn’t danger or grief or blood.

It held the fragile, trembling possibility of a new beginning.

A beginning none of them knew how to navigate — but one they were finally allowed to dream about.