Chapter Text
Five months, seven days. That's how long it had been since they attacked Azure. Four months, thirty one days. That's how long it had been since they were taken in. First some kind of psychiatric ward after their attempt, now in some kind of group home.
Three months in this house.
They marked each day on the wall, one scratch with their dagger every time the clock hit midnight. They hardly slept, so they never missed a day. Sleeping wasn't something they were allowed to do, not in their minds eye.
Someone had to punish them for the betrayal they enacted. And that someone, would be themselves.
The dagger that had been stained with his blood, now stained with theirs. Sat on the floor of their room, dragging it across their skin. In neat, horizontal lines. From their wrist to their elbow. The crimson painting their pale skin.
Wiped away with a pristine tissue, and wrapped up with bandages. Like muscle memory, each movement feeling robotic and monotonous. A daily ritual, one they no longer cried to any longer. They had no place to feel bad for themselves, not anymore.
A light knocking on the door. Three seconds pass before it creaks open, Elliot popping his head in with that signature warm smile. The only thing that broke through to them during episodes sometimes. They wouldn't be shocked if he said he used to be a therapist.
"Hey! Are you alright? You're a tad bit late to dinner and I wanted to check up on you."
"...I'm okay, I'll join you guys in a little while."
"Got it! Before I go, would you mind if I asked you what the bandages are for?"
"Just uhm... I tripped and uh... scraped up my arm pretty bad."
"Oh dear... Would you like me to take a look at it after dinner?"
"...No."
"Okay! I'll be waiting for you at the table."
Once again, the door was shut. Leaving them alone in the dark. A quiet sigh, fabric shifting as they stood up from their bed. Across the room, donning their navy jacket in order to cover the bandages on their arm. Any further questions would be embarrassing.
The sound of the zipper, the jacket binding together. Speaking of which... They glance over to their desk, where their binder lies draped over their chair. Though they hate being around people with it off, they had already been binding most of the day.
With the fact that their break had only lasted fifteen or so minutes so far, it wouldn't be safe to continue. They could mess up their chances of being able to get the surgery. Would they ever even be able to...? They didn't even have a job...
Sighing, Two-Time fidgets with the sleeves of their jacket, tail lowered. Had Azure recovered yet? Would he even want to see them if he had gotten better-? Would he forgive them? Understand it? If he didn't love them still, would they ever be loved again?
Part of them didn't even believe that they deserved love. Believed that if they were to ever love again, they would only cause more pain - more harm. They'd just fuck it up all over again.
Towards their door, stepping into the light of the hallway. They must've looked like a mess, long messy hair, matted and filthy, clothes all disheveled, torn, tattered and stained. Taking care of themselves - or their possessions - felt useless these days.
If it got bad enough, Elliot would always end up doing their laundry. He was such a sweet guy, they couldn't deny that. Hoping that the bagginess of their jacket would conceal their chest, they began the path towards the food hall.
Only the tips of their fingertips showed past their sleeves. Old marks from tears still remained on the cloth. Probably from when they first got here, when they were filled with a water that they could never fully drain no matter how much left.
The chatter drew closer, their feet automatically carrying them. Bare against the cold tile floor. It bit down to their bones, the chill of the ivory blocks causing them to shiver. Maybe they should ask Elliot to get them some socks.
A polished wooden table, all of the others already seated and talking to each other. One empty seat on the very edge, left for them. A plate. Mashed potatoes, gravy, and a grilled chicken breast. A juice box sat beside it.
Beside them, Chance sat. Leaning back in his chair, bragging about his past winnings. He had somewhere else to live, a way to support himself, but he lived here because of how isolated he felt. Elliot as his only real friend after the incident with iTrapped.
Guest 1337 on Chance's other side, hunched over his food and only paying have attention. This place was the only one he could stay where they would actually run in and comfort him when he had a nightmare. Only place where one of the volunteers would sit and talk with him for hours.
Taph across from him, just looking at him before hesitantly doing the same. Struggling to continue eating after three bites. Avoiding looking at Two-Time. It's not that anything was wrong with them, just the fact that they spent more time staring at the food than she did.
Noob sat next to Taph, pushing around their food nervously. They always had that slight tremble to their hand, no matter how many different calming techniques Elliot would give them, no matter what medication they were on.
007n7 was directly across from Two-Time, head still hung low. Like usual. Yet at least he was eating. Even with the shame that lied on him. Shame for the way he used to terrorize Elliot, shame for how even after everything, Elliot was kind enough to bring him here.
Looking down at their plate, Two-Time hesitantly poked the chicken with the fork. The entire thing, held up to their mouth as they bite into it. Lightly seasoned, just how Elliot knew they liked it. Surely he had other residents, what was the point in paying attention to their preferences specifically?
It'd all end up the same in the end. If Azure forgave them, they could go back to living with him. If it was complicated, they would stay here until he made up his mind. If he hated them, they would finally take that dagger and drive it into their chest.
Elliot didn't know they had it, and for now he would't need to. It only mattered when they... Oh goodness, now that they think about it now, the thought of him finding them dead wasn't enjoyable. Nonono, that was a horrifying thought.
Imagining his yellow skin, stained red with their blood. Eyes teary, hands shaking as he tried to wake them up. They knew he cared about them, knew how upsetting it would be to see them die. He cared about everyone here for some reason, even 007n7.
Elliot, the man that ran this place. Two-Time didn't understand how he kept it operational, as far as they knew this place was non-profit. Or it wasn't? They weren't entirely sure. Though they had seen visitors, they never saw any financial stuff.
Nothing financial had ever been presented to them either. Were they gonna have to pay for this...? Oh goodness how would they even manage to do that? Debt. They'd just end up in debt if that was the case.
A gentle hand rested on their shoulder, immediately causing them to jump and flinch away. Clutching the spot where they were touched as if they had been burnt. For a moment, Elliot is silent, a look of worry overtaking his usual soft smile.
"...Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
Silence is given in response.
"...Uhm... I noticed you shivering, are you cold?"
More silence, just a blank stare. Shaking.
"...Two-Time?"
They felt their face burning. Not a blush, not embarrassment. A shaky breath left them, eyes tingling.
"Oh honey- I'm so sorry I- I really shouldn't have I-"
Elliot's worry turning into panic doesn't exactly snap them out of it, but it gives them the motivation to turn back to their plate and wipe off their face.
'It's fine.'
A quiet mutter, head lowered. He gave them a nod, turning his attention to the other people around the table. Making his rounds, giving each of them a checkup. It was nice he actually bothered with them, even when they did nothing but push him away.
Finishing the chicken, they push around the mashed potatoes. Mixing the gravy and the starch together absentmindedly. Sighing to themselves quietly as they blink away the remnants of tears. They thought that their crybaby days were over, but now they doubted it.
As they pushed their food around their plate, they head both Guest 1337 and Chance leaving the table. Noob and Taph follow shortly after, then 007n7. Alone at the table, until Elliot took a seat across from them. Soft smile, though his eyes carried concern.
Taking a bite of the potatoes, they lifted their eyes to him. Tilting their head to the side as they swallow. He offered his hand to them from across the table, wanting to give them a chance to initiate touch rather than having it initiated by him.
Slowly, their hand meets his. Their middle finger pressing against his pulse, his middle finger doing the same. Thumb folding over the back of their hand, gently rubbing. When they shiver, he stops. Patience, something they didn't get much of before Azure, and after the incident.
A childhood of 'Sit here' 'Don't touch that' 'Only speak when spoken to' and 'If you don't stop crying I'll give you a reason to, years spent in a school that didn't try to protect their students, didn't even listen to any concern that they shared.
And then nearly a month in that institution, forcefully medicated if they refused. Strict bedtimes, strict schedule, staff that cared very little about them. Told that 'others have been through worse'. As if it wasn't a thought they didn't constantly keep.
With their free hand, they shoveled more of the beige mush into their mouth. At least Elliot was a good cook. At least this place wasn't a suffocating cell like the one they grew up in, nor an icy prison like the one they were locked up in for a month or so.
Lukewarm. Comfy. A mattress that didn't have them aching in the morning, both a space heater and fans provided in the bedrooms. Soft blankets, art supplies that Elliot had bought them after they spoke about their love for drawing.
Their hand, rested on his as they continue eating. That soft smile of his still being visible in their peripheral vision.
"I'm proud of you."
He says, his voice calm and quiet. Never as firm or commanding as Guest 1337, but it carried a soothing tone that could coax you into listening anyways. A soothing tone that always melted them. Those were his favorite words when it came to talking to them.
It was the only thing that would convince them to even practice basic self care sometimes. Knowing that someone was proud of them. Knowing that they were cherished - Were they-? Was this just a procedure he had started in order to manipulate them?
Was that what it was? Just some kind of slow way to gain their trust? To get them to do anything he says as long as he praises them? The idea made them feel sick. Sick. Sick. SICK. Gritting their teeth, hands balling up into fists.
"What's the matter?"
No. They can't hear his voice not now not now NOT NOW!
Tearing their hand away and covering their ears.
"Two-Time?"
Hands trembling, gripping their hair. Their ears were covered, why wasn't he quieter? Nauseated, breathing heavily, tail wrapping around their leg. Dry heaves.
Once noticing that, Elliot is quick to act. Rushing off to get a bucket. Though he doesn't make it back in time, the majority of their vomit ends up caught in the red bucket. Red, like the color of his shirt. A color associated with aggression. How ironic.
They take the bucket from him, gripping the sides of it tightly. Elliot reaching out and then retracting his hands repeatedly. As if wanting to rub their back, to hold their hair back, but afraid he'll just upset them further. Afraid that this is his fault.
As the retching stops, they break down into quiet sobs. Sniffles. Lifting their head back up, their entire body trembling. A hand held out to them, holding a tissue. Elliot's other hand taking the bucket from them. They nod, giving permission for him to wipe their face.
The soft tissue wipes the spit and bile from their lips, afterwards being folded over so he can use the clean side to dab away at their tears. Tears that keep coming. No matter how much he tries to wipe it off, it just returns, like a stain.
They apologize, he reassures them. He apologizes, they can't form any more words. So deeply, they wish to be held, but their body refuses to allow them to. A primal fear engraved into them, a disbelief that they'd be graced by gentle touch.
Even with him tucking their hair behind their ear. Even with his hands offered towards them to help them up. Even with his arms outstretched for a hug.
Choked up, they shake their head. Like usual. Though they crave comfort, they wouldn't be able to handle it. It'd just end up like this, in a state that they would deem as pathetic. They had gone so long without tears, only to break down at his touch.
Two-Time turned, dragging themselves forwards. Elliot stood there silently, watching them return to the hallway. Tracing their finger along the groove of the wall, it helped them calm down just a little bit. Better than Elliot's other suggestions.
Back to their room. Shutting the door, pushing the back of a chair up against the door knob. There wasn't a lock on any of these doors, which they supposed they understood considering the mental state of most people in this place.
Jacket thrown to the floor, crawling into their bed. Despite how often Elliot washed the sheets, they always ended up smelling terrible. They just couldn't be bothered to get cleaned up. That required actually taking care of themselves.