Archive of Our Own

They called this place a hospital, but to 1x, it felt more like a cage, one lined with sterile white walls and bathed in far too much light. A place where every step was monitored, where the freedom to choose where to go had been stripped away, and where the staff handled you like something fragile and dangerous at the same time. Something made of glass, sharp around the edges, and if you weren’t careful enough, you’d get cut. You’d bleed. Or worse, someone else would.

The others didn’t seem to see it that way. To them, this was some kind of sanctuary, a stepping stone toward recovery or maybe even normalcy. No one could really blame them for thinking like that, most of them had people. Family, friends, someone who still showed up during visiting hours and left behind flowers or cheap vending machine snacks. People who talked to them like they were still human. People who didn’t look at them with fear behind their eyes.

Take that damn kid Coolkid, for example. He was here because of some sort of diabetes, Type 1 or Type 2, 1x didn’t know and didn’t care, but it didn’t seem like it was ruining his life. He had two dads and two siblings who always showed up, bringing board games and dumb jokes and smiles that never left his face. Coolkid was one of those people who somehow never stopped smiling, like the sickness hadn’t managed to touch the part of him that mattered. The world hadn’t taken anything from him yet, not really.

1x, on the other hand? They had no one. No one waiting on the other side of those reinforced glass doors. No family, no friends, no visitors with hopeful eyes and soft words. Not a father and a devoted wife like John, who was dealing with a partially destroyed right arm and burns that crawled up the side of his face like melted wax. Not even someone like Azure, whose heart was quite literally missing pieces, yet still had someone who held his hand through the pain, who brought him books and brushed his hair and made sure the nurses treated him kindly.

There were so many people in this place, this cage dressed up as a haven, but 1x was the only one who seemed to walk through it alone. No footsteps matched theirs in the hallway. No voice called their name unless it was followed by orders or warnings. The staff didn’t look at them like a patient; they looked at them like a threat, something to keep behind locked doors. Something that should never have been let in. And maybe they were right.

There was a reason for all of it, of course. A reason they were kept in this cage while others got walks in the courtyard or social hours in the art room. 1x had hemophilia, something simple, something almost stupid in its fragility. A disorder that made every bruise a threat, every cut a gamble, every nosebleed a ticking clock. But that alone wouldn't make people treat them like a bomb waiting to go off. No, the real reason, the one no one wrote down, the one everyone whispered about instead, was their anger. Not the kind that simmered or sulked, but the kind that erupted. The kind that made them punch walls with knuckles they couldn't afford to split open. The kind that turned self-harm into something more like defiance, a silent war against the body that refused to bleed safely.

Their room was padded, literally. Walls coated in soft plastic, corners rounded, furniture plush and bolted down. They couldn’t step outside without a doctor glued to their side. Couldn’t hold a fork without someone watching. Couldn’t eat alone. That last part had worn them down the most. Over the years, they’d stopped showing up for meals. Hunger became a quieter punishment than pity, and the staff had long stopped trying to fight it. They wrote it down on their clipboards and moved on. Another skipped meal. Another routine note.

And right on schedule, came the knock. Not a nurse, not a guard, but that familiar, too cheerful voice muffled through the heavy door. Elliot. The hospital cook who insisted,day in and day out, that he deliver the food himself.

“1x? Food’s ready. You wanna eat…?”

They didn’t answer. They never did. It wasn’t just the brightness in Elliot’s voice that made them recoil, it was the way it always sounded like he was already halfway turned around, ready to sprint if they so much as breathed too loud. That fake cheeriness scraped at their ears like static, something meant for children or the dying. Maybe both. Their silence was enough of a reply. It always was.

Footsteps padded away a few seconds later, muffled by the thick insulation of their room. No food tray was left by the door, never was. One of the guards had declared it "too dangerous" for 1x to have access to anything sharp or hot without supervision. Elliot was just following orders, like the rest of them. Just another voice pretending not to be afraid.

They stared through the reinforced slit in their window, the closest thing they had to a view. The glass was always scratched, always smudged, protected by thick wire mesh embedded in layers of plastic. But today, something was different. The routine was breaking. Elliot hadn’t lingered like he usually did, hadn’t waited the usual few seconds for the silence that always answered him. He’d left fast. Too fast. That was the first sign. And then, when they looked down into the garden, the wide, neatly trimmed square of green they weren’t allowed to step foot in, they saw them. All of them. Every other patient gathered under the sun like a scene out of a school field trip. Laughter. Chatter. Movement. Everyone but them.

Something was happening. A meeting? A performance? A charade. At the center of it stood John’s father, Builderman himself, the name heavy in every corner of Robloxia, the man who acted like he ran more than just the hospital. Beside him, talking animatedly, smiling too wide, was someone 1x never wanted to see again. Telamon.

Telamon, the man who was supposed to be their father. The man who had signed papers and kissed them on the head before disappearing into silence for years. The man who’d left them in this cage and never once came back to look through that window. Never asked if they were still breathing. Now there he was, standing with the others like he belonged, like he had a reason to be smiling. Smiling. That same practiced, polished smile he used when cameras were on, when deals were being made, when people were watching. Smiling at the other patients, at Coolkid, at Azure, even at the orderlies, with a warmth 1x had spent their entire life hoping to see and never received.

Rage snapped through their body before they could stop it. Their fist collided with the wall beside the window, a sharp pop echoing through the padded plastic, muffled and hollow. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. Nothing in this room broke. Nothing let them feel.

They wanted to reach through that glass, through that perfect lawn, and wrap their hands around Telamon’s neck. Wanted to make him suffer, make him see. Make him feel just a fraction of the abandonment, the rot, the years they’d spent clawing through isolation with no answers and no affection. Their breathing grew ragged, but they didn’t move. Didn’t cry out. Just stared.

Their fists trembled, half-curled and still stinging from the impact, though the wall had absorbed the worst of it like always. Even pain wasn’t allowed to be real here. The room was a simulation of comfort, carefully designed to protect from harm, but never from the things that truly cut deepest. Rage had no soft padding. Abandonment wasn’t dulled by rounded edges. And staring at Telamon, standing freely in the garden surrounded by the very people who never had to beg for attention, made something inside 1x twist in ways even they didn’t have words for. The silence of their room thickened around them, but it wasn’t the usual emptiness they’d grown used to, it felt heavier now, crawling over their skin like heat, burning from the inside out. Their heart was pounding, not from fear, not from helplessness, but from a need. A desperate, choking need to do something. Anything. Break the script. Break the wall. Break him.

Their breath quickened as their eyes stayed locked on the scene below, watching Telamon’s easy gestures, his feigned charm, the way he tilted his head when Builderman spoke, as if they were old friends planning something noble. The way he placed a hand gently on Coolkid’s shoulder, ruffled Azure’s hair like a benevolent father-figure. Like he hadn’t once looked 1x in the eyes and said I’ll always be there, before disappearing behind sealed doors and official signatures. There had been no messages. No birthday cards. No explanations. Just the slow, creeping realization that they were not wanted. Not even by blood.

And now he was here. Laughing, smiling, touching the lives of the very people who had never been kept behind double-locked doors. That soft plastic smile was the final insult. Something sharp pressed against the inside of their throat, not quite a scream, not quite a sob, just pressure, unbearable and rising. They didn’t move, but every cell in their body screamed for action. Every wall in the room felt too close. Every breath felt too shallow.

They backed away from the window, but their eyes stayed fixed on it until the last possible second. The sound of their own heartbeat was louder than anything else, louder than the staff’s muffled voices down the hall, louder than the echo of Elliot’s retreating steps, louder even than their own thoughts. Because there were no thoughts anymore. Just that face. That garden. That smile. That impossible, unreachable love they’d chased like a ghost through every therapy session and sleepless night.

And now, finally, they understood something they had never wanted to believe before: Telamon had never been planning to return. This visit wasn’t for them. It never was. He had buried them here and moved on. This was not a reunion. This was a rewriting. He was replacing them in real time, with smiles and kindness handed to everyone but them.

1x turned from the window, hands curled at their sides, jaw tight, and made their way to the one part of the room they knew had been left unmonitored for years, a narrow seam in the floor near the bedframe, where the padding had come slightly loose. It was nothing. It was everything. They crouched down slowly, still shaking, and began to pull.

The padding peeled back with the soft, almost apologetic sound of aged adhesive surrendering. It wasn’t loud, not in the way a scream or a crash might be, but it might as well have been thunder inside 1x’s skull. They’d found the seam years ago, accidentally, in a fit of pacing, tracing every edge of the room like a caged animal counting bars. Where the floor met the bolted bedframe, a corner of the padded vinyl had started to lift. At the time, they hadn’t dared do more than touch it. The threat of punishment,or worse, more restrictions, had been enough to keep them still. But things were different now. The weight in their chest, the fire in their blood, the sight of Telamon laughing just meters away… It made punishment meaningless. What could they threaten them with? Loneliness? Hunger? Silence? They had already lived in that.

Their fingers slid under the flap and pulled. The padding came away with more effort than expected, revealing the metal base of the bed and, underneath that, a narrow gap in the floor. It wasn’t a vent. It wasn’t official. It was more like a mistake. A crevice created by poor construction, long forgotten by staff who thought nothing dangerous could ever happen in a room wrapped in safety. And yet, there it was. Barely wider than their shoulders, dark and cold, disappearing beneath the bed and into the unknown.

It was nothing short of suicide to even consider it. Hemophilia made a paper cut a hazard; crawling through rusted metal, broken tiles, exposed nails? That was a death sentence. But 1x didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when he was out there. Smiling. Pretending. Replacing them. If this tunnel led to pain, then so be it. Pain had always been their most honest companion. If it led to freedom, even better. But if it led to him? To Telamon? To a confrontation that had been boiling in their blood for years?

Then it was worth every gash, every drop of blood, every inch of broken ground they’d have to claw through.

They shifted their weight and slowly lowered themselves to the floor, every movement echoing in the silence of the room. The opening was tight. Too tight, really. The edges scraped against the fabric of their hospital gown, and the pressure on their ribs made breathing feel like swallowing glass. But they kept going. Inch by inch. Arm stretched forward, fingers grasping rough surfaces ahead. Dust filled their lungs, and something sharp bit into their elbow. They didn’t flinch. Pain was a reminder. A signal that they were still moving, still choosing.

Behind them, their room stood untouched. Blank. Padded. Still. The kind of place where people forgot you existed. Ahead, darkness swallowed the narrow passage. But it was their darkness now. Not Telamon’s. Not the hospital’s. Not the guards’. Theirs.

The tunnel was narrower than they expected, a suffocating press of concrete and dirt that scraped their skin and tugged at the fabric of their gown with every movement. Their breath echoed too loudly against the close walls, quick and uneven, bouncing back at them like a second heart. Dust clung to the inside of their mouth, and each inhale felt like dragging sand through their lungs. But they didn’t stop. Not when sharp flakes of insulation tore at their arms. Not when their knees began to sting and burn against the grit below. Not when their shoulder caught against something jagged and refused to move until they exhaled and forced themselves smaller. The tunnel wasn’t made for escape, it was likely never meant to be found at all. Just a flaw. A crack in the pristine cage they’d been buried in. But it was a way out. And for 1x, that was enough.

The air began to shift subtly as they pushed forward. It smelled different, less sterile, less recycled. There was moisture in it now, something raw and real. The kind of air that came with trees and soil, not filtered vents and industrial fans. Their heart thudded louder with each inch forward. Not from panic this time, but from something hungrier. Closer to purpose. The end of the tunnel came suddenly, not in a burst of light, but in a subtle curve upward where the ground gave way to a loose grate. 1x paused, letting the moment settle into their bones. Their lungs burned, their arms ached, but none of it touched the clarity sharpening behind their eyes.

With a final push, they reached the grate, old, corroded, covered in patches of moss. It wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even sealed. A foot of forgotten infrastructure, hidden beneath the hospital’s perfectly mowed garden and marble paths. They pressed both hands to the metal and pushed. It gave with a groan, the weight of time making it slow but not impossible. As the grate shifted open, their body surged upward, emerging into thick brush and tall grass that swallowed them like water.

They stood slowly, blinking against the sudden flood of natural light. The building loomed behind them, tall, sterile, and distant already. The clean lines of its white facade were broken only by the upper windows and security cameras they knew too well. From this angle, it didn’t look like a hospital. It looked like a monument to something artificial. A place where people were hidden, not healed.

Ahead stretched the forest, dark, wild, uncontained. Trees grew tall and close, their canopies blotting out most of the sunlight, leaving the underbrush in cool shadow. Birds cried from above. Insects stirred underfoot. The air here was alive, untouched by policy or procedure. It smelled like earth and rot and freedom.

They didn’t wait. Their bare feet hit the uneven ground without hesitation, each step sending new sparks of pain through the bruises already forming along their skin. They welcomed it. Every sting was proof. They were outside. They were real.

They had no delusion about this moment lasting forever. Every breath drawn in the forest was borrowed time, and 1x knew it down to the marrow. Their body was already growing heavier, the bruises from the tunnel blooming into deep aches beneath their skin. A strange warmth began to crawl over their arms, a sign that something had torn deeper than they realized. And still, they walked. Each step was calculated, deliberate, the way one might step through glass barefoot. They moved in silence, the weight of their own exhaustion pressing against them harder than the trees or the underbrush. But even so, something in their chest lifted with each footfall. They weren’t walking in circles. They weren’t being monitored. They weren’t being told no.

The sound of laughter cut through the quiet like a sudden breeze, light and discordant, too pure for a place so thick with shadow. 1x froze, heart jolting with instinct first, then curiosity. It had been years since they’d heard children laugh without it being filtered through glass or screens, if they ever had at all. Carefully, they turned toward the noise, stepping lightly between roots and thorns, following the echo deeper into the forest. The voices grew louder, unrestrained and chaotic, full of joy untouched by rules.

And then they saw them. Two children, identical in every detail, pale, small, and glowing faintly in the darker light of the woods. They spun in circles and shouted, their voices strange in rhythm but not unpleasant. “Oi! Oi!” they cried, weaving through the trees like they owned them, like they had never once been told to sit still or be quiet. When they spotted 1x, they didn’t freeze. They didn’t run. They didn’t scream. Instead, they rushed forward with wide grins, grabbing at 1x’s gown as if they’d just found an older sibling they hadn’t seen in years.

“Big bro! Big bro! Don’t be sad, don’t be sad!” they sang, voices twining over each other like vines. The sound made 1x’s chest tighten. Something old and raw pulled at them from within, something that hadn’t stirred in years. They blinked, stunned by the sheer wrongness of being greeted like this. No tension. No revulsion. No clipped instructions or guarded expressions. Just... joy. Like they were someone worth being happy over.

They lowered themselves to the ground slowly, knees trembling beneath them, not just from pain now, but from something far more delicate. Disbelief. The children circled them, still chanting their song, little hands brushing over the bruised fabric of their sleeves, careful and clumsy all at once. 1x watched them, fascinated. And then they saw what they had missed before. Their skin, green in places, translucent like glass lit from within. And their faces, eerily smooth where eyes should have been, instead cloaked in dark shadows like fog hovering over still water.

These children were not human. Not completely. But neither were they frightening.

1x tilted their head, watching them move, not daring to speak. They had no idea what they were. No idea where they came from or why they were here. But it didn’t matter. Not right now. They let themselves sit in the middle of it, surrounded by creatures that should’ve scared them, should’ve sent them running. Instead, they brought a warmth to the hollow parts of their chest, the kind that made pain quieter for a moment. The kind that made death feel a little further away.

“Big bro! Big bro! Trust us! Trust us!” the twins sang in their fractured melody, dancing circles around 1x as the edges of their world began to cave in. Their body gave out in pieces, first their legs, folding underneath like wet cloth, then their arms, trembling too violently to hold any weight. They collapsed onto the forest floor with a soft thud, bark and earth pressing against their cheek. They should’ve been afraid. Should’ve cried. Should’ve fought against the heaviness that began to pull them under. But the children kept singing, their voices pure, strange, and oddly comforting. Their laughter circled in the air above like a spell. And something inside 1x cracked, not the way it had in rage or pain, but in something warmer, deeper. A joy that had no reason to exist. A happiness that bloomed out of nowhere, ridiculous and reckless. It pushed out of them before they could stop it.

They laughed. Loudly. Harshly. Honestly. A raw, broken thing from deep in their belly, the kind of laughter that sounded almost like a sob. Their face split into a grin they’d never worn before. For one second, just one, 1x felt more than human. They felt alive. And then, like a curtain pulled tight, the light blinked out.

The world went black.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“. . .”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“oh”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

When they opened their eyes again, the light was too warm, too golden, nothing like the dim gray chill of the forest they'd collapsed in. At first, everything blurred together, edges melted, the walls around them smeared like watercolors until their vision slowly sharpened, forming clearer shapes. Dinosaurs. Crayon-colored, friendly-looking ones scattered across the wallpaper like a parade frozen in time. A bright orange stegosaurus stood by the corner, right where it always had been. They blinked. Once. Twice. Then froze. That was their room, the one from years ago, the one they’d barely remembered until now. Not the soft sterile cell of the hospital. Not the biting cold of the woods. But their childhood room, the one they'd lived in before doctors, before blood tests, before pain became their shadow.

They sat up too quickly, a bolt of panic running through their small frame. Their hands, tiny again, chubby and unmarked by scars or bandages, trembled in front of their face. Their body was light, weightless even, as if time had peeled back and dumped them into some cruel version of innocence. They gulped, heart hammering as their mind tried to find reason in this madness. Had they died out there in the forest? Was this some dying dream before their body gave out for good? A final, twisted mercy?

They kept staring at their hands as if they might hold the answer, searching them for signs, wounds, tremors, anything to anchor themselves to reality. They didn’t notice the door opening until the soft spill of hallway light warmed their face. Slowly, hesitantly, they lifted their gaze.

A familiar silhouette stepped into view, bathed in that glow that only existed in memories or dreams. Hair tied back like it always used to be. Sweater too big on her shoulders. And those eyes, bright and warm and impossibly kind, untouched by the disappointment and fear that had later crept into them. “1x?” the woman called softly, voice like wind chimes. “You’re still awake?”

It was her. Brighteyes. Their mother.

The name sat in their chest like a knife twisted backward, slow and awful. They didn’t answer, couldn’t. Just stared, wide-eyed, while the weight of years pressed against their chest like a stone. Brighteyes walked closer, gently kneeling at the edge of the bed, brushing a thumb across their forehead with such ease it made their lungs seize. This wasn’t a memory. This was before. Before sickness. Before abandonment. Before Telamon. She smiled down at them like nothing had gone wrong, like the world was still whole.

She spoke again, her voice soft and honey-smooth, the kind of sound that could quiet a storm just by existing. “Go back to sleep, okay? Goodnight, love.” The words settled in the room like a blanket being laid over their small frame, careful, intentional, full of a tenderness they hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes.

She stood slowly, brushing their hair back one last time with a mother’s instinct, fingers so gentle it felt like she was handling glass. 1x didn’t speak. Couldn’t. They just watched her, drinking in every detail like it might vanish the moment they blinked. Her silhouette in the doorway. The way the soft hallway light framed her like a memory painted in gold. And that smile, tired, yes, but real. 

The door creaked faintly as she pulled it close, slowly, carefully, the same way she must have done every night back then. No harsh clicks. No locks. Just a slow, quiet goodbye for the night. 1x’s eyes never left the door, still half-expecting it to open again, not with her return, but with something terrible. A doctor. A guard. A cold hand to tear them back to the place they'd fought to escape. But nothing came.

Just the hush of the room, the faint rustle of wind outside the window, and the slow thud of their small heart in their chest.

But even wrapped in that warmth, surrounded by the safety that only memory could provide, they knew they couldn’t stay. No matter how soft the blankets felt, no matter how gentle her voice had been, no matter how deeply some part of them longed to let this version of life swallow them whole. Something in their chest whispered louder than comfort. A truth curled deep in the base of their skull, heavy and urgent: this wasn’t real. Or if it was, it wasn’t forever. They didn’t know what kind of twisted loop they’d fallen into, dream, hallucination, second chance, but they weren’t going to let it become a trap. Not again. Not this time.

So they moved. Quiet, careful, legs still awkward in their smaller body but more deliberate now. They pushed the covers aside without a sound, standing barefoot on the old carpet that felt too familiar. Their fingers found the door handle. It was warm. Smooth. No metal restraints. No warning signs. The hallway was empty, coated in shadows broken only by the soft light of a lamp left on at the end. It should have felt safe,but safety, they had learned, was often the first step into the kind of horror you couldn’t escape from.

Outside, the air bit sharper than they expected. Colder. It wasn’t winter, but the chill in the wind carried something deeper, an echo of that same sterile cold from the hospital halls. They didn’t run, not yet. They simply walked, each footstep quiet on the sidewalk as if the world hadn’t yet noticed they were awake, that they were moving beyond the lines drawn for them. The streets stretched on, different than they remembered, but still shaped by the bones of their old neighborhood. Street signs worn at the edges. Trees leaning too far over cracked curbs. Houses asleep behind shuttered windows.

As they walked further, the shadows thickened. The lights were fewer here, flickering or dead altogether. And the silence, this wasn't the silence of peace, but the kind that held its breath, waiting. They shivered and pulled their arms close to their chest, their small body too thin to fight the growing cold. And just as they were debating turning onto the next street, the world flashed white.

The sudden blaze of brightness slammed into them like a wave, blinding and disorienting. They stopped mid-step, eyes squinting against the glare, their body frozen. All they could see was light, pouring into them, cutting the night apart. It painted their skin in a sickly glow, erasing every shadow and leaving them momentarily suspended, half real, half ghost. Their breath caught in their throat, and for a second, their mind returned to the hospital, to the floodlights in the examination room, to the way they were stared at like a specimen, not a person.

They blinked several times, trying to make sense of the silhouette moving toward them through the overwhelming brightness. The headlights still stung their eyes, a haze of white washing out every detail. They heard the person curse under their breath, footsteps pausing before the sound of hurried movement followed, likely back to the car. A moment later, the light vanished as the engine was cut and the headlights dimmed, finally allowing 1x’s vision to adjust. And when it did, their eyes widened.

Of all people, it was him. The brat’s father. If they remembered correctly, his name was 007n7. He looked the same, just slightly younger, tired eyes behind his glasses, calm and collected in a way that felt at odds with the surreal moment unfolding between them.

1x remained frozen, silent, as the man slowly walked toward them and knelt down to their level, peering into their face with concern. But this time, unlike the last life, 1x could see clearly. No guards. No filters. Just this man, a stranger to them now, yet familiar in ways that made their chest ache.

“Hey, kid” he said gently, his voice more grounded than they remembered. “What are you doing out so late? Where are your parents?”

They didn’t answer. What could they possibly say? That they were from a future where everything had gone wrong, where blood and silence defined their every day? That they’d escaped a cage only to find themselves in the body of a child with no idea how or why? Their silence seemed enough, though, because 007n7 sighed softly, rising to his feet and holding out a hand with a kind of quiet patience, as if this weren’t the first time he’d helped someone lost.

“Come on. You can stay the night. It’s cold out here.”

They hesitated. They shouldn’t follow a stranger, even one they technically knew from another life. But a small part of them wanted to know what the brat was like in this timeline. They didn’t even know if the kid had been born yet, or what kind of family he had during this point in time. So, after a few seconds, they reached out, small fingers curling into his palm, letting him lead them forward, into a future they hadn’t yet seen.

The car’s interior was warm, almost too warm. The heater had been running long enough to make the seats soft and inviting, the air a cocoon of stale dust and something faintly like coffee. 1x climbed in slowly, climbing into the passenger seat with cautious movements, eyes darting across the dashboard, the buttons, the faint glow of the GPS screen casting blue onto their hands. They pulled the seatbelt over themselves like they’d done it a hundred times before, but in this body, in this moment, it felt foreign. Like borrowing someone else’s memories.

007n7 didn’t say much at first. He just glanced over, adjusting the rearview mirror before pulling out onto the road, his fingers tapping once against the wheel as if to ground himself. The silence stretched between them, not tense, not awkward, but full of questions neither seemed ready to voice. Streetlights drifted past the windows in long golden streaks, cutting through the shadows of empty sidewalks and quiet storefronts.

1x leaned their forehead gently against the cold glass, watching the blur of passing homes. Each one looked the same. Each one could’ve been theirs. And none of them were.

“You don’t have to talk” 007n7 said suddenly, not unkindly. His voice was steady, the kind that didn’t demand a response. “Just figured you shouldn’t be out here alone. Too dangerous, especially this late.”

Dangerous. The word made 1x flinch a little. They had always been the danger in their old life. The one no one left alone. The one with padded rooms and locked drawers and eyes always watching them from behind glass. Now someone else was worried for them. The idea wrapped around their chest like a too-tight thread.

They didn’t speak. Just kept watching the roads, counting the flicker of lights as they passed, trying to distract themselves from the tight pull of old scars that didn’t exist on this smaller body. After a few minutes, curiosity crept into their chest like smoke. They wanted to ask, about the brat. About how old he was. About where they were headed. But their voice stayed trapped behind their teeth, like it always did when emotions grew too large to name.

007n7 turned the wheel gently, guiding them onto a quieter street. More houses now. Suburbs with toy-strewn yards and garden lights still glowing even after the families had gone to bed. “I’ve got a guest room you can use. I’ll make sure you’ve got something to eat too” he added after a pause, maybe thinking they were still scared.

The house wasn’t big, nothing like the sprawling mansions they imagined people like 007n7 might live in, but it felt... real. Lived in. The kind of place where someone actually existed, not just waited to be studied or medicated or observed. It was modest, tucked between two sleepy yards and bathed in the soft yellow glow of a porch light. When the car stopped, 1x hesitated a moment before slowly stepping out, the cold air biting at their legs. They followed quietly behind 007n7 as he approached the front door, keys already in hand.

They didn’t know what to expect once it opened. Maybe a quiet home, dim and still, the sort where the lights were out and everyone had gone to bed hours ago. Maybe just the soft hum of a television in the background. Something… calm.

But the door barely creaked open before chaos spilled out into the night.

A pillow flew across the room like a missile, hitting a couch with a fwump. Screaming echoed from somewhere deeper in the house, kids’ voices, loud and shrill, caught between argument and laughter. Before 1x could process it, another figure stepped into view, walking straight toward the door.Tall. Sharp posture. A strange, sleek mask obscured most of his face—split between stark white and deep violet, with a curling purple swirl across one cheek and jagged, theatrical features that made something in 1x’s chest tighten. It wasn’t fear exactly, but it was close. A cold edge of alertness. The man stopped at the threshold, eyes scanning 1x for a moment too long before shifting to 007n7.

They stood in silence for a beat. Then, almost like it was rehearsed:

“Noli, we have a guest tonight—”
“Seven, please stop picking strays off the street—”

They spoke at the same time, overlapping, both their tones calm in a way that somehow ignored the storm of noise behind them.

1x stayed just behind the doorframe, awkward and still, like a ghost that hadn’t decided whether to haunt the place yet. The light from the house felt too warm on their skin. They kept their eyes lowered, unsure if they were meant to walk in or stay out, unsure of what this moment even was.

But their gaze wandered past the two adults as the argument inside grew clearer. The screaming? It wasn’t danger. Just two kids, locked in a dramatic, ridiculous pillow battle. One had short, vibrant blue hair and was shouting something about "cheating," while the other, a girl with messy pink pigtails, threw another pillow with wild, gleeful abandon. Their laughter cut through the tension like sunlight.

Were those the brat’s siblings? 1x blinked slowly, trying to remember. They’d seen them only a handful of times in their last life, always from a distance, never long enough to know them. Never like this. Never with noise and mess and motion. They had always seemed so distant. Untouchable. But here, they were just kids.

Eventually, 007n7 gave a small tilt of his head, not forcing them but silently inviting them inside. 1x hesitated a moment longer before stepping over the threshold. The warmth hit them again, this time fuller, richer, like walking into a memory they’d never had. Their eyes flicked around the living room, taking in the mess of scattered cushions, tossed blankets, a half-finished board game on the floor, and the unmistakable signs of a house that wasn’t just lived in, but loved. It felt like the complete opposite of the sterile cage they had spent most of their previous life in.

As they stepped fully inside, the noise swelled again, this time with an immediate reaction to their presence.

“Who’s that?” the blue-haired boy blurted out, pausing mid-pillow swing. He had a small smear of something sticky on his cheek, jam maybe, and wide, curious eyes that darted between 007n7 and the stranger now standing awkwardly in the entrance.

007n7 sighed with amusement but didn’t bother to explain just yet, instead turning toward 1x. “These two are mine. The one with the war cry and terrible aim is Bluudud, he’s ten. The dramatic one with the loudest opinions in the house is Pretty Princess. She’s eight.”

The girl made a proud little “hmph” sound at her introduction, clearly unbothered by the sarcasm. Bluudud, meanwhile, had taken a slow step forward, his eyes still studying 1x with open curiosity. There was no fear in his gaze. No caution. Just that blunt, fearless inquisitiveness that came with being a child who hadn’t yet learned to hide it.

1x stood still, not sure what to do with themselves. Their hands fidgeted at their sides. They were used to people whispering about them from afar, adults eyeing them like a loaded weapon, doctors using words like unpredictable and monitor closely. They weren’t used to children approaching without flinching.

“Do you bite?” Bluudud asked suddenly, standing just a little too close. His head tilted slightly, expression completely serious.

1x blinked. “...No?”

“Okay. You can sit then” he said, grabbing a pillow and throwing it back onto the couch like he was offering them a throne. “But if you try anything, I have ninja training.”

“You do not” Pretty Princess said, immediately moving to stand beside her brother and clearly not willing to be left out of the interrogation. “Why are you here? Are you staying forever? You look weird. But not bad weird. Just like... ghost weird.”

1x didn’t know whether to laugh or run. They could barely keep up with the flood of words, the strange openness of it all. Still, they found themselves shuffling toward the couch as instructed, perching on the edge like they were afraid they might break it. The kids didn’t seem to notice the stiffness in their posture, or the tension in their hands. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t care.

Bluudud was already dragging out more pillows, forming what looked like a poorly structured fortress at the edge of the living room. Pretty Princess grabbed a fleece blanket patterned with cartoon cats and wrapped it around 1x's shoulders without asking, standing on tiptoe to make sure it settled properly. Her fingers were small and a little clumsy, but gentle. There was no hesitation in her touch. Just the quiet confidence of someone used to taking care of things.

“There” she said, stepping back with a satisfied nod, her pink pigtails bouncing. “Now you don’t look like you crawled out of a horror movie.”

“Still kinda do” Bluudud added, grinning, “but in a cool way.”

1x stared at them, stunned by the sheer normalcy. The chatter. The easy closeness. It was like they'd stepped into a dream that didn’t know they didn’t belong. They weren’t used to people getting this close without flinching. Weren’t used to someone trying to make them warm.

A small sound caught their attention from the hallway, a sleepy yawn, followed by the soft patter of tiny footsteps. A small boy with messy red hair and oversized pajamas wandered into view, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Coolkid, only four now, looked like he’d been pulled straight out of a storybook. His voice was groggy and high-pitched as he mumbled, “Why’s it loud…?”

Pretty Princess immediately lowered her voice. “Go back to bed, dummy. You’re a baby.”

Coolkid blinked sleepily, then looked up at 1x with half-lidded eyes. He didn’t speak, just walked over in that uneven way toddlers do and, without any warning, plopped down beside them and leaned his head against their arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

1x froze. Every part of them went still, like a wire pulled too tight. They stared down at the small, warm weight leaning against them, Coolkid already halfway back to sleep.

“Guess you’re good” Bluudud said with a shrug. “He never does that with strangers.”

“You’re also a stranger” Pretty Princess reminded him.

“Yeah but I live here—”

Their voices faded into background noise. 1x didn't even try to follow the conversation anymore. Their eyes dropped to the blanket wrapped around them, to the soft pillow under their hand, to the quiet rise and fall of the tiny kid breathing beside them. It was all too strange. Too safe. Too far from the sharp walls and cold floors they knew.

Their body felt heavy, finally allowed to relax in a way it never had. For the first time since waking in this strange, backward life, their mind stopped racing. The warmth of the house, the closeness of the children, the dim light from the kitchen, everything softened the edges of their thoughts. They barely noticed when their eyes began to slip shut.

The last thing they heard before drifting off was Pretty Princess mumbling, “Guess we got another brother now” and Bluudud replying, “Only if he doesn’t snore.”

They opened their eyes again, but everything burned—blurry shapes, piercing lights, a metallic taste on their tongue. Voices shouted around them, loud and frantic, but none of the words made sense. Everything spun. Everything hurt. The air was too heavy to breathe, their limbs too numb to move.

A hand gripped theirs, warm, desperate, but they couldn’t tell whose. Maybe Bluudud. Maybe Coolkid. Maybe no one at all.

Their chest rose once. Struggled. Fell.

And then, silence.

The last thought that flickered, soft and distant like a dying ember, was not fear or regret. Just a quiet whisper to the stars above.

Maybe in another universe.