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There were 30 seconds left in the round as Chance adjusted his hat. The cooldown for their gun was higher than the timer itself, so there’s no point in being in the way and risk adding more time. All they could do is watch uselessly through the window of the arcade as 1x chases Noob around in the kitchen.
They were holding on their own quite well actually, having looped around the same table for a minute. Chance watches as Noob narrowly dodges an entanglement, and drinks their slateskin potion at the last seconds, guaranteeing their victory.
Chance can’t help but feel worthless, in that moment. He just stood there as Noob risked their life, when he could’ve done something, anything. But all of the generators were done and he was low on health, so he couldn’t body block at all, only being a waste of resources and adding more time to everyone’s suffering.
So goddamn useless.
He didn’t realize he was still blankly staring at the chalkboard ahead of him until he heard the chatter move upstairs, in the entertainment area. Some of the survivors usually went there while waiting for whoever was in charge of dinner to finish making it, but they hadn’t been there quite lately.
He looks at the clipboard hung on the wall, something the others set up to have a sense of schedule. It looked like Shedletsky was in charge of making fried rice with chicken tonight. They ignore the growl of their stomach and swiftly go past some of the other survivors sitting in front of the fireplace, unnoticed.
The first thing they noticed when they left the main cabin was that it was snowing. The second thing they noticed was the fact that the Spectre had set up ambient music just for going outside.
They stood near the railings for a bit, closing their eyes. The music felt familiar in a way. It sounded like trying to remember a good childhood memory, just to be met with nothing. It sounded like fighting a losing battle, lamenting the ending before it even started. It sounded like how it sounds to be abandoned to die, to bleed out in the snow. It sounded like cold betrayal, betrayal from someone trusted, but only trusted because they had nobody else.
It sounded
like there wasn’t any hope anymore.
They opened their eyes, and found their hands were trembling. They grasp the railing in an attempt to quell the tremors, and sigh. He stares at the scene the Spectre had crafted for everyone, their breathing getting shaky. He doesn’t like the snow anymore.
They should probably get to their cabin.
Chance puts his shaking hands in his pockets, no use in concerning anyone, right? They shouldn’t burden anyone with their problems. Just why would he do that to others when he could hide it instead? Who cares if they had been forsaken in the snow, by the only person they’ve trusted because they felt free when He was with them, they felt cared for by Him, they felt understood by Him… That “friendship” was all in the past anyways. However long ago that was.
They could see their breath in the air, small amounts in quick intervals. Leaning against the main cabin’s wall, they try calming down, head getting fuzzy from not getting enough oxygen. Just don’t think about it. Don’t think about the snow. But he can feel his hands getting colder and his vision getting darker he tries to breathe but he can’t do anything because he’s worthless and can’t do anything right and he feels like he’s dying again alone in the snow with a Darkheart sticking out his chest and-
“Chance?”
‘OH SHIT’
“Hi.” They manage to get out, slipping back into his gambler persona. He puts his hands in his pants pockets because they wouldn’t stop shaking. They look to their right and see Elliot standing near the door. He looked concerned.
“What was- are you okay?” He asks, closing the door behind him. “I went outside because I was gonna tell everyone who wasn’t inside the main cabin that dinner is ready, but I found you having a panic attack,” he says. Damn it.
“Yeah yeah, I’m fine, I wasn’t having a panic attack, I was just…” they trail off. There’s really no good passable excuse for what they were doing.
“I don’t— If you say so… say, would you mind helping me tell Seven and Taph that dinners ready? I think they’re the last two that are missing from the cabin.” Elliot says. Chance really wanted to say no because of the snow, but nodded.
“Think 7n7 should be at the docks, I’ll go check.” Elliot nods and heads to Taph’s cabin, and Chance watches him leave. They look at the scenery again.
He never liked the snow.
—————
007n7 sits at the docks, poking at the ice with his hand. He heard from a random npc stuck in the ice that it just suddenly appeared while they were mid swim. The whole “christmasy” decor and weather must’ve happened after the last round, which at least gave him an idea of what the month currently was.
Maybe he can borrow Builderman’s hammer to break open the ice. He can see the fish in there, and tries to remember the name of the fish. He tried to go fishing with his son once, as “normal father-son bonding activities” if you ignore the whole ex-terrorist thing. He bought a book about fishing, so they wouldn’t accidentally fish up an endangered species. He knows this type of fish thrives in cold, icy water, usually lakes or rivers, it’s called a…
“Is that a trout?” Chance says, pointing at a fish under the ice. It swims around freely, unbothered by its new ceiling.
“Oh yeah, it is.” 007n7 replies. He continues trying to poke at the ice.
“You looked like you were thinking really hard about the fish.”
“I was having a bit of trouble remembering the name of it, so thank you.”
“Any time man. I’ll always be there to name fish.” Chance jokes, flipping the coin from his pocket. A nervous habit. “Anyways, Elliot said to tell you that dinner is ready.”
“Oh I’ll… I’ll eat later. Busy with the fish, haha.” He stopped poking at the ice now, his hand got cold.
007n7 would have thought that Chance had left when their coin stopped flipping, if it weren’t for the fact he can still hear them breathing. He turns his head towards them, and sees that they’re staring off into the distance as snow starts to fall. Chance, despite usually being hard to read, has a particular look in his expression, not his usual “poker face”.
“The snow looks pretty,” 007n7 murmurs, in an attempt to continue the flow of the conversation. But Chance continues staring, unresponsive. Usually they’d respond with any sort of witty quip, but this entire conversation had been weird. 007n7 stands up from where he was sitting when he hears a subtle, sharp breath from them as if they were crying earlier. “Chance, is everything alright?” He is hesitant, but cautiously touches his shoulder.
Chance jolts, snapped out of their disassociative daze. Wide eyed, he looks at his surroundings as if he forgot he got there in the first place. 007n7 quickly removes his hand from their shoulder.
“…would you like to talk about whatever happened just now?” 007n7 tries, he tries to break down one of the many walls Chance set up for themself. But they shake their head.
“I just gotta go back to my cabin. I’ll be fine. Seasonals or whatever.” He carelessly waves off, already leaving the docks. 007n7 tries to reach out his hand, but they had already left.
—————
When Chance reached their cabin, the first thing they did was lock the door. He hadn’t gone back to Elliot yet to tell him that 007n7 planned on eating at a later time, but this was his original plan before he got… “sidetracked”. They poked around the space between the wall and the bed until they found the knife. It wasn’t like those other big and clunky knives in the kitchen, this one that’s basically his now (because he’d rather die than return it after having used it on himself several times) was one of those thinner knives. They’ve always found knives a more professional tool to use rather than razors or boxcutters.
Rolling up their sleeve, they take a quick gaze at their arm, analyzing previous damage. He’s been mostly cutting in small groups at a time if he can manage, in an attempt to use the least amount of bandages possible. But sometimes they mess up and the result isn’t as controlled as they had hoped.
He gets his usual preparations set up, then he sits on the floor, knife in his left hand. He presses hard, dragging slowly. They’ve gotten used to the knife’s sharpness by now, having consistently making styros. He was on his sixth cut until he flinched from hearing knocking on his door.
“Chance, can we talk? It’s important.” Ah shoot, they completely forgot about Elliot. He sets the knife down, quickly getting an alcohol wipe.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit.” They say as they quickly pat down the area, then pinch their skin together so they can place a small piece of medical tape from where the cuts started and ended, so the wounds close as they heal. Something 007n7 taught him. The cuts were too close together to use butterfly bandages, so medical tape was the alternative. He didn’t want to keep Elliot waiting, so he quickly places 2 large bandaids next to each other, and shoves everything else under his bed. He places the knife back between the bed and the wall, checks for any remaining evidence, then rolls down his sleeve.
Readying himself and once again pulling the gambler persona, he opens the door.
“Hey there, didn’t mean to keep pizza boy waiting too long.” They say, inviting Elliot inside. They both head to the small area with a table and chairs that are in every cabin. “Is this about the 7n7 thing? Because he said that he was gonna eat dinner later but I forgot to tell you.”
“Chance.” A quick look in his eyes hints at concern, but they stay composed. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Uh oh.
‘Did 007n7 tell him anything?’
“No? Where is this coming from?” He lies, because he’s a liar and manipulative and disgusting and-
“I’ve been seeing you a lot lately. From my passive ability,” Elliot explains, pointing at his eyes. “I keep seeing your aura from the main cabin, and it always happens when the rounds are done for the day, and usually during dinner. And with the panic attack earlier and it happening again just now, I need to ask, are you okay, Chance?”
‘This is bad. Out of all the ways to be found out, this never crossed my mind.’ Chance thinks, his expression faltering a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the sewing kit.
“Man, I can’t believe you found out about my secret hobby of sewing,” he plays off, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been trying to sew clothes as a hobby when I’m bored, but you’ve probably been seeing me poking my fingers with the needle every time I work on em.” They could probably play off some of the outfits in the closets the Spectre had given everyone.
“Oh, really? Where did you get the fabric?” Elliot asks, skeptical about his response. An opening.
“So there’s a bunch of outfits that the evil guy keeping us here gave everyone, right? I used a seam ripper to recycle the material.” Wow he’s really dedicated to bullshitting into this lie. They’re a fucking fraud. Elliot stares into his own hands, before responding.
“Okay. I still don’t know if I should believe you, but can you at least show me your arms?” There it is. There is the game winning question. There’s no way out of this now. Chance lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“…do I have to?” They look away from him. They had confirmed it. Elliot looks at him with an uncertain look, slowly setting his hands onto Chance’s left sleeve. He looks in their eyes for approval.
Chance sighs, and rolls up his left sleeve himself. Faint white scars are displayed across their arm, making their skin rough and uneven. Elliot quietly traces some of the scars gently with his finger, and stops at a particularly larger scar. Elliot mumbles something.
“But these are old.”
“Yeah? So what?”
“Chance I’m not invalidating them, what I meant was I know you’re ambidextrous, and I’ve been seeing you hurt yourself more recently, even a few minutes ago. Can you show me your other arm?” Chance’s poker face was completely gone now, replaced with a solemn expression.
Sighing, they place their hand at the end of their sleeve, hesitating. Chance exhales, and tugs the sleeve up, revealing the damage done. Numerous scars, still in the process of healing, were everywhere. Elliot accidentally lets out a gasp, eyes darting across Chance’s arm, before he finally focuses on the two large bandages on their arm.
Chance tears their eyes away from Elliot’s face, not wanting to risk seeing disappointment in his eyes and spiral again. They can feel him tracing, inspecting the cuts and scars, and jolts every so often (resulting in quiet apologies from Elliot). He can feel the adhesive of the shoddily done “aftercare” being peeled off his skin, as well as the medical tape. A gentle hand turns his arm over, watching. Staring. Judging (they know he’s not). Elliot gets up, and looks at the medkit that was peeking out from under the bed. He grabs it, then hesitates.
“I’m not at all medically trained. Just a heads up.” Chance was about to mutter an “it’s fine” but winced as Elliot pressed an alcohol pad against the cuts. “Sorry. Trying to make sure it’s not infected.” The pizza boy says as he pats down Chance’s arm, cleaning up the blood. He looks around in the medkit, then pulls out the bandages. Chance watches as he wraps it around the gambler's arm.
The bandage was slightly tight. Inexperienced. It wasn't like how 007n7 did it, but it got the job done. Chance looks up to Elliot trying to look around the room, searching for something.
“What’re you doing?” They ask. Elliot freezes, then sighs.
“Trying to find what blade you used for… this. To confiscate it.” What. Chance rolls his sleeve down.
“And if I don’t wanna give it up? He asks, tightening his jaw into a poker face. Elliot frowns.
“Chance—“ he started, until a knock on the door was heard.
“Hey,” oh thank Lady Luck. It’s 007n7. “Chance, do you want me to bring you your dinner again?” The door clicks open, and 007n7 sees the scene of Chance next to an opened medkit and Elliot in the process of throwing away the used alcohol pads.
“Oh… hello, Elliot.” He says, eyes darting again to the medkit, then meets Chance’s eyes. Or rather sunglasses. Elliot waves back. 007n7 fidgets a little in his presence.
“He knows now.” Chance mutters. 007n7 freezes in panic, looking back at Elliot, while Elliot looks back at Chance.
“You mean he knew too and didn’t tell anyone?!” Elliot says a bit too loudly. 007n7 puts his hands up defensively.
“They didn’t want me to tell anyone so I didn’t. I just help them because he’s my friend.” He says. Chance rolls that word around in his head. “Friend”. They’ve always had trouble with that concept. Chance gets up from the table.
“Elliot, buddy, look. Please don’t tell anyone about this. Please.” Chance says, looking at him in the eyes for the first time. But Elliot was putting together other puzzle pieces in his head.
“Is this why you’re one of the few people showing up through my passive ability too?” Elliot says, looking at 007n7’s covered arms. He crosses them defensively. Chance did not put that together, actually. Another reason for why they’re so stupid and useless.
“Is that how you found out about Chance’s situation?” 007n7 says, dodging the question as he turns it onto Chance. Okay this was getting messy fast.
“OKAY, okay, settle down men. 7n7, you said something about dinner right? C’mon, let’s go.” Chance says, trying to salvage the situation. He pushes them out the door of the cabin, but stays back.
“I’m gonna go clean up the other stuff,” he gestures to the opened medkit and messy bed, “but I’ll be there in a bit. Kay bye have fun.” Chance shuts the door. He ignores the banging as he locks the door and sits against it. The banging stops, and he hears 007n7 say something, and he just sits there. Thinking.
Fuck. He hopes 007n7 manages to shut Elliot up about their recent afternoon hobby.