In the quiet after
The fire crackled softly, filling the cabin with a dim, flickering glow, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating silence.
The others had settled into an uneasy stillness, each one lost in their own quiet grief.
But Chance… he sat rigid in the chair, staring at the floor, his hands still clenched tightly around the dog tag.
His knuckles were white, his breathing uneven.
He was trembling.
Nobody spoke. Nobody dared to.
Not until Two Time finally broke the silence.
- “Chance.” His voice was calm, steady, but laced with something gentle—something knowing. He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he looked at him. “You should get cleaned up.”
Chance didn’t react.
Two Time continued, undeterred.
- “You’re covered in blood.” His tone was quiet, not demanding, just… matter-of-fact. “It won’t help to sit in it.”
Chance swallowed thickly, but still, he didn’t move. The blood—Guest’s blood—felt like it had soaked into his skin, into his bones. Washing it off felt like letting go.
And he wasn’t ready for that.
Shedletsky, who had been watching in silence, finally spoke.
???? - “He’s right, Chance.” His voice was firmer. “You need to take care of yourself.”
Chance let out a shaky breath, his fingers twitching. He looked down at himself—at the dark, stiff stains that coated his suit, his hands, his arms. The deep crimson was crusted over his skin, dried in places, still wet in others. It reeked of iron.
It felt wrong.
Like he was desecrating Guest’s memory just by sitting here in his blood.
His throat tightened, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick.
Slowly, his legs moved beneath him, unsteady as he stood. He felt the others’ eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t bear to see the pity, the sorrow reflected back at him.
Without a word, he turned and made his way down the short hallway. The bathroom door creaked as he pushed it open, and the second it clicked shut behind him, his breath came out in a shuddering gasp.
The weight of it all crashed down on him at once.
His hands gripped the sink, his body shaking violently. His reflection in the cracked mirror was a ghost of himself—pale, hollow-eyed, streaked in red.
Guest’s blood.
A broken sob tore from his throat.
His hands trembled as he turned the faucet, twisting it hard until the pipes groaned and a stream of lukewarm water sputtered from the showerhead.
Steam curled around him as he stripped off his ruined clothes with shaking fingers, the blood-stained fabric peeling away from his skin like it was part of him.
The second he stepped under the water, the dam broke.
The blood ran in rivulets down his arms, swirling at his feet, washing away into nothing. His hands clutched at his own arms, nails digging into his skin as if he could hold himself together through sheer force.
But he couldn’t.
The sobs wracked through him, violent and unrelenting. His body shook with the force of them, his knees nearly giving out as he pressed his forehead against the cold, tiled wall.
- “I’m sorry,” he choked out, barely more than a whisper. “I’m so sorry…”
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, sobbing under the water, letting the grief consume him whole.
By the time the tears finally ran dry, the water had long since gone cold. His skin was raw from scrubbing, from trying to wash away the blood, the guilt, the pain.
But it was still there.
Lodged deep inside him.
It would never wash away.
---
When Chance finally emerged from the bathroom, the cabin was quiet. The others had gone to bed, or at least pretended to. The only sound was the faint crackling of the dying fire in the next room.
His steps were slow, exhausted, as he moved down the hall.
He didn’t go to his own room.
His feet carried him somewhere else.
Guest’s room.
The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, and for a long moment, he just stood there. The room smelled like him—faint hints of gunpowder, leather, and something undeniably him. It was a painful, haunting kind of comfort.
Chance stepped inside, his breath unsteady. His fingers brushed against the edge of the bed, the sheets still slightly rumpled, as if Guest had just been there.
Like he might walk through the door at any moment.
But he wouldn’t.
Chance’s chest tightened painfully as he pulled open the small dresser. His hands trembled as he grabbed the first thing he saw—one of Guest’s old shirts, soft and slightly worn.
He slipped it over his head, the fabric hanging loosely on his frame, but it smelled like him. It felt like him.
Like for just a moment, he wasn’t so far away.
Chance climbed into the bed, curling onto his side, clutching the dog tag to his chest, running his fingers over the smooth metal.. Tracing the text
Guest 1337
The pillow still smelled like him.
The ache in his chest was unbearable.
And for the first time in years—
He cried himself to sleep.
The night stretched on in suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional pop of dying embers in the hearth. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, a lonely sound, hollow and distant.
Chance lay curled beneath the blankets, his body curled inward, as if trying to make himself small—trying to keep the grief from swallowing him whole. The fabric of Guest’s shirt was soft against his skin, a fragile tether to something that felt just out of reach.
But sleep, when it came, was not kind.
The dreams were relentless.
Guest’s voice, distant and distorted. The flash of a muzzle flare. The coppery scent of blood thick in the air. The weight of a body in his arms, cooling far too quickly.
Chance gasped awake, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin despite the cold. His fingers clutched desperately at the dog tag in his fist, his breath coming in ragged, uneven pulls. The room was dark, the fire reduced to nothing but smoldering embers in the other room.
For a moment, disoriented and still caught in the haze of half-sleep, he almost thought he could hear footsteps—light, steady, approaching the door.
The knob turned.
Chance held his breath.
And then—
A soft knock.
Not Guest. He knew that. He knew that.
But still, something deep inside him twisted painfully at the realization.
He swallowed, forcing his voice past the tightness in his throat.
- “Yeah?”
The door creaked open just enough to reveal Two Time standing there, his silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but his voice was quiet, steady.
- “You okay?”
It was such a simple question. Such an impossible one to answer.
Chance exhaled slowly, his grip on the dog tag loosening just slightly. He considered lying, forcing out some half-hearted reassurance, but the words wouldn’t come. He was too tired. Too raw.
So he just shook his head.
Two Time hesitated, then stepped further inside, closing the door behind him.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, with a quiet sigh, Two Time sat down at the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees.
- “I figured,” he said, his tone light but not dismissive.
Chance let out a breath that was almost a laugh—hoarse, bitter, barely even there.
Silence settled between them again. Not heavy, not awkward—just there.
And then, after a long pause—
- “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Chance swallowed. He wasn’t sure he had the words.
But still, without thinking, he found himself shifting, sitting up just enough to lean slightly against the headboard. The weight in his chest didn’t lessen, but somehow, with Two Time there, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating.
- “I just…” He trailed off, staring down at his hands, at the dog tag still clutched in his fingers.
His throat felt tight.
- “I don’t know how to do this.”
Two Time didn’t press. He didn’t rush to fill the silence or offer meaningless reassurances. He just nodded, understanding in his expression.
- “You don’t have to figure it out all at once.” His voice was quiet, steady. “Just take it one breath at a time.”
Chance let out a slow, shaky breath.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t a solution.
But for now—
It was enough.
The silence lingered, thick and heavy between them. The fire in the other room had dwindled almost to nothing, leaving the cabin draped in shadows, with only the faintest sliver of moonlight slipping through the cracks in the window.
Chance’s mind was a haze, a whirlwind of memories and guilt, but for a brief moment, the quiet weight of Two Time’s presence was the only thing grounding him.
It was as if, just by being there, he was offering some sort of quiet reassurance—a space where Chance didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to carry the burden of words.
The moments passed slowly.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Chance spoke again, his voice rough but more steady than it had been before.
- “I don’t know what to do with all this… all this nothing now. He’s…” His voice cracked, and he quickly swallowed the lump in his throat. “Gone.”
Two Time shifted slightly, his gaze never leaving Chance, but his silence gave Chance the space to continue.
- “We were… we were supposed to—” Chance stopped himself, a deep sigh escaping his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair, his head hanging low. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”
- “No. It wasn’t.”
There was an understanding in Two Time’s voice, an unspoken recognition of the shared loss. But there was something else, too—something that wasn’t pity. Just... presence. Two Time didn’t need to say it, but Chance could feel it. He wasn’t alone in this.
Another long pause stretched between them, filled only with the soft sound of Chance’s uneven breathing.
- “I couldn’t save him,” Chance whispered, his words like a confession. His grip on the dog tag tightened again, as if the metal could somehow hold him together. “I didn’t get there in time. I—"
- “It wasn’t your fault.” Two Time’s voice was firm, like he’d been waiting to say that for a while. “You did what you could.”
Chance’s eyes closed, his thoughts clouded with guilt.
- “I should have known. I should have been there. I could have—”
- “Stop.” Two Time’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. It wasn’t harsh, but it was insistent, as though he knew Chance needed to hear this more than anything. “You’re not responsible for what happened. We can’t always control when things fall apart.”
The words sank in, but the ache didn’t lessen.
Chance pulled his knees closer to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around them. It felt like he was trying to hold his own soul together. He wished he could just... shut it all off. Stop the endless thoughts, the endless weight.
But no matter how many times he repeated the words, no matter how much he tried to believe them, the guilt still gnawed at him.
- “He wouldn’t want you to carry this burden, Chance.” Two Time said it with such certainty, and for a moment, it almost sounded like a command. “He’d want you to keep going.”
Chance shook his head slowly.
- “How? How can I keep going when he’s… gone?”
Two Time’s gaze softened, and he let out a breath.
- “One step at a time. It’s not about forgetting. It’s about living with it. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You just have to keep moving forward.”
There was a long silence after that, but this time it wasn’t filled with the same crushing heaviness. It was quieter, as if Chance’s heart was slowing, just a little bit, letting the weight settle into something more bearable.
Chance didn’t answer. But after a long moment, he let his gaze shift to Two Time—just a glance, not lingering, but it was enough to communicate something.
- “It’s gonna hurt for a while, Chance. That’s okay. Just don’t shut yourself off from it. Don’t let it swallow you whole.”
Chance nodded slowly, his fingers brushing over the dog tag one more time before he finally let it fall into his palm, the metal cool against his skin.
He closed his hand around it, but this time, there was no desperation in his grip.
No frantic need to hold on, to stop the pain from getting worse.
Just a quiet acceptance.
And maybe, for the first time in a while, he could breathe a little easier.
- “Get some rest. You’re not alone in this,” Two Time added quietly as he stood, making his way to the door. “We’re all here.”
Chance didn’t say anything in return. But he didn’t need to.
As Two Time closed the door behind him, Chance exhaled slowly, letting the darkness of the room cradle him in its quiet embrace.
He wasn’t sure where to go from here. But, maybe... that was okay.
For now, one step at a time.