The quiet struggle
Elliot’s POV
The silence settled differently now. Less of a weight, more of a threadbare peace—thin, fragile, but holding.
Chance’s breathing was still shallow, but steadier. His fingers, weak as they were, still held onto Elliot’s hand. He wasn’t slipping away—not yet.
But Elliot wasn’t naive enough to think this was over.
A quiet rustling of movement behind him reminded him that they weren’t alone. The others were still there, still watching. Still waiting.
Shedletsky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
???? - “Alright. Someone say something, because I swear to god, this tension is killing me.”
C00lkidd glanced between them all, eyes darting to Chance’s pale face before flickering back down to the broken lollipop still clenched in his fingers. He shifted uncomfortably.
? - “He’s… awake,” he murmured, as if still trying to process it. “That’s good, right?”
- “It’s a start,” 007N7 said, adjusting his glasses. His voice lacked the usual sharp edge—less detached, more… thoughtful. “But he’s not really here yet.”
Two Time didn’t speak. He just studied Chance in silence, expression unreadable, but Elliot could feel the tension rolling off him.
Builderman stepped forward, quiet, but firm.
- “He needs rest. Real rest. Not this half-conscious limbo he’s stuck in.”
Elliot swallowed hard, his throat dry. He knew Builderman was right. They’d gotten Chance back from the brink, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still teetering on the edge.
Elliot could feel it—the way Chance’s grip on him remained weak, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was still holding onto something real.
He had almost let go.
And what scared Elliot the most was that part of him still might.
- “We can’t just leave him like this,” Elliot muttered, barely aware of how tightly he was gripping Chance’s hand.
???? - “No one’s saying we will,” Shedletsky shot back, arms crossed. “But what the hell are we supposed to do, Elliot? We can’t fight this for him.”
? - “He called for Guest,” C00lkidd pointed out quietly, like the thought had only just fully settled in his mind. “He thought Guest was here.”
A beat of silence.
C00lkidd wasn’t wrong. And that was the worst part.
Chance hadn’t called for them. Not for Elliot. Not for anyone still standing in this room.
He had called for a ghost.
Elliot felt that same sharp twist in his chest, the same hollow ache of knowing he wasn’t the person Chance wanted most.
But that didn’t matter.
Because Guest wasn’t here.
And Elliot was.
He sucked in a slow, steady breath. Then, carefully, he shifted his grip, adjusting so that his hand covered Chance’s completely.
- “I don’t care if he called for Guest,” Elliot said, voice low, but firm. “He’s here now. That’s all that matters.”
No one argued.
Because there wasn’t anything to argue with.
Slowly, the others began to settle. Shedletsky stepped back, grumbling something under his breath but not fighting it. 007N7 nodded slightly, as if accepting the truth of the situation but still trying to figure out what came next.
C00lkidd hesitated, then placed what was left of his broken lollipop on the coffee table. A quiet offering, maybe. Something small, something stupid, but something.
Builderman placed a steady hand on Elliot’s shoulder.
- “We’ll take turns keeping watch,” he said simply. “No one’s leaving him alone.”
Elliot nodded, exhaling.
- “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, okay.”
The tension in the room didn’t disappear. It wouldn’t, not for a long time.
But for now, there was no more silence.
Only the steady sound of Chance’s breathing.
And the quiet promise that they wouldn’t let him slip away again.
Time passed.
Days blurred together, then weeks.
Chance healed. Slowly. Physically, at least. The bruises faded, the wounds closed, and the exhaustion that once weighed down his every movement lessened. But it was all surface-level. A deception. His body mended, yet his mind… didn’t.
He was still there—breathing, existing, going through the motions. But that was it.
No jokes. No sharp remarks. No warmth in his eyes.
He barely spoke, only answering when spoken to. Ate only when someone put food in front of him. Slept only when exhaustion forced him to.
But worse than that? He didn’t care.
There was no anger. No fight. No grief burning at the edges.
Just… emptiness.
And it scared Elliot more than anything.
---
One Month Later
The cabin had never felt so quiet.
Chance sat by the window, barely moving, his chin resting against his hand. He wasn’t watching anything in particular—just staring. Eyes unfocused. Lost somewhere far away.
Elliot sat across from him, arms crossed, trying to bite back his frustration. Not at Chance, but at the fact that nothing was working.
Nothing they did seemed to reach him.
- "You should come outside."
No response.
- "Chance."
A slow blink.
- "What?" The word was flat, dull.
Elliot hesitated. He had nothing new to say, really. But he couldn't stand the sight of him wasting away like this.
- "Come outside with me. Fresh air might help."
- "I’m fine."
- "No, you’re not."
That earned a flicker of something—a shadow of irritation, but even that faded as quickly as it appeared. Chance just turned his gaze back toward the window.
- "It doesn’t matter."
Elliot clenched his jaw.
It wasn’t just apathy anymore. It was like Chance had already given up, like he had convinced himself that nothing mattered. That he didn’t matter.
And Elliot didn’t know how to fix that.
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.
- "Alright, that’s it." He stood up. "You don’t get to do this."
Chance’s gaze flickered toward him, faintly confused.
- "Do what?"
- "Sit here and rot."
That got a reaction. Chance tensed slightly, but his face remained unreadable.
- "I’m not—"
- "You are." Elliot’s voice was sharp, but not angry. Just… desperate. "You’re shutting down, Chance. And I get it. You lost him. It hurts. It’s gonna keep hurting. But you’re still here."
Chance flinched at that.
For a split second, something cracked through the numbness.
But then, just as quickly, he looked away.
- "Maybe I don’t want to be."
The words were soft. Almost too quiet to hear.
But Elliot heard them.
His stomach twisted.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of those words lingered, heavy, suffocating.
Elliot slowly sat back down. The anger faded, replaced by something else—something raw.
- "I know it feels like that." His voice was quieter now. "I know it’s easier to disappear into it. But you don’t have to do this alone."
Chance’s hands curled into weak fists against his lap.
- "I don’t know how to stop."
It was barely a whisper. A confession.
Elliot swallowed.
He didn’t have a perfect answer. He didn’t have some magical fix to make this all go away.
But he had this.
Carefully, he reached out, placing a hand over Chance’s.
- "Then let us help you."
For the first time in weeks, Chance didn’t pull away.