Chapter Text
“Listen, if something happens—”
“It won’t. Okay? We’re getting out of here now.”
…
“I love you.”
“Me too.”
_____________________
A patch of purple flowers in the cool nighttime air, and in their midst, a small figure, tangled in the vines. The weight of the damp leaves pressed down on Two Time’s body as they stirred awake, eyes cracking open from one darkness to another. The world around them smelled of wet soil and nightshade flowers. The same scent that followed them literally to hell and back.
“Elliot..?” Through their cracked voice, they managed to call out. Nothing answered.
They weren’t sure if the dark, star-speckled sky above them was real, if the smell of earth beneath them was real. Only that the darkness pressed closer and closer, and their muscles ached as if they were being weighted down.
They dragged themself to the nearest tree, using all their strength to pull themself upright. Desperately clutching it for support, they tried to figure out where they were. The thorns pricked their palms, familiar yet sharper than they remembered. The recognition came slowly, creeping through their fuzzy memories like a shadow. The shape of the clearing, the twisted trunks that always loomed too close, the sickly smell of flowers that had once been their end. Their jaw tightened.
Sinking to their knees slowly, clawing at the dirt, plants, bark, anything, just to make sure it was all real. It was. It was all actually real. They were out. Somehow, impossibly, they had escaped. Just like they thought they would.
But Elliot wasn’t there with them.
At first, they thought that it might have been a mistake. That maybe Elliot was just a bit farther than expected. But as they called out his name, again and again, the woods showing no care to lead Two Time in the direction of their lover, they realized it was fruitless. The trees, the forest was indifferent. And he wasn’t there.
From afar, they could see the patch of nightshades they had awoken in. It was an unnatural place for them to be, completely isolated from any other flowers, growing in a patch really just big enough to fit Two Time if they were curled up as they were.
Two Time slipped a hand under their robe and shirt, running it across their waist until they reached a mark. Tracing the wide, raised scar across their stomach. Grey, unappealing, impossible to ignore. That scar, the one from the nightshade patch, the one they could never erase, could never scratch away. Some scars, they thought, were meant to stay forever.
Somewhere beyond the trees, the old path waited, leading back to the campgrounds they had been trained to return to, the rituals they had never fully understood. With trembling hands, Two Time began walking, the memories of Azure, Amarah, and the others pricking at them like thorns with each step they took.
_____________________
When Elliot stirred awake, the floor beneath him was cold and hard against his cheek, the faint smell of grease and pizza clinging to the air. For a moment, he didn’t move, blinking against the dim moonlight from the cracks between the blinds, trying to remember how he’d ended up here.
The tiles beneath his hands were smooth and familiar.
It was Builder Brother’s Pizzeria.
His heart raced as he ran a finger across the counter edge, felt the small dents in the wood. It hadn’t changed a bit. His stomach tightened. This was real. Not the twisted.. other place. Real. He was finally free.
Elliot fought to stop himself from crying. He looked up, just trying to make sure there was no round timer or anything weird. Nothing. It was hard for him to believe, yes, but he was actually out. Out of the woods, out of the cabins, out of Forsaken.
The last few times he’d seen the Pizzeria, it was that destroyed, red-skied map that the Spectre liked to put him in. But here, it was quiet, clean, peaceful. Just the hum of the refrigerator and appliances from the back room.
The silence was cut through by his voice, calling out.
“...Two Time?”
Nothing. He pushed himself upright, every muscle stiff from the floor, eyes scanning the empty tables, the chairs pushed neatly under the counters.
“Two Time…!” Nothing. He was alone.
They were somewhere else, or maybe, they were still in the realm. Maybe they never escaped at all. One thing was for sure though— they were separated.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, half-expecting it to be dead or unresponsive as it had been —but the screen lit instantly, glowing with service bars he hadn’t seen in forever. Maybe, he thought, a flutter in his heart, maybe he could call. Maybe he could find a direction, a way back home.
He tried to push the door open, but it didn’t budge. He realized that it must have been locked earlier when his dad or someone left that evening. Elliot wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of spending his first night back from hell sleeping in the pizzeria, though, so he wracked his brain, trying to remember where the spare key was.
Oh! Right! Cash register.
Elliot pulled out the drawer of the register, and sure enough, mixed in with the pennies not cleaned out from today’s shifts, the small spare key was there. He pocketed it, along with a couple of dollar bills for the bus. Using it to unlock the door, and stepping into the night, Elliot’s heart thrummed with excitement.
The robloxian city stretched before him, alive with light and sound—buses rumbling down the road, people walking on sidewalks, neon signs flickering over store windows. He hadn’t realized how much he’d taken it all for granted. And somewhere in that big world, Two Time had to be there.
But first, he needed to find his family. He tightened his grip on the phone, and took the first step forward, trusting the city itself to lead him home.
_____________________
They had been walking for hours now. The little path they were following was only slightly noticeable, leading them to wonder if they were walking to the campgrounds or deeper into the woods. Looking up, they noticed the faintest orange glow peeking out from the treetops.
Morning? Already?
Two Time was confused, worried, and feeling rather lost when someone stepped out of the shadows in front of them. It was another spawnist, as evidenced by their robe. Not high ranking, as evidenced by their lack of adornments. And absolutely bewildered, as evidenced by their expression upon making eye contact with Two Time.
Due to the other cultist’s frozen expression, Two Time studied their face. It was aged, pale, thinner than it most, sharp cheekbones beneath the light skin. Lines creased the corners of their mouth, but it was their eyes that Two Time couldn’t look away from. Their dark eyes were wide, not just in surprise, but something closer to awe. A name didn’t immediately connect to the face.
“You… Two Time…?” they asked. “We thought you.. died.”
Thought? They had died! They died, and.. And they were back.
“Ten… years,” the cultist continued, still staring. They gripped Two Time’s shoulders, shaking in what looked like excitement. “It’s been ten years since you were last seen— what, what happened?”
“Ten years? Oh, Spawn, I–”
To their horror, the other cultist took them by the arm, pulling them away. “It’s a miracle! Oh, father Amarah, he will be so delighted that you made it!”
Delighted. That word made something twist deep inside Two Time’s chest, but they didn’t know what.
“A-Amarah is still head priest?” They managed over heavy breaths. They had to run to keep pace at the speed they were being pulled at. “And wait, I’m so sorry, but who are you?”
“Ah- oh, wait, you won’t remember me. It’s been so long, hahah. I’m Cerulean.”
“But you know me..?” They asked, trying to see if they had been once-aquainted, or if Cerulean was one of those people who expected you to remember their full name after bumping into you once.
“Well, of course I do! Amarah nearly flipped over the whole campground and forest looking for you! He made all of us remember your face in case we’d.. Oh, it’s so weird. You look exactly like you did when you disappeared. Like, not a day older.”
Not helpful, it in fact raised a couple more questions.
Cerulean continued. “Is that a thing– like a side effect of being revived by the Spawn? You don’t age?”
“I wasn’t revived by the Spawn, though..?” they squeaked.
“Why else would you be here, though? I guess we’ll leave that for the priests to decide. But I think that you’re just, kind of, in denial or something.” They smiled when they said it. It didn’t feel comforting. They paused. “Oh, look. We’re here.”
Two Time’s stomach fluttered, nervous, unsure if they should feel relief or fear. But despite the tension, despite the impossibility, a small warmth settled inside them. Home. They were home.
Their eyes swept over the campgrounds—the cabins, the central meeting pit, the familiar shapes of the farm areas. Everything was slightly different, older, but intact. And somewhere deep beneath their nervous fidgeting, a smile threatened to break through. They had returned. Back to their god. Back to where they belonged.
Cerulean pulled Two Time’s hood over their face.
“Hide your face. We’re trying to get you to Amarah in one piece, right?”
Two Time walked faster now. They knew exactly where Amarah’s cabin was. The biggest one in the circle, the nightshade growing in his windowbox a cruel reminder of their pain.
Two Time’s steps slowed without them meaning to. They remembered praying there. Learning there. Bleeding there.
Cerulean didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe they did, and chose not to say anything.
They stopped at the base of the steps, leaving Two Time to scale them alone.
For the first time since waking up, Two Time hesitated. Their hands immediately went to pulling their robe higher on their shoulders, smoothing down their hair, wiping their tear-stained cheeks with the back of their hands. Cerulean had left. Understandable. Two Time slowly raised their hand to the door, before knocking. Three times. Their knuckles on the hard wood. The door opened almost immediately.
Amarah stood in the doorway like he had been waiting.
He was older.
Not worn down or softened by time. If anything, he looked colder. The lines on his face had deepened, carving something sinister into his expression. His robes were more ornate than Two Time remembered, layered with deep purples and blacks, sigils embroidered in silvery thread that caught the light.
But his eyes, they locked onto Two Time. A dark, cold glare. They landed on Two Time and didn’t move. For a long moment, nobody spoke. They nearly forgot how to breathe. They had imagined this moment so many times. In their prayers. In their dreams. Sometimes he was angry. Sometimes disappointed. Sometimes proud.
“...Two Time,” Amarah said quietly.
Their name sounded different in his voice. He didn’t say it out of wonder like the other had.
“F-Father—” The word came out before they could stop it.
They dropped to their knees, clutching his robe. Their hands pressed into the wooden stairs, head bowed to him before they even realized what they were doing.
“I returned,” they said, shaking. “I— I don’t know how, but I returned. I didn’t abandon the Spawn, I swear, I never meant to even—”
“Stand.” The command wasn’t loud, or even stern. But it was weighted. Two Time rose to their feet.
Then a hand, firm, warm, and steady, tilted their chin upward. They looked up at Amarah.
And then, something shifted in him. Not warmth. Not just yet. But close enough that Two Time’s chest ached.
“You came back,” he said softly. “That’s good.”
Two Time’s vision blurred. They hadn’t realized how badly they needed to hear that.
“I tried,” they whispered. “I tried to be worthy.”
It could have been Two Time’s imagination, but Amarah’s expression seemed to soften, his grip on their chin tightening ever so slightly.
“I know,” he said. He picked up their wrist, examining it in his hand before dropping it. “I can tell.”
Amarah finally let go of their chin, straightening to his full height.
“You’ve caused quite a stir here,” he said, tone returning to something calm and measured. “The camp has mourned you. Prayed for you.”
His gaze flicked over them again, slow and deliberate.
“And yet,” he murmured, “you return unchanged.”
Two Time didn’t say anything. They were afraid to move, the tension hanging between them like a spiderweb. Delicate.
“Come inside.”
And once again, without thinking, they entered.
_____________________
As Elliot walked to the bus stop, each step he took flooded his mind with forgotten memories of a normal life. His life, before he was taken from it. He remembered how he would catch the bus to work each morning, how he would bring home pizza for his friends, how he would let his sister do her homework in the corner of the store while he worked.
His sister. She was only seven the last time he saw her. Young and bright and sharp in a way he’d never seen since. She used to argue with him about everything — mundane things, his work. He didn’t know who she was now. He hadn’t seen her in years, and he was going to see her today. If all went well.
Elliot’s hand grazed the steel poles of the bus stop, cold nipping at his fingers and bare arms. He looked around him. Everyone else was wearing coats, scarves, even some people with gloves. A few people glanced at him longer than necessary, concern in their eyes. He had no coat, no gloves. Just a polo in winter. One woman even frowned like she was debating offering him her scarf before she pulled it tighter around herself. They didn’t know his heart was racing so hard he couldn’t even feel his fingers.
A bright pair of headlights filled his vision, and the bus pulled to a halt in front of the stop. Elliot waited for some of the people to pile into the bus before him, and he climbed on next, gripping the guardrails tight like he was going to lose them if he didn’t. He handed the driver the three dollars he had wordlessly, though he fought himself to not make a scene out of the menial action.
Looking out the window, for a moment, he bit his lip. Some part of him expected the city to break apart. Expected the sky to turn into that awful red color, expected the ground to become bloodstained and charred, expected the sound of a timer ticking somewhere behind him. But it didn’t. The sky stayed dark and endless, dotted with faint stars. The normalcy of it all made his chest ache. He never thought he’d miss seeing the traffic. Or bumping into strangers. But now, it was all he wanted to do. He wanted to live his life again.
A hand tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, but are you Elliot Builder?”
He froze, looking at the woman behind him.
“Y- Yes, ma’am, why..?”
“My son, he was just telling me a bit ago, how he went to get pizza from Builder Brother’s, and you weren’t there! You hadn’t been for a while! He was.. Oh, so disappointed with the customer service nowadays.”
For a second, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had been gone for years, and the complaint was about customer service.
Perfect PR-voice coming back to him, he leaned back and smiled. “Hah, um, tell him to come back soon?”
She looked at him once more before returning to something else. “Oh, I will, dear.”
Every block the bus passed felt more familiar than the last. More and more storefronts he half-recognized, street corners buried under his memory. It was stepping back into a life he’d abandoned midway. He desperately hoped that somewhere out there, Two Time had to be seeing this too. The real sky. The real world.
Taking his phone from his pocket, he went to his messages. The ones with his dad.
The last ones were from a couple weeks ago. Not gone through, obviously, but there. Timestamped, sent, everything perfect except for the pesky little red “not delivered” at the bottom. Cruel.
And now, Elliot could send all of them. All the messages he missed. All the happy birthdays and i-love-you-s he never got to say. As his fingers hovered over the phone screen, though, he couldn’t bring himself to type anything.
The bus lurched forwards as it stopped. His stop, he remembered. He abandoned the warm bus air for the chill and nipping cold of the night.
The common late-night noise faded into distant traffic and the occasional passing car on increasingly empty roads. Houses began to replace storefronts, the familiar shapes sitting under porch lights and dim windows. He stopped at the edge of the driveway.
The house looked smaller than he remembered. Still huge, but smaller. There was the same faded sidings. The same old tree in the front yard. The same porch light casting a weak yellow glow over the entry steps. Same window in the front, curtains drawn halfway like always.
For a second, he just stood there. This was it. Home. The place he’d replayed in his head over and over just to survive another round, another night, another reset, just to see again.
Breath shaky, Elliot walked to the doors of the house. His hand hovered over the doorbell before pressing it, hearing the sound reverberate through the building.
What if it’s not the same? What if they moved on? What if—
The front door creaked open. A figure stepped onto the porch, squinting into the dark like she’d heard something outside. Mia. His sister. She was taller than he remembered. She was also much older. But she was still the pale, silver-haired, black-bow wearing sister he knew. Or so he hoped.
Seeing him, her eyes widened. They just stared at each other. Ten years of absence sitting between them.
She could barely speak.
"Oh my god. Oh my god.”
The weight in the air was palpable. There they stood, still as stone, in the cold night air. Just the two of them, frozen in time.
Then she jumped forward like she was being held back before, throwing herself into him so hard he stumbled back a couple steps. Her arms wrapped around him, tight, nearly painful, like she was afraid he’d disappear. She probably was.
“Elliot—” Her voice faltered halfway through his name. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
His arms came up around her on instinct. She was real. Not a memory. She buried her face into his shoulder, and suddenly she was shaking. Not quiet crying— she’d been holding it in for years and it was all now spilling out at once.
“I thought you were dead,” she choked. “You were gone for so long, you— you just—” Her words dissolved into sobs.
Something inside Elliot finally opened. He tightened his grip on her without thinking, one hand pressing into the back of her striped hoodie. His throat burned, vision blurring, heart aching both physically and emotionally.
“I’m here,” he managed, voice rough and unsteady, almost laughing. “I’m here. I’m here.”
He didn’t know if he was trying to convince her or himself.