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They were so unbearably lonely.
There was nothing they could do about it. There was nothing they could be.
They tried to leave that mindset so long ago so why does it still haunt them. They've repented and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and-
Nothing is ever enough. Nothing is all they will be.
If they could be better, they would, they've tried, for so long they've tried. They never get anywhere, even though they've been trapped in this hell for so long, died and brought back, it will never be enough.
The Spawn granted them a second life, they should be grateful, they are grateful. They have to thank the Spawn; they must show their appreciation to the Spawn somehow.
On the floor of this cabin, nothing seemed real, maybe it wasn't, maybe this was all just a sick joke their own brain was playing on them, another hallucination, another delusion.
They were alone, no one to witness them, no one to stop them at all.
They begrudgingly pushed themselves up, stumbling towards their bed, dark spots clouding their vision.
It all faded away when they sat down, any noise they could hear previously felt far away, anything they felt physically was muted to an extent that they didn't think possible for the longest time.
The only thing they could feel was the knife in their hand. The numbness in their chest was endlessly painful, they brain was thinking so much but all the thoughts were foggy, as if watched from a distance. They were in a void of their own making, and it was their job to climb right out.
Dragging the sharpened edge of the blade across their skin they relished in the pain. They waited until they could see blood beading on the cut before making another one, deeper this time, there was a bit more blood now.
This went on, the knife painfully sliding across their skin, the blood beading and eventually dripping from the cuts. It all hurt so much, they didn't like pain, but anything was better than the numbness.
As long as they could stave off the numbness, they'd be okay, as long as they could feel anything it was okay.
They ignored how they could feel something if they just talked to someone. They ignored how easy it would be to speak with someone instead of hurting themselves. How simple it would be to feel something- anything- if they only tried.
Try. That's what they always did, that's what they did every time. They tried to avoid hurting themselves but would fantasize about it anyways. They would try not to do it, but they would fail every time.
Mindlessly, they switched the hand they were using, bringing pain upon their dominant arm hurt more in the long run, but it was necessary now. They needed that pain.
Forcefully snapping back to reality, they noticed two things, hands holding theirs, having thrown their knife to the floor, and tears, pricking at their eyes.
As their mind cleared up, so did their vision, and they could process more things. Yellow hair, a red shirt, those were the most prominent things about the person holding their hands. Their brain couldn't catch up enough to listen to what this person was saying, or who they were.
The figure crouched down in front of them, talking about something, something they couldn't quite understand, something that didn't make sense. Their head hurt.
Eventually, some sounds started to come through, and they managed to make out who it was that was crouching down in front of them. Elliot, he was worried about them.
Why was he worried, they were fine.
He looked at them, panic in his eyes. The blood, there was too much blood, he'd already thrown the knife to the floor, but they need medical assistance which he couldn't provide at the moment, not without a med-kit, and he was only used to making sloppy wrappings during rounds.
It would have to do for now. He hurriedly stumbled to their bathroom, opening the cabinet under the sink and pulling out a med-kit, pausing, and then deciding to take the hand towel from the bathroom, then headed back to them.
The pizza box he'd brought to them for dinner was forgotten on the floor near the door.
Crouching down in front of them once more, he pressed the towel against the cuts on their left arm, they were deeper and thus took priority.
They seemed to snap back to reality as he pressed down against their wounds, clarity in their eyes for the first time since he found them. They had been looking at him for a while without actually looking at him.
They still seemed out of it, but anything is better than nothing.
"Two? Are you with me right now?" His brow furrowed in worry as he looked up at them.
They nodded, still not there, but whatever, they were responsive, that's what mattered.
"Okay, um, I'm going to clean these cuts and then bandage them, okay?" His voice shook, but it was obvious he wasn't asking for permission, just checking if they were vaguely aware of everything. Once again, they nodded.
The whole process was mundane, with Elliot occasionally narrating what he was doing so that he could keep Two Time responsive.
The previously light blue towel was now stained red, it turning almost pink as it sunk into the towel, that was the least of his worries.
Two Time was still sitting on the bed, still not fully Here, and there was blood on the hardwood floors.
He went to the bathroom, quickly grabbing some paper before setting some of it down over the small splatters of blood, and using the rest to dry off his hands, which had shockingly remained fairly clean all things considered.
He sat down next to them, their eyes following him, just as they had been all this time. He held one of their hands in both of his, looking at them, concern and worry visible on his face.
His other hand was on their cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin just beneath their eye, he watched as they leaned into the touch.
"Two, do you wanna talk about it now or later?" He asked. He watched as the dim light of the room illuminated their pale face, they looked so tired, he probably did too.
"Now is okay, though it would be preferable if we didn't discuss it at all." Their voice was hoarse, and their eyes were still red from the few tears they shed during the whole ordeal.
He nodded, moving closer to them and bringing their head to his chest, being mindful of the newly wrapped bandages, covering the cuts.
"What brought it on?" He looked at them, kissing their forehead.
"I felt empty."
Despite the fact that they didn't use many words, Elliot seemed to understand, he always did somehow. He nodded and held them closer; they didn't protest the contact.
"I brought pizza, can you try to eat some?"
Two Time knew that they could've gone to him, so why didn't they. Whatever, the main thing right now was getting them relatively stable.
They nodded, leaning into him for a second before drawing back, allowing him to stand up and go get the, now lukewarm, pizza box from the floor.
When he sat back down, they leaned onto his shoulder, watching as he took out a slice and handed it to them.
They both ate silently, enjoying each other’s company. They managed to eat one slice and another half of one before they just couldn't stomach it anymore. Elliot ate the other half of their abandoned slice, and another 2 slices before closing the box and setting it down on their bedside table.
The two of them laid down in Two Time's bed, Elliot holding them close as the two drifted off into a restful sleep for once.