Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night is quiet.. peaceful. Unsettling for the current moment. Especially with knowing a killer, like John Doe is on the loose. Ready to strike from a Wall or make sharp, harsh and glitchy spikes behind the towering, dark pine trees.. at any second, something, or someone could strike.

Poor guy, it's sad the Specter got to him. He couldve been with his wife, living a (hopefully) peaceful life.

The sounds of wires, soft but heard with quiet ears. A low hum from already complete generators to contrast from the quiet, eerie atmosphere of the night.

. .

And apparentally he has risen, baby girl (ref), because in the MIDDLE of our eerie, quiet, silence is this dumb gambler, flipping his loud ass coin.

They walk along the paths paved from past rounds, footsteps in which he follows. Eyes, behind their sunglasses carefully scanning the area for any danger so he can stride his ass into, gamble with the extra gunpowder in his very broken down, about-to-break flintlock. One with a beautiful polish, A brown wood grained texture, adorned with silver swirls that twinkle and shimmer in the moonlight.

As he walks, a confident smile, the common fake poker face they wear, his mind travels to static and blurred memories of his past life before they were forsaken.

Flashing casino light attracting people who had money, and some who didnt. The sounds of cheers from winners, bets and checks being placed, frustrated groans from people who lost their money. The smell of cheap bets and fancy martinis and cocktails. The feeling of his hands fingering through his cards, in a calculated, decisive manner. .

. . Thats what he remembers, because he practically lived in that casino, well, he owned it anyways.

He remembers the friends he used to have, like his old buddy, ITrapped or his parents like his mother and father, or even his cute little pet bunny, Spade— Jeez, it sucked being lonely for the gambler, huh? Such a life they had. Money: stacked, Life: as risk, but a fun risk, A Casino he owned, Bitches to get—

And then he hears something off in the distance: A scream, a loud scream. Jeez, if that person wasnt dying I dont know what ELSE couldve made that loud of a scream.

Running through the trees, hastily flipping his coin, praying for good rolls through gritted teeth and a fake smile of a poker face, a familiar face passes him.

Two time.. and on his second life too. A shocked expression, laced with nervous feeling painted on their face. They're running the opposite direction, a clear indicator that Chance should follow suit, but thats where the fun of life or death begins. The thin line of Life and Death, the line people often use as a tightrope.

Not Chance though, this dumbass uses the same line people fear over as a fucking jump rope because thats whats gamblings about! As they say, you win some and you lose some.

John Doe, recognizing a obstacle in his way, stops to stare at the dumb decision this odd.. Adventurine ass rip-off pulled. Chance stops in his tracks, does a cool flip near the trigger, almost pulling it, and shoots.. successfully, shockingly. Chance quickly recovers from his shock, though clearly not showing it, and sprints away, booking it like that one cop from "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs".

The bullet taps John Doe in the nose, an animalistic growl escapes his throat before gaining his posture again, and sprinting full speed after Chance's stupid stunt.

Weaving through Slow traps carefully placed earlier by John Doe earlier within the match, probably when they were day dreamin, thinking about how his Casino was holdin' up and bending over backwards to duck and dodge incoming spikes that make their way through the map.

Ticking can be heard, an sign he's free for the night. Free from the exhausting chase given by a very persistent killer. Clearly, SOMEBODY didnt like their party trick.

. . and then it goes black. ALL Black.

They open their eyes to an gathering of allies and other survivors on the couch; Two Time getting their wings bandaged by Guest 1337's very limited knowledge from his time in war with his buddies, while Elliot, politely sits on a one-seater across from a very damaged Shedletsky, probably from his close up stunning style and the risks it gives.

Chance, pocketing his flintlock and realigning their usual smug smirk, strides over to the crew to engage in small talk and ask where they were.

' ' We all died, Chance. ' '
Guest calmly replied,

' ' We probably all wouldnt of if you decided to not just sit around on your ass for half the round. Even Shedletsky did more, and half of his swings were atleast fifty studs away. ' '
He continued, his annoyed tone evident.

' ' Yeesh, sorry. Cant a guy like me get a little recluse and be cut a little slack? I was just havin' a hard time findin' yall, thats it. ' '
Chance retorted, shrugging off the discipline, with his arms lazily slung behind his head.

' ' Whatever, just make sure you're carrying your weight next time. Just please don't be lazy, or next time i'm taking your coin for a whole round. ' '
Guest said sternly, focusing on finishing the bandages on Two Time.

' ' Will do, big guy! m' headin' off, get me if yall need a good time, kay'? ' '
Chance teasingly said, before heading upstairs to their room.

. .

He walks in to his room, sluggishly setting his jacket onto the luxurious chair beside his vanity mirror and his fedora carefully hung on the wall. Soft, colorful lights, the luxurious card and pool themed furniture, along with the scent of alcohol (specifically bourbon) and cigarette smoke and half-filled glasses of alcohol remind him of their pride; of the days they spent in his Casino. A groan escaped Chance's lips as he plopped onto his bed, messily ruffling his hair.

He sits there for awhile, before unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt, revealing down to his torso. Rolling up his sleeves and buttoning them when they are cuffed slightly above their elbows, his tie loosening next in suit.
He kicks off his shoes and rips off his belt, leaving them in their signature glasses, a messily unbuttoned dress shirt, high-waisted dress pants with small dirt and grass stains and his socks.

As he finishes with all of his loosening of clothing or whatever, either trying to (and horribly) failing a strip tease for the readers or an awful, cringey thirst trap simply by existing comfortably, their exhaustion catches up to them.

Suddenly, their limbs feel heavy, like weights or boulders, and their eyelids following suit. An exasperated sigh of relief escaping from Chance's lips captures the essence of the moment.

Chance is about to tap out right there, eyelids getting heavy as he cannot hold them up for much longer.

Peace and silence swallows the room whole, his mind focusing on the smaller things right now to ground him in that moment; the low buzzing of led signs, the chatter of survivors downstairs, the delicately woven, exquisite blanket he had crafted by hand dancing on his fingertips, adding to the comfort of this very moment.

. . That is until he hears a knock outside his door, rutting him up with a jump from his bed, causing him to sit up.

Chapter Text

The door of Chance's room swings open to a very disheveled Chance.

His light gray hair ruined from its usual smooth and sleek appearance, strands sticking everywhere in a chaotic order. Crooked sunglasses adorn their face, showing off his dark eyes that have a faint glow under all the lights in his room. His posture, fun, teasing, alluring as he leans on his doorframe.

' ' Heeey kid. So you wanted the good time, huh? Or do I need to be payin' for more pizza cause' a' last round? ' '
Chance sneered, cockily lifting one eyebrow while looking thr pizza boy up and down.

' ' No, Chance. Money doesnt have a value anymore after being.. forsaken and all. ' '
Elliot replied, holding in a laugh from the stupid request given by the gambler.

' ' You do have a huuuuugee package that came with holes and your name on it. Nobody knows who couldve delivered it so what type of secret cult are you in? ' '
Elliot jabs, staring at Chance with "dont make the joke" vibes.

' ' Oh? A package, huh? I wonder what it could be.. ' '
Chance wondered, as his mind goes back to what he thought about last round, the whole reason he was seen as "lazy".

. .

His parents. It must be his parents right? ITrapped is long gone, so theres no way it couldve been him. Thats ruled out, due to death.. but then again, Mx. "Seven Lives off being a cat" (Two Time) has two lifes, so it is possible.. But why would a box have holes in it??? Theres no way their parents thought their child was so lonely— they dont even know hes here anyways! Rules them out

. . But maybe its the Specter. They could finally spare him, a note, an item, maybe even a limited in just some reaally shitty packaging. It could be anything, and thats the best part! Kinda like gambling, just with an item! You never know what you'll get until you take a chance! I guess he does plan to take a chance with chance, huh..

. .

' ' Chance?? Hello?? Earth to Chance??? ' '
Elliot said, while waving his hand in their face. The slightly agitated tone of the pizza boy implies that he was calling Chance for awhile.

' ' Ah! Sorry, just uhhh... put it on the ground.. and maybe your clothes too. ' '
Chance said, a teasing, but playful tone in that last part.

' ' . . Im walking out, Chance. You dont pay me nearly enough to deal with this shit. I give up. ' '
Elliot replied, setting down the massive box in his hands before walking out with the most disappointed sigh.

Now that Elliot is gone, Chance peers over the box, examining it. Its slightly shaking and theres holes, similar to the ones people cut out to give oxygen to animals. It smells like.. food. Pet food. Did someone give Chance a pet of some sort? Eh, might as well open it.

Chance's fingers run over the huge box. The cardbord soft, but sturdy. Finally, he exhales and opens the box to find..

' ' SPADE!! Oh my sweet baby boy!! ' '
Chance exclaims loudly, their excitement clear as day within his voice.

He scoops up the massive black-furred rabbit, about 3ft 5in and maybe.. 32.6lbs (14.8 kgs) and cradles him in their arms. The soft, thick fur on the rabbit reminding him of the warmth at home as he pets the rabbit softly, careful not to stir the massive bunny awake and then sets the rabbit on his bed.

He peeks over into the box, to see more items. Cute, colorful hoops with stripes, Bells, an absurd amount of food for the rabbit along with two silver bowls, one labeled "Water" and the other labeled "Food". A note carefully stuck onto the food.

' ' Hi sweetie! Hope you're doing okay and this package got to you. Some shady guy said he knew where you were, he looked like he belonged in the Mafia? Black coat, yellow hair, hidden eyes behind a fedora.. He was an odd person to interact with. Back at home, yer' pops is growin' old and we cant take care of sweet sweet Spade. Plus he's been throwin' his tantrums; thumpin for no reason and shredding some furniture. You usually could calm him down, plus I think he just missed you. We miss you so.. Get home soon, and safely! ' '
Chance read, the letter being signed by his parents.

If only he could tell them. If only they knew he got dragged to an alternate hell, to suffer relentless chasing and pain for an unknown amount of time.

Well, its not time to dwell on the past. He has a rabbit to take care of now. A sweet giant, a big, cute rabbit to love and remind him they arent alone.

. .

Suddenly, a knock could be heard from his door, disrupting his thoughts.

' ' Chance? Is everything okay? Whats going on in there? ' '
A stern voice asked, but it sounded more like a command to the gambler. It was clearly Guest but it still shocked him anyways.