Chapter Text
He hadn’t meant for it to happen. One moment, he was sprinting, lungs burning and legs screaming, the next, he was pinned beneath the killer, lips crushed in the kind of kiss that left him dizzy and disoriented. The best makeout session of his life, if he was being honest—not that it mattered, because it only led to 1x dragging him to the far corner of the map and… finishing the deed.
And now here he was, hunched over the toilet, stomach twisting like it was trying to turn inside out.
07 gagged again, the taste bitter and sour at the back of his throat. He hated this part most of all—the choking, the heaving, the awful sound of his own retching echoing back at him. Vomit had always been his thing, his fear, his line in the sand. Even as a kid, the thought of it was enough to make his skin crawl. He groaned and pressed his forehead against the toilet seat. Yeah, gross, but when your body’s betraying you, sanitary concerns don’t exactly make the list.
He should’ve known better. Should’ve stopped things before they got that far. Should’ve remembered that he still had all the parts that could get him into trouble. He’d promised himself he’d save up for the procedure, told himself there would be time. There wasn’t time. Not anymore.
A child? Here? With him?
It would never work. Villages raise children, that’s what they say—but what happens when the village hates your guts? When you can’t even take care of yourself, let alone another life? He couldn’t just waltz up to 1x’s cabin across the woods and ask for help. Hell, would 1x even care if he did? Was that round—those arms around him afterwards with that strange flicker of protection—real, or just part of the hunt?
07 let out a shaky sigh and dragged himself upright, knees weak. He hit the flush without looking, letting the water whisk the bile away like it was doing him a favor. His reflection in the mirror looked like hell—pale, eyes wide and dark, hair sticking up in damp strands. He barely recognized himself.
“Get it together,” he muttered, though his voice cracked.
His hand slid to his stomach almost without thinking, pressing there like he might already feel something shifting beneath the surface. He didn’t. Not yet. But the idea alone was enough to twist his insides more violently than any nausea.
Somewhere out in the fog, the crows shrieked, signaling another round. The game was starting over. But for 07, something had already changed, something he couldn’t reset with the press of a button.
Something permanent.
He slid his glasses into place and tugged the silly burger hat down snug onto his head. The same ridiculous one Coolkidd always used to laugh at. That was the point now, really. Maybe one day, during a round, it might spark something—just a flicker of recognition in his kid’s eyes. A memory of who he used to be to him, instead of just another body to cut down.
It was hard, unbearably hard, not being able to see his child on his own terms. Not when he wanted, not how he wanted. To be hunted, to be killed, by the very boy he’d raised from the day he appeared on his doorstep—yeah, that was a special kind of heartbreak.
07 checked himself once more in the mirror, straightened his jacket, then glanced at his watch. Two minutes until the next round.
He drifted toward the window, peering out through the fog toward the main cabin. Laughter floated faintly from inside, warm and easy, and it twisted in his gut. They were all in there, like always. Elliot, glowing in the spotlight, adored for his healing hands. Chance, all charm and steady aim, admired by everyone. Builderman, casually dropping turrets like it was second nature.
07’s reflection stared back at him in the glass, heavy with something darker than exhaustion.
Envy.
That was all he had left in him. Envy, sour and unrelenting. Because he was nothing compared to them. His so-called ability helped only himself. A selfish trick with no team value. Noob was selfish too, sure, but at least Noob could endure—could take punishment and still keep standing. 07 couldn’t. One wrong move and he was finished, erased in a heartbeat.
And the group never let him forget it. Ex-exploiter, always with a shadow trailing behind his name. Never fully trusted. Never fully accepted. Now he had a fresh mark against him.
He’d gone and done the unthinkable.
He’d given himself to the most ruthless killer the Spectre had ever gotten. And worse—he hadn’t walked away unscathed.
07’s hand pressed to his stomach before he could stop himself, shame flooding in at the same time as fear. He wasn’t just carrying a secret. He was carrying 1x’s child.
And in two minutes, he had to walk into another round pretending none of it existed.
The round felt slower than usual. Or maybe it wasn’t slow at all—maybe it was just 07, every part of him dragging like he was wading through thick mud. The nausea hadn’t eased up since that morning, and exhaustion gnawed at his bones. He decided to keep to himself, ducking away into one of the far corners of the map. Out of sight, out of mind. Not that anyone ever noticed, but just in case today was the day someone decided to care.
Glass Houses. Of course it had to be that one. Too open, too exposed, too many ways to be seen. The sunlight cut across the shimmering walls, reflecting his tired face back at him over and over. His legs felt like jelly—soft, unstable, and unwilling to hold him upright. If he could barely make it to the corner, there was no way he’d outrun John Doe. He’d just die stupidly, add a few seconds to the clock, and maybe make things worse for everyone.
So he gave in. He sank down into the grass, slow and shaky, resting his back against the wall. It was cool there, at least. His eyes slipped shut before he meant them to. He could hear the faint hum of a generator somewhere, the static pop of the fog, the occasional shout from across the map.
Noob’s voice broke through first. Then footsteps—two sets.
When 07 forced one eye open, Noob was crouched beside him, wide-eyed and worried. Elliot stood just behind, wiping sweat from his brow, the smell of ozone and machine oil still clinging to him.
“He’s breathing,” Noob said quickly, checking again to be sure. “But barely.”
Elliot sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Of course he is. Always finding new ways to slack off.” He knelt and gave 07’s cheek a light slap, enough to jolt him awake.
07 blinked blearily. “’M fine… go take care of the others.”
“Fine?” Elliot scoffed. “You could’ve at least done the gen that’s literally five feet away. You stay in your cabin all day, probably napping, and now you’re sleeping here too?”
Noob’s hands started waving behind Elliot, trying to silently tell him to stop, but he didn’t see.
“If you don’t want everyone calling you useless,” Elliot went on, “then do something useful for once.”
07’s body lurched forward before his brain caught up. He crawled a few feet, hands sinking into the damp grass, and retched violently. The sound was sharp, wet—his body expelling nothing but acid and misery.
Elliot grimaced, taking a half-step back. “Oh, for—fine.” He pulled a slice of pizza from his pocket, probably stolen from the cabin before the round started, and held it out toward him. “Here. Eat something.”
07 didn’t even look up, but somehow, he knew. He could feel the food being offered. He shook his head weakly.
“Take the damn pizza,” Elliot snapped, “or I won’t leave you alone.”
Reluctantly, 07 reached out and took it. The crust was cold, the cheese rubbery, but it was food. He tore off a small bite, chewing slowly, carefully. The nausea twisted again, punishing him for trying.
Noob hovered nearby, still crouched, eyes darting between them. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.
07 didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The taste of bile still lingered in his mouth, and the weight of everything—his body, his secret, his shame—felt heavier than ever.
The generator in the distance kicked on, humming to life. Only one left. The round wasn’t over yet.
But for 07, it might as well have been.
Within the last minute of the round, 07 was still slumped against the wall, one knee drawn up, regretting every bite of that pizza. It sat heavy in his stomach, churning in a way that made him wonder if he was going to be sick all over again. He swallowed hard and focused on breathing, slow and shallow.
Footsteps—fast and uneven—cut through the quiet.
Noob came tearing around the corner straight toward him, chest heaving, eyes wide. Not far behind, John Doe followed, his movements sluggish, stamina clearly spent. Noob had enough left in him to make it out. John knew it too. He slowed, then stopped altogether, watching as Noob fumbled out a Bloxy Cola and downed it in one frantic gulp. The distance between them widened. Chase lost.
John Doe’s attention shifted.
His gaze settled on 07, still sitting there like he hadn’t moved the entire round. Weak. Exposed. Easy.
07 tensed on instinct, exhaustion forgotten for a split second as his arms came up, curling protectively over his abdomen. It wasn’t a conscious decision. His body just knew.
John didn’t advance. He simply stood there, head tilted slightly, staring. The fog curled around his legs, the glass walls reflecting his still form back at him in fragments. Whatever was going through his head, he kept to himself.
Then the clock finished ticking.
The fog thickened. 07 was now sitting at a familiar table in the cabin.
The round was over as quickly as it started.
07 stayed where he was for a while, just… thinking. Or trying to. Everything from the round replayed itself in fragments—Noob running, John stopping, that look. Voices drifted around him as the others regrouped, laughing and talking like nothing had gone wrong at all. Like he hadn’t nearly fallen apart in the grass.
A rough hand landed on his shoulder.
07 flinched, shoulders jumping as he sucked in a sharp breath. He looked up to find Builderman looming over him, brows knit together in concern.
“Y’alright there?”
“Huh?”
Builderman tilted his head. “You were spacin’ out there just now.”
“Oh. I— yeah! I’m fine. It’s fine. Don’t… worry about me.” 07 pushed himself to his feet, doing his best to hunch in on himself, to look smaller, less noticeable. “Worry about the others.”
Builderman didn’t look convinced, but 07 didn’t stick around long enough for him to say anything else. He turned and hurried away, footsteps uneven, heart thudding too loud in his ears.
He made it back to his cabin and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft, final click.
The quiet hit him immediately.
07 leaned his back against the door, forehead dropping forward until it rested against the wood. His breathing came out shaky, uneven, like his lungs couldn’t decide what pace they wanted to keep. The cabin smelled faintly of dust and old fabric, familiar in a way that almost hurt. Safe. As safe as anything ever got here.
His legs finally gave out. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, knees pulled close to his chest. The room spun just a little, enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut. He swallowed hard, pressing a hand over his mouth as another wave of nausea rolled through him. The pizza was a mistake. Everything felt like a mistake.
John stopping.
John looking at him.
The way his own body had reacted before his mind ever caught up.
07’s hand drifted down again, resting over his stomach. He froze when he realized what he was doing, fingers curling slightly like he could shield something that wasn’t even real yet. Or maybe it was. The thought made his chest tighten painfully.
“…You won’t survive here,” he murmured to no one. His voice sounded too loud in the empty cabin.
He pushed himself up and staggered over to the bed, sitting on the edge. The silly burger hat came off first, set carefully on the nightstand. His glasses followed, placed beside it. Without them, everything blurred, edges soft and unfocused—almost easier to deal with.
If John had noticed… how long until someone else did?
Elliot’s irritation replayed in his head, sharper now. Builderman’s hand on his shoulder. Noob’s frantic concern. He’d brushed them all off, deflected, minimized. He was good at that. He’d had years of practice pretending he was fine when he wasn’t.
But his body was betraying him. Slowly. Relentlessly.
07 lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the fog outside the cabin rolled past the window. Another round would start soon. Another chase. Another reset. The world would keep spinning whether he was ready or not.
He turned onto his side, curling inward on himself.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath.
And for the first time since it all happened, the thought settled in heavy and terrifying and real—
he couldn’t keep running forever.
The knock startled him out of the shallow nap he’d only just begun to sink into.
07 jolted, heart lurching, then groaned as he pushed himself upright. The room tilted violently. His vision went black around the edges and he had to pause, one hand braced against the bed, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Standing up too fast—rookie mistake. He dragged his feet to the door and cracked it open just enough to peer through.
Guest stood on the other side with his arms crossed. He’d ditched his usual gear for something more casual—a black tank top and plain cargo pants. The moonlight caught in his blue hair, making it glow faintly against the dark fog behind him.
“Hey, 07,” Guest said, voice low. “I was just checking on you.”
07 frowned slightly. “...why?”
“Noob mentioned you were sick during the round.”
“I’m fine, Guest,” he replied quickly. Too quickly. “It was just a little nausea. I’m gonna sleep it off.”
Guest’s eyes lingered on him, sharp and assessing. “You sure? There’s meds in the main cabin. For everyone.”
“The others need that more than I do.”
“They’re communal.”
07 shrugged weakly. “Still. They shouldn’t be wasted on me of all people.”
Guest sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Just one ibuprofen?”
The offer tempted him more than he liked to admit. His head still throbbed, stomach still unsettled. It would be easy to say yes—easier if Guest went and got it himself. But the thought stopped him cold.
Medication. Pills.
His hand twitched at his side. He didn’t want to think about why he hesitated, didn’t want to acknowledge the quiet calculation happening in his head. If there really was something growing inside him—if this wasn’t just paranoia or stress—could he risk it? He didn’t even want a baby. Not here. Not like this. But if it did happen… the idea of hurting it, even accidentally, made his chest tighten.
07 swallowed. “I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Really.”
Guest studied him for another long moment. “You don’t look okay.”
“That’s normal,” 07 replied, forcing a thin smile. “For me.”
Guest didn’t smile back. But after a beat, he nodded. “Alright. But if it gets worse, you come get me. Or Noob. Or literally anyone.”
“Yeah,” 07 murmured. “I will.”
It was a lie, and they both probably knew it.
Guest stepped back into the fog, boots crunching softly against the ground. 07 closed the door and rested his forehead against it, exhaling shakily once the latch clicked into place.
He slid back down onto the bed, one hand drifting to his stomach again before he could stop himself. This time, he didn’t pull it away.
“I hope I am making the right decision,” he whispered into the quiet cabin.
The fog outside pressed closer to the window, and somewhere in the distance, another round timer was being set.
Yorick’s Resting Place felt colder than usual, the kind of cold that seeped straight through fabric and into bone. Fog swallowed the graveyard whole, curling around crooked headstones and dead trees like it had something to hide.
07 spawned in alone. Of course he did.
The others were nowhere near—he could tell by the distant hum of activity coming from the mansion across the poison river. Too far to matter. Too far to help. What he didn’t expect was him.
1x spawned right beside him.
07 stiffened on instinct, fear flaring first—but it didn’t stick. Instead, something strange followed. Relief. Quiet, unwanted relief. After everything that had happened, after that round, after the way 1x had looked at him… surely there had to be something there. Some shred of empathy. Some recognition. Right?
His head throbbed dully, a lingering ache that refused to go away. His body felt heavy, useless. Running wasn’t happening. Not like this. So he didn’t even try. He moved to the outer wall of the graveyard and slid down, back pressed against cold stone, knees bent loosely in front of him.
1x’s unstable eye flickered to life, scanning the area. The red glow passed over the graves, the fog—and lingered. 07 didn’t need to see it to know. He was already found.
Chains clinked softly as footsteps approached. Unhurried. Certain.
“Why aren’t you running?”
07 didn’t bother looking up. “I’m not feeling too good.”
“When do you ever?”
“Har. Har.” He exhaled through his nose. “I’m surprised you can be funny.”
1x stepped closer and crouched in front of him, the fog parting just enough to reveal his face. Up close, there was no denying it—07 looked like hell. Pale, eyes dull, posture slack. His stomach churned again, nausea rolling unpleasantly through him.
“You look awful,” 1x said flatly. “Who made you sick?”
07 huffed a weak laugh. “You did. And this thing too, I guess.”
He lifted a hand and poked at his lower stomach, right where it ached most. Where his womb sat heavy with implication.
1x stilled. “What did I do.”
07 finally looked up at him then. Really looked.
“Maybe put a child in me?”
Silence dropped hard between them.
“…What.”
07 crossed his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow as he watched confusion ripple across the killer’s face. Fear was still there, buried under layers of exhaustion and dread—but for once, he didn’t shrink away.
“Well,” he muttered, voice dry, “that’s one reaction.”
“I didn’t know you could get pregnant here.”
“Well,” 07 said quietly, tired more than anything else, “I did. So… I don’t really have another choice except going through with it.”
The clock ticked on, slow and deliberate. His watch hummed each time a generator finished somewhere across the map, a reminder that the round was still moving even though he wasn’t. The fog curled lazily around the gravestones. Anyone watching would’ve lost their mind—the killer, the one everyone feared, crouched in a graveyard just talking to a survivor.
“CK is going to have some competition with my spawn,” 1x said, almost offhand.
07 frowned faintly. “CK? And… your spawn?”
“Coolkidd,” 1x clarified. “And yes. My spawn. Or my child.”
07 let out a breath, rubbing his arm. “Since when are you on nickname terms with my son?”
“I have interacted with him,” 1x replied. “I have acted as his parental figure as you were not present.”
07 didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy. His head still ached, his stomach still rolled uneasily, and the weight of everything pressed down on him harder than the cold ever could.
“…I didn’t leave on purpose,” he said instead, voice low.
“I know,” 1x said simply.
Another generator finished. The hum vibrated against his wrist.
07 shifted where he sat, curling slightly inward. “This isn’t something I planned,” he added, almost like an apology. “I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.”
1x’s gaze flicked briefly to his stomach.
“You are still here,” he said. “That is not nothing.”
1x shrugged the torn cape from his shoulders and draped it around 07 without a word. The fabric was heavy, warm, still carrying a faint metallic scent. 07 stiffened at first, then relaxed, fingers curling into the edge of it. He didn’t argue. He was too cold, too tired to pretend he didn’t need it.
“A while ago I learned…” 1x said, reaching out and taking 07’s hand. His grip was firm, deliberate. “If you hold something tight enough, it will transport with you out of the round.”
“Wh—”
The timer hit zero.
The world lurched. Fog surged, swallowing the graveyard whole, and then everything snapped into place somewhere else.
They stood in a cabin clearing—one that looked unsettlingly familiar. Same layout. Same paths. Same buildings. But instead of survivors milling about, killers moved through the space, some chatting, some sharpening weapons, some simply watching.
07’s breath caught in his throat.
Before he could say anything, 1x was already guiding him forward, hand never letting go. They passed the other killers without comment and without challenge. No one stopped them. No one had questioned why a survivor was here with 1x of all people.
They reached a cabin on the outer edge.
07 froze when he realized it. Same position. Same distance from the center. It mirrored his own cabin back in the survivor area almost perfectly. The symmetry made his stomach twist.
Inside, the cabin was… not what he expected.
Clean. Carefully arranged. The shelves weren’t cluttered with junk or half-broken items. Decorations were placed with intention, not carelessly tossed around. Even the lighting felt warmer somehow. And the bed—
07 stared at it for a moment longer than he meant to.
“…Wow,” he muttered before he could stop himself.
1x shut the door behind them. “You expected worse.”
“I expected… something,” 07 said vaguely. “Just not this.”
He shifted the cape around his shoulders, suddenly very aware of how threadbare his own cabin was by comparison. His bed back home barely qualified as one. This one looked like it might actually let someone rest.
He swallowed and looked back at 1x. “So,” he said quietly, “this is where you disappear to.”
“Yes.”
07 nodded once, letting the silence stretch. For the first time in what felt like forever, the nausea dulled just a bit. The fog outside pressed harmlessly against the window. No chase music. No timer ticking down.
He exhaled, slow and careful.
“…Thank you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Do you wish for me to go retrieve your son?”
“Not yet,” 07 murmured, fatigue finally winning out. “I’m more interested in taking a nap.”
1x inclined his head slightly. “Alright. You are outside survivor bounds. It does not register you as active, so it will not pull you into a round when one starts. Sleep as much as you’d like.”
07 blinked. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t have it in him.
07 let out a slow sigh and climbed into the bed, sinking into the mattress with a quiet sound of relief. It was softer than his own, wider too. His muscles ached in that deep, bone-heavy way that only showed up when he finally stopped moving.
1x stretched once, the faint sound of fabric and chain, then climbed in beside him without hesitation.
07 turned his head slightly. “What are you doing…?”
“Sleeping with my lover.”
There was a pause.
“…Lover?”
“You are carrying my child,” 1x said calmly, like it was the simplest fact in the world, “and I fully intend to raise that child correctly beside you. So yes. My lover.”
07 stared at the wall for a second, processing. His head hurt too much to unpack that properly.
“Ah,” he said at last. “…alright then.”
An arm wrapped around him, heavy and warm, pulling him closer. 1x’s hand settled against his stomach, broad palm splayed there like it belonged. 07 stiffened for half a second—then relaxed. He reached down and placed his own hand over 1x’s, fingers curling gently. The warmth seeped in, steady and grounding.
No fog pressing in.
No timer ticking.
Just the quiet hum of a place that wasn’t meant for him, and yet held him anyway.
07’s eyes slid shut, exhaustion finally dragging him under. This was the most comfortable he’d felt in a long while.
And somehow, impossibly, it was because he’d curled up beside the most ruthless killer this hellish game had.