Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ermm not a chapter

OKAY. so uhhhh i was atlking and joking with my friends abt crossovers and....yeah i made it into a fic.
well not, made ity et, im still deciding what to do first etc etc

um i wouldnt mind suggestions tho since i'll have a hard time figuring shit out

I have a few things already planned though for sure;

-1x1x1x1 + 1x1x1x1 (TRUD)
-All three builderman's meeting
-Climber + 1x1x1x1
-Kaska, Calar, and Aradus + Forsaken Survivors
-Vagabond + Betrayed 1x1x1x1
-Griefer + Most forsaken survivors
-Cruel King + Most forsaken survivors

can u tell i have no idea whawt im doing, yes thanks.

ALSO this might even be abandoned so odnt get excited (which i doubt u would), i might work on a different piece lmfao

oh yeah im also posting this so it doesnt get saved as a draft lulz

Chapter Text

"Jesus Christ, not again...?"

Another round. Another c00lkid.

The survivors had already split up, some working on generators, others wandering aimlessly, hoping to either find some item or hide long enough to avoid the chaos of the round. But the problem was simple, yet far from ordinary: this wasn't the c00lkid they knew. Somehow, someway, things had gone completely sideways, and their usual killer—the one they'd gotten used to, the one they'd learned to predict—was gone. Completely vanished. Replaced with something new, something unfamiliar. Something that didn't give them the comfort of expectation.

This new c00lkid was in the middle of a chase with a Bloxxer, running around like a maniac, when—bam—he was suddenly yanked out of whatever world he was in, dropped into a completely new map, a completely different reality. He skidded to a stop, looking around, his breath sharp, eyes wide, as confusion clawed its way up his spine.

"...What the..?" he muttered to himself, utterly bewildered.

The map was nothing like the usual—darker, more spacious, eerily quiet. A perfect place for hunting, he knew that much, but it didn’t make this sudden shift any easier to swallow. He needed to adjust, needed to get his bearings, but that didn’t mean he could waste time. Like any good killer, his instincts kicked in—highlight the survivors, find them, hunt them down. A large group of them, right ahead, too easy.

He darted forward, his feet light and quick, effortlessly leaping over obstacles in his path. He spotted the survivors from a distance—four of them—and while they weren’t the ones he’d been hunting before, he didn’t care. The thrill of the chase hit him. But as he got closer, something felt off for the survivors. Something was... wrong. The killer looked different, and it didn’t take long for them to notice just how different he was.

"Wait, that’s not c00lkid, is it?" one of them murmured, an uncertain glance passing between the others.

Shedletsky squinted, narrowing his eyes at the figure closing in. “What the hell? Oh my god, C00LKID'S GOT A KNIFE??"

The survivors stared back, and it wasn’t hard to see why. He wasn’t what they were used to. The air between them crackled with a kind of tension that made it clear: something had shifted. This wasn’t just a killer; this was something else. Something wrong.

"Eugh, look at those... tendrils," Elliot said with a grimace, his voice tinged with disgust, though he couldn’t help but glance toward the c00lkid, almost fascinated by the strange, unsettling appendages sprouting from him.

It was enough to make the c00lkid snap into action. He lunged toward Elliot, and the chase was on. Elliot, though quick on his feet, was no match for the relentless pursuit. He ran, faster than he had in a long while, but it was futile. c00lkid was gaining on him, relentless, and soon enough, Elliot found himself cornered.

First, it was Elliot, then Noob, unsuspecting and easy to pick off. The survivors were being killed one by one, slow, methodical, the new c00lkid picking them off with a quiet efficiency that felt almost... unnerving.

But then something unexpected happened—the rest of them, surprisingly, managed to stay out of reach. They were fast. They were clever. They outran him, slipping through his grasp. And it was that little spark of frustration that cracked c00lkid's patience, the simmering anger bubbling over into a full-blown rampage. His movements became erratic, faster, more brutal.

It wasn’t just about the hunt anymore—it was about the slaughter.

The survivors were picked off faster, one after the other, but just as c00lkid thought victory was finally within his grasp, Chance did something that threw him off completely. Without warning, Chance flipped his coin, a smug smirk on his face as he aimed his flintlock at c00lkid, as if daring him to come closer. The tension hung thick in the air.

And then—

Bang.

But instead of a clean shot, the gun exploded in Chance's hands, sending him to the ground in a burst of fire and smoke. The c00lkid froze, his eyes widening.

What the fuck? How did they kill themselves?

For a moment, confusion took over, and c00lkid just stared. He wasn’t used to this. He was supposed to be the one delivering death, not watching it happen to his own prey. He couldn’t process it fast enough.

And that was when the rest of them struck.

Guest was first—his fist landing hard against c00lkid’s side. It was enough to knock him off balance, but not enough to bring him down completely. But then, before he could react, Shedletsky was there, and he slashed at c00lkid’s arm. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it was enough to slow him down.

C00lkid, used to being the one in control, had no idea how to respond. He was used to small tricks—spray paint, a little sabotage here and there—but this? This was a full-on attack, a team effort, and for the first time in this round, he was the one on the defensive.

It all happened so fast. He hadn’t seen it coming.

In the blink of an eye, the round was over.

"...What just happened." C00lkid mumbled, looking as he was back in his usual surroundings.

Chapter Text

"I... I don't think I can do this anymore, Ann."

"Noah..." Ann's voice was gentle, but he could hear the worry under it.

It was getting harder every day just to exist.
The stalking.
The constant torment.
It had burnt him out completely — until there was barely anything left to burn.

He hadn’t known what it meant to hit rock bottom until now.

"I don't want to lose you," Noah mumbled. "Or anybody. Not b0ne. Not fern."

He lay there on his bed, motionless.
A little sleep helped sometimes.
Rarely.

Rubbing his burning eyes, he winced. The endless nights of no sleep and gnawing anxiety were written into every fiber of him.

Finally, he gave in — closed his eyes — and for once, real sleep pulled him under.

At first, Noah thought he was dreaming.

He stirred weakly, feeling something hard against his back.
He mumbled, incoherent: "...This... doesn't feel right..."

Half-asleep, he rubbed his eyes.

When he opened them, he realized instantly:
This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t his house.

He was somewhere else entirely.

The sky was heavy and dark above him, the ground cracked and rough.
A random generator buzzed nearby, throwing off dim light.

"...Is this what sleep paralysis feels like?" he muttered, staggering to his feet, barely able to stay upright.

"Hey—kid, move it!" a sudden voice barked.

Startled, Noah stumbled aside just in time to avoid being clocked by a brick flying through the air.

Wide-eyed, he turned to see someone approaching — a guy in a construction hat.

"...Noob? You get a new look or somethin'?" the man asked, puzzled.

"I—What? I don't even know who that is??" Noah stammered, utterly confused.

The two stared at each other in mutual bafflement.

And then the exhaustion hit Noah like a freight train.
His legs gave out.
Everything went dark.

When he next opened his eyes, he was inside a cabin.

For a moment, he dared to hope.
"Am I... back home?" he mumbled, trying to sit up.

"Nope, kid," a familiar voice said casually. "You're here. In the cabin."

It was the construction guy again — standing at his bedside like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"I should introduce myself before you freak out," the man said, clearing his throat. "Name’s Builderman."

Noah blinked.
"...Builderman? Like...?"

"Yeah, kid. That one," he said, smiling faintly.

Noah opened his mouth to respond, sitting up — but Builderman easily pushed him back down with one hand.

"Relax," Builderman said. Then he called out over his shoulder: "Hey, Elliot!"

Another man shuffled into the room, wearing a red uniform. He looked dead on his feet.

"Yeah, Builder?" Elliot grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Get this kid some pizza or something. He's dead on his feet."

"Sure, sure," Elliot sighed. "I'll get Shed to watch him for now. The others need you, anyway."

He turned his head and shouted:
"Hey, Shed! FATASS! Get over here!"

Shed pushed open the creaky cabin door and stepped inside, squinting at the boy slumped near the fireplace.

"I swear I just saw Noob in the living room—"

"I'm not Noob! I don't even know who that is!" Noah blurted out, voice cracking a little from the stress.

Shed blinked, thrown off for a moment. "...My bad."

The fire popped in the background, casting flickering light across the worn-out couches and rickety chairs. It was quiet — uncomfortably so — except for the low hum of the wind against the wood outside.

"So, uh, how'd you... y'know. End up in this..." Shed waved vaguely around the battered cabin, "predicament?"

Noah pulled his sleeves over his hands, voice low. "I was... sleeping. Trying not to have a panic attack. Then I woke up here."

Shed raised an eyebrow. "Well... that's something."

The awkward silence was broken by the door creaking again. Elliot trudged in, tossing a tattered first-aid kit onto a crooked table.

"Sit still," he muttered, crouching beside Noah. The bandages smelled faintly like metal and damp wood, but Elliot worked quickly, wrapping Noah’s scrapes and checking him over with rough, but careful hands.

Once Noah could stand, Shed and Elliot led him through the cramped, dim cabin. A couple of survivors were scattered around — sitting near the fire, fixing old tools, talking in low voices. It wasn't many of them, but each head turned sharply when they noticed the newcomer.

Shed nudged him forward. "..So uh, you wanna, introduce yourself, kid?"

Noah shuffled awkwardly, not wanting to give his real name. His throat tightened.

"...Nnnoa," he stammered. Then he caught himself. "You can just call me... Lulz."

Someone snorted from the shadows near the fire.

"That sounds like a silly name," muttered a guy flipping a coin — Chance.

"Shut it," Builderman barked from a broken armchair, voice low but sharp.

Chance just grinned lazily and kept flipping the coin.

"So," Builderman grunted, leaning forward with a creak of old wood, "what's your, y'know, backstory, kid?"

"My... backstory..?" Noah repeated, confused.

"You know," Chance said, twirling his coin again, "how you got here. From the Spectre."

Noah stared at them blankly. "The who?"

The cabin seemed to freeze. Even the fire crackled a little quieter.

"...You're telling me," Chance said slowly, "you don't know how you got here from the Spectre? You just... woke up?"

"I- I think so..." Noah whispered.

Chance hummed lowly, flipping his coin slower now. "That's awfully weird."

Shed cleared his throat. "Can I ask what happened to you before you got here?"

Noah hesitated, staring at the splintered floorboards. His chest tightened with a sick, familiar feeling. Should he really tell them?

...Yeah. They deserved to know. They might even understand.

He swallowed hard. "It's... kinda a long story."

The survivors leaned in a little, curious despite themselves.

"I was dealing with... a lot," he started, voice cracking. "Like... my stalker."

"You have a stalker?" Elliot asked sharply from where he leaned against the wall.

"Kind of..." Lulz mumbled. "It's more like... a virus. Or something pretending to be a virus. He torments me... follows me online, through everything. Not just me — my friends too."

"Jx1dx1, or, something."

Builderman rubbed his chin, frowning deeper. "...Never heard of it."

Lulz felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes — everything was too much, too heavy, too unfamiliar.
He bit his lip hard, trying not to break down right there.

"Hey, hey, kid, breathe," Elliot said gently, putting a firm but careful hand on his shoulder. "You're okay. You're safe now. I promise."

Lulz sniffled, nodding shakily.

"...Well, just stay with us. We'll keep you safe, yeah?" Elliot added.

From the back of the room, someone stirred.

Two Time — standing awkwardly with their hands clasped together — gave Lulz a lopsided grin.

"If he was chosen to come here, maybe the Spawn has plans for him after all," Two Time said, voice low and weirdly giddy, almost reverent. "Maybe... he's meant for something more.."

The entire room went dead silent.

Lulz stared at him, heart hammering painfully.

Thankfully, Dussekar immediately stepped in, laughing lightly to break the tension.

"Apologies!" Dussekar said. "I'm sure our dear friend here didn't mean that."

"Yeah, Two," Elliot muttered under his breath, shooting him a sharp glare. "Lay off the cult shit."

Lulz nodded warily, wiping his eyes. His gaze wandered — and landed on Noob, sitting cross-legged on a broken stool. Noob smiled at him brightly, waving awkwardly.

Something about him was... comforting.
A little dorky, but comforting.
For the first time, Lulz let a tiny, wobbly smile tug at his lips.

"Don't mind Two Time," Noob said cheerfully. "He's just... a little weird about his religion thing."

"You'll get used to it," Shed added dryly.

Now that he was a little calmer, Lulz realized there were more survivors here — and they were each reaaaally different.

Near the fire, perched lazily was a huge guy with a worn jacket — Builderman, obviously. He wasn't stupid.

A little further off, flipping a coin between his fingers like he had all the time in the world, was Chance — his easy smirk hiding something sharper beneath.

Shed — the first guy he met — hovered nearby, arms crossed, rolling his eyes at everything.

Fatass.

007n7, Taph, and Guest were the last to be noticed.

Lulz sighed, and slouched down on a nearby chair.

Jx1 wandered aimlessly.

Not confused — not exactly —
He couldn't feel confusion.
He couldn't feel anything.

His body glitched at random, arms twitching and warping slightly as he walked across the broken landscape.

Up ahead, a faint, flickering light.

Curious — or rather, automatically responding to input — Jx1 drifted toward it.

There, huddled around a crooked little fire made from scrap metal and burning trash, sat a strange group.

1x, John doe, Jason, and C00lkid.

"𝐒𝐇𝟑𝐃𝐋𝟑𝐓𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐑𝟒𝐍 𝐑𝟏𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝟎𝐉𝟑𝐂𝐓𝟏𝐋𝐄," 1x said, a smug sneer in his voice. "𝐖𝐇𝟒𝐓 𝟒 𝐋𝟎𝐒𝟑𝐑."

John Doe sighed, staring into the flames.

"Mine ran straight into my spikes. I felt bad, almost."

"Ki ki. Ma ma," Jason mumbled quietly, to no one in particular.

"KI KI KIKI MA MA MA!??" Jason suddenly pointed, frantic.

"𝐖𝐇𝟒𝐓 𝐂𝟎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝟎𝐔 𝐏𝟎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝟒𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝟒𝐁𝟎𝐔𝐓?" 1x grumbled, following Jason’s shaking finger.

They turned.

A few feet away, Jx1 stood, frozen in the glitchy light.

"...Who is that?" C00lkid said sharply, voice lowering.

"I'm not sure," John Doe muttered, narrowing his eyes. "He doesn't look familiar."

In the time it took to blink, Jx1 was already right there — standing uncomfortably close.

C00lkid flinched.

"𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?" 1x barked, not moving an inch.

"I. Cannot. Disclose. That," Jx1 said, voice like broken speakers.

"...And he talks weird," John Doe whispered.

"𝐖𝐇𝟒𝐓 𝟒 𝐖𝟏𝐌𝐏," 1x scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Jx1 processed their presence quickly, coldly.
He didn't understand their behavior — didn't care.
They were unknown variables.

Automatically, he categorized them as threats — likely supporters of Noah.

Without warning, he spoke, his voice warping between tones:

"The. Story. Is. Not. For. You. To. Intervene."

"𝟏 𝐖𝟒𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝟒𝐍𝐍𝟏𝐍𝐆 𝟎𝐍 𝟏𝐓." 1x blurted out.

The others exchanged glances.

"Should we...kill him?" C00lkid asked casually.

1x leaned back.

"𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐓'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎."

Chapter Text

The survivors had all clambered upstairs after the last round — groaning, muttering.

Elliot patched them up with half-used gauze and curse words.

“Why’s it always the stairs that hurt most?”

“Maybe it’s karma for complaining every round,”

Builderman sat near the window, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “This all feels too weird."

Chance flipped his coin. It hit the floor this time.

No one picked it up.

Downstairs, the cabin creaked softly. The fire had long died out. Shadows stretched unevenly across the splintered floorboards.

Aubree came down the stairs slowly, careful not to step on the loud ones. Her sleeves were rolled up, hair a mess, bunny shirt a little more singed than before.

Then she froze.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room — like a lost kid in a Walmart electronics aisle — was Sean.

Same glitched halo.

Same static flicker over his face like a failed asset.

His hands were at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He glanced at a crooked armchair like it might explode.

Aubree blinked. “Sean?”

He turned fast.

“Oh—Aubree! I didn’t—uh.” He looked around, then back at her. “…I don’t know, Aubree. I just—kind of got here.”

She stared at him, waiting.

"..Look I- I REALLY don't know."

“…That tracks.”

“I think a rock yelled at me outside. Or maybe that was a guy. Hard to tell.”

Aubree tilted her head. “Did it have a sword?"

“Yeah actually.”

“OH, that’s Shed.”

Sean blinked. “You guys named someone Shed.”

“No, that’s his nickname.”

“…Is it because he looks like one?”

"Not telling."

They sat in silence for a moment. The house groaned above them — the other survivors murmuring softly upstairs.

“So…” Sean rubbed the back of his neck. “Is this… your new home now?"

Aubree shrugged. “Kinda. It’s better than outside. Most of the time.”

“…You don’t seem panicked,” he noted. “You're...very surprisingly calm for the type of person you are. You don't get scared anymore?"

“I still do,” she said. “But now I’m used to it.”

Sean glanced up at the stairs. “Do they all hate me?”

“They haven’t met you yet.”

Above them, a loud floorboard creaked. Shed’s voice filtered down:

“Builderman says we got movement again!"

Sean tensed. “Am I the movement?”

Aubree rolled her eyes. “Come on."

Sean stood and followed her up the stairs — still looking around like the furniture might bite him.

As the two reached the top, the survivors all turned sharply.

Builderman narrowed his eyes.

Elliot dropped his gauze roll.

"Who's that?"

Two Time’s eyes widened ever so slightly, fingers twitching nervously as he rocked on his heels.

“...The Spawn..” They whispered, voice trembling as they took in Sean's appearance.

Sean shifted uncomfortably.

Builderman frowned sharply. “Two Time, calm down.”

“This is Sean,” Aubree finally said, her voice steady but warm.

She looked over at Sean.

“He’s...my friend. He's done a lot more than I can explain right now.” Aubree’s eyes scanned the room, meeting their skeptical looks head-on.

"He looks funny." Chance barked, earning a offended look from Sean.