(Since no one wrote it, I did. Have fun reading and thank you for reading. Sorry if it's bad or has errors, I'm not the best at writing still.)
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You don't know how you survive this long in the Backrooms. You thought you would have died at level 0 with all the other lost souls, but instead, here you are, alive and breathing. You should be relieved to be alive, you suppose. It's a miracle, isn't it? But you're not grateful for the circumstances. You were never given a choice to live or die in the first place, and now you're stuck. The Backroom has become your home. Your prison, really.
"Finally the exit is just ahead," Y/N murmured to no one and themselves.
They were walking through a huge myriad of rivers, lakes, valleys, and even mountain ranges in the distance. A dense layer of green flora grows everywhere, composed of plants that your brain is not even capable of imagining. You don't know how long you've been walking aimlessly through the "Terror Basins", but you're exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. You'd like nothing more than to sleep for hours and years. Maybe for decades.
But you couldn't afford to stop now. Not when it looks like there could be more dangers waiting for you at every turn. You just wanted to get home to your family and relax with a book until you could collapse into bed. You didn't want to face the horrors of these strange new landscapes.
You walked through the glowing door and stumbled on the threshold.
(Level 200 No Place Like Home)
"Where am I?" you murmured weakly.
You felt as if your muscles might tear apart at any moment. As much as you try to fight off sleep, the exhaustion will always win out over you. So much so that you don't think you could stand upright right now if you tried.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" said a soft voice from beside you.
They sounded familiar somehow, but you couldn't place why.
"We've missed you, you know."
The voice continued to murmur soothing words as if they came straight from the heart, but the owner was missing. You had a weird feeling about the voice, however, as if it were almost... familiar. Almost like you have heard it before, but where? You closed your eyes and tried to remember what your mind was made up of before the fatigue set in and rendered you useless.
As you tried to piece together your memories, they began to slip away from you and fade. One by one. Finally, all that remained were vague impressions.
"W...Where am...I-I d...don't - know..." You tried to speak, but everything got jumbled up together, rendering you speechless.
"It must have been a long drive, your home," the voice mused, "Let's take a walk."
With great effort, you managed to open your eyes again, which helped clear things up a bit, but it still didn't make sense. Who is this person? Who's talking to me? Where am I? What is going on? What does this person mean by home? You wondered.
"Oh sorry about that, here let me help you up. You seem pretty tired. Just lean against my shoulder for now. That'll do, dearie."
The stranger held out their arm and you gratefully took hold of their elbow. They pulled you along gently and you followed. Even as lightheaded as you were, you managed to stay upright thanks to their help. The stranger kept muttering softly to you all the while, and you were beginning to wonder if they were a hallucination.
"There's old Joe Vee, still running that breakfast place, serving the same people, day in and day out. Been doing it for 60 years. Remember going there before school, on those days with a bleak blue sky and cold air that chapped your lips? You remember, right? That man poured his heart and soul into that food. It's his legacy. His flesh and blood. He's been holding that soup bowl for 30 days. It's starting to fall apart."
You blinked, trying to focus your vision once more, but it still wasn't making much of a difference. There was something very odd happening, but you weren't sure whether it was because you were too tired to see it properly or just because it was an unfamiliar environment. Your brain was still a bit hazy.
"30 days...falling apart ...what...What are you talking about...?" you muttered.
Your mouth and tongue wouldn't cooperate enough to form complete sentences, this is bad. Why can't I focus...
"I'm - I'm not quite understanding, um...." You looked around. You two were standing in front of a sign, reading 'Old Joe's Delight'.
"There's the school. With enough time, it could be your school, just the way you remembered it. Remember that year you went to space camp in the science lab and you met Sarah Palmer? Remember how she dared you to go into the basement alone, and you did it because you were 10 and stupid, and she was the first girl you've ever noticed?
Remember how dark and cold it was down there? Below, below, below. You remember. You were so happy to leave, to see sunlight again. To see Home again.
If you didn't know any better, you might have believed you were falling apart down there."
The stranger's arms slipped around you again, and you rested your head on their broad chest, letting them carry you forward. They were warm, and they smelled good.
"I wonder what Sarah Palmer is doing with herself now? You can find out if you want. All you have to do is remember. Bring her with you."
"Rot," you murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "I...don't see it. It's...just a normal town...my town. This...is not normal."
They laughed, and though their body shook a little from the action it was quite pleasant. "This is normal...for you. Normal isn't always what you think it is."
As you leaned more heavily on their chest, you could feel them smiling slightly at you. You couldn't tell whether it was a real smile or a figment of your imagination, but either way, you welcomed its presence.
"I know you must be tired l, dearie. It must be hard being back. After all, it's been such a long time since we saw each other, yes? One more stop to make. Just one more stop to make." They stopped outside of what appeared to be a house.
"You can tell it used to be beautiful and untouched. Now the paint chips and the walls have grown too thin. It's not a place that's taken shape yet. You can make it better. Please remember how it used to look. How your Mother would take you on walks around the neighborhood on summer afternoons, the pure and genuine joy that came with your birthday, how it felt to not think about living and dying or breaking into a million pieces. You remember." The stranger was stroking your hair gently and whispering sweet promises to you.
"Everything's gonna be alright now."
"You are home."
"Welcome home. We've missed you."
"We're here for you."
"The rot only grows when you're not around."
"Start building, molding. We're adaptable."
"We can be whatever you want, and we knew what you wanted from the second you set foot here."
"Keep that rot at bay."
"Just how you remember, whatever you want, all the time. You're in control here. All we need is for you to remember."
"So stay with us."
"Stay."
"Look behind you. Everyone's here. "
"Come home."
All you needed was to close your eyes and see your friends' faces, to see the smiles on their faces as they welcomed you home, to see their hands on your shoulders to show you love and support you unconditionally.
You couldn't resist closing your eyes and letting the darkness consume you.
"You'll be happy hear with us. Welcome Home..."
Again, thank you for reading this silly little idea.
