Chapter Text
Asriel saw the scratches. You know he did. You know he saw your red-lined skin, and your messed up bed, and the pale purple bruise around your collar.
He doesn't say anything about it.
The next few days pass quietly, if a bit tensely. Your voice is more terse than usual, and Asriel somehow apologies even more often than he used to, but you don't think Toriel notices anything wrong with either of you. You attribute this to the fact that, if anything, you're more affectionate with Asriel now. You find yourself putting a hand on his arm or shoulder, grabbing him, leaning into him as though you're trying to convince yourself that he's still really there.
You don't want to hurt Asriel. You really don't. It almost pains you because you really, really don't want him to be upset (in general, but especially in regards to you) or hurt or sad – ever. Which is impossible, and you know that it is, but you can't help wishing that it were.
You think about this as your eyes are trained on the dimly lit doorway. Toriel never turns off the hallway light, so you can see light leaking under the crack.
You glance at Asriel's bed, but all you can make out is a lump of blankets and pillows. You try to see the rise and fall of his makeshift nest, but it's too dark for you to make out much movement.
You sigh and wonder what time it is. Being underground really fucks with your perception of how time passes. For all you know, the monsters in the Underground are actually nocturnal, and you've been going to sleep at 7 a.m. ever since you fell down. In fact, even their calendars could be wrong or different. Who knows what day it really is? But then, does it even matter? Knowing it's apparently mid-May doesn't mean you've suddenly got to deal with rainy and windy days, or prepare for summer vacation. And, well, you doubt that Toriel will be giving you guys a break from school for three months just because you used to do that on the surface.
You roll over and close your eyes, but your thoughts don't quiet. You pull your pillow around and up over your ears, as though that will help. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't. If anything, you think bitterly, you're more awake now.
You try to take a deep breath, but you suddenly feel like the darkness is pressing in on you; and even with the noise you're making, you feel like the silence is too much. Everything feels like too much. There's a burning feeling in your stomach – you're not going to throw up or anything, but you don't know how else to describe it. You feel antsy; like there's still annoyance or anger or something burning just below the surface of your skin, and you don't know how to put it out. It fills you with dread; it makes you worried for Asriel.
You don't want to hurt him, but what if you can't stop yourself?
You throw the covers back and sit up. You shiver at the sudden drop in temperature, but you ignore it and stand, watching Asriel carefully. He doesn't stir.
You open the bedroom door a crack and listen before peeking out into the hallway. You quickly slip out of the room when you assess that the coast is clear. You curl your toes, feeling the hallway floor rub against them uncomfortably. You briefly wonder if you should go back in to grab a pair of shoes (because after the last time you left the house barefoot, your feet were completely covered in dirt), but you don't want to risk waking Asriel up.
You take a deep breath, leaning against the door, and wonder if you're really doing this. It's dumb. It's a dumb idea. But you feel like it will help.
But then….What kind of weirdo finds comfort in just being around flowers – in the middle of the night?
You push yourself away from the door and walk purposefully towards the stairs. You hesitate at the top of them, wondering if this is as dumb an idea as you feel like it is and if you should just turn around, but you know that you won't be able to sleep if you don't do something. You take the steps two at a time.
When you find yourself outside, you decide that, yes, this is a dumb idea. The ground is cold under your feet, and the pressing silence belies the perpetual light that New Home is bathed in. It feels wrong to be out here.
You walk faster.
You're alone; you're obviously alone because it must be two in the goddamn morning, and no one is awake to see you walking towards the garden barefoot, like a fucking psycho.
And then you see movement.
You jerk, feeling your heart hammer against your chest, eyes darting around trying to find the source of the movement. But you don't see any monsters or….
At least, you don't think it's a monster. It might be a plant, but regardless, it's undulating in a way that makes you uncomfortable. The creature is unremarkable, and if you had seen it in almost any different context, you would have ignored it. But now, you can feel that burning coming back, stronger and stronger. You try to walk away, ignoring it, but the monster starts following you.
You walk faster, but the thing doesn't seem keen to let you out of its sight, and it speeds up as well. Without fully thinking it through, you turn on your heel and look at it. "Leave me alone," you snap. It ignores you and keeps moving and wiggling. You clench your jaw. "Go away!" Your voice cracks on the word; it echoes around the empty street.
You don't want it here. You don't want to be around anyone or anything.
It stops moving for a moment, and you think it might finally leave, but then it lurches forward and touches your foot.
You feel sick to your stomach and your throat is tight and you want to scream and hit and – and if you do you will or kill this thing but what does it matter, it doesn't even have a face it's useless just like you so you do.
You kick it as hard as you can and it flops backwards, pathetic and weak, and when it hits the ground it…dissolves. And turns into dust.
You stare at it for a long time, and then drop to your knees. You frown and clench your teeth. "I told you," you whisper. "I told you. I told you, and you didn't listen to me." You feel your face contort. "Why didn't you just pay attention to me?" Your voice is accusing and sharp and bad. You feel your heart beat fast and you're mad, and so you hit the dust and some of it sticks to your hand and you feel like you're going to be sick. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault!" You wipe your hand on the ground and use the other to pull at your hair. "You…you…idiot! I warned you so you can't blame me! Get away from me!"
You scramble backwards and push yourself up, and then run away. And it's a cowardly thing to do, and you hate it, and you run faster.
Your chest feels tight, so tight, but that's good because maybe your ribs will strangle your heart and lungs and then you'll die, just drop dead, right here, right here –
You enter the long hallway and try to slow down, but your trip and fall onto the hard floor. You land on your arms and it hurts. You punch the floor and it hurts even more. You want to hit your head against the floor.
Your arms almost give out when you try to push yourself up, and you wince in pain but try again.
Your arms almost give out a second time when you hear a voice.
"So, uh…what're you doing here, kid?"
Your head snaps up and you stand quickly, heedless of the pain in your knee. It's the skeleton guy from Gaster's office.
And you take some time to really look at him. He's not…old or anything. Which is probably ironic, considering he's a skeleton. But his clothes make him seem young – a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he's got his hands in his pockets. He's short. And his voice, while low, isn't gravely or anything like Asgore's. It's just…low.
He holds up a hand when you only continue to stare. "I've already heard your voice, y'know. It's not a secret that you can talk. What's the royal pain doing out and about this late?"
You gape. "The royal what?"
He shrugs. "Well, you're not a prince or a princess, are you? 'Pain' is gender neutral." And despite the fact that his face has been smiling this whole time, you feel like he just put on a shit-eating grin.
"What do you want?" you snap. It's like he thinks you're up to something. Did you just murder (your stomach lurches and the burning feeling is all over you now) a monster? Yeah, sure – but is that any of his business? Hell no.
Sans rocks back on his heels. In an almost sing-song voice, he says, "I asked you first. We can play this game all night, if you like." He stretches a bit. "I have a baby brother, you know. If I can deal with him, pretty sure I can handle you."
You scowl. "I'm not –"
"Not a brother. I know," he interrupts, throwing his head back. "Not what I meant kid, and you know it."
You decide that you do not like Sans. "I'm going to the garden," you admit.
He cocks his head. "In the middle of the night?"
"I like flowers," you say, and your voice sounds just defensive enough that you think he buys it.
He chuckles, then holds both his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. "That's fine. This isn't a personal attack, so keep your barbs at bay, please." He pauses. "You gonna ask me what I'm doing here?"
You consider waiting in silence, but you get a better idea. "I figured that was your business," you bite out.
He's either grinning or grimacing – you can't tell the difference. "Ouch, kid. Fine then, fine. I know when I'm not wanted, alright?" He gives you a mocking two-finger salute. "Have fun with your flowers."
He makes a show of keeping his distance as he walks around you towards the exit. When he reaches it, you lick your lips and call out, "Hey, how old are you?" You don't know why you spoke up. Maybe you just need something, anything to think about, other than yourself.
He stops walking but doesn't turn around. He mumbles something that you don't catch, but you can somehow still feel the bitterness in his tone. He glances at you over his shoulder. "I'm thirty-one. Or thirteen. Take your pick." He laughs like that was supposed to be funny (you're pretty sure it wasn't), and this time it really is bitter and annoyed, but you're not sure why. "So you're still a kid to me, kid. Hell, I'm a kid to me." He sounds like he's about to keep talking, but then he sighs. "Have fun with your flowers." But this time, he sounds almost genuine.
"Um, yeah." You almost say You too, but luckily, you have slightly more self-awareness than that. "Thanks."
Sans doesn't respond, and the next moment, he's vanished into that perpetual twilight that hovers over New Home.
And, well…Maybe Sans isn't a total asshole, or a complete spoiled brat.
Or maybe he just wants something from you.
You frown and turn back towards the garden, your pace much slower than before. It is possible the Sans wants something from you, but to be frank, you have no clue what that something would be. And he hasn't exactly been endearing himself to you, so it's not a favor. Information? Maybe he wants to know more about the royal family. You know that Gaster is close to Toriel and Asgore, but maybe Sans isn't as close to Gaster as he seems, so he never gets told anything important. You huff.
You soon find yourself at the garden, but instead of going over to the flowers, you keep walking. The grass feels so soft under your feet in comparison to the hard walkway you've just left that you drag your feet a bit, savoring the sensation.
The Barrier feels different when no one else is there; less like a wall, and more like...an ocean or something. It feels expansive and powerful and dangerous.
You want to reach out a hand. Of course, you'd never dare to try it if Asgore were there, but you've noticed that when you're alone, your impulse control lowers significantly.
You take a deep breath and then extend your arm, watching as the Barrier bathes it in light. But you don't feel any resistance; for a moment, you wonder if the Barrier is just an illusion, but you quickly discard the idea. Asgore (or Gaster, you suppose) would have realized that immediately if it were the case.
Emboldened by your success, you take a step forward, keeping your hand held out in front of you. The pulsing, monochromatic light of the Barrier casts unsettling shadows on the fabric of your shirt.
You stop walking.
You frown, and try to take another step forward.
You can't. It's like your feet are perceiving the air in front of them as a solid object, even as you wave your hand out in front of you. You lift your foot up like you're trying to step over an invisible wall, but your efforts are pointless. Both your arms and eyes agree that the Barrier is insubstantial, but your feet clearly disagree.
Suddenly, the Barrier feels too pressing, regardless of the fact that there's no real pressure. You walk backwards quickly, frowning, and you cross your arms as you realize that you're very, very cold.
You stop moving when you feel grass under your feet again. You look down, lifting them up and setting them down to watch the grass move. It doesn't take any strength to be able to move grass. Grass is soft and easy to bend.
You sit down, and the grass, of course, bends under your weight. You set your palms down, seeing the grass move at the slight pressure. It's not that you're strong; the grass is just weak in comparison to you.
You suppose that makes sense. You're not strong; you're really not, and you know that. But you have such a capacity, such a tendency for hurting people and it really can't be your fault because you're not strong, you're weak, you're so fucking weak and you hate it, but here you are! Here you are, sitting in the royal garden with dust still probably under your nails because you hurt someone – you killed someone.
You fucking killed someone.
Just because that burning wouldn't go away.
As soon as you think about it, you feel it again; you feel it everywhere. It's in your stomach and chest, your hands and feet, and throat, and eyes, and you don't know how to make it stop. You wish it weren't there, but you know that wishing that is pointless. You get the feeling that it's not going to go away. Not easily, at least. And you've never been the type to try the harder way out, even if it would better for you and the people around you in the long run. You're much too selfish for that.
And then, for the third time that night, you're startled as a monster sneaks up on you.
"Chara? Is that you?"
You stiffen for a second, and then calm back down. "Yeah, Azzy," you call.
He doesn't anything, and for a moment you wonder if he's going to leave. But then you hear him walk up behind you, taking a seat beside you. "What're you doing out here?"
You turn your head to face him. He looks groggy; his eyes keep closing for a second too long, and his posture is terrible. You wonder if he'll fall asleep in the middle of a conversation, but you don't even get to the point. He slumps over, leaning onto you, and you feel his dead weight against your side.
You sigh. He shouldn't have followed you.
But he must have woken up well after you left, since he just now caught up with you. How did he know you were in the garden? Why did he wake up? And why did he think it was worth it to follow you?
You find that it's getting harder and harder to focus. You should shake Asriel awake so that you can walk back up to New Home. You really should…You….
You jerk awake with a start. Asriel is still leaned precariously against your shoulder, so you don't think you actually fell asleep. You huff and push him away from you, holding him up. "Azzy."
Asriel sways, blinking his eyes open blearily. "Chara…?" He glances around. "Why are we…?" He sits up straight and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "Wait, I remember. But why did you come down here?"
You sigh. "I just wanted to take a walk."
Instead of bombarding you with (justifiable) questions, Asriel says, "Okay. Do you wanna go back home now or do you wanna wait some more?"
The burning under your skin isn't gone, but it's a bit easier to ignore.
When you don't respond, Asriel stands, presumably to give you more time alone, but you follow his lead. He smiles, relieved. "Let's get back to sleep," he says.
You feel so many works sitting heavily in your mouth, and the ones that end up coming out are, "Can we...I meant, can I...or can you…?"
Asriel smiles. "Yeah!"
So you end up in Asriel's bed, watching him breathe heavily in his sleep until you finally feel calm enough to drift off.
It hadn't even occurred to you to ask Asriel not to tell Toriel and Asgore about your late-night excursion. You hadn't even thought he would until, over a casual breakfast the next morning, you hear the words, "Last night, Chara –"
"Had a weird dream!" The words fly out of your mouth before you can even register them properly.
Asriel turns to you, confused, before his eyes widen and he ducks his head.
Your mind races – that was clearly a lie, and they could definitely tell, so you need to fix it. "It wasn't a nightmare, though, I promise." Haha, there! They might expect you to lie about a nightmare or a panic attack, so as to avoid worrying them. Still, the lie feels almost too obvious; you're not that bad at lying about your bad dreams.
Toriel goes from confused to concerned faster than you can blink. "Oh, my child. You do not need to…." She hesitates. "That is, it is normal to be affected by unsettling dreams, even if you would not classify them as a nightmare."
You duck your head sheepishly as well, so that you and Asriel are both looking down and picking at the last bites of food on your plates.
A few more moments of silence pass, and then Toriel says, "Have both of you gotten enough to eat?" You and Asriel nod, and she picks up your plates, saying, "I will take care of the dishes for today."
Asgore gives her a look. "Tori, if you insist on doing work the day before, that negates the point of a free day."
You perk up at those words. What sort of free day? Is there a holiday tomorrow?
Toriel scoffs. "I believe we will never agree on that subject, dear." Shifting the dishes to the crook of one arm, she reaches down with the other and pats Asgore's hand. "It is best not to argue." She reaches in front of him and picks up the plate.
"When did I say I was done eating?" Asgore asks, though he looks and sounds highly amused.
Toriel waves a hand, holding silverware, flippantly. "Whenever you put down your fork, knife, and spoon for more than two minutes."
Asgore smiles. "How rude!"
Toriel's eyes sparkle. "Oh, of course!" She giggles, and Asgore chuckles along with her.
You watch the interaction with interest, not quite understanding why neither of them are upset. Toriel and Asgore seem to have a second, unspoken language that they communicate in at the same time that they speak. There's a deep intuition there. You wonder why they're so close, and you wonder if anything could tear them apart. (You doubt it.)
Asgore follows Toriel into the kitchen, despite her protests, to put away the leftovers. You glance at Asriel. He looks sad, so you try to take your mind off of whatever’s worrying him. "What's the free day tomorrow?"
It works; Asriel laughs. "Not a free day for us – it's Mother's Day!"
"Oh." Huh. You...well, shit, you didn't think that was a real thing. For some reason, it made sense in your head that only the mothers in your village (led by your own mother) decided that they wanted a special day to be especially mean to their children; a day, of course, to complain and stomp on flowers and tear up mandatory cards made at school.
You get the feeling that Toriel doesn't celebrate Mother's Day in the same fashion.
Asriel tells you that you can make a gift for Toriel if you want, but you don't have to. You would disagree (it seems that gifts are at least somewhat required in the Underground, too), but you don't mind as much as you might have. Toriel is good at being nice; plus, you actually want to make something for her. You want to make her happy, and a gift would be a good way to do that.
You ask Asgore for ideas, and with his help, you spend the day making a pseudo-card. It's just a flat piece of paper, but you colored it and wrote the words "Happy Mother's Day" at the top. You glued real grass and real flowers to the paper, so that it's 3D and, well, realistic. Asgore says it's "very nice" and Asriel says it's "super cool," but you can't help but feel nervous for Toriel's reaction.
You sigh and set the card aside to dry. You're probably just being paranoid. Really, what's the worst that could happen?
It's dark. It's really dark. It's really, really dark, and you can't breathe, and then suddenly there's light.
In the new brightness, you can see that you're all alone. Of course you're alone; why would anyone be here?
Even as you think that, you see Asriel appear only feet away, his back to you.
You breathe a sigh of relief and rush forward, wrapping your arms around him. "Azzy," you say, "where were you? I couldn't find you in the dark."
You realize that your arms aren't touching anything. There's no figure standing in front of you. You look down and see a pile of dust.
You – what?
No – no, no, no, no, no –
Dust covers your hands, your shirt, your pants – dust covers your body. Favorite thing, your mind supplies – you scatter dust on a monster's favorite thing.
You don't feel tears prick your eyes. You don't feel nauseous. Your hands are steady; your breathing is steady. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you think. It's a clever, witty thing to think. You are quite clever. You always have been.
You look up. In front of you stands a whimsun. That's funny, so you laugh. Why is that funny? Why is that funny? You laugh. The whimsun falls apart and you laugh harder, doubling over.
But then a froggit appears by your feet. It was an accident – no, no, it wasn't even an accident, because it wasn't your fault. The froggit must have have been sick, ailing, close to death, because there's no way that kicking it out of your way when you weren't paying attention killed it. It never happened.
And then that sentient, jelly-like creature is there, and there's an entirely different feeling in your gut. You can't pretend like that was an accident. You can't pretend like you didn't want to hurt it. Because you did. You did it on purpose.
You thought you could embrace the fact that you're a monster? You're suddenly mad at yourself for being so fucking dumb.
Dust piles onto your shoes and you can't move. Asriel, whimsun, froggit, – they all reform out of the dust, drooping bodies with no faces but you can feel their stares; they stand beside your most recent victim. None of them have any color; they're all white and shades of gray.
"It was an accident," you say, but your voice sounds distorted.
"Liar," you hear. "Liar. Liar. Liar."
And they're right – right? Even at the beginning, you think, could you really pretend it was an accident? You must have known. You must have known that hurting a monster would result in its death. You've done it three times – three fucking times. And you'll do it again.
The three monsters you didn't know all dissolve again, leaving only Asriel standing.
The dust wraps around your wrists, then your neck. You think you might cry. You call for Asriel to help you, but his blank face watches with disinterest. You fall to your knees when the dust shackles around your ankles yank you forward.
You fall to your knees in front of Asriel and suddenly feel something like rage in your stomach. You feel bitterness, resentment, jealousy, envy. You feel the ugly green emotions, like the color of your shirt; you feel the resentful red emotions, like the color of your eyes. Your skin burns. You look down at yourself to see that your skin is bright red – stark and evil against the white of the monsters' dust.
When you look back up, Asriel is gone. In his place is single flower, covered in dust.
You scream.
You jerk awake, looking around the room wildly. Asriel, thankfully, doesn't stir. You breathe heavily through your nose and flop back onto Asriel's bed (you didn't want to sleep alone again). You close your eyes and frown. You suppose you deserved that for lying to Toriel and Asgore about having a nightmare.
Your skin still feels hot; your chest feels tight; your stomach feels bad.
You grab Asriel's hand, and you feel your eyes water when, this time, it doesn't make the lingering ugly feelings go away.