Flowey sways back. This. This is not how it was supposed to go. Not at all. Seems like not only Cheeky’s expectations have been trampled here.
He stares at them desperately, looking for a sign that this is a prank, a joke, anything (’do your creepy face, Chara!’), but all he sees is hatred. Disgust. It is all wrong, wrong, wrong - they can’t hate him - they can’t… can they?
And then Flowey chokes on a whine as something clenches inside him. Cheeky calling him by that cursed chosen name feels like a slap to his face, but it is nothing compared to what he feels when their words sink. They… watched? They saw? Him at his lowest, at his worst, when the air was full of dust and screams… and they used to love monsters, he remembers with a sudden, unwanted clarity, they died for them.
And suddenly, his little bubble full of lies bursts to pieces. Of course Chara would not forgive him. Of course they would hate him after what he did - after what they had done, and - of course this is how it would go and he was a fool for hoping for something else. He was a fool for nurturing that hope at the back of his mind that one day Chara would come back and everything would be perfect once again, and their parents would be together again and he would feel love and their story would get a happy ending. Now he only gets what he deserves. Just like always.
There is anguish unlike anything he’s felt before. He remembers dying, fighting desperately to not kill and not to be killed and failing. He remembers waking up to a torn kingdom full of dust of people he once knew, of people he could have saved. He remembers finding six coffins in his father’s basement. He remembers finding shoes and clothes of six different sizes in his mother’s house. He remembers all that and it is nowhere near what he feels now. Not even close.
“…Oh.” is all he says. His voice is small and empty.
He knows he should run. He could run. He could fight them, maybe, overpower them and jerk that knife away from their fingers. He could talk, plead! Beg! But he does not. His Determination, always boiling hot and bright, is now barely sizzling. It screams at him to flee and live - to continue existing at all costs - but what’s the point?
What’s the point in anything if even Chara does not need him anymore?
He does not look up at their face. What for? He does not speak. What for? He could at least say goodbye (or maybe say how it’s only fair, because they have died because of him once, too) (or maybe ask them to take care of themselves) (or maybe say he forgives them) (or maybe ask for forgiveness) (or maybe-) but he does not. Because. You know. What for.
Maybe that’s… exactly how it all should end.
And so he stays and watches their approaching feet, and stifles the part of him that still clings to life. He knows. He knows he can run. But he does not.
He wonders quietly if that’s what Chara felt when they first brought the yellow petals to their mouth.
Flowey lets out a breath and slowly bends down, closing his eyes. This is all strangely… alright with him. Kind of symbolic. He does not mind such an outcome as much as he should.
After all, what good is a world without love?..
Right now, at this very moment, Cheeky is asking themself the same question.
They watch Frisk’s their body move jerkily forward. They watch horrible, spiteful words tumble from their mouth. They watch their threats of violence loom ever closer, turning from a barely hinted at implication to an implicit reality.
They watch all this from somewhere far away. But they’re there, aren’t they? They’re present, they’re the one doing all these awful things. There’s no one else left to blame.
They are THE DEMON THAT COMES WHEN YOU SAY THEIR NAME.
Their shaking becomes worse. They can’t even bring themself to smile through their tears. The corners of their deep red eyes sting. And when Flowey finally speaks, when he lets out that hollow little “ Oh. ” they almost feel as though they’re the one about to be cleaved in two.
Which, honestly. Is not too far off the mark.
They almost lose their nerve right there. They almost break down in hysterics. But it is the reminder of dust in the wind that whispers at them, a vague and shadowy memory of watching a nightmare they could never wake up from --
All of this. Everything. Everything was for your sake. Why can’t you understand that, Chara?
Their blood turns to ice in their veins. Their shaking stops.
That was right. This was all they had left now. Love, compassion, mercy, heroics. All those things were nothing more than cruel lies, excuses for weakness, for selfishness, for not doing what needed to be done.
They’ve already failed their duty once.
They will not fail again.
Cheeky’s gaze is empty, blank, expression unreadable.
* You deserve this. Just like I did.
They say, their voice flat and wrong, buttercups blooming from their lips. Their knife raises in a wide arc, ready and waiting to come down the next instant.
After all, it’s not like they haven’t seen this done before.
