They blink once, twice, gripping their arm a little more tightly, taking a step back when Cherry suddenly seems to be overcome by… fear? Disgust? It was hard to say – Cheeky has never been great at naming their own emotions, let alone doing the same for other people. They laugh weakly, shaking and shivery from bloodloss, definitely more sickly than they’d prefer.
* Sounds like an awfully convoluted excuse. Just to show a little k-kindness.
They push the basket forward with an awkward, gangly foot, their boots almost worn through the sole.
* Take it. If you are going to help me. You should not n-need a reason. And if you are not. Then let it c-crawl on your –
They stumble, the world tilting dangerously to the side, their balance suddenly failing them (traitorous as it was). Cheeky barely manages to stay upright as nausea rises from the depths of their stomach, bile flooding their dry mouth, acidic sourness burning their tongue.
And that, that is enough to finally make them panic.
They whimper as they close their red eyes tightly, sucking air through gritted teeth, desperately trying not to throw up. They hate being like this, hate being frail and vulnerable. But at the moment, what choice do they have but to ask for help?
* Okay. N-nevermind. I will ignore. Your tsun-tsun qualities. In favour. Of not dying. Though. I, um. May. Need some assistance? If that is possible. I m-mean. No point in having t-two unconscious –
Abruptly, their face gains a green tinge as they turn away to retch up the very few contents of their stomach.
Cherry has enough time to draw in a few deep breaths, and slowly the familiar numbness creeps over them: as if their LOVE, briefly pierced by that surge of raw panic, flowed back and covered the sharp edges of their fear. They let go of the wall, still swaying a bit, but their cheeks start to glow that feverish red once again.
And then - it looks like the tables have turned, and the stranger tilts to their side pretty much like Cherry did themselves a few minutes ago. They look weak. Dying, maybe.
And maybe... maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
Cherry watches them, not moving much, not saying anything. Their face is blank. Now, they know they are not a good person. And they know, despite everything, that they can pick up their basket and walk away without sparing that human another glance. They know they can return to their ‘home’ and go back to knitting, and in a few days they’d come back to maybe push the body off to somewhere where it would not be in the way, and they wouldn’t feel proud about the ordeal, but there’d be no regret, either. And monsters would get the final soul and break free, and maybe, maybe, then Cherry would be able to finally rest.
This would be so easy. So tempting.
They tell themselves frankly that there is no kindness to their actions. And yet... They make a step closer to Cheeky. Then another one.
Then again, what good would be another soul to monsters, now? Asgore is a goofball, but he is no idiot. He would never lead what remained of his people to certain death. He’d probably lie through his teeth and make up some ridiculous reason why the Barrier shouldn’t be broken yet. Or he would simply give up.
And, on the other hand, if that soul makes its way into Flowey’s hands... Cherry shivers and takes another wobbly step. They don’t want to think what Flowey would do with the power of seven human souls and not an ounce of mercy or kindness.
And, worst of all... what if that human can Load?
Cherry thinks about it as their hands reach for the basket, putting it aside. Their fingers feel and look stiff, wrong. (This is good. This means they can detach as much as possible from what they are trying to do.) If that human can use the files, now... and this is not that far-fetched, since Cherry’s own Determination is barely even there, anymore... then they will just come back. Fresh. Strong. Unyielding. Unstoppable.
And that only leaves one option.
Everything around Cherry feels like a bad dream when they reach out to grab a fistful of Cheeky’s hair (pulling, twisting - no granny no no no granny no), squeezing their fingers painfully as they jerk the other’s head up. They make their creepiest face. Their face feels wrong. Everything does.
“If you even think about doing anything funny”, they say, and even their cold hollow voice is foreign, “I will make you choke on your own blood.”
Their fingers snatch a bandage and wrap it tightly around Cheeky’s wrists as they hold them down, tight and secure. There is no gentleness, no kindness, no mercy in what they do. Cherry moves stiffly, more like a ghost guiding a body that doesn’t belong to them than a real person. Maybe that is good. This way, they can stop thinking about how they are helping out a human or how they are making one of their worst bad decisions as they take another bandage and start wrapping Cheeky’s arm.
