alright who wants first draft privileges to Susie’s No Good Very Bad Horrible Terrible Day <3
The ice cream machine gives a clunk when it finishes up your frozen treats. You perk up immediately, even if your excitement has to be a little dampened by the unbearable grin of that skeleton. Not too much, though. Ice cream is ice cream, whoever is serving it.
“Here you go,” says Sans. (*Mr. Sans.* You suppress a snicker. Man, Noelle’s a screwball sometimes, even when she’s a little out of it like she has been. You don’t blame her. These past few days, things have taken an even weirder turn than usual.)
“Thanks,” you say. He doesn’t ask you for payment this time. He slips one cone into your hand, then another, and as he’s reaching for the last one, he starts speaking. You narrow your eyes warily.
“Maybe that’ll make your friend feel better. Their mom is real worried about them,” he says. You hold your frown out in front of you like a shield. Since when’s he got the right to worry about Kris?
“Yeah, sure,” you say. And then, lamely, again, “Thanks,” you mumble a little quieter this time.
One big cone for Kris. One big cone for Noelle. One big- Damn, you’re out of hands. You take a few seconds to ponder this dilemma. You’ll get back to them when you get back; you’re sure they aren’t going to miss you if you take a moment longer. That thought curls up tight around your brain, so you say, “Hey, just toss it in!” and open your mouth wide.
Whatever else you can say about this guy, he’s got good aim. Down your gullet it goes, ice cream and cone and all. Freezes your brain right up, and all your thoughts along with it. You hiss so hard you can almost imagine a blizzard coming from your nostrils.
Now, you’re on a mission. Get these cones to Kris and Noelle pronto, before they melt or before they mysteriously go missing and leave incriminating ice cream stains on your face. You’ve never failed Noelle yet, and Kris, well, you definitely haven’t failed them since you started trying not to. You’re not breaking your winning streak.
You glance down the road towards Noelle’s house. The sound of the town is so far away, like the hum of TV static. You look down at your shoes instead as you walk, kicking aside streamers and broken-stemmed flowers and litter. Who cares what they’re all doing over there anyway, or who is getting crowned King and Queen? Kings are assholes, and Queens can be a little overbearing, anyway. With everyone gone, no one is stopping you from getting back to your friends as soon as possible, though not too soon. You wouldn’t want to walk in on their secret chat and figure out what’s so important that they need to hide it from you. If that happened, it’d be a complete accident.
Sounds believable, right? Right.
The ice cream smells really, really good.
You pause. Peek around. Still no one in sight. There’s probably no one anywhere near the lake at all, actually.
Very subtly, you lick Kris’s ice cream.
Susie-shaped tongue smear. You glare at it. Maybe if you give it to Kris facing away from it, they won’t notice.
You kick up dust making your way down to the lake. Maybe the festival didn’t go as planned today, but you still got to spend it with Noelle and Kris, albeit apart. Tomorrow will be better.
Geez, when did you become the kind of person to start believing in that kind of nonsense? You’re turning into a huge soft sap.
Your boots clomp tracks into the soft dirt near the lake, right next to Noelle’s and Kris’s from when you walked them over earlier. You squint at the setting sun. Kind of romantic. Huh. Not that that’s- You squint around some more; romantic or not, the sun reflecting off the lake is really getting in your eyes.
“Hey, Kris!” you call. The ice creams are starting to melt onto your hands, and the delicious temptation to taste them again is growing stronger. You resist. What else are best friends for? “Kris!” you call again. “Hey, if you try to sneak up and scare me, I’m going to drop both of your cones in the mud!” You look around for the two of them. More importantly, you listen. Noelle would definitely laugh if she knew you were onto the two of them trying to prank you, but-
“Noelle?” you say, as the shadows grow deeper. You glance back towards the town. “I didn’t take that long. Did you guys go back without me?” A terrible little lump tries to get into your throat. You swallow it back down and wish you had an ice cream that wasn’t someone else’s to help keep it there.
You glance down at the dirt. There’s… There’s your boots, in and out and in and out, bringing Noelle here, bringing Kris here, bringing back the treats turning to mush in your sweaty hands.
And Kris’s footprints. And Noelle’s. They don’t go anywhere but towards the lake. They pool darkly across the ground as the light from the sun abandons them.
“Kris!” you shout. “Noelle!” This is so stupid. What do they think they’re doing? Why haven’t they jumped out at you yet?
A ice cream splatter on your boots. You look down and notice that Kris and Noelle’s tracks keep going.
Oh, duh. That’ll make them easy to find. You’re an idiot, Susie.
You follow those tracks. Past the metal picnic benches. Past the trees. To the water.
Into the water. You stare for too long at the waves swallowing up the last marks they left behind.
“What?” you whisper to yourself. The silence is unbearable.
“Kris?” you call back, like you don’t believe the proof you’re standing close enough to stick your own feet in.
“Noelle?” you say. You feel very small beside the water. Your hands are cold and hot at the same time, slippery with melting ice cream and sweat.
You don’t know what pulls your gaze out far enough to see them.
You know it’s them, though. They’re just dark, terrible things lost in the water, but you know.
You drop their ice cream. Both cones.
The water is freezing. It floods through your clothes and stings your skin as you force yourself through as fast as you can. Your legs churn up mud and harsh waves. You think you can hear yourself calling Kris’s name, Noelle’s name, but it feels far away, like you left your voice back on shore and all that’s in your ears is splashing and panting for breath. The lake gets deeper and deeper, but you’re taller than Kris, taller than Noelle. Even then, your feet eventually can’t find the bottom, and they’re still out there, out of reach, you shove yourself hands first through the water ungracefully to reach them.
You don’t know which one you grab first. Noelle’s sweater. Kris’s hair. Something. Anything. You kick and kick and kick and drag them back. Heavy, weighed down with soaked clothes and lungs full of- You grunt and pull and refuse to leave them bobbing in the cold, dark water.
One foot under you, then the next, and the water is still too high, but if you can walk, you can hoist Kris up onto your shoulders and pick Noelle up in your arms. You hobble forward. One step at a time. Kris’s head lolls on your shoulder, water dripping from their hair. Noelle’s mouth is slack, and her hair is made of terrible, wet tangles, like a briar patch made of golden light.
If you get them to shore, they have to be alright. They have to.
This isn’t right. This can’t be right. There’s a prophecy. And you- You hate how that prophecy ends, but it doesn’t end like this. When you said you’d do anything to make sure it doesn’t happen, you didn’t mean this!
You take it back. You won’t break the glass. You’ll be the hero, not the dragon. Just make Kris okay. Make Noelle okay. Someone.
You heave yourself onto the lake’s shore, and Kris tumbles from your back into the wet sand. They don’t move. You lay Noelle down and wish you could drive the water back or carry them further, but you can’t. You’re stuck here in-between the land and the water, as it laps up at your knees where you’ve fallen to the ground, and around Noelle’s soaked sock-covered hooves—shoes lost to the hungry waters—and Kris’s sprawled arm that seems to reach back to the lake.
If you were Berdly, you would run for help from an adult. If you were Noelle, you would scream so high and loud that someone would come running. If you were Ralsei, you would know what to do. But you are Susie, and Susie can only do Susie things.
“Wake up,” you tell Kris. You give their cheek a slap. “Wake up, jerk!” You hit them a little harder and leave a fast-fading mark on their face. You snatch your hand back. They don’t move.
What are you supposed to do now? You blink rapidly as your eyes sting, and you’re still dripping wet and freezing from the lake. They aren’t breathing, so- There’s ways to fix that, right? To save someone? But you only had one gym class about that, years ago, and you weren’t paying attention because you never paid attention when gym was meant for all the running around most classes kept you away from.
It’s- It has to be. Hands on chest. You can do that. Kris’s chest is small, but you still need both your hands. You try to apologize to Noelle that you don’t have more, but you can’t make sense of what you’re saying. Something crunches under your knee as you shuffle closer to Kris.
Ice cream cone shards shatter into the sand and get eaten by the water. You push on Kris’s chest, and nothing happens.
Harder. Harder. You put your weight behind it. You don’t know what you’re trying to do, force the water out or the air in. This is supposed to work.
This is a world without magic, which you aren’t very good at anyway, and you have none at all in your hands pumping on Kris’s chalk-fragile chest. You feel another crunch, deeper and sickening. Does that mean stop? Does that mean it’s working? And you need to do Noelle, too, you’re running out of time. Kris needs to start breathing now so they can help you, so they can tell you what to do next. How dare they just- How could they- Break and break and break beneath their chest for what good you can’t do. They refuse to breathe. You refuse to give up.
The ground is dustless, so you can save Noelle, so you can save Kris. There is still time. It feels like you make more time with every push.
“Kris, come on,” you say.
“Kris, Noelle’s going to die!” you yell.
“Kris, please, please, I’m sorry I took so long,” you beg.
You punch them in the chest because it feels as useful as anything else and they deserve it and you hate yourself because it does nothing and it hurts your knuckles and Kris and Noelle and why is everyone in town celebrating a world away when you need help.
Why is no one coming to help you? You know the answer to that. It’s the same it’s always been.
You just- You got used to the idea that you were wrong, sometimes.
You want to look up and Toriel to- No, not Toriel, no, how could you admit that you left Kris alone, that you left them, and they and Noelle- So, maybe a laugh, maybe an impossible laugh and the old man would- He’s in the ground twice over, and how could he be proud of you now, when you can’t do something as simple as save your best friend’s life-
You know who could fix this. Ralsei.
What are you going to do, carry them both to Castle Town? While they lay there, not breathing, and every second you know they’re further away, and the only reason you have hope is that Noelle is still flesh and blood.
You grasp her hand. You squeeze it tight.
If you can’t bring them to the Dark World.
You’ll bring the Dark World to you.
And Ralsei can be disappointed with you later if he wants. He won’t be, but maybe he’ll want to be, which will hurt just as bad. You don’t care. You’ve made one fountain; you’ll make another.
You still have Kris’s knife. You just… never gave it back. There was never a moment to. And it was weird and familiar to have it with you, like Kris is weird and familiar to have near you.
You take it out. Your hands shake.
So you pick Kris up. Not much. You hook your hands under their armpits and haul them up as if to sit. They flop back, directly into your chest, their head dropping across your shoulder. You try not to think about the water that spills out of their lips or their half-open eyes. You wrap your arms around them to keep them put.
You can’t live in a world without your best friend, and you don’t want to live in a world where they, where she, didn’t stop to think about the Susie-shaped shadow on the shoreline that was going to find them. You have Kris’s knife in your hands, and Kris’s body, limp, enclosed by your arms, and so you make it Kris’s hands around the knife, too. Your right hand over their right hand. Your left hand over their left hand. Pruney, powerless fingers clenched around the handle because if Kris doesn’t do this with you, you won’t be able to breathe.
You lay your chin on Kris’s head. They smell like lakewater, cold and damp and lost. You are both in the reflection of the blade. You look over to Noelle, serene in the sand, except for her sightless eyes staring up at the sun and her gaping mouth. Blonde hair melting into the shore, losing its shape, turning into-
“I’m not going to let you go,” you tell them, and you mean it with every driving force of your will. You mean it more than you have ever meant anything before, which has to count for something, which has to change something. You were told your choices matter. “It’s going to be okay, Kris. It’s going to be okay.” You wet your snout in their hair. You don’t have time to cry, so you aren’t, and everything is too wet to tell if you’re a liar.
You hold Kris’s hands, and you hold Kris’s knife.
You plunge their blade into the earth. You drown in a shadow that rises above your head faster than you can blink.
That is the only Susie thing you can do.
