This was the last comic page drawn for Caretaker, but was never published, since we switched to a written format.
It would have come directly after [page 152] when Chara turns time back after confessing to murdering Ballet Kid. The dialogue would have been something like this:
Panel 1-2: (Chara reloads to a point right after burying ballet kid.)
Panel 3: “Huh?”
Panel 4: “All the way back here? Ugh. I have to clean up again.”
Panel 5: “If only I could get some help...”
Panel 6: “Ah?”
Panel 7: (Chara sees a spider near the soul jar.)
Panel 8: “Get away from that!”
very first sketch of ballet kid from @caretaker-au (coincidentally created may 8 2018, a year and one day ago). thankfully ballet kid got a much needed outfit touch up in their debut.
I really loved this idea of approaching the Caretaker kids in their adult versions being part of the Dreemurr family, it would be very interesting to see an alternate story about it.
Maybe I can do this... (just maybe).
The second pic was based on this.
@caretaker-au belongs to @eruto, @mintprints @peppermintbee and @nochocolate.
More concepts whipped up for the Interlude: Integrity chapter. The first comic is years old, where Asriel approaches a distraught Chara who’s having trouble hiding their first kill. The other three were drawn more recently, during the storyboarding process for the chapter.
The Caretaker of the Ruins
Companion Piece for Interlude: Integrity
Authors: Ellipsis, Minty
“My dad? Really?”
“Yes, dear,” the assistant dance instructor confirmed, “He’s here to pick you up.”
The child’s smile faltered for a moment as they glanced back at the studio. “But practice isn’t over yet.” The rest of the class were following the dance instructor’s lead, tutus fluttering in near perfect synchronization.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch you up next week, okay?” She gestured towards the lobby door, “He’s in a hurry, so don’t worry about changing. Grab your bag from the lockers.”
“Okay!” The child did as instructed, rushing over to the lockers and pulling a dark blue duffel bag over their shoulder. They felt giddy with excitement. While their mother showed nothing but disdain for the man, the child had secretly been hoping for their father’s return. And now, here he was, and at their ballet class no less! There was so much they wanted to tell him.
Within no time at all, the assistant instructor brought the child to their father, who was waiting at the entrance of the dance studio. The little dancer rushed past the assistant instructor and there they saw him. Dressed in a nice button-down shirt and leaning on a cane, the tall man was wearing an uncharacteristic smile and had a small denim jacket over one arm. He looked even better than they remembered.
“Dad!” The child rushed forward as the man knelt down and swept them into a hug. “I missed you.”
“Hey, sport, I missed you too!” the father said while ruffling the kid’s hair. There was a twitch in his smile as he scrutinized the child. “It’s cold outside, so I brought you a gift.” The man held up the denim jacket, “Try it on!”
The small dancer threaded their arms through the coat, their fingertips barely able to reach the end of the sleeves. “Perfect size!” the man lied, “Now come on, we gotta go.”
The child pulled up their sleeve so they had a visible hand to wave at the assistant, “See you later, Miss!” They grasped their father’s open palm and skipped out with him towards the truck outside.
“Take care, and I hope your mother feels better soon!” she called, just as the door closed behind them.
“Huh?” The child looked over their shoulder but the assistant was already out of sight. They looked up at their father, “Did something happen to Mom?”
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.” The father took the duffel bag and tossed it into the bed of the truck before opening the passenger door, “Hop in, we gotta hurry.” The child paused for a moment before climbing in. There were brown bottles and fast food wrappers on the floor, which the child nudged to the side with their slippered feet before buckling their seat belt. They really should have at least changed their shoes before leaving the studio.
The father took his spot at the driver’s seat, placing his cane next to the child in the passenger seat. “You’ve really grown,” he commented with a smile as he pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s been almost three years since your mom took you away.”
“Yeah…” The child looked out the window and watched the studio to drift away. They never saw it as their mother taking them away, though their memory of that day was not clear. As they tried to think back, a different memory interrupted them. Their mother, knelt on one knee and holding them by the shoulders, spoke solemnly, “You must never, ever be alone with your dad.” They hated that memory. Before, the child thought it was very mean to forbid their father from seeing them. But this time, the memory did not make them angry.
“Where is Mom?” the child tried to ask casually, but their voice ended in a squeak.
“I told you not to worry about it. Stop asking.”
The child opened their mouth to argue, but said nothing, instead turning back to the window. Outside, the familiar neighborhood scenery had been replaced with dense forest and winding roads. They were driving away from the valley and into the surrounding mountains.
“I thought your mom was kidding when she said you were doing ballet,” the father remarked.
The child cautiously glanced over and saw their father’s smile from earlier was gone. Why would he be upset? “It’s okay, I’m actually really good at it,” they said with as much false confidence as they could muster.
“Was it your mom who put this idea in your head?” he asked, his eyes flickered across the kid before looking back to the road. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Unbelievable.”
They recognized that tone. Suppressed memories of arguments behind closed doors resurfaced in the child’s mind. “But Dad, I wanted-”
“No!” The yell put the child’s hair on end. Their father turned towards the child with eyes burning. “No son of mine is going to be a-”
“Dad, stop!”
“Don’t you talk back--!”
BAM.
Both father and child lurched forward in their seats as airbags deployed. He slammed on the brakes as the truck bounced over what was left of the deer the child had tried to warn him of. The father cursed as he freed himself from his seatbelt. He reached toward the child who pulled away, but he only grabbed his cane before stepping out of the vehicle. He circled to the front, kicking the front bumper that was hanging on by only a few bolts, shouting at the damage, the dead animal, and anything else he could think to blame.
The child shrunk down in their seat, and cautiously unlatched their seat belt. Keeping their eyes on their father, they waited for him to crouch down to check under the car before pushing the door open and bolting towards the side of the road.
Ignoring the barrage of screaming behind them and the sharp rocks fraying their slippers, the child bounded through the underbrush, praying that a search party would find them before their father did.
