❝leaders need to make tough decisions. we do what we must,❞ says @opyrrhic.
her mind has become threadbare: a mutilated super highway of tattered ribbons, shorn and unraveled, lacking any meaningful connections. she sits now with her head in her hands, half-listening to shrike, half-bargaining with herself to stand and begin to pick up the frayed pieces.
she serves no one as a willing feast for the children of moths, hungering for thread ... but, andraste, is it difficult to stand with their teeth in her flesh.
"i cannot lead them," she confides from behind the confessional of her hands. "i have sentenced them to death, and i will triumph at nothing, save to bear witness to their loss and suffering."
the words feel foreign and bitter on her tongue which - before the events of the thwarted ritual - bore a fountain of endless, liquid sunlight. now, it crowds her lungs.
her shoulders sink, and she exhales. a moment later, she lifts her head, her eyes swimming in the shadows beneath them.
"the world should not be made to endure such agony for my mistake. they should not have to face this torment for the decisions that i have made."
if she could siphon their pain, she would swallow it whole a thousand times. if she could unstitch the weavings of time itself and return to the ritual, she would become the needle and the thread and unmake this wretched choice.
my contribution to @reddieweek this year!! thank you so much to the mods for putting this all together <333
written for Day 5: Books/Games/Movies/TV
Richie Tozier is a bard harboring a secret crush on his best friend and a secret power he has no control over. When an ambush against Richie and Eddie brings the latter secret to light, Richie's guilt over putting Eddie in danger makes him distance himself from Eddie. He can at least still keep the being in love with him a secret, right?
dnd 5e au!! richie is a tiefling bard/wild magic sorcerer multiclass, eddie is a halfling ranger!
word count: 6,378
rating: mature for mild violence and raunchy sex jokes lol
tags/warnings: pining, secrets, insecurity, guilt, miscommunication, angst, angst with a happy ending, love confessions
read on ao3 or below!!
Richie sat perched in the tree, purple tail swishing behind him as he watched Eddie check over his components list once more. He had everything he needed, and his pronunciation was pretty good, but he was struggling with the somatic components. Richie watched him try a few more times, his wrist and fingers refusing to make the shapes he needed, before he slid down from his perch.
“I knew you were there,” Eddie said without even turning to face him. Eddie never let Richie have the satisfaction of thinking he’d snuck up on him.
“Is that why you keep choking?” Richie teased, walking leisurely up to his friend. “You trying too hard to impress me?”
“Fuck off,” Eddie said, his brow furrowing further in concentration. He said the incantation again, but again, nothing happened. He let out a frustrated breath and his posture slacked.
“Eds, it’s called wind wall,” Richie said, coming up behind him. “You think wind is that stiff?”
Eddie let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t move away from Richie. “Walls are supposed to be pretty stiff, dumbass.” He looked over his shoulder, having to look up quite a bit to meet Richie’s eye, given that Richie had about a nearly three foot height advantage over Eddie. Nonetheless, Eddie bumped his shoulder against Richie as he ribbed him.
“Still,” Richie said, concealing the lump in his throat he always got when Eddie looked at him like that, all big brown eyes and long lashes, “you need to loosen up a little. You’re gonna need to be able to do this on the fly, which means you need to find what feels natural.”
Gently, carefully, Richie put his hand on Eddie’s. Richie’s hand was a light lavender, speckled with spots of darker purple, Eddie’s hand tan and sun kissed. Eddie’s hand was a lot smaller than Richie’s, with a bit of dirt under his short nails, but their fingers were both covered in similar callouses—turns out, lute strings and arrow strings have similar effects. Eddie gave another little huff, but once again, let Richie show him. Richie pressed so gently against him, a barely there touch, to help Eddie even his breathing. He loosened Eddie’s fingers, encouraged his wrist to relax.
Being this close to Eddie, it felt like everything around them was utterly still, like the only tangible thing was the beating of Richie’s own heart, and the smell of Eddie’s hair, the warmth of his skin which Richie was barely touching.
He stepped back when he caught himself lingering too long. “Uh, there, try it now.”
This wasn’t a new thing, Richie wanting to be close to Eddie. It was just new that he’d realized what it meant, and that maybe it wasn’t just what good close friends felt for one another. None of their party had ever really commented on it, and while Eddie would playfully shove him away, he’d just as soon cuddle up to Richie.
But lately… Lately Richie found himself wanting things that didn’t strike even him as particularly platonic. He wanted Eddie in ways that were selfish. In ways that weren’t fair to Eddie. He kept doing this, kept leaning closer to Eddie than he should, kept staying there for longer than he should, making up reasons to touch his hand, his arm.
Meanwhile, Eddie had no idea. Surely he wouldn’t let Richie touch him so constantly if he knew how Richie truly felt, if he knew that Richie wanted to hold him closer than anyone else, that he was constantly thinking about Eddie, about holding him close, how much he treasured the moments he had Eddie to himself. How even when he made Eddie smile and laugh it was selfish, because Richie got to bask in the warm glow of Eddie’s attention.
So Eddie didn’t know, and Richie was trying to keep it that way. And it turned his stomach sour thinking about it, because it was just another thing that Eddie didn’t know about Richie.
But it was for the best Eddie didn’t know. Especially about the other thing.
That thing Richie had known about for even longer. That thing had been happening since he was about twelve, and only Bill knew about it, and even that was only because he was the only one there the first time it happened. Bill checked up about it, but Richie assured him it was fine, that it was under control. And Bill had promised not to tell any of the others as long as Richie promised that he was okay. The honesty in those promises, Richie wasn’t proud to say, was shaky at best. But he didn’t want his weird mysterious magic shit to be another problem for Bill to deal with. It was dangerous, Richie knew that. So he tried to tamp it down, tried to suppress it so he wouldn’t hurt anybody. He was perfectly happy making magic come out of his lute, he didn’t need some shit he didn’t understand and couldn’t control coming from fucking within him, thank you very much.
Yet it kept growing inside of him, even as he tried to ignore it and cover it up. He tried to focus on his instrument, to focus on learning spells, safe spells. But the other abilities just… kept coming. And he never knew what it was gonna be that came next.
He couldn’t put his friends through that.
More selfishly, he couldn’t put himself through how they might react if they found out.
Richie had a bad habit of getting too in his head like this. It helped, at least, that he always had Eddie looking out for him—just like he was when he stiffened even further just then, his hand flying to his bow. “Richie,” he said under his breath, “I think we need to go—”
“What’s this?” a voice called out, the interruption bouncing off the trees around them. Richie scanned the area, spotting Henry Bowers sauntering out of the trees northwest of them, with Belch, Victor, and Patrick behind him. “Your party lets you two out on your own? You barely stack up to a competent adventurer combined.”
Eddie drew his bow and knocked an arrow, pointing it in warning, not yet releasing it. “Fuck off,” he growled.
Panic began to well in Richie, and with it, the sparkling, prickling feeling that shot from the center of his body to his fingertips. But he wasn’t about to let Eddie be the only target here.
“I think you need to get out more Bowers,” he said, “if you think skulking around in the woods of your hometown like a creep makes you an ‘adventurer.’”
It was a lot easier to suppress his panic when they had five other people backing them up. But here, they were outnumbered. Richie thought maybe there was a chance he and Eddie could take them, but he wasn’t betting on their odds, no matter how much shit he was talking.
“You really shouldn’t hang out in the woods alone like this,” Patrick said, his voice dripping a slimy, cold delight as he ignored Eddie’s warning and Richie’s heckling. He stepped forward. “Your friends are probably gonna be pretty sad when they find you.”
Richie reached for his lute, but something deep red was already falling over Patrick’s eyes, his hands forming a shape Richie thought he recognized as a shatter spell.
His hand slipped on his lute.
Eddie let the arrow loose, and it thudded into Patrick’s shoulder. It looked like it hurt, but it didn’t stop his casting.
Patrick’s wrist twisted.
Fuck.
There was no time.
Fuck.
There was no time for math—only the chill down Richie’s spine as Eddie’s spell faltered and Patrick’s went off.
Richie pushed his glasses up, letting the panicked prickling surge forward into sparks.
“Revertis.” He ground the word out between his teeth as though that might keep the consequences at bay and waved his hand in the air, wiping the energy that came at him and Eddie away like brushing the dust off a library tome. He felt it ripple against him, the energy of Patrick’s thwarted spell mixing with the fear that hatcheted away at Richie’s rib cage.
It stirred something.
Richie had tried to tap into it carefully, but he could feel that familiar sensation of something becoming dislodged.
The sparks staggered statically in his fingers for a moment before shooting rapidly inward, concentrating and swirling like an inferno in his chest.
Fucking fuck fuck.
“What the fuck?” Belch called out.
Henry was seething, already reaching for his blade, rusty and worn, stained proudly with old brown hints of previous violence.
Patrick… Patrick just tilted his head and smiled at Richie like he was some sort of interesting bug.
Richie didn’t look at Eddie. He couldn’t afford to; it might break him.
And for once, Richie’s shame was on his side—for as Henry, Victor, and Belch surged forward, the inferno surged up Richie’s throat, ripping his jaw open farther than he thought it ought have been able to open, and a cone of flame and heat burst forth, igniting not only the assholes in front of him, but the grass and brush around them as well.
The meadow was alight.
“R-Richie?”
Eddie’s voice was like a bucket of cold water over Richie’s head.
“You can’t do that,” Henry gritted out, frantically trying to shake off the flames. He was hurt, but not out of the fight, not even close. “You don’t… You’re a fucking bard, and a shitty one! You don’t know that kind of magic—”
Shit, the flames were spreading fast, chasing toward Eddie, and Henry was getting his blade out again.
“Richie,” Eddie said again, pulling him out of one panic into another. “Are you okay?”
Richie did something then that he knew he’d be apologizing for until at least the end of the month: he threw Eddie over his shoulder, using the momentum to swing his instrument into his hands, and turned from the fight.
“Portat ianua,” he said, his voice seeming to warp as he plucked at the lute’s strings. Suddenly, the heat and screams were gone completely. Instead, Richie’s feet were pounding against clearer grass, a stream running behind them, the parting of the trees that led to the garden behind the library within sight. Richie set Eddie down as soon as it was safe.
“Richard fucking Tozier—”
“We should still be running,” Richie said, grabbing Eddie by the hand. “They could be behind us, but we’re almost there—”
“Okay, fine, we can run first and talk later,” Eddie begrudgingly allowed, taking Richie by the hand.
A new thrill shot up Richie’s arm, one that was almost as terrifying as the other sparks had been, almost as volatile.
They made it to the back of the library without incident, Richie’s lungs burning by the time they arrived. But the physical exertion wasn’t the only thing that had Richie’s heart racing, and they certainly hadn’t run far enough to excuse the bile that was forming in Richie’s throat. He froze in place as Eddie opened the back door, the one that Mike let them use.
Eddie began to step through, then paused when he saw Richie wasn’t following. He looked worried, the expression always clear on his face when directed toward Richie, but then another familiar one came along: frustration. In his head, Richie saw it turning into anger.
“Richie—” Eddie stepped toward him.
But all Richie could feel was the fire that had come out of him, the fire catching on the grass.
He was looking at Eddie, but he was seeing Bill, around twelve years old, his eyes going wide. Richie had been practicing spells on his lute, but he wasn’t getting very far. The frustration and shame had burned hot inside of him, swirling in a way that felt potent and new, yet somehow familiar, like deja vu, or an old favorite song he’d forgotten about. He’d just meant to shake out his hand, to loosen his cramping fingers, but a jolt of ice and chill had burst forth from his hand, hitting a rock to his side. It had been fun, when it was just that. Richie tried to do it again, getting there quite easily. Bill had laughed and watched him, Richie shooting them out left and right, getting fancy with it. He still remembered Bill, giggling and running for cover. He remembered feeling that heat within himself, the power of it dizzying. He remembered when he’d assumed it was just the thrill of learning he could cast without his instrument.
But then, suddenly, as the frost shot forth from his fingertips, Richie had become paralyzed for just a moment, no longer the one in control of his body as the thrill concentrated, turning suddenly much too hot, so hot Richie needed it out—
And out it had come, in a line of lightning that burst from his chest. It was so bright it nearly blinded him, and the sound of it was almost as bad as the sounds of the trees it had hit creaking and popping.
Richie’s face burned when it was over, movement returning to his limbs in the form of violent tremors. Where the power had built inside of him before, he had felt after it sickeningly empty. Like he always did when he was terrified, he had looked to Bill. Only, Bill had worn the same expression, and it was directed at Richie.
After the initial shock, Bill of course grabbed Richie by the arm and made him run alongside him, keeping him safe as the trees began to fall. But Richie would never forget the tightness in his grip, the sweat on his palm. He would never forget the crashing of the trees behind them so close behind them. All of that horror, with him forever, yet the worst of it all was that look of horror on Bill’s face. Bill, Big Bill, endlessly brave and stubborn and headstrong, had looked at Richie like he was the scariest thing he had ever seen.
He thought he sometimes still caught glimpses of that look in Bill’s eyes even now, when Richie got angry, or if a combat came on suddenly.
The lightning was only the first time the power had been released, but Richie had made sure that it was the last time he ever released it around another person.
That was, at least, until today.
Richie couldn’t handle Eddie looking at him like that. He couldn’t handle explaining himself to Eddie. And he couldn’t forgive himself for risking something so unpredictable around Eddie. If he had hurt him…
No. He was way too chickenshit to face this.
And Eddie, apparently, could tell.
“—don’t you dare—”
“I’m sorry, Eds,” Richie said, his voice weak and gravelly. He cast invisibility on himself through his lute, clinging to it like it could somehow stop the turmoil inside of him. Eddie lunged forward for him, but Richie just managed to side step him.
“Richie, you shit—” Eddie grumbled, throwing his hands out. But Richie teleported away. Eddie was safer at the library anyway.
He made it back to the apartment he shared with Bev in one piece, reluctantly making himself visible again before entering.
He didn’t end up leaving the apartment much for the next few days, skipping out on group events. He went out a little with Bev and Stan, but he avoided the library and any other places Eddie might be.
This behavior, of course, did not slip by without comment.
“What happened?” Bev had asked plainly the next morning. “You went to bed at a responsible hour last night. Something’s gotta be wrong.”
“I’m getting my life together,” Richie had said, then ran through a handful of other bluffs until Bev gave up, huffing in frustration.
Stan had gotten a little further, as he had updates about the world outside of Richie’s bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. Updates about Eddie, also put fairly plainly. “Why are you avoiding Eddie?” he’d asked. “He asked me to go to the stables with him. He always takes you to the stables, and when I brought it up he said to ask you why you weren’t going with him.”
“Maybe I’ve got a cold.”
“I’m not gonna be happy if you’re hanging out with me while you’re sick.”
“Okay, I’m not sick.”
Stan didn’t press; just went back to his books.
“You’re not gonna ask me any more questions?” Richie asked.
“I’m not the one you need to be talking to about this,” Stan answered. “Besides, I know you and Eddie can’t stay away from each other for longer than a week. One of you is gonna break in a few days.”
Richie turned bright red at the implications of that and saved himself the analysis of his habits, personality, and desires by finding something else to occupy himself with.
It was Bill who ultimately got through to him. In retrospect, Richie figured it had to be.
“Rich, Eddie’s really upset that you keep blowing him off,” Bill told him. They were hanging out in the temple to Maturin, which helped calm Richie’s nerves. It wasn’t really a temple—more a community organized space, not much more than the hideout they’d made together as kids, only this one was open to people other than just their inner circle. Still, it was empty now, save for the two of them. He wasn’t the most devout person in the world, but all seven of them had felt the protection of Maturin in undeniable ways, and not just through Bill and Mike. Being here brought him a sort of peace—or, at least more peace than a person who has unpredictable magic boiling up inside of them at any given point tends to feel.
“I don’t think that’s what he’s upset about,” Richie finally said. It was the first time he’d budged on the topic since it happened. He blamed the turtle. Or maybe Bill had a zone of truth on him.
No, Bill wouldn’t do that. Not unless he really needed to anyway. Besides, Richie was too good at dancing around the truth without lying, so it wouldn’t have been that effective anyway.
He was letting Bill in because Bill was already in, and he was the only one. He was letting him in because it was Bill.
“It’s what he told me he was upset about,” Bill said. “He didn’t mention anything else.”
Something stirred inside Richie as he pictured Eddie grumbling to Bill about him. As nice as it was to think that Eddie had just been pouting about wanting to see Richie, he knew that wasn’t what had happened. Maybe it was what Eddie was telling people. Maybe Eddie was covering for Richie—no one had come knocking Richie’s door down or acting scared around him, so he assumed Eddie was keeping what he’d seen to himself. But surely he was upset about it. It was probably only getting worse; Richie was isolating Eddie, making him keep secrets. He was probably terrified but felt too bad to say anything about it. Eddie probably resented him, and with good reason. God, it made Richie sick to think about it.
“Rich,” Bill said, placing a gentle hand on Richie’s shoulder, “what happened?”
For the first time in days, Richie let the act drop. He stopped acting aloof. He let his eyebrows draw together as he looked up at Bill through his glasses. He relaxed all the muscles he’d been tensing in his relentless pursuit of a casual disposition. He finally let himself toy with the bracelets on his wrists like he’d been aching to do, pulled his lower lip between his teeth. The anxiety rolled around in his chest like a landslide with nowhere to go but back in a circle, building.
“It happened,” he said, a small quiver in his voice, “around Eddie. Bowers and those assholes, they were trying to start shit in the woods, and it was just Eddie and me, and I got scared and I panicked and—” Richie stopped abruptly, unsure if he wanted to share the details of the fucking dragon’s breath that had burst forth from Richie. “That’s what he’s upset about.”
Bill gave him an understanding look. Richie waited for the anger. He waited for the lecture about safety. What came instead was a smile that almost looked… amused?
His bewilderment must have shown, because Bill was quick to walk it back. “Sorry, sorry I don’t think it’s funny that that happened! That sounds really scary, and I’m sorry it happened. And we should definitely plan better as a group for Bowers encounters. Although it kinda seems like you scared the shit out of them… I saw Vic the other day and he basically ran away from me. So whatever happened ended up being pretty sick.”
Richie allowed himself a small glow of pride that the gamble had at least succeeded in protecting his friends a little bit.
“Still, though, I know that’s always scary for you when it happens. Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine, I just…” Richie scrunched his face up to mitigate the sudden urge he felt to cry. “I really didn’t want anyone to know. Eddie… I can’t look at him and know he’s afraid of me.”
This time Bill fully laughed. Richie whipped his head around, ready to smack Bill across the back of his head.
“Dude, I’m serious—”
“Shit, okay, I’m sorry, I know, it’s just… You’re gonna have to work a little harder to make Eddie afraid of you, Richie. He’d kick your ass if he heard you say that you thought you could scare him.”
“He should be scared!” Richie raised his voice in indignation. “We should all be scared!”
“You’re scared,” Bill said, rubbing Richie’s shoulder. “And it’s understandable. But you should let us help. You should let Eddie help.” His expression softened. “He’s worried about you. You know he wants to help. He wants to know why you’re avoiding him, and I bet he wants to know what happened. He won’t be mad; he’ll know you were just trying to protect him.”
Richie considered that quietly.
Bill gave him one last soft bit of encouragement. “Go talk to him.”
Richie almost went home after that. But he played Bill’s words over and over in his head, telling him that he couldn’t scare Eddie, that Eddie was worried about him. It was messed up. He didn’t deserve Eddie’s worry. Eddie at least deserved to hear that. And he deserved an explanation, Richie supposed.
Stan’s words also echoed in his mind, reminding him that he wasn’t fooling anyway acting like he could stay away from Eddie. His cheeks flushed from learning how obvious it was, but it wasn’t like he could deny it; the days away from him had been torture. He missed Eddie like a plant misses water. He missed his laugh, and his rants, and how he’d shove Richie with his shoulder but then stay close to him. He missed his smile, and his voice. He missed his snarky retorts and his dreamy contemplations and the way his freckled nose scrunched up when Richie poked and squeezed and teased him. He missed the feeling of being around him: a giddy thrill that drowned out all the rest of the noise that was constantly buzzing inside Richie and a peace not even Maturin could muster.
It didn’t take long to find him; Richie didn’t find him on his favorite hill, the grassy one with the little white and yellow flowers, the one that overlooked the main road that headed into town, so he figured Eddie must be in the library.
Mike beamed at Richie from the front desk when he walked in. “Hey, Rich! Been a few days.” Coming from someone else, Richie may have taken that as a dig. But the only thing that hinted at any feeling other than the joy Mike projected was a tinge of sadness in his eyes. Richie gave him a guilty smile, and he could tell that it was enough. “You got a book you’re looking for?” Mike asked.
Usually Richie would just make some joke about books with pictures (or, occasionally, actually check out a book on political theory—always a toss up), but this time he paused, unsure how to explain what he was actually there for.
Luckily, Mike excelled in both intuition and knowing what was going on in the town at any given point, especially with his friends. So he gave Richie a grin and said, “I’m fucking with you. He’s upstairs in the archives with Ben.”
Richie turned bright red. He could try to deny it, but what would be the point?
“Right, thanks,” he said. He started for the stairs, then paused and leaned dramatically backwards to look at Mike. “You’ll at least say that I asked, right? You won’t just tell people it was obvious?”
Mike laughed and shook his head. “Richie, it’s been obvious for over a decade now.”
Having heard enough of that, Richie carried on his way.
He felt his heart pounding again, getting louder with every step he took toward the archives.
It was quiet when he got there, which wasn’t unusual for Ben, nor Eddie when he was with Ben, but it was eerie all the same. Though as Richie got closer, he realized it wasn’t quite silent—Eddie and Ben seemed to be speaking in hushed whispers Richie couldn’t quite make out. Whispers which stopped abruptly once Richie came into view.
Richie was positive his heart actually stopped for a second, seeing Eddie again. It had only been a few days, but it felt like an eternity. Eddie looked like a deer in headlights for a moment, which made Richie’s stomach drop, but he quickly schooled his expression into something closer to a scowl. Which was at least better than fear, Richie supposed.
“Hi, Richie,” Ben said, smiling at Richie with all the subtlety of a dog who’s just eaten something it definitely shouldn’t have. Richie didn’t have to cast detect thoughts to figure they’d probably just been whispering about him. Not that he could blame them.
“Hey, Benny boy, good to see ya.” Richie grinned, covering any quiver in his voice with a false bravado. “Nothing personal, but you mind if I kick you out for a second? Gotta talk to Eds real quick.” Richie flitted his eyes toward Eddie, who was looking pointedly down at the book that laid open in front of him. “That is, if he’ll allow it.” Eddie raised his gaze to Richie’s, shrugged, and went back to reading. I’ll take it, Richie thought. At least nothing had been thrown or cast at him.
Ben made a face that was somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “Sure thing, Richie.” He put his book back and slid out of the room. “See you guys around!”
“Like a wheel,” Richie grinned over his shoulder.
And then it was just Richie and Eddie again. Like it was so often. Like it had been right before Richie had gone and fucked it all up.
This wasn’t the first time Eddie had been angry with Richie—you didn’t get through almost two decades of friendship without a spat here and there. But this was different. Eddie had seen Richie in a way Richie had hoped he never would. And he wasn’t even looking at him.
“Watcha readin’?” Richie asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and moseying over to the other side of the table to peek across at what Eddie was reading while still keeping a respectable distance.
“Nothing,” Eddie said. “Just about the history of the town.”
Richie could see that this was technically true—that was the book that Eddie had open. But there were various other folders and tomes and notebooks beneath that one that really piqued Richie’s interest.
“Since when do you care about the history of Derry?” Richie asked. “Mike and Ben putting you to work now? You getting good wages?”
Eddie just glared at him.
Richie felt like he’d been hit with a hold person spell.
And yet—he kept going, because his courage was waning significantly now that he was realizing he’d have to actually address what had happened.
“I bet you’re hiding something under there,” he teased. He’d said it lightly, but he wasn’t really joking, and his methods proved effective when Eddie looked up at him with a look of guilt clear on his face. “Edward Kaspbrak!” Richie gasped. “Do you have porn under there?”
He pushed the book aside while Eddie was slightly off guard.
“Richie, stop—”
Eddie shoved the book back in place, but Richie had glanced enough of the papers he’d uncovered. His breath caught in his throat.
A lot of words jumped out at him.
“Casting without components…”
“Dragon’s breath…”
“Sudden new powers…”
Wild Magic.
Richie felt it again. The panic. The buzzing. The itch he couldn’t scratch that clawed up his throat.
He staggered back.
“Richie,” Eddie said, his voice much softer this time. Richie clenched his hands into fists, as if he could hold back whatever might spring forth from them. He knew logically that there was no risk as long as he didn’t cast anything, as long as he kept to his bard spells, but he could feel the power swirling in him, coiling like a snake, even when he had no desire to tap into it.
He hadn’t realized that Eddie had stood and come closer until he felt Eddie’s hand on his arm. He nearly jumped.
“Richie,” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” Richie cut him off quickly. He brought his hand to Eddie’s side, then quickly pulled it away. “Shit, Eddie, I came here to apologize to you, please don’t say you’re sorry.”
Eddie shifted then, ambivalence written in every move of his muscles and dilation of his pupils. He kept his hands to himself, but he didn’t move away.
Richie took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Eds,” he said. His voice shook, all too loud in such a silent room. “That was so fucked up of me. We could’ve gotten out of there without that, I never should’ve put you in danger like that. I had no idea what would happen, and I knew fucking anything could’ve happened. I just… I panicked, and I needed to get us out of there. But it was still horrible of me, and I understand if you don’t…” Richie forced himself to speak through the rapids surging in his chest. “If you don’t feel safe around me anymore. I thought I could protect you from it, but that was selfish too, because I should’ve known I would never be able to keep that up forever. So yeah, I just… just wanted to say sorry for putting you through that. That’s all I came here for.”
Eddie was silent for longer than Richie could handle without looking to see what was happening. He looked… confused. And pissed again.
“You think that’s what I’m mad about?”
Shit. How had he managed to make things worse?
“What else?” Richie asked.
Eddie punched him on the shoulder. Richie let out a little wince. “I’m not fucking afraid of you, Richie!” he exclaimed. “I’m pissed because you ditched me! I’m pissed because you were clearly really fucking freaked out about what happened and then you wouldn’t even talk to me about it! I’ve been worried sick about you but you fucking turned invisible and teleported away before I could even get the chance to talk to you and comfort you about it! I’m pissed because you’d rather cut me off than let me help you!”
Richie thought that scaring Eddie was the worst possible outcome.
He hadn’t realized that making Eddie sad was a possibility in this scenario. And god, it was so much worse than any response of fear or anger would’ve been. Eddie was biting his lip, trying to maintain his scowl while his eyes became watery. He crossed his arms, and Richie’s heart sank. He wanted to pull Eddie into his arms, to make all his pain go away, but wouldn’t that just be the most selfish thing he could possibly do? Pull Eddie closer?
And the worst part was that Richie didn’t see a way to be honest with Eddie and not make things worse.
“Eds,” Richie said through a hitched breath, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I appreciate that, but this isn’t something anyone can fix.”
“You don’t need to be fixed, Richie,” Eddie sighed, exasperated. “I don’t want you to change. I just want you to let me in. And I was mad that you didn’t let me in, that you kept it from me, and I realize now that that’s not exactly fair and that you telling me should’ve been on your terms, but I just… I was so worried about you, Rich.”
Richie felt a stinging pressure behind his eyes. “I don’t want you to have to worry about me.”
Eddie almost seemed to seethe at that. “Richie. You fucking numbskull. Don’t you worry about me? Don’t you want me to be safe?”
What the fuck kind of question was that? “Of course I do—well, I mean, you know, not that you can’t handle yourself, but of course I want you to be safe.”
Eddie stepped closer, narrowing his eyes at Richie. “Then why shouldn’t I worry about you? Why shouldn’t I want to keep you safe?”
“What if I’m not safe to be around?”
“I think I can handle it,” Eddie snorted.
“But I can’t predict it—”
“We’ll figure it out together. It’s okay.”
“No, Eddie! It’s not okay!” Richie threw his hands up in the air, running them through his hair. “You say you don’t want me to change but I keep changing all the time in ways I don’t understand! What am I supposed to do with that? What are you supposed to do with that?”
“I just wanna be there for you!” Richie hadn’t realized his voice had been getting louder until he heard how loud Eddie said that. “I don’t know what to do with it or if there even is anything that needs to be done, but I wanna be there with you when it happens because you shouldn’t have to handle scary shit happening to you on your own!”
“But it’s my problem, why should you have to figure it out?”
“Because I love you, you idiot!”
That shut Richie up. Sure, he knew Eddie loved him, the way he knew all of his friends loved him. But that… Was he imagining it? He didn’t think that sounded so platonic.
Eddie softened, and some air came back into the room. “I love you,” he said again. “I wanna be with you. All the time. I wanna know when you’re struggling with something and I wanna help you with it. I wanna take care of you, I want… I want you. I miss you.”
Richie’s breath hitched again, and he started to crumble. “I miss you so fucking much Eddie—”
Eddie grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down. Richie needed to lean so far down to meet him he almost fell over, but he caught himself, and Eddie lifted up on his toes to meet him halfway, and then their lips were pressed together, and Eddie’s lips were so soft, despite the force behind them. It took a moment for Richie to realize he could kiss Eddie back, but when he did, he was like a man starved.
Quickly growing frustrated with the lack of leverage his position afforded him, however, Richie lifted Eddie by his waist and sat him on the table, stepping between his legs. He cupped Eddie’s face in his hands and slotted their lips together more neatly, forcing himself to slow down and really appreciate what was happening, to process it. Eddie’s hands slid over Richie’s shoulders and up into his curls, holding on tight. “Eddie,” Richie breathed against his mouth, “Eds, I love you so much.”
Eddie pulled away to catch his breath and pressed his forehead to Richie’s. “Don’t call me Eds,” he panted, but he was smiling.
“Mhm, sure, definitely won’t,” Richie grinned, then kissed him again. “Whatever you say, Eds.” He kept kissing him and kept talking, the words murmured against Eddie’s lips. “And I won’t pick you up again either. I can tell from that little squeak you made that you really didn’t like it.”
Eddie slapped him playfully on the shoulder, but he didn’t argue.
They traded a few more kisses before Richie pulled back, his body thrumming with adrenaline—it was still a little scary, but overwhelmingly it was good. He let himself really look at Eddie, at his pretty brown eyes and kiss swollen lips. He’d probably spend forever convincing himself this was real.
“You really aren’t scared?”
Eddie scoffed. “You wish you could scare me.” He kissed Richie deeply and ran his fingers through hair, grazing his thumbs gently over Richie’s horns in a way that had Richie shivering. “Honestly,” Eddie said, his voice low, “it was kind of hot.”
Richie groaned, his brain fizzling out for a second. “Okay, well, I’m not really sure I can do it again, but I’ll keep that in mind. But you should probably cool it on talking to me like that until we’re in a bed or something because I don’t think Mike would appreciate me getting jizz all over his pristinely maintained archives—”
“Richie!” Eddie screeched, kicking his thigh lightly. But he was cackling, and Richie kissed the dimples in his cheeks and nuzzled his face into Eddie’s neck, where he would’ve been happy to stay forever, with Eddie shaking from laughter in his arms.
“I love you,” Richie repeated against his skin. He couldn’t believe it was all out there—all of it, every single thing Richie had sworn to keep to himself for the rest of his life was sitting in Eddie’s lap, and Eddie loved him. “I love you,” he said again, “I love you so much.”
to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] || Also on AO3
Chapter 14: December 2005
Something’s wrong and Gerard knows it.
In all fairness, it’s pretty obvious. Martin’s name wasn’t even on the program, let alone him not being at the concert, and the place they’ve lived since the wedding is currently occupied by two yuppies and a Doberman. But even beyond that, Gerard just has a…sense that something is off.
The trouble is that he doesn’t know what he can do about it. Or how to fix it.
He’s tried everything he can think of…well, almost everything. He’s checked the phone book, but it still lists their old address; he’s tried asking at a few places, but none of the people there have seen Liliana or Roger; he’s wandered aimlessly around London, but that was always going to be a shot in the dark. He’s even taken his life into his hands and gone to the Magnus Institute to see about trading a statement for an address, but the Archivist and two of her assistants were out, leaving only a too-eager young man who, somehow, doesn’t seem to have the faintest idea of what he’s in the middle of. Gerard doesn’t have the heart to clue him in, despite his personal feelings on people being involved in this shit without their knowledge or consent, so he writes out a “statement” he’s pretty sure he cribbed from a pub song and pretends not to understand when the guy turns fuchsia after an awkward, fumbling attempt at flirting.
He’s cute, actually, and doesn’t look like he’s much older than Gerard, but since he doesn’t intend to stay in London longer than it takes to collect his brother and sister, he won’t be using the number scrawled on the back of the business card.
There is one other option, Gerard supposes, but he doesn’t want to do it. At all. If he walks back into his mother’s shop, she’ll have him again. And he’s got away. He doesn’t have to be in London anymore. Yes, the world is full of ignorance and stupidity and fear and people doing awful and terrible and thoughtless things in the face of it, but it is also full of fresh bread and comfortable armchairs and art museums and brightly-colored poisonous frogs. And he can see it, he can experience it all for himself, and maybe he can finally get a job he wants instead of running errands for his mother. He can be an artist, or a photographer, or a journalist. He can become a train porter or a flight attendant or a steward on a cruise ship. He can be a homeless drifter and get by on the kindness of others. He can fuck off to the Eurasian Steppes and live in a yurt. Anything is possible, as long as he stays away from Pinhole Books.
He sighs and looks at the business card again. Gods above, the guy drew a winking face in the tail of the Y in his last name, he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. Gerard should just throw it away, but instead, he tucks it into the back of his pack of Woodbines, shakes one out, and cups a hand around the end to light it.
“Those things’ll kill you, you know.”
Gerard almost swallows the cigarette. He whirls around to see Melanie standing a couple feet away, hands on her hips, denim jacket open enough to expose the college logo on her sweatshirt and looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Neens!” Gerard drops the cigarette and barely remembers to grind it out with a heel before he steps forward, arms outspread for a hug. Melanie practically leaps at him, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly pulling him over. “What are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing. I thought you were gone for good.” Melanie drops to the ground and looks up at him accusingly. “Aunt Mary said you’d said you weren’t coming back.”
“I’m not staying. I just came to visit.” Gerard looks Melanie up and down. “Came to see you and Martin. I figured you’d be home for the holidays.”
A strange look comes over Melanie’s eyes. “Yeah. Home for the holidays.”
Anxiety tugs at Gerard. That sense of wrong flares up again, and he studies Melanie again. “What’s wrong? You didn’t get kicked out, did you?”
“No, but—” Melanie breaks off and lifts a hand. “Hey. Look what the cat dragged in.”
Gerard turns around and grins. “Hey, Martin.”
“Gerry?” Martin looks dumbfounded. He’s wearing a jumper Gerard can tell he knitted himself—mostly because he bought him the wool last Christmas—over a button-up and a pair of khakis, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s made a pathetic attempt at growing facial hair that doesn’t suit him. “I—y-you were supposed to be gone, I thought you finally got away!”
“You didn’t think I was going to miss spending Christmas with you two, did you?” Gerard steps forward and hugs Martin tightly; Martin hugs him back, maybe a little desperately.
“If you go back to that shop, she won’t let you leave,” Martin mumbles in his ear.
“Yeah, that wasn’t my plan.” Gerard releases Martin and steps back.
Melanie comes forward to give Martin a hug, too. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. How are…things?”
“Okay. Dad’s having a better day. I fixed dinner for him and Lily and said we were going to go skating at the National History Museum.” Melanie shrugs. “We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, but at least it means they aren’t expecting us home for a bit.”
Gerard grins and waggles his eyebrows at them. “Great! If they’re not expecting you for a while, c’mon. We can be halfway to the Continent before they miss you.”
Martin laughs, but it sounds tired. “Skating sounds fun, but I need something to eat first, I think. I didn’t get a chance to grab lunch today.” He reaches under the collar of his jumper and tugs—is that a necktie? “There’s, um, everything around here is kind of expensive, actually, but—”
“No, wait, hang on,” Gerard interrupts. “What are you even doing up this way? Where is ‘home’ anyway? I went by your place and someone else was living there…”
“Yeah, we had to move over the summer. I didn’t quite meet the income requirements for the rent.” Martin sighs and rolls up the tie before stuffing it in his bag.
“Inc—you’re a student!” Gerard throws his hands up. “What income requirements can they expect out of you? And why you?”
Melanie folds her arms over her chest. “Told you he’d throw a fit.”
“Yeah, imagine how he’d react if I let you have your way,” Martin shoots back.
“You shouldn’t have to make all the sacrifices!”
“And what would be the point of you giving it all up if—”
“What. Is. Going. On,” Gerard says emphatically.
Melanie’s scowl deepens. “Dad got fired.”
A chill runs through Gerard’s body. He looks over at Martin, who nods silently. “So…what, you had to get a seasonal job to help out? Surely Mum’s not so stingy she wouldn’t pay Aunt Lily more. She needs her, after all.”
“Apparently not. Mum’s not doing well either, Ger. She…I don’t know. I think she’s been Touched, but I’m honestly afraid to Look.” Martin looks away from Gerard, out over the river. “Anyway, she can’t work any more. And Aunt Mary said she didn’t need my help when I offered to take over.”
“She probably just meant she didn’t need you part time,” Gerard says. “What with you being away at school and all.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Martin says quietly. “I’m not going to school anymore. I dropped out. Someone has to support the family, and if it had to be one of us, it had to be me.”
“It should be both of us,” Melanie says pointedly. “I could’ve—”
“Look, as hard as it was for me to find anything without a degree, it would’ve been harder for you and you know it,” Martin cuts her off, with the tone of someone retreading a well-worn argument. “This is the best option. Trust me.”
Gerard stares at them both, feeling the bottom drop out of his world. He left home—he thought for good—ten months ago, secure in the knowledge that Martin and Melanie were free. They’d both done well for themselves in school, both achieving places in colleges outside of London. They had futures, they had their whole lives ahead of them, and Gerard knew that for the first time, all of them were away from his mother and Martin’s and the lives they’d tried to trap them in.
But if Martin dropped out…
“Hang on,” he says slowly, dread creeping up his spine. “Where are you working around here? One of the shops or—?” He freezes, looking across the street at the looming, imposing building he was just in a few minutes ago. “No. Don’t tell me—”
“Just the library,” Martin says, but the defeat in his voice is obvious.
“Martin Blackwood.”
“Look, it’s not like I had a choice. Nobody was hiring, and I mean nobody. I’d picked up a bit of change working at the tea shop again, but that wasn’t…we didn’t have much of a grace period on rent, you know?” Martin sighs heavily. “Everybody wanted degrees, o-or experience or…I had to do something.”
“You lied on your CV,” Gerard guesses.
“And the Magnus Institute was the only place I could successfully fake the credentials they were looking for,” Martin agrees. “Or, well…I mean, I’m pretty sure Mr. Bouchard knows the truth, but he hired me anyway.”
Gerard swallows hard against the lump in his throat. “So…you’re working for them after all.”
“Yeah.” Martin lowers his eyes and turns away. “Guess so.”
The glare Melanie shoots Gerard is almost enough to burn holes in his leather duster, but he doesn’t need her to do that to know he’s fucked up. A sickly spiral of guilt swirls in his gut, and he steps forward and takes Martin’s arm, not really turning him to face him, but just kind of maintaining contact. Letting him know he’s there.
“Hey,” he says softly. “No, I—I didn’t mean it like that, Martin, I just—God, l thought you two were safe. I would never have left if I’d…i-if I’d known you were in trouble, I’d have come back in a heartbeat. I hate that you’re stuck. And it’s my fault.”
“It’s not. It just…it just happened.” Martin wipes his eyes and looks at Gerard. “Knowing you and Neens made it out…that’s enough for me.”
Melanie’s snort echoes off the surrounding buildings. “You don’t think we’re going to leave you to this, do you? I told you before, when you were worrying about whether you’d even get into that program, that I wasn’t going to go off and get away from this if you couldn’t. I’m not dropping out because you’ll kick my ass—”
“Damn right—”
“—but I’m not going to stop helping, either,” Melanie concludes. “Fuck it. If you’re in it, I’m in it. Not like they’ll let me stay away forever anyway. Might as well make them regret it, right?”
Martin gives her a small, watery, but genuine smile. Gerard takes a deep breath and squeezes Martin’s arm. “She’s right. One for all and all for one, yeah? I told you last time I wouldn’t leave without you, so if you can’t leave…I won’t, either.”
“You’re not going back to your mum, though, right?” Melanie’s voice is sharp, but her eyes are worried.
Gerard smiles, and doesn’t answer. His mother isn’t gifted with prophecy or anything, but she knows him, and his brother and sister to a certain extent, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find out this is why she refused to hire Martin full-time. She knows how he feels about them, and knowing Martin is trapped at the Institute is going to be the perfect cat’s-paw to get him back under her thumb for good.
“Come on,” he says, looping his arm through Melanie’s and pulling both of them closer. “Let’s go get something to eat. My treat. And then I think you mentioned ice-skating.”
One last moment, he thinks. One last taste of freedom before he puts his neck back in the yoke to be worked to death. He can do this. It’s fine.
(No specific archetype, just one night spent near the battlefield)
CW: descriptions of blood, injuries, and guilt. Mention of death.
YOU hear the heavy steps outside and press a finger against your lips in a mute, desperate request. They nod, shutting their eyes. You don’t want to, but you decide to clasp a dirty hand against their lips, helping them silence low murmurs of pain. They spent the entire night rambling on about the beautiful flowers in their village—purple little flowers with the greenest of stems and leaves so pink and so thin, they look like fabric—so there’s not much sound left in their throat.
The small squad of Topazian warriors walks past your hiding place, clattering armor and sloshing steps filling the deep silence in the marshes.
One of them stops, and your heart almost does the same.
You don’t know where it comes from, but your first instinct is to pull the kid closer, blending in the shadows under the hollow tree. Thank Goddess you removed the kid’s armor. This place is hot enough at this time of the year to not require anything else but linen for survival—and escaping would be easier if the kid wasn’t wearing almost twenty kilos of metal around the many lacerations that the fucking mage caused.
You look down at them and they up at you. A lone tear slides down their cheek, wetting the dry blood on your knuckles. The healing herbs you were sent to collect pool around you, mashed and milled with your gauntlets in the hopes they would help the kid’s wounds, but the basics you learned don’t cover the kind of damage a magic-wielder can do.
You try on a smile to make the kid feel better; they sob against your palm.
“Are you sure this is where you last saw them?” says a tired voice outside. Through the aerial roots, you see their leader—Fabiana the Just, if you’re not mistaken—stop and look around. “And are you sure you hit your target? We need the Hatchling Knight alive.”
You. They want you.
A pang of guilt rings deep in your chest. The laceration spell should’ve hit you, but the kid, the oldest son of a baker and not a day older than eighteen, decided to play hero in their first assignment. Their first fucking assignment.
You’d be ready to defend against it. You were trained to deflect a little magic. You were the one responsible for them, not the other way around.
And yet, the child-of-a-baker was faster.
“I’m sure, My Lady,” the mage answers. You recognize the smell of his mana. It’s the same mage who attacked you. “I… I used l-laceration. By mistake, I swear, I—” He looks as scared as the kid in your arms. “I don’t know which one took the spell, but I feel it working. It added to my scale—it added a lot to my scale. I didn’t know I could hurt someone that much, My Lady,” he completes in a broken voice.
Pure dread spreads on Fabiana’s expression.
The kid tries to move, and a new wave of their blood warms your thigh. You glare at them, but their eyes are shut again. The kid tries to bite you, uneven teeth grazing your fingers, your palm, then your inner wrist as they struggle. They must be in pain; the proximity with the mage must be renewing the effect of the spell.
“Shhh. Please,” you whisper against their ear. “Please, I’m here.”
Fabiana sighs. She places a hand on the mage’s shoulder and whispers something you can’t understand. Something about accidents, you think. Or about not letting guilt corrode you. Then something about this place not being safe anymore, about how the mage and the soldiers should go and ask for reinforcements, and then Holy fuck. Kerana is my witness, if my senses are right, we will need more people.
The mage nods and runs away alongside the other warriors.
Fabiana’s eyes meet yours. She holds your gaze for a moment. A long, tense, excruciating moment during which she places her hand on the handle of her sword, looking around as if expecting someone. She looks ready to unsheathe her weapon when her gaze snaps to the side.
You follow her line of sight and feel nothing but relief when you find Mandra staring at her. Silent. Immovable. Unarmed, yes, but never less dangerous because of it. They don’t say anything—not Mandreis, and not Fabiana—but there must be a silent agreement between the two, for Mandra climbs down from higher ground and turns their back at her to look at you. She turns away and disappears among the trees, shouting orders.
Mandra gives you one of their rare, sweet smiles and in a whisper, promises to never let Mattie learn about this. “Brother would be too scared for you. Too worried.”
You accept their hand but refuse their arms. You don’t need a hug, you need to save this foolish kid. You finally maneuver them out of your hiding place, their body draping against your side like a cold, wet, shivering mantle. A full squad of Opalean soldiers stands around you. They salute you with the respect you never received at home; the kid is their friend, and you know they feel for them too.
“Are you hurt?” Mandra asks.
You shake your head no. The exhaustion of spending the night in the mashes must hit you then and there, for your legs lose force. The smile on Mandra’s lips disappears; they clutch your arm, helping you find your balance.
“Here. Let me, I’ll carry them,” Mandra says.
You stop them with a hard stare. “No. Let me.”
You tug the kid closer and gather all the strength you have left to wade your way back to camp. You’re not so sure anymore if you’d have endured the spell. Maybe you’d be dead already. Maybe the kid is the strong one among you.
They grow heavier. Back in the camp, as magicians rush around you weaving spells and milling plants, you consider asking their name before they go.
Again, you look down at them, and they up at you, and this time the kid smiles and says, “I remembered the name. My flower, it’s… it’s the Purple Quaresma.”
Once again, they are faster. But this time you smile too, fully aware of the kid’s name in your memory from now on.
"Good job, Esma. I hope you'll find lots of it pretty soon."
—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——
i learned more about my aunt at her funeral than i knew about her when she was alive, and i’m so. i don’t know if i’m angry or sad? because i wish i had known her. i think i would have liked her. i hope she might have liked me.
i learned she was smart, and stubborn, and loved languages, and had more of a talent for them than i do. she wrote poetry in french. she translated works between french and english, well enough to win awards. she made complicated soups and she baked shortbread. she had long hair as a child, and caught it on fire once at a party, and had short hair when she was older. she lived in portland, just her and her dogs. she wasn’t married, but she had her friends, and (some of) her family.
i would have liked her. i might have spent time with her. i might have talked to her about french classes, and poetry, and the things i want to make, the mark i want to leave on the world. i might have talked to her about how it feels to fall in love with a city, or how it feels not to get married or particularly want to. maybe. if that was how she felt. maybe she could have understood a little of how i feel, more than my parents do.
or maybe she wouldn’t have. but i don’t know, because i never got the chance, because... what? did my parents just dislike traveling? i know they rarely wanted to leave california. were we just busy, the times my other aunt in california said she’d visited her and my cousins? or is it another case of my parents just assuming us kids weren’t interested in our family, in connecting, in learning things about our heritage in a way besides whatever stories they saw fit to tell us?
i don’t know. maybe i was too unsociable, when we visited other relatives. maybe the one or two family events where i did briefly encounter my aunt i didn’t connect enough with her for that ever to be pursued. maybe i was so set on escaping as fast and as far from my parents as possible, that i skipped over the bit where i might have visited her on my own.
would it have made a difference? for me to have really talked to her? if we’d liked each other, would i have had more stories of her now? would we maybe have talked about the depression that runs in our family, that we share, just like i share it with my siblings and my father and my cousins and aunts and uncles? would talking about it have helped?
i can’t focus on what ifs, i can’t make up this guilt for something that might never have worked, but i just. i feel like i missed out on knowing her, and maybe she missed out on knowing me, and i’m. upset about it.
Well, this took longer than I’d hoped, due to stuff like dentist’s appointments, camping trips, a shift of interests, and that Deltarune survey program. But this chapter’s finally ready to read! While I’m not entirely happy with this, I think it’s as good as it’s getting.
Don’t forget, I’m always open for constructive criticism!
To Save Those Who Can’t Be Saved
AO3
Work Summary: Frisk, Asriel, and Chara go back to Waterfall to solve the mystery of the lone statue sitting deserted in its halls. Along the way, they uncover more questions than answers, and find themselves forced to face their greatest faults and failures.
Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Past
Chapter Summary: A new mystery has brought itself to the siblings’ attention, and Frisk has their doubts about how soon it will be solved. But will their trip to the statue uncover anything else?
Rating: T
Chapter Warnings: No Mercy Route Discussion, Guilt, Self Deprecation
As the raft glided back into view, with Frisk standing on top, the tension left Asriel’s body in one great sigh. He’d been worried about not sending Frisk over first, and had been even more concerned when Chara arrived on the docks next. He knew Frisk got worried when they were alone, even if they didn’t admit it.
And then he saw the look in their eyes. They were frightened, more than they usually were when they were left alone. The kind of frightened they were when something serious had happened, when they felt helpless and powerless.
An impression flashed before his eyes; their face, pale in the light of a television screen, staring up and up at him.
He fought the urge to curl up at the memory and instead focused on the fact that his sibling was terrified.
Toriel was the first to speak to them as the raft arrived at the dock, of course.
“Frisk, my child, what is wrong?” She barely had to pull them into a hug; they stepped right into her embrace, burying their face into her dress. “Do not worry; we are with you now.” She stroked their hair, careful that her claws didn’t scratch them.
Asriel glanced over at Chara, whose face was slightly tenser from concern. For a brief moment he considered that they’d left Frisk like this, but they’d promised to be a better person. And Asriel knew they’d meant it. They wouldn’t push their sibling to wait alone in Waterfall to “toughen them up” as they might have done before their revival.
“There was a kid.” Asriel almost doubted what he heard, Frisk’s voice was so muffled. “I just turned around and they were there.”
“Did they do anything?” Asriel was sure only he could hear the slight edge to Toriel’s voice. The only way that a kid could truly upset her was to hurt one of her own.
A swish of rustling clothes was her response as Frisk shook their head. “No, I don’t think they meant to scare me. They were scared themself.”
Asriel could almost see Toriel’s hackles smooth over. “Are they still there, or are they coming here?”
Frisk shook their head again, this time taking a small step back. Asriel couldn’t help but lay a hand on their shoulder, hoping it was comforting them as much as it was him.
“They were telling me to forget,” Frisk said, and from how slowly they were speaking Asriel could guess this was what was bothering them the most. “But then the raft came, and I looked away for a second and they were gone.”
Toriel bit her lip and stared into the darkness that hid the dock where they’d come from. She was clearly wondering what to do about it, because it was clearly upsetting Frisk, but at the same time would there be any point in looking for them?
“I do not like the idea of leaving a child alone and in distress,” she said. Her eyes flickered, just slightly, in his and Chara’s direction. Asriel stepped closer to her and reached for her hand. “But you are clearly distressed as well, my child. Since there are more monsters present in the Underground than I accounted for beforehand, there must be some form of system set up for situations such as these. We shall contact them and have them handle it so you will be able to calm down. Is that acceptable?”
Frisk looked down at their feet. Asriel could see their face shift to something unreadable. He fought down the irritation that he couldn’t read their expressions quite as well as Chara’s and focused more on reading it. They looked…almost thoughtful, though the corners of their eyes still seemed a bit tense. Maybe they were still on edge? Or irritated? He kind of wanted to ask them, but that would probably upset them, and Toriel wouldn’t like that.
“Can we go look for them ourselves instead?” they asked, speaking slowly as if unsure they truly wanted to.
Asriel wanted to bite his lip, but forced himself to stay relaxed. Sure, he wanted to see the statue, but if Frisk thought the kid they met was in trouble, then shouldn’t they at least try to help them, even if they were on their way to figure out something no one else had learned?
Toriel shook her head. “You were so very pale when you came over here, child,” she said, and gave their shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know you wish to help others, but it should not come at the cost of your peace of mind. Rest assured, the child will be found and offered any assistance they might need.”
Frisk nodded, their gaze turning to their shoes. Asriel was pretty sure they were irritated and had wanted to search for the kid themself. They never were one to let others do things for them, no matter how hard, whenever possible.
“Very well.” Toriel patted Frisk’s head, then glanced over at both Asriel and Chara. “Are you both ready to set off?”
Chara nodded. They looked remarkably calm at first, but between the longer than usual breaths and slight tenseness to their muscles they were doing their best to calm themself from…nervousness? Nervousness. “Yes. Are you, Asriel?”
Asriel nodded.
Toriel still seemed nervous, but she took the lead, Frisk’s hand in one of hers. Chara took theirs as they passed them, and Asriel trotted to grab their mother’s other hand.
As they continued down the corridors of Waterfall, he wondered why the kid waited until Frisk was alone to approach them.
The moment Toriel was distracted, talking to a monster heading the Underground Guard, Frisk tapped on Asriel’s shoulder to get his attention. They’d apparently already let Chara know, given that their sibling was already focusing their attention on them.
Frisk immediately began to sign once he turned around, arms moving with an energy that was almost frantic. “The kid I saw at Waterfall–they appeared once there before, in one of my resets, but I can’t remember seeing them in any others.”
Chara tilted their head before they signed back. “You do remember we hardly remember anything after we use a True Reset, do you not?” Their eyebrows turned up slightly, a hint of skepticism.
Frisk nodded, hair flying all over. “But I’m pretty sure we’ve never run into them in any other timelines, even the ones where I did backtrack there. I would remember a monster that looked just like Munsta, except all gray and with fewer spikes on their head.”
Chara shrugged. “I shall have to take your word for it, as I do not remember them myself.”
Frisk looked at them like they’d told an obvious lie. “You sure?”
Chara closed their eyes for a moment. Asriel winced as they held back the slight irritation they felt as they replied, “I am sure I do not remember anything of the sort. They seem distinctive enough so that I could not get confused.”
Frisk turned to Asriel. “Azzy, did you ever see anyone like them during your resets?”
Asriel bit his lip, thinking back to his own resets as he raised his hands in preparation to sign. “Not that I can remember.” And he was pretty sure he’d remember someone like that. He’d memorized everything about every single monster he could find, from what made them the happiest to what broke them the fastest, every route they took to go shopping in every circumstance, everything.
Frisk frowned in a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Really? Nothing?”
Asriel shook his head. “Nothing.” If he’d found even a hint of something that changed even when he didn’t make different choices, well…
He internally winced. Frisk would’ve never gotten the chance to fall down and gain the reset abilities for themself, most likely.
“How about anyone that remembered True Resets?” Their gestures were sharp, almost frantic in their haste.
Asriel shrugged. “Besides me, no one else.” The thought of someone who knew what happened in Frisk’s resets, and probably remembered his…
It was unsettling, to say the least.
Frisk shifted their weight toward the heels of their feet, biting their lip. They raised their hands to sign.
“Chara, Frisk, Asriel, you may lay any worries to rest.” Toriel’s voice made Frisk twitch, and even Chara looked like they’d tensed from the surprise. Asriel was sure that only his thousands of resets’ worth of experience hiding his emotions stopped him from doing the same. Toriel paused as she glanced between the three. “Oh, I did not mean to startle you.”
“It is fine, Mother.” Chara shook out their hands and folded them behind their back, their muscles relaxing as they seemed to reassure themself everything was fine. “The Underground Guard is on the case, I take it?”
Toriel’s face relaxed. “Yes. They say they did not receive any reports of distressed children, but they plan to send their best after this lost one to make sure that they are taken to safety and reunited with any family they might have lost, if possible.”
Frisk nodded, but it was so faltering that Asriel knew that they weren’t very confident that the kid would be found and helped.
But what else could they do? Toriel was already concerned about how seeing the distressed child had upset Frisk, and wouldn’t change her mind about joining the search themselves. And if they all snuck away…
No, the only choice that would help everyone the most would be to let the Underground Guard do their job. That way, if the child could be helped, they would get it from more experienced monsters. Toriel would be happy, and Frisk could relax knowing that they were safe.
The problem with the kid remembering their resets?
He put that aside for the moment. It wasn’t like anyone could do anything about that, right? And the important thing was that the kid was found and helped. Finding out why they remembered, or if they planned on telling anyone else, would have to wait.
“I was thinking,” Toriel said as she took Frisk’s and Chara’s hand, and Asriel took Chara’s, “perhaps we should head home instead of stopping in Waterfall.”
Asriel’s soul pulsed, a flurry of alarm and protest running through his body. Guilt soon followed; Frisk clearly had been alarmed by the encounter, and still was, and wasn’t it selfish to feel disappointed in not being able to try and answer some questions when they might need to take a break?
A swish of movement drew his attention over to Frisk, who was shaking their head in a panic. “I’m fine, Mom! I still want to go! Please?”
Toriel’s jaw was still tense as she seemed to consider their plea against what she felt was right for them. “I do not know, child. You seemed very upset and concerned. You should not push yourself to do something we can always return for.”
Asriel glanced over at them. While they looked quite upset still, their face tense and creased into a frown, their eyes were bright and pleading.
“But Mom, really, I’m fine! And we walked all this way and everything.” Frisk glanced over at him and Chara, eyes wide in a silent plea.
And if they said they were fine, and looked like they were okay, and would be disappointed if he refused to help, wouldn’t protesting be selfish?
“I think Frisk’s okay, Mom. Really.” He smiled up at her, seeing her hesitation start to falter just the slightest bit.
“It would be a waste to have walked all this way without doing what we set out to do in the first place.” Asriel frowned when he heard the hesitance in Chara’s voice, and turned his head to face them. They were staring at Frisk, looking tense. It almost looked like they were judging how wary they should be.
But that was ridiculous, right? Chara had no reason to feel wary around Frisk, not when the two already knew each other’s worst secrets, right?
He’d just have to ask Chara when they were alone.
At the very least, Toriel relaxed slightly, in resignation rather than feeling reassured that Frisk was all right. “Very well, then, Frisk. But please promise me that you will let me know if you change your mind, at any time?”
Frisk nodded. “Yeah, Mom, I will!” They beamed up at her, and Asriel could pretend that they didn’t still look a bit tense around the eyes.
It didn’t take that much longer to reach where the statue sat. It wasn’t playing its song, but that was only because its umbrella had slumped over to its left, leaving it uncovered from the fat droplets of water that dropped down from the hole in the ceiling. Frisk quickly fixed that, and its chime once again began to echo through the halls.
Toriel grinned at the statue that was just a couple heads shorter than her, slumped as it was. “You always did love this song, did you not, Asriel?”
Asriel nodded. He vaguely remembered being a toddler and asking his mom to hum him this song, over and over, and Toriel would patiently pick him up and do so. And while he didn’t actually remember it, she’d told him many times she’d used it as a lullaby when he was a baby.
She’d hummed it to Chara, too, when a nightmare woke them up during the night and Asriel had gone to her for help. It’d been one of the few times he’d actually seen them cry. And while Chara always hid their sadness from others, Toriel gotten in the habit of just humming when she was around them, “just because.” It was a habit he’d taken up as well. And on the first anniversary of Chara’s adoption, he’d had a craftsperson make two engraved lockets which played the song when wound up. Maybe it sounded a bit different, but it hadn’t mattered at all to Chara, who wore it every day and kept it into its gift box at night to protect it from harm, even though it’d been especially enchanted not to rust and to resist breaking.
And when he was nothing but a flower, wearing a different name and identity like he’d worn a different body, having distanced himself from his family because that was a mess he’d learned not to get into, it’d been a source of comfort for him to come to this statue and listen to its song. The few times it’d been playing since Undyne chose to make it part of her puzzle, at least. She’d decided that leaving it running would be too obvious a clue, and so any time it had played it was due to his meddling.
He glanced over at Chara and grinned when he saw them resting a finger on their locket. They looked so relaxed, their eyes slightly unfocused, he knew they weren’t really aware of the gesture.
He glanced over at Frisk, but they were staring at the tunnel from where they’d come, as if trying to decide… something. They were definitely thoughtful about something other than the statue.
He didn’t have to be good at reading people to know what was occupying their thoughts.
Asriel was kind of worried about the strange kid too, but he was more concerned about his family right now, how Toriel’s eyes were tense around the corners, about how Frisk was no longer excited about something they’d been looking forward to for several days, about how Chara’s posture seemed more forced than usual.
Guilt pulsed through his body. Shouldn’t a good monster be worried equally about both? Sure, his family meant a lot to him, and he really didn’t want them hurting, but the strange kid was important too. He shouldn’t be prioritizing one person over another, because that wasn’t what good people did, and anyways, didn’t Asgore once tell him that the whole Underground should be like family to him since he was a member of the royal family?
Not that he was acing the whole “future king” thing anyways, he reminded himself with a hidden wince. What was one more failure to the pile?
It was Frisk taking a step closer to the statue that reminded Asriel that they were where they needed to be, and there were things to do rather than sit and worry.
Frisk squinted up at the hole in the ceiling, where a faint light filtered down with trickles of water. “Where’s that light coming from?”
Well, Asriel might not be a good future king, but he did know the Underground better than anyone else.
“It’s from a tunnel that leads from a spring, and the whole thing is, like, made out of those glowing rocks.” A beautiful little one, too; the walls were always glimmering with water which reflected the glowing stone that was abundant there. It never grew too full for him to visit, either, since the tunnel prevented it from flooding too badly. “Sort of like the fake stars in the Wishing Room, but brighter. I went to see what was up there when I was, you know, a flower.”
He winced as that seemed to kill the mood. Frisk’s face creased with guilt, pain flashed across Toriel’s face, and Chara’s face grew fixed even more into a forced smile as they suddenly seemed unable to look at him.
I’ve got to fix this, he thought, taking one of his hands in his other and giving a squeeze. But there wasn’t exactly a guide to cheering people up after you reminded them of your original revived state.
Just laughing it off and saying, “It’s okay, everyone!” wouldn’t exactly cut it. His mother would likely try to calm him down when he should be trying to cheer her up, Chara would pretend it hadn’t affected them when it clearly had, and Frisk would be apologizing for something that wasn’t even their fault.
Or resetting so it never happens.
The thought was so angry he couldn’t help but glance around, terrified someone saw the rage flash across his face.
It didn’t seem like they had, but if they did…
He had to get a handle on his emotions. He was the master of his thoughts, and his thoughts were not the master of him; he should know better than to let anger through. He had to be better.
“So the more likely route is that its creator either made it here and abandoned it, or they or others brought it in from elsewhere.” Chara’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he could’ve hugged and thanked them for it.
Asriel fought back the urge to do that, though, since it would’ve let everyone know something was up. Instead, he nodded and said, maybe a little bit too loudly, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking!” He turned to Toriel, who still looked concerned. “What do you think, Mom?”
She blinked, probably interrupted from darker thoughts, and frowned in thought rather than concern. “You are on the right track, children.” She squinted at the statue. “However, if it was moved from elsewhere, it could not have been from Home, as no monster saw it being removed from there. And while stone was most frequently used from Home’s expansions, not a single shipment was moved from there to elsewhere.”
Frisk blinked. “I thought no one knew anything about the statue!” They glanced at Asriel as if trying to convey how awesome this was, not knowing he’d heard the explanation before in a previous reset.
“Nothing of substance on which you could write your History essay.” Chara’s gaze was fixed on the statue, still tense from before.
“We did look into its origins when scouts searching for a location in which we could build New Home came across it.” Toriel stared at the statue, her gaze a little unfocused. “As far as we could tell, very, very few monsters lived outside of Home at the time, and none of them claimed ownership of the statue. Many were even surprised to hear there was one at all, given no other examples of art appeared in the Underground before the exodus to New Home.” She ducked her head slightly. “It is possible that one or more of them could have lied, to distance themself from it or to protect the privacy of the one who created it, but as it stands, not a single monster had any information to offer us.” She gave them a rueful smile. “It is likely a mystery to which we might never have a full answer.”
The look on Frisk’s face made Asriel wonder if this was an answer they’d accept.
They stayed for a while in Waterfall, but didn’t learn anything new. If there had been any hint of a signature, it’d long since been worn away by the rain, as it’d eroded quite a bit since its creation. Toriel had stopped them from turning over the statue to check there, but said that in the investigations centuries ago, there hadn’t been anything, just smooth stone. Frisk had had Asriel use his fire magic to illuminate the shadowy cavity of its hood, but beyond the glimmer of buried musical mechanisms nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
So when Toriel announced that it was time to start heading back if they wished to be home before bedtime, he bit down the protest that they hadn’t found anything yet and accepted it. After all, while he felt the urge to stay down there and tear the statue apart with his own hands to learn more, there wasn’t anything left to discover. They probably could learn more from a book than poking and prodding at the statue’s worn surface.
Frisk, though, had begged for a few more minutes, and then for even more few minutes, until Toriel finally declined.
And so the statue was left in the darkness, playing its tune for an audience that wasn’t there.
Asriel’s disappointment of their trip’s results, though, was soon replaced with the relief of being home. He’d quickly excused himself to change into his pajamas. He was never more grateful that his comfiest set was clean and ready to wear, and if anyone would find it weird that he buried his nose into them to catch a better whiff of the lavender scent that clung to them, then they weren’t around to see.
After that, it was time for journaling. It’d been something his therapist had suggested he do, something to help him express his thoughts in a place he didn’t have to fear judgement.
The thing was, he still kind of worried. He knew none of his family or friends would read it, but putting it down meant it existed, somewhere in the world, and maybe in the future, long after he’d turned to dust, someone would pick it up and read through it and judge him by what he’d written.
But he wanted to improve, and his therapist said that this might help with that, so he resigned himself to burning it before he dusted.
He caught himself before he just wrote down “Nice day today!” and chewed on his pencil. Not too strongly, because fangs broke wood easier than human teeth, but enough to help him feel like he was gathering his thoughts.
Instead, he jotted down what had happened. About how excited he’d been about getting to examine the statue firsthand, only for the excitement to fade once Frisk had reset and then after Frisk encountered that strange monster kid.
He tapped the eraser on his lips as he stared at the last sentence, wondering if he should elaborate more on his thoughts about that. How he disliked how they’d scared his sibling, and was afraid of their knowing what happened in previous resets, even if they hadn’t said anything about it to anyone else.
“There’s no right or wrong way to journal,” the therapist had said, but then why did it always feel like he was doing it wrong?
He decided that if it was still bothering him later he’d write about it then, and continued on until he finally wrote that the trip had been a failure, sadly.
Asriel had just slipped his journal back into its drawer when there came a knock on the door. Three soft raps; that had to be Frisk.
He was proven right when he opened the door and saw his sibling standing there, rubbing their arm and looking away.
“Frisk, are you okay?” he asked, because although they were clearly worried, it’d be kind of awkward if they went off script, right?
Frisk puffed out a quick sigh and met his eyes. “Yeah, I’m just worried.”
“About that kid from Waterfall, right?” He guided them over to his desk chair and let them sit down while he took the bed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll find them.”
Frisk hunched their shoulders in what looked like a partial shrug. “Kind of about that.” They bit their lip and grabbed at their pajama sleeve, like they wanted to hold their own hand but were too nervous even for that. “How can someone remember what happened after a True Reset? Chara and I barely do, and you don’t remember ours, either!” They let go of their sleeve and picked at his chair’s armrest. “And other monsters only had déjà vu of regular resets, at best. And never past True Resets.”
Asriel nodded. “That is kind of weird.” He went to scratch at his head and then winced when his claws dug into a tender spot near his budding horns. He settled for resting his hands on his knees and then weaving his fingers together.
“Weird? It’s impossible!” They bit their lip and glanced at the door, probably realizing they half shouted. And right on cue, Toriel’s claws clicked their way across the floorboards in their direction.
“Is everything all right, children?” Toriel opened the door to glance in, her face drawn with worry.
Frisk nodded and grinned. “Everything’s all right, Mom! I was just getting a little too worked up.”
Asriel fixed his expression into a smile, beating down the guilty feeling about lying. It wasn’t like she didn’t know about their powers, and he knew she suspected just why he, Frisk, and Chara were so ashamed of how they’d used it in the Underground, but it wasn’t exactly a topic anyone felt comfortable about speaking. And anyways, it wasn’t lying, not really. It was just not saying anything, right?
Toriel looked between them, looking torn and concerned, before she nodded. “Very well, then. Perhaps you should change the subject into something more relaxing? It is nearly your bedtimes, after all.” After a small smile that was too tense to be truly genuine, she disappeared down the hall, to her own room.
Frisk’s long exhale calmed Asriel’s own nerves slightly. Not the guilt, no, but at least he didn’t feel quite as on edge.
“Thanks,” they said, and sounded truly grateful.
Asriel shook his head. “It’s nothing, really.”
Another knock came at the door. Solid and loud, but not aggressive at all. It was probably Chara.
As Asriel guessed, Chara was standing by the doorframe. “May I come in?” they asked with an incline of their head.
Asriel glanced at Frisk, but they didn’t seem upset. They’d perked up, even. “Sure, Chara. Come on in!”
Chara walked in and glanced between him and Frisk. “I assume you were discussing the child you saw earlier today?”
Frisk nodded. “Yeah.”
“Hmm.” Chara sat down on Asriel’s bed, eyes half closed as they seemed to think about this. “It is a bizarre situation. But it is clearly possible, if the child you met was telling the truth about remembering you.”
Frisk shrugged and tugged at a lock of their hair. “They remembered me before I remembered them. They just reminded me that I forgot.”
Chara nodded. Their gaze was a little unfocused, but Asriel was pretty sure they were just thinking and not zoning out. “So not only did we not uncover anything about the statue, but we also took on a different mystery to which we have no answers.”
Asriel picked at some fur on his ear. “Uh, not yet, at least. The Underground Guard might turn up something.”
Frisk snorted. “If the kid vanished from right next at me in one second, then how will they find them?” The annoyance crackled out from their slump in the chair.
Asriel decided not to push further.
“Let us not dwell on something that might not come to pass.” Chara smoothed out a wrinkle on their pajama shirt. “Until your outburst, I was considering a way to look more into the statue’s mysteries, and I have an idea.”
Frisk still looked rebellious, but Asriel would be lying if he said his interest wasn’t sparked. “What is it?”
“Alphys is part of the Volunteers of Digitizing Monsterkind’s Knowledge, is she not?” Chara paused, as if waiting for anyone to contradict them. “Surely if we asked her if there were any books regarding the Waterfall Statue, she might be able to locate them, or find someone who would.” They shrugged. “While they did not solve its mysteries, perhaps they hold information we happened to miss while there.”
Asriel allowed himself to grin. “Golly, Chara, that sounds like a good idea.” He glanced at Frisk. They still didn’t look cheered up, but at least the idea had gotten their attention.
“When do you think we can see her?” they asked.
“Well, the weekend’s in a couple days.” Which meant they got to stay at Asgore’s, so long as important government stuff didn’t pop up, but since Frisk hadn’t needed to act as honorary ambassador recently, it was probably unlikely. “We can ask if Alphys and Undyne can come have dinner with us or something.” While Asgore always did his best to set weekends aside for only them, Asriel knew he wouldn’t say no to company, especially company they’d specifically requested. He was friends with Alphys and Undyne, anyway, so it’d work out for everyone.
“It sounds as if we have a start of a plan.” Chara stood up and brushed off their pajamas, and then smoothed the creases on the blankets they’d made. “It is settled, then. Now, shall we head to bed?”
Frisk got up, the chair squeaking as they did so, and rolled their eyes. “Fine.” They didn’t make a move to exit the room, though. “If you hear anything about the kid, will you tell me?”
Asriel laughed. “Of course, but I’m pretty sure we’ll hear it the same time?”
Frisk gave him the most unimpressed look, and Chara raised an eyebrow. He had to laugh in embarrassment.
“Okay, I’m a bit nosy. But I’m trying to be better!” He wasn’t really a fan of anyone snooping around his past, although he kind of deserved it. And now that he was trying to distance himself from his past, he was trying to extend the same courtesy to others and not be a nosy little snoop, as painful as not knowing everything was sometimes.
Frisk giggled. It was weak and ended within a second, but it was something.
“Good night!” they said, and left.
Chara, though, did not leave. They were staring at the door, and Asriel could sense that they were tense.
“What’s wrong?” Asriel asked.
Chara shrugged less fluidly than their normal gestures. “Do not worry yourself over nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” The thought of them thinking that they meant less to their own family than anyone else… It filled him with sadness.
And guilt.
“You’re my sibling. I want to help you.” He really, really did. He’d let them down by not stopping their plan to save the monsters with their own soul so many years ago. He wanted to make it right.
Chara’s smile twitched. For a moment, he thought they looked sadder, even if the expression was more genuine. Then their expression was fixed back to the normal blank grin, and they clasped their hands together.
“It is of no consequence.” They shook their head and glanced at the door again. “Something crossed my mind earlier, when Frisk Loaded their Save.”
Asriel bit his lip, recalling how wary Chara had looked at Frisk earlier at the statue. He was pretty sure that Frisk hadn’t Loaded another Save back in the Underground, but perhaps Chara had spotted something he’d missed?
Impossible, his mind supplied, and he squashed the thought and the accompanying envy.
“Yeah, you did kind of seem on edge a bit, back there.” He stopped himself from picking at furs on his arm and instead grabbed his own hand. “It must not have been a very good thought.”
They shook their head. “No, it was not. However, it was only a passing theory I doubt could ever be proved.” They inclined their head. “Therefore, not important. I shall see you in the morning, then?”
Asriel sensed that if he dug deeper into this “unimportant theory” they’d be upset, and he’d learn nothing more.
He decided to leave it for another time.
“Yeah.” He half-raised a hand in farewell. “Good night.”
Chara clasped their hands behind their back. “And to you, as well.” And they walked out the door.
Asriel sighed and turned toward his bed. He might not know the future events of the world anymore, but he knew enough to predict that getting to sleep tonight would be difficult.
He consoled himself with the thought that maybe Undyne and Alphys could provide more information on the Waterfall Statue, at least.
