(Somebody’s got to take care of the flowers - )
(Don’t worry about me, Frisk. It’s okay. I’ll - we’ll - be just fine.)
(... It’s still you, Frisk.)
Chara realizes three things in very quick succession when they wake up.
First: even through heavy eyelids and sleep-blurred sight, this isn’t the Underground. This looks nothing like anywhere in the Underground. Besides, given the whole ‘mostly intangible and mostly unseeable ghost’ thing, nobody would have been moving them anywhere without -- it’s probably best to say nobody would have been able to move them if they didn’t want to be moved.
So this isn’t the Underground, Where is it.
Second: haha, wow, everything hurts really bad. They feel so heavy, a different sort of physical than piloting Frisk’s body or the shared body so many years ago, but there’s the taste of fresh iron in their mouth; this is easier to recall. How much effort it had taken to move their body, before they died, petals tearing between their teeth and burning their mouth. This doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense. Why aren’t they dead? (Well, double dead? Do ghosts die. They’d kind of figured they were going to ghost-die.)
Third, and the most concerning one of them all: they have a Soul. They can feel it, bright and beating, filled with 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.
This can’t be Frisk’s Soul. It can’t. They’d told Frisk not to even consider it, not to even consider that kind of sacrifice; they’d been around for a very long time, longer than most Monsters, and -- they had Asriel. It was okay. They’d probably fade out, eventually, without any Determination to keep them awake and tethered, without a soul to be a fucking parasite on - and that was okay. They were so, so tired.
So -- this can’t be Frisk’s. They really, really hope it’s not Frisk’s.
(Focus, focus, look inside themself - 𝙷𝙿 𝟷𝟶/𝟸𝟶. They can’t see their LV, their ATK, their DEF - this, too, is worrying. And they can’t feel that leftover power and capability to manifest their Soul even if they wanted to.)
Chara should really get up and look around, perhaps. But five more minutes won’t hurt.
(Or another three hours of sleep. Those won’t hurt, either.)