entrancelogs | standing on the edge of my broken dream, searching for some kind of peace [OPEN + CLOSED]

Entry tags:

standing on the edge of my broken dream, searching for some kind of peace [OPEN + CLOSED]

Who: Frisk, some closed starters, and then YOU
Where: By the Rabbit Hole and then in gay baby jail
When: 12/27 and onward
Rating: PG-13 and up for a suicide attempt
Summary: The world turns on and on without me. This I know well. And yet I wonder. Despite seeing the same places, the people are never in the same spot. The only thing that remains is ȟ᷾̚ö͎᷆w͒̽̎ I̟᷿᷃ f̸̴᷾ͧ̑᷾͘e̯̮͖̓᷾ͧ͊l͈̭̼̟᷅̕͞l͏̶͆ͭ͊͌ͅ.
Story:

* Alphys might work faster.

* But the old Royal Scientist, Doctor ██▓░ █▓▓░▒▋?

* One day, he vanished without a trace.

                                                       * They say he shattered across ti̶͉̐me̺̻᷇ and s͕̥̃p̈́̾̇á̪̤c̨̙̿e̐̒͑.

                                          * Ha Ha...how can I say so without fear?

                                                                                                        * I'm holding a piece of him right h̷͔͖e̮̻̍re̲̾͟.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They were called, and so they came. Not through insidious summonings or unnatural magic, this time. The arduous, slow, old-fashioned way: running from the mansion to the hills as fast as their straining lungs would let them go. They have to hurry. They have to.

They can't lose Frisk.

They can't drive Frisk into that howling, black abyss. Can't allow them to ERASE. Who gave them the right to claim that power?

Chara knows - just knows, okay? - that Sans will stall them out. Even if he claims he's no good at trying, even if Chara's constantly shooting his efforts down, they know that he still does a very good job at doing his duty. He can be an immovable object that not even an unstoppable force can get around.

So even if it's a long way to go, and even if it takes longer still to find exactly where they are, Chara still finds Frisk intact. Sans has kept his promise. They stagger onto the scene - the rabbit hole, Sans, Frisk's cowed and heavy back - panting for breath, but they arrive in time to do something.

* I know why I'm here.
* I'm filled with determination.

The SAVE slams itself into place with a brute, full-body finality, with all the forceful momentum that has Chara stumbling from a desperate run to a clumsy, gasping halt.

They spit out two desperate, fervent words.

"You IDIOT!"

They were close enough to hear the tail end. Close enough to hear Frisk. And they - god, they're so panicked they can't string their thoughts together, only shriek an objection to the blame, the distorted trench Frisk has dug themself into. Too frantic for comforting, soft words, too wild for apologies, just - just falling back on that blunt edge as always, ha ha! That's our Chara!

Again and again they come forward. Again and again, he pushes them back. It's--yeah, it's wearing him out, and a lot faster than usual. He's running on not enough sleep, he's mentally drained from ten days of questioning reality, searching endlessly for Frisk and coming alarmingly close to Falling Down. Every time he pushes them back, they end up a little less further away.

Chara is coming. He just has to stall until they get here. Just has to be the immovable object a little while longer.

"none of that was your fault." He pushes back, sweat beading on his skull. "don't you dare blame yourself for papyrus leaving. don't you dare. that was wonderland and nothing else. is that why you made me his scarf? was that it?"

Maybe they think it'll all be easier if they have someone to blame. And it is--but it's just not going to work that way.

He pushes again, a little more roughly this time, a little more erratically.

"i know i was avoiding you. that wasn't your fault either. and alphys, she was blaming herself as much as i was. chara was blaming themself too, because they always blame themself."

All of them are so bad at this, every single one of them. All of them take the blame onto themselves, which doesn't solve a goddamn thing.

"and you told me yourself that toriel was an accident. you said yourself that she never meant to. she never would mean to."

She would never kill a child intentionally. Never. Right? Maybe it's "never" the same way that Papyrus would never hurt Sans. "Never" the same way that Chara and Frisk would never be torn apart.

"i screwed up. all of us screwed up with you, kid. so blame us for that, not yourself. we're the ones who--"

And then Chara arrives. At last. Right on time. Punctual like he could never be. It's like a weight has lifted from his soul. He's not doing this alone. Chara's here.

For once, he and Chara are on the same team.

It's sort of incredible what a relief that is.

"well." He doesn't lower his hand, because he knows better than to let his guard down this time. "don't mind me. you kids have some things you need to discuss."

And when the moment is right, he's got enough magic left in him for one big teleport. One big jump away from the Rabbit Hole, all the way back to the mansion, where Sans has already made one or two preparations. Even if Frisk somehow gets out after that, by the time they get back here, the Rabbit Hole will have moved again.

They're going to win. They have to.

Edited 2016-12-27 06:14 (UTC)

The SAVE slams into existence over theirs, and Frisk hears the words, shrill and uncontrolled in their anger. Chara, mad at them again. Yes, but that would make perfect sense, wouldn't it? Of course they're mad. Everyone's mad.

Don't you dare blame yourself for any of this, Frisk. But you're not above consequences. This isn't your fault, but you're the one with the special power. This doesn't have anything to do with you, except all those people you hurt have to deal with the aftermath without you.

Everyone changes their story as soon as Frisk subscribes to it. They do everything they can to adhere to the words presented to them. Be careful, Frisk. Don't abuse your power, Frisk. It's not your fault, Frisk. But it is this time, Frisk. We know best for you, Frisk. We know you must not want to do this. Must be doing all of it in a filthy bid for attention.

"They don't want to talk to me," says Frisk. They don't look at them. Can't look at them. Brush past it and move on. Skip the dialogue. It doesn't matter, right?

"They don't love me," says Frisk. "They don't care. They shouldn't. I hurt them, and I'm not their Partner."

And they race forward yet again, this time for Sans. One hit. That's all it takes, right? One hit.

And with their LOVE as high as it needs to be, nothing will hold them back from doing what needs to be done.

Not surprising Frisk learned a few more tricks from the bad influence whispering to their SOUL. Ignore people, don't respond, don't emote at all, and maybe they'll give up. Cling tight to every last line you hear, because you're nothing but a memory, an echo, a series of numbers increasing and text being repeated. Internalize it like needles jabbed into a pincushion, let every constant stinging poke keep reminding you. If you never forget it, then it can never catch you off guard. If you expect it, it won't hurt you.

One more trick, too, that they've learned. Skip dialogue, jump right to the encounter. Try to FIGHT.

Maybe, if they hadn't fought back against the Chara that had erupted out of Frisk's skin during Halloween, the LOVE it gathered wouldn't have stuck to Frisk - wouldn't have been a consequence. The way things had worked out, they didn't gather any EXP in hell, either. Only really got a good shot in on Chara, and if anyone got EXP from the death that followed, it was definitely Chara, ha ha. But now... there are no technicalities or rule-dodges that could keep their EXP count at a pristine 0. They're a single swing away from disqualifying themself from a happy ending. From compromising their dearest moral completely.

Sans has been through enough. Frisk has enough burdens on their shoulders.

So... let's not.

They tug things back to their Save Point. They know nothing is really stopping Frisk from charging at Sans all over again, but they also know this seems like the best way to keep him safe without touching, grabbing, restraining.

"It's wiser to * Check before you FIGHT, you know," they advise softly. "Take a turn to focus. Pin your thoughts down. Won't get far mashing a button mindlessly." Attacks just MISS if done hastily, without precision, without timing, ha ha.

"You stabbed me, then told me you hated me," they remind Frisk.

"Did you mean that? Is there no changing your mind once you've uttered it?"

Maybe that won't work. Maybe Frisk will decide different standards apply when Chara says hurtful things than when Frisk does. One is more deserving of patience than the other. Or maybe that, too, will be tucked under the umbrella of "I wasn't determined, so you can't count it."

They cast a look to Sans, seeking the backup of someone - what, older and wiser? They're not - they're not counting on anyone or anything. They're not in over their head. They just... they both want to talk Frisk down from this ledge.

It's different this time. Frisk is themselves. Frisk has all their usual Determination, and they still rush at him, still dart forward in a clear attempt at a Fight.

Frisk is still themselves when they do that in the bad timelines, too. It's always Frisk--Frisk and Chara, usually, but just Frisk this time. Wasn't he just thinking it? They both want to destroy themselves so badly that they'll destroy those they love to do it.

It still...hurts a bit. It's a simple enough dodge. Just a sideways lean, grab their soul again, push them back. He's already breathing funny, but it's still simple. Just dodge, but don't give them a path to the Rabbit Hole. Painfully simple. He'll just--

Jolt.

--And then Chara arrives. At last. Right on time. Punctual like he could...

There was a Load just now, wasn't there? It's almost impossible to remember even on a regular day, but now he's so tired and so out of it that he doesn't even have the memory to try. A Load happened--maybe Frisk somehow got to the Rabbit Hole, or maybe someone just died, or whatever. Doesn't matter. Catch up, keep up, stay on top of it, and whatever you do, don't move.

"...they're right. people aren't just one thing. aren't just one thing that they say one time when they're angry or upset or undetermined. not you, not chara, not anyone."

He looks over at Chara in time to catch their gaze. He bobs his head in a quick nod. Same side. Same team. Their Determination, his Patience. Both of their Justice.

And Frisk succeeding here is not Justice.

"you have a right to be angry. to be lost and hurt and to want to erase yourself. to be mad at us. but we have the right to get mad and want to stop you. we have the right to love you."

Oh, Chara. You think you taught them this? You think you taught them that which they haven't already taught themself? If you're quieter, they won't hit you as hard. If you shrink down and make yourself implacable, they won't have barbed jabs with which to sting you. If you shrug off the harsh words with a wave and a smile, you're a good child.

Frisk's response whip-cracks across the frozen air, even as they're dragged back to their starting point. Chara's SAVE point. If they could SAVE over them, or if their Mirror could - but no, the Mirror's SAVEs only affect those on their side of the glass.

"Like SPELL?"

Won't get far mashing a button mindlessly. So what now, Chara? You're advising them again? You're helping them?

Children, as they know, are knives.

A familiar, blank stare, the expressionlessness of the face they wore Underground. Their tight, Determined mask. You can't touch them, Chara. You can't touch someone with nothing left to lose.

"I am holding you to your word at all times," they respond in turn. "Not just when you're at your best. You cannot force things to immediately be how they were before."

You think you are above consequences, Chara?

Then watch this.

Children are knives, and children carry knives. For safety. For protection. So no one can touch you unkindly ever again.

And sometimes, they carry them for other reasons.

You think that after everything, they wouldn't bring a back-up plan?

It's an answer.

Not one that's going to last very long, though.

Surely Frisk can recognize that's a waste of time. Surely Frisk remembers what Chara promised. Surely Frisk knows that waiting three days to continue this conversation would inconvenience Sans greatly, would mean the rabbit hole they sought moving somewhere else.

Oh well. Undo.

They begin again.

Sans, they hope, isn't getting a headache from this. Chara has the determination to save, but they'll need his patience to make this into a truly effective safety net. To get through to Frisk.

This time, they draw the Real Knife.

"Then I will hold myself to my word, too. Where you go, I will follow."

Down the Rabbit Hole, down a mountain, down a shorter, darker path than that.

They are, perhaps, being unfair. Using Frisk's own tactics against them. Even so, they gaze at Frisk's back. "I became despondent," they begin quietly. "Frisk, you might not believe this... but I decided... It wasn't worth living anymore. Not in a world without love. Not in a world without you. So... I decided to follow in your footsteps."

I would erase myself from existence.

"...What do you want me to say?" They ask. "Do you really want to disappear? You warned me what you would do. You went to the trouble of leaving behind keepsakes for us all to remember you by."

Can't keep a promise if you don't remember making it. Can't keep a promise if you don't remember making it. Can't keep a promise if you don't remember making it. Can't keep a promise if you don't remember making it.

Can't keep a promise if one of the two parties involved in it never existed.

"Maybe this is the one promise I mean to keep. Maybe I don't care anymore."

Children carry knives. The phantom sting of it buried to the hilt still burns in their abdomen, in their mind. Perhaps this will do instead. The slow, protracted destruction of everything they're meant to be.

"Or maybe it's just that everything's so dirty." Does that ring any bells, perhaps? They've got an entire world's worth of code running through their head, strings upon strings of it. It's all blistered and burned together like melting plastic. No one ever scraped that out of their brain. No one ever had a means of patching that away.

So it's not so hard to call that up. Say the words and the numbers, prefaced with an asterisk, spat aloud:

"17979: * Everything's so dirty..^1.&* If I could erase everything^1,& I would./
17980: * Ohhhh^1.&* Don't get the wrong idea^1.&* I don't want anyone to die./
17981: * People turn to dust when& they die^1, and that's hard& to clean up.../%%
17982: * Don't turn to dust./%%"

So don't turn to dust.

Humans do not get that luxury.

And this time they go across the throat.

They close their eyes, look away.

Scratch this ending out.

They're worried.

Sans has been spared the sight of Frisk snapping their own SOUL (it's really not as pretty as just watching an abstract shape go to pieces, it's anything at all but pretty). There's that, at least. They're not sure how well he'd hold up if he did remember this.

Then again, he probably killed them in far, far messier ways plenty of times. Maybe he wouldn't flinch.

Either way, their third reload in rapid succession, and there's a tension building behind their eyes, a sensation like the few surviving fragments of their SOUL are being pulled taut. Is this a game of determination vs. determination that they can hope to win, really?

"You said you'd get rid of the problem if I didn't care about you," they blurt, bracing to see the knife for a third time. Boy, Chara, aren't you glad that Frisk has decided to start carrying weapons?

"So I - I'll forgive you. I'll love you. I'll say anything you want to hear from me." Should have given in from the start. They know that it always works. They know that other people know what they want or feel or what is best for them far better than they do. They backed away because they were terrified by what they drove Frisk to, then immediately drove Frisk to do something even worse.

"If I'm the reason you're doing this, then... you don't have to anymore, right? I'll love you. I won't disagree with you anymore. I won't say mean things ever again. I'll never doubt you. I'll be good." The tinge of desperation starting to peek through the edges is... it's pitiful, huh? Disgusting. But if it keeps Frisk here... oh god, if it keeps Frisk here. If they don't have to watch them hurt themself again, if they don't have to see any more blood on their hands... they know that a LOAD doesn't erase the memory of how it felt to die. Know that Frisk is suffering. They know, oh god, do they know.

"I'll do anything. Just tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

They're talking, at least, even if Frisk isn't really listening. Hearing, maybe, but not listening. It's not going well. They're quoting things at each other, things he doesn't know, and all he can really do is watch and push Frisk back if they move forward again. But they haven't moved yet. In fact--

Then there's a knife. Sans's eyesockets widen and he raises his hand, but not fast enough, and the knife arcs downward and he can see where it's heading--

Jolt.

They're talking. Chara's words are soft. They're quoting things at each other, things he doesn't...he just thought that, didn't he? He wonders for a moment what must have happened, then dismisses it. Doesn't matter. Something bad, probably. It's usually something bad.

Frisk answers and he winces, words harsh and peppered with symbols, and it's certainly not the first time he heard spoken symbols, but it's always so harsh when Frisk does it. Harsher than planting an asterisk before a sentence. Not as harsh as the red voice. The red voice is a knife made of letters and intonations and...

Frisk raises the knife to their throat. Sans's eyesockets widen and he--

Jolt.

They're talking. Chara's voice shakes. They're desperate, they're pleading. They...

He feels a bit dizzy. Ah. It's not going well, is it? That was...four in a row? Five? Fewer than that? He gives his head a quick shake. No, it's not going well, and if it goes on like that for much longer than he won't be able to get himself back to the mansion, let alone two small passengers.

If Frisk can come willingly, well. That would be ideal, but if not--then he'll do what he has to.

It shouldn't be like this. Chara is pleading. Offering them anything at all just to get them to stay.

"frisk. please. i know you're hurting."

Of course they are. Of course they are, and it must be worse now, because they must have--Chara wouldn't have Loaded that many times that fast if something hadn't--

"but this isn't the way to stop it from hurting. please. we're begging you, kid."

They'll do anything, they say. Look at what you've done, Frisk. Look what you've driven them to. Look what you've made them say, compromising everything they are. They're consequences, they're holding you accountable, and you're ruining it. You're ruining them.

This is what keeps you chained to the people who LOVE you and don't love you. This is what makes you hurt. This is what tears you to pieces.

I won't say mean things ever again. I'll never doubt you. I'll be good.

It's sickening. Look at what you've done to them. Look at what you've ruined. Look at what you've done you filthy little parasite. You've turned them inside out, tainted them, made them beholden to your every whim out of terror for you. You think they'll love you like that?

They're scared of you. And who can blame them?

Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. It's not perfect. It's never going to work. Everything is balled up in their chest, a crinkled wad of distaste, running thick and hot in their veins.

"I want you to have your Partner." Had months of practice to flatten the words and even their expression. Make everything clipped and hopeless. "Your real one. The right one."

What do you want, Frisk?

Isn't it obvious? Their inches away from the sleep they've always craved - and the people who LOVE them are standing in their way.

"They'll be here." Another Frisk will come. A better one. There's dozens out there. Better ones. Ones that will love everyone without tearing them asunder. "They'll come for you."

It's hardly a comfort. They're going to lose their chance.

Fingers flex on the knife's handle. If they can overwrite their SAVE -

If they can make things stick. Just once, just one thing that will stick. One thing they can make right. One promise that they can't possibly break.

"I don't WANT them!" Chara shrieks. "It's you or nothing. I don't care if you're not the right one. I'd rather have the wrong one." Didn't they understand that much during the event that had all those other Charas and Frisks visiting? Do they... why is this what they think will... do they believe Chara distanced themself because they were hoping to find a newer, better Frisk?

"Do you actually think you're doing me some kind of favour? That this is - that this is some kind of clever ploy on my part? That I'm just trying to score an upgrade?!" Anxious fingers seize around the front of their shirt, bunching fistfuls of fabric uselessly. "Are you telling yourself that this is for my sake, Frisk? That I'll be glad to have your blood on my hands?"

Doing this because of them. They're doing this because of Chara. Sans, Alphys, the Pines family... they're all going to lose Frisk, but who cares, right? Frisk won't ever grow up, move on, be happy, live their life, but at least Chara gets to come out ahead, ha ha!

Feels like their pounding heart has crawled up their esophagus. They're going to lose Frisk. They're... they know the call of that sort of nothingness. They already succumbed to it, were already dead and buried. They know how it feels to set your heart on it. They're not going to be able to provide anything more promising than that way out feels. They're not going to... they can't SAVE people the way Frisk can. They don't have that power.

What are they going to do if they lose Frisk?

"I told you I'll love you, remember? You're my partner. You are. I - I'll take it all back. You were right, it didn't count, you weren't really agreeing, I was just manipulating you. I'm sorry. You - you don't have to punish me for it anymore. You don't have to punish yourself. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

You did this. You did this. Making them say these things. They'll say anything, do anything, to keep you from following through with it. And it's not because they love you, you have to remind yourself. It's not because they care, because they've said they don't. It's because they're scared. It's because you MADE them love you.

"What do you think I'm doing now?" Can't they see it? Can't they both see it? "You don't care. I made you think it was your fault. I made you love me."

It's what it wants. It's what it's always wanted, in a plethora of ways, in every way it was possible to want it. They were simply more refined about it, more restrained, more careful. It's not dying, you see. It's disappearing. It's stepping off the edge of a mountain and watching the ground rush up and thinking, how good.

"You won't miss me. You won't remember me." If they can get everyone to the point where they can accept this, know wholly and completely that they're better off for never having existed -

Shut eyes.

"You lost me months ago. I'm not useful to you. I'm not really me. Too broken for that."

Said it can't be me. Can't be me, I don't love you. Can't love you like this. You're broken, damaged goods. Tainted beyond the point of convenient use. Ruined utterly.

So. Start over. Get a new Frisk. One with a clean, pristine, untainted SOUL. One with brown eyes and a smile that comes easily and a love for their partner that doesn't drain them dry.

"It's what everyone wants."

A thin line of red across the interior of a wrist. Cut down, and not across.

It'll work faster that way.

Another failure. Another red line scratched through someone they love.

They let out a shaky, weak exhalation, and reload.

The aching tension gets worse with the fourth reload. They expect Sans is getting pretty disoriented, too. Doing his best to bluff that he can follow a conversation that's been taking place over a few timelines.

But they can keep going. It's not even a matter of can. This situation won't allow the luxury of can. It's nothing more than have to.

"I was lying. I was telling utter fibs." They wobble, drop down to their knees. They'll lower themself if they have to. They'll beg if they have to. "I thought - I thought you'd have an easier time of it, if you could blame me. If you thought you'd escaped the clutches of someone who was just - just being selfish and manipulative. Someone who would have started wars." Leave room for the friend they wish they always had. Let it be a clean break, let them think that maybe it was for the best that they leave Chara behind. "If I told you the truth, then you'd just... then I thought it would be the worse manipulation. I thought I'd make you think I was another sword for you to fall on. That you had to forgive me, had to fix me, because that's all anyone expects of Frisk, right?"

But instead, they made it worse. No matter what they do, it doesn't get better. There's - there's no way out of it. There's no...

"Stop this. Don't hurt yourself." They can't watch Frisk do this to themself anymore. "If you die, you know I'll follow. If you go to the core, you can't do anything to stop me from going, too. You have never, not once, been able to make me forget anything. I know about Gaster. I was the only reason you, too, could dig up whispers of a person who has been ERASEd. You keep saying that this time, I am a variable that you can alter, but you have no proof. You have no reason to think you can True Reset me. Once you are gone, there is nothing you can do if you are wrong. If I remember, and I intend to follow you to the utmost."

Sans remembers. Alphys seems to remember. Chara is nothing but remembrance, a steadfast refusal to play along and ignore what isn't supposed to be there in a perfect world. "Over and over, all we've been telling you is that we don't want this. We don't want this Soul to stay Lost. What do we need to do to be heard, Frisk? What do you need for us to reach you and pull you out of this?"

Like an eraser drawn over a line of graphite. Scrub away the unseemly parts, the parts of Frisk no one wants to see. Have to make things right. Have to try to make things right.

"Maybe you're not the reason I know anything." Was it Chara who told them to turn back, to venture over to the edge of a pier where an empty-eyed child stared blankly ahead, begging them not to think about this anymore? Was it Chara who suggested retrieving an umbrella for them? Was it Chara who mentioned a door that Frisk had never seen before, a gray door containing a man whose face widened, spilling blackness, and then who vanished - who they could pass through effortlessly, as though he were made of mist?

"You'll forget." If there's a pleading note in their voice, ignore it. The words are flat and delivered without inflection, without emotion. They have to be strong. "I'm determined you will."

They have to do what they must.

Give your SOUL to Asgore. Let monsters be free.

Sacrifice they can do. Sacrifice is the easiest thing in the world. One broad stroke, one permanent motion, and then - they're done. And now they always will be.

If they do this right, if they time it right, it'll work. It'll work because it has to. Just one more impossibility for them to overcome, right? One more absurdity to achieve. One more means to an end. They've yanked out the tangled guts of the world now, the numbers that ran like bright circuits through their mind, white blood cells that boiled and burned and fought for conquest.

It will work because it has to. And so it will.

"You didn't break me. You found me broken." And they're determined to set things right. "And then you came to your senses and saw what I was."

It's all right. Everyone sees them, eventually. Mettaton saw them, and Sans saw them, and Leonard saw them, and then, finally, Chara. They don't have to exist in perpetual denial anymore.

Open their free hand, palm out.

"You don't have to pretend to care anymore."

He's about to agree with Chara, tell them that all those other Frisks don't matter, because they're not the ones who are here. None of them are the Frisk that they've all known for almost a year now. He's long thought that no two of the people here from the Underground are from the same exact iteration of the Underground. No one but Chara and Frisk. They're the only ones who match.

But then there's the knife again, and it presses downward--

Jolt

He actually sways this time. Just a little, one foot shifting sideways in the snow. Chara drops to their knees. They're desperate, begging. They're also starting to wear out. He can tell.

It's something like five now. Maybe more, maybe less, doesn't really matter. All within a few seconds of each other by the feel of things. He looks between the two kids, trying to think. Chara keeps Reloading like that for a reason, because Frisk has done something in the interim, something horrible. Something--

They--

They have a knife. Don't they? Yes. There it is.

Chara is not getting through to them. Sans knows he is not going to get through to them. It's never going to be the easy way.

It has to be the hard way.

He has to cheat, as usual. Has to be underhanded and sneaky and disingenuous.

And Frisk's attention is completely on Chara. They're not looking at Chara, but they haven't said a word to Sans. They're focused on their Partner. Their sibling. Focused on trying to make Chara see what they think is reason.

They say that Chara doesn't have to pretend to care anymore. They've got the knife. The knife doesn't move.

Has to be now, then.

His hand has been raised this whole time, ready for them, so there's no movement to give him away. It's very quick. He turns them blue, and this time he doesn't push them back. He yanks, whipping them forward off balance, straight toward him, and he slides easily sideways so he can catch the wrist of the hand holding the knife. Pulls them upward by the wrist. Too awkward an angle to do anything with that knife in this position.

He doesn't take a second to apologize or to even look them in the eye. He doesn't take any time at all. He teleports as soon as he's got a grip on them. A quick sidestep through the folds of spacetime. Lands next to Chara, since he has no intention of leaving them out here alone, especially not so close to the Rabbit Hole. Grabs Chara--by the sleeve and nothing else, since he knows better now.

Three people is a lot more difficult when you haven't been sleeping, especially a jump this big. But they make it. They land in a random, nondescript room inside the mansion. Maybe not so nondescript--there's a bed and a chair, a small refrigerator and a bathroom, sure, but the window is barred, the door and closet both have complex locks, and there isn't a single thing in the room that is sharp or breakable.

It's kind of a miracle this room exists, since he wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake when he set this up.

He pulls the knife from Frisk's hand.

Then he lets go and stumbles back against a wall, clutching the knife to him and breathing funny. Got it. Got them all out. Got the knife away from them. Got them all away from the Rabbit Hole. Even if Frisk gets out of this room, well, it'll be quite awhile before they can find the Rabbit Hole again.

It's a stall, it's probably little more than an inconvenience, and Frisk will hate him for this, but all of that is fine, all of that is fine because it's a start if nothing else, and people are coming who will better know what to do than he does, who will do this right, and he is not letting go of this knife.

"shit."

They let them get to them. Hesitated for just a moment, for too long. The same fatal mistake they always make. The same they made in Quor'toth, even without a scrap of determination to their SOUL. A stick upraised, ready to scythe down with a decisive impact that would have soaked them in the EXP necessary.

But then, as always, Sans is there. He is there to watch and to judge. And, in the worst moments, in the darkest moments, when they stand apart with a Knife clasped in their hands, their shoulders hunching and their head bowed, he is there to stop them.

Why should now be any different?

It isn't.

And, as always, it proves their undoing.

They're whip-cracked across the short space separating Sans and themself, and he catches their wrist. He times it perfectly, and there is no time, no sparking determination, no moment in which they may slam down a ruthless SAVE.

He grabs them.

He

grabs them

and

holds.

They twist. They tear. Too late. Too late, always too late. Too late and not enough. Can't let go, Frisk. Can't make him let go. He's holding you down for your own good, can't you see? You think we trust you out here, like this? It's too dangerous, and you'll misbehave. You'll make a scene, so don't you start. Hold onto my hand, ▒▓░░░█. Don't you dare look at me like that. Don't you dare try and squirm away. Stay right where you are. Stay right where you are.

Don't you dare leave.

It's for your own good.

They know this story.

They know how it e͓ͯ̊n͔̊͠d̦s̡̐͝.

Hold still for me. If you hold still, I won't have to hurt you so much.

Doesn't let go. Doesn't let go. Stop. Stop. Stop stop stop stopstop stop stop just stop just STOP just let go just stop just STOP JUST STOP stop stop please stop stop stop JUST STOP

Stop stop stop
STOP stop st -

You must have misunderstood.
That's not how it works.
You didn't listen, and now I have to teach you a lesson.

S░o█.

Words, broken words, disjointed and guttering. Speak up, you little brat. How's anyone supposed to hear you when you mumble? Can't breathe, can't think, burns in their mind. Walls now. Walls up, and there's no chance anymore.

The Rabbit Hole is gone.

Reach for knife. Gone too. All gone. Took it all away again. Unsafe for kids to carry knives. For own good. Took it away for own good.

Can't even decide how to die. How sad. How pitiful.

Fall. Falling hard. LOAD. LOAD it away. Reach for SAVE File.

...

...

...

Nothing happened.

There are things that Chara knows, more or less. They know the wisest outcome is for Sans to teleport Frisk away from the rabbit hole. Didn't know when he would go for it, or that he would risk himself by putting in the exertion of bringing them along on the shortcut. Guess he didn't think it would be a good idea to leave them alone with a portal to oblivion.

Or maybe he needed someone else around, to make sure Frisk couldn't undo it. Make sure Frisk didn't make the most of 1 HP and some thoroughly exhausted magic, a soul pushed to its limit.

They know, too, how it had felt to be in library, a frantic giddy relief consuming the two of them as they made a pact, made a plan, felt nothing but light and unburdened as they hurtled toward an end. They know the crushing despair of being pulled back from that ledge, told you have to continue that arduous upward path instead. Feels like losing the only way out you had left. Feels like the one last light at the end of this pitch-black tunnel being snuffed out.

They know the Surface, and the things it teaches. They've come to understand that some things differ between them and Frisk. Things that made Frisk sit on a bench with an unwanted quiche for a long, long time, rather than revolt against the suffocating feeling of being watched, being smothered, having no control whatsoever. Things that Sans would understand more viscerally than Chara. They think that Frisk was never held down for gentle reasons, loving reasons, grown-up reasons. That they've never had what should have been affectionate twisted into something repulsive and horrifying and sickening. Frisk likes hugs. There's no undercurrent of unease that maybe one day their flirting will be taken seriously, and then they'd have been asking for-

There's none of that.

But there is the memory of a forgiving, sincere c'mere, pal and the jarring pain that followed it. The derisive, triumphant mockery of a Game Over. Being grabbed, held down, restrained for not-so-gentle or loving reasons.

The two of them have succeeded, have kept Frisk safe, but... success does not feel like triumph. They know the emptied-out, bleak despondency swallowing Frisk right now, and it makes their shrivelled, broken SOUL ache.

They don't know what to say.

Want to laugh, heavily and bleakly, at the idea that Frisk thinks they've been pretending to care. When have they ever pretended to care about anything? Isn't pretending to not care supposed to be their specialty? But maybe...

Frisk was right about everything else, weren't they? Knew what was best. It was Chara refusing to listen that made things go this far. Maybe Frisk's right about this, too. Maybe they're only pretending to be capable of compassion. Maybe that's why it always turns out this way, because it's not real love. It's something selfish and conniving. It only tricks itself into believing this is love because it's not capable of understanding what the real thing feels like.

They clutch at their own sweater, like they can clamp their fists around the four or five little fragments of soul that are left, force them to work. For too long, nothing happens. They're exhausted, straining for hope, trying, trying, doing their damndest to just- to have-

* Determination.

Frisk is safely here. Unarmed. No mirrors, no scissors, no boiling kettles or candles or sewing needles.

"Thank you," they murmur, struggling to rise from their knees up onto their feet. "Sans, thank you for protecting and watching over them."

They know it wasn't easy.

They know it doesn't feel like a solved problem for any of them.

Sans slides down the wall. He holds onto the knife.

Frisk collapses. Maybe not literally, but he can see it all the same. They're incoherent, they're completely gone in their mind. He knows what that looks like. He watches them carefully, just to make sure they're not going to come at him again, just to make sure they're not going to suddenly throw themselves at the walls in desperation.

He doesn't feel the Save twist into place, but he sees the motion that Chara makes out of the corner of his eyesocket and thinks he understands. It's done. There won't be any going back. There won't be any more Reloads.

It's done. Frisk is alive for a little longer. They're gone, he just broke the last scrap of trust that he never truly earned, they probably hate him now, might never forgive him, but they're alive for a little longer.

Been awhile since he felt this relieved or this terrified.

He almost doesn't even hear Chara. They thank him and it just--barrels him over a little. Can't quite parse it. What the hell are they thanking them for? This was almost the worst way any of this could have gone. The only way it could be worse would be if Frisk had succeeded.

He feels himself nod.

He pulls the phone out of his pocket again.

"i'll let everyone know. everyone's gonna want to come."

Everyone's gonna want to see Frisk. Everyone's gonna want to say their piece.

He fires off the last text, pockets the phone and covers his face with his free hand. He doesn't let go of the knife.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

standing on the edge of my broken dream, searching for some kind of peace [OPEN + CLOSED]

SAVE 1.0, LOUDLY AND OBNOXIOUSLY BRICKING THROUGH THE WINDOW

HELP ARRIVES

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LOAD 1.1

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cw suicide attempt

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LOAD 1.2

cw continues

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LOAD 1.3

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LOAD 1.4

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1/2

2/3 i lied

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SAVE 2.0

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