"...You're right." They can't lie. Can't equivocate or dodge or manipulate past that fundamental truth. They can't protect Frisk from everything. Wanting a timeline where there are no mistakes or accidents... that's just a fantasy, of course. It just isn't possible to keep absolutely everything bad from happening unless you've got infinite tries and a friend in the wings arranging things with advice, flattery, predictions. Even so, there's frustration in admitting it. What good are you, if you can't protect Frisk? If you're not useful, you're a burden. If you're not helping, then you're sliding back into being that toxic, hideous leech.
But there's a bitter, dull anger in admitting it: they can't.
"Even so, I... wish that I could. I wish I could wear your pain for you. At least... at least until you're ready to stop saying that you deserve to hurt. Looking at dusty hands and saying "it's me" is... I take some small comfort in imagining maybe that, too, could be a form of protecting." From what? From whom? Why do they insist that?
They don't know. They don't understand. Frisk has long since ceased drawing that line in the sand. Frisk, perhaps, was never fooled. It had seemed important that someone know that it was I and not you that was used, but there hadn't been anyone else listening.
"I can make it make sense. I can be your scapegoat even if I stop being something comforting for you. Even if - if that LV19 demon is what you truly think of me, deep down. Even if you believe that I'm not exactly the greatest person, too. At least if it ever comes down to... if I'm the last remaining threat to everyone's happiness, then there's still something I can do to make sure you can be happy. Or, if nothing else... I can play that role, for a little while. Just until you're ready. Until you know that pain won't rip you into smiling little pieces."
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But there's a bitter, dull anger in admitting it: they can't.
"Even so, I... wish that I could. I wish I could wear your pain for you. At least... at least until you're ready to stop saying that you deserve to hurt. Looking at dusty hands and saying "it's me" is... I take some small comfort in imagining maybe that, too, could be a form of protecting." From what? From whom? Why do they insist that?
They don't know. They don't understand. Frisk has long since ceased drawing that line in the sand. Frisk, perhaps, was never fooled. It had seemed important that someone know that it was I and not you that was used, but there hadn't been anyone else listening.
"I can make it make sense. I can be your scapegoat even if I stop being something comforting for you. Even if - if that LV19 demon is what you truly think of me, deep down. Even if you believe that I'm not exactly the greatest person, too. At least if it ever comes down to... if I'm the last remaining threat to everyone's happiness, then there's still something I can do to make sure you can be happy. Or, if nothing else... I can play that role, for a little while. Just until you're ready. Until you know that pain won't rip you into smiling little pieces."