It's not unreasonable. And this isn't...it isn't fair, really, that they can't do more. That they can't give them more. They're supposed to be Partners, Soulmates, hands clasped as they stand at the edge of the cauldron of Hell, and they're supposed to always be together in all of this. They're supposed to be...
...they're supposed to be getting better at this "supposed to be" stuff.
Where one of them pulls desperately at every interest they can to fill the blankness they know must be there, the other works so very hard to sustain that blankness and smooth it over everything that might define them. A chocolate bar pinned between the corners of a mattress. A rocket launcher hidden away where no one can see it. A chemistry set that they're...what? Too ashamed to let anyone see?
"There are a lot of people that care," they say at last. "Shepard. Mettaton. Dipper. Mabel. People who do love you, and care about you, and didn't know the person you were before you died. Do you really think they're just in love with nothing?"
Their smile is weak and fluttering like a candle's stilling flame.
"I don't know how to give you an answer. I'm still learning it myself, and even if I did know...I'm twelve. Fourteen, I guess, but even that feels like a lie sometimes."
What else do they say that won't be something simpering and saccharine, the kind of thing Chara said they'd hate? Liking chocolate. Liking puzzles. Liking to learn about things like stars and chemicals and the way the world works. Liking to learn big words that Frisk stumbles over. Isn't that the kind of answer they'd hate?
"If I'd never put on that sweater," says Frisk, quietly, "and if I'd never...if none of what happened on Halloween even happened...would you be asking this now?"
Would this be plaguing them the way it is now? Would this be ringing in their skull? Would this be some kind of inconsolable nightmare?
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...they're supposed to be getting better at this "supposed to be" stuff.
Where one of them pulls desperately at every interest they can to fill the blankness they know must be there, the other works so very hard to sustain that blankness and smooth it over everything that might define them. A chocolate bar pinned between the corners of a mattress. A rocket launcher hidden away where no one can see it. A chemistry set that they're...what? Too ashamed to let anyone see?
"There are a lot of people that care," they say at last. "Shepard. Mettaton. Dipper. Mabel. People who do love you, and care about you, and didn't know the person you were before you died. Do you really think they're just in love with nothing?"
Their smile is weak and fluttering like a candle's stilling flame.
"I don't know how to give you an answer. I'm still learning it myself, and even if I did know...I'm twelve. Fourteen, I guess, but even that feels like a lie sometimes."
What else do they say that won't be something simpering and saccharine, the kind of thing Chara said they'd hate? Liking chocolate. Liking puzzles. Liking to learn about things like stars and chemicals and the way the world works. Liking to learn big words that Frisk stumbles over. Isn't that the kind of answer they'd hate?
"If I'd never put on that sweater," says Frisk, quietly, "and if I'd never...if none of what happened on Halloween even happened...would you be asking this now?"
Would this be plaguing them the way it is now? Would this be ringing in their skull? Would this be some kind of inconsolable nightmare?
Is this all your fault?