black then white are all i see in my infancy [closed + open]

[determinedest]

Who: Frisk and a few closed prompts + a few open ones!
Where: Alphys's lab, by the vendors, maybe more?
When: 11/01 - 11/08-ish (may be subject to change)
Rating: PG-13 for children in peril, suicide ideation, depressive mindset, and bad decisions
Summary: Shit happened. Someone give this cast an intervention.
The Story:

[A hot oil-slick of numbers running through their mind in a burning cacophony does not lend itself to anything but pain, bright and blazing. It cuts into their teeth and their tongue and the inside of their cheeks - or maybe that is simply them biting deep into the flesh in their mouth to taste the warm tang of it to remind themself that they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are real.

It crests in a burgeoning wave. There is no tide there is no pattern there is no regularity there is no respite it simply is and it tears through them, every jerk and wrench of their body shuddering in its place like hot marks shearing them open.

They can taste blood.

Is it yours?

Or mine?

It does not matter.]

Comments

[punful]

[They don't mean it. But of course they don't. God, it's like without Determination they've lost their entire soul.]

[They could have done better. They should have done better, but...what other options were there? What could they have even done? Maybe the vendors would have offered a better cure if they'd offered more payment. Or maybe there was some other scientist here, or a healer, someone they didn't consult who could have fixed it.]

...do you want me to leave you alone?

[determinedest]

If you want.

[There's no real difference between when he's here and when he's not. There's no variation, no gradation of colors across a colorless mental landscape. There's simply nothing that...matters, really, in terms of what they want. They sound decidedly unbothered as they add,]

I don't want anything.

[punful]

[Stupid question. Of course they wouldn't be able to really answer. God, this is hard. And he immediately regrets thinking it, because this is a lot harder for Frisk. This whole thing has been a thousand times worse for Frisk and Chara both.]

alright.

[He gets up.]

well...you know where to find me. so, you know. don't hesitate if you...need anything. okay?

[determinedest]

I don't need anything.

[No. They're supposed to thank him, aren't they? The impulse is there, something vaguely remembered, but the desire to actually buy into it is next to nil. But they blink slowly and say politely, because children must always be polite:]

Thank you.

[punful]

[He pauses near the door and looks back at them, eyesockets half-lidded and empty. He shrugs.]

didn't do much, kid. but you're welcome.

we all care about you, frisk, okay?

[Doesn't matter right now, though, does it?]

[He's gone.]

[determinedest]

[Does he? They...suppose he must. Everyone keeps saying that. Keeps looking at them with concern and fear and worry, like they're something fragile and made of spun-glass. Maybe, if they had the capacity to feel guilt, they'd feel guilty that they're not getting...better.

Whatever "better" is.

They say "thank you" because that's what you're supposed to say, isn't it? So they have, and it's okay now.

It's okay now.

He's disappeared, but that's okay too.

He probably has better to do.]