entrancelogs | 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.

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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.

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

SAVE 2.0

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