Chapter Text
“Are you… Chara, are you sure you want to do this?”
You hold the flowers in your fist and can feel the oil on your fingers from where you’ve crushed the stalks already. You remember the blisters on your hands from when you kneaded the pie dough that made Dad so sick.
“We need seven human souls to break the barrier, Asriel…” You say, “Even if six more fell down here, they probably wouldn’t help…”
“W-why not?” He looks dubious, and nervous standing in the buttercup field in his bare feet.
“Humans are evil, bro,” you say, and tighten your grip on the flowers, “There are not seven humans kind enough to band together and break the barrier in the whole world, and even if there were, there’s no way they’d end up here… We have to do this ourselves.”
“I-I just… Chara, I don’t- do you really need to- to d- die to-”
You grab his shoulder with your free hand and give him a serious look.
“Asriel. Do you trust me?”
“Y-yeah…”
“And I trust you. I trust you with my life, Asriel. You and mom and dad… You’re the only family I’ve ever had, and I… I know that you’ll use my soul to free our family.”
He looks like he might cry, and opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it with a toothy clack and steels himself with a nod.
“I’ll never doubt you, Chara,” he whispers, “We’ll do it together. We’ll save everyone.”
You shove the buttercups in your mouth.
“I need to tell her.”
Frisk looks up from their homework, completely startled. They hadn’t been paying attention to your train of thought until you spoke up and you’d caught them off guard.
“Now?” They ask, folding the math textbook up with your homework bookmarking the page. You shake your head.
“No, um, actually, I- can I walk around a bit first? I need to- I need to talk to someone. And you’re not allowed to laugh about it.”
Frisk cocks an eyebrow at you, clearly concerned, “Yeah, sure. All yours. Are you okay?”
You can physically feel them stepping back. You’d both fallen into a comfortable sharing routine where some days you started to lose track of what was you and what was them, but you needed to be you to do this. Asriel was looking away from his gameboy on the table, leaning against the lip of his pot, and up at you, but he was trying to be subtle about it.
“Did you wanna come?” You ask him. He looks at you, then back at his Pokemon game.
“Don’t talk to her without me, I guess,” he says, and mashes his face back into the buttons, “but do whatever ‘till then, I guess.”
You shrug and take his cell off the charger and put it in the soil of his pot so he reach it if he needs you, “Lights on or off?”
“Off, I can’t see the screen with this fuckng glare.”
“Swear jar,” Frisk pipes up.
“Bite me,” Asriel says, grimacing.
You grab your backpack from beside the door where you and Frisk left it and step out into the living room.
“Hey, Mom, I’m going to Sans’s, alright?”
“Invite him over for dinner, then, would you, my child?” She asks from the other room, “I’m making lasagna!”
“Kay,” you say, and turn toward the door, before thinking better of it and turning around again, “I love you!”
There’s a pause, and she dips around the corner to where you can see her, beaming, “I love you, too, Frisk!”
Your whole heart closes up like a dying animal and you want to blurt it out now, but you don’t. You force a smile and drown out Frisk’s sympathies in your mind and open the door with a wave. It’s a cold day, far into winter now in late January, with snow on the ground. You crunch through it in your steel toed leather boots, your favourite. Frisk would rather wear those slippers Sans keeps buying them, but you unfortunately have skin and would get cold, and at least one of you has to try not to catch hypothermia.
Sans’s apartment is a short walk, maybe ten minutes or so away and by the time you knock on his door your cheeks are red and your breath is frosty. Your ears have taken on the characteristic inner soreness of true winter and you belatedly wish you’d brought a hat.
“hey, kiddo,” he says, opening the door. You wave and he steps aside. You immediately go to his freezer and dig out a chocolate chip eggo waffle.
“ah,” he says, “haven’t seen you in awhile."
“I’ve been here,” you frown, “I’ve just not been talking to you, on account of, I hate you.”
“that’s cool,” he says, and plops down in a chair at his half-junk covered table, “i hate you, too. not you, Frisk, kiddo, I love you.” He says hastily, before tapping at his phone idly. You pull your waffle from the toaster and wish mom would buy you these things. You sit down across from him.
“Chara, be nice,” Frisk scolds you. You frown.
“Come on, that bordered on like, playful teasing, that wasn’t even half mean,” you retort, and bite into your waffle. Sans is giving you a weird look. “It’s not like he thinks I like him, anyway, that would be stupid.”
“That’s not the point! Come on, you asked to come over here, don’t be a jerk about it or we’re going home.”
“do you usually do that?” Sans interrupts. You look up at him.
“Huh?”
“that… talking thing. do you usually do that.”
“I mean, not when people are around,” you say, confused, “It’s not like you think we’re talking to ourselves, though, so.”
“So you’re not, like… Split down the middle, or anything? you’re both just sort of… around, or whatever, at the same time?”
“I guess? I mean, come on, if they were really mad at me they could take control back, easy,” you emphasize your statement by taking another bite. The chocolate is really gooey and soft, “it’s just like… I dunno. Not copiloting, but copiloting.”
“huh.”
“Yeah,” you shrug, and swallow, “Whatever. Anyway, that’s not what I came to talk about.”
“and what did you come to talk about, huh?” He’s leaning back casually, but you can see the tension in his bones.
“I’m gonna tell my mom.”
“tell her what? that you’re a murderous little shit?”
“Sans!” Frisk snaps, and he looks startled.
“No- I mean, maybe? Ugh- I mean- how old are you? Come on, I only died like, fifteen years ago, seriously-”
“died?” He says, looking taken aback.
“Wait, seriously?” Frisk asks, getting side tracked, “I thought it was like a hundred or something.”
“You- you’ve literally seen my mom and dad’s nose-nuzzling championship trophy,” you say, frowning, “it’s from '98, how could you- how could you have possibly thought I’m a century old, I don’t talk like that. I don’t talk like a freaking old person, do I?”
“wait, seriously, go, uh, go back to the dead part-”
“I dunno!” Frisk says, flustered, “I never thought about it! Are you telling me that- that seven humans other than you fell down here after your buttercup plan inside of two decades?”
“It’s a big mountain covered in holes, Frisk, people go missing on mountains all the time!”
“But you- Chara, seriously, you killed yourself for that plan, and seven humans did fall down there, does that not bother y-”
“Oh my god, Frisk, can we please not discuss my suicide in front of the skeleton?!”
“suicide?”
Shit. You just yelled that. Frisk doesn’t even pinch you.
“Past,” you say, hastily, because he looks really worried all of a sudden, “no danger. I’m not- look, we’re getting off topic.”
“what, uh- what is the topic?” He asks, visibly unsettled.
“Look, I know you’re old enough. You remember when my M- when the king and queen’s kids died?”
He looks down in thought and back up, “Vaguely. I was a teenager."
“Okay!” You say, exasperated, “Yes. Well. That was me.”
“wait, you’re that Chara?” He says, jerking to his feet.
You finish off your waffle and feel disappointed. You’re still hungry. You want another one.
“Chara, we’ll get fat,” Frisk comments when you turn away to look back at the freezer.
“We exercise plenty…” You mumble, but Sans looks at about the end of his rope of confusion so you drop it. “Hey. Chill.” You wave at his seat. He sits down, hesitantly.
“can you two- can you like, gesture or something so I know which one of you is talking? this is really confusing,” he says, resting his forehead in his palms, elbows on the table. He looks tired.
“Oh,” Frisk says, “Yeah, sure.” They hold up your left hand a little bit off the table, “Left for me-”
You hold up your right hand, “and right for me.”
He gives you an exasperated look in silence.
“Oh. Shit, um, left for Frisk, right for Chara,” you supply, and he bobs his hands a little bit in a vague gesture of gratitude.
“Swear jar,” Frisk says, holding up their left hand.
“Seriously?” You say, halfheartedly flipping your right up. They shrug.
“swear jar?” He repeats and you groan.
“Okay!” You say, and take a deep breath, putting both hands on the table. You flip your right one upward and look at him. He nods, “Okay. So. The reason I am here today is not because I enjoy your company, but because I’m telling Mom.”
“oh,” he says.
“And not just that me and Asriel aren’t… I guess, dead, anymore.” Frisk is listening intently, “I’m… I’m gonna tell her everything. Even about the resets.”
“oh.”
“Which means I have to tell her about you.”
“oh. shit.”
“Wait, you’re gonna tell her about the resets?” Frisk says, barely moving their hand. They feel alarmed.
“I have to, dude, if I don’t the explanation isn’t going to make sense.”
“That’s… Chara, I don’t know if I want Mom to know I’ve seen her die…”
“He knows you’ve seen him die,” you say, gesturing at Sans, who frowns, “and he still thinks you’re the bees fu- freaking knees.”
“that’s- that’s a whole other story, I still hate you,” he says, making a noncommittal gesture toward you.
“Well, yeah, but I mean, you’re an asshole. This is my Mom we’re talking about.”
Frisk claps their hands over your mouth and you roll your eyes. You pry your fingers away. “I’m sorry, Jesus, okay?”
“this is very weird and I don’t like it,” Sans says, and stands up, “i have no idea why you came over here to tell me about this, but i’m gonna go take a nap.”
“What? No! I need your help, numbskull!”
“Okay, that’s it!” Frisk cries, and shoves you out entirely. They stand up and wipe your waffle crumbs into their cupped hand, “You promised me you’d be nice, or at least not mean, to him. We’re going home.” They step on the button at the bottom of the trash bin and hesitate, because it’s full. They dump the crumbs on a part that looks less bulgy and grab the plastic tabs at the sides, hefting the trash bag out.
No! I need him. Mom isn’t gonna believe me unless he backs me up.
“Why wouldn’t she believe you?” Frisk asks, tying the straps of the garbage bag and setting it on the floor.
Why would she want to?
Frisk pauses, one hand under the sink. They sigh, and grab a new trashbag from the box, before popping it open and putting it in the bin, “Chara…” You can tell Sans is watching you.
Tell him I said I’m sorry, okay?
“Are you?”
Yes. No? I’m willing to apologize if it will make him help me, isn’t that close enough?
They frown, clearly unimpressed, but they turn to look at Sans anyway and snap the bin shut, “Chara says they’re sorry.”
“They did not,” he snorts.
“Well, they did,” Frisk says, “But they didn’t really mean it. I do, though. Chara is…” You’re quiet, listening, “Difficult, at times. But they’re not as bad as they want you think they are.”
He looks dubious, “frisk…”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” they say, leaning across the counter to cover his hand in theirs, “but I think they’re right. I think she should know.”
He gives them a really soft, broken look that makes you uncomfortable, “I don’t want her to know.”
“Sans…” You pull back as far as you can, trying to remove yourself from this sickening display, “She already knows about the night terrors, she just… Doesn’t know why. She worries about you, you know.” Sans doesn’t respond. “She’s not going to hate you.”
“She might,” he sighs, “She’s going to ask why I know.”
Frisk pulls back, “Wait, you know why you know?”
He swallows and chuckles, “yeah. yeah, I do. alright. yeah, you’re right, as always. if alphys can come clean, so can i.”
Frisk hesitates, then nods. Sans grabs a jacket from the back of a chair and Frisk shoulders the garbage bag.
You mostly just try to breathe.