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Do you remember?
I thought you were going to sleep.
That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?
That is generally why people get in beds, yes.
A soft laugh.
So. Do you remember?
Could you be any more vague? Remember what?
That day.
Oh my god, Frisk. Are you going to say “April 30th”?
When I finished my list. The day you saved me, like we saved Asriel. A pause. The day you saved me from myself.
Chara’s words ring through Frisk’s head like a song, over and over and over, as they had every day for the past week.
“You're too small, okay? It's no good for me. I'm used to being taller. So we'll keep looking for a way to get my own back, and then someday we'll get Asriel, and that'll be our happy ending. Nobody has to die."
“Everyone really loves you, Frisk.”
“We don’t need to save anyone but ourselves.”
Nobody suspected, at least openly, they had tried to kill themselves for a second time. Even calling it that - an attempted suicide - was difficult, on both their part and Chara’s part. But that had been what it was, after all, even if at the time they’d been convinced it was some kind of noble sacrifice that everyone in their family would, even if they were upset at first, ultimately understand.
Certainly, Frisk had the gut feeling that everyone thought the week before last had been pretty... odd. They’d been very careful that nothing they did seemed out of place for them, but people talked, and it all added together... the excessive tip to Muffet’s cafe, the sleepover with Alphys and Undyne, the visit with Asgore, telling Toriel they loved her out loud.
But nobody would have guessed that those were the last times they would have seen their loved ones, that they had been planning to give their soul to Asriel so that him and Chara would be happy. So that him and Chara could live together, in one body, forever - closer than any friends could possibly be.
And now, they had to adjust, for the second time, to living a life they hadn’t planned to continue.
It made everything feel... unreal, somehow, like it wasn’t Chara who was the ghost living in their body and watching them live out their life, but themselves. It didn’t help that everyone acted just that little bit more unreal around them, like they had sensed that something was Wrong and now they all treated Frisk a little more like a tiny glass doll.
Undyne and Alphys invited them to another sleepover, and couldn’t explain to them why when they dared to ask. Asgore called more often than ever. Papyrus left inspirational, feel-good messages all over voicemail, text message, and the Internet. Even Sans acted more... dadly, or perhaps more grunkle-y, checking in with Toriel often and pestering them before bedtime to make sure they were going to sleep at a decent hour and not sneaking out of the house to do whatever he suspected they would do. Oh, sure, he hid it under aloofness and jokes, mostly along the lines of “you’re going to have a bed time,” but the difference was stark.
Toriel was the worst of all of them. They didn’t know if it was because she’d found their seemingly innocuous list, crumpled in the trash bin, or because she’d put it together another way. But now she was more doting than ever, more watchful than ever, like if she didn’t keep a close eye on Frisk all the time, they’d slip through her fingers and circle down the drain.
Even Chara wasn’t immune. They were more careful with Frisk now. Careful of what they said, what they thought. Keeping the walls between them a little more firm, so that their thoughts of how much they missed Asriel, of how much they missed Asgore and Toriel and real food and the sunlight and gardening, didn’t leak through.
Frisk hated it.
It got to the point where even they, whose reluctance to admit their true feelings had almost led to their death, had to admit it out loud... at least in a sense. They admitted it to Chara by letting down the solid walls between them just a little bit, so that Chara could feel what they were feeling. They felt the way Chara very tentatively, very carefully, crept into their mind and felt the inkling of their emotions.
With Chara that close to them, Frisk could feel what Chara felt too, and what Chara was feeling was a loss for words. They were normally so poetic, so well-spoken, that them being at a loss for words would have been funny if it didn’t make them feel even worse.
Frisk, they thought, at last. I meant what I said before.
That everyone really loves me? I know that.
Chara paused, very intentionally, as if to say: but?
Frisk didn’t dare to think a thing, just in case Chara would overhear.
You can’t accept it, Chara supplied for them, and maybe they had overheard anyway. Listen, Frisk... everyone cares for you more than they know how to say. That’s why they’re acting different. They can tell something changed, and they want to make sure you’re OK. That you’re safe.
Frisk tried to express to them an idea they didn’t have the words for.
You want everything to go back to normal, Chara said, and Frisk could almost feel the bitter laugh they wanted to make. Believe me. I get it.
But my actions have consequences, Frisk thought. That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it?
No.
Frisk didn’t understand, and they could tell Chara could feel their confusion.
Frisk, I care about you. So much. You saved me from myself.
Frisk felt a little warmer at that, and they weren’t sure if it was because of Chara sending a little warmth to them or because of what they’d said. Maybe it was both.
I’m not going to guilt trip you for not... Chara paused, as if the words were still a struggle to say. Killing yourself. I just want you to be happy, because you deserve to be happy. You deserve every damn bit of happiness the world wouldn’t give you.
Chara’s words, just as they had before, still didn’t feel believable to Frisk’s figurative ears, even though they knew that Chara meant every word with complete sincerity. It was just that knowing Chara was speaking from their heart didn’t mean they could accept what they were saying into their own.
It’s alright if you don’t believe it, Chara said, and sometimes Frisk didn’t mind that, with the walls between them so thin, that Chara could read their thoughts. Sometimes it made things easier. But it’s true. I just hope that I can make things... easier for you, I suppose. That I can do for you what you’ve done for me.
You already have, Chara. You saved me from myself, Frisk thought, sending a little of the warmth Chara had sent them back. From somewhere in the Chara part of their mind, Frisk felt something like being flustered, a tiny, embarrassed flutter.
But Chara recovered quickly.
I saved you because you deserved it. Not just because you saved everyone else, not just because you’re the most selfless, kind human being on the face of this frankly miserable planet, but because you’re you. Because...
Frisk smiled.
Because despite everything, I’m still me.
Frisk couldn’t see it, but they could feel Chara smiling back.
That’s right.
How could I forget? You scared the living daylights out of everyone.
I’m sorry.
How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t be. It’s not your fault. You were even younger than I was when I did the exact same shit. Everyone told you you were “the future of humans and monsters.” That you were the hope of all human and monsterkind. That... does things to a person.
I know.
...Frisk. Why are you bringing it up now? You’re doing OK, right?
A nervous twiddle of fingers over their stomach.
Frisk. Please, we’ve been through so much. You can talk to me.
Remember Flowey?
A flinch that’s not their own.
...A-Asriel?
Yes. Asriel. I didn’t want to say his name... not if it still hurt you.
T... thank you. That's kind of you, Frisk. But... well, I’m alright with it now. It was a long time ago.
It’s alright. To not be alright with it.
I know. You’re... you’re right, of course. But... look, Frisk, you’re not making any sense. What about him? I don’t understand what you’re getting at.
Remember the day I told everyone he was going to live with us?
Frisk cradles the flowerpot to their chest, holding it tight against them as if they’re going to drop it, but more likely, because they’re afraid the plant will make a break for it if they don’t.
They set the flowerpot on the dining room table of Toriel’s apartment. The gathered crowd - Toriel, Asgore, Undyne, Alphys, Papyrus, and Sans - stand around it and stare at it. Every one of them is as tense as an extended rubber band, ready to snap at any moment, and it’s only Frisk’s total calm that keeps them from summoning their weapons, or their magic, or in Alphys’ case, just crying.
“This is Flowey,” Frisk announces, out loud. “He’s going to be staying with me.”
All of them continue to stare. Undyne is practically baring her teeth. Flowey hisses at her, glaring angrily at everyone around him.
It’s Toriel that speaks first.
“Frisk, my child, you know that we support you...” she says. “We support you no matter what you decide to do. But...”
“But!” Undyne interrupts. “He tried to kill us! He tried to kill you! You can’t invite him for sleepovers or, or whatever! Who knows what he’ll do?!”
“frisk, buddy,” Sans says, his trademark grin a little more strained. “that flower’s bad new bears. trust me. you don’t want him around.”
“It’s not a sleepover,” Frisk replies. “It’s forever. And Flowey’s not bad. He’s just misunderstood.”
To emphasize that, Frisk reaches out to pet the top of Flowey’s head. Flowey responds by snapping his jaws at them, and Frisk pulls away before their fingers get bit.
“He’s scared,” Frisk explains. “He feels cornered and afraid.”
“He is not some kind of feral animal, Frisk,” Toriel says. “He is dangerous. I am sorry, Frisk, but I cannot support you in this. You will have to return him to the Underground.”
Asgore raises his paw, unnecessarily considering he towers over almost everyone else. “Er, I apologize, but I... I must disagree. I think Flowey deserves a second chance.”
“oh, he’s had plenty of chances,” Sans says with a shrug. “if this is going to be up to a vote, i vote against.”
“BUT!” Papyrus interrupts. “EVEN THE WORST PEOPLE CAN CHANGE! THERE IS NO LIMIT TO HOW MANY CHANCES ONE DESERVES, SANS! I VOTE FOR FLOWEY GETTING TO TURN OVER A ‘NEW LEAF’!”
“aren’t you the president of his fan club,” Sans replies.
“FRISK AND I ARE THE ONLY MEMBERS!”
“Sorry, Papyrus, but that thing tried to kill Alphys,” Undyne snarls. “There’s no way I’m letting it anywhere near us. I vote against!”
“That’s three votes against, three votes for,” Toriel announces. “If nobody else has any objections...”
“I vote for,” Alphys says suddenly, and everyone turns to her. She doesn’t flinch at their stares - she just stares at Flowey.
“Is that so, Doctor Alphys?” Flowey responds with a grin. “After all I did to you, you think it’s ever-so-noble of you to forgive me?” The grin fades, replaced with an angry grimace. “As if I even want your forgiveness. Not after you...”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Alphys interrupts. “I’m doing it for Frisk.”
I still wish you hadn’t done that. What’s your point, anyway?
That I did do it. Flowey - Asriel - he deserved to stay with us. He deserved a second chance. And, because of that, he didn’t have to...
Die alone?
...That’s right.
Ha. I still remember the day you told him I was part of your soul.
Frisk sits in a dressing room, in front of a mirror, wearing a solid white suit with a little red bow, a floral headband in their hair. In front of them is a flower in a flowerpot, a large red bow wrapped around its stem, and Frisk kicks their feet as they stare it with their chin in their hands.
“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” groans the flower, with a roll of their eyes.
You deserve to be here too, Frisk signs.
“That’s not what Undyne said,” Flowey retorts. “Prettttttty sure she just wants to kill me.”
She’ll like you eventually, Frisk signs, and then, before Flowey can respond, Yes, even though you tried to kill her fiance.
“Why on Earth would you think that?” Flowey asks. “Hell, I don’t even like me.”
Undyne’s that kind of lady, Frisk responds. She’ll take being your friend as a personal challenge. Plus, I like you. And Alphys wants you here too. Those things count for a lot.
“Whatever,” Flowey scoffs. “I still don’t belong here. This is a wedding. It’s a place of joy and happiness and all that other goopy crap. I can’t feel those emotions anymore. I’m just going to make things... awkward. And, you know what else? I don’t even like weddings.”
Frisk tilts their head. You don’t?
Flowey grins, as if pleased to have the opportunity to disparage weddings. “Ohoho. No. I hate them. They’re so saccharine. So sentimental. All this talk of ‘love’ and ‘’til death do us part’ and ‘togetherness’... it’s all a bunch of feel-good trash! Face it, Frisk... the world is a cruel, unforgiving place. People can pretend to be happy and in love and all that bullshit, but it’s just an act! It’s all just to keep them from falling into despair!”
You never wanted to get married? Frisk asks, innocently.
“What?” Flowey asks, sounding offended by the very question.
You didn’t want to get married to anyone? Not ever? Frisk repeats.
“Do I look like the marriage type?” Flowey says, grimacing.
Frisk just stares, and Flowey stares back, before he looks away from Frisk, no longer able to meet their gaze.
“There’s only one person I wanted to get ‘married’ to,” Flowey admits. “But they’re gone. So it doesn’t matter anymore.”
And Frisk begins to laugh. First it’s a soft giggle, then a chuckle, and then they’re almost doubled over, clutching their stomach and nearly falling out of their stool.
“What???” Flowey demands angrily. “Is something funny?”
“So you... you wanted to marry me, huh?” Frisk’s hoarse, unused voice says, between laughs. “Wow, you really took that ‘two becoming one’ thing to heart, huh? That’s... that’s hilarious.”
“Two becoming...” Flowey repeats, and then recognition strikes him. If he had a jaw, it would have dropped - but his mouth does fall open, and his voice becomes a near-whisper. “...Chara?”
Frisk opens their eyes, revealing red pupils. They reach out and caress Flowey’s pedals, unable to stop the playful grin on their face.
“Holy shit,” Flowey breathes. “It is you.”
“Yes,” Chara says, through Frisk’s body. They motion towards Frisk’s chest, where their heart is. “I’m part of them.”
“You fucking bastard!” Flowey snarls. Chara does not react, not even to flinch - they just keep smiling. “You’ve been there the whole time? You couldn’t show up earlier?”
“I could have,” Chara says, with a small, sardonic shrug. “But I thought it’d be so much more funny if I showed up now.”
“You are the worst,” Flowey says, but he leans into Chara’s touch all the same. “...Do you know how much I missed you? All these years? All these timelines?”
Chara’s smile fades.
“I know,” they admit, scratching behind what passes for Flowey’s ears. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I was... afraid. Afraid to show myself to anyone. Afraid I didn’t deserve a second life, in someone else’s skin.”
“So you even hid from me?”
“Even from you,” Chara says. “But now... now we can be together again, Ree. And we’ll never be apart - we’ll be together forever. Two ghosts, side by side, in a state of eternal undeath. And isn’t that like being married, in its own way?”
Flowey stares at Chara. For a moment, a look of utter guilt and sorrow passes over his face, which Chara can’t understand.
“Yeah,” he says, with a smile. “Best friends forever.”
...I told him we’d be together forever. I’m such an idiot.
You didn’t know. You thought...
Yes. But he knew. He knew all along.
They hadn’t even got up for breakfast. They woke up, very early in the morning, so early that their alarm hadn’t even rang, and Frisk flailed their hand around for their lamp. When they turned it on, Flowey was exactly where they’d left him the previous night.
And he was dying. Most of his petals had fallen off, he was leaning over the table, and his expression was fading like fog in a bathroom mirror. Despite not having lungs, he was breathing heavily, in and out, over and over, like he was struggling to keep hold of what was left of his life.
The moment they realized what was happening, Frisk felt a terrified Chara roughly shove their way past their mental wall, and suddenly, they were no longer in control of their body. They could only feel their own eyes filled with tears.
“No, no, no, no,” Chara repeated, again and again. “Please, no. Don’t go, don’t go.” They put their hand on Flowey’s almost bare head and lifted his face up towards them. “Don’t leave me.”
“And you called me the crybaby,” Flowey said, his sardonic grin looking strained even as it almost faded from his face, and Chara just cried harder. Inside their mind, Frisk felt the strange feeling that they were somehow crying too, despite not being the one controlling their face.
“You can’t die. I... you can’t.”
“Everyone dies, Chara.”
“Not you,” Chara said, as if this was an incontrovertible fact. “I thought... I thought...”
“I’m just a flower, Chara. It doesn’t matter how much determination I have. You’re the one with the green thumb - do the math.”
Chara lowered their head. Frisk felt as if they were going to throw up, and they couldn’t tell from who. “God damn it. God fucking damn it. Why didn’t you... why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, come on. Tell you, Mx. ‘Best Friends Forever’? You’d have done something batshit crazy to keep me around. Heheh. I...” A deep breath. “I know you too well.”
“There has to be a way,” Chara says, with a tone that says all too well, even without Frisk being able to read their mind, that they know there’s not. “We’ll tell Alphys. She’ll...”
“Oh, for once, shut... shut up. We’re not doing the whole ‘Flowey, stay determined!’ spiel. Just... just let me go.”
Chara stared at him, completely silent, and Frisk felt their heart pounding like a drum.
“You’ve... go... t to... le... t me... go... Chara,” Flowey said with a smile, his voice fading in and out along with the rest of him.
“I can’t. Not like this,” Chara replied softly, as another of Flowey’s petals broke off and fell to the table. “If I’m going to say goodbye, let me... let me say it to him.”
Flowey didn’t nod. They took a deep breath, and then their face shifted, taking on a slightly different shape, different features. It was, for all the world, a face more familiar to one of them than it could ever be to the other.
Chara leaned forward, and without another word, kissed that face. And they held that kiss until, only seconds later, there was nothing to kiss anymore - nothing but the empty, blank head of a wilted flower.
And Frisk felt, at that moment, an agony so deep, so heartrending, that for a moment, they became afraid that they’d lose Chara too - that the loss that Chara was experiencing would rend what was left of their soul to pieces.
Instead, Chara retreated back into Frisk’s mind, and back further, and back further still, until they were so alone that it was as if Chara really had disappeared. There was only a little light, a tiny flicker, of Chara, far and away as if in the back of a deep cavern.
And that was where, for months, Chara remained.
...Frisk. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
I understand. I’m sorry.
Why are you even talking about this?
A tensing of the shoulders.
Frisk. Please.
A tight grip on their own body, like they’re hugging themselves too hard.
Frisk! Answer me! You’re not making sense! You’re scaring me.
Chara. It’s time for me to die too.
What? You... you can’t...
It’s time. I’ve had a long life. I’m happy. I feel fulfilled. And it’s time.
No... no, you can’t. You can’t! Frisk, listen to yourself.
Please, Chara.
Everyone would miss you. They’d miss you so much. You can’t.
Everyone is gone, Chara. They’ve been gone for a long time.
When Frisk was only forty-six years old, they found Toriel’s dust in her kitchen. It wasn’t that she had become old - time was meaningless to her. It was, they assumed, because she’d fallen ill, and she just hadn’t told anyone because she hadn’t wanted them to worry. That was the only explanation that made sense, but it didn’t make things any easier - when they spread her dust over the old house where she had raised so many of her children, Frisk cried and cried.
When Frisk was fifty-seven years old, it was Sans who died - in a sense. Nobody found his dust - he simply disappeared from existence, without a trace, and nobody found him again. Papyrus searched and searched, but it was as if Sans had never existed at all. He didn’t even leave a note.
Papyrus never gave up searching, and nobody ever saw him again either.
When Frisk was sixty-three years old, Alphys died. She fell down and became too sick to wake up again.
Before Alphys could become dust, Undyne died of heartbreak alongside her - as if all her determination had finally run out.
When Frisk was seventy-two years old, Asgore quietly passed on in much the same manner as his ex-wife, and his dust was spread over his garden.
When Frisk was seventy-six years old, M.K. (or “Monster Kid,” as they used to be known), Frisk’s only monster friend that was their age, died of old age - because monsters, after all, do not live as long as humans. Their dust was spread over an old umbrella that they’d taken from the Underground.
Frisk continued to visit Napstablook and Mettaton, even as the years passed, even as Mettaton’s fame faded and his body became too irreparable for him to continue performing. But there was no denying that, in effect, everyone that they had known and loved from their time in the Underground was gone.
I’m not talking about them, Frisk. I’m talking about your children...
Seated in a lobby chair, Frisk knitted a scarf. They’d been learning to knit from Chara, over the past three years that it’d taken them to finally reach this stage in the adoption process, and the new scarf was nearly finished. They hoped it’d be the right size. And that their child would like the design.
But they had a feeling he would. He liked bugs. He was almost a miniature entomologist, even at three years old - so it was only natural that Frisk had made a green scarf, like grass, with red ladybugs on it. They were sure it would be a lovely gift.
Chara themselves was quiet, as they had been the entire time, and even if Frisk couldn’t sense their feelings, they didn’t need to in order to know that Chara was anxious.
What’s wrong? Frisk asked, sending them a reassuring gentle warmth, like pressing the palm of their hand over the back of theirs.
Nothing, Chara responded in an instant. But then their wall crumbled just a bit, and Frisk felt their anxiety loud and clear. It’s just... what if we’re bad at this?
We won’t be.
Everyone thinks that, Chara said back. I’m sure my parents thought they were going to be great at raising me too. Look what happened.
Not everyone.
Chara paused as the implications of that settled on them.
Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...
Frisk sent them another warm, gentle touch.
I know the world can be a terrible place, with terrible people, Frisk thought, and they felt Chara’s surprise. Frisk had never spoken about the world that way, after all - they were usually so optimistic, even when Chara’s glass was at its most half-empty. But it can also be a place of joy, and love, and kindness. We can be that for him.
And Frisk thought, unintentionally, of everything they knew about what the tiny child not far away had been through.
We need to be that for him.
Chara mentally nodded as if they agreed, but Frisk could still feel their anxiety, as strong as before.
You’re right, but...
Frisk felt, to their alarm, something spike within Chara, like a flash of lightning in a storm cloud.
And yet Chara’s voice was soft as they thought, I wanted to be a parent.
It was Frisk’s turn to be surprised. The thought that came to their head wasn’t directed at them, but it was almost instinctive. With Asriel?
A wince. Frisk sent them an apology.
No, Chara replied after a moment. It was long before that. Long, long before that. I suppose it’d be more accurate to say I had wanted to be a mother. A half-scoff, half-laugh. Asriel was always the ‘dream of lots of babies’ type. But, by the time I met him, I... didn’t want to be a parent at all anymore.
Frisk paused their knitting and set the scarf in their lap.
Why not? they asked, and this time the feeling they sent to Chara was soft, like a blanket around their shoulders.
Because I didn’t want to bring a child into this world at all.
Frisk took a deep breath, unnecessarily since they weren’t actually speaking.
Chara, they thought. Even if the world is full of terrible things... you can still be a good parent. And you will be.
They sent to Chara an impossible to describe emotion - the feeling of being given a gentle, warm hug from someone that you loved. They couldn’t hug Chara, not really. But this was something close, and they knew it was what Chara needed, even if they’d never admit it.
Because I’ll be there with you, Frisk thought, their wordless voice a soft whisper. Because we’ll be there together. We’ll keep him safe. We’ll be the parents our parents weren’t.
Frisk could almost feel Chara hugging them back, but they were no calmer. If Chara had existed physically, Frisk could almost have imagined them gripping the back of their jacket in their hands.
How can I be a good parent? How? They’ll never even know who I am.
Because you’re afraid you’ll hurt him, Frisk replied. Because you’re afraid someone else will hurt him. And because you’ll be there with me. Every step of the way, every step he takes, you’ll be there, supporting me, and supporting him.
Frisk smiled, to themselves, and to Chara.
That’s what being a good parent is.
And, at that moment, the door leading further into the adoption center opened slowly. And, standing in front of a member of the staff that Frisk had come to know very well, was a three-year old boy in a shirt with a picture of a grasshopper on it, looking for all the world like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.
Chara went dead silent. Frisk smiled, to themselves, to Chara, and this time, to the child across the room.
They stood up from their chair, a little unsteadily on account of their poor eyesight, and slowly walked across the room to the young boy. Once they had reached him, they crouched down and looked him eye to eye, their smile still soft.
“Hi, Zerias. I made you this,” they announced in their still small, hoarse voice (although it had been getting more and more clear as of late), as they raised up the scarf with the ladybugs, holding it out to him in both hands. “It’s not finished yet, but...”
Zerias’ eyes widened, and he took the scarf in his hands, even darker than Frisk’s own. He looked between it and Frisk, as if to make sure this wasn’t a joke at his expense.
And then he launched forward and threw his arms around Frisk’s neck, crushing himself against Frisk’s chest. Frisk didn’t pause - they hugged him back, careful to not hug him too tightly.
And, as they did, they felt tears spill over from their cheeks. They weren’t their tears.
It was Chara, sobbing like a baby.
And your grandkids, and their kids...
Frisk was laying on the floor and feeling like garbage.
So were all of their great-grandchildren, and so was Napstablook. That was what you tended to do with Napstablook - it was a relaxing, meditative activity. Feeling like garbage, it turned out, was a good way to not feel like garbage.
And, Frisk had to admit, it was better than listening to Napstablook’s latest spooktunes. Frisk liked them, and Chara liked them too (which Frisk always suspected was because Chara was a ghost of a sort themselves), but a few of their great-grandchildren found them too scary.
“I’ve gotta pee,” announced one of them.
Chara snorted, and Frisk laughed. “OK. Let’s get up.”
They heard the sound of a bunch of small children getting to their feet. They couldn’t see any of them, and had never been able to as long as they had been alive, but they could easily imagine what they might have looked like as they stood up and stretched their arms and legs.
Frisk started to get up themselves, reaching for the cane they had left at their side. But, to their surprise, they didn’t feel their cane anywhere. Alarmed, they tried the other side, but it wasn’t there either. They tried, abruptly, to raise themselves up and climb to their feet. Instead, as they were halfway to standing, they felt an extremely sharp jabbing pain in their spine, and they let out a cry and stumbled backwards, then forwards, then onto the ground.
They felt Chara’s alarm, but it was nothing compared to the panicked shouts of the children around the room, all shouting “Are you OK?!” or “Frisk!” or “Gran-gran!”
Desperate to try to reassure them they were alright, Frisk tried to get up from the floor, raising themselves up on their arms. But then their arms wobbled dangerously, and they felt themselves fall on their stomach again.
Their heart was pounding in their chest. They hadn’t felt like this - like they were on the edge of dying - for over seventy years.
Frisk! Chara shouted, as Frisk tried to turn themselves over, like a turtle. Frisk, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!
I have to get up, Frisk thought, barely realizing they were sending all their panic and fear straight to Chara. I have to get up.
They heard running, and then on both sides of them, sets of tiny hands grab their hands, and their arms, and turn them over, onto their back. Then the sets of tiny hands, with a series of strained grunts, lifted Frisk’s upper body up enough for them to pull themselves up the rest of the way.
Frisk’s heart still felt as if it was going to break free of their chest, but they breathed a sigh of relief. Even more so when one of the children handed them their cane.
“frisk............ are you ok...........” said another, very soft voice Frisk immediately knew was Napstablook’s, even though they couldn’t see them either.
“Gran-gran, are you hurt?” said another, only slightly deeper voice, much more firm but filled with concern. It took a moment for Frisk’s scrambled brain to recognize it as Mercy’s.
“That was so scary,” said a voice as soft as Napstablook’s - Cecilia.
“I thought they were gonna die,” said a fourth voice - was that Jun? Or was that Percival?
“Don’t say that!” shouted another voice. No, that was Jun.
The sixth voice, which had to be Nori, just cried.
Frisk took in a deep, calming breath through their nose, and turned their head towards the sound of the voices.
“I’m alright,” they said, simply. “I’m not going to die.”
“Are you sure?” said Cecilia, voice still even softer than usual, as if she was afraid to speak those words aloud.
Every other voice, even the one crying, went quiet (except for a few sniffles).
“I lost my balance,” Frisk said, even though that was only technically true. They felt Chara, who felt to them as panicked as Frisk had felt moments ago, send them a note of annoyance - unintentionally or unintentionally, Frisk wasn’t sure. “I won’t die. I promise.”
You can’t promise that, they felt someone think, and it took them a moment to realize that it wasn’t Chara, it was themselves.
They realized when Chara responded: What?
They didn’t reply. They only stood up as high as they could go with their hunched-over posture, and opened their arms out wide.
There was a patter of twelve feet as all six children raced over to hug them. Frisk wrapped their arms around the group, and held them tight (as tight as they could now, anyway).
Nori burst into tears again.
“Napstablook, can you make lunch?” they finally said.
“i....... um....... only know how to make ghost sandwiches.......”
“Oh. Right.”
“I’ll make something!” announced Jun, and Frisk smiled in the direction of their voice.
“Thank you, Jun,” they said, and they could practically feel Jun beam as they raced off in the direction of their backpack to get the cooking supplies they insisted on carrying everywhere.
What did you mean by that? thought Chara’s voice.
Thank you? thought Frisk.
No. When you said you couldn’t promise that you couldn’t die. What did you mean by that?
For a moment, Frisk was taken off guard by the accusatory sound in Chara’s voice, but realized through their shared connection the real reason Chara was angry.
Chara, they thought, and even to themselves, their own thoughts sounded like a confession. They weren’t sure to who. I’m eighty-five years old.
And they saw, clearly in their mind, the image of Chara, blurry like fog in a mirror but still somehow exactly as old as the day they’d met seventy-four years ago, as Chara’s eyes widened in surprise.
Oh.
Chara, they asked gently. Did you not realize?
I... I guess I didn’t think about it. A pause. Or I didn’t want to.
I didn’t either, Frisk thought, about all three things at once. But... now it’s all I can think about.
You’re scared, Chara supplied for them.
Frisk knew Chara didn’t have to read their mind to feel that they were right, just as much as Frisk knew that Chara was just as afraid themselves.
But, to Frisk’s surprise, it wasn’t the fear of what would happen to Chara themselves that was making Chara afraid. It wasn’t that primal fear of death that Frisk hadn’t felt in decades.
It was the fear of loss.
“It’s ready!” shouted Jun, and Frisk smiled in their direction and started to walk over with their cane. Jun, for a seven year old, made a mean snail jelly sandwich, in Frisk’s opinion.
Chara, they thought, as they heard the rest of their children talking nearby. I’m not going to die yet. I have them. I’m not going anywhere.
But all they could feel Chara think was the image of a wilted flower and, soft and quiet, a single word: yet.
I’m talking about everyone! Everyone who loves you!
“I worked really, really hard on my pie this year,” Jun announced. “It’s going to be the best one ever!”
“Thank the Angel nobody can eat it,” said Phynea, to snickers. Frisk could almost imagine her grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“I think she means you’re a terrible cook, Jun,” said Helvetica, in her flat, droll voice. Frisk could hear the clicking of buttons as she played a video game, although they couldn’t tell which one.
“I’m a great cook! Gran-gran says my food is delicious!”
“Gran-Gran has dentures,” retorted Helvetica, as if Frisk wasn’t sitting a few feet away.
“Helvetica, don’t be rude,” said Roman, her father, and it was only that Frisk was used to hearing him use the Bold Voice that they didn’t jump at the sound. Instantly, Helvetica went silent, as she usually did when her father resorted to the Bold Voice. “And goodness, Phynea, Jun is trying their best. You wouldn’t want someone to talk about you that way.”
“Everyone knows better than to talk to me that way,” Phynea sniffed. “Not my fault Jun’s a chicken.”
“Phynea!” said another, increasingly exasperated-sounding voice, which Frisk knew was Phynea’s human father, Morishige, or just ‘Mori.’ “You promised you’d behave for Gran-Gran today...”
“But, Dad, this is lame!” Phynea yelled. “It’s not like we’re celebrating Grandma!” She jumped to her feet and Frisk imagined she was striking superhero poses. “The Spear of Justice! The coolest, most badass lady to ever live!”
“We are celebrating all our ancestors, including Grandma Undyne,” said Esdiel, her other father. Frisk could still imagine his nonplussed, no-nonsense expression behind his glasses, the black beard over the scaly golden skin. “Please, sit down and calm yourself.”
Frisk heard Phynea sit.
“Your grandmother tried to kill me, you know,” said Frisk mildly as they took a sip of their bittersweet green tea.
Phynea said nothing, but Frisk smiled to themselves as they imagined the interested stares passing through the other children.
“I was on my way through the swamps of Waterfall, on my quest to break the barrier,” Frisk recalled, embellishing as usual, as in fact they did so often they sometimes forgot that hadn’t been their ‘quest’ at all. “She chased me like a bloodhound, throwing dozens - hundreds - of spears at everywhere I stepped. Nothing could stop her, just like nothing could stop me. We were both filled with determination - the drive to achieve our dreams.
“Finally, we face off! Just me and your grandmother. She charges at me, spear raised, and...”
A pause, for emphasis. Even Chara is smiling, somewhere inside them.
“I run! She yells -” They threw their hands into the air. “‘NGGGGGGAHHHHH!’ And she gives chase, all the way into the volcanic depths of Hotland, and then, at the last moment...”
Frisk was leaning forward now, their voice quiet, unable to stop the smile on their face.
“...She collapses from the heat. I pour a glass of water on her head and she looks at me and walks away.”
Even though Frisk had told this story many times, they could still feel the group staring at them. Phynea scoffed. Frisk just smiled.
“Yeah, right. Grandma would never run from a fight.”
“Don’t call Gran-Gran a liar!” shouted Jun, with a cry from several parents as Frisk imagined them climbing to their feet.
“Or what?!” shouts Phynea, and there was a cry from several other parents as Frisk imagined her climbing to her feet.
“That’s enough,” said Esdiel. “Today is a sacred day. Let’s not disrespect it.”
And then all the children went silent.
“Frisk,” says a woman’s voice - Prudence’s, Frisk recognized immediately. “It’s time.”
Frisk nodded, and held out their hands. There was a series of footsteps, and they felt as a butterscotch-cinnamon pie, still warm and smelling so distinctly of home, was placed into their hands. A set of arms wrapped around their side and helped them to their feet, and they walked from the picnic blanket to a single gravestone.
With some effort, Frisk kneeled in front of the gravestone, bowed their head, and set Jun’s butterscotch-cinnamon pie on the altar. They didn’t need to be able to see to see the characters etched onto the stonework - トリエル, or Toriel. Unlike many graves, hers was alone. Even if it had not been rare for monsters to have gravestones, she had not wanted to be alongside Asgore, even in death.
“Mom,” they said to the stone, as they set golden flowers next to the pie - a gift from Chara, although nobody but them knew so - and sake, a gift from them both. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately. I hope you understand, and know that I miss you dearly...”
Simultaneously, inside their head, Chara spoke. I know I never called you mother, but... you were so much more than one to me. You were something to me that even someone like me could never put the right words to. You were more than a guardian. You were more than a protector. You were more than a caregiver. If I still believed in such things, I would say... that you were an angel.
At last, Frisk finished speaking and stared at the grave.
One day, I’ll be buried here, Frisk thinks.
Frisk could almost feel the abrupt spike of discomfort from Chara.
...Yeah, they thought.
Sorry.
No, no. It’s alright, Frisk. I know we have to talk about it.
I don’t know how much longer I have left, Chara, Frisk admitted.
Mmm.
I’m scared.
The spike of discomfort gets stronger, but Chara’s voice is clear as they think: Believe me. I know what that feels like.
I’m not scared for me, Frisk thinks, and then they turn, and look in the direction of their family - children and grandchildren and greatchildren, their own and Undyne’s and Alphys’ and Papyrus’ and so, so many others. I’m scared for them.
And then, they look inwards, towards the ghost of the child that’s lived with them for seventy-four years.
I’m scared for you.
Chara just mentally shrugs, although Frisk can tell by now when they’re hiding what they truly feel, and right now, they’re doing a poor job of it. Well, I’m not really alive in the first place. Whatever happens to me... who knows what that will be.
But doesn’t it scare you? Frisk asks, voice growing increasingly more insistent by the moment. Not knowing? Doesn’t it scare you that one day you’ll just be gone?
Frisk can feel Chara’s smile, and the only way to describe it is bitter.
This isn’t about me at all, is it?
Frisk thinks nothing.
It’s about both of us, Frisk admits.
Frisk. I promise, whatever happens to me, no matter what that is... Chara says, and Frisk feels a warmth on the tips of their gnarled hands. I’ll be there with you. I’ll follow you into the dark.
This isn’t about them at all, is it?
Frisk, I... I... I can’t stand it. I can’t stand not knowing. I can’t stand the idea that you could go to sleep, and not wake up, and you’d be gone, and I’d still be here, forever, unable to do anything but miss you.
Chara...
I can’t. I can’t go on like that. When I lost Asriel, I thought I’d lost everything. If I was to lose you, I... I really would have no one.
Frisk was used to pulling people out of the abyss. It was almost second nature for them. But even still, pulling Chara out of the abyss they had fallen in since Asriel’s death had been reaching into a pit with no bottom.
They could still remember every word Chara had screamed and sobbed as they had reached out and gently held their hand and listened to them.
Don’t you get it, Frisk?! I was an idiot! ‘Our happy ending’?! There’s no such thing as happy endings! For anybody!
Every good person dies! Every good person dies and every awful, garbage, shitstain of humanity lives forever!
This is my fault! It’s my fault he’s gone! I killed him and now he’s gone and it’s all my fault!
How am I supposed to face them now? We were supposed to do it together. We were supposed to do everything together.
Can you even understand what this is like, Frisk? It feels like I’ve been torn in half.
And Frisk had responded, quite simply, to all of it:
It was you who taught me to never give up on living, Chara. Even if Asriel’s gone, I know... I know that he wouldn’t want you to give up either.
And Chara, not a dark stormcloud but a blur of color, had laughed, and then cried, and then both, and then they had retreated, once again, into the depths of Frisk’s soul.
When they finally, finally came back, they said, equally simply:
I can’t ever tell them. And then, after a pause, I can’t bear it any more than he could. Telling them I’m alive... only for them to one day lose me all over again... I just can’t.
Then we won’t.
But it’s not fair. Having you hold that secret in your heart the rest of your life.
It’s not fair to you to be that secret, Frisk replied, motioning to their heart. To be trapped inside me like this. Without your own body, without your own senses. An eternal passenger. Frisk smiled. The least I can do is to keep your secret safe.
I loved him. And I love you, too.
It was around when Frisk turned sixteen, over a year since Asriel’s death, that Chara started to act strange around them. In fact, it started exactly when Frisk started to date M.K.
Whenever they and M.K. went out, to the movies or to get boba tea or even to go clothes shopping, Chara retreated into the back of their mind, claiming that they wanted to give the two of them some “much-needed privacy.” After all, they said, “you don’t need a thousand year old chaperone, now do you?”
But whenever Frisk’s date was over, and Frisk tried to chat to them about how it had gone well, Chara became increasingly standoffish and annoyed and tried, without fail, to change the subject, until Frisk had finally reached the limits of their endless patience.
Chara, they asked. Do you not like M.K.?
What? No, Chara replied, the emotions between their shared space like cactus barbs. I mean, yes. I mean, of course I like M.K.! That’s not the problem.
Frisk sent them the equivalent of raising an eyebrow.
I... I... Frisk, for God’s sake. You’re going to make me say it?
I don’t understand. Say what?
I can’t tell if you’re being genuinely oblivious or trolling me. Frisk, I... The barbs got sharper, then smaller, as Chara’s voice got quieter and quieter. Ugh. God. Frisk, it’s...
A long, long pause.
I can’t tell you. Look, just... have fun with M.K., alright? Don’t worry about me.
Frisk felt their cheeks get warm, and it was only because Chara was keeping the walls between their minds very, very firm that they knew that it wasn’t Chara that was the only embarrassed one.
Chara, do you...
Noooooope, responded Chara, and then the walls between them became as solid as bricks.
But it was all Frisk could think about over the next few weeks. Whatever Chara had meant to say, Chara being too flustered and embarrassed to say it which was nothing like them at all, Chara hiding their feelings from them as much as they possibly could...
Finally, they asked it again, out loud so it was unmistakable:
“Chara, do you have a crush on me?”
And, in response, Frisk felt, equally unmistakable, the feeling of two hands clasping theirs, the ghost of two lips, not cold like the dead but warm like the sun, passing over their own.
For a moment, just a moment, they saw Chara as they truly were, or perhaps, what they truly would have been - the vague image of a tall, gangly teenager with a smile, lopsided and bashful, on their blushing face.
How could I not?
You’ve made me so happy. You made me happy when I thought I’d never be happy again.
Frisk’s relationship with Monster Kid didn’t last. The two of them, it turned out, were different people, even if they’d always be friends. But people wondered afterwards, especially as Frisk became more and more famous, who would be the lucky person who would eventually take Frisk’s hand in marriage.
It turned out the answer would be very distinctly Frisk.
Frisk started to go to movies alone, and always insisted on ordering two tickets. Frisk went to restaurants alone, and reserved two seats. Frisk went on long walks on the beach under the moonlit sky alone, laughed their head off at bad jokes they told to themselves, and dressed fancy (by their incredibly strange definition) for occasions they said nothing about to anyone, not even their own family.
And Frisk did this, and continued doing this, for seventy years.
It was when Frisk had been doing this for exactly fifty that they went to their favorite expensive restaurant, dressed to the nines in a hot pink tuxedo covered in red hearts. And, midway through the meal, they announced, apparently to nobody, “So I have a friend named Al. He’s a runway model, but he’s not very good at it. I’ve been trying to help him get better, so I’ve been offering him a lot of encouragement. He showed me one of his shoots, just yesterday, and I told him...”
And, at the same time, the waiter delivered, to Frisk themselves, a champagne glass with a single ring in it, and Frisk burst into tears even as they continued saying, voice warbling:
“This is a pro pose, Al.”
Frisk, every word I said back then... every word I said, I meant it more than anything.
When Frisk and Chara had approached the rabbi about the idea of Frisk marrying themselves, he had turned them down, which they both supposed was reasonable. When they had approached him again and explained that, in actuality, Frisk wasn’t marrying themselves, but secretly marrying the millenia-old ghost that was living inside their soul, the rabbi had responded merely: “Well, that’s unusual.”
But there the two of them were, or rather, the one of them, standing almost completely alone in an empty chapel, wearing a white tuxedo and a white veil and a white train, facing the rabbi and preparing to say the vows they had meticulously crafted.
There was no point to saying any of it, of course. They both knew what the other was thinking better than anyone else possibly could. But, nonetheless, they spoke.
“Frisk,” said Chara, and it spoke to the professionalism of the rabbi that he wasn’t startled by their sudden change in voice, cadence, posture, or attitude, or the way they were shyly looking up and down at nobody else in the room. “I... I never thought I’d be here. I never once thought it. I was so sure that I was incapable of falling in love with anyone. And then Asriel came along, and then... then I thought I just hurt the people I fell in love with. I thought that was my destiny. Not... this.
“But then there was you. When I woke up from the dead, I thought ‘our plan had failed.’ And I wondered what the reason was, if there was one at all, for my continued existence. I wondered what path you would show me - a path of destruction and revenge, or a path of peace and empathy.
“Instead, you showed me a path beyond those paths. You showed me a path not of destruction for its own sake, or peace for its own sake, but a path of... well, to borrow someone else’s phrasing, love, rather than LOVE. You showed me what true kindness meant, even to people who seemingly don’t deserve it. You showed me what true empathy meant - that it was unconditional, but that it was also its own strength, not weakness. You showed me true forgiveness, not borne of ideology, but of the goodness inside your heart.
“And you reached out to me. When I lost my way, you were there for me. When Asriel was there, you helped me reach out to him. And when I lost Asriel, you were there for me then too. When I thought I would never be a parent, you were there for me. When I thought I would never find the happiness I’d lost when I’d lost him, you were there for me, and so were our children, and our children’s children.
“I can’t thank you enough, Frisk. For everything you’ve given me.
“And that’s why... I want to marry you.”
And Frisk, in response to themselves, said nothing.
But then, in a completely different tone of voice, posture, cadence, and attitude, the same voice said:
“Chara. A long time ago, you said we’d find our happy ending together. You said we’d find you a body, and we’d find one for Asriel too, and that would be our happy ending.
“But... that’s not how things were meant to be. We didn’t find you a body. And Asriel... well, he can’t be here with us now.”
Frisk smiled, seemingly at nobody.
“But we still found our happy ending. Even if it’s not everything we wanted, we still found family, and friends, and love, and joy. We still found peace. We still found the better life the world had never wanted to give us. And... it took a long time, and we sacrificed so much, but...”
Tears pricked at the corners of Frisk’s eyes, and then fell, even as they continued to smile.
“I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
The rabbi smiled, and Frisk broke the glass - or, at least, arguably, Frisk broke the glass, as Chara would argue that they had broken the glass and Frisk would insist that they had done it both together. No sooner had they left the doors of the chapel than Frisk felt the warmth of a kiss upon their lips and arms around their waist, a fire as intense and burning and utterly harmless as if Toriel had cast the magic herself.
Chara. I can’t live forever.
I know. I know.
You have to let me go.
Don’t say that. Not those words. Please.
Then I’ll say these instead. Don’t let me go. Follow me, Chara. Follow me like you’ve followed me for all these years. Follow me just like you promised you would... follow me into the dark.
Frisk stares into the aurora of shapes and colors in their mind, and for the first time, the first time in fifty years, it clear and visible as if it was really there in front of them. Not a child, not a teenager, not a blur of shapes and colors that only vaguely resembled someone in a green and yellow striped sweater. It is instead someone wrinkled and wizened, their red eyes as sharp as their chin, a pair of narrow glasses on their pale nose, their auburn hair pure silver.
Frisk stares into the aurora of shapes and colors, and reaches out with trembling, shaking hands and places their fingertips against the intangible surface of their skin. They pass right through, but nonetheless, as the apparition touches their hand in return, they move along with them as their hand is lifted to their mouth. Frisk can almost feel the kiss on the back of their palm.
They give a light shrug, and the shoulder of their kimono falls aside, and the apparition of shapes and colors and light and dark and touch and air leans forward and kisses Frisk on their lips, and Frisk kisses them back and holds them despite not being able to hold them, and they both - human and spirit - let themselves fall back, laughing and giggling and complete.
I... I don’t want to let go.
I don’t want this to come to an end.
Can’t we just do it all over?
Can’t we just go back to where it started?
A smile.
Why?
Promise me, thinks Frisk, as they lay on their single bed and stare across into the eyes of nobody. Promise me, no matter what happens to you, you’ll take care of them.
Who? Our children?
But Frisk only smiles.
Not just them. Everyone.
And Chara smiles back, and despite them not having a body, Frisk feels the warmth of their forehead pressed against theirs.
I promise.
And Frisk, at last, shuts their eyes.
It’s perfect just like this.