Chapter Text
There is a cat asleep on their doorstep, and Napstablook doesn’t know what to do about that.
It snoozes on the front porch of their old home without giving so much as a damn that they would like to go in, please, yes they may not live here anymore but that doesn’t mean they can’t still visit from time to time when the homesickness gets too heavy, so could the cat please just wake up soon and move a little bit off their doorstep so they don’t have to disturb it, please?
The black and white fluffball, of course, dozes on anyway, because it does not care about what anyone wants it to do. Or it doesn’t even know that there’s someone standing out here in the perpetual rain, umbrella in hand, waiting for something to happen, so it obviously knows not about what they’d like it to do.
They tap their foot, and the little splashes they make against the mud are barely audible over the drizzle. Tap, tap, tap. The droplets tick away the seconds.
…it’s been two minutes. A tentative look up doesn’t reveal anything different. There’s still one sleeping cat on their doorstep. They’re still out in Waterfall’s rain.
Well then. It’s decided — they’re gonna be out here a while. Napstablook crouches down, curls their free arm over their knees, and attempts to get comfortable. Waits. Stares at the cat. Stares at the old house this cat opted to settle under. Chances a peek at the twin lopsided house next to it, all worn pink and magenta, before the sight of its front door hits them out of nowhere — so back to staring at the cat they go.
The cat is a fluffy little thing, looks like. Sure, it’s a lot bigger than they think a cat should be, and if it stretched itself out, it would probably be a lot longer than the doormat it’s curled up on, but that might just be due to the fluff. From where they are, crouched down atop the dirt, they can just about make out its face from behind its tail — black-patched over one side, white on the other, soundly asleep. Sorta funny in the way it’s so relaxed surrounded by what a cat should normally abhor, if what they know about cats and their relationship with water is correct.
There’s a cat on their doorstep, still snoozing away. It’s something for them to focus on for the moment, and that’s good enough.
Beyond that, they try very, very hard to think of nothing at all.
Because here’s the thing — it’s been months since everything first went wrong, and it’s been months since they’ve first tried to open their late cousin’s door, and it’s been months and months and so much has happened and so much has yet to happen. They want to move on from what they’ve lost in the process, they really do, but that is something that won’t happen — not yet — until they can find it in themself to open Mettaton’s old front door, and uncover the last of his secrets and lay them to rest. And it’s hard to even do that, because even if they know the dead have no need to be listened to anymore, it always feels like opening that door would disrespect his memory. Even if it’s true that he had abandoned them for stardom and left them wondering what happened, left them waiting for something to happen, left them hurt and some part of them always hurting, it’s just—
After all is said and done, they should be allowed to disregard whatever feelings he had on this matter, right? That’s how it should be.
In a better timeline, that’s how it would be.
So why has it been months and they still can’t open one simple—
“Mrowr.”
Oh. Uh. The cat’s awake.
“Mrow,” says the cat, pinning them with two startlingly bright green eyes.
Napstablook stares at the cat.
The cat stares at them.
They stare back.
And bored with the inadvertent staring competition, the cat does a little stretch and pads right over to them to properly introduce itself, rubbing up against their knees.
“Um… hi?” Okay. Oh god. They’re at a loss for words in front of a cat, somehow. (That must be a new low, but they digress.) They scratch it behind the ears with a free hand and hope it doesn’t mind their apparent quietness too much — though all things considered, the cat seems content to be the one leading the conversation, leaning into their touch with a soft, rumbling purr.
That’s… that’s a good sign, right? The cat doesn’t seem to be in any visible stress, so it might be. They tilt their umbrella forward to shelter the cat a little better from the rain. “How did you find your way here? Waterfall isn’t… it’s no place for a cat.”
“Mrowr?” the cat chirrups, and bumps its soft forehead into their hand. “Meow.”
“…you like it here?”
“Mraa!” it replies, in a probable answer of yes it does, somehow, and they scratch its head in response. Though whether the cat is referring to the constant rain or the head rubs… well. Who knows.
“I. Uh. Well… the rain isn’t the best place to be in, so…” Gingerly, and to the slight, seeming dismay of the cat, they stand up and push the front door of their old home open, holding their umbrella out for the cat all the while. “Um… come in! I mean, only if you want to… no pressure or anything…”
“Mrowr?” asks the cat, head tilted to the side. It’s stopped glaring at them for moving — instead, its eyes are wide. Curious.
“I… um, I used to live here,” they start, holding the door open. “There isn’t much of anything here anymore, just… everything that couldn’t be moved out, but at least it should be dry…?” They glance back inside and confirm that no rainwater has leaked through the ceiling since their last visit, but before they even get the chance to let their unexpected guest know, the cat — as it is so very good at doing — has brushed up against their ankles and invited itself inside.
It occurs to Napstablook then, watching the cat inspect their home’s creaky floors and dusty furniture, that this is the first time since Mettaton’s initial disappearance that they’re inviting someone over to their place.
That someone is a cat.
Huh.
“Meow,” the cat meows, either in satisfaction or the feline approximation of “are you just gonna stand there all day?”, and they pause in the doorway for a moment longer before it catches up to them that they have to let themself in too, sometime. That’s… kind of the point of coming here in the first place, isn’t it?
Funny, how everything that mattered in their old home has been moved out, yet they can still remember exactly where their computer used to be on their old desk. Where they used to keep their CDs, stacked and sorted on the opposite side of the room. Where they used to lie in front of the television as it tuned in to one of Mettaton’s shows, back before they knew who he really was. Back before everything happened.
Simpler times, they think, finding their place in front of the television. It’s been left unused long enough, like everything else left here, that it’s gathered so much dust, and the thought of that weighs heavy on their mind.
Simpler times, before their soul fused with his body and they got swept up into all this madness.
Simpler times, before Shyra fell and before both their closest cousins left and back when they still had someone to call family. Still had a place to call home.
Still could be happy.
I was happy, their thoughts trickle, and if they stare at the hole in the floorboards long enough, those thoughts might start to spill over.
It’s been so long.
Wouldn’t everything have been better if—
“Mrow!”
There is a very sudden, very warm presence on their lap, and they nearly leap out of their seat. There’s — oh. It’s just the cat. It’s just the cat, having decided that out of everywhere it could choose to snooze in this old house, their lap is clearly the best spot. There’s only the cat, snuggled up against them and sound asleep and purring loud enough to block out the oncoming thunderstorm, and it’s…
They scratch the cat behind its ears, the tension coiled tight within their shoulders slowly, surely, beginning to unwind. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. It’s… great, actually.
It’s nice.
A little while of petting the black-and-white lump of sleeping cat later, it gradually dawns upon them just how long they’ll be sitting here with the cat in their lap. The cat’s cozy, and asleep, and they don’t want to disturb it, and all things considered? It might just be a long, long while.
Hmm.
So. Be that as it may. They’re the resident cat heater now.
I… can live with that.
Well, while they’re here, they might as well use the time to relive some old hobbies. They just barely manage to grab the remote from its place atop the television, and settle down — for the first time in a long, long time — to watch some reruns of their old favorite shows.
Notes:
Chapter 2: wouldn’t hurt to be with it longer
Summary:
In which there are unexpected guests, and there are unexpected grounds covered in the name of being a good host.
Or: the cat follows Napstablook home. Surprisingly enough, Alphys is prepared for this.
Notes:
ohoho happy undertale day friends! this chapter’s hella short but what the hell. it’s cute <3 enjoy!
side note: i have a hunch this chapter (along with another down the line) will probably be one of the few where I actually get to apply some of the cat research I did for this fic (when I thought this fic was just gonna be a bunch of cat care facts disguised as a fic). i…have 17 chapters in the outline so far. 2/17 apply cat research.
yeah this fic did NOT go as planned ahaHAHA but I digress. have fun! :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“W-wait, I didn’t say you could come with—”
“Meow!”
“Don’t you have somewhere to… wait, are you lost? I… I mean, if you’re out here in Waterfall, then your owner should be around here somewh—”
“Mrow!”
“I-I mean… you are very nice, but… Hotland isn’t the best place for a cat like you, either…”
“Mraa!” The cat chirps, tail swishing from side to side, and it pins them once again with its pleading, startlingly green eyes.
It occurs to Napstablook, then, that they are losing an argument to a cat.
It occurs to them, then, that they’ve talked more than they usually would, these past few hours, and it was to a cat.
(It occurs to them that they’re having a lot of firsts today, and all of them are related to this random cat, one way or another. They’re… not sure how to feel about that.)
To be fair, said cat is making a very convincing point, and it didn’t judge them for rambling when the cooking show segment came on (and it’s not like they run into cats at all on a regular basis), so hey, maybe they can afford to have this and not wonder what their life is coming to.
Maybe.
“…fine,” they finally relent, when the rocky border between Waterfall and Hotland is in plain sight. “I’ll just… let Alphys know that you’ll be staying at the lab for a while, and see if we can find your owner, and…”
They trail off just as they notice the rust-colored, dry ground before them. Oh. Uh. Okay, they may have forgotten to account for Hotland living up to its name, and the effect such an environment would have on sensitive cat paws.
Well.
“Um.” Clearly, there is only one solution to this. “Alright, uh… up we go? I hope you don’t mind…” and they pick the cat up as gently as they can, and very, very thankfully they only receive a surprised “mrrp?” for their troubles as they walk the long stretch to the lab. The cat doesn’t try to make its great escape from their hold either, much to their relief, and decides to rest its paws on their shoulder and get comfortable.
“Mrow,” says the cat after a moment, and once again begins to purr.
“Yeah,” they reply, and they can’t help the smile that begins to form. “I… guess you are rather large, huh?”
Halfway through sketching their second found cat poster, their wandering thoughts hit a snag.
They know approximately nothing about taking care of a cat. Sure, they have taken care of animals before — the snails on their old snail farm, for one — but that was a while ago, and this is different. Snails aren’t cats, that they know. Cats… cats need places to scratch. Some kind of cat food. What else? Napstablook reaches for their phone and looks up the essentials of cat care, and with their free hand, pets the sleeping cat on their lap.
Somewhere between ten open tabs about litterboxes, cat neutering, fur allergies, finding out the furball in their lap is a very pretty lady cat and feeling completely out of their depth, the front door of the lab slides open and Alphys walks in, a tall stack of papers in her hands.
“Hi, Napstablook,” she starts, setting the papers down on the table with a soft huff, and her eyes drift to the one completed cat poster left lying to the side. She picks it up, adjusting her glasses a little, and about now should be the right time to tell her about the new houseguest, right?
The rest of them, unfortunately, goes too stock-still seeing her eye their first attempt at drawing a cat, so that’s going to have to wait. Instead, now is the time to hope their sketch of a cat actually resembles a cat and she doesn’t judge it too hard either way.
“H-hey, this looks really nice!”
“Oh… uh, thanks? I-it’s for—” and perhaps they don’t need to tell her about what they brought home, because the loud meow that interrupts them tells her all she needs to know.
Alphys looks down and finds the cat.
The cat tilts its head at her.
Napstablook realizes they’ve forgotten to consider if their friend has allergies.
Oh no.
“Oh my gosh,” Alphys says, with a lot more awe in her voice than they were expecting, and crouches down to the cat’s level. “You found a cat?”
“I-I can explain—”
“Hi, kitty! Pspspspsps…” The cat sniffs her outstretched hand and decides it likes her too, offering its head for her to pet. “Where did you find it?”
“I. Um. It followed me back from Waterfall…” They scratch the back of their head. “I’m just… making sure its owners can find it if… if it’s lost or anything…”
The cat leans into Alphys’s scritches and purrs, much to her delight.
“I… I just wanted to ask… are you okay with keeping it here until then? I… don’t know if we have any of the things a cat would need, and—”
At once she stands back up, much to the surprise of both them and the cat (if their flinching means anything). “I’ll be right back,” she says, giving the cat a final scratch behind the ear before she darts into the elevator down the hallway, and returns a few minutes later with so many assorted cat supplies in her arms that Napstablook half-wonders if she’s had a cat before, and half-considers getting up from their chair and helping her carry some of it, though the cat on their lap doesn’t exactly let them do so. She sets everything down next to her papers, a small bead of sweat rolling down her face. “O-okay. I think I’ve got j-just about everything — cat food bowl, water bowl, this—” —she gestures to the plastic tray— “—should be a good enough litter box, I d-don’t have spare litter at the moment but some sand should suffice until we get some, cat toys, brushes, I still need to lift the cat tree up here, cat brushes—” Her gaze falls on them, and immediately her brows crease in concern. “Are… are you okay?”
“Y…yeah,” they murmur a full second after registering what she’s said, the color drained from their face. “I… I just… where did you…?”
Alphys laughs, if a little nervously. “Ehehe… I used to spend a lot of time around a cat monster, once,” she muses. “Th-think I picked up some tools of the trade.”
“That’s… that’s nice.” They stare at the pile of cat supplies on the table, some they’ve seen from their spontaneous research session, some entirely new. It’s… a lot that needs to get arranged. “I could help you with—”
“You have a cat on you. I don’t think it’ll allow you to get up for a while,” she replies, and as if on cue, the cat lazily rolls over and shows them its fluffy belly. “I’ll take care of this.”
They open their mouth to reply, though between the cat they don’t want to disturb and Alphys’s words, they can’t find what they want to say — though she’s right. The cat on their lap isn’t letting them leave any time soon. This might as well happen, like it or not.
“I-if you really feel like you need to do something… just take care of the cat, alright?” Alphys adds, and gives the cat another long, wistful look. “Besides… it really seems to like you, you know? It wouldn’t hurt to be with it longer.”
She grabs the cat bowls and leaves for the sink, and for one quiet moment, they’re left alone with the cat again. They scratch the cat behind the ears, and it gives them a low, rumbling purr.
Yeah. Alright. It wouldn’t hurt to be with it a while longer.
Notes:
Chapter 3: april
Summary:
In which the cat gets a name.
(In which the past gets acknowledged.)
Notes:
to the bookmark on this fic: hi homie! of course i remember you 💖💖💖💖 that bookmark comment on the other en longfic had me squealing the second i read it 💖💖💖💖
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
No one comes to collect the cat after a week, which Napstablook hopes is because no one owns this cat, rather than the owner being unable to recognize their cat from their beginner’s attempt at drawing, but… it’s been a week. It’s been long enough, and they’ve already triple-checked and quadruple-checked that they’d gotten the cat’s little pink nose and its little ear tufts and the black patch across half its face right. It’s been long enough, and nobody came.
That’s fine.
Besides, that means all the cat care tips they’ve picked up from Alphys and the internet won’t be for nothing. They know, now, how and when to clean a litterbox, and to clear out the litter every so often. They know what to feed and when to feed the cat — often but not too often, and the cat lets them know anyway by smacking them in the middle of their lie-on-the-ground-and-feel-like-garbage sessions. They know, after working up the courage to post some cat pictures in a forum, that this cat is the sort of breed that is incredibly loud and affectionate, more so than most cats, which would explain why it’s either in close proximity or on their lap most hours of the day.
(Also because they’re warm and give scritches. That probably explains some of it.)
So. This cat may very well be here for good.
(That’s good. That’s great, actually, but they don’t admit how happy they are to take down those cat posters around Waterfall.)
And because the cat is here to stay, they are probably allowed to let themself name the cat, now that there’s no reason to be afraid of becoming too attached. The purring fluffball making biscuits on the bed deserves that much, at least.
Now, if only they had an idea of what to call it (that did not make them want to bury their face in their hands). Sans swung by earlier when he heard of the new cat, and in a moment of either spitballing or general punnery, suggested they name it Catstablook.
(“it’s even got your look, kid,” he’d joked and pointed out the black patch over its face that did very much look like their hair, to which they replied with gritted teeth and the most forced “I’ll…… consider it” they’ve ever said in their life.)
So that’s that name vetoed, because they really don’t want to be reminded that the cat looks like a mini-them. Or a mini-Mettaton. Whatever works.
Alphys is a bit better for bouncing name ideas off of, though her busy schedule and the fact that most of her name suggestions are so obviously referencing Mew Mew Kissy Cutie doesn’t make her better by much.
(No, it’s not because they don’t like the anime — they think it’s decent, actually, and half-suspect that any mention of dislike would get them murdered ala three-hour anime rant — they’re just not as passionate about the show as she is. Some of the names she pitches come close to clicking, and some have the cat giving them both a Look before meowing a demand for more back rubs.)
And so far, nothing they have come up with sounds right in their head, so consulting themself is a bust, too.
For the time being, at least.
Then the very next evening they stare at the calendar a little longer than they should, and they think. They wonder.
“April?”
The cat looks up at them with a soft “mrrp?”, and as they fish a treat out of the jar for it, the name clicks into place.
April.
Good enough, the cat seems to purr, leaning in when they rub it behind the ears. Good enough.
Though it is a little embarrassing to admit that they named their cat April after staring at a calendar too long and deciding “why not”.
It has been less than two weeks and already, there are tumbleweeds of cat fluff littered across the lab.
They swept the floor two days ago, and somehow, in that time, April has found some way to shed back all that fur, and maybe a little extra. If they attempted to roll up all the cat fluff collected in their broom pan, they might have enough to constitute at least half a cat, if not a whole new one.
“I brush you every day,” Napstablook mutters, staring at the several cat hairballs caught on the end of their broom, “and I brushed you just this morning. How… how are you still shedding?”
April, the little shit she is, lazily thumps her tail against the table. “Maow.”
“...how do you still have fur?”
“Mraa? Mrow.”
“I – what did you just call me?”
“Mrrt,” says the cat, and she leaps off the table to rub against their legs. “Mrrr.”
“You’re not helping…” they whine, though the corners of their mouth curl up in a silly little smile as they reach down to give her head rubs. April replies with a lazy flick of her tail and purrs – so, okay, maybe she isn’t without credit here. She’s helping.
(As a distraction.)
“Mrow!” As soon as she’s reached her momentary petting quota, April pads on ahead, leaving a tad bit more fur on the ground and on their ankles in her wake, and then she stops. And stares.
A fly on the wall? Hidden laser beam? Some unknown point in the distance? Their questions are answered once they look up and catch sight of the wall mirror, and one April tilting her head at her own reflection.
Oh. “You see something?”
April sits down, raises a tentative paw to the mirror, and swats at it. She recoils slightly when her paw hits the mirror, but soon gives it a second smack for good measure.
“Well, uh, that’s–” they start, attempting to mediate whatever conflict the cat might have with her own reflection, and they glance up to find a gaping, jagged hole where their own face should be – and they freeze.
It’s–
Huh.
It’s been a while since they put a hole in that mirror, now. Maybe it’s been long enough since then that they should’ve already forgotten why they broke it in the first place. Maybe they should’ve gotten used to its existence, at this point, and maybe they shouldn’t be stunned silent just by looking at it.
It’s nothing.
It’s a reminder.
Because, then again, it is rather difficult to forget the memory of being forgotten.
“Mrow?” There is a sudden, soft weight at their side, and it’s just April again. She stands up and stretches out into as long of a vertical line as she can, front paws pressed against their leg, and they get the message. With a quick whisper of “alright, up we go” , they lift up the large fluffball and cradle her close to their chest, and they stare at the mirror together.
“Mraa?”
“...yeah.” They run their fingers through her fur, tracing slow, circular motions. “Better… better view up here, huh?”
There is no reflection of themself, where they stand. But there is still April in the mirror, and even as she gives herself a wary glare, she hasn’t done anything to this mirror in the way they have. She hasn’t broken anything in a hot flash of rage. She hasn’t been left behind for the promise of something better. She hasn’t been forgotten, and if they have anything to say about it, she never will be.
And they think.
And they wonder–
“I… used to have a cousin, once,” they start. “I mean… I had more than one, but… he was the one to find me, when I… when I first got here.”
A soft, rumbling purr is all the response they get. They continue on:
“They – he – we’ve been close ever since. I… I think we were.” I want to think we were. Because he was there, he had been there, on the better days and the ones when they wanted to vanish from the world, and that meant something. “He’d… whenever he wanted to… cheer me up, he would take me out to the dump… tell me all about these cool surface things he’d find… we used to plug whatever old cassettes we’d find into the TV, just to see if they’d work…”
It’s a little funny, how they manage to smile. It… hurts, a little.
“And when it did, we would sit there and watch whatever came on for hours… sometimes, if he liked the show enough, he would rope me and some other friends into performing a dance based off of it…” April bounces a little in their arms. “I… think you’d like them? I mean – uh – I probably would’ve disappeared if I had seen you o-or anyone else watching, but – uh – you… you get the point?”
“Mrrr,” purrs the cat, and that probably means she gets it. Hopefully.
“Okay,” they reply, rushed and quiet. “You get the point.”
The smile falls. They’re silent for a moment. “He… disappeared, one day. No warning. Nothing. They just… they were here one day, and gone the next, and I-I thought…”
Their fingers tremble. Maybe it’s just their imagination again, but April seems to purr a little louder in their hold. I thought he died then, they want to tell her, but there’s a tight, choking lump in their throat where their words should be. I… thought he wanted to disappear for good, that day, and never told anyone. I thought…
Either they were part of the reason, or they simply weren’t reason enough for him to go on, and that was what made the most sense at the time. This was their fault, and in the long, lonely years at the farm afterwards, that was what they were left to believe.
And even now, when they know he didn’t die on that day itself and left without a word, on his own terms? “I don’t… I don’t know. Maybe… some of it is… still my fault…?”
“Maow!”
They flinch, and look down to see the cat glaring at them. “You–”
“Mrowr. Mraa!”
“Uh… okay?” This is yet another argument they’re losing, they’ve caught on to that much – though what exactly they’re losing at is a little up in the air. Blaming themself for things they couldn’t predict? Possibly. They’ll go with that. “I. Um… thanks? Uh… so they – he – he was fine, actually! He found a way to be a star, like he always wanted to, and he was…”
He was happy.
Bitter, bitter, bitter is the sentiment that creeps into their voice, twisting it until they can’t hear themself anymore. He was happy. A them who didn’t know that they were abandoned would want him to be happy. Them as they are now is… much more conflicted on the matter. He left them in the dust so he could chase his dreams. There could have been some way – there must have been some way he could’ve let them know, long before that terrible day. Right? The years in between were long, and certainly long enough for him to have done something, but he only ever told them where he went right before he died, and only ever told them why he left when he really was gone for good, and after that, what for?
Every second spent untangling that mess of feelings is another second of walking around in endless circles, in endless perceptions that they’re at fault, they’re to blame, that they’re owed something despite it all, and one day, they might center on themself so much that they’ll just – snap.
Napstablook breathes. Looks at their hole in the mirror. Looks at the cat nestled in their arms, rubbing her head against their chest. There is so much more than just this that they regret, so much more than anger they have towards him – because Mettaton wanted them to be safe in the end, and they can’t be angry at that – and there is so much more left to address and lay to rest and deep in their soul, they’re so tired. Too worn out for the day to ponder it, let alone weave the rest into some sort of ramble for the cat.
There’s so much more to this than bitterness, but try as they might, they can’t be anything other than bitter right now.
Another breath. That’s… alright. That’s… going to have to be alright.
“I think…” they start, trying for something a little lighter, “he… he would like you too, April. What… what do you think?”
“Mraow.” The April in the mirror tilts her head.
And they think.
And they wonder.
Notes:
oh there’s my angst :D
Chapter 4: i won’t let it happen
Summary:
In which dead things don’t stay buried.
(Or: Napstablook's no good, very bad time at the Core, and miscellaneous things.)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s May.
May is supposed to mean flowers. An end to the rain, one way or another. Another step forward. A better month promised.
To Napstablook though, May means that the shadows warp into humans with pointed guns, or fallen angels with wings blazing in the spotlight, and there are days where they only feel up to taking care of April and maybe getting a chore or two done, before they head back to their designated room, shut the lights off, and return to their default of lying down on the floor, desperately trying not to let their mind wander.
(Alphys asked once if they had a battery problem that needed to be fixed.)
(When nothing seemed out of the ordinary during her checks, they both concluded it was just That Time Of Year when everything first went to shit, at which point they noticed the dark bags under her eyes as she said, “W-well, if you ever want t-to talk about it… I’d be happy to listen.”)
(But she'd looked so worn out then and hadn’t looked any better recently, so they’d rather not take up her offer. Not right now.)
The door is never left fully closed, though – because there is a cat who wants to see them even on the days they feel the most useless, and it’s like she knows what those days are. April slips in through the crack of light left open and huddles up next to them, and in the haunting quiet of their thoughts hums a soft, rumbling purr.
“…good kitty.” They reach out and run their fingers through her fur. April’s presence is enough to keep them here, more than enough, and for the time being, she, too, is content to stay.
Look. April is a smart cat. They can’t dispute that.
At some point prior she learnt to sit, lie down, and roll over on command, tricks that most cats are usually too stubborn to follow, so she obviously has something going on between her eyes. Somewhere.
That something, they find out one day while she’s sprawled out on their back, is mischief.
The series of unfortunate events goes like this:
1. There’s a click and all of a sudden they’re thrown into a dizzying spin, and then there’s a clank and a startled yowl going off at the same time they hit the floor.
2. (For further context, April was using their back as a heating pad just moments before.)
3. Said April has, in the meantime, leaped backwards a couple feet and, okay, she is very large and very intimidating with her tail raised and her fur all puffed out like that. They don’t think they’ve acknowledged that enough.
4. “Wha…?” is all they manage to get out in the half-aware daze after, and maybe it takes too long for it to register that they’re a goddamn rectangle now, damn it. Something must have flipped the switch all the way back to box form, and last they checked they were too busy trying to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist to do that themself. April hisses at them in turn.
5. “April, what did you do,” they deadpan, once they’ve stopped seeing stars.
“Mrrr…” says the cat, tail still twitching at its tip, though her ears prick up from where they were pressed flat against her head. “Mrow?”
“It’s… it’s just me, April.” They sigh – as best as a metal box with a screen is able to sigh, anyway. “Did you flip the switch?”
“Mraa.”
6. April is, in all likelihood, the still-living definition of “curiosity kills the cat”, because she spends all of five seconds being wary before she pads up to them, gives them a tentative sniff, and then decides to rub her weight against them and use their screen as Heating Pad version 2.0.
7. The problem: they cannot balance at all on the box form’s singular wheel – at least not long enough to flip themself over and adjust the switch back to normal.
8. The other problem: April.
(Is there even a need to explain why?)
The ceiling and the cat curled up over most of their vision do not, unfortunately, give them much of a way out of this. Looks like they’ll be here a while, until Alphys looks into their room or April gets off of them, whichever comes first.
Well.
The cat gives them something to think about instead, at least.
Maybe it’s alright that when Alphys finds them stuck under a purring cat, they largely forget their eight-part sequence of mildly unfortunate events in favor of a very sheepish “…help,” and after they’ve gotten a cat pried off them and a switch flipped back to its original position, they only really remember to mention, “April… uh… may be too smart for her own good.”
Maybe it is alright, they think, since that’s what gives Alphys a good laugh at the end of a long day, and that’s always good.
There comes a time where they are really, truly alone, for the first time since the cat.
The depths of the Core hum with an electric melody, muted by the walls into an ambiance that buzzes, pulses like a heartbeat, and that cadence of white noise surrounds them now.
Somber.
Fitting.
It’s a long way up to the walkway that hangs near the ceiling, wherever that is in the inky darkness, and it’s not where they can be now. Napstablook glances up and the vertigo catches them off guard; there is nothing but the long shadows but something in their head is spinning nearly out of control, and they have to pause to stare at the floor and breathe. The last time they were here, they killed someone. The last time they were here, they staggered to their feet on that very railing and found a soul at the bottom, found a body where there wasn’t before, and it was a
long
way
down.
Better to stand on solid ground this time. Better to have steady footing in the room that carries so many memories of death.
“Yeah, it’s better,” starts someone behind them, and their wires freeze into solid ice. “Better if no one else dies today, right?”
They spin around on their heels so fast that a couple petals from the bouquet in their grip are shaken loose from the sharp movement; blue petals drift to the floor just as they stare off into the dark and find nothing. At first it sounds like it’s a voice out of nowhere, until they look down and – oh.
Oh no.
It’s just as horrifying to see up close. Hair all matted, jacket oozing with something deep and dark and red, flashlight dropped and shattered a ways off to the side, the light inside long since extinguished. The boy they pushed to his death lets out a low, mirthless laugh, and then he sits up and pins them with those same green eyes.
“I—” –and then whatever words they have twisting inside them catch in their throat. It’s not real. It’s not real. That body must have been cleared out, long before now. The boy stands up and stretches, cracks his backbone back into place, and with every pop it gets harder to rationalize that this is yet another hallucination. That none of this can be real – because ghosts are real, they themself were proof of that, and – and—
“I-I… I’m n-not… here for you,” Napstablook finally manages to choke out, though it’s so quiet they half-imagine it's just another thought until the boy turns to look at them.
As if on cue, he gives a little tilt of his head and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “’Course you’re not,” he starts. “You definitely wouldn’t have come here if I was the only dead thing in this place, wouldn’t you?”
Wait. How does he know—?
“I mean… I kinda get why, y’know? Like,” the boy continues, hands raised to the level of his shoulders, “if I killed someone, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be reminded of it either.”
Does he know what else happened here? It’s a stupid thought, and they realize that a second after they pose the question, but—
“Hey, are you— okay, could you not look at me like that? I’m not psychic or anything, do you really think I can read your mind? You brought flowers.” He punctuates it with a hand in the direction of their bouquet, and they flinch at the sudden movement. “No one brings flowers to a dump like this.”
“…oh.”
“Not unless there’s something worth remembering.” A heavy pause. “It ain’t me, I know. Not to you.”
The flower stems are going to leave permanent grooves in their hands, at this rate, if they keep gripping them so tightly.
“Nice flowers, by the way. Think I saw a friend grow those before – forget-me-nots, or something similar… I’d ask who they’re for, but that’s none of my business, ain’t it?” Those bright eyes bore into them all the while as the boy walks towards them, one unsteady step at a time, mouth drawn into a thin, tight line. “Look. I know I’m dead. I know you killed me. It’s not that hard to figure out. And you definitely know that didn’t come without consequences, don’t you?”
He stops mere feet in front of them, and maybe he’s the reason why the air feels a little chillier now. Or is that them? Are they imagining the cold that runs through their fingers? “Well. Maybe not so much for you, but I have friends up there waiting for me to come back, yeah? A family that’s distraught because one day, their only son fell down some mountain and never returned. And my girlfriend, you know her?”
(Somewhere, something in them freezes.)
“She came down here to find closure, and that’s…” He looks away. Gives the ground a long, wistful look. “…man, I wish she never came here in the first place, but there’s… you know. Something about being loved so much that someone would willingly jump into certain death just to find you again, yeah?”
They had that, Napstablook thinks, and here comes the guilt, starting to pool again. They had something. They… they were happy.
And then of course he ran into them. Of course they had a panic attack at the worst moment. Of course they pushed him and he tumbled down into those depths, and then the girl came to find him and everything happened from then on. Of course it’s all their—
“Bet you’re thinking you only have yourself to blame, aren’t you?” The boy finishes that thought, and the silence echoes very, very loud. Because when have they never been at fault? It was the same, that terrible day, and even now it’s like they’ve done nothing to learn from that. To whom does it matter that all this was an accident? To whom does it matter that they never wanted any of this to happen? It happened.
It happened, and they deserve this guilt. They deserve whatever consequences that happen to them, and that’s what matters.
Maybe they should’ve expected to find themself nodding, almost imperceptible but there all the same. Somehow, it’s just enough for the boy to catch, if the subtle way his eyes widen means anything.
“I do.”
Their voice comes out a whisper, like the silence hanging heavy in the air. Strained. Yet, somehow, it’s also so, so sure. “I… I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” The boy seems to deflate, if only for a moment. “I know.”
It is very, very quiet in the depths of the Core.
And then: “You have my cat, don’t you?”
“I… what?”
“Y’know,” the boy continues, a little too casual for comfort, “big fluffy furball, black and white all over. Loves to cuddle. Tries to talk back to you if you talk to her. Come to think of it…” His brows furrow. “Her eye patch looks a lot like what you have going on. Sounds familiar?”
And then it registers. Or it less so registers, and more opens a yawning chasm in the depths of their being, and something – cold and thick and all-too familiar – begins to pool.
“I had called her Maisy, though – we got her as a kitten and she came with the name, and it just stuck ever since. She must’ve ran from home after I disappeared… but I don’t blame her. Mum and Dad always said she was mine to take care of, so…” There’s a sniffle. There’s the cracks in his voice. “So there.”
He looks up at them and into their soul, and they have no answer for him. There’s nothing they can do to fix any of this, because – because—
(He’s dead, and they can’t change what happened. The Underground has no exits for any one of them, they know this much, but if only they had never met him – if he never died – then there could have been some hope for those he left behind. His girlfriend would at least have found him. His cat would still have run away, but in a different timeline she would have found the person she truly belonged to, and not—)
(The sentiment twists like a knife.)
(Not them.)
The boy looks away, hand absently scratching the back of his head. “I… I’m not here to take care of her anymore, so… so I guess she’s yours to care for, now?” If he finds it all deeply ironic in any sort of way, he doesn’t voice it. Just laughs something that can’t be called a laugh and smiles, strained and broken. “Just… you know. Don’t…”
Nothing comes after that, but they can put together the unsaid pieces well enough. Just… don’t. Don’t hurt her, like they have with this boy. Her former owner. Don’t hurt her, like they did with this boy’s girlfriend, like they must have done for everyone who cared about him. Don’t hurt her, especially with how much they don’t know about caring for her, especially when everyone they’ve ever cared for has been hurt by them, in one way or another.
Don’t hurt her.
Don’t—
“I won’t let it happen.”
The words tumble out still half-stuck in their throat, but it gets the boy’s attention. “I… I won’t let it happen. Wh-what happened to you, I won’t let it happen to her. I won’t…”
The stems of their bouquet are crushed tight, tight, tight in their grip, so much so that it’s barely keeping their own claws from digging completely into their hand. They unclench their fist the second they notice, before they’ve left puncture wounds in the fabric of their gloves, but when they look down there are still gouges. Their claws, pointed and sharp, are only beginning to slowly retract – and it hasn’t occurred to them before, but maybe it’s easier to realize just how easy it is to hurt yourself when you notice your own unconsciously self-inflicted scars. Simple as breathing. Simple as existing.
How easy would it be, then, to hurt someone else?—
No, they believe, they make themself believe, as the knot in their chest forces them to take ragged breath after ragged breath, squeezing all the while inwards. They’re suffocating. They can’t suffocate. The regrets are a frozen rope around their neck. They don’t want to hurt anyone. One way or another, all their actions lead to that. But April is someone who isn’t too far gone yet, who’s been hurt indirectly but they can set this right still, and I won’t let that happen, says the roar ripped from their throat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you, but I mean it when I say I won’t hurt her. I won’t let it happen. “I won’t let it—!"
“Hey there, are you – are you alright?”
When they open their eyes, for a split second they catch April staring back at them from the boy’s bright green, before the nightmare falls away.
(There’s no one there. It was never real. But…)
“E-excuse me, are you doing alright?” the soft, floaty voice repeats, and they slowly turn to face the Whimsalot guard behind them, the guard’s helmet tilted in concern. “I heard shouting and came. Wh-what happened?”
Oh.
“The… that was from me,” they admit, free arm gripping the other, and if they think about it hard enough, the pain might be able to wake them up from facing this sheer embarrassment. “Nothing… nothing happened. It was nothing.”
Through the helmet, they can almost see the guard’s furrowed brows. “…alright. Do you have any business here, then? If it’s sightseeing, I-I’d say this is the least interesting place in the Core.”
The flowers are very, very heavy in their hands. “Um. P-paying respects.” They set the bouquet of forget-me-nots down on the ground, and dazedly hope that Mettaton didn’t mind too much that their supposed reminiscing time got derailed. Not that they want to care about what he would think. “Yeah. Uh. That’s… that’s all.”
It’s quiet again, and without the heaviness that made it so oppressive, it’s actually peaceful, if only for a moment. Then: “W-would you like me to see you out? It’s quite easy to get lost here, if I may say so myself.”
“S…sure.”
As the guard leads them to the exit, they look back one last time and catch a glimpse of the boy bending down to inspect their flowers, and he pins them again with those startlingly bright green eyes – but there’s no malice in them. No righteous anger. The smile he gives them is just… tired. Sad.
“Take care of April for me, will you?”
The frozen knot in their chest drops all the way to the bottom of their soul before they can even begin to reply.
That night, as April snuggles up on their chest and purrs, her eyes are very bright and very green in the dark.
I won’t let it happen, they had said to a figment of their imagination. Or maybe it’s not, because it knew too much that they didn’t. Too much to not be real. I won’t let it happen, they had vowed to a ghost. To themself. I mean it. I promise.
April has long since fallen asleep, and they watch the rise and fall of her breaths, counting the seconds till morning.
(There’s that curious, quiet determination again.)
I won’t let it happen.
So they won’t.
Notes:
and thank you, very kindly, to the Fanfiction Library discord server, for the emote that inspired this doodle. see you all in reading club! >:D
Chapter 5: that's what matters, you know?
Summary:
In which Napstablook attempts to get a good grade in cat parent, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.
Notes:
happy holidays, and happy new year fellas! (I should’ve posted this chapter on the 25th so I’d be able to say “merry chrysler/crhrimas/apple crumblemas” instead, but the hellchapter was only half second-drafted then and the next best thing I could do was pull off what I did two years ago with the boy who ran, so i’ll take what I can get ahaha!)
Anyways, the characters took the last scene and wouldn’t give it back to me until they were finished ✨traumadumping✨, so have a hilariously longer chapter! Merry belated crisis and a happier 2023 than the last year was, y’all. 💖
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You are not doing enough, you see? echoes the garbage thought they see more of, every time they lie down and close their eyes.
Napstablook doesn’t respond. The dark of their room bleeds stars when they look up, nebulas of gold and pink and blue clouding over the void. Comets trailing dust. There is a constellation above them, one they’re still trying to piece together – there are simply too many stars, too many possibilities, to find a pattern that makes sense, you see? But they’re close. They know it. If they connect those three stars from the left with the brightest star up top, and join it together with the rest of the imagined shape, they should be able to trace the vague outline of a—
“Mrrp! Mraow.”
A little door through space and time creaks open, and April pads her way past gas clouds and asteroid belts, leaving stardust ripples in her wake, to curl up on their lap. “Mrrr.”
“…hello, April,” they reply, ruffling the fur along her back. When they glance back up they can’t find the pattern they’d mapped out again, can’t bring the constellation back into focus in quite the same way, but that’s alright. The cat and her purring motor is more than a worthwhile distraction, anyway.
Is this really what’s best for her? asks the stray thought again, and even as they meet those green eyes they still have no answer. Are you doing this right?
Because here’s the thing: they don’t know.
It’s not like they’ve been active at all, lately. It’s not like they’ve had the energy, most days, to do more for April and themself beyond the daily essentials and chores, before deciding that they’ve lived enough for one day. Clearly they haven’t gotten any better from that terrible day last year, if something as simple as its anniversary month has left them drained and reeling and barely able to do anything, and so, so useless—
(God. When was the last time they wanted to do anything they actually liked? When was the last time they’d ever touched the piano, let alone mix a tune at all? Napstablook counts back the weeks in their head and hugs April a little tighter against their chest.)
And when they can find it in themself to move, the cadence of dead whispers hangs in the spaces between; flickers of green peering at their every action like a watchful eye. Is this how it’s done? rings the doubt in the back of their mind, even when they’re fairly certain they know the answer – the ratio’s half wet food to dry food, they’re already doing good brushing her once every day, no she doesn’t need her vet visit just yet – but they check again just in case.
Just in case they’re doing this wrong.
Just in case they can do better – they have to be better. They will be better. Maybe then they’ll be good enough for—
There are some days spent catching glimpses of a dead-eyed, scarred April in the shadows, and those days, being better doesn’t seem to matter at all.
She’s always fleeting. She’s always gone when they blink, and the unharmed and real thing pads up to them demanding cuddles soon after. But it’s always a reminder of a very real possibility – I got hurt, you see? And maybe you weren’t here in time to prevent that. Maybe you were the cause, in some small way.
Funny, how they want to be better, but whatever they can change is so insignificant that it might as well not matter, and anything even slightly outside that is too much for them to take on when they’re already tired and worn.
But the days are changing still, and once in a while they do feel up to doing something more. Once in a while, they catch themself staring at the too-small cat tree outside their door, and the tips of their fingers begin to itch – maybe there is a way to set aside the restless thoughts in their head. Maybe there is something that can be done. That can matter, just a little more.
Clearly, there is only one solution to this.
“Phew… well, what do you think?”
April looks up from her grooming for one second, eyes the baskets and boxes and cardboard platforms mounted to the wall with a sort of lazy acknowledgement, and promptly returns to licking her sanitary areas.
“I, um…” They try again, and attempt to not mull over the lack of reaction too much. “I… take it that means you… like it…?”
For the sake of their remaining sanity, she’d better – even if they’d never admit that outright. (Even if she only ever uses it to hide away the cat toys she’s not interested in. That would be enough, if a little insulting.) It’s their literal first step of their aptly (terribly) named Operation Be-A-Better-Cat-Parent, and it may be a bit much to even ask for, but they’d like to not trip and fall flat on their face right out of the metaphorical gate, thank you very much.
Besides, April’s current cat tree, clearly meant for something smaller, isn’t giving her the height she wants, so if they mount some platforms to the wall a little higher than they are tall, maybe then they won’t always have to wear the cat like a feather boa whenever they’re sweeping up fur tumbleweeds in the lab (not that they mind, but April is heavy and their shoulders need a break sometimes).
To their continued dismay, April is too preoccupied with grooming herself to respond, and that’s… fine. Just… just a matter of timing. It may be a while before she checks out the new cat shelf herself, and that’s okay! Really. They’ll just have to wait, and they have more time and patience than anything, so that’s… that’s what they’ll do, they suppose.
Napstablook sets the screwdriver they’ve been fiddling with down on the table, and immediately picks it back up to twirl it around some more whilst they wait for April to finish her little licking session and do something, anything tangentially related to the new cat shelf. Even paying attention to it for a half-second would be nice, at this point.
So they wait.
And they wait.
And maybe it’s because they spent the last day and a half fishing spare parts out of Alphys’s creepy supply closet (where they thankfully didn’t trip over another disembodied prototype head this time), nailing and gluing things together, and falling off a stool too many times to count, that they pick up the cat before she’s anywhere near done with cleaning herself, and drop her off on the nearest platform so she can do her business on the cat shelf instead. April, to her credit, only reacts to being interrupted from her groom with a confused “mrrp?”, and doesn’t immediately bolt from the cat shelf the second she’s moved there.
She sniffs at the cardboard briefly before she returns to her leg washing, and maybe it’s too inconsequential to be an indicator of her feelings, or maybe it’s too early to tell, but at the subtle acknowledgement, the nervous tension in their shoulders finally begins to settle. What they’ve done so far is not terrible, at least.
And that’s good enough.
It is infuriatingly gradual, but over the next hour or so, April warms up a little more to the cat shelf outside their room and uses it as intended, for the most part.
Though the cat’s intended use of it and their own guess align somewhat – to be up high – they didn’t remember to account for unintended consequences. Namely, April’s new vantage point putting her in the perfect position to divebomb them.
At least, it’s until she lands on their shoulder with a loud fwump whilst they’re trying to relocate the old cat tree that they finally realize it, and had they not been crouched down at the time, they know a bit too well how easily (and unflatteringly) they would’ve tipped over and met with the floor again. Hell, even being ambushed while low to the ground is enough to unbalance them for a few seconds, and they do not look any more graceful momentarily flailing around in their attempt to steady themself, all things considered.
“Mraaaow!” April perches on their shoulder like some sort of weird parrot, and meows a meow that they, to their dismay, immediately recognize once they’re certain they’re not going to fall over.
They sigh, and find themself smiling, despite it all. “You had treats an hour ago…”
“Mraaow,” says the cat, tail swishing and smacking the back of their head. “Mraa! Mrow.”
“Y-yeah, I get it – hey! – but you don’t have to ambush me for it!”
“Mraa,” April meows all too innocently, like she hadn’t just tried to cause their death again for the fourth time (or the third? Or fifth? They didn’t keep track), and gazes up at them with those wide, pleading eyes of hers.
Napstablook stares at the cat.
The cat stares back.
This, unfortunately, is not a staring match they can win, even if they don’t need to blink most of the time. “Fine, I’ll go prepare dinner for you,” they relent, though they can’t stop the growing smile on their face. They pick up the old cat tree and set it down near one of the lower platforms, letting April use it as a stepping stool to jump down and lead the way towards her cat food, the black-and-white fluffball watching with rapt attention as they open up a can, mix its contents with some dry kibble, pause for a moment to check if they remembered the portions correctly, and pour the mixture into her food bowl, as her tail flicks back and forth and back and forth.
Once she gets to eating, they turn their attention back towards the cat shelf. It looks alright, if pretty decent for their first time building one from scratch, though it does seem to be lacking in the personalisation department. Just a little. Maybe if they scattered some of April’s cat toys around—
“Mrow?”
…and on the topic of April, said cat has padded her way towards them, at some point, and if the look in her eyes means anything, it’s that she wants something. Again.
“Mraaow.”
“Wait… wait a minute.” They look back towards the food bowl, and it’s relatively untouched. “I… already fed you.”
“Mraa!” Tail swishing like a particularly lazy metronome, April pads back to her bowl, beckoning them to follow. Is there… something wrong with her food? Did she suddenly decide to change her tastes without letting them know? And she was practically yowling for dinner a minute ago – could she be sick? Is this a sign there’s something up with her that they didn’t…
And then she goes right back to eating, like nothing’s wrong.
Oh.
“So you… want me to watch you…?” If that’s also what it takes to get her to eat now? Alright, then. It makes sense — just a little — and it mostly doesn’t, but if that’s what she wants…
Well, no choice but to sit down and get comfortable, then.
Just like they’ve always done.
“…can you… keep a secret?”
Lemon Bread – Shyra – hums a noncommittal tune in reply. Even though they can’t see her too well from where they are, lying down on the floor, they can feel her eyes on them all the same.
Napstablook stares up at the lightless ceiling and tries to ignore how small they sound. “I… I don’t think I’m… that I’m cut out for… taking care of April…”
“Really?” Shyra’s voice echoes, melodic even as it bounces off the walls. She hums to fill the quiet in-between, the silence they don’t break because they know their answer too well for it to be said aloud, and then: “What makes you say that, Blooky? April does seem really happy around you…”
“I… I guess.” The cat herself is curled up and soundly asleep on their chest, letting out a rumbling purr whenever they reach out and scratch her behind the ears. “But… I mean… this is still my first time taking care of a cat, and… and there’s still so many things about it that I… don’t know, you know…? I don’t…”
There’s that knot in their throat again, squeezing the words they try to get out. “I don’t know when… when I’ll mess up?” And maybe they already have, and— “I-I don’t want to… but i-it’s like… it’s only a matter of t-time until I…”
There must be some hint of panic they accidentally let slip, because they don’t know when Shyra had gotten up from the floor. Because at some point she started running her blunted claws through their hair, right as they noticed the way their own fingers were wrung, tight and cold, against each other. Because she’s there, and…
“Shhh… it’s alright. It’s going to be alright. Breathe,” she almost sings, in the way she used to do before she fell down, in the way she used to do whenever they witnessed their cousins fighting, or overthought something even slightly off-kilter that they couldn’t fix, and she was still there to calm them down. Breathe.
Just breathe.
Maybe the reason why it’s always worked is because, in some strange, inexplicable way, it’s easier to not think of the worry coiled up in their very being if they focus on the inhales and exhales; the rise and fall of their sleeping cat; the gentle claws ruffling through their hair in slow, circular motions, less solid than before but just as grounding to feel.
“Do you feel better now?” Shyra hums, when the thread that’s their soul isn’t pulled so taut anymore, and they give her a silent, grateful nod.
“That’s good.”
They sigh, hands drifting to scratch April behind the ears. In the quiet, dark moments they’re allowed to be at peace, they never fail to be reminded just how much they’ve missed this – knowing they have someone to turn to? That they aren’t alone, even after thinking they lost everyone that had been close to them?
(It’s a strange kind of relief – the kind that drizzles down like cold summer rain – knowing they have that again.)
“What was it? A nightmare?” she asks, and they think about waking dreams of dead boys with gleaming eyes, of the quick flashes of something not alive when they glance at April sometimes, and nod. It’s close enough, and close enough to warrant the concerned look she gives them. “…do you want to tell me about it?”
And here’s the thing: it hurts to remember.
And here’s the thing: they do.
It drips, then spills out of them with unexpected urgency, like once they’ve unearthed the taproots of that memory (and another, and another) there is a rush to pull it all up from the ground, to hold it up to the light and see all the ways the roots tangle into themselves. Water bursting through a dam. Overflowed riverbanks at high tide. They tell her about the human with a flashlight; the way he appeared one moment and in one, disoriented motion, was gone the next; how something within them broke when they fell and when they looked down below, saw the sunlight yellow of a soul and the broken figure of someone dead, they broke further. “His… h-his eyes were green,” they whisper, because their voice refuses to cooperate if they say it any louder, because it’s the only color they remember when everything else was stained grey, because.
They tell her about the phantom with green eyes. The dread crushing inwards, that this is something that will always come back to haunt them. The boy heard them apologize. They both knew it was too little, too late. Past the point of recovery.
He told them about the cat.
And there is so much fractured in their mind that in theory, they could have dismissed him as a hallucination, as something they could grit their teeth and wait out until the storm passed because this is yet another figment of their imagination that wasn’t real – but they did not know about the cat. A figment of their shattered psyche wouldn’t know what life their cat had led before, what life the boy lived before that point of contact, a name and a memory that wasn’t theirs to know—
(That being a ghost is the most sound conclusion. They don’t want to think about it.)
“A-and I just… I’m just s-so scared,” Napstablook admits, through the tremble in their words. “It was so… so easy to hurt that boy, and… and at that point I d-didn’t know wh… what I was doing… a-and with April, I…” They lapse back into silence again, and it’s heavier this time. “I… I think I know what I’m doing, but I don’t know a lot of it, either? Does that… does it make sense…?”
Maybe not, if the quiet has anything to say about it. Maybe only they can find logic in their own rhetoric. There is so much they don’t know, and there are so many blind spots lying in wait, waiting for the right moment to trip them up, and they don’t want to ruin this one good thing they still have. They promised a ghost that they would take care of his cat, and they intend to make good on that, but how do you not mess up when you’re going into things half-blind, when you’ve failed so easily before, and when you’re already trying your best but it never feels enough—
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
April snoozes on, and she is warm and alive and they would like her to remain that way. “I just… want her to be happy.”
And she deserves so much more than I can give, hums the well-worn sentiment in their head, but now is not the time to voice it.
Slow, circular motions. A quiet that settles lighter, eventually, when the twining roots of what they’ve done have been dredged up and left to air. It’s still in the back of their mind – may always be in the back of their mind, regret hooked heep in their subconscious that might never be cut loose. But maybe, when all is said and done, it won’t fester anymore. It can just… be.
It fixes nothing. It’s something, regardless.
Shyra hums. “That’s good enough, then,” she echoes, and even though her smile is different now, all sharp teeth she didn’t have before, it shines through the same way it always has. “You’re trying your best, and that’s what matters. Isn’t that right?”
Hmm.
Is that really it, though?
“I… learnt how to build a cat shelf, the other day…” They trace small circles in April’s fur. “…does that count?”
“Well! How’d it go?”
“Uh… okay? I guess? It’s… functional,” they muse, and glare at their cat a little harder. “Sort of? She uses it to ambush me, so…”
“Let me guess. For food?”
Their long, drawn-out sigh is all the answer she needs to start laughing at them, like they haven’t suffered enough already. “Oh come on, it’s a serious issue!” they reply, not serious at all. “I keep falling. I mean—”
And then they don’t finish that thought, when Shyra laughs at their plight harder, and the infectious absurdity of it all catches up to them. Time and time again, they’re being continually bested by a cat, and – well – maybe they can’t blame themself for laughing along as well, this time, as the humor trickles out of them in quiet little breaths.
“Well, on the bright side,” Shyra says through her laughter, “that means she likes your cat shelf, and she likes you, right?”
“Yeah, I guess… but maybe I’d like to not be jumped every time she wants her meals?”
“Haha! But you did build the shelves higher than you are tall, didn’t you?”
“Because she likes the hei—”
Oh.
Oh come on.
Not unlike a certain cat from atop a certain cat shelf, the unfortunate realization ambushes them when they’re least expecting it – and the rest of what they wanted to say turns into something halfway stuck between a groan and another long-suffering sigh.
“You did this to yourself~” she almost sings, far too sweetly, because of course she catches onto what they’re thinking even with nothing said, and of course she’s going to rub it in their face, the gleam in her eyes almost too smug for them to look at.
They run through about ten or so curses over the course of five agonizingly long seconds before coming to the conclusion that none of them are particularly suitable for the occasion, at which point they very reluctantly resort to giving up. “I… did this to myself. Fine.”
Rather unfortunately, there is no easy way out of this. The most obvious way they know to mitigate the issue would be to move the upper platforms of the shelf significantly lower, which would be: a) almost completely redundant to what they were trying to achieve, and b) no doubt something that would be complained about very much by April, if her love of the upper platforms is anything to go by. Hearing her yowl her criticisms at all hours of the day is not worth being jumped on less, really.
(But hey, that might mean they’ll be able to get used to the cat attacks, and maybe learn how to not fold over in response to each one. Maybe then it’ll be tolerable. Somewhat.)
“But it counts, you know? Building the cat shelf, I mean,” Shyra says. “Think about it a little. You care about her comfort so much, that you choose to make something for her to enjoy, and you’re willing to live with the antics she pulls with it afterwards. That must count for something, don’t you think?”
It's something, isn’t it? They fall quiet for a moment.
“…is it really enough?” Because they want to believe her, they really do – but there is a certain disbelief that comes with being battered, bruised, whilst trying so hard to be good enough, until all that effort amounts to nothing. Even though they care, April could still – April would still—
“It’s more than enough.” Her gaze falls on the cat, a wistful look in her eyes. “I mean, mistakes and accidents can happen, and even if you’re trying your best, you can still mess up. But it just… happens, you know? Sometimes it isn’t your fault, and sometimes it sorta is, but that’s not what matters. Well, like…”
And then there’s a point where her voice dips a little quieter, a little more fragile, as she continues. “Remember what happened with Alphys? What she did… she was trying her best, and… well, what that led to was an accident.”
Monsters stuck together. They had the rest of that story told to them on one rainy day, months ago, when the wound of returning home to find no one left was still fresh and what bled from it was sullen and grieving. Shyra, and the other two monsters within her, but especially Shyra, was bitter in a way they’d only seen then – and that same hurt is here now, though faded to the point where they wouldn’t have noticed it if they didn’t already know the signs.
“But that wasn’t the end for any of us, wasn’t it?” she continues. “She tried so hard after that to help us adjust. She kept us company whenever she could… always tried to listen to our worries… and if any of us were missing home, she would… find something from outside, probably from the dump, though I think she polished it a ton before giving it to us, heh…”
Then she looks back at them so suddenly that they almost flinch. “Even if it sucked that we were to never leave the lab and head home, Alphys still tried her best to be there for us, you know? She had to learn how to take care of… our situation, and it wasn’t anywhere near perfect, but she chose to do that when she probably didn’t have to, and she tried her best – and that’s what matters, you know?”
Huh.
It’s… a little like what happened to me, they want to say. Alphys didn’t have to help them back to the lab, that day. She didn’t have to visit them, ask them if there was anything they wanted, kept them company in the long stretch of time they sat and stewed in the dark, and the quiet, and the grief. She didn’t have to do all the little things she did to make them feel more at home – not with their computer, not with letting them have their own room, not with anything.
She… she didn’t have to care.
And it means so, so much to them, still a scared little ghost who spends half the time wondering whether they’re worth any kindness they’ve been given. And it’s…
“It’s like with you and April,” Shyra finishes that thought. It hangs in the air, slowly drifts down, down, down like mist, and it sinks in, bit by bit. Thick with sentiment. Napstablook twirls the little spirals of cat fur around their fingers, thinking. “You know all that research you did to figure out what she needs? Making the cat shelf? Bringing her with you almost anywhere you go? Come on, you even wore her like a scarf when you needed to walk her through Hotland.”
Wait, that was her decision, not mine, they mentally retort, because they can hardly be at fault for April so adamantly insisting to tag along whilst they accompanied Shyra for her check up, now can they?
“The point being? You care, you really do care, and you’re trying your best for her, even if you didn’t have to. You found her on your doorstep and decided to give this totally new cat care thing your all, and that’s – that’s what matters, Blooky.” She pauses. Takes a breath. “It’s… it’s okay if you stumble. You’re still learning. It doesn’t matter what that boy said, or what you did to him, here. All of that is dead and buried – but you’re still here, aren’t you?” she hums. “Only you get to decide what you want to do, going forward. Not any hallucinations or phantoms or accidents that happened before. Your choices are only up to you, you know? And what do you want to do?”
I won’t let it happen, they’d promised themself, in the deep and the dark and the dread. “I… I want to let her live the best life she can. I want to… I want to keep her safe.”
I want her to be happy.
“Go ahead and do what you can, then!” Shyra replies, without missing a beat. “You don’t have to be perfect. Mistakes happen, and things just… go wrong out of the blue, sometimes. But as long as you’re willing to learn from your mistakes, to keep trying, as long as you’re willing to put in the time and effort to care… you’ll get there. Won’t you?”
They stare at her for a long, dumbfounded moment, as the words rattle around in their mind. “That’s…” They smile. “When did you—”
“Mrrp.”
At just the right moment, April interrupts them with a little yawn and a lazy stretch, smacking a paw against their face. “Mraa!”
“Yeah, hello, please don’t stick your claws in my eye… um. So. When did you… where did you learn all that from?”
To their surprise, she just gives them a short huff of a laugh. “I’m a big sister, remember? I have to know these things.” Especially for Shyren goes unsaid, but it’s always been, first and foremost, for her. Then, to even more of their surprise, she continues: “Especially for you too, Blooky. Don’t you think?”
“I…” They falter a little. “I’m older than you.”
“And? I don’t need to be older than you to be your big sister, too.”
April slinks off of them and brushes up against Shyra, meowing as she reaches down to pet her. “See? April agrees with me.”
“…fair,” they eventually give in, though not without shooting their cat a small glare for their troubles – how dare she think that they’re the younger sibling here, but fine. They’ll let it slide this once.
“And as your big sister,” Shyra starts, and then softens, “it really is okay for you to tell me when you need help, okay? Be it April, or hallucinations, or anything you can’t handle alone… if you need me, I’m here. Alright?”
“Maow!” April chimes in, looping around and rubbing up against them too.
“Hah! And April too, I guess.”
And maybe it’s the way they’ve heard this before, from a ghost with big dreams and from another, so passionately angry and protective, and maybe that’s why the words scrape up against something raw and rugged that’s still trying to scar over, but they breathe just a little more deeply and focus on that. Let the ache pass, between one moment and the next.
In, out.
I’m… not alone in this anymore.
In, out.
Slowly, surely, they find it in themself to smile back.
“…Thank you.”
Notes:
Chapter 6: what can we do?
Summary:
In which Napstablook isn’t the best at moving on, from the past or otherwise, and they take their cat for a walk.
Notes:
if y’all have a clue what is going on in this chapter, someone pls tell me, ‘cause i don’t fuckin know,,,
anywAYS i live!!! no i probably haven’t had the classic ao3 author experience of having a major life event in the middle of a fic (yet), but I did watch Everything Everywhere All At Once in the middle of writing the second draft and it is really really good,,, 🥹 highly recommend it if you want to be emotionally decimated (/pos)
and back to our irregularly scheduled crack!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They get better eventually.
Slowly but surely, May begins to see itself out the door, and slowly but surely, normality settles down again, as best as it can. The days are changing, and even if there are still shadows stretched to the far corners of the room, eventually, they remain as just that – shadows. Day after day, there are fewer bad memories waiting to ambush them for going about the completely arbitrary, and oftentimes, what they do have to be more wary of is April yowling her battle cry and ambushing them from the cat shelf, because she has not gotten the memo that they do not appreciate being knocked over like a jenga tower every time she wants her meals.
(Or she does it to spite them, which is far more likely – Napstablook has not gotten that much better at balance, despite their attempts to, and they are running out of fingers to count the meetings they’ve had with the floor. This cat is going to be the death of them, one of these days.)
And so the days continue to change.
Time flies by on the calendar, and it occurs to them one day, as they’re flipping back the months, that they’re still here. Somehow. Against all odds. This time a year ago, they were just beginning to understand that nothing would be the same again. They’d just found out they would be stuck in his body for the rest of their days. There was no going back to the snail farm. There was no returning home, to a time before. And before that – and one too many times after – they had been so convinced that they would not live to see another day. There were so many times they thought they were going to die, and somehow, despite everything, they’re still here.
Against all odds, they had a future, and now they’re living in it. Like it or not, they have that chance to figure out what they want to do with it.
Tomorrow comes.
Napstablook stares at the date a moment longer, fingers maybe about to leave a dent in the paper, and they can’t help but smile, tired and sad as it is. They’re still here, even when—
“Mraa?”
The keyboard on the bed makes something akin to a dying wail when April steps all over it, and then goes back around again to hear its noises underfoot, and, well, if that isn’t a sound. April herself, clearly cross-eyed at their keyboard’s existence, bats at a note several times and grows even more confuzzled with every passing smack, and, oh dear, this is so stupid – they almost manage to hold back a laugh and not ruin the moment, and then fail. As they tend to do.
“Mraow,” says the cat, turning to look at them and acknowledge their existence. As if to emphasize her next question, she smacks the keyboard again. “Mrrp?”
“Oh! That’s my keyboard… wanna see what else it can do?” they reply, and hey! Maybe they have a future, against all odds – and in it, right now, they’re teaching a cat how to play piano.
And tomorrow comes once more.
“Oh, hey! Mettaton! I-I found this new anime that—”
The melody they’re playing trails off the second Alphys bursts into their room, and they look up in time to see the excitement fizzle out of her, the cassette tape in hand falling to her side.
“Uh…” Napstablook starts, and nothing really comes – there is a vacuum building pressure around them, in the same way there’s the crack of a gunshot before the pain strikes, in the same way the wind picks up before a storm, before the pieces click into place—
Oh. So that’s how it is.
“I…” They can barely hear themself over the quiet, can they? “I’m not…”
Maybe it’s the way their chest feels like it’s caving in, or maybe it’s the way Alphys looks at them – like she was expecting someone else – but they’re suddenly, acutely aware that they’re not supposed to be here. A cold shiver runs down their back. This is not their body. This is not their place. This is not where they belong, and it never has been, has it now. “I—”
“I’m sorry,” Alphys says instead, her voice all choked up, and she wipes at her eyes with her sleeve. “I – it’s nothing, a-alright? I-it’s…”
It really is nothing. There is a silence that’s fallen, when they weren’t paying attention, and it’s so much heavier than they’re used to.
(A vacuum building pressure.)
“Doctor…?”
Is there really anything else to say? They leave it at that because there isn’t, (because there should be something), and even now, even after they’ve been with her for a year, been her friend (can they really say that?) for months – they’re still no better at offering comfort than they were that first day, and clearly their presence is making all this worse. They give April a quick scratch behind the ears and set their keyboard aside, though beyond that, they don’t quite register sitting up from the bed and creeping, inch by inch, towards the door.
Well, no matter. They’ll come back for April later. Right now, they just need to—
“I-it’s fine, you know…? You can stay…” Alphys turns to them, and they freeze on the spot. You’re not supposed to be here, remember? chimes the old, twisting guilt in their head, but there is no way out of this. Just like last time. Maybe Alphys does want them here, for some unfathomable reason, even if their mere existence is a painful reminder to her, (maybe it always has been), and slowly, slowly, they dig their fingers into their elbows, and attempt to use the pain to distract them from this unfolding scene. If they just hold on tight and wait for this to pass, then everything will blow over and they’ll never have to speak of this again, right?—
So of course they don’t expect the hug.
Of course they don’t expect having to squeeze her back, but they do anyway, holding her as close as they can as she sobs into them.
Of course, they don’t expect: “I-I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”
You won’t, they want to tell her, the first thing that comes to them before any other thought or reason, and then wait. I don’t get it. Why… doesn’t she want them to give her space, given the circumstances? Why keep around a constant reminder of what’s been lost? Why do they matter?
Why should they matter?
They hug her back a little tighter, despite not knowing that, and hope it gets through. I’m here, if you want me to be. I’m here.
Eventually, when her breathing isn’t as ragged and her eyes are still a little puffy, but slightly more dry, Alphys lets go, as she wipes at a stray tear and fixes up her glasses with a free hand. “I… I’m sorry.”
“It’s…” They stare down at the floor. Is it really fine? Is it not?
“I-I miss him, and I miss him every day, b-but… this? God, I thought I’d have gotten… used to this, but t-this shouldn’t have…”
This shouldn’t have happened. There’s a long list of things that shouldn’t have happened, yet here they are – they try for a reassuring smile, and ignore how forced it all is.
“It’s… it’s okay.” Their voice drops a little quieter. “I… I’m sorry, too…”
“N-no, don’t be? I-I brought all this up in the first place, and…” she trails away, and her gaze falls on the cassette tape in her hands. “I-it’s nothing. I just… was reminded of him, b-but it’s nothing to… i-it doesn’t really matter now—”
“Do you want to… to watch it with me?” they ask, and very hastily tack on, “I mean, uh, n-no pressure if you… if it’s too—”
“S…sure.”
Maybe the wound is still too fresh. Maybe it still does hurt, and this flashy anime about magical boys and way too much glitter makes the scars across their soul ache a little more. But Alphys is right – he would’ve liked this, and that’s what they can’t help but think about as they sit through scene after scene, and maybe, one day, the loss will start to hurt less.
They try their best to ignore the phantom tears welling up in their eyes, and carry on.
April has that telltale gleam in her eye again which looks a lot like “murder”, and Napstablook, for the life of them, has no idea what to do about it.
She is not actively plotting their demise — they know this much, or at the very least hope that isn’t the case whenever their brush pulls on a tangle in her long fur and she gives them the stink eye. They would very much like to not go through near-death experience number four anytime soon, thank you very much.
“I trust you not to be the death of me,” they had told her on one lazy day, which had started out relatively peaceful and then quickly escalated to April knocking over the laundry list of Alphys’s papers piled high on the living room work table when they turned their back for approximately two seconds, the culprit in question wearing what looked like a self-satisfied smirk that somehow, somehow, did not need words to tell them try me.
Thankfully, April’s decision to wake up every day and choose violence has only ever resulted in several knocked-over objects (themself included), one couch with half its side ripped open, and a few mishaps involving charging wires, so they can’t say they have evidence that she’s trying to kill them. Or if she really is plotting murder, her weapon is slowly driving them up the wall with all the mischief she gets up to.
(They heard a saying once, about someone getting grey hairs from stress. So far no one they know has hair, and they don’t think this robot body is capable of wearing out from something like that, but they had to check in the mirror at least once.)
Hence: the walk.
Because a common reason for cat misbehavior is a lack of stimulation, or so the online forum has told them, and admittedly, they haven’t given her much of that since their mental health flashed them the peace sign and vanished a month ago, so that’s on them. In that case, their next best solution was to sling the cat on their shoulders, leave a note saying that they’ll be back in a couple hours, and make the trek to their old home again – so that’s what they do.
They let her frolic once they’ve gotten past the obnoxiously large “Welcome to Hotland” sign with its endlessly sidescrolling letters, and the bridges that hang over too much abyss for them to feel comfortable about letting her loose, and the second they’re safely within range of nothing but submerged grass and echo flowers, April leaps off and takes to the water like a cat possessed. There are minnows in the shallows, packed together in tiny schools, and she pounces upon them with a fervor they don’t expect, sending fish scattering outwards like an explosion. Some dash between their heels, and they look up to find April staring at the water, as mildly disappointed as a cat could ever hope to look, but no less deterred.
It’s for her own sake that they lift her out of the water, several minutes later, when she simply can’t catch anything – or that is, at least, how they justify it to themself. April is a wet, sodden creature that is cold to the touch when they pick her up, and they half-worry, with a shiver, whether she’s going to catch some sort of illness if she remains wet for too long, and half-wonder if it’s possible to squeeze their cat like a soaked towel to wring all the excess moisture out.
“You,” Napstablook chides, “are soaked.”
“Mraow!”
April squirms in their grip and attempts to make her escape, paws thrashing at the fish darting off into the middle distance, completely ignorant of the worrying realizations that are beginning to settle. Sure, she’s fine now, and she’s likely survived being waterlogged for a good while before they found her on that doorstep, but they can’t help but think about it. What if she does get sick? Just because they didn’t bring anything that they can dry her off with? And later on, maybe they aren’t able to spot the symptoms and get her to the vet in time—
Hey, hey, it’s okay! Slow down for a second. Breathe, says the stray thought, and it sounds a little like Shyra. April may be soaked, and maybe you don’t have a towel on you, but is there anything you can do now?
“Not… not really,” they start, and they take that deep breath. April lets out a “mrrt?” when they cradle her close to their chest, and she tentatively reaches up with a paw to give their chin a light smack. It’s still wet from her romp in the shallows, and maybe she knows all too well how to use this info – she reaches up with her other paw and strikes again.
“Hey—”
“Mraa,” chirps the cat, like that’s supposed to explain everything, before she has the gall to start purring.
The nerve.
“Why must you do this to me,” they half-sigh, half-laugh from the exasperation – as if April is going to answer that with anything other than her little kitty smirk and a slow blink. I worry about your health and this is how your treat me, so clearly, this cat is going to be the death of them.
Fun.
(But now they aren’t panicking about her being wet like they had been a moment ago, so.)
See? Even if you can’t find anything you can do, that’s okay. She’s not going to fall apart just because you didn’t prepare for this situation, isn’t she? April’s been soaked before and she lived. She’ll be fine, the stray thought hums, and, well – if they aren’t inclined to believe that.
In the end though, Napstablook still has a sopping wet cat, but all they can really do about it is to let her air for a few minutes as she attempts to groom herself in their arms, until she looks dry enough (or simply not wet enough) to not catch a cold if she’s left the way she is for the next few hours. Eventually, she’s allowed to clamber back onto their shoulders, and they carry on.
All it really takes is one look at Mettaton’s old house for them to start feeling a little sick.
Okay. Yeah. No. Maybe this isn’t where they want to be, at least not today – if they stay here any longer they’ll notice how the color looks like it’s faded a little more since their last visit, and they’ll notice the door, and then they’ll notice the handle, and these sorts of things take time and courage to get to, because of course they do, but they do not have the latter.
(April squirms and demands to be held and for a moment, for as long as they want to, they don’t have to look straight ahead. It doesn’t make this better, but it helps.)
But they do have time, and so they very carefully keep their eyes on their cat and back away, back down the path leading to Blook Acres, and start looking for another place to bring April to.
(They’re putting this off again.)
Of course they are. There’s no denying this, and it’s yet another piece to add to the ever-growing pile of evidence that they haven’t really done a good job at getting better since the incident(s), and of course that hurts. But hey, they came out here to let April burn some energy in a way that doesn’t involve ruining the furniture, and overcoming their fears was nowhere in that plan, so there.
(There she goes, purring again. Like she knows when they’re mulling on things that they should do.)
(Hm.)
At least their next destination is practically a hop and a skip away – or, to put it in terms for fellows like them who can do neither without tripping and dying dramatically, a tiny river gap and a small bird away.
While it is a gap they can wade through without much complication (though that’s mostly just a guess), the bird has been very insistent on carrying them across every time they’ve come to this stretch of river, as small birds are wont to do, and they have not figured out exactly how to tell it “no” yet – if they even want to refuse it, that is.
So the bird stands there with that signature sparkle in its eye, completely undeterred by the murderous chittering coming from the half-soggy cat in their arms, and they hug April a little tighter as the bird flies onto their head and carries them across the tiny gap. By some miracle, April makes no attempt on the bird’s life at any point of the trip – though she is sending it death glares the whole time, and she looks to be contemplating murder even as they apologize on her behalf, once they’ve crossed the gap.
(“I-if she’s made your feel… um… threatened, or anything at all, I-I’m—”
“Mraa-ra-ra-raaa.”
“April, no—”
“Mrow.”
“N… no, we’re trying to be sorry, not not sorry—“)
The trip gets a little easier once they actually reach the river.
Possibly because that’s when they can let April down and watch as she proceeds to run right to the water and splash at fish in the slower, shallower currents, and possibly because there is no one here that they need to keep her from attacking.
Napstablook sighs.
For now, at least, April should be fine as long as they’re keeping an eye on her, and making sure that she’s not terrorizing the local wildlife too much. She bats at the water, most definitely still on the hunt for fish, and they step back – maybe now they can relax and find somewhere for them to—
“What’s the point?”
Whoever said it sounds like a child, or the somber echo of one, and they turn around expecting to find that – but it’s just an echo flower they must’ve bumped into along the way, teal petals and all.
“Whatever we do here… it ain’t gonna decide nothin’. Will we make it to that surface, someday? Or will we stay down here ‘till the day we dust? That’s not dependent on our actions,” the flower continues, all worn out and melancholy and somehow, so vaguely, intensely, intimately familiar. “What can we do? What can any of us do?”
What can anyone do, really? They settle down next to the flower, legs all criss-crossed-applesauced, and they try to focus on April, playing a short distance away. Try not to think about what can we do? and what can any of us do? when all they’ve been encountering lately is accidents, and incredibly terrible circumstances, and—
(And see, that’s the thing. What’s the point in trying if whatever they do doesn’t change the inevitable in the long run, or their efforts only end up making things worse? Accidents happen, and that’s how the events of that terrible day happened, and that’s how many other incidents happened, and it’s bound to happen with anyone – including the cat. Do they want any of it to happen? No, of course not, but when has wanting ever prevented anything? When has a good intention ever done something good? Really, is there anything they can do to change anything for the better?)
(Maybe they don’t have an answer to that, and that’s—)
“Mrow!”
When Napstablook looks up they can’t see April, which means they weren’t paying attention, which means something’s wrong, and they’re on their feet in seconds. Where is she? The spot she was at previously shows only a trail of wet pawprints and puddles leading along the river, up until a point where it abruptly ends, and—
Down the river, there’s a splash that follows. Familiar ears that poke out from the undertow before the rest of her resurfaces – attempts to resurface – all while the current has her strung along for the ride. When did they take their eyes off her? Why? She’s trying to paddle to shore, she really is, but the currents here are deceptively strong and once again, she’s pulled under—
Accidents happen, don’t they? This is yet another mistake they’ve made. This is yet another one to add to the list – they don’t remember when they start running, legs working on autopilot, but maybe they can reach her if they’re fast enough. Maybe if they try hard enough – remember the last time you tried to reach someone in time? Remember that? – she’s in the middle of the river, and they can’t pull her out from the riverbank, and there is a waterfall dangerously close downstream.
(And here’s what they know: they’re not meant to be in water, not like April is. They don’t know what to expect if push comes to shove, but they can only guess the worst.)
And here’s what they know, staring down the river: hold on, I’m coming, but really, what can they do? What can anyone do?
What can I do?
(Maybe they can’t change what happens to them, what happens to anyone, in the long run. Maybe there isn’t a point. But right now, their cat is in danger, just like how their friend was in danger once before, and wouldn’t they do anything for their friends?)
They dive in after her – and there is barely a decision that needs to be made.
(They don’t remember what happens, after that.)
Notes:
whoopsie
in other news: we’ve got an actual chapter count now!! (assuming the outline doesn’t spontaneously mutate again and add an extra plot point(s) to cover. those occurrences are Very Cool but also no thank u,) we’re nearing the end of what I like to think of as the first half of the fic, which should say something about the zero fucks I give about pacing lol
chapter 7 is currently a word scramble, but with luck i might be able to overcook it into a word omelette by… *checks calendar* who knows lol. hopefully sometime in may? hopefully??? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
(to basically everyone who has ever gone “rockium will the cat be alright”: yes)
rahchan on Chapter 1 Sun 25 Sep 2022 01:10PM UTC
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feind on Chapter 1 Fri 23 Dec 2022 09:28PM UTC
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Rockium on Chapter 1 Sun 25 Dec 2022 04:11PM UTC
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minorinrinnnn on Chapter 2 Fri 30 Sep 2022 02:22PM UTC
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Rockium on Chapter 2 Fri 30 Sep 2022 02:53PM UTC
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minorinrinnnn on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Oct 2022 12:23PM UTC
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feind on Chapter 4 Sat 05 Nov 2022 10:25PM UTC
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Rockium on Chapter 4 Sun 06 Nov 2022 02:32AM UTC
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minorinrinnnn on Chapter 5 Fri 27 Jan 2023 02:51AM UTC
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minorinrinnnn on Chapter 6 Wed 26 Apr 2023 03:17AM UTC
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Rockium on Chapter 6 Wed 26 Apr 2023 03:26AM UTC
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minorinrinnnn on Chapter 6 Wed 26 Apr 2023 08:59PM UTC
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