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Our milkshakes bring all the boys to Denny’s, and they’re like “wow this is a quality meal at a really affordable price” -Denny’s.
It’s cold.
A year ago (it was even longer than that now, wasn’t it?) you wouldn’t have been remotely phased by the most extreme of conditions- or rather, you wouldn’t have acknowledged it. Come waist-deep snow or rubbish infested waters, sweltering heat as a lake of magma simmered threateningly beneath you- no. You never complained. It wasn’t even a thought in the back of your mind.
By contrast, Chara was much more inclined to complain about the little things than you were; in the right company, their discomfort for existence as a whole was loud and clear. You were often the right company. Unlike you however, they actually like the cold, and you eye off their jacketless form with weary, semi-irritated admiration.
Of course they’re not going to complain right now. Two in the morning, and they had you both wandering the streets alone. Like renegades, or...something. Some big, eloquent word your Partner liked to fling out into everyday conversations, although you’re not quite sure renegades would leave a note for their mom. Renegades probably don’t care if their mom thinks they’ve been kidnapped, and probably wouldn’t have their phones on them, just in case. Monsters took the security of their newly returned monarchs and royal ambassador quite seriously; almost as much as your family and friends took reminding you both that you’re kids seriously. With eyes on Chara. Usually, pointedly, on Chara.
Twelve, was Chara’s pointed reminder in turn. They were twelve; an age that was more than old enough to be starting a family of their own, when monsters last saw the Surface. Personally, you think they’re missing the point.
Didn’t stop you from following them downstairs and into the night, but they’re definitely missing the point.
There’s a floorboard in front of your room that creaks when you step on it. You know it’s there, and so does everyone in the household; it’s not that hard to avoid, when everyone knows you don’t sleep very well. The noise, off-kilter and not befitting a house settling down, had you sitting up immediately. A second creak confirmed it was on purpose, and the third- it says on purpose enough to have you out of bed, padding across the carpet (warm, and fuzzy, and beautiful. You’d picked it yourself) and unlocking your door.
“Let’s go to Denny’s.” Chara rushed out, quiet, but tense. You could tell, from flyaway strands of hair and the way their eyes were sunken in the shadows, that they hadn’t slept yet.
You took the time to glance over at your clock.
“It’s midnight.”
“Yes.”
So here you were, apparently. Tugging your sleeves down over your hands, you flex your fingers slowly, gaze only slightly reproachful as you aim it Chara’s way. You’re both going to be grounded. If Asriel finds out you’re gone before mom does, he’s going to panic. Sans would probably get involved; which isn’t so much of a problem, in your mind, but Chara always says his shortcuts make them feel ill.
You’d held their hand, once, after Sans picked you both up from school. Hoping it would help them feel better. The tremors that travelled down their arm and into your hand left you wondering if ‘ill’ was really the right word.
You’re pretty sure it wasn’t.
“Here we are.” Chara says- a sudden disturbance from the quiet scuffing of your shoes against the pavement; the far off cars that had been your auditory company thus far. It sends a sharp , red hot spike up your spine, settling into your shoulders like a tense, heavy weight, but your face and posture remain blank as they turn round to you, smiling from ear to ear.
Touch is something you both need to work on. You have days where all you want is to be tucked up against Toriel’s hip, and carried about the house. Squished up against Asriel on the couch while you watch a movie together, holding hands the entire time. Other days, you’re just
Other days are other days. Chara is your other days, every single day. Toriel asks, if it’s okay to touch them. Asriel slips up sometimes, but he asks, too.
You don’t ask. Unless they need it (need you, but that’s pretty selfish), you try not to touch at all, most of the time; and yet Chara still waits for you to walk up to their side, bumping your shoulders together.
That’s enough for the both of you.
“Have you ever thought about what happens after the apocalypse, Partner?” They ask you. You know they’re not asking in expectation of your answer; it’s because of the answer they could say. Will say.
You turn your head slightly in response. Chara knows you well enough to understand you’re paying attention.
"Consider, if you will, what happens once the dust settles. When the Earth provides near nothing to sustain life, and society as we know it crumbles." Their hand sweeps out in front of them, inviting you to imagine precisely that. "All in grey-scale, of course. Or perhaps some significant level of muted browns. Color doesn't belong in post-apocalyptic scenarios."
"Society crumbles." You respond; or rather, you gently encourage Chara back on track. If you let them go on a tangent, you could very well be standing here for another hour.
"Absolutely. Gone in a day. Less than that. Humanity culminates into ragtag gangs led by Zelda-esque wise men and varying women with swords. Most are angry. And have guns. Gunswords."
"Do the gangs make friends?"
"Hardly. They communicate their territorial lines through an intricate system of memes." You smile, and Chara bumps your shoulder. The simplest way to please Chara is to let them see when they caused a reaction. “Stop interrupting me.”
You keep smiling. Perish the thought.
“So these wise men are the ones who retain knowledge of the world that came before them; a history of how things were.” They’ve had some time to think about this, apparently. As they tell you about one such gang formulated expressly through obtaining various rare pepes, you wonder if they spent the whole walk here, thinking about exactly what they would say- then you stop wondering. Of course they did.
Maybe (you think, and it’s rude. It’s really rude, and you’re going to give mom and Asriel extra hugs tomorrow- today, to make up for it) if they felt more people were willing to listen, they wouldn’t have to wait until it was just you and them. Then no one would miss out on the way their tone shifts, quietens as they lean closer to you, and you to them. It’s 2am, and neither of you really have to do this, but you do anyway. It’s all part of the story. Even if everyone else is missing out, you’re glad you aren’t.
“Some nights, the wise man of the Pepe gang speaks of a lone chain of restaurants. A chain that has survived even the downfall of man, lone buildings in the distance. Always in the distance. Amidst the backdrop of post-apocalyptic wastelands, the signature overcast skies and possibly toxic winds, a sign lights up, a beacon unto the darkness. Reminding all of better times; a nexus of hopes and dreams. Denny’s, they whisper, almost on the brink of tears. Denny’s.”
Silence, as they trail off poignantly. Silence, as you build up the most obvious response on your tongue.
“Denny’s isn’t that good.” You tell them, and their hair whips you in the face when they shake their head.
“Heresy. I denounce you, traitor. Your services to the kingdom are no longer required.”
“But I brought pancake money.” Chara pauses, eyes narrowing. You duck your head to hide your grin.
“Your services are temporarily required. Come.” You almost dip into a bow, but Chara moves on without you, and the motion turns into a stumble as you hurry to catch up. They wait for you at the doorway, at least, throwing it open with a flourish, letting you duck under their arm, and sneak in before them.
Your very first reaction, past squinting under the influx of bright lighting, is to quietly sigh as heated air washes over you. Then a waitress pokes her head out of the kitchen, not even a little surprise on her face as she looks you both over (you, with your big, blue jacket, and ninja turtle pj pants. Chara, who’d lamented about Hello Kitty being the only brand to have green pajamas, before deciding to buy them anyway), and your second response is to pull your jacket up over your nose.
“Greetings.” Chara doesn’t miss a beat. They step forward- and in front of you, just slightly. You get why they do and part of you wants to say it isn’t necessary (the ambassador for humans and monsters must be prepared for any sort of social situation), but you’re relieved anyway.
“Welcome to Denny’s.” Maybe people just kind of...don’t care, at this hour. She still doesn’t look phased, moving behind the counter to grab two menus; and she hasn’t asked where your mom is, or anything. Do twelve year olds often show up in Denny’s at two in the morning? “Table for two?”
“Indeed. We would appreciate a booth, if you’d be so kind.” Chara’s still smiling, and the waitress manages some tired iteration that’s similar. One of them is more threatening than the other.
The waitress doesn’t seem to notice. She says something under her breath; “follow me” maybe (or something a lot worse- you’re too tired not to find it funny), and you both follow her through the rows of tables, over to a little booth down the back and out of sight. Chara takes the seat that lets them see the windows; you take the opposite, because they wouldn’t appreciate you in their space for that long. They nudge your foot under the table, still speaking for you both with the sort of confidence that makes you wonder if they should be the monster ambassador, instead.
“Coffee, for myself, and-” They arch a brow in your direction. It’s not that impressive. You know they practice in the mirror at home. “A hot chocolate.”
“Please.” You add hastily. Chara shoots you a slightly dirty look, waiting until the waitress has walked away before nudging you under the table with their foot.
“Denny’s etiquette 101, Frisk. You don’t say please in Denny’s.”
“You made that up.”
“Oh please, since when do I ever make things up?” Chara rolls their eyes at you, and in answer, you tug your jacket down, just so they can see the smug look on your face.
“Always. And you just said please in Denny’s.”
“Pics or it never happened.” They flip you off when you raise your hands, fingers forming a little square as you push down the “shutter” with a soft click of your tongue. Picture taken. “Why must you insist on ruining the atmosphere in my favorite liminal space?”
“You just made that up, too.” You’re beyond amused; liminal probably is a word, but you bet Chara knows what it means just as well as you do. They stick their nose up at you, muttering about ‘commoners’ before you both settle down, and look at your menus.
You go straight to the page with the pancakes. If you’re going to be using your own pancake money (and you are, because Chara’s wearing runners and there’s nowhere else they could hide a good amount of money, unlike your favorite rainbow boots) then you’re getting the blueberry ones; maybe even two servings of blueberry ones.
It takes you a minute, but when you look over to announce your prize for probably being grounded in a few hours, you realize Chara isn’t...really reading the menu. Under the table, you can hear their heel hitting the leg of their chair, eyes focused- somewhere else.
Somewhere else is never good.
“Chara?” A hum; it takes them a few moments to look at you- a few moments more before they’re really looking at you. You don’t speak again until they are. “What do you want?”
“Mm. I think-” They wave a hand in a vague gesture, making a face. There’s something they’re not saying, and if you wait long enough, they’ll tell you. So you wait as they make their noncommittal noises and gestures, until they let out one of those long-suffering sighs, that tells you they know what you’re doing. Again, their foot taps against your shin. It’s not really hard enough to hurt. “I don’t know. I’ve never eaten here.”
“Never?” You don’t mean to sound surprised, it just… kind of slips out. Chara chooses not to take offense, apparently, because your answer is a disjointed shrug as they nudge the menu about with their fingers.
“Like I said, it’s my favorite liminal space. The unreal disconnectedness of Denny’s, trademark.” Chara’s laughter is often an unhappy sound. You can count on one hand, the amount of times it’s been happy. This is not one of those times. “Nobody cares if you’re some dumb kid in a place like this. It’s almost three in the morning; that waitress never even gave us a second look. So all you have is enough scummy change for a coffee; they used to do refills, you know. A dollar twenty, and you could just sit in here, whenever you wanted, for as long as you wanted.”
What happened in both of your pasts is-
No one asks. No one ever says anything about Before, for Chara. For you. Not since Asriel told you what you’d already known; that Chara climbed the mountain. That it wasn’t for a very happy reason. It’s not…
You like to think (uncertainly, clutching your sheets with sweaty palms at five in the morning, counting out all the things in your room until you know for sure that you are really, definitely, absolutely there) that it’s because no one really has to ask, but that’s not it. Monsters are too nice; they won’t understand. The same way Asriel doesn’t understand, something that Chara and you share, a place he can’t follow you. And you’re glad of that, you’re glad, but at the same time, shouldn’t somebody else be here, listening? Doesn’t someone want to listen to Chara, who isn’t a kid?
Let’s go to Denny’s, Chara rushed out, quiet, but tense. You could tell, from flyaway strands of hair and the way their eyes were sunken in the shadows, that they hadn’t slept yet. You didn’t realize before, but maybe they couldn’t sleep because they were having a bad night. Other days, you don’t want to be touched. Other days, Chara doesn’t want to be near anyone at all.
“It’s whatever,” Chara closes the topic off abruptly, and the smile on their face isn’t real, but it’s not mean, either. They bump your leg with their foot, and you bump them right back. “But hey- now we have a liminal space in common.”
Just one more thing for the two of you to share.
It sounds a little like they’ve just told you, you’re welcome in my safe place. And you can kind of see how Chara would like it here- outside, the world is pitch black, and inside, there’s nary a soul. Now and again, you hear a sound from the kitchen, but it’s nothing really, barely part of the here and now. Perhaps that’s what a liminal space is supposed to be; the same sort of feeling you used to get when you walked up the mountain. Like the space around you is meant for you, and you alone.
Yeah. You kind of like it here, too.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Chara doesn’t deal with gratitude very well- but they’re flattered anyway. In a fit of daring, you nudge them with your foot. Equally (always and forever) as daring, Chara nudges you right back.
You wind up kicking each other under the table for a good ten minutes, before the waitress comes back and Chara refuses to play around anymore, rigid in the wake of another’s presence. But you order the blueberry pancakes, and they copy you, and when you stick your tongue out- once the waitress has turned her back, of course- they stick theirs out too.
It’s the exact same feeling you used to get, walking up the mountain. Except the space isn’t just meant for you anymore, and somehow, that just makes it even better.