Be yourself when you're holding on

[save_theworld]

Who: Frisk and concerned parties
What: Turns out being grounded sucks. Whodathunk.
Where: The dadgore household
When: March 9th to 15th
Warnings: Warnings in comment headers, most like!

[Asgore had never struck them as the strict type, but they suppose attempting to erase themselves from existence was the point where he had to put his foot down. He'd seemed rather glad that they hadn't protested being taken to their new abode rather than the apartment- really, he'd had nothing to worry about.

Frisk is never going back there. The likelihood that Chara would even consider it was moot. It's funny, how quickly home stops being home, when it's no longer yours anymore. No longer safe. No longer private.

They put stained, dirty pictures up on their walls, and hide torn up photographs in their bottom drawer. Their single shirt gets hung up in the wardrobe.



And then they wait. No one said they have to stay in their room; but they do have to stay inside the house, and if they have to stay here, then... they want to be alone. Chara understands. They think, maybe, Asriel understands, too. And Asgore, he-

He never lets them go hungry, haha.


...So then the only problem, really, is figuring out what they're supposed to do with all this time.

Days later, Frisk still hasn't figured it out.]

Comments

Frisk and Sans

[save_theworld]

[One of the things Frisk tries, for a while, is pacing. Back and forth across the carpet, consciously focusing on the patterns their path makes, deviating before it gets too familiar. There's...still only so many times they can do that. Sleeping helps, a little, but they don't- it's not something they can do for long. Doesn't feel right, to just lay there.

Now and again, they make an appearance to the rest of the household in search of food, or the bathroom. It's nice enough, when they meet someone else on their way. To share a smile, or let their hand brush against Chara's. Another reminder; they aren't restricted to their room. They aren't.

It's a self-imposed exile.

Huffing quietly, they catch themself out, staring at the door. Again. Maybe they've been in self-imposed exile long enough. Maybe they can help Asgore make lunch, or color in with Asriel. Maybe Chara wants to- hang out.

Or maybe they'll almost walk straight into Sans, the moment they step out the door. It's not the most expected accident.]

Sorry. [Automatic, teeth clicking together when they realize he's probably not going to like that. Can't help it now.]

Hi.

[skelebro]

[He's been kinda steering clear. Just seems like the thing to do. Give 'em all a break, and give 'em all time to think. Only after the newbies rolled in, it occurred to him that they're probably still, uh...pretty grounded, yeah?

So they wouldn't know about Mettaton. He's just about to knock when the door swings open and out they step, nearly bumping into him. Almost puts out a hand to steady them, but catches himself.]

Sorry about that.

[The easy drawl of the words is utterly lost, the casual rumble that made it easy to talk to start with, open things up with a joke. It's like they're startin' over fresh, and he's got no clue what he's supposed to do with it.


Eventually, he remembers. Withdraws one of the soap bars he picked up in the Colosseum. Smells sweet, like lavender.]

It ain't real.

[But he pokes it with one phalanx, the stiff soap flakes holding in place, turning it this way and that before offering it out.]

Smells pretty nice, though.

[save_theworld]

[They can't help feeling a little...surprised. That he's here. And maybe that's rude; maybe there was just a sort of expectation there, that he'd be content with inaction now that they can't act, themself.

Maybe that's a bit rude. But they duck their head anyway, another apology dying on their lips (because what's the use of an apology that isn't accepted?) and leaving the two of them in an awkwardly building silence, until he breaks it with- soap? It... it really does look like a cupcake.]

...Thanks?

[At a loss as to what else they're supposed to do, Frisk holds it up to their nose. And he's right; it smells- sweet, but a little zesty.

...Is he trying to tell them they smell, because if so they really don't know what to tell him about his own, personal aroma-]

Um, do you want something?

[They mean tea, or water, or something...but then they also

Don't.]

[skelebro]

[Content with inaction? Sure. 'Cept he's started to figure that, without a convenient scaleback to set things back to the start, there's nothin' to really do with himself besides marinate in his own guilt and frustration due to the sheer scope of said inaction.

Did he want something?

He only ever talks to 'em to want something from them, don't he? Unless they didn't mean that at all but - what else is he supposed to take away from that?

He buries his hands back in his pockets, inclining his skull so the lights in his sockets swing down to evaluate the floor. Maybe alleviate the pressure of his gaze a might.

Just a hair.]

Wanted to check up on ya.

[save_theworld]

[...Haha. Well. They both know the answer to that one, don't they?]

I'm okay.

[But that's not really the truth, is it? Will be okay doesn't quite seem to cut it anymore- not for either of them. They said they'd tell him things- and he was going to knock on their door.

If he can try, they can try, too.]

...Bored, a little.



Um.

Can you- is it okay if um- [Awkwardly, they shuffle back. Hang off the doorknob, looking back into their bedroom and back to him with a silent question that doesn't quite- make it, past their lips.

Asgore would still be home. Asriel might be too.

They just need to talk to him privately, for a second.]

[skelebro]

[They're "okay." Bored, a little. And after everything, after the week that passed by - who could blame 'em? God knows he can't. He don't have the right. Never did, much.

There's an offer in their look, in the way they move back with a hand on the doorknob.

It's an implicit invitation. His SOUL contracts and then - releases, in a slow, agonizing loosening of the invisible grip around it.]

Sure.

[And that's the other thing, ain't it? Made it clear to delineate Chara's room as off-limits, without thinkin' to extend the same courtesy to themself. Maybe 'cause he ain't crossed that boundary just yet.

Let's not test that, yeah?

They can talk inside for a minute. Tacit permission granted, for the moment. It's ain't comfortable, but when was it ever gonna be?]

[save_theworld]

Thanks.

[Just...let yourself in, pal. With his agreement, they cross the threshold first; into a room that's still just the bare minimum. The bar of soap goes on their bedside table- the only thing sitting on there. A few dirt smudged pictures on the wall. If the bed wasn't a little messy, you probably wouldn't even know someone lived there at all.

They perch onto the edge of the mattress- patting the space beside them, after a moment. Hes welcome to sit down too, if he wants. Or-

Well. He doesn't have to, either.]

Um. When me and Chara left-

I texted you.

[skelebro]

[Rooms shouldn't look like this. Even his room, sloppy as it is, has that fine layer of detritus, assorted garbage and candy wrappers and chip bags and dirty laundry caked across the floor. There's personality to it, even if it's a garbage one. Papyrus's was -

The same.

This is just empty. Shouldn't make him feel like this, but it cuts. A clear insight into how the kid lives, and the ain't even "Frisk." They're just "the human."

They pat the spot on the mattress next to 'em. Feels a bit more - feels kinda like he shouldn't be allowed. But he pads over and drops down beside them. Leans forward, elbows braced across his kneecaps. Skull hanging low.

And.

...yeah. That would be - that could be a problem.

He dips his skull in a slow, even nod.]

I remember.

[save_theworld]

[Of course he does.]

...Didn't mean it.

[Thats the thing about being angry, whether you realise it or not. Aiming to hurt in the moment, until all that gets extinguished. Took too much, too quickly. Now look what you've done. Asriel thinks he doesn't mean anything, everyone's still mad.

And they told Sans they hate him.]

I don't. Hate you.

I was mad.

[Are they still? That's... up for debate. At the very least, they still remember the feeling, and they know why they felt it. Maybe that's not okay, but maybe it's a little unfair, to

Project on someone, a little.]

Shouldn't have said it.

Frisk and Rey

[save_theworld]

You have a visitor should probably be a welcome announcement, shouldn't it.

It's not that it isn't, exactly. More than anything, they just happen to know why they'd have one. That people are checking up on them now comes down to one of two reasons, and one is more recent than the other.

I think they're going to kill themself, Sans tells the network. And then they actually went and tried.

Maybe both reasons are pretty much the same one. Doesn't matter. They come out to the lounge, meeting Rey's gaze for a fraction of a second before letting it drop to the ground. Yeah. Only one reason why she'd be here.

"...Hi."

Not a lot they can say against it, either.

[circumitus]

One could easily expect a whole spectrum of emotions walking into this. It's a touchy subject, and thus it is generally met with a rather touchy reaction.

The first reaction some would have had is anger. Yelling. Lashing out, both physically and verbally.

If it's anything Rey has to go by from her own experiences, it's how least helpful that is. Because it's what you expect. What you want. Just more reasons to hide into yourself. To justify why you did what you did.

So maybe she's learned a thing or two from her brother about this sort of shit.

"Hey," she says right back, with any hint of judgment or ire absent from her tone as she stands there, rigid as a stone.

Well, Frisk. Got something to say for yourself? An excuse, maybe?

Like Rey is one to talk.

[save_theworld]

They really- don't have many expectations, past her being mad. That's what happens when you directly disobey adults; they get angry. They yell, they scream. They remind you of what they've done for you and ask you why- why are you like this? Why can't you be like Porter down the road; such a nice boy. Why can't you be a good child?

Rey doesn't do that. She stands there after her own short greeting, looking at them, and Frisk is the first to break that gaze. Looks off to the side, fingers gently picking at their sleeves as they wait for something that doesn't come- just a word, anything. Anger. Disappointment.

Nothing comes.

"..."

Nothing comes back from Frisk, either. They don't pick up a topic of conversation. Don't hum, or shuffle their feet. Don't have much to say for themself; probably isn't really a point.

Still did wrong. Nothing they say gets to change that.

[circumitus]

There really are no words, is there? Nothing can be done to change the past, and she's sure that they have people looking after their future. But right now...

Right now, this is just fucked up.

Without an utterance of warning, she steps forward. Not ready to strike Frisk down but scoop them off their feet into a bear hug with solid, muscled arms.

"Even if you don't want to be, I'm glad you're still here," she says, voice softer than she tends to allow it. Rey isn't going to berate them, ask them why, because she knows why. She's done the same thing, and she had succeeded, only to be brought back against her will and suffer all over again.

All she wanted was to disappear. Take herself out of the equation. Save everyone else the hassle...

Except that there's nothing noble or selfless about it. She just wanted it to stop hurting so damned much. Not be afraid.

You have only yourself to blame.

[save_theworld]

Without an utterance or warning, she steps forward. And Frisk's first inclination to hands reaching out to them is to flinch violently, cringing back until there's arms around them and they don't have the chance to do anything more. The child Rey pulls in is taught with tension from yet another expectation that isn't met.

Nothing happens. Rey is sparing you.

Even if you don't want to be, I'm glad you're still here she says, and that's when Frisk knows for certain that her gesture is, most definitely, a hug. Because she's glad they're here. She's glad they're still here.

"...Sorry." A croaky little response as their own hands come up- the remnants of their hesitation seem to disappear, once their hands are on her shoulders. Then and only then do they allow themself to hide their face in her shirt, fingers bunching up the fabric. Don't want to let go. "Sorry."

Nobody was supposed to care.

[circumitus]

Once it's clear that she isn't about to be met with any sort of resistance, Rey's hold is not so tight and constricting. Frisk returning the gesture is more helpful, considering how Rey had just acted without thinking the second she scooped the child off the ground. She doesn't even know why. To keep them from running away?

Maybe this is just as much for herself as it is for them. Some reconciliation for her own very similar mistakes, made long before coming here. That shadow still follows her, and it'll keep following her. She just has to keep telling herself something...

"It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Surprisingly, it isn't mere words. She means it. It might not be okay for anyone else, but to Rey? She's been down this self-destructive road. Keeps having to catch herself from tripping every now and then. It's just that she wouldn't be able to alone. Because she isn't alone anymore.

And neither is Frisk, if the search effort has been any indicator.

[save_theworld]

They're hardly running. If anything, the only thing Frisk is doing right now, is counting their own breaths. Counting Rey's, because they can feel her chest move up and down, and that's something that was missing, in a bony hug. It's something they miss, when pressing their forehead against another child, holding their hand and their SOUL, is as close as they get without hurting. Up off the ground, but not in the slightest bit afraid of that. No threat that they're going to fall.

It's the first hug they've had like this in a very long time. And it doesn't smell like cinnamon and butterscotch; it's not vibrantly warm and coated in white fur. But it's still-

Even though they don't say a word, the fact that their hands grip her sleeves tight enough for their knuckles to go white says enough. They don't actually want to be put down.

They want to keep counting her breaths.

[circumitus]

The fact that she doesn't clam up or tire, that she has carried things that are three-- four-- more times the weight of this child, helps. She doesn't cramp or strain in the slightest after a few minutes. Is more than capable of supporting Frisk while standing, and has her own lack of wavering to show for it.

She might not eminate such a sweet scent that Frisk is used to. More metallic, like blood or sulfur, or a mixture of both. That hardly matters; it's what she's always known. And the peppermint smell that always lingered around her father makes the stark contrasts all the more welcome.

Not him. She is not him.

There is only one reason she moves to sit down, sinking into the cushion of a seat in the lounge area. Not to remove the child, but just to allow them all the time they need. She is in no hurry to dispose of them, neither is she rushing to leave anytime soon.

"It's okay," she says again, resting a hand over the back of their head. She does not wish the lull them with false comforts of You're a good person, because Rey knows she struggles with those words, herself.

Instead, she just goes with what she knows.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like it if you stick around. Pretty sure I'm not the only one."

[journalname]

[This is all...a little beyond him. Asgore has a definite feeling that the people he trust are keeping secrets from him about what's happened here, especially around this. Little adventure. Of Chara and Frisk's.

But he's a little afraid to push it. It's cowardly, and he expects he will have to approach Sans or another of the adults about this soon, but he's frightened of what might come spilling out. Things have settled into a sort of peace right now, and it feels fragile. Like he could break it with one wrong step.

But he cannot keep the children in his sight always. He'll need to know.

One thing Asgore has always known is that Chara did...not have the happiest life, before they fell. They have never spoken much to him about it, but that's alright. He would never push them to open up to him. He's learned well where their boundaries lie over the years, and he's careful to respect those. Frisk? That's an entirely unknown factor.]

Are those all of your clothes, Frisk? [He's been content to let Chara, Asriel, and Frisk move their own things in, but he's hovering around to supervise. He often is, since their return. He does not wish to smother any of the children, but he does worry.]

[save_theworld]

[None of them really had much to move. What little Frisk and Chara did have was buried; what was left in the apartment past that wasn't really theirs at all. Coming back to that site, making sure they had everything; it didn't feel too great, did it?

No.

None of them have protested his supervision. For Asriel and Chara, it's a return of a routine they haven't had in a long time. For Frisk?

They don't...mind, really. And they aren't really expecting much of his attention at all. It's surprising, to know they have it.]

Um- yeah. [That's- probably bad, right?] I just... it's to sleep in.

[journalname]

Hmmm.

[He frowns a little beneath his beard, but only for a second. Another lesson learned from Chara - he does not wish them to think that he is upset with them.]

Would you like to go and look for more sometime? I'm sure some of these shops have something.

[save_theworld]

[They can tell he's not sure what to make of it, at the least; whether that's something truly bad, they can't quite tell. Don't know Asgore that well. Would've been nice to, but

Well. They both know how it was.]

More? [Their brow furrows, for a moment... and very hesitantly, they nod.] Um, maybe.

Can Chara and Asriel get more, too?

[journalname]

Why, of course! We can all go together! I should look for some myself - it does not seem like I must wear my royal clothes all the time, here.

[That's certainly true, though of course not at all what he had in mind. Still, making a family thing of it may make all the children more comfortable.]

[save_theworld]

[The focus not being on them, and the potential that this could benefit the other two children in his life (and Asgore himself, to boot) is the most comforting aspect of all; enough, in it's own right, to clear the uncertainty from their expression. That's all it takes to have them appearing animated, speaking for more than just to excuse themself, or ask a question- without a pause to their words.]

Chara needs new shoes.

[journalname]

Do they? I suppose that is not surprising. They are a growing child...

[It's lucky Asriel and Asgore do not wear shoes, honestly. He nods decisively.]

We will go soon, then. Chara cannot possibly walk around in ill-fitting shoes forever!

[save_theworld]

Yeah. [A bit more enthusiasm; there's a smile, creeping at the edges of their expression; it's fast to come, and equally as fast to go. Snuffed out, or stifled.]

Maybe... [They hedge the suggestion, think about it seriously, before putting it out there. Don't want him to think they're being greedy, or selfish.] Maybe more kitchen stuff, so Chara can cook..?

And drawing things for Asriel.