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Despite years of being above ground, Edge never lost the habit of sleeping lightly. Not that he’d ever tried; his trust in this world only extended so far and he often woke a time or two in the night, listening through the white noise of the fan before relaxing back into sleep.
It had its uses. For one, it made it very difficult for Stretch to hide that the nightmares had started again. Whether he was curled around Edge or sleeping in a sprawl, taking up far more than his fair share of the mattress, he couldn’t hide it when he woke with a jolt. Couldn’t disguise his trembling, the panicked tempo of his breathing, the sweat that slicked his bones and the sheets.
Those nights, Stretch said nothing, but if he saw the gleam of Edge’s eye lights through the darkness, he would shift into cradle of Edge’s arms. Grip at him with too-tight hands and lie awake, his own eye lights a bare pinprick through the dim.
He didn’t talk about it then or the next day, didn’t protest when Edge randomly Checked him, silently verifying his HP was holding steady. And Edge didn’t comment when Stretch started taking his sleeping medication again.
There was nothing to be said. Not when his own dreams held memories of blood, of Jeff laying dying on the ground, and the unsettled LV in his soul was a bloated, uncomfortable pressure when he woke.
Every day gave distance for Edge, every night he dreamed of it less and less. But Stretch’s nightmares seemed to be lingering despite the medicine. Still, Edge didn’t press Stretch to speak of it.
Not yet.
It was the morning after one such nightmare and Stretch was sitting in the kitchen with him far earlier than normal, watching Edge silently as he went through his morning routine. The sun was only barely creeping in through the window, a promise of the coming heat. There was a cup of coffee was in Stretch’s hands, swimming with his normal amounts of cream and sugar, but it was mostly untouched. The shadows beneath his sockets were only a little worrisome; more so was the way his eye lights flicked around the kitchen, focusing on anything but Edge. The way he fiddled with the muffin on his plate, tearing it to crumbs without eating a bite.
Even in the quiet kitchen Edge strained to hear him when Stretch finally spoke, “so, um, i scheduled an extra appointment to see my therapist tonight. think you can drive me?”
That uncomfortable mumble filled Edge with overwhelming relief that he quickly hid, answering with a bland, “Of course.”
Of course.
That evening, Edge sat alone in the waiting room with his laptop, working, deliberately sitting as far away from the door as he could. He ignored the lurch in his soul when Stretch emerged again with tear-stained cheekbones. Allowed Stretch to come to him, settling at his feet and the laptop was pushed carelessly aside to make room for Stretch’s skull to rest in his lap. He crooned soft, wordless comfort, gently stroking his skull until he was ready for a mostly silent drive home.
But there were no nightmares that night.
The next day, those shadows beneath his sockets were softened, Stretch’s smiles coming easier without the strain lurking beneath, and if he went back to seeing his therapist twice a week instead of once, then Edge was more than willing to go with him if that was what Stretch wanted.
Not perfect, not yet, but proof that things would get better, slowly, in drips and drabs. All Edge could offer was the comfort of his arms. He could, and would, be there, for whatever Stretch needed.
From those soft smiles that were re-emerging, Edge thought maybe it was enough.
In the time since his brother moved in with Edge, Blue had grown accustomed to living on his own.
Mostly accustomed, and honestly, even before Papy moved out, Blue had been spending quite a lot of time traveling, going to different cities and countries, meeting head of States, and spending his days discussing treaties and trade agreements.
It was all very exciting and enjoyable, though there were secret, guilty moments where he wondered if those frequent trips had been the start of his brother drifting away from him.
But no, surely not, because even when they were at home together, his brother could be frustratingly difficult. Insisting on doing things on his own when he should be resting, for example, and honestly when a person was sick, they should allow themselves to be sick rather than stubbornly insisting on getting their own glass of juice or sneaking a cigarette that would only hold back their recovery.
Blue loved his brother dearly, but Papy excelled in being exasperating. It was a wonder that Edge tolerated it with so much patience.
His Human friend, on the other hand…
“Could I have another glass of juice, please?”
“Of course!” Blue beamed at his house guest and bustled into the kitchen. Apple juice, with plenty of ice, and Jeff’s honest gratitude for it made Blue’s soul feel fluffy and light.
Jeff was settled in on the sofa, plenty of pillows surrounding him and extra blankets within reach. His breakfast dishes were all but licked clean, Blue noticed with delight. Even better, his manners were impeccable, he chewed with his mouth closed, always tucked a napkin into his lap, and happily accepted seconds.
Next movie night, Blue planned to slyly suggest his brother to spend even more time with his friend. Enough exposure and some of those manners might rub off.
It was worth a try!
Plus, Jeff was a delightful companion. He loved puzzles and games, was content to watch Mettaton specials, and with him here, Papy stopped by daily to check in, often staying for lunch.
It was enough to make Blue mourn that the days of bed rest were coming to an end. The doctors believed Jeff would be well enough to return to work next week, and Blue supposed he’d have to trust their expertise, even though he privately thought someone who’d been through such a traumatizing experience should take a little more time, honestly, he’d had surgery, surely a few more days was appropriate and—
Suddenly, Blue realized that his house guest was very quiet this morning. Requests for juice aside, Jeff hadn't made a single comment about the Good Morning with Mettaton show, not even to criticize the choice of outfits or guests, something both he and Blue did daily with shared enthusiasm.
“Is everything all right?” Blue asked, gently. He moved to sit on the end of the sofa, noting the way Jeff did not look at him. Ah, here was the hint of Papy’s nature in him. Keeping secrets that need not be kept, for reasons that Blue never understood. Papy always kept to his stubborn silence, but perhaps Jeff only needed a bit of prodding. “You can talk to me, you know. Maybe I can help!”
“It’s just—" Jeff sighed deeply and proved once again to be far more sensible than those he befriended by saying, “Antwan is acting weird.”
Weird? Blue wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t know Antwan well; his own work didn’t often involve the legal department. He seemed friendly enough. He came to visit daily after work, often bringing small gifts and treats with him. Nothing outrageous, but often adorably thoughtful. Now, his taste might be questionable; one day he’d brought a small plushie that resembled an angry tomato and Blue hadn’t a clue why Jeff found it so hilarious, but the toy was by his side wherever he was resting. Antwan always stayed for dinner, giving Blue another guest to fuss over, honestly, Antwan was growing on him as quickly as Jeff had.
“He seems all right to me?” Blue ventured, hesitantly. “How is he being weird?”
Jeff only shrugged and his downcast expression made Blue frown in concern. “He just is. He’s so quiet when he’s here, and he doesn’t even seem to mind sleeping on the sofa. I just…maybe he’s thinking about dumping me.”
The last was said in a rush, as though Jeff forced the words out. The little tomato was in his hands, the poor thing bulging with how hard Jeff was gripping him.
Blue could only blink at him, utterly bewildered. “Why would he do that?”
His experience in relationships was admittedly as an observer only; that was how Blue preferred it. But frankly, he rather thought Antwan seemed more distraught than distant. He looked similar to Edge whenever Papy was hurt or injured, concern leaking around the edges of control, and if nothing else, Blue knew that Edge adored his brother.
But Jeff only shrugged again, that downtrodden expression lingering.
Hm, that would never do, not for someone recovering. “Well, I don’t think you need to be worrying about that, but if it helps, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
That finally made Jeff look at Blue in hopeful surprise. “Really? The doctor said I should be back in my feet by next week.”
“That’s true,” Blue agreed. “But I have a spare room and aren’t you supposed to be moving to New New Home, anyway?”
Jeff nodded thoughtfully. “Edge and I talked about it once, but we didn’t decide anything.”
“I would be happy to help you decide,” Blue assured him. “And you’d be more than welcome. Now, tell me, what do you think of Mettaton’s shoes today?”
Immediately Jeff launched into a rant about Louboutin heels, and Blue listened peacefully, interjecting occasionally but mostly basking in Jeff’s chatter, his wild gestures, so very much like Papy when he was worked up. Shoes instead of science, but still much the same.
It would be rather nice to have someone stay with him a bit longer. If Papy stopped by for lunch today, perhaps they could discuss moving Jeff’s things.
Plan made, Blue focused on listening, absently planning out lunch and dinner in the back of his mind. There were guests to cook for and he wanted them to enjoy his best efforts.
The Embassy building had taken close to a year to plan and another to construct, with both Monsters and Humans involved in its completion. Everything from location to safety requirements to possible expansion and parking was taken into careful consideration and when it was finished, it was a fine, welcoming structure for Monsters to begin their integration into the society Aboveground.
Asgore for one appreciated the high ceilings.
His bulk still made passing through the hallways somewhat awkward. Other Monsters were often forced rather close to the wall, though no one ever seemed to mind. Asgore was always met with happy greetings and warm smiles from all, a welcome sign that despite any setbacks, his people were growing and flourishing.
The difference between this and those graying, last days Underground was enough to prove all his efforts were worth it. Someday, perhaps, his people would be well-established and no longer need him, and when that day came, his gardening would be more than a hobby to be dabbled in. It was a quiet hope he carried with him through his days.
Janice was at her desk when he went into the outer office, and her professional smile widened when she saw him. “Good morning!”
“Howdy!” Asgore boomed, jovially. “Is he in?” It was more than likely a rhetorical question. Edge was always in, usually eating his lunch at his desk and staying far later than he should.
Though to be fair, the days of staying late in his office had dwindled quite a bit since his relationship began with Stretch.
Stretch, ah, now there was a conundrum. Outwardly lazily cheerful, inwardly filled with strange depths and unspoken secrets.
The first time they’d met, these strange skeletons from unknown worlds, Asgore hadn’t known what to make of them. It challenged his understanding of the very Universe, but that knowledge had quickly been shuffled aside by the sudden appearance of a Human, of Frisk.
Even with all the time that had passed since then, Stretch was still the outlier, still the one who clung to his dislike. Not that Asgore didn’t understand, far from it. It was at that first meeting and of all of them, Asgore had seen the cold truth in Stretch’s expression. The flare in his eye lights was the same one that Sans wore on the very rare occasions he was pressed into his other, unspoken duties.
From the visible distaste that came afterward, he’d Seen far more than Asgore would ever willingly share. Stretch had seen the state of his soul and found it lacking, and that knowledge weighed heavily.
It wasn’t Asgore’s place to beg for forgiveness, he knew. What was done was done, apologies changed nothing. All he could do was try to better himself and perhaps someday, that Judgement would change. He’d seen such a thing before, with Edge.
That, too, gave him hope.
But that was a matter for another day. Janice shooed him readily on and Asgore went to the door of Edge’s office, knocking politely before he went in.
Edge was at his desk, still typing as Asgore sank into a large chair with a groan. If there was any stress hidden beneath his aura of cool competence, Asgore could not see it. The moment Asgore was settled, Edge’s full attention was on him, laser-sharp. His eye lights missed little and Asgore could almost feel them observing his carefully hidden exhaustion, taking in every minute detail. It made him excellent at his job, though there were days Asgore wished Edge saw a little less. At least the depth of his sight ended skin-deep.
“What can I do for you, Your Highness,” Edge asked crisply.
With an effort, Asgore resisted the urge to remind Edge yet again to simply call him by his name.
“I had a meeting with the Mayor today,” Asgore said. He no longer bothered to disguise his weariness, not in this office. He did not miss the faint irritation that crossed Edge’s face, but it was quickly gone.
His frustration that he wasn’t invited to these meetings was a point of friction between them. Asgore’s reasoning was twofold; Edge was excellent as a director, but struggled with politics. He wasn’t always good at reading intentions, especially Humans, his honesty was occasionally troublesome, and while his self-control was excellent, the ability to sit in stoic silence brought little to the negotiation table.
There was also the simple fact that Humans often found Edge’s appearance threatening. No fuzzy buns for him and never mind that Asgore’s LV was the higher of the two of them. Humans didn’t know that and despite his size, they generally found him warm and charming. His booming voice was jolly, not threatening, his fur-softened face reminiscent of childhood movies.
To be fair to the Humans, Asgore had found the Monsters from Underfell somewhat unsettling when they’d first arrived in this world.
Frankly, Red still unsettled him.
But that often meant Asgore was left to his own devices in these meetings with no one but his own guards. Easily handled, of course; his centuries as leader of his people gave him no little experience in politics, but it was wearisome.
Human laws and restrictions were like that.
If nothing else, commiseration softened some of Edge’s rigid formality. “What is it this time?”
“It seems someone on the City Council decided to introduce an idea for all Monsters to have their LV included in their ID.” He held up a hand as outrage flashed across Edge’s face. “He was only making me aware and I’m doing the same for you. The Mayor has already reminded them that not only does that violate the amnesty agreement, but unless they are prepared for the Humans of Ebott to list their criminal activities on their ID’s, it’s a prejudicial.”
Edge was already typing furiously and Asgore had no doubt that there were already several ideas on the cusp of being implemented with others being planned. Edge was a brilliant strategist, could see outcomes from multiple angles and the Embassy relied heavily on his skills.
Perhaps that was what made it easy for others to overlook or simply forget how young he was. Asgore couldn’t help feeling somewhat fatherly towards him, an urge he tried to suppress with limited success, knowing it would not be welcome. His own years pressed down on him all too often, centuries worth, and they might well need Edge’s skills for a long while yet. Fatherly urges or not, he wasn’t about to allow Edge to follow him down a path that only led to loneliness.
“I’ll have teams looking into it immediately,” Edge was saying, still typing furiously. “We’ll need to make sure there’s no motions we’ll need to file.”
That intensity was one of the things that made him so excellent at his job. A shame it was time to pull it out from under him.
“Good,” Asgore said heartily. “And how is Jeff doing?”
The non sequitur broke through that implacable focus, as it was meant to. Edge blinked, his attention refocusing on Asgore, “He’s fine as far as I know. He’s scheduled to start working next week in Public Relations. Half-days to begin with, until he’s fully recovered, but I think he’ll be invaluable to their team.”
Of course Edge would find a way to bring work back into it. But Asgore hadn’t been a King for centuries without knowing how to handle people. “I think so as well. And Stretch, he’s doing well?”
One of the quickest ways to throw Edge out of his working persona was to mention his husband. Merely saying his name was enough to bring a certain warmth to his expression. It made nostalgia twinge in Asgore’s soul, the memory of another hope, another person from whom he was still waiting on forgiveness
“He’s doing better.” No mention of Stretch’s upcoming appointment with Alphys, but that was no surprise. Edge was rather firm on his privacy and even so, if there was anything to be truly concerned about, Asgore would hear it from Alphys herself.
“That is good to hear. I’d say give him my well-wishes when you go home tonight but—" Asgore trailed off meaningfully.
Edge nodded somewhat wryly, well aware of Stretch’s dislike, but Asgore’s mission of subtly reminding Edge to go home instead of working all night was accomplished.
If it was less than successful, well, Edge wasn’t the only person who could strategize and there were plenty of people who would be willing to interrupt his work until he fled in a huff of self-defense, home to the person he cared for most.
That tug of fatherly affection niggled in his soul, and if Asgore allowed it to stay, well, there were few who could see it.
Perhaps it would raise him in their esteem. Perhaps not. There was time yet to earn it and until then, that little hope was set alongside his mental garden, where Toriel’s forgiveness lived.
Someday, all Monsters would be free and happy. Even him.
-finis-