Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your story has already ended.

That is the nature of stories, they all must come to an end.

But you are not your story. You can not be pressed and preserved. You do not sit upon a shelf for future admiration.

You are fragile and breathing. You live today, among the white space after the final "The End."

You stand at the grave, a beautiful work of art you alone have grown and cultivated. They spread far, free to spread without constraint. They line up against the walls, they grow far among the cavern floors.

You're proud of your life's work and with good reason. The golden flowers are radiant and lively. They swing in the breeze and breathe in the sunlight. Outside, you hear the birds sing.

It's one of your good days, spent alone but not quietly. A whistle escapes your teeth, a tune matching your mood.

You were never a gardener before, back when the story was new and hopeful. Back when you still had hands that could cut as well as hold.

But you do not let this bother you; you are fine with what you have. You reason that vines can be as good.

You stab into the ground, tearing into roots and dirt like blades.

Pluck! One, Two, Three. The weeds are thrown into your compost pile. Your hawk eyes don't miss a single one. You are the caretaker; you are in control.

You are content.

It's a beautiful day. Peaceful clouds hang over the sky above. It's spring, you figure.

"Chara, would you like a drink?" You ask.

You hear no reply, but you weren't expecting an answer.

The golden flowers do not speak as you do. They are your silent siblings and they do not need words to answer. They shift in the breeze, their dirt dry.

You nod. It's been a couple of days since you've last watered them, but then again, you hadn't needed to. It's been raining as of late.

Today has been dry so far.

You do not want to risk letting your family dry out even for one afternoon; you are better than that.

The gate closes behind you with a loud click. Looking one more time behind you, Chara seems fine. There are no caterpillars, no ladybugs. No threats of any sort.

You are paranoid. I will be fine here. I am rooted deep into the ground, you fear for nothing.

Hesitant, you finally leave. You're a good caretaker, albeit, a worrywart.

⁂ 

Spilled on the ground is your watering can and yourself. It was a patch of unkempt brick, broken in a way you hadn't expected. You tripped, falling with as much grace as a Whimsum in church.

You stare at the bucket with a well-trained neutral expression. All the water you've collected has soaked the stoned ground, as is the purpose of a watering can.

What? Don't give me that look. Don't blame a tool for doing its job. It’s not at fault for not being in the garden.

The path to the bridge is a short one. It's a five-minute walk with legs, two with roots, and a long fifteen with a full watering can and a stubby little body. Flowers are not built for travel.

Life is full of bumps in the road. Tripping is expected; you are content.

Back to work, it is. You toss the empty can down the pathway before burrowing down to catch up. You come out in time to catch the can before it hits the ground.

Stuck in a routine, you continue this pattern before reaching the bridge. You fill the watering can, and off you go.

You wrap around it tightly with your vines. You waddle like a penguin, carrying the can like the bird would their egg.

It's an impressive sight, I am very impressed.

After what feels like an eternity, you make it back to the garden gate. It's a shoddy picket fence, with a sign attached that reads:

"DANGER. STAY OUT. Flowey Garden. Flowers only! =)"

You have to put the watering can down before you can open the gate. It's a relief to do so; you need a moment to breathe and relax.

In the beginning, you hadn't known plants could breathe. This isn't a surprise; you never listened to me on the topic of plants. Flowers breathe through their roots, taking in air through the air pockets between the soil.

You do not have lungs. Probably. You don't think you do, at least.

It's not like you could rip yourself open to look-

"I've looked before. I don't have any goddamn lungs, Chara."

Oh.

You've never mentioned that before.

"Where would they even fit? Weren't you schooling me about- Oh, hell no."

Inside the garden, there is an intruder. One that, clearly, can not read your lovingly painted sign. Rage boils down to your roots.

It's a Moldsmal.

CHECK- ATK 6 DEF 0

Stereotypical: Curvaceously attractive, but no brains…

"EW, Chara. Shut UP. The bowl of jello is NOT hot."

How can you say that? Don't you know beauty is in the eye of the be-bowl-der?

"CHARA."

The Moldsmal is eating your flowers.

You let out a strangled scream, rushing forward. You’re in such a rush you left your dignity behind you. You nearly tackle the slime.

Moldsmal blocks your way! Battle engaged.

The Moldsmal burbles around a mouthful of petal shreds. You glare at the pest. In the reflection of the shiny lime slime, your face glares back at you. You pause, taking note of your own harsh expression.

You did it again. You gave in to your temper.

At times like this, you take a raincheck: " WWFD."

"What Would Frisk Do?"

Not tackle a slime. Not scream and start a fight. Not so easily let anger take hold and become a bully.

Shame fills your body. You promised you'd be better than this.

"…I'm sorry." Your voice sounds as insincere as you feel. You're usually a better actor than this.

Your enemy jiggles in place. It seems to not see the strained smile on your face for what it is.

Hey Flowey? WWFD? Dance.

"DANCE?!" You're appalled. "Eugh, ew, no. Frisk is too much of a dumb baby idiot to realize how utterly ridiculous they'd look!"

Nobody here cares about appearances. And of course Frisk would dance, what else would you expect from them?

Moldsmal continues to wiggle as if inviting you to join in.

You need to spare the enemy somehow, right?

You sigh hard enough for your nonexistent soul to leave your body. Get dancing, ya dumb baby idiot.

You shake your stem and flail your head back and forth in a repeating motion. Flowers are not built for dance, but man, do you know how to groove.

But Moldsmal doesn't care. It happily dances back, imitating your moves as best as it can. What a meaningful encounter. You will treasure this forever.

You spare the Moldsmal. It oozes off its lunch, leaving behind a trail of ooze and a single gold coin.

"Useless," you grumble.

Then you jolt, horror dawning on your face.

"Wait, hey! Hurry up! You're still sliming up my garden!"

And there it goes, at a snail's pace. Maybe by next week, it'll be gone.

Oh, that's right, the air pockets. Flowers need to breathe through the dirt. Slime can't be a healthy alternative.

You grab onto it. Fighting didn't work and killing it wasn't an option: what’s left?

You hoist the slime above your head with considerable effort. It’s heavier than it looked. It's melting onto your vines, oozing slowly over you.

"GET OUT!" you scream, pushing forward with a scramble. The Moldsmal awkwardly wiggles in your grasp, oozing over to your head and-

CHOMP!

It has no teeth, but it ripped into your petal just the same. You don't scream and you do not panic.

Thorns sprout from your vines, sharp and prickly. Just as quickly as they appear, they're gone.

You are content. You are fine.

WWFD?

You smile your best winning smile, and this time it comes a tad more naturally. You're just rusty.

"Now, now! We can't have you in the garden! Please go away forever and never come back, please, and thank you!" You hoist the monster over the fence.

It splats onto the ground. It makes annoyed gurgles but seems unharmed. You figured it'd be fine; it doesn’t have bones.

The gate door is open. That's how it got in, isn't it?

You go to close it, but there's a foot in the way.

"Ribbit ribbit ribbit," says a Froggit in an apologetic tone. "(I'll keep a better eye out for it next time, I wasn't expecting the garden to be unattended!)"

"Oh g- Yes, hello. There won't be a next time." You’ll make sure of that.

The Froggit smiles kindly at you. It's one of your few neighbors, aside from the common Moldsmal.

"(Looks like it did a number on you, huh?)" it asks, peering at your petals. "(I'm sorry, Moldsmals don't normally bite other monsters…)"

Probably because you aren't a monster. It must have known that on some instinctual level that Froggit cannot understand.

You take a deep breath.

"(Are you okay?)"

Froggit is looking at you in the eye.

You let it out and take another breath.

"Fine. I'm fine."

It keeps staring. You doubt you'd be able to convince a Moldsmal with a line delivery like that. To make up for it, you turn up your cheer.

"Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps a leash for your slime friend?" You sweetly ask, leaning on your gate's door.

The Froggit is taken aback, unsure if you're joking. "(No, no, that's not necessary.)" It’s still staring. What does it want?

Perhaps it wants something from you? Do you remember how to go about a normal conversation?

"Oh, how are you?" You don't grit your teeth.

It seems to perk up at that. "(Splendid! I'm back from my Waterfall trip, you wouldn't believe what I found!)"

You groan inwardly. You're welcome.

It doesn't wait for a reply, which you're thankful for.

"(A whole system of tunnels never seen by monsterkind before!)" It chuckles, full of warmth, "(How funny, how funny! We've been here for a millennium, and this whole section has gone undiscovered this whole time!)"

You can imagine the Froggit taking a wrong turn and then never being seen again. Would anyone notice?

"(Life is full of mystery; there's always somewhere new to go,)" it croaks sagely. "(You never know what's there until you look!)"

You press hard into the fence door. You keep the bitterness out of your voice, purely from years of practice. "I'm so terribly sorry to cut this short, I have a garden to tend to. Your friend left a mess and hurt Ch-" You pause, catching yourself. "Hurt my flowers."

Froggit nods guiltily, "(Yes, sorry. I'll let you go.)" It backs up.

You thank the gods under your breath. You relax against the door. Now you can-

"(But still, you're hurt. You know, I have a tea that'd be wonderful. Sage tea, powerful stuff.)" It gives its kindest, winning smile. The kind you envy. "(Perhaps, one of these days we could share a cup of tea…?)"

Your grin drops for a second. You quickly pick it up, as if it never happened.

"Oh, what a shame!" You slam the door. The Froggit only gets its foot out of the way by instinct. "I can't. See, the garden is shut and you can't come in." You tap on the sign, pointing at each individual word. KEEP. OUT.

"It says flowers only. "

The Froggit doesn't seem shocked. If anything, it looks disappointed.

Raincheck. WWFD?

You close your eyes. One. Two. Three.

"Perhaps," you start slowly, not kind, but not bitter, "one of these days, this sign won't be here. Then we could share a cup of tea."

You burrow underground and speed off before you could see the sad look on Froggit's face.

⁂

You forgot the watering can.

"Buzz off," you growl between closed teeth.

Okay, whatever, I'm just trying to help.

"Yeah, well, you weren't much help back there." You point to the poor flowers the Moldsmal tore into. "Great work. Real goddamn great."

I get it, you need some alone time.

You work on your beloved flowers, tending to their wounds in a daze. The best thing about this job is the work itself. You could get lost in the activity and the world can become background noise.

You pluck what can't be salvaged out of the ground. You give support to stems that need it, whispering kind things along the way.

"Do you feel any better?"

That was my line, thank you.

And I'm fine. I'm not literally the flowers, idiot.

"What else could you be?"

You don't really want an answer to that. You know what else I'd be, and neither option seems like something you want to face right now.

"It's stupid." You whisper as if afraid someone else would hear.

But it's just us. It's always just us.

"The Moldsmal, I mean. It was stupid. Brainless and useless. Not a care in the world." You pet the petals of the damaged flower. "Never has to live with any regrets."

Are you sure you're alright?

Stupid thing to ask. "Stupid," you agree. "But I'll be fine, it's just a bite mark."

You pat the flower one more time before turning to your home for self-treatment.

Your house isn't much to look at. Made of vines and wood, it looks more like a ram shack than a house. It's a box with a triangle roof, cartoonishly proportioned.

It's cute, but it's apparent you haven't read the architecture books in New Home. Despite your claims of reading "every" book in the underground, you have a habit of dropping any that either bored or frustrated you. Any cursory glance would show there is no structure to this thing; it's tied together with string and crooked nails. As much as you enjoy the act of throwing a hammer around, construction is not a skill you ever thought to hone. Your dwelling Is small, just spacious enough for you to stretch out without touching any walls. It's been left plain as you never bothered to decorate. Inside there’s a dirt-covered blanket and a few stolen boxes for storage.

"Not stolen, it was abandoned. Big difference." You reach into one marked with a green plus sign. Digging in, you find the magic candy.

You have a hoard of stolen candy.

"Again, not stolen. I bought it." You glare back at the flowers, tempted to throw the wrapper at what you think is me.

The Temmies do not do legitimate business. You scammed them with dog residue. That's practically garbage.

You suck on your healthy treat awkwardly. Normally monster food breaks down instantly, but it doesn't with you. "They bought it, their problem."

Lie all you want, thief.

"Ya know," you speak around a full mouth, "next time I'm just going to use a shovel. Scoop the pest right out like snow."

Subject change. I'm sad to admit it worked.

What I'm unsure of is if that'd work. Are Moldsmals liquid? That doesn't sound right. Not a solid, at least. I can't remember, there has to be a fourth option.

"I don't know either," you bite back.

Mouthful, careful. You don't need to choke.

The Moldsmals might handle being scooped out, but it's best to be nicer to it. You could be gentler.

Today was not gentle.

"I was trying, Chara."

I know. You did well. Not a single death, congratulations.

"I know I need to be better. I just wasn't expecting today."

Excuses.

"Whatever, let’s see you do better."

You always pull that card when you lose.

You swallow what's left of the candy and leave your home.

Outside the sun still shines.

You bask in it, laying among the flowers.

If you close your eyes, we could be at a different time.

At the start of your story, we laid down in this same spot.

In the beginning, sharing a sunny spot was a rarity.

With the phantom feeling of hands touching, you look to the sky.

If you reach out far enough with your vine, maybe you can reach the surface.

Outside, against the glare of the sun, the clouds approach.

"I wonder how you'd feel about me if you were really here, Chara."

I am here, but you can't seem to accept that.

"I know better now. You just say what I want to hear."

I was not Frisk, that is true. I am still here.

"The real Chara can only see the world through the soil. They've been dead a long time."

It's starting to rain.

"I've been dead a long time too."

Your face is wet.

"It's not what I deserve, but…"

You're not crying. You're not able to.

"It feels like you're here with me. Even though you're gone."

You wish you could.

Crying is a privilege for the living.

Chapter Text

You're singing again.

Your accompaniment is the mild pitter-patter of the rain. It dances with the flowers, a festival of movement and song. In the middle of this ballroom waltz, you lay, soaked.

You're going to catch a cold like that.

"Mmm," you hum, cheerful but drowsy. Oh, I'm sorry, were you going to sleep?

"Hmph," you groan with a stretch, "maybe. What's it to you?"

You're getting lazy. Shouldn't you do something about this rain?

You toss and turn, getting comfortable in the bed of flowers.

"What can I do about the state of the world, hm?" You tease. "How do you expect me to stop the rain?"

I expect a tarp or something. Isn’t it starting to get serious? That wind doesn't sound good.

"It's spriiiing time," you sing. "Rains are normal, yeah?"

It's beginning to pour.

Ba BOOOM!

The thunder ricochets throughout the cavern, settling into the rocky walls deep underground. You roll out from your spot in the dirt with a growl. There goes your relaxing bath time.

Back when it was around, the barrier muffled the outcries of the outside world. This is yet another thing that’s changed with its absence. Since freedom came to all but you, the underground has seen its fair share of weather turbulence.

You miss the consistency of the old underground; the wet springs, frigid winters, dry summers. In those predictable days, years passed in a blur, with no threats from the world above.

You miss it, despite your efforts. It leaves a longing deep into your stem that claws into your throat and leaves your mouth dry. You crawl into your shelter, bitter.

Soaking wet from petal to root, you peek your head out from your blanket cocoon and glare at the garden, looking small and pathetic.

"Shut up, you're the pathetic one," you bite, the words dripping not with venom, but exhaustion. "At least I can get away from the stupid rain, unlike you."

Must we go over this again? I'm with you, not in the ground. I’m as free as you are.

You hold back your reply, deciding instead to get back to your rest.

Fine, avoid the truth all you want. See what good it does you.

"Stop getting so upset, it's annoying." You look to the side, finding the mud of your shack very interesting. "We're both flowers, is that such a bad thing to be?"

You want so badly to sleep.

Your petal is sore, you don't heal like monsters or humans. You're neither.

You shuffle a little in your used blanket.

You want to believe in the garden, in the flowers, in me.

You want the epilogue that is your life to be over. Close the book, and let it sit on a shelf. Let you stay here.

You want the fate you've chosen for yourself.

"It's not so bad, Chara. This is our happy ending, right?"

The storm pounds harder onto the roof like drums and cymbals clashing. The thunder stomps, and the winds claws at your walls.

Asriel, enough. I'm a ghost.

You twitch. "Don't call me-” You blink, shaking your head. You breathe once, letting the air out with a smile. “You know what we need? Some new fertilizer. I bet this wind has been stealing all the good dirt, I can't have you go without nutrition." You hum, thoughtful. "And some heavy rocks, more protection to prevent this from happening again."

I need you to accept that you were wrong. It's fine, we're in this together.

You pluck grass out of the ground, itching to tear into some weeds, but there are none left. "We need… more… um," You struggle to fill in the gaps.

THWUNK!

What was that?

You peek out. The fence is taking a beating. You’re just in time to watch a wooden beam soar through the air. It crashes against the wall with a deafening THWUNK.

The rainstorm has mutated into… some form of cyclone or hurricane, it seems. Down here, alone, you have no way of knowing.

"We need a new fence!" You laugh, barely audible over the wind. "Hee hee, we can barb wire it this time!"

Your shack is shaking. You need to get out, now.

"Nails. Nails are good for it too. Traps, reroute the spike puzzle to actually work against invading threats. Rip out whatever is coming our way." You're still laughing.

Creeaaaak. It's breaking. Flowey, don't be stupid. You'll be crushed.

"No, I won't! It's fine, and I'll be fine! The rain will stop!" You plead, shaking in your blanket, wide-eyed. "It's fine, we'll weather this out f-"

Chunk! The roof collapses. The walls are swaying and ripping apart at the seams, bits breaking into the wind. You leap to safety.

There's nowhere to run, so you root yourself among the flowers. They shake and flatten, unable to withstand the rage above. You're all exposed, unprepared and defenseless.

You gasp, there's so little air - the ground is flooding. The rain is a curtain smothering you. You need to get out, run, you have legs!

"But you don't have any!" You panic, grabbing a random golden flower and ripping it from the ground to carry. That's not- You're stupid- RUN!

"I can't!" You tremble, holding it close to your chest. "I'm not going to…"

A rush of memories hits you as hard as the elements.

The weight you hold is limp, unresponsive.

You can't breathe.

I'm sorry.

You hiccup. I'm not helping. You can't breathe here, you need to leave.

Flowey, listen to me. Frisk broke the barrier. Look around you; this isn't our father's garden, it's yours. I'm fine, but you won't be if you don't leave right now!

That snaps you out of it enough to finally move. You stumble forward. You’re unable to burrow with your passenger, but the dirt's drenched anyway, it could be even more dangerous than wading through the muck.

The stone-pillared doorway is visible above you. You're almost on solid ground.

You throw your body onto the brick. It scrapes against you, but you don't notice or care. It's not breathable dirt, but it's better than the sodden garden floor. You gasp, free to breathe through your mouth once more.

The wind is picking up. The storm is going to bleed into the Ruins. You don't have much time.

You cough, still clutching the flower for dear life. Come on, drop it.

"No," you say, determined.

Ugh, gross. You're as bad as Frisk. Fine, don't let it get in the way.

"You're not in my way, Chara! We're getting out together."

We don't have time to argue. If you want us to get out, then let's go already!

You're slow at first but your momentum builds up. The storm behind you is a slurry of wind and mud, pelting you in the back as it steadily approaches. You see the rising water coming from the walls and ceiling surrounding you.

You think of sewers, water systems, and built-in dirt tunnels. You imagine the Froggit, turning in the wrong direction.

Would anyone notice if you were swept up?

Panic and primal desperation drive you forward, faster. You push through the water blindly, not seeing the nearing rocks tumbling near. You claw your way through the rubble like a rat in a collapsing burrow, roughing yourself up in the process.

Flowey, calm down!

My words drift away, lost in the chaos.

BOOM! The walls shake, and a new tidal wave of water rushes out.

Flowey-

You're swept up in it, slamming into the wall with a force you're not prepared for.

Flowey?

… Asriel, are you-

"I'm FINE!" you sputter, pulling your head up from the water the best you can.

Don't you ever scare me like that!

"FUCK, Chara, can't you-" You stop. Why'd you stop, what's- Oh!

In the crack in the wall, up ahead, there's the Froggit and Moldsmal from before. They're in a cave, deep and angled away from the storm. That's right, the Froggits get around through the holes in the wall. Maybe there's a pathway in place? Ahaha! We're saved!

Froggit stretches its arms out as far as it can as you approach the water stream.

Hah, what luck!

You reject its hand and pass by them both.

Froggit looks at you in bewilderment. You're gone from sight in an instant.

Why the hell did you do that?! You would have been safe! Why did you-! Are you stupid?!

You're tossed through the water stream like a rag doll, only coming up for air every few seconds.

You can't hear me, can you?! You're useless! You can't do anything right, you stupid weed! You're dead, got that?! You stupid stupid idiot baby poop bag garbage-!

By sheer chance, you bump into a chunk of your wooden fence. You cling to it. It doesn't stop you from being dunked into the water or from being tossed around. But it's a small amount of respite over the elements, enough to create peace.

Why did you do that?

"Not," you choke, "not now!"

You hit another wall, but this time the fence piece wedges into the brick. You navigate around the safety of your pillar. Now you're safe, atop the wood and above the water.

The river rushes on, unflinching and unstopping. You take in deep breaths, still processing the last ten minute's events.

You're still surrounded by water.

You're stuck.

⁂

The end of the storm is abrupt. The floodwaters are only a few feet deep, but with your body size and the harsh current, it’s more than enough to be dangerous.

Still, it's easy to assume the worst is over. With how fast the storm came, it only figures it'd leave as fast.

You're stuck between a rock and the still-rushing flood waters. How long until they reside? We've never had water like this before; I have no idea where it will go or how long it'll take to evaporate. It could be days.

"I can wait it out," you mutter, finding patience within yourself you didn’t know you had. "Not like I have a choice anyway."

Sitting on top of the wood, you feel relatively safe. Your head clears, and the panic you felt before recedes. You gasp in horror.

Oh right. The flowers.

"Shit shit shit," you mutter, running a vine over your face. "They're still back there!"

You can go back there later. Right now, you just need to get somewhere better. You're wet, you need soil, this can't be comfortable. Higher ground - think, where can we get out of here?

"Shit," is all you manage to say.

You're useless- no, Flowey, you need to think. Can you climb the wall?

You stop moving. You look down at your companion, still held to your chest. It’s worn down, beaten, and already browning. Your arms, wrapped tightly around it, feel weak.

"All the flowers are back there." You stare back in the direction of the garden and are met with endless water. "You said I won't last up here. What chance do they have?"

Shit.

Don't think like that. Wait until the water drains. You don't know how bad the damage is yet; there is no point in losing hope before you have the facts.

You sway on your poll, looking lost. "Do you really think they might be okay?"

Oh lord- Yes, Flowey. Flowers are stronger than you think. How do you think they survive in nature? Does all life on Earth die whenever it rains too hard?

You bite your lip, thinking it over.

"But what about that one flood...?" You squint, suspicious.

Oh for the love of- that's the Bible! This was not from God's divine wrath, you dork.

You grumble under your breath that maybe it was.

Hah, with the eternal limbo we both endure now, that's not far-fetched.

You wince at that. Even now, the sting of your afterlife's punishment still burns.

Oh, jeeze. Was that still a sore spot? I'm sorry. This isn't your fault. You understand that, correct?

"Right," you let the air escape your mouth slowly, orientating yourself. "It's only a storm. That's all."

Nature does as nature wants.

You nod once towards your single flower, leaving it against yourself as you conjure a pair of vines. With one swift motion, you slice them out with your retractable thorns. Now with your new pair of makeshift backpack straps, you tie your flower companion to yourself.

Its weight feels good on your back. In place of your garden, you'll make do with what you have.

You move around the wooden beam to get into a better position. Upon inspecting the wall, you see a hole below that looks like a good candidate for our Froggit tunnel system.

You pause. "What about you, Chara? Are you fine with just one body? Do you think this one has a chance?"

You pet the damned flower, a useless comforting gesture.

"It's not useless," you lecture, "it's not."

…Sure, it'll be fine. I need you to get us both out. The wall, is it too slippery?

You reluctantly grab leverage against the bricks, testing out your weight against them. It holds you fine; your grip is strong enough that you don't fall off. You're tired, frankly exhausted now that the adrenaline from the storm has passed. You climb, despite the effort it takes.

Inside the crack is a small cave, just big enough for you. On the left, there's an opening that leads to a tunnel, but it's far narrower than the one you saw Froggit in.

Speaking of which! Do you care to explain what that was about?

You shrug.

Bastard, I asked you a question!

You grimace, stepping forward uncomfortably over the bricked floor of the tunnel. Your petals get roughed up as you squeeze through. You much prefer navigating in soil.

Farther ahead, you find a new, larger pathway. Just big enough for you to not crawl, though still far too small to be comfortable. You sigh, relieved to know it's more of a cave system than just a burrow.

You ponder over my question. You think hard about your answer, scratching your chin, then steady yourself, knowing whatever you have planned won't go over well.

Stop wasting our time. Get to it.

Finally, you declare, "I don't need anyone's help."

You cannot be serious.

"I am!" You yelp, accidentally banging your head against the stone ceiling. Serves you right, stupid!

"Wh-No I'm not!" You angrily writhe, not having the room to throw a proper hissy fit. "Shut up! You're stupid! I didn't want any stinking help from you or that stupid monster!"

You almost drowned!

"You don't get it! Leave me alone, I have to concentrate!"

You are killing me, brother.

"I know that!" you growl. "I'm trying to save you!"

What?! I'm already dead! You're a little late on that!

Okay, tell me, if I'm the flowers, then how does this make what you've done any better? Hm? Was drowning part of the plan? How are you going to care for the garden if you're dead!

You tread forward.

Oh, you're ignoring me now. Cool.

You continue down the path for what feels like an hour. At times cobwebs and hard stones get in your way, but they're no match for your magic bullets. Eventually, you find an exit that doesn't lead to just more flood, though you soon wish it had been.

Although it’s night, you can see the dead tree as clear as day. You remember when it was young and green, vibrant and alive. Our Mother built us wooden swings on each of its sturdy branches. It made for many fun afternoons in its presence. Even now, you can recall the creaks of the seat swaying from a friendly push. The feeling of the hairy worn rope between your beaned paws still lingers.

Our laughter would echo through the walls of Home.

Now, it's all silent, save for the echoing aftermath of the storm. The tree lies split in two, fallen by its weight and rot. Fungus grows, its insides charcoal and hollow.

It feels wrong to look at the poor thing. Even the last time you saw it, back when Toriel still lived here, it didn’t look so bad. How much time has passed since then?

You shake your head, returning to the tunnel. Uh. What are you doing?

"Heading back. Maybe I took a wrong turn…" you mumble.

Go inside. She must have flower soil stored inside somewhere. She's not much of a gardener, but she knew the necessity of soil. She wasn't that incompetent.

"I know, I just-" You pause, scowling at the tree. "I don't wanna."

Wow, I didn't know that! That changes everything; alright, let's head back! We can look around for dirt somewhere else!

"I'm serious, Chara! I don't want to go into the house, it's a bad idea!" You're outright pouting now, vines crossed.

No, go ahead. Your luck tonight has been great. I'm sure you'll find some soil soon.

You jump down from the wall with a grunt. "Don't say I didn't warn you…"

The house still feels inviting from the outside. Your rooted feet dig through soft dirt, a nice contrast to the stone tunnel.

Huh. The door was left open. That makes getting in easier, at least. As you brush against the door, it makes a high-pitched krrk sound.

Once you step inside, it's a different atmosphere altogether.

It's abandoned.

Distantly, the thought occurs to you that no monster chose to move in here out of either fear or respect for their ex-queen. No one dared to incur her fury; who knows what she'd do if one came uninvited?

The house is bare, its furniture long since taken. With the door and windows left open, moisture came inside to do its work. Mold covers the corners. The wallpaper is peeling and the floorboards are warped. It reeks of something dreadful - your first thought goes to plant decay.

On further searching, you were right. Toriel, it turns out, really is that incompetent with plants. She left her flowers and other assorted plants behind from the move.

"They were already brown," you say. "She probably thought they were already dead. Not worth saving."

You pet the shriveled potted plant with real grief.

…You then yank it out from the soil, tossing it to the floor carelessly.

Wow.

"You need the soil more than it does!" you tsk - as if I'm the weird one here.

You gracefully place your single Chara flower into the pot, dirt patted down to secure its roots. They look even worse than an hour before, so you prop their petals up with some twigs from the fallen tree outside. It'll have to do for now.

"You're strong, you'll bounce right back."

Ha. Golden Flowers are sturdy, judging from you.

You roll your eyes, refusing to take the compliment. "Now what? Do I need to build a boat?"

What? No, no, don't. The flowers will still be underwater. Besides you can't do anything in the state you're in; go to bed.

"Don't tell me what to do! You're always bossing me around!" You wave your vines around for exaggeration. "You're so rude. Can’t I get a, 'Why, thank you, Flowey! I feel so much better in my new pot!'"

Flowey, knock it off. You're useless without me.

"No," you grit your teeth, "you're useless without me. If I hadn't saved you, you'd be drowning with the others, you ungrateful cretin!"

Flowey, you can't see it, but I'm rolling my eyes.

"Wha- you- shut up!" You pick up the pot. "I'll toss you into the river! How'd you like that? HA!"

Do it.

"NO!" You gently put the pot down, offended at the mere suggestion of the idea. "You're so mean, Chara! I wouldn't hurt you!"

You're the one who- whatever. Go to bed. You're grumpy.

"YOU'RE GRUMPY!"

Flowey.

"Fine! But I was going to anyway!"

Sure you were.

"YES, I WAS!"

You stomp as much as a plant can stomp with roots against wooden floors. Hint: It's not much.

"I HATE this stupid body," you whine, knocking over a water sausage pot to the floor. You use vines to swipe up as much dirt as you can, then drag it along the floor to your room. It leaves behind a dirt trail. "Toriel better not see this."

The door to your room creaks in the same way it always had. The interior stands untouched by time.

It's dark, but your eyes adjust well enough. The walls are just as pristine as before. Your bed is still made, and your favorite stuffed toys sit relaxed in their exact spot by it. The air inside is stiff, but a welcome change from the rest of the house. The floorboard creaks, just slightly quieter than before. You touch the bed with a hesitant vine. Still soft, warm, and welcoming.

You yank the blanket onto the floor, regretting your defacing of the time capsule a moment too late. Moving past the heavy gut feeling, you scoop your dirt onto the cloth and make a dirt nest, one that you then have to lift off the floor. With some effort, you manage to neatly place it on the bed.

Hopping on after, you settle your roots in comfortably. You stretch on your back, so tired.

You squint at the ceiling. Something is wrong.

Well, if you ask me, it's you being worried about Toriel seeing this. She hasn't been in the underground for a long time. When was the last time she was here?

You roll over, turning to face your dolls. "A year after the barrier broke."

Ah, right.

She came unexpectedly to check on the flowers. You didn’t have much time to hide. You suspect she saw you scurry away to your little shack. You remember glaring under the covers, wanting nothing more than for her to leave.

She looked more amused than confused. With her kind heart, she didn't confront you for your cowardly actions. She only thanked the mysterious new caretaker of the ruins, taking pride in that whoever he may be had done a good job.

She smiled as she turned away. Her wide-shouldered backside was the last you saw of her as she retreated into the darkness.

You think back to the potted plants, left behind because they were brown and dying.

The golden flowers weren't dead. The day the barrier broke, they were just as gold as they are now. They were fine, they've even thrived in her absence. Why did she leave them too?

She left with Frisk. That much I was able to tell you. You knew, had even wanted, for her to move on. You wanted her to live a happy new life. It's what she deserved, your kind and loving mother who wanted so badly to be a parent and to teach children. You had given her that chance, had changed fate to bend under your will to give everyone else their happy ending.

She didn't come back for the golden flowers, because she moved on.

You hadn't, couldn't. Someone had to care for them.

Something else is bothering you. Your room feels… wrong.

Toriel hasn't come back. The room’s been preserved, as perfect and exact as you remember; the bed still feels large and warm, the dusty photos are untouched, and even the smell of the headboard is the same. Yet something still feels off.

What’s nagging in your head that feels so terribly wrong?

You clutch your stem, where your heart would be if you had one.

"What is it?"

It's haunting you.

Did Frisk take something? But what?

You scan the room again and see nothing out of place. It's too dark, you can't be sure. It's dark, it's-

Oh.

It’s dark.

You lay beneath your plastic starry sky. The constellations are the same as they’ve always been - but for as long as the ceiling fan has been off, the stickers have had no light to absorb.

These stars haven't glowed in years.

You lay in bed, staring at the pitch-black ceiling, cold.

You won't get any sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

As expected, not a wink of sleep came.

You lay still in bed, as you have for hours.

A new day breaks.

The room is still dark as the night, despite the change in time. You remain unseen and unseeing.

Dusk. The time in between the then and now.

Your mind feels tortured.

You think of her.

Broad shoulders, fluffed white hair. Sturdy, strong posture; self-assured.

Walking off into the shadows.

The flowers shine in the light, radiant.

The memory plays on a loop. Here, in her home, it is all you can think about.

And even when you manage to tear your mind away, it's something else.

The creak of floorboards when they'd come in to tell you a bedtime story.

Your father's voice boomed as he'd recited the same lines every night. How you'd giggle without fail, every time.

Of restless nights when you'd sneak out the bedroom door, tip-toeing down into the hallway to spy.

Your parents sitting by the fire, talking amongst themselves about things you were too young to understand. Politics, taxes, finances.

But you hadn't cared, you enjoyed the thrill of sneaking around. You can still recall how it felt to hear words echo.

It's silent now.

You're burdened by a million little moments, too many to count.

Your past crawls up your spine, laying over you like a weighted blanket. Too stiff and suffocating to breathe under.

You wish for nothing more than to escape it all, just as she had. She's gone, left this house without a second thought. Why must she linger in your thoughts?

Just as you have for hours, you toss and turn. Your restless struggles have left the bed sordid, your collected soil now spread across between each disorderly fold. You lay your head on your pillow, face first. A pained whine escapes you.

"It's not fair! How can she leave this house like this? It's falling apart, It's rotting. And now it's-" You huff, "it's nothing."

One day it won't be a house anymore. Wallpaper stripped away, bare wall exposed and worn down. Its walls will collapse and be reclaimed by the earth. Mildew ravaging what's left of the furniture, nothing spared. Book pages are soon to be illegible, faded, and erased as if they never contained a single word.

Lastly, the ceiling will fall and every childhood trinket will be lost in the rubble. All buried.

You want it to have mattered. You wanted to preserve it, but you turned your back on it just as she had.

Your story has long since closed, but you treasure it. Placed high on the shelf, it is your only possession. In your book, the words are etched in stone, not paper. Your past is an immortalized and complete story. They too, etch into your skin and define you in ways you could never escape.

And now, all physical evidence of your previous existence will waste away within the march of time. A force of nature, doing as nature does. No more controllable than a storm.

Everything, it seems, will become entombed and forgotten.

And all that will be left will be us.

Until our stone crumbles and our skin breaks, we are the only survivors of these tales.

Toriel, unburdened by dirt and decay, thrives on the surface. She holds no roots to drag her down here with us. She is liberated with a second chance at life, an aspiring novelist with endless blank pages waiting to be filled.

It was your gift to her.

"Yeah... my gift," you speak with stubborn pride. "I freed her and everyone."

Indeed.

The underground is now empty at your hands. There is nothing left for anyone here.

Not even the flowers.

You're quick to shake your head, "you don't know that for sure! You said they could still be fine. You're hardy, Chara. You won't let a little water get you down."

I know you hate this topic, Flowey... but it's time we talked.

"It's not true, I know it," you deny. "We may cling to the soil, but we're not buried. Not yet."

Flowey. You can refute all you want, but neither of us is tethered to the soil.

You strain your face smiling, "Because, in your death, you've grown into new life. That's what we are, a pair of Golden Flowers."

It's over. It's been over.

"Yes! This house is done with, we can forget about all that past crap. Not when we have our garden -when we have each other.”

You need to move on. Give up on this pathetic self-exile.

"It's still there. I know it."

It's all gone, you know it. She knew it. Why can't we accept that and do something else?

"You're not GONE! And I'm not leaving you to get soggy and waste away. Just because she gave up and pissed right off doesn't mean I will!"

Sigh...

Flowey, you're a stubborn idiot.

"Hey."

You're tied to unnecessary memories and emotions.

When no one else cares for flowers, you tend to your garden.

But it is a pointless one. All beauty and no substance. You curate for an audience of none.

Do you know what flower you need to care for? Yourself. You weigh yourself down with pretty nothing. So hurry up and uproot yourself and get over it.

"Chara, I’m not leaving you."

I’ve told you a million times! I exist by your determination alone!

“You can’t prove that! You’re just a voice! You’re not- you’re not even real!”

...

...Don’t say that.

“Stop sounding so hurt, you don’t exist, you’re not really feeling this.”

Oh, I exist alright. I exist to scream into YOUR EAR UNTIL YOU BLEED.

SCREW YOU.

“Ow-ow, okay, stop! I’m sorry!”

Damn right, you’re sorry.

“But the truth is you’re gone. I’ve deluded myself to believe you haunt me-”

Because I really am, an idiot.

“And that’s my punishment -fine. I get it. But that’s not what matters. There’s a part of you that still lives and it’s up to me to ensure it survives. I'm sorry but... I can't lose what is left of you. If I did, what is there left for me to care for?"

You laugh, bitter and exhausted. "You're still in danger, the garden it's..." You trail off as visions of disaster flood your mind. All too fresh, yet distant. It feels like a half-forgotten dream. "You're drowning. You need my help."

But you fail to realize you have been dreaming for years now. This cannot carry on.

I exist within you. You do not need to devote yourself to a grave. If I need to prove it, then so be it. We shall go to the garden, one last time. And then, will you finally accept my truth?

You contemplate it. Back when the barrier was up, you relied on a lot of lies. You built a shoddy foundation to keep you standing. It made you into a living nightmare, guilty of the worst things imaginable. You need truth to keep you constrained. With no more save power, everyone else is free.

You’re the last threat.

You refuse to indulge in any fantasies, even if it means ignoring reality.

Is it really so absurd I’d haunt you after everything?

“Yeah. Because the real Chara never came back.”

There’s really no getting through to you! Fine. Believe whatever you want. It’s not like you listen to me anyway!

“...So what now?”

I don’t care what you do.

“How long will it take for the water to reside? I’ve never been through a flood before.”

Decades.

“Psh, no it won’t.”

“...Hours? Days? Aw gee, it’s going to be a while.”

Why don't you get some sleep then? That’ll kill time.

You flop over, facing the tenebrous ceiling.

...

...

...

You begin to squirm, uncomfortable.

“You really think the flowers are dead? Really?”

I mean, you barely survived that. What hope did they have?

“Yeah but... golden flowers can grow anywhere, they can survive this.”

If you say so.

“...Right.”

You turn back to the bed, bouncing your roots in a rhythmic fashion.

You don't even last a minute.

"Okay. Screw this. I need to know you’re safe."

Fine, let's get going.

You jolt up. "Wait, what? You’re fine with that?"

Not REALLY. It’s needlessly risky. We have no idea what state the Ruins are in now.

But staying here is annoying. And, besides, now I can prove you wrong.

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, Chara. I just want to clean up and get back to work.”

So get going already. Are you ready for a swim?!

You curl your lip with distaste. "I can't swim."

You pause.

"At least I don't think I can?"

What do you mean by "think?"

"Well, I can try to swim. I'm not sure if you can call it swimming."

Then we'll paddle on a boat.

You scoff, "Didn't you say no to my boat idea?"

That was before. Now we need to get out of this rotten hell hole.

“True, hee hee,” now with a goal in mind, you brighten up. “Now, a boat! I miss riding those!" 

But your cheer only lasts a moment, your face quickly turning blank. "...How are we getting a boat into the Ruins?"

Oh my god. We're not moving a boat into here. Have you seen your root strength? No, we'll build one, duh.

You feel unsure where to even begin with that.

Tch, fine. I guess I will help you with everything. First, we make our watercraft. What will float?

You scan the room, squinting in the dark. Not a lot to work with, if you're being honest.

Okay, check under the bed. It should still be there.

You're confused by that, but you obey. You jump down and begin excavating, blindly grabbing with your vines.

A fallen doll. You knocked it over during the night. Oopsie.

Next, a toy spaceship that would fit perfectly in your paws. Sorry, we're not heading to space right now, champ.

And lastly, Ah. Here it is.

"A shoebox?! I never wore shoes!" You seem offended by the box's existence. You're about to toss it away in rejection before remembering why we are here.

You ponder at its modest size. "Will this work with me inside?"

Flowers don't weigh a ton, I believe you'll manage.

"Have you gotten this to float before?"

No, but it'll probably work. Why do you think I'd know, do I look like I toss shoe boxes into rivers for fun? If you don’t like it, I'd like to see you do better!

You hiss, holding the box to your chest. "No! It's MINE now!"

…Fine, okay??? You are so weird.

"Says a boxless weirdo, hee hee."

The WEIRDEST weirdo.

Anyway, let's get going. Finish preparing your boat.

You gasp when you pop open the lid.

Inside, buried under colorful tissue paper, is a stack of Polaroids.

It's you.

"That can't be right," you mutter, flipping through them. "How come you're not in any of them?"

Even as you speed through them, it's clear that in every single one, you're smiling. Overjoyed, even. The photographer clearly had a theme in mind.

The house is transformed into warm hues and familiar hallways. You’re everywhere, jumping around every inch of the place. You’re on the swing, bouncing on the bed, eating pie at the table. 

It’s your home.

It was never much of mine. We only lived here together for a month, and it was hell for both of us. I was an invader; I selfishly stole your room and bed.

I didn't want to. I was well aware of my transgression, but I had nowhere else to go. I holed up, locking myself away without a word.

Despite my efforts, you managed the impossible. You wormed your way into my heart. Slowly, just by being your dorky yet charming self, you got me to come out of my shell. My new big brother, a miracle worker.

It was your biggest achievement. While I wouldn't play like the other kids, or even speak, you didn't care. You paraded me around Home like a trophy.

"More like a new best friend," you say, your voice harsh and final. "It wasn't a game to me, Chara. We were all worried sick...”

It’s true. Had I stayed in that room, I would have shriveled up, like a wilting flower.

You pout; the memory still tastes sour. You fall back to the photos, hopeful for a sweeter one to share. "Here we are. You're in this one."

Huh? Oh, you're right. Though, I don't remember this.

"I took it without telling you. It was the morning we moved - look, you're even drooling.”

I remember. We stayed up all too late, so excited about the move that neither of us would stop talking. Eventually, Mom had to come in and tell us to knock it off. 

“Yeah, that night! I got up before you that morning. You’re so much kinder when you’re asleep."

I'd hit you for that, you brat.

"You never wanted your picture taken! It's not like you're ugly, Chara! I mean, you're no monster, and you had your weird short snout and dotted skin and flat teeth-"

No, you're wrong. I was as ugly as sin. So terribly human.

"You were like, nine," you whisper, "you were practically a baby…"

You're still a baby. Shut your face.

"Haha, no way, I'm like a billion years old now. I'm older than you, pbbt!"

A raspberry! Pbbt! You're a real stinker -what are you, the fart master?

"Pbbt! yourself! Hee hee! You're gross!" You laugh so hard you fall to the ground, dropping the photos with your giggles. "Shoot, okay, enough. I can't lose these."

…Why? They're just photos. They don't reflect reality as it is now.

You look down at them, splayed on the floor. You contemplate for a moment. "It doesn't hurt to keep them though, right?"

You pick up just one: the photo of me.

No. That's not fair. Pick one of yourself too. If you're going to do this, do it right.

"Tch, fine." You spread them all out. "But you pick it."

This is a hard choice. You were incredibly adorable. I miss your baby face.

"SHUT UP!" You kick the photos, making a mess. "Just pick one!"

Emphasis on "were." You're just a turd flower now.

"AUGH, just hurry it up!"

How about this one? The one where you're looking out the window.

You make a face at that. "That's the only one where I'm not smiling. I didn’t even know you were in the room, Chara."

Hey, I didn't know you were taking my photo either. It's only fair.

"Pfft, fine. Whatever." You pick up the two we selected, putting them into your inventory.

You look around the room as if you’re trying to memorize how it looks. "Ready?"

Yes. Please.

You chuckle at that but don't head out. Instead, you start tugging on the bedsheet.

"I need it," you explain as you tear out a decent-sized square with your newly thorny vines. "To carry some dirt. For you." You stuff it in the box, now properly prepared for adventure.

Oh boy, dirt. Thanks.

Wait, that means you're taking that damned flower with you? Still?

You shiver, despite yourself. "Worst case scenario, this is the last one of you left."

…I won't complain. This is progress. You're not carrying around a garden on your shoulders.

"Hey! How do you know you're so in the right anyway? It's not like the flowers have stopped existing since you came back as a ghost! What if I am right, huh? What if all of them die and you die too? Then I'd be all alone and-"

That's enough of that.

You leave the room, slamming the door behind you.

The single golden flower is as pitiful as you left it.

"No, it looks better than that! See, if you look closer, the brown is already fading away."

…Ok, so it's almost the same as when you left it. Let's grab it and go.

You attempt to pick up the pot, but it weighs too much. You grunt, unsure of how to proceed.

"You CAN help, you know."

Fine, why don't you tip it over-

CRASH.

Slowly. I meant slowly.

"YOU COULD HAVE SAID," you exclaim, throwing your vines in the air. "I was just doing what I was told!"

It's not my fault that you're not careful!

You huff, getting to work. There's no need for an argument. You know I'm right.

The flower's roots are wrapped in the dirt, then laid into the shoe box. You are now officially and properly ready. Can we go now?

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah.”

Stepping out, you find everything is still shrouded in darkness. Since the CORE shutdown, light has become a commodity. You're spoiled by the luxury of the sunlight localized around your garden. Not that you’re hindered by it; you've been living in these caverns long enough to navigate them with your eyes closed.

"I did that once - or, well, I tried." You quickly get tired of carrying the box in your arms awkwardly, so you drag it behind you. It makes a grating noise against the stone brick but you tune it out. "I called it a ‘blind run’. The plan was to go from Asgore's garden all the way to your grave. I was incredible. I made it all the way to the Waterfall before I…" Your smile becomes strained. "Well, I didn't finish it. I'll leave it at that."

Ah. So that's why you think you can't swim.

"Let's not dwell on it," you pout.

You reach the end of the road, just a room away from Toriel's house. The sight of the dark abyss before you leaves you anxious. The lighting is low but you can see mud caked alongside the walls and debris scattered over the water's surface.

You can faintly hear water rushing, almost as if you were in Waterfall.

You don't have to go. We can turn back if you want.

"No way. I can't stay in that place. I don’t think I’d ever be able to sleep."

Fair, I suppose you couldn't...

You approach the still water's edge with your head high, determined.

Marching forward, you hesitantly dip your roots into the water. You wince at the cold but it otherwise doesn't harm you. If you recall, you actually breathe through your roots. With overexposure, you can suffer from suffocation or even rot.

Even though-

Uh. Actually.

Can you breathe through your face...? You can hold your breath- but wait, you don't have lungs, but then-

Okay, Flowey, your anatomy makes no sense.

"Here's an idea, how about I don't destroy my limbs here? I won't be staying in the water too long. That sounds good enough?"

Yeah, that works.

...You know, this doesn't look that bad. The water has resided quite a bit since you last saw it. It looks like one large puddle now, rather than a deep river bent on consuming everything.

The comparison doesn't make you feel any relief. It's still far too deep for yourself, with your sad 1 foot of height.

"And Chara, who knows how bad it'd be if we were to fall into a floor below. Don't forget the Ruins isn't flat."

...Good point, let's be careful.

Looking back at your box, its cardboard bottom is already wet. You notice it is barely floating along the water. What gives? 

Is it too weighed down after all? That doesn't sound right.

"Son of a bitch," You splash water with your foot. "This isn't going to work. This was a terrible idea."

Ah well. Leave the flower at the house then.

"No! We're going together! Get ready to be wet, you stupid flower!"

You're… really not one to talk, you know that right?

You grumble some choice words under your breath, but you grab the sides of the box with steel nerves. You take a deep breath and then-! You rush forward, pushing the box like a grocery cart!

The box gets roughed up from the dirt and gravel at first, but then it begins to glide on the water from the momentum. You cheer for your genius, accelerating as you speed through the water with precision.

Turd flower or not, it is kind of cute to watch.

"Lalala! I can't hear you! I'm having so much fun! HA!" You sing as you make a sharp turn.

Upon entering the next hallway you find the trap holes have collapsed, leaving the floods to steadily fall below like drains.

While too dark and murky to know where they're placed, you manage to avoid them with ease.

Wow, you weren't bluffing about your speed runs, blind or not.

Giggling, you notice there's a long empty hallway up next. The water is higher over here, making you slosh through at a much slower pace. You take this opportunity to give one last push before jumping in. The momentum of the box carries it farther into the water without issue, but you've sacrificed all control. You sit in the box awkwardly, floating aimlessly forward.

I hope you have a plan.

You nod, scoffing that we should have discussed this in more detail before jumping in.

Hm, yeah, a little late for that now.

You roll your neck before stretching out your roots outside of the back of the box. You contort your limbs into a turbine, propelling you through.

You... became the boat.

I dub thee Flowey the boatie.

"Snrk, shut up."

You speed across a long room within a minute. At this rate, you'll be back in the garden within ten minutes. However, that is optimistic thinking. It's clear as you wheeze for breath, this exercise is quickly tiring you out. You pull into a dead stop once you cross the cheese room.

The once peaceful water stream now blasts through with a raging river. At the center, it rushes over an array of exposed spikes.

You barely have time to react to Its harsh current, as it pulls you toward the dark pit in the wall.

Flowey- come on, you got to paddle harder!

You grunt affirmatively. Senses regained, you resume paddling. You find you have just enough strength to get past safely, though your heart is now racing a mile a minute.

Don't get... cold feet, now, Flowey.

"Chara, shit, maybe this is too dangerous," you wheeze out, body shaking.

Thankfully, it seems your luck has begun to improve. Now past the stream, the ground is at a decline. You're able to smoothly sail ahead without needing to paddle. You let your body collapse in the box, thankful for the reprieve.

...The boat is taking damage. We knew the cardboard wouldn't stand water for long but.

"It has to do it right now?" You gawk. "Ok, shit, what do you suppose we do now?"

Swim.

"Out of the question. I'm already exhausted and wet."

What do you want me to suggest? This was your idea!

"You enabled me! I didn't think the Ruins would become a Deathtrap!"

Oh come on, you were being such a jerk earlier-

"No arguing, come on, what do I do?" You look over your box's wall, anxious about what'll come next as we approach the next hallway.

Okay, here's the plan. We're ditching the boat. Swim to the wall, there's got to be a cave system nearby.

"I'd rather drown in-"

Shit!

SPLASH!

You’re bobbing up and down, the wind knocked out of you.

Shoot shoot shoot- This room was another floor trap puzzle. The whole thing is freaking caved in, we're trapped in the room below. It's about- I don't know, 30 feet? Shoot, where's the exit hole?

"I- cough, think it's over there," you weakly tilt your head above, where the smallest amount of light is seen.

Oh no. The boat. Flowey, get out of the water!

"Yeah-yeah I already figured that out," you spit out as you paddle over to a pile of rocks nearby.

Huh, you're lucky these-

...

Ah.

Are these rocks okay?

"eugh..."

"OH GOLLY," You gasp, horrified to find your little rubble island is sentient.

Is this like... normal for monsters or...?

"NO," You shout, "It's NOT."

"hey buddy, don't ya worry, I'm alright..." the rock musters out weakly. It doesn't sound good.

"Uhh. What. What the hell are you doing down here," you question, still confuzzled.

"The storm..." it answers with patience despite the obvious answer. Come on, have some tact.

"Sorry, uh, do you need help?"

The rock shakes in a way that seems like a "no." At least, you think that's what it intended.

"But I can help ya get across," it breathes(?) out a sigh, "if that works for ya?"

You give your flower a look before turning back to the rock. "What about you though? Want me to lift you up or-?"

The rock shakes again, "'m fine, tulip. I'm fine staying down here."

Hesitantly, you accept its offer. "Okay, if you think you can manage it."

Suddenly, the rock shifts forward. You don't understand how it moves, but it certainly manages to regardless. At a steady pace, it moves you forward to the tunnel door.

In hindsight, these must be part of the Froggit cave system. It's not a bad idea to adapt a human trap to be more useful to a modern monster community. Tradition be damned, puzzles suck anyway.

"Egh, yeah," you agree, lying your head down as the rock's gentle movements make you anxious of falling off.

Frisk and I actually used to go through these before. I'm certain if you went in further, you'd find it connects back to another trap floor puzzle. I wonder if these systems would eventually lead to a village. Where do Froggits live anyway? In that town?

You shrug as we reach the end of the room. Overall, not a long journey.

"Thank you... rock. Person," you bow your head, unsure if it can even see you.

"no prob," it nods(?)

You hop up to the tunnel hole, thankful to be on your feet again.

When you turn around, you watch the rock sink underwater as it bids you farewell.

You're concerned about the thing, but you're at a loss for what you could do. We'll need to remember to check on it later.

For now, this tunnel should be simple. Go for the third exit on your left, not the first. That'll get you almost to the long hallway; it's a simple walk from there to where you normally fill in your watering can. Think you can do it?

...

You don't look happy. What is it now?

"You forgot a puzzle room."

I did? Which one?

Wh- what are you glaring at me for?!

"THE SPIKE PUZZLE!" You burst out, your roots flailing into the sides of the wall with thorns. They retract and your body relaxes slowly. You take a deep breath before speaking, voice bitter and harsh. "The room has a water stream going across sideways from wall to wall. I'll be fighting that current AND spikes on foot?! Are you serious?!"

That's… not ideal.

"Yeah. It's not. I'd argue it's actually impossible."

…Have you ever tried to walk past those spikes?

"No. I'm not stupid. I don't torture myself for fun."

No, that's not what I mean. Actually, you'll be fine. You can't really hurt yourself on those. They retract on their own. They're like pressure-sensitive, like where the rock used to sit.

"Oh right, about that..."

Oh.

They might… not work... with you.

You're not as heavy as Frisk or Toriel.

"Eugh," you groan. "And we don’t know if the water pressure will be enough to activate them. That settles it then, they’re probably still up."

Okay! But we can still avoid stepping on the spikes, despite that, right? We just need to swim around them.

"Yeah,” you huff. “That sounds so easy. You saw what the current was like before."

…Maybe you don't need to cross it.

"Oh yeah? Brilliant. I'll grow gills. Or wings. Whichever comes first." You roll your eyes. "How do you expect me to go about that, huh?"

Shush, hear me out. The only danger lies within the water. We can't see what is in it but we know there are spikes and drains. Climbing the walls is risky, they're wet and likely unstable. While we could use the Froggit holes, neither of us knows where they lead. So what else do we have?

"Bah, I don't know?" You gawk, "The will to exist to suffer?"

No smart ass, vines! Yours and the walls! The spike puzzle room is covered by them, you only need to get to them and cross! Hell, your usual watering streams have vines too. This will work!"

You consider my plan, still unsure. You remember the room just as well as I do, and we both know there's wall space that is bare of plants.

"You know, whenever I draw out my body, it's through magic," You shift around in the tunnel, looking away from the flower. You frown to yourself, feeling uneasy. "All that swimming has zapped me of all my energy. I feel...  all kinds of low. On like. Everything right now. I don't know how long I can keep moving around."

In that case, take a break. Or better yet, maybe we should just wait for rescue?

You scoff, "What rescue? Like anyone cares about the Ruins? And besides, screw the Froggits. They're no help."

...

"To me, anyway. I don't care. We don't need help. I'll push forward on my own."

That's.

Literally.

An awful idea.

"Hey, who's in control here? Me. Now are you helping me or am I going to do this myself?"

Okay fine, let's back up then. Let's not just jump right into this.

On the way, there will be more vines. Rip those out and just do what you've done for your flower: make a rope, tie it around you, and swing your way there. See, just like rock climbing. It'll be fun.

"Fun?" You look offended.

You shake your head, resigning yourself to my plan. You continue forward and, coincidentally, you've made it to the third exit. Time for a long walk.

You hop down with a splash, the water deep to your mid-chest. Uncomfortable, you stretch yourself up higher. The action makes you dizzy, but you ignore it. The path is far longer than you remember, and maybe that's because you're forced to tread through it on foot rather than through dirt this time.

To make matters worse, with the low lighting and unfamiliar footing, you can't be sure how much further the hall lasts. Warry of sudden drops like before, you move cautiously.

You quickly find not all of the vines are within reach of your own, but that's alright. You manage to snag the first one with some effort, and then it's just a matter of tying both you and your companion together. You're unsure of what to do with the other end of your makeshift rope, so you just hold it in your mouth for now.

Hmm. Okay, keep tying what vines you can reach together into a longer rope. We'll work it out from there.

"Hrm mrmm mrm-" you spit out some of the rope to talk with half your mouth, "do you know what 'er doing?"

Trick question! I never know what I'm doing.

You should know that by now, brother.

"Fair enough," you chuckle.

You continue forward, expanding your rope as you walk along the hall. And thus, the moment of truth arrives.

As you approach the next room, the water rushes past as you had expected. You don't step forward, instead holding onto the wall to your side for support. The stream has turned into a rapid river that flows to the south wall all at once.

If you were to fall in, you'd be dragged along before disappearing into the water tunnels.

There are no do-overs if you slip up. Not without True Resetting.

Your arms shake in anticipation, doubt gnaws at you. You pant from your mouth -your roots already struggling to breathe from all the water.

You'll have to go, regardless of how you feel.

You're just going to get weaker out here if you keep waiting.

"How encouraging," you mutter, approaching with careful steps. You scan the room with a squint; it's hard to differentiate the plant from the rock wall from here.

"I'm not sure where to start, Chara."

The water doesn't look like it's any higher there than where you are right now. There's a section of wooden floor before you meet the spikes. Rip one side of the plank, and tie your rope to it. Use that to anchor yourself and climb the wall. If you fall, you won't die.

You frown. While not certain of death, this plan hardly sounds safe.

I'll be with you the whole time. You can do it.

With a silent prayer to an Angel you don't believe in, you approach the room. The floor all looks the same in this light, so you can only hope you've made it close enough to the floorboards. You stick your arms into the water, and the immediate strength of the current is almost enough to snag you along.

"I don't know if I can do it!" You yank your arms above the water, shaking terribly. "Are you sure this will work?"

I'm certain. Try again. Put your backbone into it; just go in and pull it out.

You don't try again; rather, you use magic bullets to strike at the wood, causing it to splinter and fling open. The board is free on one side, loose on the other.

Well. It worked, so congratulations.

"I'm not strong. I don't have muscles." You wave your wimpy vine arms to prove the point. "I don't know what you expected."

Fair enough. Be sure to tie it tightly; I don't trust that thing to stay on for long.

You nod, doing as you’re told. Once it's snug, you begin to climb the wall. The rock is dangerously slippery close to the stream, the continuous flow keeping it soaked. The higher you are, the better.

That said, it's still wet up here, and when crossing from the right wall to the back wall, you nearly plummet. Steady now. Go slow. You're almost to the first patch of vines.

"I'm going to be sick." You wobble, clinging to the wall, unable to advance. "I hate this. I want to go home."

We're almost there. Come now, just a few more rooms.

You proceed, crossing the vine easily. There's a patch of brick before the next, so it's time to untangle your rope and attach it to your current patch of greenery. You shoot a single bullet toward the end of the vine; it goes slack and into the water. It's as simple as pulling it close to you, and you're set.

The rest of the adventure continues just the same. Once you're past all the streams, you lean against the wall, taking a minute to catch your breath. Breathing through the mouth is more work than through your roots.

You genuinely don't know how much you've got left in you.

But none of that matters now. You're just two rooms away from the path to your garden. The button puzzle, then the stairs.

You manage to move forward. Thankfully, the water isn't an issue; its level has gone back down to an inch, giving you hope.

You long for nothing more than a dry blanket and some dirt to lay in.

The room goes by in a blur, your mind practically oozing out of your petals.

You stumble forward until you near the edge of the stairs. You tumble onto the ground, your body limp.

"I can't," you whimper, "give me an hour."

You don't really have an hour, Flowey. It's almost over.

You groan, facing the ceiling in your anguish. You slog forward, finally able to look down below the stairs.

It's still flooded.

Worse than that, it's flooded deeper. Far deeper than the rest of the Ruins; it stands at roughly 4 feet.

The path to your garden is on a downward slope.

You stare in a daze, processing how much more water that must be.

It has to be completely submerged. There are no streams to carry the water away from here. It's all trapped.

You're vaguely aware you're still staring, and past your line of sight floats a part of your sign.

"DANGER. STAY OUT."

That snaps you out of it. You back up, gawking in disbelief. "It's everywhere! My flowers, my shed! It's all below!"

That is correct.

You shake your head, frantic.

"Submerged! They're as good as dead!"

It's all gone.

You feel weak.

"They're not going to make it, are they?"

Likely not.

You move forward to where the steps meet flood. You frantically scoop up what you can with your vines, tossing the water behind you. But no matter how fast you dig, water fills in the gaps. You don't make a dent in it.

"I have to… I have…" You plead, shaking.

Flowey, are you listening?

You go still, then collapse again. Your vines hang loose. You let them float.

Hey, it's not so bad. I told you before. I'm still here.

"Yeah…" You exhale a deep breath you hadn't known you were keeping in.

We need to find a new home, Flowey.

You stare at the water, but you can't make out your face in the darkness. The other flowers, too, are unseen.

"Do I really?"

I didn’t mean New Home. I assume you don’t want to live there. Though, if the golden flowers are still there-

"No, I mean. You said it yourself," you smile. "It's been over."

…Indeed I did. Your story ended.

"No point in keeping away from the garden then."

You sit up, and you let yourself fall into the water face first.

What are you doing?! Go back, there's nothing down there!

"That's where I belong, right?"

You manage to wiggle your body forward like a jellyfish, keeping your head above the water.

It's awkward, you're only able to move forward in short bursts.

This is a bad idea, get back to land. This could hardly be called "swimming."

"It's where," you pant, "you are, right?"

No.

"You'll rot," you cough, "down."

Are you stupid? You will too!

"So be it."

You cannot be serious.

"Well, maybe I am!" you shout while pulling yourself up from the water, "What else do I have?"

SPLASH!

Flowey, get up this instant! What do you think this is going to accomplish, you're going to drown! Get out of there!

FLOWEY!

You swim past the arch doorway. Under the water, the light from the hole above illuminates the cavern. You can see your garden now as it floats aimlessly. Petals, leaves, everything swirling in the murky water.

You too, float, indistinguishable from the rest.

It feels like space.

You can't breathe.

Survival pulls you to the surface, and you gasp for air. Your chest aches, from grief and water both. It's all gone, totally, forever. Years of work. Your devotion…

Your expectations…

Your loneliness…

Your fear…

In one rainstorm, it's all washed away.

Above, the light rainfall of the night before continues to drip down. It, like everything else, has been erased into the water.

The past is cleansed. You float, still alive.

The view from here is full of splendor. Rainbow refracts onto the cave walls. Above you, a new world, just out of reach.

You’ve only been there once. The memory hurts deep, maddeningly so. As beautiful as it may be, the idea of going makes you want to scream. It’s as dangerous as it is wonderful.

Down below is dangerous too. 

There’s nothing down here that’s worth anything now.

It’s time to choose.

Flowey, do you want to rot with them?

“No.”

Your story ended. But maybe it's time for a new one.

You start page one, by grabbing onto the rock wall.

Words, written not in ink but in rainfall, pour out. You climb and fall. You get back up and try again. You reach out with your vines, maneuvering like a monkey across stalactite and hard stone until there is nothing more to grab.

The surface is within your sight. The hole, just two nights ago so distant and small, now looks impossibly large. It frames your view as you leave; a barrier of your own making, finally broken.

Pulling yourself over the lip, you dizzily make contact with the earth. Your body is a jumbled mess, yet you're able to carry it forward. You can't think, only move.

The sunlight is blinding, unfamiliar yet inviting. Like a moth, you follow it, until you can't anymore.

For the third time, you collapse, plotting yourself against wet, fresh soil. You breathe it in, your roots wiggling in the nicest, purest dirt you've ever experienced. Like the air around you, it's invigorating. It's overwhelming.

You've made it.

The world is yours. You're made anew.

Day has broken. The sun shines.

Birds sing.

You're blooming.

You pass out.

Chapter Text

The sky is set alight by the sun, blazing forth across the new earth.

You wake from a peaceful sleep, blinking, blinded by the light. Alien sounds, sights, and feelings invade your mind.

You're screaming.

Your mouth is dry. Your body feels hot and uncomfortably tight; brittle.

The ground is plush and cool, an escape from the humid air. You burrow and hide under the nearest foliage. From within, you watch the leaves above shake randomly, sun rays glimmering through the gaps. They dance in your eyes, inescapable. How can the sun reach every inch of the surface?

It's overwhelming. It's at least ten degrees hotter up here, and you feel every increment.

You sink back into your newly dug hole. Then, remembering what you are, you stretch out your roots and soak in the moisture.

The relief is short-lived, as the world makes itself more known to you. Outside of mine, the voices of nature battle for dominance. New languages, spoken in the tongues of animals you have no frame of reference for. They're relentless; you wonder how they're able to breathe with all this speech they babble.

You peek outside your petals to look around. Slowly, your eyes adjust, and the panic of before resides. The colors dullen. The breeze chills you to the stem. In reality, the world isn't on fire.

It's… fine. You're alright.

Your eyes are watering; you're unsure if the sun is really just that powerful, or if there's something deeply wrong with you. As unfamiliar as this world is, it is not new to you. You think back- 

Oh. Look at that.

"What the hell is that?"

You point weakly to a beetle, offended and alarmed by its mere presence.

"Beetle," you speak, unsure if you like the name. "It has a horn! You never said bugs had horns."

Adorable. Hey, did you know most people are scared of these things?

"This? It's so tiny! Who could it hurt? A Whimsum?"

Humans are scared of most things, small or not.

You huff proudly. "They're going to be scared of me."

I said most. You don't fit under that category.

"Bah, you haven't seen me at my scariest."

The beetle crawls closer.

"Uh…" You lower yourself deeper, hoping not to be seen. "What's it doing?"

What? Moving?

"I got that, but why towards me?"

Get over yourself, you're just in its way.

You crawl out of your hole, skulking around the tiny, itty bitty beetle, back to where you slept. While having a staring contest with your new friend, you tie your flower companion onto your back.

Great! Now we have a party. Let's go get more. How many more members can we add to our roster before we max out?

"What- what other bugs are here?"

There are probably hundreds of species here. Insects aren't my area of expertise, I wouldn't be able to name many.

You scoff at that, still not quite believing me. Really? Do you think I'm a world expert? I was only on the surface for a decade.

"It's your world, not mine." You preen the companion you've stubbornly kept with you. Now in sunlight, you can confidently say that it's doing better. Not at a healthy gold just yet, but it's a survivor.

You adjust your straps, not unlike one would a backpack. You stride to the edge of the cliff and gaze at the landscape, breathlessly.

The land is huge. Over the years, you convinced yourself it wasn't as big as you recalled, that it was only your overactive imagination that had made it seem endless. The bizarre, fantastical look of the surface had become a myth.

Now, it dwarfs you. Its magnitude is unparalleled, untouched by any feat of monsterkind. 

This time, you're on the opposite side of the mountain. No sign of the sea, no city lights. You found them comforting; you could believe the world ceased to exist beyond them, just out of sight.

But here, there are no limits, no horizon. The country expands in every direction, varied in ways the underground could never be. Hills and dips of deep valleys make the ground uneven, all framed by mountains even larger than Mount Ebott. Thinking back to the underground, the trees here aren't all evergreens like the one’s there; these are a seemingly random assortment of species, and they grow in strange, unexpected ways. The overgrown grass is colorful, not a spot of blue or snow at all. It all looks inconsistent, incompatible, unplanned, It's too much. It has you entranced. You can't blink, too preoccupied with scanning the area, trying to figure out just what in the world you are seeing.

...Honestly.

I’m surprised such a marvel of nature can still exist in this world.

Humanity hasn’t managed to destroy everything yet.

You burst into an uncontrollable laugh, your chest aches and you feel dizzy. “It’s so big, how can anything destroy it?”

Humans have managed to do worse.

You know I’m right, you're not blind to Humanity's colonizing horrors. But standing outside free within nature, it’s hard to believe.

The thought is sobering but you don't want to dwell on that right now, not when you’re having this moment.

The view is untainted by filthy hands. It’s precious and you wish to savor every bit of its grace. Try as humanity might, they failed to destroy these mountains.

Failed to destroy monsters. Failed to destroy you.

"The world is said to have over a hundred million miles of surface area, with a-" you pause, biting your lip as you try to remember the word, "a meridional...? Circumference of... I think, 24,000 miles?"

Seriously? How do you remember that?

You nod, certain of the number. "There are 24 hours in a day, so,"

That's not what I meant.

"Okay fine, it's a big round world. Okay, not, perfectly round. It's an oblate spheroid, you know. So not a perfect sphere - the poles are flatter."

Ugh, you're such a nerd. As if that explains anything???

You shake your head, still fixated on the view to care about being embarrassed. "You remember the books we'd get. I could never get enough of them."

Ah yes, the recreations of the human dumpster books. With so many of the original book's pages illegible, the copies were almost entirely blank. It only excited you further, your imagination running wild to what could have filled them.

Hoho, you'd get in trouble for drawing on them.

What was your theory? That every planet had a moon? You're too silly.

You laugh, "Well, how was I supposed to know?"

Your eyes remain latched onto the scenery, afraid that, if you were to look away, it'd vanish.

"I always thought I'd be able to see the curve. It's not flat, but it's not round? It's so big, I-" You shake your head, wordless. "It's just so big you can't see everything. You could fit the underground in any one of those mountains, but you'd need a billion undergrounds to fit the earth."

Indeed.

Did you know I've never set foot outside this mountain range?

"What?!" You gasp scandalously at your flower, "The world is THIS incomprehensibly large, and you chose to stay in this one spot? What is wrong with you!"

I was ten! How exactly did you expect me to get the money to travel? Idiot.

"Well, duh! But your mom surely had money! I bet you guys just hate change. You'd root yourselves and never leave!"

You're one to talk, Flowey.

"That's not the same. The barrier removed our choice. Humans have no excuse."

The barrier has been gone. And -and that is simply unfactual! How much money and time off do you expect any random family to have? Do you even realize what a humongous undertaking that’d be to leave town?

“ Chara, ” you conspire in a whisper. “It’s not fair! You should have been able to see the world. Everyone should. How can a society deny its people its world?”

A horrible society, go figure.

But who cares about that, look where you are!

You grin toothily, "Right, that's right."

You're on top of Mount Ebott now.

The wind pushes against you, but you hold your ground.

Arms stretched out, you hold the world in your grasp.

"Better than that, I'm on top of the world, Chara!"

⁂

The wildlife of bugs and birds make it known that they're still here, loud and annoying as ever. They go about their business with no regard for you. They don't care that you're a walking flower. They don't even register you as an oddity. And yet, for you? They're the strangest beings you've ever experienced in your life.

They're just… existing. Right here, on this cursed mountain, like it's the most normal thing in the world. You can't begin to process that these animals, thousands -no, billions of them, have been living here for millenniums.

And they've done so, right outside your cave. Twenty feet away. You and your people lived just twenty feet away from these creatures, neither fully knowing of the other's existence.

On a happier note… Do you know what else didn't know that you exist? Dinosaurs. They once walked on this land - you're stepping where a dinosaur stepped! Isn't that cool?

"Yeah… that's pretty wild." You're distracted by the path ahead, narrow and steep. You only have a vague idea of where to go: down.

Let's talk about the bigger picture. It's no longer just the animals’ world, it's ours.

You can go to China! Or even Antarctica! Australia, France, New Mexico-

"I haven't even been to Old Mexico!" You laugh. "I don't know where any of these places are!"

One at a time, Flowey. Let's stick to Europe first. I've always wanted to see Big Ben.

"Ben? Who-" Suddenly embarrassed, you hold your tongue.

It's a clock tower, not a person.

You're disappointed. "We have clock towers too. What's so exciting about that? Why not…" You think for a moment. "Why not see a volcano? This time, from the outside!” Then your eyes light up. “Or maybe a giant telescope! Where's the nearest one?"

I don't know…

Maybe we should stick to a smaller picture after all. We don't know anything about this new world.

I have been dead for a long time, remember? Even if I could recall where the Observatory is, there's no guarantee it'd still be there.

You wobble your lip, like a kicked puppy. "But I want to see it."

Let's find some shelter first.

You stand up straight and raise your gaze. "Right, whatever. I bet they're not even that big anyway."

Mhm.

"Probably super boring. Might not even work anymore too."

Oh hey, I just thought of something.

I know something that most definitely still exists that we can visit.

You perk up at that. "Oh?"

So there's this cave up ahead-.

You scrunch your face. “Not funny. Too soon."

Heh, when would it ever be long enough?

Anyway, how about we use a tree for shelter? We could be like a bird and build a nest!

"Uh, how about civilization? Maybe a real house with walls?"

Hahaha.

"Ebott should be close by. Frisk must have lived near here, I'm absolutely certain of that. The way they walk is so slooow. It's so boring. Like, Frisk! Learn to run already!"

Let's not go to Ebott.

Let's not.

It's not even possible for you.

It took me hours to get to the mountain, and you're clumsier and smaller than I was.

"Oh BS, Chara. I'm going downhill anyway. Wanna race?"

No, no. You're being stupid.

You won't make it before nightfall.

And you do not want to be climbing a mountain at night. Our top priority is to find shelter.

You stop walking. "Chara, you just don't want to go to your old town, don't you?"

Shut up. No. This isn't that. You don't know what you're talking about -You've never experienced a real night before!

"I did, for a little while."

That doesn't count.

"Yes it does," You take in a deep inhale. "Look, I know. It hurts."

Stop. This isn't funny. Drop it right now.

"Ohhh, trust me, I don't want to talk about it either!" You grin, showing all your teeth. "You think I'm not thinking about it constantly? That I'm not comparing this to my first trip outside? Just because you don't comment on these thoughts doesn't mean they don't exist. Chara, stop ignoring it!"

I won't comment on it because -! Because we don't talk about it! There's no point to it! We know what happened. Why bring it up?

"Because not talking about it is annoying and useless. Come on Chara, you're not normally so counterproductive."

You stupidly move over to a large rock. It's twice your size and flat, tilted at a 25' degree angle. It makes for a perfect resting spot when you want to waste your limited daytime. By all means, it's a great place to be a total, complete, absolute idiot.

You're going to get eaten by a bear in the middle of the night because you won't listen to me. I know what's best for you.

"Shut up, I can't think with your constant narration. Maybe you're the one who needs a rest."

I'm serious. A bear. Do you know how big those things get?

"Chara. I hate this. Thinking about that night makes me want to rip out my pedals. It's terrible, it makes me sick."

Same. Exactly. So let's not.

"BUT, if I don't talk about it, I get the feeling we'll be walking without a destination and we'd be walking in circles. And I don't want that, because you're right. I don't want to be eaten by a frickin bear."

Eugh, fine. You made your point.

"So, are you going to help me find the town then?"

Nope.

You groan. "Chara. Neither of us know what towns are near here. Our best bet is Ebott, Frisk is proof it still exists."

You don't know that. Maybe Frisk spawned into existence.

...Don't give me that look.

"Here, I'll make a promise: we won't go to where you lived. We'll stay clear from that whole section, whatever to make you happy! We'll stay three days at most, alright?"

Three?

"Just long enough to get a lay of the land."

Make it two days.

"Sure, fine. Two it is."

You shake two of your own vines together, sealing the deal.

We better get going. I wasn't joking about those bears.

"Wait, seriously?"

Yeah, they'll eat anything. Hurry now.

"Jeeze, yeah, ok, thanks for the heads up." 

You march downwards, beginning at a brisk pace, but quickly exhausting yourself. Even with your rest, yesterday's adventure has worn you down.

At least you have enough self-control to not stop dead and gawk in wonder at the scenery at least, so it could be worse.

"Sorry for enjoying the beauty of the world, jerk," you huff. "It's been years since you saw this too. Why aren't you impressed?"

It's nice. I enjoy the outdoors.

But we got bigger things to worry about like the sun getting lower.

You shake your head, incapable of worrying about what truly matters. Tch.

You steady yourself before you leap down a log that was in your pathway. You stumble but continue down undeterred.

"Anyways, is the whole world like this? So…" you tilt your head, "loud? Do they ever stop?"

No, not really.

"What about at night? Doesn't it drive you all crazy?" You gape. "No wonder you're all so violent, I'd go mad too!"

You're in for a treat. The night, while dangerous, is my favorite time.

You roll your eyes. "Please, as if it can compare to the sunshine?"

One word: stars.

That gets you to shut up.

The tiny hole you'd watch the sky through wasn't large enough to see any stars. The night sky was indistinguishable from the rest of the dark rock.

This will be your first time, won't it?

I mean, discounting that time.

"Yeah."

Don't get too excited. We're too close to Ebott to see anything too spectacular.

"It's still the real thing though," your body shivers, "and the last time I was too preoccupied to uh."

To enjoy them.

"Yeah. Yeah, I barely remember what they're like. It's all so hazy."

I suppose it's a good thing that night is so blurry.

Besides, you can properly enjoy them now.

"heh, right."

...

Walking in silence last only so long before your thoughts return to the scenery. It's still daytime, even if sunset looms closer by the minute. You're finally taking my warning seriously. Good.

"Mhm, I guess we'll need to go faster," you pick up speed, ignoring how your body feels like it's burning. While you don't have muscles, it still aches. Maybe it's a phantom sensation?

Over time, you've become accustomed to the forest. The novelty of exploring fades away and you're left adventuring cautiously. The snowdin forest is much more modular in comparison, and simpler. Here, It's hot outside. The way the

light falls through the leaves is completely new to you. You can hear birds sing, leaving you curious. What bird makes that noise? What made that nest over there? The possibility of just any creature here fills you with curiosity and fear equally. The farther you descend the more you cannot tell the path apart. Did you see that tree before? And that- that bush, surely we saw that before, right?

You have no idea where you're going.

There are no landmarks, nothing to signify whether you’ve reached the bottom of the mountain or not.

It's all just plants.

Everywhere.

It's easy to find a mountain and get to it; they're pretty big and hard to miss from far away.

It's another story when searching for a town hidden among a blurred collage of trees.

The realization creeps up on you that I don't know where I'm going either.

"WHAT?!" You burst out, wide-eyed. "You don't know where we're going?!"

Kind of! It's been a lifetime since I was in Ebott! How am I supposed to know?!

"Because it’s where you're from!"

I swear this isn’t on purpose! It all looks the same!

"Oh sure, uh-huh. How long have we been lost? Why didn't you say anything?!" You breathe hard, panicked.

That was my way of saying it! I didn't know we were lost at first. It's been a hundred years, I assumed I'd remember.

"Chara, I'm going to get eaten by a bear!"

Oh, stop it. Like a bear will want to eat you.

"You said they'll eat anything!"

Your biggest predator is likely a beaver.

"A beaver?! I don't even know what that is but I'm already scared of them! Oh my god, I can't believe you just set me up to die like this."

Flowey. Hey. Chill out.

"Sure! Go to the surface. Get a new life. Only to lose it when you're DEVOURED by a FRICKIN' BEAVER!"

Flowey, what advantages do you have that other flowers don't?

You have to think for a moment, unsure of any advantages that come with your existence.

"My stunning personality," you say, deadpan. "That's all I got."

No, stupid. You can walk.

"Oh."

You can walk away. A beaver, a bear, a coyote, they're not going to chase after a flower.

You start to relax. "You have a point there." You blink. "Oh, and uh, sorry for shouting at you a moment ago…"

It's alright. This is all new to you. It's okay to be scared...

"I'm not scared," you deny, keeping your head down low. "I trust you to guide me. I'm not in any real danger."

I appreciate your loyalty but it is misplaced. We're both out of our element here. This world isn't safe.

"...I'll keep that in mind."

The road continues on, with little worthy of note along the way. The excitement of the earlier day has vanished, you're only determined to complete your goal. It doesn't make for much of a conversation.

Look at you, walking along without a care. Are you even listening?

You- come to a slow stop?

"Is that it?"

Up ahead there's a row of houses, just visible between the edges of the trees.

They're green and brown, hard to spot without looking for them.

"I didn't realize it was this close," you release the tension from your back.

...

...I didn't either.

"Well, problem solved. Let's look around."

They're new. These weren't here before.

"Duh. It's been a while." You chuckle, strolling on forth at a faster pace. "Towns are bound to be different.”

This isn't Ebott town.

You pause, squinting at the flower on your back.

"Then what town is it?"

⁂

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me."

What? What's wrong?

"I'm going to murder this entire town."

That's a bit extreme. Why?

"Starting with you."

I don't live here. I'm not even alive.

"No, you're right. It's Frisk's fault. I'm murdering them instead."

Flowey, just what the hell are you going on about?

"Don't play dumb with me! You're all conspiring against me! How dare you!"

I genuinely have no idea what you're fussing over.

You blush, something I hadn't known you were capable of.

"You don't see it? It's right over there. What are ya, blind?"

Ah.

I see.

"Yeah. You see now."

It's a town sign. It reads in a swirly, lovingly handcrafted font: "Welcome to Asrielstown! The first home to monsters in 1,000 years!"

"Whose idea was this? I'm going to sue."

Probably your mother and father's. It can't just be Asgore, he'd have named it "Monster Town."

"They didn't even ask!"

Flowey.

"Oh." You blush again, feeling like the world's biggest fool. "Augh! Don't SAY it too!"

Don't go screaming at me, I didn't paint the sign -clearly, Dad did.

"I know, sorry, I know, but consider this: AUGH!!!!" You summon a circle of bullets and fire them at the sign.

Woah, careful now. That thing might look sturdy, but we don't know how many it'll take to tear down.

"I don't care! They shouldn't have done this, it's-" You deflate, defeated. "It's not my choice."

You let yourself crumble into the dirt. You try not to have these outbursts, but slip-ups happen.

"You know what I can choose? To never look at this sign again. Let's just- augh! Get this over with."

At least it's not Ebott Town.

You nod at that. At least that's something we can agree on.

Roughly five minutes of walking later, you're in town.

It's similar to the ones you'd see around New Home, and yet not at all. You weren't sure what you were expecting upon seeing Asr-

"Don't say it."

-Upon seeing the town's sign, but it wasn't this. They all mostly follow the tenets of classic monster architecture, all in stones and pillars, but they’re heavily individualized. Firstly, color. It's like they just learned what paint is. Secondly, the grass is overgrown, let loose, and wild.

Lastly… maybe it's the excitement of getting out of the damned mountain, but everyone's gone mad with freedom. People are playing music loudly in the streets, parading banners and streamers all over. There are murals and graffiti on nearly every wall. Kids laugh in the middle of the road with hoses in hand. The town is a chaotic rainbow, unrestrained by any conformity.

"Are they having a festival?"

No, there aren’t enough people around for there to be one.

"They just… live like this?"

Well, it's not like they could back underground. Sound is magnified in closed, densely packed spaces.

"But… it's like they don't even care what they look like!"

Maybe they don't?

"Augh. Tacky heathens, the lot of them."

Maybe you're jealous. Do you know what they say about jealousy?

"Don't," you growl, sharpening your teeth, "finish that joke."

It makes you green!

"You’re terrible!" You snarl, doing your best to not smile.

"That doesn't deserve one," you mutter before ducking into town in a hurry. You're careful to avoid being seen by the people around you. The shops are just as bustling as the outside, though they’re far more spacious than you're used to.

The first shop you go to is a clothing shop. How useless, you're a nudist.

"Shut-" You catch yourself and hide behind a clothing rack before anyone who heard could see you.

You slink around, staying low under the clothing racks.

Inside the store, you count up to 10 people of various monster types.

"I know them," you whisper, "I recognize that family as the Marshals. Then that's the Firebirds. See, that one at the register is Blaze. She's the youngest -but she's taller now."

There aren't any humans around.

"Good," you mutter.

I wonder where they are? Do you think they are allowed in here?

You shrug, not wanting to bother with guessing. More people walk in: a large family of griffons. The shop, while large, is beginning to feel crowded.

One of the children gets close to your hanger. Why don't you say hi?

Using your vines, you sling yourself across to a different rack, swiftly swinging towards the door. You're careful to only do so when no one is in the aisle you're going for. For the home run, you scurry out like a rat.

That… could have gone better, if you ask me.

"Well, I didn't ask."

Do you know what you could do? Lose the attitude. Or at least be practical. Ask someone about the town.

"I don't WANT to know!" You swerve through the shadows, the late evening light steadily fading. You need to hurry and find a place where you can rest.

Or, you know, just ask someone to stay with them. You don't need to hide.

You give your flower a look as if you can't believe I'd suggest a thing.

You have better luck in the next building, a bakery.

It's empty, dimly lit, but warm. The bread, while not as fresh out of the oven, has a heavy, wonderful aroma. How long has it been since you last smelt bread? Your mouth waters.

On the countertop, there's a glass wall surrounding a line of pastry desserts. Oh, that's even better.

You look around. The store is still empty.

With no further hesitation, you launch yourself across to the glass, hurrying over to the other side and nabbing a coffee cake. You fall to the ground with style, and you shove the whole thing in your mouth.

Wow.

Graceful.

"Mmmhm," you proudly chuckle. The desert is moist, soft, and delectable. The top of it is crunchy - a little aired out from being out so long, but that's more than fine. The butter, cinnamon, and hard sugar blend together, filling you with sweet joy.

"Oh! Why, I ain't never seen a flower monster before!"

Oops.

You nearly choke, then force yourself not to spit it out.

She gawks when you turn around to face her. Your mouth is full -you've been caught green-handed.

Without a second to spare, you jump back onto the glass with a vertical leap, holding on with one arm and nabbing another pastry in the other. You twist and fling it at her as you fall backward.

The bunny screams as the cupcake smashes into her face, but it doesn't stop her. She jumps forward blindly, almost grabbing you as you careen to the floor. You're up on your feet in a heartbeat, dashing away in any direction

-SMACK! Right into a box of coffee beans.

She grabs you just a second later, squeezing you tight in her furry fist.

"I got you, you little brat!" She barks out a laugh. "What the heck were you doing, kid?"

You squirm, sprouting thorns into her hand. She yelps and drops you like a hot potato. You bounce onto the floor and are quick to scramble onto your roots and dash out of the door.

She yells at you from the bakery, but you're not listening. You're too busy climbing up the walls to get to the roof, quickly out of sight and safe.

You take a moment to relax, breathing hard through your nose. You slowly let yourself lean against the tile, though you cling to it more tightly than necessary.

You still have the mushed-up pastry in your mouth.

Score one: Flowey. Score zero: bakery bunny.

You can still see her, standing just outside the door. She's wiping the cupcake off her face, muttering under her breath. She's searching around the door frame and the sides of the building, not expecting a flower to be up above.

You chuckle around the food in your mouth.

She sighs loudly, clearly for your benefit. "Kid, if yer starving enough to steal, you could've just asked for one!"

Wow, you sure showed her.

You glare. "Mmm!"

That was totally necessary. You really gave her just desserts.

"Mmmrm." You chew, grumbling as you do.

You can see the moon rising -its white light shining past the cloudy sky. You're disappointed you can't see the celestial body right now, but hopeful for its full return.

It's taking too long to chew; swallowing early means less food absorbed. It's annoying how long it takes to eat in this form. Impatient, you decide to eat it on the go. 

With one final nod, you make your way back down. This time you're more cautious than you with how you've gone up.

The bunny is still at the door, arms crossed. She doesn't seem to notice you.

You recall the pressure of her paw around your stem. It's doubtful that was intentional, but you stay back and out of sight.

This bakery isn't worth the effort. You're going to need a different place to stay. Maybe wait for people to fall asleep? Breaking in feels dirty, but it's safer.

You're about to move, but you freeze at the sound of the bunny’s voice.

"Oh! There ya are, darling. Come on in, your order is ready."

You lean forward, peeking out to see who it is.

It's… her. She’s not alone.

Her back is turned away from you, just as you last saw it. But she’s changed. Her fur is starkly white against the darkening sky, but it’s longer than before. She's dressed in a casual dress, short-sleeved and a pastel blue. Her broad shoulders are relaxed, her voice is light and soft.

Standing by her, a human holds her hand. They’re big, with hair even bigger. They’re laughing with the monsters, a goofy- oh, it’s them.

They’re both happy.

She's turning around toward you.

She sees a pop of green for half a second - and you're gone the next.

Chapter Text

You're choking on your cake. You gasp, making a mess over yourself with saliva and magically dissolved slush.

"Shoot, shoot, shoot!" You finally pop out of the ground, mouth moving on its own accord, despite the lack of air. "Shoot!" Your chest is burning.

You have to breathe!

You wheeze, sucking up air, but you hold it for less than a second before spitting it out again and repeating the process. Your stem contorts at a worrying speed. Flowey, calm down.

"No, no, oh my god!" You thrash your vines around. "Agh! What the hell!"

Shh! Quiet down, you'll wake up the whole neighborhood!

You slap your vines over your face, stuffing them into your mouth, trying your best to muffle a scream.

Flowey! Stop, that's not any better.

"You think," you gasp, "I want to-" a cough, "act like this?!"

No. Of course not. You just need to calm down.

"I know what I-" wheeze, "need to do!"

Repeat after me. One.

"Wh-" You clench your teeth. "Right. Ok. One."

Two. 

"Two."

Three.

"Three."

You continue counting, up to fifteen. It's hard to think when you're in that state of mind, but a gentle nudge in the right direction is all you need to remember. I should know, from all the times you did it for me.

You need your mind off things. Focus. Think of a feather rising and falling.

One.......... Up,

Two.......  down.

Before you know it, you're breathing normally, slowly, and deliberately within the rhythm of your imaginary feather.

Remembering further your old advice, you ground yourself, literally. Your roots tunnel into the soft earth, tendrils spreading out thin and far to cover more ground.

You’re in an alleyway.

The dirt here is nice, similar to the one on top of the mountain. It feels good to wiggle your roots, the texture is pleasant and loose.

The evening air has a feeling that's hard to describe. It's humid out but the breeze is chilled. You flap your petals to it in a full-body shake. There's a unique smell to the open air that's still taking time to adjust to.

You had journeyed only a few stores down in your quick escape. You don’t know what direction you fled from her and them, it hadn't mattered when your only goal was to leave.

Your mind races with questions: Did she see you? Would she care if she did? Will the bunny tell her what you did?

It's embarrassing.

You were too hungry to consider how your stealing could leave consequences. How soon you forget we live in a society that frowns on theft.

You imagine her disapproving gaze, the weight of it pushing onto your small body. The shame chokes you, your mind spiraling once again-

That’s enough of that. One, two, three. Up...

“Up,” you repeat, taking in a deep breath.

You’re drifting back and forth in the sea of your mind. You need to find something to cling to, or you’ll drown.

“Can you pick a DIFFERENT metaphor please?!”

Er. Right.

You fly up, then drift down gently. The ground is always there. You're safe, alone. No one is here to judge you.

"Except you," you tease.

Heh, yeah. But you know I don't mind.

The alleyway is spacious. If this were built in the Underground, they’d fit a whole shoe store in between these buildings. There’s a dumpster - ha, someone wrote a dirty word on it. It reeks of… nothing. Whoever’s throwing their trash out must not use human-made foods. Approaching it, you find a bright red fire escape that goes up the double-storied building to the right.

Huh. Convenient. Potential break-in options?

You nod, unsatisfied. You know from experience that you can lift the windows-

Wait. Seriously? You really did break into people’s homes?

You flush, becoming a rose.

Flowey! For shame.

"Hey! I know what I did was wrong; it was back before Frisk put me in my place. I was bored and people always leave all their windows unlocked! It's not my fault they have no concept of security."

That’s not an invitation for you to let yourself in, you little creep!

You uproot yourself to lean against the wall. "I only have excuses.” Absentmindedly, you kick some pebbles. “What matters is that I'm not like that now.”

Hard to say that when we're currently conspiring to break into someone's house.

You look up the metal steps, thinking over how you want to go about this. "Well, I'm not sleeping on the street, and it's a little late to ask for help now."

Whose fault is that again?

You whistle. "Oh, I dunno, what a mystery."

You're such a wimp. Those bunnies are soft-hearted goody-two-shoes. In fact, any monster would have helped you out, if you had just asked.

Your face scrunches up. "They don't need me causing them trouble."

Behind you.

"What?"

Greetings, Frisk.

Ah, right. I am not tethered to their soul anymore. Apologies, Flowey.

You whip around to find Frisk in the open alleyway, silhouetted by a street lamp's light. Then they’re further illuminated by their phone, its built-in flashlight pointed directly at your face.

Be sure to say "Hi" to them for me.

You do no such thing. You're a deer trapped in headlights, waiting for the impending crash of a head-on collision.

They seem to realize it's unkind to flash an LED light directly into someone's eyeballs, turning it off. They give a quick circular motion of their fist over their chest, the movement barely visible.

You stare, eyes wide. Your neck is still sore from the bakery theft. You watch Frisk's idle hands twitch. You calculate the likelihood of them rushing over and grabbing you in the time it'd take for you to sink into the earth.

You're being ridiculous. This is Frisk we're talking about.

You blink, reorienting yourself in reality.

Frisk is still standing across from you, faceless, but you can make out that they're wearing khaki shorts and sandals. Their phone, its dimly lit screen facing you, has a Hello Kitty figurine hanging from it.

You're not in danger. You never were.

You shiver with shame, eyes still stinging, chest still tight. You do your best to stare at the intruder, despite the afterimages of light searing at the edges of your vision.

Frisk stares back.

The tension is thick as butter. In a scramble to defuse it, you expel some bubbled laughter. Not what you intended, but you can work with it.

“I mean, of course you're here,” you chuckle with a strained smile. “This is where the monsters are.”

You only notice as you speak that Frisk’s body is as tense as yours was, shoulders squared and limbs stiff. But, at the conclusion of your comment, they seem to relax. They lean against the nearest wall, tilting their body to the lamp's light for your benefit.

Frisk is older now, a short and chubby teenager. Up close, you see how unkempt they are; they haven't shaved, their afro is uncombed and let loose, shirt stained with what appears to be pizza grease. 

Really, the only thing that helps you identify them is their familiarly stoic eyes. The perpetual “-_-” face.

"But I'm a human," they remind you with the slightest of grins and casual movements of their hands.

They look completely at a place in the world, radiating a feeling of serenity.

It's infectious.

"Yeah, well, you're basically an honorary monster now anyway."

"You have no idea how true that is," they snort. "Sometimes, even I forget I'm not one."

It's like you're old friends.

"I don't know much of anything going on now," you sigh lightheartedly. "I'm sure you all have been up to so much without me." A giggle escapes you. It’s easy to play along and fall into old habits.

They make a funny face at that. "I don't know about that. It's pretty quiet here. I haven't freed a single race of people since."

You howl, falling against the wall with such an unexpected burst of movement that Frisk leans in to help. When your laughing fit picks up again, they back down, though clearly still concerned.

"You're sooo funny, Frisk!" You mime wiping a tear. "Maybe I should remake the barrier to give you another job to do!"

Frisk goes still.

Oops.

"Heh, heehee, just kidding!" You wink. 

It takes the stone-faced Frisk a minute to respond. You’re beginning to worry that they're going to tell you off when they start signing, going at it with a slow and deliberate pace. They hesitate once before starting over to ensure what they say is articulated perfectly.

"It's good to see you again." They pause. "I wasn't expecting you."

Frisk looks dead serious.

You nod, gulping to wet your throat. You gather your determination before looking back up to Frisk, ready to get this over with. "I wasn't expecting to see you either," you admit. "I hadn't meant to."

Frisk raises an eyebrow. For them, that’s the equivalent of a double take. "Then why…?"

Your gut reaction is to scream at them to buzz off and mind their own business, but you reign yourself in. Years of resets have trained you to be less direct, so instead you sneer: "Not EVERYTHING has to be about you, Frisk."

Frisk doesn't react, but you know them well enough to see that it had stung them.

It feels good.

You pause to think of how you want to grill Frisk next when Frisk manages to cut back with a direct counterfire.

"So… Who then?"

Well, that backfired.

Who did you come for? You almost speak her name.

But you bite your tongue just in time. You can’t believe how quick you were to spill such sentimental crap. You shame yourself, reigning in swears and any disgusting feelings that linger within your stem.

You did not come for her. No. Frisk should have asked why you came instead.

But Frisk is still waiting for a reply and all you’ve done is stumble over your thoughts. It's a struggle to regain your footing, to find a suitable reply to that incorrect, dreadful question. You throw your foot out on something -anything, to find an answer.

"No one, stupid! The storm destroyed my garden, why would I need anyone’s help? "

Frisk sucks in a sharp breath.

"Fuck," you exhale. You spoke too much and now they know of your failure. How you so pathetically failed to do the one thing you dedicated yourself to. 

...You’re being harsh to yourself, Flowey.

You have to know it wasn't your fault. Despite what you may think continue to think, you're not actually a god. I regret to inform you that you, in fact, cannot control the weather.

"I KNOW I CAN'T CONTROL THE WEATHER!" You scream, drilling into the ground to escape from view.

You don’t go anywhere. You have nowhere to go.

Frisk flinches at your volume, but after a moment, they gain the courage to gently step over to your freshly dug hole. They lean down awkwardly, hands on their knees, balancing on the soles of their feet.

They're peering down at you.

You cover your face and lower yourself to the floor of your makeshift retreat.

Frisk looks serious - well, more serious than usual. It’s the kind of seriousness they carried throughout the underground when times were tough. It fills you with dread.

Must I remind you this is Frisk.

They do not see you as their next target. Or at least, not one to harm. You’re the next monster to be spared in a line of a warrior’s path. This is what Frisk does. It is what you admire about them, what you frustratingly can never understand.

"I'm fine, Frisk. Leave me alone."

They grunt in exasperation, and wave a hand to say, "And?"

You scrunch your face but pull yourself out of the hole. "Wow, thanks,” you roll your eyes, acting like there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary.

“Gee, What a big heart you have! It's only MY garden that was wiped out! You don’t need to worry about silly little me, Frisky!"

Frisk pinches their temple for half a minute. When they sign again, you notice their mouth twitching. "I’m not. How bad is it down there?"

You blink. Then you realize what - or whom - you’ve forgotten about. "Oh, of course, you're worried about all the monsters,” you huff. "It's a non-issue, they're all fine. My garden, on the other-"

Uh.

You take a deep breath, then level your voice as best you can. "Sheesh, what is it now?"

We never really…

Checked?

On the monsters, I mean...

You blink again, eyes widening, only for a laugh to burst out of you. You’re quick to speak before Frisk can respond. "Oh shoot," you wheeze, "scratch that! The monsters are probably fine."

Frisk squints at you with disapproval, making your stomach curl. But you keep cackling. "A lot was happening, I was upset! My bad!"

You know that doesn't justify anything.

"Augh, shut up." You yank hard on your petals to stop the giggle fits.

Too hard. You hiss at the sharp pain, but it calms you down enough to breathe normally.

You think back to the hurt rock. The displaced Froggit and Moldmol taking shelter in the wall. Are they actually okay? You know how devastating this was for you, but did you ever consider how bad it'd be for them?

"Gaugh, it's not like YOU looked for anyone either!"

Frisk's eyes widen comically at the unintentional accusation. You can't find it in you to care right now. 

That's the problem.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop being Flowey. 

"Look,” you press on, “I don't want to be here and you don't want me here either, so I'll get to the point."

They visibly wince, their mouth drawn in a thin taut line, which gets you to pause. They look to be expecting the worst.

"What! I hadn't even said my point yet!"

They put up two hands, in a gesture for mercy.

You release the tension from your back and stretch out, far higher than normal to reach their obnoxiously teenage height. You then lean close into their face to snarl. "What do you want from me, Frisk?"

Frisk scratches at their face, unsure. You doubt they thought that far ahead; you doubt they were thinking at all when they went looking for you.

You don't have the energy to be angry over it anymore. Yet you continue to glare at them, waiting for a response.

They sway back and forth on their heels, hesitant, before… 

"Are you resetting?"

The accusation stabs you in the throat. "You thought I would?"

"It's been years." Frisk begins to laugh. "Why else would you come up here?"

Because it was better than the alternative.

Frisk - big-hearted and empathetic Frisk - has no idea what you lost.

The realization hits like a tidal wave of relief. Frisk hasn't pried you open and seen your fears. It’s comical, how far higher in power you assumed Frisk to be. They’re the true ignorant one here, not knowing anything about your panic and desperation from the night before.

It's a small amount of privacy - of dignity. You cling to every scrap of it. Anything you can salvage from your life before the storm.

You’re in control.

You’re fine.

Still, Frisk needs an answer. You shrug. "Oh, you know little ol’ me."

Frisk makes a face at that. "No, I don't. Not really.”

"Frisk?"

It's Toriel.

You slink into the shadows. She didn’t see you.

Of course, she hadn’t, you’re too good to be caught so easily. You're small, you're fast. You’re adaptable.

The only people who see you are those you allow.

Frisk takes a moment to turn around to face her, distracted by your retreat.

"Who are you talking to?" Toriel asks, leaning towards the dark alley with a hard look on her features. She scans the area for any potential threats but upon seeing none, glowers down at Frisk with equal concern and indignation.

You imagine all the child safety lectures she’d drilled into you as a child have been drilled into them as well. It almost makes you feel sorry for them.

Despite that, Frisk seems nonchalant. It’s like you never existed, Frisk is back to their usual casual stance.

They're quick to dismiss her concern, instead walking up to their mother, all as if they’d never left her side.

Toriel keeps a suspicious eye on them, still undeterred.

Frisk quickly reaches for the white box in her hands like a dog who’s found a plate of donuts in reach.

Toriel barks out a laugh and manages to keep it above them both, just out of reach of Frisk's prying fingers.

While still short by average standards, they've still grown enough for the top of their hair to reach Toriel's muzzle. If they keep it up, they could outgrow Toriel.

What an odd sight. You doubt it’ll ever make sense to you.

Illegal. Frisk should not be allowed to get so tall.

"These are for later, you can't have any!" The missing Frisk incident has successfully been swept aside, as she smiles and sticks her tongue out at her child.

They pose dramatically in response, playing up the "Oh woe is me, I am going to starve to death" act, complete with anguished grunts and silent proclamations to god.

Someone is friends with Mettaton.

Toriel rolls her eyes, and the pair walk away.

Frisk glances back to the empty alleyway, but only for a moment.

You watch their backs fade into the darkness.

Just like the time before, Toriel is leaving you behind.

All sense of control has gone with her.

It’s just you and me now, left in the dark.

Forgotten. 

Dread ignites within you, rising from your roots to your stem.

You can’t let it happen again.

Not this time.

You hurry after them.

⁂

You slink through the shadows, keeping a respectful distance away from the pair. The further you go, the stores become less frequent, and the shadows cut deeper. It's properly dark now, and even with the street lights, it's hard to make out the two of them at a distance.

You begin relying on sound, but find it… frustrating. Not because Frisk is quiet as ever, but because Toriel more than makes up for it. She's happy to recount some awful joke she's heard and belly laugh over it for embarrassingly long.

You don't know what she said exactly, but it makes you want to barf. You're sick of jokes.

"That pun was a reach," you grumble. 

You wouldn't know funny if it hit you on the head.

You slow down to a more thoughtful pace, confident you can keep up with the two without issue.

Then, you glance up, and you lose your breath completely.

The sky is still covered in clouds, but, through the gaps… a few stars peer out.

There’s a resemblance to the ones in Waterfall, but the comparison is like night and day. The stars back Underground are large, colorful, and approachable. These are tiny and distant, almost comically so; and they don’t glow so much as twinkle.

"Is that it?"

Growing up, your parents prioritized the star's beauty. Thousands of lights, all colorful and infinite in every direction. Spellbound, you searched for whatever books on them your little paws could grab. Your favorite had watercolor illustrations, with cartoony five-pointed stars, shining with glitter and colored foil. Another is the story of a boy flying through space on strings attached to a flock of birds. Stories of fantastical people traversing the cosmos, not restrained by physics and rock walls.

The first hint of trouble came from me. My stories painted a mundane, troubled world, tainted by the human's toxic light; like silver tarnished the sky's grander eroded, faded to the point of being forgettable.

But the mystery and hype never died for you, despite my pessimistic efforts. You'd be the judge yourself, you said. You had to believe there would be a reward for all those years of pining. That dreams could - would - come true. That you could stretch out your arm as far as it'd go and, someday, if you hoped hard enough, you'd reach them.

The real thing shines just as bright, but you’re no closer to it.

It breaks your heart, in ways you didn't realize it could break. 

You can't see your vines as they reach through the dark for the sky, and if you imagined hard enough, you could see arms reaching instead. But that's all it is: imagination.

You're still here, grounded to the earth. A flower.

There is no joy, no triumph, no reward.

Under this bleak darkened sky you stand, unchanged.

Alone.

…But come on now.

The sky will clear up. This is a downer, sure, but it's not the end. There are more stars out there. These little dots -they're not that bad.

Think about it. The Sun is our closest star. It's huge, right? Magnificent and bright. All these stars are like that, just farther away. Infinitently, mind-bogglingly far away.

"But it's barely there. I can barely see them."

On a clearer night, you'll see more. And if we went further out into the wilderness you'd apparently see the proper night sky.

But you know what you can see from here, once the clouds give away?

The moon.

That, I know, can never be taken away for long.

You squint your eyes, the moon's light still obscured by clouds. A second sting of disappointment.

With a heavy heart, you jump onto a different train of thought when you look back down. The streets are gone; now the three of you are walking through an overgrown flower field.

There's a quaint little cottage ahead with its front porch lit. A path of garden gnomes directs you to its front door. The welcoming sight is complete with a painted sign that reads: "Greetings and blessings to all."

Toriel goes inside, but Frisk stops at the door. They look back just as you duck into a nearby hydrangea bush. You're unsure if they spotted you, with how long they stare in your direction. But as your heart races, they turn away and close the door behind them. Then, the porch lights flicker off.

You pant, waiting for the adrenaline to drain. You figure the blue hydrangeas are a nice enough place to hide as anywhere else, so you settle down.

How long do you plan to stay here?

"Frisk might come out looking for us," you reason, "so I'll just stay as long as needed."

To make yourself feel more at home, you begin breaking apart the brush surrounding you to build a small den. Your flower companion is planted just outside your temporary home, within a vine's reach. You fuss over them, ensuring they're clean of stray dirt and planted correctly in moist soil. It's a welcome change to remove the weight; even more so to be able to lay down.

You sigh and settle into your cozy den.

It doesn’t take long to discover that you're too restless to fall asleep. Your mind lingers over the long day's travels. You're relieved at the prospect of going indoors; last night reminded you how fulfilling laying in a bed feels. You dream of a thick comforter, a plush spring mattress, and a soft pillow…

You shift positions, the side of your face now against the dirt. "Do you think they’ll bring Toriel with them?"

No way, Frisk wouldn’t expose you like that. We can trust them.

What do you want to ask them?

You roll in place, hugging your stem with thick vines, cocooning yourself. "No idea.”

Admittedly, there is a lot to discuss. How did this town come about? Why so near the Underground? What of the others? How long has it been and-

With a heavy sigh, you try to shut out my voice. Alright, alright; I can take a hint.

"Sorry, Chara. I have enough questions on my mind. And I can't answer them, so there's no point in dwelling on them.”

I understand. Just be sure to wake up once Frisk arrives.

You nod, and you're out not long after.

⁂

You’re woken up by the return of light.

You half expect Frisk to march over and scoop you right up, but nobody comes.

Annoyed at the lack of results, you toss over and gaze around the yard.

It's empty. Well, no, that's not true. Your garden gnome friends populate the garden. How friendly!

You do not care for them. You move your attention to the house, finding the light in the dining room is on. Just within your line of sight, there’s a large figure moving back and forth inside.

So they're still awake. How long were you out?

You step out of the bush. Crouching low as you scuttle along, you're careful not to bump into the lawn gnomes. How considerate of you.

Cautiously, you leap up to the window sill and gaze into its cool glow. Inside, there's a television stuck on static. The light floods the black room, drawing you into a trance. One of your vines reaches up and lays against the glass.

As expected, Toriel walks in with Frisk, both holding plates of ice cream with pie slices (butterscotch-cinnamon, of course). They take their seats. You'd recognize "Chairiel" anywhere, but "Sofisk" is new.

"Shush it," you mutter, "I'm trying to hear them."

Rude.

You huff, "Sorry, but you're LOUD! This is a delicate operation."

Uh-huh.

You lean the side of your face against the window, with no results. The tv static is loud but the glass is too thick.

Toriel starts the movie, and you all become engrossed. It's one that would have been considered old even for when you were alive, and the fact it was filmed on a potato doesn't help the viewing experience. Once the dog dies, you conclude that this is supposed to be a horror film, but you contest that what’s truly horrific is the directing. You swear you saw a mic enter the shot for a whole scene. Doesn't anyone care about cinema?

This must be a so-bad-it's-good movie because it's clear neither Toriel nor Frisk care at all. They're too busy laughing over it to acknowledge how awful it is. How these glaring errors could ever be found enjoyable, you'll never know.

A piece of ice cream plops onto Frisk's leg, so Toriel wordlessly hands them a napkin. Frisk waves out a pun in response. Toriel nearly falls out of her chair from laughter.

You curse the glass window that keeps you from hearing her response. It's some elaborate story in return that gets the human giggling.

You press harder against the glass, leaning in closer…

In another time, in another story, you'd be with them. There'd be a third seat just for you, nestled in between the two. You wouldn't be a puzzle piece from some other set shoved in; no, you'd fit in perfectly. You'd have limbs, a familiar face, and a real laugh of your own.

You're clever and quick to tell a joke or point out a film flaw that'll entertain others. They'd hang on to every word and watch every hand gesture with careful observation. You'd be king of the party, beloved by all.

You'd still be hungry afterward for a second slice of that sweet pie. At your request, Mother would retrieve a plate of the dessert, despite her "no second servings" rule. You're a growing boy, after all.

You'd relax in your cotton chair while waiting for her return. You rest your feet on the recliner, sore from a long day of adventure and fun. You're fatigued, but all will be well; Mother is here to set it all right. With more dessert in your hands, I'd take the chance to tease you for being spoiled. But you wouldn't care; you earned this.

Mother would scold me when she returns, without much heart in it. That's what families do; they mess with each other, and they care for one another. You'd love every second of it.

Dad would come in from the kitchen, sneaking his own second slice of pie into the living room. Toriel would notice, of course, but let him pretend otherwise. Some white lies are sacred.

You start shivering. The house must be cold. Mother will drape you in a blanket and kiss your forehead, ensuring maximum comfort.

She would. So why isn’t she? 

Why are you still so cold?

The brittle wind gnaws at you. Why are you so far from the TV? Why are you at the window?

Surely, if they noticed, they'd welcome you in. You can imagine it now: Mother patting your seat with a huff and an expression that asks, what are you doing outside in such cold weather? Silly child.

She'd call your name. " Asriel!"

She'd cry with joy, "Oh Asriel! We're so happy to see you’ve returned home!"

What are you waiting for?

Eagerly, you knock on the window.

The human and our mother turn to face you.

Reality hits.

They're Frisk, not Chara. How could you have forgotten?

Frisk is equally startled.

Toriel looks at you with revulsion.

You feel as if she slapped you, the shock hitting the core of your being.

You're not Asriel. You're just a flower.

Toriel stands up, and, with haste, she's at the window.

You’re frozen.

She looms over you, glaring down.

Your heart drops, and with it, you lower to the ground.

She lifts up the window, one hand still in place, ready to slam it shut if needed.

"Can I help you?" she blurts out, a poorly contained frustration coloring her otherwise polite offer.

You gulp. "I…"

You’re at a loss for words.

There's a lot you could say. Sorry. You didn't mean to. You forgot. It's cold out. You hadn't meant to be here.

She's still staring at you, as icy as the night, waiting for a reasonable explanation. She will get none.

You're saved by Frisk, who tugs on her dress. It gives you just enough time to drop down. You're under her hydrangea bush within seconds, perfectly hidden. 

From here, you hear shouting.

"What is HE doing here at this hour? You can't invite strangers over without talking to me first!"

You shut your eyes tight, trying to block her out.

You really screwed it up this time.

The window slams shut. A few seconds later, the front door creaks open.

You scurry out of the bush, yanking your flower and holding them tightly against you as you burrow headfirst into the soil.

You're gone. This time, for good.

⁂

After ten minutes of tunneling mindlessly, you're exhausted once more. There's no way for them to know where you've gone, and even if they did, you doubt they'd search for you. It stings. You knew you never should have gone back. You never should have left your garden.

But it's gone, all gone. All that’s left is you.

You pant, unsure where you've resurfaced. The world feels upside down. For a second, you think you're going to be sick, but you ground yourself and catch your breath.

Once you do, you find that you're on some random hill just outside of town. Not a soul is strolling around at this hour, dead in the night. You head down to the streets with caution, ready to bolt at the slightest-

There's a rustle, and you shoot four feet off the ground. You look around frantically, the blurry world focusing to reveal your enemy, and fire off some bullets, directly striking-

A paper cup.

The garbage is blasted to bits, and you've attached yourself to the nearby wall, like a spider.

You’re more relieved than embarrassed. But you won’t let yourself relax just yet. The deserted streets are washed out and ominous, filled with long shadows and unending roads. Anyone could be hiding anywhere. With heavy breaths, you scan the area for your next hiding place. You need the upper hand if you're going to survive.

There, a pot of flowers! You scramble over, inside it within seconds. 

Now, away from home-

"Not home,” you scold me. “Not ours.”

…Away from their house, you finally have time to catch your breath. You’re safe. They're gone, Flowey.

You close your eyes. "One… Two.."

Surrounded by an assortment of flowers, you blend in perfectly if you hide your face. The pot is wide and held up against a window, giving you a higher advantage point and room to stretch out and breathe. With every inhale, you’re assaulted by the obnoxious smell of gardener’s soil. It’s unpleasant, but the familiarity of it grounds you, which you suppose you should feel thankful for.

You feel stupid.

You can't believe you forgot everything like that, getting sucked into the past like some… some stupid idiot. You're too tired to think of an adequate insult.

You never want to think about them again.

Some animal - a bug, or a rat - moves under you.

"EEP!" You jolt out of the pot in a noisy scuffle, then leap to the ground.

The pot tumbles down right after, but it does not take the landing as well.

The sound of the hollow glazed clay cracking shatters the silence and leaves you rattled for a moment.

You don’t look back to see how many pieces it’s in. You don’t have the time or the means to try and piece your mess back together.

It’s just another place that could never have been your home.

With a shaky inhale, you head down the road, your roots flailing against the ground.

You can burrow, you know.

"I knew that!" You lie as you dig down into the dirt road.

When you peek out, you spot a pickup truck. You've never seen a real car before. It's bigger than you expected. Louder too. It’s white, or possibly grey; hard to tell in this lighting.

The engine is roaring, but the driver’s away from the vehicle.

Perfect. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

"Steal it?"

…Really?

"Oh, right," you whisper, "I wouldn't be able to reach the pedals."

That’s only one of the reasons why that's a bad idea. Hurry, check the back.

You stick to the shadows and make your way to the truck's cab, climbing into it with some effort. The metal is sleek and cool, though some parts are rusted and beaten up. The paint is chipped and muddied.

The inside is partially draped by a tarp, allowing you to hide away in the deepest corner. You don't have time to celebrate, as a figure is approaching from the side.

You can't make out what kind of monster it is because it’s carrying a large box. It ties it down with large hands, then secures it with a long rope with clips at the end. With the luggage securely fastened, the creature pauses.

You stay still, eyes nearly closed. You fear that if you look directly, you'll be caught.

The person pats the box and turns away.

You hold your breath until the monster gets into the car.

"Phew…" You exhale as quietly as you can muster.

The truck starts up with a stutter and a pop, then drives off.

Once the truck is out of town, the driver turns up the radio loud enough that you can hear it from the back.

The music is unlike any you've ever heard before.

It's called "70s rock music." It's not that bad.

“That’s rock?”

It was a different time; the genre is more varied than you know.

You shift in place, unsure of what to make of that. Human music was limited in the Underground, so monsters developed their own music culture largely separate from that on the surface.

There’s a sudden bump in the road, so you latch onto the side of the truck. Then you think to mimic the box’s fastening and tie yourself into place with summoned vines. Now secure, you’re finally able to relax.

You watch the town shrink and fade into the dark like the stars above that left you just as disappointed.

Despite yourself, you think of them again.

It's clear to you now that you're not wanted, that you don't belong with them. With anyone.

On this cool spring night, for the first time in a long time, you think back to when you let go of the souls. That last moment of overwhelming, genuine emotion and compassion. In freeing them, you sentenced yourself to never be one of them. Forever separated; forever incapable of loving and being loved.

You're not a monster anymore. You’ll never be one again.

And that’s okay.

This is a new story; it doesn't need to be a sequel. It's going to be a reboot.

You're Flowey the flower. You get to choose who that is. No one else can.

Asriel, the Underground, it's all good as gone. You get to pick the plot, the setting, and the cast.

"Damn right," you grin. "Who needs those pie-eating freaks anyway!"

Yeah! That's the spirit!

The night road offers little to look at. You sigh, content to stare out into the void. Anything can be up ahead; for now, it’s all up to all your imagination.

You don't look back, not once.

Instead, you glance upward - and you see it.

The clouds have somewhat cleared up… which means you can see the moon.

It’s a waning gibbous.

It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

A new song begins playing.

"Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?"

"Huh."

It's Fleetwood Mac. The band, I mean.

"If I could, maybe I'd give you my world”

"I'm not sure if I like it."

Too bad.

“How can I,

When you won't take it from me?”

We got a long ride ahead of us.

“You can go your own way”

There's plenty of time to learn to love it.

"Go your own way!"