Archive of Our Own

Your eyes shoot open, only to immediately be greeted with the sunlight streaming into the window. Your bedroom is lit up a lot for the middle of autumn. It would surprise you if you still weren’t so dead tired. You had that weird dream again.

Since you’ve woken up, all the fine details have been lost, but it has, yet again, left you more tired than you were when you went to bed. You grimace, turn over, and try to go back to sleep, but alas, it was not meant to be. The alarm on your bedstand goes off, a blaring horn telling you you need to wake up, now. You stare over your shoulder but your vision is too blurry to make out the numbers. You sigh, roll over and smack the snooze button, then turn away again and try to get back to sleep. You close your eyes and let the tiredness take over your body. The blankets are still warm on this crisp autumn morning, and you feel sleep gently coming back to embrace you. It’s unfortunate you don’t hear the bedroom door open, and the next minute, you feel someone shaking you. You yelp and scramble up, only to see your mom take a step back, surprise on her face. “Kris! I am sorry! Did I scare you? Did you have a bad dream?”

You stare at her for a second, then lower your head so that the bangs of your hair cover up your eyes. “...No,” is all you say. It’s best not to trouble her; not like she could fix the problem anyway.

She seems relieved, but it quickly changes to a firm expression, and she tells you, “That is good. But do remember, even if you did have a nightmare, that is all it was: a bad dream. Now get up and get dressed, quickly! You’ll be late for school!”

Mom quickly steps out of the room, and you glance over at the clock, and goddammit, she’s right. It reads 7:10 am, so you throw the covers off and quickly reach into your dresser. There’s been a lot of extra room since Asriel left for college two years ago. You throw on a yellow and green sweater and chocolate-brown pants. It’s different from your usual green and yellow sweater and grey sweatpants; you figure it’s good to mix things up a little sometimes. Satisfied with your wardrobe choice, you open the door and step out into the upstairs hallway. You look to the left and right, and despite the fact you’ll be late for school if you screw around, you can’t help but feel curious about...something, so you turn right and go down the hallway. You find the mirror there and look at it. Long, messy, dark brown hair that reaches down to your shoulders, olive skin with a weird yellow tint, and your sweater and trousers. And then, your eyes. They’re light brown, almost hazel, but in the right light you’ve looked in the mirror to see crimson swirling around in the rims of your irises. Other people have commented on it, they’ve said looking into them makes them feel weird. You don’t know why; it’s just you.

You pivot on your heel and jog back across the hallway and down the stairs. Mom’s waiting for  you by the door, but there’s some toast on the table that you quickly snatch up and hold in your mouth as you run from the cupboard to the fridge to get a small glass of water to wash it down with, ignoring the fact you look like a shoujo protagonist going to school. You scarf it down and slip your shoes on, and Mom steps outside to start the car. You finish chewing the last piece of toast as you step outside as well, and jump into the passenger seat. “Alright, dear. Let’s get you to school.”

Luckily, the drive to Hometown Academy is blessedly short. You just have to take a few turns; the car putters out of the suburbs and through downtown. It’s honestly such a short drive you don’t understand why Mom doesn’t just walk to school herself to save on gas. You suspect it might be because Asriel walked with you before, and you made good time back then, but whenever he was sick and you had to walk by yourself, you took about ten minutes longer than usual. As you drive down the main road, you look out the window and think about what to do once you get home. The homework, obviously, but after that...you have no plans. Maybe you can convince MK, Snowy, and Jockington to play some handball. Mom’s gonna be busy grading papers and Dad’s at work in the flower shop, probably going to be home at about five, like he usually is.

You pause and crease your brow once you think of that. Dad always comes home at five to eat dinner with you and Mom, and sure, it’s been different without Asriel, but never bad, but you get this queasy feeling in your stomach, which is odd because you’re pretty sure toast is really easy on the digestive system. For some reason, you feel like Dad won’t be coming home tonight, and Mom doesn’t want him to.

It’s at that point your mom must have noticed you either spacing out or looking like you were trying to levitate the car with your mind because she tentatively asks, “Kris, are you well?”

You whip your head around to look at Mom. Her eyebrows are creased, but she’s still looking at the road. You answer, “Fine. Just thinking.” This seems like the end of the questioning until another question jostles its way into your head, which you don’t hesitate to ask. You look back up at Mom and ask her, “Do you love Dad?”

She seems taken aback, almost insulted, and you really do hope you didn’t strike a nerve, but she seems to put on an expression of motherly concern instead. “Of course I do, dear. What kind of silly question is that?” she inquires.

“...Just asking,” you reply, because you don’t know how else to phrase this feeling of unease in your gut.

The rest of the trip to school passes in silence, thank the Angel, and you and Mom get out and go inside. The two of you stop in the intersection of the hallway between classrooms and she turns to face you and kneels down to hug you. You return it. There’s still some hesitation. There always has been, ever since you were old enough to realize you’d never sprout horns and a muzzle and be a goat monster like the rest of your family. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve just been freeloading your whole life, if your family only tolerates you because nobody else would want to keep you around. Mom’s words quickly shake you from your thoughts. “Be good, Kris, won’t you?” You stare back up at her for a second, your mouth open a little bit, but you quickly shut it and nod once before you turn away and jog to Ms. Alphys’ class. You see Temmie and Catti on the way in, and you slide past them and take your seat near the back of the class.

For some reason, you feel like today’s gonna be a really long day.

Two minutes trickle by before Ms. Alphys stands up and says, “Um, okay, it looks like everyone’s...here…”

Everyone is not here. The seat behind you is still empty.

“So, um, how was the math homework?” Ms. Alphys continues. “I-I hope it wasn’t too hard.”

“If anything, Miss Alphys, it was too easy!” Berdly interjects. You roll your eyes. You’ve gotten used to that smarmy blue goose’s interruptions and at this point, you don’t really care one way or the other; if he wants to make an ass out of himself, you’re not gonna stop him, but still...sometimes, you wish you had the balls to stand up, walk to the front of the class, and deck him in the beak hard enough to break it. You absolutely could, there’s nothing stopping you except the thought of disappointing Mom and Dad. Ms. Alphys looks like she’s about to cringe herself into a singularity, but before she can get the chance to reply, the door to the classroom gets kicked open with a loud crash! Everyone freezes and looks up to see Susie standing in the doorway. Ms. Alphys breaks out into a cold sweat.

“H-hello, Susie.”

Susie does nothing but snort and saunter into class. She struts down the aisle between Berdly and Temmie, eventually passing you. You hear the chair and desk behind yours rattle, and then you hear them creak as Susie plops herself down in her seat.

You move your eyes, and only your eyes, around to follow her path on instinct. She hasn’t ever bugged you, but then again, no one ever really “bugs” you. Not to your face, at least. You know there’s gossip; you’re the only human in town, being raised by Boss Monsters, it’s impossible for you to not be gossiped about. No one would dare insult you to your face because they’re scared you’d probably suck their soul out through their nose, plus the thought of your Mom finding out and erasing them from existence is deterrent enough. You and Susie are probably the most intimidating people in the entire school, nevermind the town. Honestly, if the two of you ever teamed up—for whatever reason—you’d probably be the most powerful team to have ever existed.

Of course, nobody else really boggles at these shenanigans for long, except Ms. Alphys. She pulls a tissue out of her front pocket and dabs the sweat off her forehead. “O-okay, now that everyone’s actually here…” You have to admit, you feel pretty bad for Ms. Alphys. She tries so hard to be cool and friendly, but she really doesn’t have the spine to define what boundaries her students can or cannot cross. At least her heart’s in the right place, you suppose. “Please, um, open your algebra books to page fifty-seven. We’re going to continue yesterday’s lesson on f-finding slopes, x-intercepts, and y-intercepts…”

And she’s lost you. You don’t pay attention to Ms. Alphys as she explains how to solve for m and equalize using long division. You just stare down at your open notebook, intermittently jotting down words you think are important and numbers and pretending they’re a math problem, attempting to learn via osmosis. Nothing’s the same anymore; you always had Asriel to help you study, and ever since he left, your grades have taken a nosedive. You’re amazed you haven’t been held back yet, but you are not going to survive your last year of high school. Surviving uni is a laughable thought. You’ll be getting a trade job, probably. Although, now that you think about it, this town could use an electrician, and being the sole electrician means you can probably charge a premium. Or will you be charging less, since everyone here knows you? Maybe you should be paying more attention in econ.

A deep sigh behind you pulls you out of your thoughts. You don’t need to turn around to know that Susie’s practically dying of boredom. For a minute, you wonder how the heck she managed to get this far through school, because you remember a piece of gossip from a few years back that said she flunked kindergarten twice, but you’re pretty sure that was just a rumor. Either way, you won’t judge, and heck, you really can’t. You know she really likes monster movies (actual monsters, not like the fluffy ones that took you in and raised you), she’s actually got a hidden love for videogames, and she likes apples a little too much. Not just the fruit; if it’s vaguely apple-shaped or apple-scented, she’ll probably try to eat it.

You’re amazed you know this, because you know you’ve never talked to her.

But math class drags on. As does English class, history class, and chemistry class before the lunch bell rings. Everyone proceeds to run outside into the schoolyard with their lunch bags. You’re one of the last out, and you make your way across the parking lot to the southwest edge and sit down on the grass. MK and Snowy aren’t too far away, talking about the next installment of Super Smashing Fighters coming out in a month. You grimace and try not to think about all the times you and Asriel shit-talked each other (although you were the one doing all the shit-talking) while playing that game late at night and having a goddamn blast. Instead, you reach into your lunch bag and pull out a ham sandwich, covered in lettuce and mustard. You take it out of its plastic bag and start chowing down.

After you finish it off, you reach back into the bag and pull out a small slice of pie that mom baked for you last night. It’s not warm anymore, but really, it doesn’t matter. Mom’s pies are fucking fantastic, so it’s gone in less than a minute. As you finish smacking your lips and wiping your mouth with your sleeve (and not the napkin Mom packed for you), you notice Susie again. She’s across from where you are and a little more to the right, leaning up against the wall of the school. She’s holding a very small brown paper bag in one hand and she’s chewing on something. Out of curiosity, you start to wonder what her home situation’s like. It can’t be good, not if she’s gonna bully other people. Maybe it’s due to her parents’ financial situation? She always seems to wear the same jacket and torn jeans every single day.

You then look down at your own clothes, and then across at the other students and decide your own observation is stupid. But either way, for one critical second, you’re tempted to stand up, walk over, and start talking to her. Maybe start the conversation off with if she’s played Fateful Fantasy 10? You remember really liking that one for the coolness factor alone, despite what the internet had to say about it...

Your thoughts are abruptly cut off by MK jumping up and down to get your attention, and you hear him calling you over with “Yo! Yo, Kris! Over here, dude!” You wrench your gaze away from Susie, and see MK and most of your other classmates huddled up. They’ve been discussing something, and since MK’s called you over, you stand up and toss the trash back in your lunch bag to throw it all away later, and walk over. “Yo, we were all just talking about the Sadie Hawkman's dance next month! You got any plans, Kris?”

You frown when MK brings that up. You've been to the Sadie Hawkman's once before. Mom went with you (it worked out anyway, she was usually the one in charge of organizing it). You wouldn't say it was bad experience, but the music was too loud, there were too many people around...and the punch tasted like ass. What went into it, you don't wanna know. The only saving grace was that Asriel had been there with you and you'd talked to him for most of the evening. But now that he's gone, it seems to just have...sapped all motivation and joy from your life. “Don’t know. Might not even go,” you reply as plainly as you can.

A few of the students sigh and express their disappointment. You hear Catti scoff, “Lame,” as she continues tapping on her phone, Temmie’s face freaks out and flies off her head for a second, Snowy makes a godawful pun. You don’t pay attention to them.

Then MK purses his lips and leans over to the left a bit. “That’s too bad, Kris.” He perks back up as he recalls, “It was always cool seeing you, Asriel, and everyone else outside of school for a big celebration! You really should try and make it, ha ha.” You sigh in defeat and look away. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Susie munching away on whatever she brought for lunch, still leaned up against the school wall. Closer to you, a few feet beyond this little group, Noelle and Berdly are busy comparing notes. Noelle infrequently glances up at Susie just to suddenly snap her head back when she thinks Susie’s gaze has wandered over to her, and Berdly sometimes shoots sideways glances at you for some reason. Probably about that damn book Asriel borrowed from the library. You ignore him. “Yo, I’d like to see you dance at the festival, if you go.”

This gets Jockington to perk up and exclaim, “Kris, you, should like, totally do the thing, y’know?”

This remark seems to get everyone in a tizzy, and you know what’s coming next. You groan quietly. “You still got it?” Catti asks with a ghost of smirk on her face.

“Ha…! Krisp dans, Krisp dans!” Temmie cheers. You want to die.

“Yeah, Kris! Do it! Do the thing!” Snowy joins in. You did it at a school fundraiser once, and now they never shut up about it.

But since now the whole group’s chanting your name and baying for blood, you don’t have a choice. You sigh and prepare to do “the thing,” the only thing you have been known for the entire time you’ve been in high school besides being the creepy kid no one sits with at lunch, not even your so-called “friends.” You bend your knees and concentrate, but not too hard. Doing this so much comes naturally to you now.

You jump and proceed to hit the whip and nae-nae at the same time.

Everyone goes completely fucking nuts.

And then, you dramatically bring your arms out to the side and clap once. In that instant, everyone’s heads whip around to face you and their eyes go wide, and you can even see Snowy slowly shaking his head, imploring you not to do what you’re about to do next. But it’s too late. You Default Dance to even the odds and hear some of your classmates groan. Noelle covers her mouth to try and stifle a laugh. Berdly looks like he’s going to puke.

All things in balance, as they should be.

The bell rings soon after, and you and your classmates go back inside, where there’s central heating. Hometown gets really cold, even in the beginning months of autumn, so cold that even your sweaters have trouble keeping the chill out. Phys ed comes next, however, so you have to go back outside into the school’s backyard, but luckily, you’re running laps, so you should warm up soon. Unfortunately, you’re running laps, and you are built like a twig; all bone, almost no muscle. By the time you’re five laps in, your legs feel like they’re going to give out at a moment’s notice. Free period is also a merciless slog, with you trying to catch up on homework and hand it in late for 75% credit. It should go without much surprise that you don’t get much done.

But once that school bell rings, oh baby, you are free...for at least five minutes while Mom drives you back home. When the rest of your classmates jump out of their desks and dogpile through the door, only you and Susie stay behind to let the chaos subside. Then, you jerkily stand up and trudge out the door. Susie follows soon after and more or less shoves you out of the way. You don’t react much, just look up and sigh before you keep moving forward. Ms. Alphys calls, “Have a nice day, Kris! Tell your mom I said ‘hi!’”

You nod without looking back and cross the hall to the east wing, where Mom teaches early writing, art classes, and the younger residents of Hometown. You slowly push the door open and see her sitting at her desk, looking down at a stack of papers. When she hears the door open and sees you enter, she smiles brightly and says, “Hello, Kris!” 

You smile back, not as strong, and approach her desk. Mom turns her swivel chair to face you fully, and you look back up into her eyes. “Going home?” you ask.

She pauses. For a moment, you wonder what you’ve said wrong, what you’ve done wrong. But then Mom presses two fingers to her forehead. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims. “I forgot to mention it after lunch, but I have a lot of papers that need to be graded before tomorrow. You will have to walk home yourself.” She pauses and gazes at the door to the classroom. For a moment, she seems almost distant before she turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “You will be fine, will you not?”

You stare at her for a minute, your head reeling, before you remember you can, in fact, just walk home by yourself. You don’t like the idea, though. You hate being alone, but for the life of you, you can’t fathom why…

You can’t remember why, but what pisses you off is that this problem was recent, in relative terms. It started two years ago.

Still, you don’t want Mom to worry, so you slowly nod your head and answer a curt, “Yeah.” Then, you turn around and leave the classroom, but turn your upper chest to wave goodbye; she waves back, still smiling ruefully.

You walk down the hall, back to the front doors, and out into the fresh air. Everyone is gone, the front lot is empty...except for one monster sitting on the curb to your left, watching the entry lane to the school. When you see her, you actually smile for real; you’d recognize that tacky Christmas sweater anywhere. You walk over to her, but when you stop on her right, Noelle does a double take, shrieks, and nearly jumps out of her skin. She recoils away from you, her right arm shielding her neck. “Kris…!” Noelle gasps. “I-I didn’t hear you coming! You scared me!”

You feel bad, because everything scares her. You shrink back and attempt to not be a terrifying presence beyond mortal comprehension, especially for her, but unfortunately you were born creepy and the condition is terminal. You bow your head and mutter, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she breathes as she puts her hand over her chest in an effort to slow her heartrate (or whatever function monsters have).

You pause a moment before you hesitantly ask, “Can I sit?” Noelle looks back to you and nods happily; you smile gently and sit down next to her. You’re very thankful she was your friend for so many of your formative years, but sometimes you regret not talking to her more often. The two of you are surprisingly similar, when it comes down to it, but the problem is twofold; her mother and Berdly. One’s a merciless slave driver who’s constantly asking her to put out 110% in preparation for her future...and the other’s her mom, who’s the mayor. You snicker at your little joke and make a note to save it for later before you glance over at Noelle again and see she’s staring up at the sky. You’re pretty sure she’s not cloud-watching or anything, so you softly ask, “Something wrong?”

Noelle snaps her head around. “Mmm...no,” she replies as she looks back up. “It’s just been...busy.” She pauses, and so do you; you watch the sky with her. Eventually, you hear her speak again. “This is our last year in Hometown Academy,” she says, and she says it like that revelation is weighing down on her shoulders. “I mean, I’m going to college after this! I, um...don’t know what you’re gonna be doing. I...uh, I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

She giggles, and honestly, it hurts. One, because it’s true, but it’s mostly because you never gave anything beyond high school much thought. After a few seconds, you hear someone whistle, and you and Noelle turn to look at the entrance to the parking lot. “Hey, Noelle...!” Someone’s coming, a reindeer monster wearing a red overcoat, jeans, and a bandana around her neck. She’s got long, windswept hair, also red, probably the same shade as some of the trees around here, too. December and Noelle look the same in terms of body structure, except Dess is about as tall as Asriel (taller, if you count the antlers). You realize this is your cue to exit, so you stand up, look at Noelle, and nod once. But as you start to walk away, Dess holds out her arm to stop you, and since your reaction time is abysmal, you ram right into it. She lets out a grunt and exclaims, “Woah, now, Kris! Where’re you running off to?”

You step back after having the wind knocked out of you to look up at the reindeer monster, and also see Noelle joining the both of you. You just shrug and say, “Going home. Mom’s busy.” You look from her to Noelle and add, “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

She starts laughing and it stops you from walking away. “Fahahahaha! Kris, relax! You’re not being a bother!” She stops a moment and tilts her head as if remembering something and quickly corrects herself. “Well, you used to be , but that was ten years ago or something. Think my old wiffle bat set you straight in the end.” She winks at you and you roll your eyes, then turns back to Noelle and says, “C’mon, sis, we’d better get home before Mom throws a fit.”

Noelle murmurs an agreement, and the two of them begin to walk away. They pass you, but just before they leave the lot, Noelle stops and turns around to look at you. Dess stops when she notices Noelle isn’t following and looks back at her, to which she asks, “Dess, do you mind if we walk Kris back home, too?”

She looks from her little sister back to you, then back to Noelle, then back to you and she throws her head back and she laughs. She sounds almost exactly like Rudy, her pitch is just a little higher and she has a noticeable tremolo. “Of course not!” She looks back at you and motions you over, adding, “Get over here, Kris Kringle!”

You stare at them for a couple seconds, but eventually get over the surprise and meander over. You can’t help but smile and silently thank the Angel for this convenient way to keep yourself out of your head, if only for a few minutes. Dess is super cool. You also kind of regret not talking to her more, but that damn wiffle bat scared you as a kid. You could tell she was holding back, and the thought of her getting serious with that thing was a worry that always hung over your head.

The three of you walk away from the school, with you on the far right and Dess in the middle, leaving Noelle on the left side. You all walk down the avenue, past the library, and you turn right at the intersection onto Main Street. As you walk, Noelle inches closer to Dess and whispers, “I-is...is dad…?”

“He’s not getting better,” she whispers back. A few people pass by, casting odd glances at the mayor’s daughters whispering to each other while the single creepy human in town staggers alongside them. “Still bedridden, still running a fever.” You can feel Dess’ attitude turning sour. She’s usually very optimistic; their dad’s condition has proven to be a fantastic test for it. “You heard him coughing last night, didn’t you?” she continues. Noelle nods, and Dess looks away, back up and straight ahead. “When I went to help him, he started coughing up dust. If he hasn’t gotten better when we get home, I’m calling the hospital.” Noelle purses her lips and snaps her head down to look at the ground and squeezes her eyes shut. You want to wrap your arms around her, whisper that everything’s going to be okay, that no matter what happens, she’ll have her sister and you; but you look away and pretend you’re not listening.

So the three of you keep walking, past the diner, the park, the apartments on the east side of town rising over the treetops, closer to home. As you walk down the street, you pass by heavily wooded areas, and you peer in between the boughs. It’s dark in there, darker than you would expect, even for late afternoon. You realize that the Holidays and the Dreemurrs are close, which you’re thankful for, but for a moment that queasy feeling in your gut returns, and you feel as if that’s wrong, somehow. Then you turn your head, and for a moment, the sunlight reflects just so that Dess seems to shimmer as if she’s fading away into thin air, like she did years and years ago, when she convinced Asriel to drag you and Noelle outside on a warm summer night. You remember it well, you all went swimming in the lake...except you didn’t.

You didn’t go to the lake, and you didn’t go swimming. It was too cold for that. It was the dead of winter, the time in between Christmas and Valentine’s Day where the days were short and dark and the nights were deep and colder than then grave. You and Noelle were younger back then, and Asriel and Dess were about the age you were now. You went past the school, past the church graveyard, deep into the woods. The trees there were taller, or maybe they felt taller because you were so small. You approached the bunker that had been there since before you were born, and possibly before monsters settled here. You were all young and dumb and wanted to see what was inside it, but as you poked around and slammed on the doors, you found they were locked tight and nobody had a clue what would get it to open. But you all stayed there for awhile...long enough for something on the inside to take notice.

Several figures strode out, beautiful and alien. They must have been homicidally violent, too, because trying to remember twists your stomach and makes you sweat. The police were called, but something happened during the standoff. Dad shot them (but he was never a police officer, he’s always been a botanist, hasn’t he?), but you can’t remember what happened after that. You think there were other people that came out of the bunker, too, but their faces are obscured and the memories are fuzzy. And now, there’s a small Angel statue standing in the Holiday’s family cemetery because there’s no more room in the church graveyard. Not like it mattered. They couldn’t hold a proper funerary service without her remains.

She’s still down there, you think. Whatever’s left of her.

“Kris!”

You are abruptly snapped out of your stupor by the harsh sound of Dess’ voice calling you. You look around to see that you’ve wandered ten feet beyond the turn you need to take to get to your house; any further and you would have slammed into one of the iron bars of the front gate of the Holiday’s mansion. When you spin around, you can see the two of them staring at you, Noelle has her hands over her mouth, silently freaking out, and Dess is eyeing you as if she’s considering getting you admitted to the hospital, too. You quickly shake off the embarrassment and return to them. “What the hell got into you, kid?” Dess huffed. “We stopped, but you just kept on walking. Like a zombie! I called you, like, four times!”

“Sorry,” you mutter. Then you stop and look up at Dess, scrutinizing her for a moment. You look over her face and her clothes, but the shimmering effect doesn’t happen again. She squints right back at you, probably thinking you’re playing a weird game with her. Too bad she doesn’t know the half of it. After concluding that...whatever-it-was wasn’t going to happen again, you state plainly, “Thought you died.”

Her and Noelle’s eyes go wide like they’ve been caught in the headlights of your dad’s old semi truck, and they both share shocked glances. Noelle brings her gaze back to you, expression softened somewhat into concern while Dess stares back at you with her right lip upturned into a smirk. “Kris, you’re being weird again,” she chuckles.

“...Yeah, I know.” You really don’t have a better answer that doesn’t see you delving into a whole lot of Freudian shit that probably doesn’t even mean anything in the long run. You step away from the Holiday sisters, and turn the corner to go back home, ignoring their sudden surprised and concerned expressions. “See you tomorrow,” is all you say as you leave.

If they tried calling after you, you didn’t hear them. You don’t really know what else to say, so you just hope you can get inside fast enough that they won’t come after you with more questions, and luckily (or unluckily, you still don’t know), this wish comes true. You close the front door behind you and turn around to look at the living room and kitchen. The house is completely empty, so you shoot your mom a text saying you got home safely. She doesn’t respond immediately like usual, so she must be pretty busy grading stuff. Seems you’ve got an entire afternoon to kill.

You decide to pass a metaphorical kidney stone first and do homework. You try math first, but after one look at the problems you’re supposed to do, you nearly retch and decide to try and keep writing that English paper that’s due in a couple weeks. This is far more bearable, as you are able to hammer out one letter on the keyboard of your parents’ computer per minute and look up funny videos of cats on the internet when your interest in writing the damn thing inevitably wanes. You keep at it for the rest of the afternoon...but when you look at the clock, you realize it’s only been an hour. You groan and add a new line of gibberish to the document when you slam your head into the keyboard and you just kind of stay there, accepting defeat. After a couple minutes you lean back in your chair and sigh again, but then...an idea, to make this afternoon pass by a little faster.

You pull out your phone. You dial 2306-994-2012. You put the receiver to your ear and wait on bated breath. The phone rings. It rings twice. Then again. Then again, four more times before you hear a beep and a familiar voice greets you.

“Hi! This is Asriel Dreemurr. If you’re hearing this, it’s because I’m, um, probably really busy with studying. Leave a message and I’ll call you back!”

Beep.

Your hand drops to your side limply, almost losing your grip on the phone. You want to die.

You spend the next two hours sitting in front of that computer before you hear the front door open and close again. You save your work and shut the PC down. You felt your body atrophying in real-time, but on the bright side you did get some more of the paper done. One and a half pages down...

Nine more of the little bastards to go.

You saunter down the stairs to see Mom and Dad are home at the same time; it’s not something you get to see every day. They’re talking to each other as if they just met and are still in the honeymoon phase (you don’t know, you weren’t there). They eventually stop when Dad sees you and he wraps you in a giant bear hug. You choke out, “Hi, Dad,” as he crushes your ribs (you still don’t like how his hugs always end up crushing your spine) and Mom begins working on dinner. Dad turns on the TV. He skips a few channels, including a recent kaiju movie, apparently based on a true story of how some giant, amphibious monster ate some bad latin food and it pissed them off so much, they took it out on an entire city. That’s important, you note. Before you can even process why the hell you thought that, Dad’s turned on the nature channel and is watching, enraptured. Since you don’t have much to do, you sit down beside him until Mom calls you into the kitchen to help bake a pie for dessert. “If you do not,” she scolds as you wash your hands, “and I find the pie tin empty tomorrow morning, you are grounded for a month.” She means it, but she’s never been truly severe with you. Maybe if you look her in the eyes, put on a sad face, and throw in a heartfelt “Sorry,” you’ll get your sentence reduced to about three weeks, give or take.

The pie is shunted into the oven and dinner is quickly served after that. It’s a pseudo-vegan stew; Mom and Dad don’t eat meat, at least not the way a human like you would. Monster food is an odd mix of plant matter spliced with protein. This means it is neither filling nor tasty unless you drench the stuff with condiments (on the bright side, it’s harder to gain weight...if you’re a human, at least). Mom gives you an extra portion because of this and you dig your fork in and pull it back out. It tastes like unseasoned tofu, but to you, it may as well be a 57-course meal of every exotic dish made from across the world. As you eat, Mom and Dad talk about their day.

“So…” Mom begins, “How was your day, dear?”

Dad looks up from his plate, cheeks puffed out because his mouth is full. His eyes are wide, and he quickly finishes chewing his food and swallows. “Alright,” he replies.

He’s got that tone in his voice. You’ve heard it enough times to know what it means, and so does Mom. It’s the tone of voice he uses when something problematic comes up, but he doesn’t want to talk about it, so he tries to avoid it. It’s too bad he’s awful at avoiding problems. She clues into this and her gaze gets more stern as she places her fork down on her plate gently. “How was it only ‘alright,’ Asgore?”

“I...got a letter from Mrs. Holiday,” Dad admits.

Oh, boy. Gonna be one of those nights, from the sound of it.

Mom furrows her brow. She seems to know what this is about and on some level, so do you. “Dear, I have told you before, just because you know everyone in town doesn’t mean you should give them preferential treatment. You have to charge something or you will lose the business!”

“That is easy for you to say,” Dad replies, pointing his fork at her and waving it a bit. “The town is paying you to teach; you do not have to talk to people to negotiate.”

“And the town doesn’t pay enough for myself alone to support a family,” Mom counters. She sighs, and places her hand over her forehead. “Gorey, dear, while your generosity is one of the many reasons I married you...it has limits. Or it should, at least.”

Dad locks eyes with Mom, and you guess they’re doing that parental telepathy where they come to some unspoken agreement (said agreement being, “we’ll talk about this later”) and everyone goes back to eating. The table goes silent, the topic wrapped up nicely with a pretty little bow and put to rest. And that’s when you feel it: bubbling up in your gut, that little thought you had that morning, coming back to haunt you. You grip your fork tighter and shove a few more greens down your hole, in an effort to focus on something else besides your inner thoughts, and vegetables that taste like rubbery cardboard tend to do the trick. It works, and your brain suddenly starts firing off signals, saying you just ate something weird. Your taste buds all start working in conjunction to parse this flavor; where other kids would probably gag and definitely not eat that again, you dig your fork back into the fray, spear a few more veggies, and shovel them into your mouth. You really do like eating weird shit, apparently.

And yet...the thought doesn’t go away. If anything, it digs itself in deeper, worming its insidious tendrils through your brain. You attempt to eat more, but there’s very little left, and once that’s gone...the dam breaks.

“Mom? Dad?”

They both turn to look at you. Dad looks friendly and ready to talk, as he always does, but you can see Mom raise an eyebrow. It’s almost enough to discourage you from asking your question.

But then, something pushes you into talking.

“...Am I a burden?” you whisper, almost breathless.

The table creaks and shakes. You don’t need to look up to know that Dad’s nearly toppled over backward from shock, and a small gasp tells you that Mom’s put her hands over her mouth to try and hide her surprise. “What…? N-no, that is...I mean, we certainly don’t…”

“Kris,” Dad rumbles, his voice shaking slightly. The table rattles again, and you see that Dad’s leaning his elbows on it, trying to lean forward to get a better look at your face. “What in the world would make you ask something like that?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Dad repeats. “Come now, there has to be some reason!”

“Kris…” Mom takes both your hands and you look up, directly into her eyes. “You are not a burden.”

A sudden fire settles in your chest, burning, threatening to incinerate you from the inside out. It contracts the muscles in your throat, and you grit your teeth. It’s because it’s uncomfortable, but you’re certain you look angry now. “Then tell me...” you hiss. You want to keep yourself quiet, but for some reason you don’t understand, you keep talking. “Why am I here?”

Mom and Dad glance at each other, and for once in a long, long time, there is pure, unfiltered panic all over their faces. Mom rushes to your side and hugs you tightly, Dad follows a moment later and then they start talking to you, but the words wash off of you like water off a duck’s back. The strain on you was too much and now, it’s just...gone. No rhyme or reason, apparently. But then, by the time you have the brainpower to process their words, what they were saying, why you’re not a burden...it’s all over. Dad’s helping Mom wash dishes and putting them away. You can see him sneaking worried glances at you every couple minutes, thinking he’s clever. And you’re still sitting at the table, staring dead ahead like a moron. You say nothing about it and simply bring your plate to the sink. Your grip is shaky, but luckily, Mom relieves you of this burden and places it in the sink to soak in the warm water. They’re definitely more wary of you now, but you fix that problem by retreating to your room, setting your alarm, and jumping into bed. You decide not to take off your clothes this time; the room gets cold at night and your blankets are getting pretty old and torn up on the underside. You’ll be amazed if they last one more year.

As the last rays of the sun crest the horizon, filtering through the trees, you lie on your back and stare up at the bare, stucco ceiling. Today wasn’t terrible, but you were right about it being a long fucking day. What drags you down a little bit is that this has happened before, these same strange thoughts, all repeating in some sort of cycle.

Two years now. Two years, you’ve been like this.

Why are you like this?

You don’t know; you don’t remember. You’re vaguely aware of thinking this whole situation kind of sucks as your brain slows down and you ever-so-slowly drift off to sleep.

You’re walking with people you recognize, but you don’t know them. Across twilit fields and up monochrome stairs; over fields of microchips, and through cyberized manses; through valleys of microfilm, into places yet unseen. The way ahead is dark and keeps getting darker, a darkness all-consuming. And then, before it ends, paths branch out before you like the boughs of a great tree, crossing, intertwining...shattering, one by one, being dissolved into an all-consuming white light. You stand upon one such limb, with your friends. You recognize them...Susie, Noelle, Dess, Berdly (why the hell is he here?), a small, puppy-like monster, a strange humanoid seemingly made of blue gel...even your older brother, plus a smaller monster that looks very much like him. They’re all standing with you in clothes that could have only been sewn in your wildest fantasies, regal in their bearing. As the crackling, electric purity creeps closer, you all draw your weapons, ready for battle.

And then you hear someone scream. You can’t place their voice, but it was one of your friends. You whip your head around, and see the smaller copy of your brother recoil and dissolve into dust. Then another cry of anguish, and you look to the other side to see Susie suffer a similar fate. One by one, you hear screams and watch your friends crumble into nothing. It goes: the puppy-faced monster, then Berdly, the humanoid, then Dess, then Noelle, then Asriel. You’re just in time to see the pure agony that crosses his face as he dies, and for some reason, you have done nothing to stop it even though you knew you could have moved at any point during this sequence of events. But now, it’s just you, alone, against the screaming light.

But just before it consumes you, you blink, and find you’re now on your hands and knees.

You’re shaking, breaths are ragged and shallow, and you feel like you’re about to pass out. It’s darker now. You’re standing on (or over?) an inky abyss with no beginning or end. It just is. And then you look up and see it.

Some sort of gaunt, pale human, far too tall to be normal. It’s got most of its blue-greyish skin exposed, save for a tunic wrapped around its waist. There are odd stone plates hovering over the surface of its skin like some sort of strange, primitive armor. It wears only this armor, the tunic, ornate sandals, and on its face is a single sheet of...metal? You aren’t sure. The mask it wears covers most of its face, save for the mouth, and it’s shiny and reflective like steel, but you think it looks more like it’s made of porcelain, especially with the way there’s a single, wide eye inscribed (or embossed or painted, you just can’t tell) on its surface. Anyway, you can’t see the thing’s eyes at all, only its lips, shapely, perfectly formed, and the wild mass of light brown hair growing from its scalp. It’s long, about ankle-length, and the bangs on the front mostly sweep to the left, but the rest, though wild, looks to be well-kept and clean.

It (he?) looks you over, scrutinizing your form, and then places its index finger and thumb on its chin, rubbing thoughtfully. The grin that forms, however, holds no mirth in it at all. It asks, “Getting sick of this yet? My offer still stands. I can take away all this insanity from your life. I can remove the thing causing all this. You can be normal again. It could help us both, y’know.”

You stagger back up to your feet, making sure to take a few steps away. The way this thing has worded its ‘offer’ makes you feel ill…but that illness feels almost wholly disconnected from you. As if you were feeling someone else getting sick in your stead. But you try to ignore it and formulate a coherent response and the best you can manage while face to face with this statuesque being is a quiet, unsure, “Who...are you?”

The being stares at you for a minute. You can almost feel it blinking in surprise at you before it sighs, rolls its neck, and presses its hand to its forehead in disappointment. “Ugh, their interference is still frying your brain? Fine, whatever. I guess I'll come back later,” it says as it suddenly throws its hands out in a dismissive gesture.

“‘...They?’ Who’s ‘they…?’” you stammer. The thing takes a few steps closer to you. You want to take a few steps back, but fear has anchored you to the spot.

The being shakes its head, but it starts to chuckle. You can already tell what it’s feeling; amused, because you are a small, vulnerable child. Suddenly seized with an anger the likes of which you have not felt before, your lips twist into a frown and you scowl. You push yourself up, faster than you even thought you were capable of, and you curl up your hand into a fist...and punch. You nail the thing right in its stomach.

It flashes bright red, magic coursing over its body, but it doesn’t move. It barely even reacts, and when it looks down at you and tilts its head, as if wondering why you even bothered trying to attack it, you feel your blood run cold. “Y’know, it’s kind of rude to just attack people without good reason. Do you want me to give you a good reason?”

Your face goes ghost white and you stumble backward, trip and fall flat on your ass. The first thought to go through your head is that this is definitely the least dignified way to go out, but to your surprise, when the thing steps forward, it doesn’t vaporize you by flexing its pinky finger. It just looks down, regarding you with...more amusement? Curiosity? You have no clue. It’s hard to read anything with that mask on. “Relax, little buddy,” the being says after a second. “There’ll be time for it later, because the time to summon Heaven…”

It lifts its left hand up as if it were holding a chalice of fine wine. A bright red SOUL materializes above its palm.

“ I s  f a s t  a p p r o a c h i n g . ”

Then another SOUL appears behind it. Then another. Then another, and more and more until there’s practically a field of them. For the second time, you feel a void open up in your stomach, hammered home when you stare back up into the thing’s face and see it’s now sporting a manic grin. But you can’t stop looking at the eye. The eye inscribed on its mask crying tears of black ichor draws you in, and begins to glow a vibrant, crimson red, and you fall deeper until you finally blink and take in your surroundings. But there is nothing left. The eye has left the being’s mask, burning with ethereal fire, and in the end you are alone with that single, burning eye towering above you in the dark.

Your eyes shoot open, only to immediately be greeted with the sunlight streaming into the window. Your bedroom is lit up a lot for the middle of autumn. It would surprise you if you still weren’t so dead tired.

You had that weird dream again.