Chapter Text
They awoke to the cloying scent of golden flowers filling their nostrils. They loved that scent. It was one of their favorites, right up there with the chalky scent of the first rain of the season, or the earthy-rich aroma of fresh dirt as it crumbled between their fingers. They weren’t surprised that the afterlife smelt of pollen and petals. Really, they were glad that they wouldn't have time in death to miss one of the few things they genuinely enjoyed about the world of the living.
The mind-boggling pain that they suddenly registered radiating through their leg? They found that little detail of the hereafter to be much more of a shocker.
Did dead people feel pain? The child didn’t claim to have a very set picture of what death was supposed to look like, but all their life they had been told stories of a Hell filled with fire and brimstone which awaited them in the eternal life-to-come. Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, the mystical world that served as a continuous backdrop to the mundane now of village existence- it had always seemed a bit far-fetched to them, along with the concept that they should sacrifice their present happiness, however ephemeral, for the notion of a perfect afterlife (one that they were assured, regardless, that they would be barred access to).
As such, they had never listened much to the hysterical ramblings of their parents or their preacher. Now, though, it seemed that maybe they had all been correct after all. It made sense, all things considered, that a demon would go to Hell. The sharp, near-blinding pain in their right calf seemed to affirm it.
Still, they had pause. They had a hard time buying that Hell would smell so sweet. Flowers had always been their salvation, after all. What role could they possibly play in their damnation?
There was only one logical conclusion that they could reach: somehow, they had lived.
They let out a low groan. This was not supposed to happen. They were alive and they were in pain- and, dammit, their leg was probably busted too! A slow death, wherever they were, by infection or dehydration... was not what they had had in mind. This new situation was far from ideal. There had to be a way to finish off the job they had started. Quickly, too, since gravity had apparently refused to play its part effectively.
They took stock of their surroundings. They were lying on the cold, hard ground of a cave. The stone beneath their back was unyielding. It seemed a small miracle that only their leg had been injured by their fall- any other angle that they could have hit the ground at would have been far less forgiving to their fragile human body.
To the child hissing their frustration to the empty air around them, their “luck” seemed a cruel twist of fate.
The flowers that they had smelled upon waking were blooming sparsely throughout the cavern they had landed in. They quickly identified them as Golden Flowers, a hardy, non-toxic variety common among their village’s local flora, well-known for their ability to flourish in even the harshest of conditions. Sure enough, they seemed to be blooming through cracks in the stone all around them- despite the fact that the sun was just barely visible through a hole in the ceiling easily hundreds of feet above them.
Seriously. How had they survived the fall? This was just sick.
There was no way they would be able to climb out of this cavern. Even if their leg had been perfectly healthy and unbroken, they were looking at a several hundred foot trek, straight upward with no footholds, that they would need to navigate. On their best day, they doubted that they would be able to pull themself high enough to make their second fall a little bit less… livable, than their last. As things were, they doubted they would even be able to stand to begin the journey upward in the first place.
They glanced around them, looking to see if by chance there were any sharp rocks within reaching distance on the cave floor. No such luck. They took a mental inventory of the contents of their pockets. They hadn’t even thought to bring their pocket knife with them when they ran off to the mountain. Stupid.
Their heart began to beat rapidly in their chest, breath coming shallow and stuttering. There had to be something they could do… They had needed this to work- God, right then, they were overcome by the need to do something, anything.
Before it was too late.
Before they lost their nerve.
It ate them from the inside out, scorching through them like liquid fire. Maybe that was just the lack of air reaching their lungs- far be it for them to discern- oh no oh no oh GOD! They were such an idiot.
They clenched their fists until their nails left indents in their palms, but even the potential grounding to be offered by the familiar pain was too little and too late. Their body felt light, and their mind was far, far gone.
They had had their chance, and they had blown it. Their will to fight was draining from them rapidly, leaving them sputtering, hollow and helpless, while their restless energy spiraled inward in a torrent of rage against none other than the cause of their current predicament. Themself. Obviously.
How the hell could they be so worthless? They barely registered the wet tracks that their tears cut through the sweat-soaked surface of their cheeks, the crusted-over paths that each stream carved down their dusty neck. They were in a cavern, underground, very much alive, and very much injured. They were going to starve, or die of thirst, or succumb to fever- all much, much too slowly- and all because what? Because they couldn’t even die well enough? Only a truly deplorable person, an entirely imbecilic wretch, could screw up a suicide on Mount Ebott. And yet they had!
They could feel laughter bubbling up through their throat, wet and manic. They choked on it as they barked it out, disgusting release layered heavy with utter despair, their eyes screwed shut from the force of their shoulders’ heaving motions.
They imagined their neighbors, their parents, seeing them now. Fallen underground, cackling wildly, red eyes made redder with salty tears, covered in dirt and dust, a creature of pain and suffering and rage- they really were a demon, a monster!
Just picturing the looks on their faces was enough to make the child hysterical. They shoved their fingers hard into the stone beneath them as they collapsed forward into themself, spine arching, folding down ‘til their forehead hit stone. Monster. Demon. They could barely breathe.
When the pressure on their finger joints finally registered, they managed to take a few choppy breaths. The air was cold on the back of their throat, and their lungs burned from the strain of forcing it in. They had enough experience with this sort of thing to know that it wasn’t until the burning stopped that they would even begin to feel coherent. Not that it really mattered that their thoughts were straight, anyway. Stability would just make their final hours a little bit less sadistically cruel.
Crying where nobody could even hope to hear? Pathetic. Almost as pathetic as crying where people could.
That thought was almost enough to make them laugh again, if only to keep at bay the fresh wave of tears now threatening to break loose. Instead of doing either, the child mindlessly carried out the one alternative that their brain supplied for them.
“Help!”
Their voice was sore and cracking. The second the word left their lips, they threw their hands over their mouth and let out a sob.
Help? Help! They didn’t want help! They could feel laughter oozing over their tongue now, thick and black and hate filled. Even if there was someone around to hear their call, which there wasn’t, there was nobody in their right mind who would want to help the broken, damaged thing on the cavern floor. They couldn’t even help themself. They didn’t want the help. Didn’t need it. Didn’t deserve it-
But- somebody came.
They could hear footsteps approaching long before they saw any figures emerging from the darkness at the periphery of their vision.
Footsteps? Down here? The child struggled to believe their ears. Their sudden shock drowned out the rest of their cluttered thoughts. Footsteps meant people, and people could not see them like this. Not under any conditions. They knew that well enough.
They quickly rubbed their face, wiping away salt and any last thoughts of their complete and utter misfortune as they did. It was just their luck that this cavern was inhabited. Inhabited, and very clearly not deep enough.
They sniffed through their nose, ridding their face of what they could only hope to be the last evidence of their loss of control earlier. They would be damned if whoever found them saw them cry. They willfully ignored the fact that their eyes were bloodshot, face swollen, palms cracked and bloody and oh god they were going to be ridiculed, they were so-
The footsteps finally reached them.
The person… Wasn’t actually… a person? Well, they certainly weren't human, anyway.
The child exhaled in relief. This, just maybe, they could handle.
“It sounds like it came from over here…”
Standing in front of them was a child. Some sort of… goat child? A goat monster? Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t seem very monstrous. It spoke aloud to the empty air of the cavern, the pads of its paw wringing one of its floppy, white ears as it eyed its surroundings with an endearing sort of concern. Something about the gesture was tentative. Hesitant. The human seriously doubted that this child meant any harm.
At least, it certainly meant them no more than they meant themself.
“Oh!”
The goat child’s eyes met the human’s with a spark of recognition. They had been noticed. The monster walked hurriedly towards them, stumbling over its own feet in its haste. The child tried their best not to flinch away against their will. The goat halted several feet away from them, gazing intently down at the human on the floor of the cave with a lopsided smile.
“You’ve fallen down, haven’t you?”
The young monster’s gaze flitted from the child’s bloodshot eyes to the odd angle of their leg on the stone floor. They recognized the expression on its face. While pity was something that they had rarely felt, they knew that disdain and anger were quick to follow actions that could potentially illicit it. The human set their jaw in an expression that they hoped would come across as fine. Unhurt. Whatever that meant.
Clearly, their gesture failed epically, if the concerned downward tilt of the goat’s brow bone was any indication. The human swore that they saw tears form in the corners of its eyes. Such vulnerability and sympathy from a stranger? The goat child further subverted their expectations by extending its hand, offering assistance.
“Are you okay?” The human rebelled against their reaction to the sincerity of that soft voice. They didn’t want help, wouldn’t get help, didn’t deserve help…
They grimaced, fighting back the wave of exhaustion that finally seemed to crest over them. They shook their head left to right, gasping as the motion tweaked their injured leg. No. They weren’t okay.
The hand remained insistent.
“Here, get up!” The goat child’s eyes squinted shut as it offered yet another unearned smile at the human hunched over before it, “Let me help you, that leg really doesn’t look too good…”
The goat crouched down, allowing the human to throw their arm over its shoulder. The goat helped the human shift their weight over its side until they felt steady enough to stand, leaning heavily on the soft knit of the monster’s striped sweater the whole way up. The human’s muffled exclamations of pain were met with nothing but patience, and when they were finally vertical, they exhaled a sigh of relief. The monster turned its head towards them.
“Hey, do you think you’ll be able to walk? If you can make it just a few rooms from here, I bet we can find someone to heal you! That, or somebody who can help us make it back to my parents! I’m sure they will be so excited to meet you- nobody has ever fallen down here before… At least I don’t think they have? Sorry, I’m… really not sure. Anyway, you won’t have to worry about your leg for long! If we can’t find someone who can help you in the Ruins, Mom is the best at healing. You’ll be feeling better in no time-” the goat tilted its head and let out a little breathy laugh as it paused, “Sorry, I’m rambling… I never asked for your name, did I?”
That gave the human pause. Their name? They had one. They hated it. But… if they were being asked, they may as well…
No. They stopped that thought as soon as it began to form. They had come here because they had wanted an ending. This didn’t seem quite like an ending anymore, but there was one thing that they were certain of. Their old name had died the instant their body hit the floor.
They readjusted their weight over the fluff of the goat monster’s shoulder, and after a short pause, met its gaze and supplied their answer.
“My name… is Chara”
The goat’s face broke into the widest grin that Chara had ever seen.
“Chara, huh? That’s a nice name. My name is Asriel!”
His enthusiasm was contagious. There was no holding back. Despite every warning they had ever been given, they broke into a massive grin of their own. Their tear-streaked skin cracked under the unfamiliar motion, but Chara couldn’t bring themself to care. Their soul throbbed with something bright and aching and warm; replenished within them after far, far too long without.
“Greetings, Asriel! I’m… glad that I got the chance to meet you!”