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December expected to come back into the world kicking and screaming, fighting in a last burst of energy to reclaim her life. She hoped that maybe the long forgotten corpse of Dess would awaken and inspire one last streak of rebellion.
Her actual departure from nothing was a much less spectacular arrangement.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” She’d said to the Doctor, her guitar in one hand. “And, I hope I never see you again.”
He’d understood. She appreciated it.
Then, she was gone. She’d stumbled back into Hometown, out from the red metallic doors that had trapped her for so long as if nothing had changed.
It was raining, almost, not enough to soak her but enough that she could feel the gentle, light spritz on her face.
It was night too, which felt fitting. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for the sun just yet.
December knew exactly who she was heading towards as she stumbled her way through Hometown, hooves dragging in the dirt. Buildings were ruined, the Church had collapsed entirely. She glanced at the graveyard, wondered who’d died in her absence, and just as quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.
Her eyes were drawn to the light of her mothers office. She could see it from the road. After the catastrophe that had just taken place, December supposed that made sense. She imagined her mother, wondered if her hair had gray streaks now, wondered if December’s absence had put them there.
For a second, she almost went in. Almost gave into the temptation. She wasn’t sure what affection her mother would offer her, she wasn’t even sure what affection her mother was capable of offering her, but she craved it anyways. Anyone that was her family. Anyone to hold her face and say you’re here, you’re home, and we won’t let you go again.
But she didn’t give in. No. If there was someone she would see first, she knew who it had to be.
December continued. Everything ached, now, as her body readjusted to life. Like someone had hit the unpause button on her, and the rest of her finally processed just how exhausted December had been.
Hometown carried memories, too, even with the rubble and broken buildings. It tugged at her heartstrings as she dragged herself home.
The hospital that Dess had to stay at for three nights when she’d broken her leg. Dinners and debates with Azzy, Kris, and Noelle at QCs. Sneaking out to play games that were too old for her at the Library. Sleepovers and Truth or Dare at Catty’s house.
Then, the Dreemurrs.
Dread set into her bones. She thought about Kris, about Asriel, and then about Kris again. Kris.
Memories flashed, the Doctor’s hand guiding her own, prattling about duty and choice and freedom. A single red heart. Words that left December’s mouth and spat on Dess’ grave.
No one can choose who they are in this world.
A connection only December could solidify, a pain only December could deliver, and Kris had no idea. They would hate her. She knew they would.
She could worry about it tomorrow. She needed to grant herself that, atleast.
“I don’t want to go,” Noelle had sobbed in the strange, vividly blue world that December had found her in. “I don’t want to leave without you.”
“I’ll find you,” December promised, cupping her sister's head into her hands. “When this is all over and I get home, I’ll find you. It’ll be the first thing I do. But you need to go. Your friends need you. They need you now.”
Noelle wailed. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” December kissed her sister’s forehead, held her tight, and buried her own unshed tears in the process.
Finally, Noelle’s sobs slowed, and her grip eased around December’s button-up.
“… Okay. I trust you.”
Her heart had eased, momentarily, when she’d seen the single light in the manor. Even from the lawn, December could tell who’s room it was. Of course she could.
To December’s luck, the ornate gate typically protecting her home was unlocked. When she came to the front door, it didn’t take long to find the spare key hidden in the mouth of a nutcracker that her mother had set on the porch years ago.
Her legs carried her up the stairs, past the piano that sat in the middle of the foyer. On the lofted second floor she made her way past family photos that she herself was absent from.
The door to her sister's room was already ajar. December couldn’t knock, couldn’t delay for a second. For the first time, she didn’t walk, she ran. She bounded across the hall and towards her sister's room, nearly tripping over her own hooves in the process.
Her breath quickening, she chased it, the light, her sister.
When she threw open the door, Noelle was already staring at her, eyes wide and frantic, hands frozen over her keyboard and mouse.
“Noelle,” December had let out heavy, staggered breaths as she stood in the doorway.
Wordlessly, Noelle slipped out of her chair, running across the room and bounding into her sister's arms.
December returned the gesture instantly, those unshed tears she’d kept bottled up springing out all at once. They sobbed in tandem for a moment, crying into the other's arms, like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found each other after going to hell and back.
Beyond them, an emulated copy of the first Dragon Blazers ran on Noelle’s computer, the infamous infinite ice maze, vividly blue, and with a single opened door.
“You did it,” December sniffled, holding her sister like she was the world. “You found me.”
Silence floated through the kitchen, complimented only by the weak, consistent buzz of the microwave.
“So, he’s doing better.” Noelle sighed, her voice hoarse and tired, so tired. December wanted to scoop her up, hold her sister close, maybe then neither of them would ever have to worry again. “The doctor’s are still keeping him for a little while longer, though. Just to… To make sure.”
“That’s good.” December supplemented.
The microwave beeped.
Noelle peeled the plastic wrap off of the warmed mashed potatoes, and despite the strange and unpleasant-looking film that seemed to coat the top of it, December felt her mouth water. It was almost comical the way her stomach rumbled.
“When did you last eat?” Noelle asked, her expression etched with concern.
December didn’t have the heart to tell her.
“A while ago,” She settled on.
“Eat, then.”
December couldn’t keep it down.
She felt pathetic hunched over the toilet, but Noelle was still that kind little girl, rubbing circles into her sister's shoulder. Never judging. Despite everything, Noelle still looked at December like she was everything Noelle had ever wanted to be.
Guilt churned in December’s stomach.
She hurled again.
December had outgrown her old clothes, so Noelle had lent her some of dads.
It was his sweatpants and prized Pearl Jam shirt, the graphic faded from years of use. Well-loved. Memories flooded back of her mother scolding him over it, telling him try and at least look presentable when guests will be over but they’d both just laugh because they knew the Dreemurrs weren’t really guests as much as they were extensions of the Holidays.
“Right. Yea. I’m sure Toriel’ll be so offended she’ll throw a pie at me.”
“Mm. I wish she’d do that again. Maybe it’d shut you up.”
When she was little, Dess found the casual display of affection between her parents gross, like almost any child would. When she was fourteen, she’d yearned for it, craved to hear her mother’s amused retorts over her shouting and yelling and palpable disappointment that had embodied every argument that she and her mother had those last few months. Now, December craved only her mother more than either of those things. She’d take banter or screams if it meant she’d see the wrinkles of her mothers furrowed brow again.
December looked in the mirror. She still had on the Doctor’s clothes, his light blue button-up hand-me-down and black slacks. It was professional, and somehow still pristine. Something her own mother would wear.
Will her mother be proud of her now?
December didn’t think about it as she unbuttoned her shirt.
Hot water ran down her back, and even if she couldn’t calm her nerves or thoughts, at least her muscles could relax. She let her head rest against the tile of the shower. The water hit her skin like pellets. She used to hate showers, she hated the sensation of wet fur. But sometime over the years she’d become accustomed to water. Uncomfortability had become her new default. She could live through this, too.
And the warmth helped. It helped her ignore how her joints ached, how her too-long hair stuck to her neck, how in a few hours she’d have to face her mom, and a few hours after that face her dad.
Her eyes slipped shut for only a moment, and she let herself relish in it.
Her fathers clothes smelled like smoke and pennies and soot.
It was then that she realized that the Doctor’s clothes hadn’t smelled like anything but December’s own sweat. Nothing down there had.
Anything that didn’t need to be simply didn’t exist, save for the few remnants the Doctor had coveted from his lab. That included scents, December supposed.
Was she something that only existed because she needed to? If she couldn’t of benefitted him in some way, would he have still taken her in? Would he have let her go home? Or would she still be down there, wandering alone, suffocating in the darkness?
Well, she won’t ever know now.
Even after everything’s settled, she still felt estranged from her own home. Once-familiar walls are too tall now, too big, and they swallowed her like everything else. She felt more like a guest than anything. Even in her own bedroom, which was littered with worn, faded posters of bands and games that December couldn’t muster any interest in.
It was childish, naive, a room organized and maintained by a young girl that still stupidly believed the world was made for her. Dess, who stretched her hand to the night sky as if she could hold the stars.
It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t Decembers.
She tossed and turned on a bed that felt too small for her.
She couldn’t sleep. How could she? The light was too bright, but the idea of sleeping in the dark terrified her. Like if she closed her eyes she’d be dragged back down to hell.
She repositioned herself about a hundred times, but nothing worked. She put her pillow above her head, below it, laid on top of, under, and wrapped around her blankets, but nothing would really make this bed hers. This was a stranger's bed.
She sat up, pressing her back against her headboard.
How could she live like this? Here, December wasn’t home. Down there, under the water, drowning in the darkness, that was where December was born. If anywhere was her home, it was there, in the metallic tomb on the edge of town that she’d died in four years ago.
She couldn’t do this. How could she? How could she possibly begin to be normal again after everything that happened? After everything she’d done?
Soon, her mother will come home from work and find out her daughter had risen from the dead. Soon, her father will catch word and will want to hold his little girl again. They’ll probably hold her, they’ll cry, they’ll cradle her like she’s all they’d ever wanted.
Will they even realize they’re cradling a ghost?
“Dess?”
She was shaken out of her thoughts.
“Noelle,” She croaked. “What’s up?”
Noelle stood in the doorway, looking so much older, and somehow still so young. She fiddled with her hands the way she did when she was ten, would cast her eyes to the ground the same.
“I can’t sleep,” And she sounded so small then, too. “Can… Can I sleep in here tonight?”
Instinctually, without even a second thought, December opened her arms. Noelle fell into them, relaxing into her sister's chest with steady breaths.
They fell quiet. December repositioned herself just slightly into a relaxed slumped against the headboard. Noelle wrapped her arms around December, sighing in what the latter could only hope was content.
“I’m really happy,” Noelle began, and December could hear the smile in her voice. She could hear it disappear, too. “… And this doesn’t feel real. I’m so, so tired. I think… I think I might be dreaming. Maybe you’re not real.”
“I am.” December countered.
“Maybe.” Noelle mumbled. “I want to stay like this forever.”
“Me too,” December’s voice was choked up. “I missed you so much.”
“I can’t wait to tell you everything.” Noelle’s smile made its way back into her voice. “I can’t wait for you to see Kris and Azzy again.”
Kris. The idea formed an uncomfortable pit in December’s gut. She didn’t know if she’d be able to stomach seeing Kris again. The guilt was too present, too entwined with everything December was.
Seeing anyone again frightened her, and it was their love that did it. Unearned care, tears, love that December so thoroughly didn’t deserve. No one would know the extent of her actions, what she’d done under the Doctor’s care.
What good had she ever done to earn her their love? The only worthwhile thing December had ever done was fall into that old shelter. Was that the thing that did it? Was her absence what absolved her? Did her grand disappearing act grant her the attention she had sought out for the first fourteen years of her life?
It made her feel bitter.
“Dess?” Noelle prompted, concerned.
“Hm?” December blinked herself out of her thoughts.
“I said I can’t wait for you to meet my friends, too. Berdly, Queen, Ralsei,” Noelle paused, hesitating. “Susie.” She looked away.
“Susie.” December repeated. “From the prophecy?”
“How do you know about that?” Noelle’s eyes widened.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Noelle narrowed her eyes, but eventually relented. “… Yea, from the prophecy. Ralsei is too.”
“Yea. Hm. Can’t wait to meet her.”
“I think you’d get along.” Noelle smiled. “She’s… She’s really nice.”
December grinned. “Yea?”
“What—“ Noelle’s voice stuttered. “—What? Why are you looking at me like that?!” She laughed, playfully whacking her sister on the shoulder.
“I didn’t say anything!” December laughed.
The two fell into easy conversation. Maybe some of the easiest words December’s exchanged with anyone in years. It didn’t carry the inherent tension of her conversations with the Doctor, nor the wariness of interacting with the… other inhabitants down there.
It was easy. It was simple. It was her sister.
This, comforting Noelle, this is what had never changed. It’s the one thing December was sure she’d always known, the one thing that still blurred the line between December and Dess. A universal constant. A simple fact.
For a moment, she let her muscles relax. She let herself ease into bed, into this room, into this house, listening to Noelle ramble on about some girl that December had only been vaguely aware of up until a few minutes ago.
For a moment, with her sister in her arms, December let herself be home.