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Susie's heard people either pick fight or flight in stressful situations. And some people either freeze—pretty self-explanatory—or fawn, which is when they try to play nice and appease. She tries to act like the fighting sort, but in truth, whenever someone hurts her, the first thing she does is try to figure out where she went wrong. Because she's never really fit in quite right, always broken, doing things that made it clear she didn't belong.
These past few days have made things feel less that way. For once, she has friends, and a purpose, and hope crossed on her heart, written somewhere no one can ignore.
But of course, it's too good to be true. Because nothing like this could've possibly happened to her of all people.
"Didn't you know?" Says the Roaring Knight- no, Noelle's sister. December Holiday. "You're not the second hero—that's Elly. You're number four. The villain."
It's a punch to the gut, the unsaid Why did you think you could be anything else? Serving as an extra stinger. And it leaves her reeling, gasping like she really has just had a slamming fist knocking out all the air out of her.
But of course, the Knight does not give her any time to breathe.
"And your so-called 'friend's just been jerked around by that little heart inside their chest, y'know." She sneers. "I'm sure they wouldn't've ever made all buddy-buddy with you."
The words echo through the cramped closet, reverberating in her mind long after the sound waves dissipate. Kris looks at her with bright ruby red eyes full of anguish as the Knight says it, the red heart on question bloodying their hands.
And just like that, every good thing she thought she had for herself is gone, shattered like the glass of the prophecy she'd punched through.
The one thing that picked her. The adventures she'd had, as a so-called hero. Her first friend.
Her 'friend', who is staring at her with wide eyes and trembling hands, just waiting for a response.
And she remembers every time she hurt them. Every single time she grabbed them by the scruff and said something unbelievably shitty, or threatened them or called them a freak, or messed up in whatever way, and she feels so stupid for not realizing they were just possessed earlier, because of course they were, why else would they talk to someone who's done so much to hurt them?
And she realizes how absolutely awful they must've felt, going along with her all this time. Doing stupid shit like eating moss together, pouring blood-colored church juice into each other's mouths, making drawings of each other on the diner wall…
They must've been forced into it all. Annoyed, probably afraid, all while she laughed without a care in the world.
Their eyes bore into her, almost afraid, as if even now, with the Knight there, her reaction is the biggest threat in the room.
"...Susie?" They ask, voice hushed, and yep, Noelle was right—their voice really did seem like it was coming through a speaker all those other times, and she'd said it was normal.
"Sorry," she says meekly, and their face falls in shock. She feels a pang of hurt for a second before pushing it down, because she doesn't get to feel hurt when she knows she deserves it. They should be surprised she isn't threatening to tear their face off, because that's exactly what she would've done just a few days ago.
"Sorry," she repeats, as if that'll help anything. "Shoulda- Shoulda known you never wanted this."
She sighs, ducking so that her bangs fall over her eyes like she always does when she can't stand to watch the way people's faces contort when she enters the room.
"Look," she says. "I— Get it. You don't wanna- be my friend." The way her voice cracks up at that will haunt her. "I do. And it turns out—" she pauses, losing her voice for a second. "You don't even need to work with me for this stupid prophecy thing, huh? I get it."
Kris's face contorts with rage, and now on top of everything, she's confused, but not surprised, because she doesn't know what she did wrong, but of course she did something wrong because she's Susie and she always messes things up.
"Look," she says. "Here's what we can do. We'll find a way to work things out, save the world, and I'll try to make it quick. And then, if I'm alive by the end of it, we'll never talk again."
Kris is quiet, but their breath is quickening, loud and to the point where she can reasonably say they're hyperventilating. It's the aftermath of the fight with that creepy robot guy, when they asked for her jacket. She thought it was nice at the time, but- their soul must've made them do it, huh?
But they still seem angry. What is she doing wrong now?
Or maybe it's her very presence stressing them out? She can't rule that out—maybe she's just a stressor for them in and of herself.
"I know- I know you don't want me here," she says. "I gotta be here for now. But afterwards, I won't even look your way." She swallows down how much the thought of it hurts, because that must be what they want. "I'll ask Alphys to move my seat away. It'll be like before—not even like before, like we never met."
And by now, there's no denying they're hyperventilating.
"How's that sound-"
"Shut up."
It's the second thing they've said, and it leaves her blindsided.
"What're you-"
"Shut. Up." They repeat, eyes boring into her again with betrayal and rage and guilt and tears, things she just can't understand why they'd possibly feel. "You can't seriously think-"
The knight cuts them off.
"Remember what you're here to do," she says. "You can go off on her later."
Like clockwork, their face schools itself into an expression of neutrality, eyes hidden beneath their hair. That makes two of them now.
They murmur something she can't make out, looking away as they grip the heart in their hand.
"K-Kris?" She asks. "What are you-"
Then they grab her by the scruff and jam the heart into her chest, and she barely has the time to process what they just did before she falls limp to the ground, betrayal and confusion and most of all, desperation, swirling in her chest, because she wants to know so bad what she did wrong this time, fading in and out of consciousness.
She hears the muffled sound of conversation, between Kris and the knight, and then whirring sounds, as she leaves the room.
Footsteps. Louder and louder—coming towards her. Kris.
Maybe they'll beat her up, whisper something threatening or cruel, because it's revenge, because she deserves it.
But they don't do that.
Instead, they prop up her body against the cushioning of the festival decorations, like they're afraid they'll break her, and dap up a wet napkin against her shirt.
"...Sorry," they mutter. "You probably don't want to be touched."
Vinegar, she realizes. Like she'd told them.
They're cleaning up the blood.
She decides to take it as nothing but a practicality—hiding the evidence, making sure no one knows what went down in here.
They stand up, giving her one last lingering look, like there's something they desperately want to say but just can't.
Then, they step out, leaving her alone in the closet, waiting for darkness to overtake her vision.
It never does.
Instead, she realizes, she is just forced to lay there, waiting until the soul is strong enough to move.
Finally, it makes her stand. She obliges. It makes her step to the right. That too, she obliges.
But then it tries to make her leave the closet, and that, she can't do. Instead, she sits on the stack of pillows and curls into herself.
And then, like a damn first-grader, she cries.