Archive of Our Own

I remember the first time I saw you cry.

It was the afternoon of a sweltering day. Dad had set up an inflatable swimming pool in the backyard, but we all played with the hose instead, spraying water at each other. Even Azzy and Dess, who had said that they were too old for this kind of thing, joined in.

After a few hours, the novelty started to wear off. Asgore left first, saying that his fur would start to smell if it remained wet for too long. I wasn't ready to end the fun just yet, but I was tired and covered in mud, so I walked over to the edge of the estate and sat down by one of the few deciduous trees that were on this side. Its leaves weren't as green as the pines, but its leaves provided better shade.

I remember that day so vividly.

I remember the uncomfortable feeling of my wet clothes sticking to my skin.

I remember the faint taste of dirt in my mouth from the mud-fights that we had.

I remember wishing that this day would never end.

And I remember you, swinging down from the tree in a shower of leaves and twigs, your legs wrapped around a branch.

I screamed. Of course I screamed. You were hurtling towards me, impish grin on your face. I remember you smiling all the way until your head crashed against mine. I fell to the ground, but you fell harder. Face-first towards the—admittedly pretty soft—dirt.

It was also the day when you scared me, truly scared me, for the first time.

I was the first one to reach you. You laid limp on the grass, and I was terrified that you had died. I cried out for help. I remember feeling like the moments that it took for the adults to get to us were each an eternity. I gingerly turned you around and cradled your head. I know now that you shouldn't move a human with a neck injury, but I was desperate to see if you were breathing.

You were still smiling, blood running down your face. I remember bursting into tears only after I saw your smile.

Your grin melted away as I wept. By the time Mom reached us, you had started crying too.

I remember feeling a terrible heat in my chest and against my throat. That was my first time feeling like that, too. A mixture of guilt and fear and unbidden grief.

Only after Toriel scooped you up in her arms and checked you hadn't broken any bones did that feeling start to recede. As she took you to our house to get you cleaned up, my legs gave up and I sank down onto the ground.

The grass was flattened in the rough shape of you. I absently brushed the blades that were smeared with your blood.

There was something hard and wet among them.

I wrapped my hand around it, afraid to leave it, afraid to see what it was.

I thought of you, and how I thought you had almost died.

I opened my hand. It was a human tooth, much longer than I had imagined.

I ran toward you, hollering incoherently and pressing the hand with the tooth against my chest.

Panting, I showed the tooth to Toriel, worried that you wouldn't be able to eat again. After examining your mouth, though, she let out a soft chuckle. Humans have two sets of teeth, she explained. One set falls out and the next one grows in. The tooth that you had lost was one of the ones that were already loose.

You, still in Toriel's arms, motioned for me to show it to you. For some reason, I was reluctant to hand it over.

You rotated the tooth between your fingers, your thumb pressing against the sharp end. You gave a smile that was missing a tooth and I laughed despite myself.

Then, you pressed the tooth back into my palm. I remember I was baffled, even more so because I wanted to keep it.

Then you swabbed your finger across your face, collecting blood, tears, and probably spit, and you wiped it across my cheek. I huffed indignantly, then giggled. I remember forgetting for the moment that we had been crying at all.

I still have your old tooth in my desk drawer, in a little jewelry box. Sometimes I take it out and press my thumb against its root.

I hope you feel it on the other side.

I remember seeing you smile.

So much of those days are a haze to me now, nothing more than smeared brushstrokes of color and feeling. But some memories, for no reason at all, cling onto me like dust. They live in the periphery of my vision, like if I just turned around, I would see you and me playing together with Azzy and Dess in the lake or in the graveyard or in our homes.

It was back when you still wore your angel wings.

When I look back at the memory, everything is tinted golden. I'm not sure whether it's the glow of apricity or the sepia tone of memories.

My house is an amalgam of all the flickers of the past that I can only remember in the twilight moments between waking and sleep. The television is glowing, showing an indistinct Christmas movie. Beneath it is the game console with all four controllers plugged in. The curtains flutter in an unseen wind and the windows lead to the forest behind the graveyard. The sofa is bigger than it actually is, and its cushions are flattened from someone recently sitting on them.

I stand at the doorway and watch the two of us, so carefree. Imbricated chatter echoes from the kitchen, shapeless voices that I'm starting to forget. Nobody else is really in the memory but us.

We're playing together. Or, well, play-fighting. I remember you instigating the fighting for once. You start headbutting me out of nowhere, and of course I headbutt back. We ram into each other's stomachs and legs over and over again in some bizarre form of entertainment. It must be more painful for me than for you, but I don't say anything.

Then we try to hit each other at the same time, and our heads collide. We both fall to the floor from the impact.

I brush my hair aside and look up. To see you missing an antler.

I remember that my first reaction was to be horrified. Maybe I had known that deer monsters shed their antlers yearly, but in the moment it didn't come to me. But then you smiled. I don't remember when this was or what you said, but I remember your smile. It told me that you were alright, that I didn't need to worry.

Then you headbutt me again. You probably hit me in the ribs, but I don't mind. When your other antler comes loose, I grab it before it could fall to the floor.

I remember seeing you with no antlers for the first time. I remember the dissonance I felt. You weren't supposed to be hornless. You were supposed to be a deer monster. Without your antlers, you almost looked like a human. I remember the brief feeling of pride before it was burned away by guilt and shame and crimson sin. I have horns and you don't. I'm more of a monster than you.

I look away and drop the antler that was in my hand.

But then you pick up both of them and put them back in my hands. I don't remember what you whisper in my ear, but it makes me meet your eyes.

I don't think I'll ever forget your radiant smile.

I don't think I've ever deserved it. I don't think I ever will.

I say that I need to go to the bathroom and lock myself in. You sit on the sofa, fidgeting with your hair, occasionally glancing at the bathroom door. I wasn't there, of course. But I imagine you did. When you realize what I'm doing, you loudly announce that you're going home. I don't leave the bathroom for several minutes after you're gone. When I finally do, the antlers are sitting on the couch.

For weeks, maybe months, afterwards, I try my best to be nothing but nice to you. I stop pulling pranks on you, but then you get sad, so I start them again. I save half of my portion of the pie for you. I think I try to bake you cookies, but they come out misshapen and ugly, so I throw them in the trash.

I never felt like I repaid you for everything you did and everything you are.

I still have the antlers beneath my bed, in a cardboard box. Sometimes at night, when the dream doesn't deign to take me, I open the curtain a sliver, take out your antlers, and put them up to my head. In the blurry shadow, I imagine a world where I'm part of your family. I imagine a world where nothing goes wrong.

A world where I remember each and every one of your smiles.