Chapter Text
Asriel paces around the room, the hinds of his kicks tapping against the smooth tiles. Clover only lifts his head up slightly to watch the boy’s frantic expression, their hat providing a cool shadow over their features.
“Yaknow, you can sit your anxious goat heinie down here,” Clover gestures, patting the rubber seat beside them with a bit of tenor in their voice. “Ain’t gonna do ‘nothin, pacing back and forth all worried like that. It’ll take the same amount of time whether we’re moving around or not.”
Clover was not one for loitering in human establishments. Not really. They found it much more enjoyable with the monsters they've grown to be familiar with, living with Martlet and whatnot. Tugging on their poncho as well, a "re-welcoming" gift from Starlo and Ceroba, as they had put it. Clover often visits their very human-made farm on the regular, a place they've come to call a second home… but not without the people that come with.
Asriel surely feels that way too, except the other way around. It's been quite a while since monsterkind was freed from the underground, almost a year in fact. In that time, the now-adolescent goat often volunteered and visited human establishments outside of school, like the local animal shelter or library. Clover and Frisk, they always had the itching feeling that there was some underlying reason.
A deference, even, a reminder for memories long past.
“I know that, it’s just,” Asriel bites his bottom lip, hugging the wall behind Clover, letting his muscles loosen and slip all the way to the ground. “...it’s Chara.”
Clover sits upright, mirroring the tense withdrawal of Asriel's demeanor. It's then that both creatures realize—not once, not in the time they've been alive, had they uttered the fallen's name.
Their true name.
Both teenagers lift their gaze to the door to the left of the receptionist's desk that cracks open, right under the colorfully decorated sign that reads ARCANE PEDS..
“Asriel Dreemurr?” An abnormally tall cat-like monster peeks out of the opening, clipboard pressed tightly against her chest as her eyes land on Asriel and Clover. “They're awake. You can go see them now.”
Asriel’s tail flicks against the chair as he stands up, taking a hold of Clover’s wrist as the two make their way and follow the nurse into the long hallway.
It's cold, and awfully bright. Every surface is lined with off-white tiles and painfully beige posters. Staring at the colors make Clover's head pang, and they can't imagine how anyone could spend their supposed rest here, or work here every day for that matter. How could anyone go so long without even stepping out into the outside world?
They stop near the middle end of the hallway right before it turns over to the left. “So Chara will be just right here, room 329,” the nurse gestures to the metal door. “I’ll give you three some privacy now.”
“Thank you!” Asriel beams, excitedly pulling at the human behind him, one who doesn’t budge. “...Clover?”
Clover blinks. “Er…Sorry, it’s just… Should I really be in there with y’all?” The boy pulls back from the monster’s grip, rubbing back at their hat. “They’re your sibling.”
“But they’re your friend,” The monster frowns, turning fully to face his friend. “I’m sure Chara would love to see you. You said you haven’t seen them since before the surface, didn't you?”
"I guess," Clover folds their hands together, their eyes dragging along the outline of their hands. Anywhere, really, but Asriel's eyes. "But what about you? You haven't seen them since you were both last alive."
Asriel's breath staggers for a second, as does his line of thought. "Mhm," the goat monster's smile is strained, creased at the edges. The former prince steps closer to the cowboy, taking their hands in his. "Chara , they…used to do this thing when they woke up. They always had this far-off hazy look about them, hours after sunrise. I'm sure they were never a morning person."
The deputy lets their arms relax. "Yeah? Tell me 'bout it."
✎ᝰ.ᐟ⋆⑅˚₊
Fingers hammer against rosin-covered wood—those of an impatient teenager, no doubt, briskly tapping to a rhythm from long ago to mask their blatant irritation. Up on the podium in the center of the Senate floor is the speaker, a burly, old white man whose voice might send anyone with brain cells left into a blind rage.
Surrounding the speaker are many different faces, two representatives from every territory and province, until it comes back around to two representatives of drastically different size and species—former King Asgore, ever prudent and marked by experience, and his companion, emboldened ambassador Frisk. Sat next to Asgore, an impeccably sizable monster bearing ruffled furry ears and sharp curved horns, Frisk, the noticeably tan, ever petite boy, looks remarkably normal in comparison.
"…and as requested, we will have Senator Burbank come up to the podium to make her closing statement." The speaker as indicated steps off, plopping down with a hefty gruff and tightening of his tie, slowly making his march back to his seat. His haste and urgency pales in correspondence to the woman that starts her stride up to the podium, tapping her relevant documents on the wooden block neatly, the sound echoing into the microphone.
Frisk fixes their posture almost immediately upon zoning back into the meeting, sitting up straight and staring straight at the woman on the podium. They recognize her almost immediately, a fair skinned, upbeat woman with a relentless, graceful smile adorned by some seriously frizzy and unkempt hair. Surely from all the dye she's put in it over the years, as every time Frisk's seen her, there's a new color job in her locks.
At first, Frisk thought they would have gotten along just swell. They had a few things in common, that being their shared Latin American ancestry and specialization in environmental protection.
Unfortunately for this moody teenager, madam Itzel Burbank has just recently started her tenure as senator by an overwhelming amount in her territory—on the basis of being the new face of the pro-humanity movement (AKA, anti-monster).
Frisk grumbles under their breath, just audible enough for Asgore to perk up, placing his calloused paw on their hand. He offers them a gentle smile in accompaniment, warmly enough to relax their shoulders before the lady starts to speak.
"The proposed legislation," Burbank starts, "in summary, is suggesting every province enforce non-discriminatory, unsegregated facilities all over the United Nations. Is that right, Senator Pérez?"
"As I've stated before," Frisk barks out, coming out near like a cough, "Ambassador Frisk works fine. And yes, along with the proposition to limit monster hate speech in schools—"
"Schools," she echoes, pointing her papers towards the teen. "It's already a stretch to allow congregation of monsters and humans as is. Then, you want children to be around monsters as well?"
"They're both children—humans and monsters alike."
"Be that as it may, monsters are…an unpredictable variable. Humans no longer have magic at their regular disposal, but the same cannot be said for monsters, who are conditioned and normalized with it from birth."
Frisk shoots up from their seat, slamming their hands on the desk. "It's barely any different from children getting in physical, non-magical fights with each other! The only difference is that you're letting fear drive your actions!"
"That's right. We are scared! Scared of monsters, their capabilities…" Senator Burbank settles in her stance with a deep frown. "We are not ready for further involvement with those brutes of any kind."
Frisk's glare darkens with the special annunciation of how the senator chose to refer to monsters, settling back in their seat and blowing a tuft of their kinky dark hair off to the side only for it to fall back on their face.
Eventually, the meeting comes to a close with nothing accomplished——and all the representatives slowly start piling out of the room.
Asgore puts his hardened paw on Frisk's shoulder on the way out the door, walking down the hall, smoothing his thumb over their back when the bright sun touches their bodies.
"Sorry," Frisk murmurs, met by a gentle wise smile from their companion.
Asgore takes his hand off, putting his large palms together. "It is no trouble. We're meant to run into hurdles like these, all the same. Maybe it might take a while, but sometimes to progress, it is necessary to take a few steps back."
"You're right, of course," Frisk offers Asgore a strained grin. "Don't worry, i'm just…a little worn out by it."
"No worries, I understand, o—"
"Junior Bones™! Mr. Fluffybuns!" A sharp, shrill voice booms from the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps, belonging to none other than one of Frisk's caretakers, adorned by his COOL jacket and indefinitely flowing red scarf (despite the lack of wind in the air). "I, the Great Papyrus, am pleased to inform you that I will be your chaperone to the not-so-local Chapertain East Hospital!" The tall skeleton emphasizes the rolling of his r's in a particularly elongated manner, spinning the keys to his Ferrari around his index finger with a little airborne jingle.
The human smiles, running down the stairs to give Papyrus a big hug, who easily picks them up with grace and a tight squeeze. "Tiny human! You must have done super well today, because you've run to me ever so slightly faster than on previous occasions!"
"Hey, yeah, how'd you know? Frisk lets out a hearty chuckle.
Asgore, trailing slowly down the steps, now clears his throat, adjusting his collar. "Sorry, Papyrus, my friend, but… Why exactly are we going to the hospital?"
"Oh!" Papyrus grins with a stout clank of his teeth, setting his human dependant down on the sidewalk. "That's because my brother informed me, just as of recent, that little majesty's brother will soon wake up, and that I should bring Frisk there in time!"
Asgore and Frisk blink in tandem. "What?!"
ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ
Bright lights and blaring white tiles are what greets them when they open their eyes. It was a sight all too familiar, from days long past, and yet not familiar enough for the time they found themselves in.
Each time, they can only face confusion.
The plan had failed. Every plan had failed, no? Even so, the human wearily brings their hand up to their line of sight, twisting and rotating their junctures, a terribly real and thoroughly substantial sight.
Though. They squint a little further.
On closer inspection, they examine the seams of their hands, the rest of their body. They were fitted into an appropriate hospital gown that they lifted to peer at where their body would typically bend. Their elbows, knuckles, wrist…within the crevices could be seen the intricacy of ball joints, patterns one would typically only find on wooden dolls.
Puppets.
But of course it didn't feel wooden to the touch—how were they able to feel anything? to touch, and feel the textures—it felt human-like. Human enough. Cold, of course, yet soft, much like how a reborn baby would be manufactured. They suspect it was not much different from silicone material, slightly rubbery and stretchy but not to a terribly artificial level.
They look around the room. For a mirror, reflective surface, anything, and their efforts seem to be in vain. It's like what you would imagine a hospital room to be like. To their left, a wall plastered with posters, a rolling whiteboard against it, and to their right was a floor-to-ceiling window, the light outside dimmed by velvet curtain, as well as a small nightstand at their bedside.
Yes.
Of course.
Such creatures need not the pleasure of reflection. It's the same as before, is it not? That subtle awareness, at the back of one's mind. The experience, of course, of becoming one with it. The demon that comes, only when people call its name—
"—Chara."
Chara's head lifts, towards the door that creaked open without them noticing. They sit upright, letting their forearms meekly support them on the poorly cushioned mattress. It's then they lock their gaze with the monster, the poor soul misfortunate enough to be steadily approaching them with baited breath.
His shoulders slump up and down, careful as he tightens his grip into the hospital's bedsheets.
"Chara," the goat monster repeats, fumbling around and wracking his brain for words, his jaw dropping and closing in search for something, anything to say.
"Asriel." The name nearly comes out like a question, almost accusatory, followed by the hearty clasp on their hand to his, Asriel's nails digging into their 'skin'.
Asriel almost immediately breaks out into broken sobs, wrapping his arms flush and tight around Chara, who easily reciprocates. An embrace with the fervor of years' separation, as they both acknowledge.
Chara lets their chin settle on their brother's shoulder, their own slumping entirely, every juncture and 'muscle' in its body coming to a relaxed state. The human soothes the monster steadily, rubbing their hand up and down his back. When they both retract, Chara looks Asriel up and down, studying their kin closely.
The goat looks nothing less than frazzled. His fur looks matted and kinky, like he hasn't showered in days. His attire further completes the look, a wrinkled short-sleeved open Hawaiian button-down wrapped over a thin polyester grey sweater. Chara's frown only deepens, smoothing their hands down Asriel's arm. He looks awfully thin.
"Suck it up, you crybaby," they meekly choke out, shooting their brother one of their cruelly, unusually cheeky smiles. "
"I'm..!" Asriel sobs, wiping away at his snout with his sleeve, "I have so much to tell you, Char, um..!"
Chara nods, laying back against their bedding and keeping their grip firm with Asriel's, his hand furry and uncomfortably sweaty, a drastic offset from their cold and thin, bony digits. As his brother rambles, Chara lets their eyes glaze over…until, eventually, something grabs their sparsely gathered attention.
Across the way, Chara's eyes catch onto another figure in the room, almost hugging the wall. Their hat, cowboy hat, is tilted downwards to cover their face, and arms crossed uncomfortably, basically hugging themselves. Their face is slightly tilted towards the door, as if they're considering leaving the room.
Asriel's cadence slows, carefully tracing Chara's gaze to its culprit, the other human in the room. He smiles, letting go of Chara's hand, tapping the untouched bedding, like one would do to signal another to take a seat. "Clover?"
Clover anxiously perks up, their head jerking towards the Dreemurr siblings, settling when they make eye contact with Chara.
"C'mere," Chara beckons, rubbing their eyes meekly as Clover anxiously and timidly creeps over to their bedside, resting their hands on the edge of the barely comfortable mattress, nailbeds face down into the sheets.
"Yeah?" It comes out almost as a squeak, tapering in volume.
"Take off your hat."
"Uh- um, okay," Clover scrambles to remove their headwear, instinctively bending their knees slightly to a crouch. "What di—AUGH!"
Clover blunders and fumbles around, startled by the sudden pressure of Chara's knuckles smothering the top of his head. "No noogies! No noogies, I say!"
"Stop being such a bummer, bummer!" Chara grits, earning some stifled giggles from their goat friend as Clover pulls back in a heated frenzy.
"I was wonderin' when ya' were gonna wake up, partner, but I wasn't thinkin' you'd be so dang rude about it!" Clover rubs the back of his head, sighing. Chara sticks his tongue out at the cowboy, who offers a slight smile in response. "You're…"
"Done roughhousing already?"
All three heads turn when the door creaks again, opening with a force with no haste or effort whatsoever, bringing into view a rather short, rotund figure, one rather bony and despite having the appropriate, professional doctor-like attire, carried himself with the confidence and resolution one would have to cook a singular serving of breakfast.
He approaches the bedside, not too far away from Clover and not too uncomfortably close to Chara. "Sup, Mister…uh…?"
"Just…just Chara is fine," the human speaks lowly, gesturing for their brother and friend to give them some space. They do as indicated, then move to the foot of the mattress instead.
"Right, my bad, kiddo," the skeleton nods in acknowledgement, taking a small flacon out from inside the hoodie he wears under his lab coat. "I take it you know who I am, yeah?"
"Sans."
"That's right. Sans the skeleton, nice to meet you." Sans sticks out his ungloved hand. Chara doesn't take it. "More importantly, I'm your stand-in doctor for today cause 'Al—that's Alphys—got some underground stuff to take care of for a good while."
Chara seems to be making a face, hopefully one subtle enough that the other two don't notice, because Sans' eyesocket twitches just a bit. "Hey, you worried? Don't sweat it, I understand, I don't quite look like a guy you can trust straight off the bat, yeah? If it makes you feel better, I did help with the procedure. I— oh yeah, you probably don't know what's happened, do you? That's why you look all scrambled up right about now. Hey, no biggie, come looksie here."
Chara's eyes glaze over, tuning in and out of whatever the bonehead started to rant about, bringing out a whiteboard and everything. His voice was low and nasally, and more like a lecture if anything, not great for an anxious kid who just supposedly arose from the dead.
Sans then takes a marker and draws a red heart, drawing a line down the middle (it wasn't a very good drawing. Actually, none of the contents of the board were very good in presentation…).
"Ah…Wait, what?" Chara almost jumps up and out from the covers, sitting up straight and fully turning towards Sans. "Pardon?"
"Geez, you can tell a guy if he's boring you… What, this?" He points to the very flimsy drawing of a soul. "This is Frisk's soul. They've split it with you, and we encased it in your synthetic body."
Chara's jaw is dropped slightly agape, staring down at their wrists. Puppet joints, they've now identified, like dolls… Like…
They shake their head. It's simple. Of course it would be. Chara hugs themselves tight shortly after, sucking in a shaky breath.
Frisk. . .
"And you know this means you can't get into any fights, right?"
Chara looks up at Sans expectantly. There is no outright confusion or astonishment on their face, simply nervous acceptance.
"Yeah, so, your SOUL? I'm sure Tori's already explained this to you once upon a time, but it's the culmination of your being… 'cept now it's cut down the center. You and Frisk are now significantly weaker, but the difference between the two of you is that you got that mock vessel of yours, so your soul's actually trapped."
The human crosses their arms. "I can handle myself just fine in fights. I don't need protection, you know."
"It's not to protect you," Sans almost seems like he's frowning, though barely any features on his face move. "It's to protect others from you."
"Normally, both humans and monsters alike are able to fight using a classic turn-based structure. It's how, if one or more parties are magic users, you'll have a chance to fight, use mercy, or interact with them using other means. However, due to the…uniqueness of your vessel, which is neither human nor monster, you aren't binded by this system, and in theory…you'd be able to attack someone endlessly."
Chara makes a face, or they're guessing they did, because Sans is quick to reassure him, "Not that we don't trust you. You're… Well, that's just how it has to be, kid, 'm sorry."
"Of course," Chara responds dryly, quick as if the response is automatic, and their eyes close shut. "I understand perfectly."
"…Well," the skeleton clears his throat, "If all's well, I guess I'll wrap up. After all, your buddy's about to come crashing through the door."
"Pardon?"
As if on cue, the door shoots wide open, the invader being none other than the exasperated human of the hour, much shorter than the rest. Their collared shirt is open by two buttons, decorated with their blue and magenta striped tie, where they clutch their chest in anxious anticipation. They frantically turn their head back and forth, scanning the room until their thin gaze lands square on who lays uncomfortably on the hospital bed.
"Chara…!"
"Frisk," they murmur.
"Sans?!" Frisk barks towards the leisurely skeleton.
Said skeleton grins, "Asriel?"
"Mmmmmmme…?"
"And me!" Clover chimes in.
Chara lets their jaw hang low before twisting, grabbing a pillow and letting out a bloody outcry.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖
"So, you two got home okay?"
"Yeah. He's passed out on my bed right now, instead of taking his own, haha…"
"That's sweet," Clover chuckles, pressing the phone closer to their ear coming into the house. With a small crack in his voice, he calls out, "Mars, I'm home!"
Martlet, resting at the living room's sofa, fumbles around with her feathery limbs working on her newest crochet project. It looks like another cutely decorated beanie for the library kids, Clover notes. She perks her head up over the back of the couch, looking over the cowboy with lax. "Hey, you're back late. Did it go well with your friend?"
"Yeah, they're doing well—sorry, give me a second—Mr. Dreemurr would've driven me, but Papyrus was driving, and, uh, you know how I feel about his driving."
Martlet grimaces, as does Clover. Every person with a nice car…is not as cautious of a driver. "Yeah, okay. There's some grilled cheese left over I put out on the table, feel free to take some."
"Oh, okay. Thanks, but, I think I'm gonna head to bed, okay?"
"Okay," the bird calls out, not paying mind when Clover quickly scutters up the ladder. Interestingly enough, however, as Clover takes a glance at the kitchen table, all he sees are empty plates.
"Aw, I want some grilled cheese," Asriel pouts from the other end.
"Pff- Yeah, right. Make your own sandwiches! Also, I might turn in soon, it was a packed day, y'know?" Clover opens the door to his room, and immediately he senses that something's off.
First of all, the light was on. He was always cautious to turn it off before he left the house—energy saving and all that mumbo jumbo Frisk was always chattering up. The star decorations he'd hung up were dragging lower than usual, the revolver was misplaced, and the T.V. was on…
Someone had been in here.
Clover balls their hands up into fists, quickly scanning the room for anything awry—lumpy bedsheets, moving wardrobes, glowing orange souls, shaking chests—glowing orange souls?
And there it was, a floating orange soul, human by the looks of its upright position, floating around near the window.
"Holy shit," the cowboy curses under their breath, to which their companion on the other end of the line queries, "Hey, you okay? You're kind of quiet, and, uh… Clover?"
Open window. Loose soul. Not a great idea, and right when the thought enters their mind, the soul zooms out of the crack, to which Clover rushes themselves to the edge of the windowsill, fully prepared to jump out with the unidentified human soul.
Upon looking out and down the window, there they are. Five human souls, all marked and adorned by different colors: Orange, purple, blues, and green.
Clover lets their mouth hang agape, smushing their palm hard against their temple, rough enough to crack off some HP if they were any more careless.
"Holy fucking shit—"
"Clover?? What's going on?"
"Az- Azzy, Asriel- I gotta go, there's, uh…" Clover stops their mouth from blabbering on. This could be really, really bad. "There's…rabid…dogs in my…uh…yard. Yeah. Bye. Sorry."
Click.
"You- onetwothreefourfive- You five gotta get your sorry little asses up here before someone finds 'ya!" Clover nearly whisper-screams, frantically waving their arms around like a maniac. They hope no one else in the neighborhood is halfway out their window staring at them.
Unfortunately, they didn't expect the souls to be so obedient, all of whom raced to come back in the room via crashing into Clover one by one, sending them down on the floor.
The noise was certainly louder than they wanted it to be, for it was quickly followed by Martlet hollering from below, "Clover?! Are you okay?!"
"Uhhhh, sorry!" Clover hollers, putting both of their palms against their eyes. "I was just- sleepwalking!"
The souls, close to their skin, jitter like a flurry of giggles.
Sleepwalking, really?
Sounds like a bad fall.
Close the dang window!
Clover stares up at the ceiling, smacking all the souls away, gently, as to not harm them.
For a second, they seemed to forget that life was oh-so hectic and ever-so cruel.
Frisk seemed to think so too, just passing Clover and Martlet's house on their walk back home with Sans, who trailed a few inches behind them, watching how they stared into Clover's yard.
For a second they thought they heard something…felt something off.
Sans' voice quickly pierced into their thoughts. "You gonna tell them?"
"Tell them..?" Frisk looks back with a sharp glint in their eyes. "…No idea what you're talking about, lazybones."
"Right," he breathes out sharply through his nose, slowly but surely catching up to the human. "Fine, 's alright, kid."
"Is it?"
"Yeah. Everyone's got their fair share of secrets, after all. You four'd understand more than anybody."