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Carol had been mad at them, at first. Kris still remembered the snarl on her face and the accusation in her narrowed eyes, that day at the police station; her icy hands, digging long fingernails into their shoulders until they’d winced.
Where is she? Carol had demanded, frostier and harsher than she’d ever spoken to them before. Where is my daughter, Kris?
But Kris couldn’t speak of it, not even to her. After a long time—and some urging from Undyne to go easy on the poor kid—Carol had closed her eyes, taken a deep breath, and let them go.
Very well, she’d said, still glacial. If you won’t talk, then there’s no need for me to waste my time with you any further.
She might as well have run Kris through the heart with her katana. They’d only lowered their head in resignation, though, knowing they’d deserved it.
They both met again, one evening, in front of the shelter.
Kris didn’t want to go home; didn’t want to face their parents’ pitying looks, much less Asriel, who was still shocked by the disappearance of the girl he loved. Kris wanted to stay at the shelter and rot. Carol—for some reason—convinced them to return with her to the Holiday mansion, instead, with an almost clinical kind of care.
No, it wasn’t even clinical. The doctors at the psych ward had acted kind and caring, but Carol didn’t bother with that much. And yet, Kris found it refreshing.
After calling their parents to explain the situation, Carol sat Kris down in the lounge and bandaged their hands, which they’d bruised and bloodied against the shelter’s metal doors. Her cold fingers on their skin were a soothing balm for the aching, tingling burn of pain.
“You still want to play the piano, don’t you, Kris?” Carol asked, tone clipped, as she taped the dressings into place. “Then, take better care of your hands.”
Kris wondered if they deserved to touch another instrument ever again, much less the piano. The Holidays’ grand piano that they used to sit at with Dess, trying their hands at clumsily or playfully performing duets, while Noelle and Asriel listened attentively.
“I’m sorry,” Kris whispered.
Carol paused, fixing them with her piercing, analytical stare. She lowered her voice to a murmur as she asked, “For what?”
“For what I did. For everything.”
Abruptly, Kris started to cry. They bowed their head, teeth gritted as they tried to choke back their sobs, but their shoulders wouldn’t stop shaking. Their tears fell to stain the pants Dess had loaned them, back when they’d transitioned.
Carol stared at their trembling hands for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she sat beside Kris on the couch and gently pulled them into a hug, cradling them with one hand on their nape and her other arm around their waist. Kris sobbed into her chest, fingers digging into her pristine, starch-pressed shirt; if Carol minded them soaking the fabric with their tears and snot, though, she didn’t comment.
Kris expected her to say the same things as everyone else. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. As if they knew what’d really happened, or had been there themselves.
Instead, Carol said: “I won’t forgive you, Kris. But I won’t punish you, either. Punishment would fix nothing, now.” She sighed heavily and stroked their hair. “I only wish I’d realized that before I had to lose her,” she murmured, words heavy with regret.
Kris didn’t understand, but they were in no state to protest. They kept crying until they ran out of tears, and then, Carol let them go.
Carol laid a cool hand over their right one, resting on the couch cushions between them both. “I know, Kris. You believe it’s your fault, don’t you?”
Kris, scrubbing at their face with their left hand, nodded slowly.
“You’re not the only one. If I hadn’t argued with December that day, perhaps she would have never gone out to begin with. I share as much responsibility as you do.”
She turned their hand over to hold it properly, careful not to agitate their wounds. Kris, despite the ache, gripped her tight.
“Besides…” Carol smiled, then, softly and fondly. The same way she’d regarded Kris as they’d admired her katana, or when she’d taught them how to play chess. “I do like you, Kris. I simply can’t bring myself to stay angry with you. Especially when you’ve taken after December far more than your own brother.”
The tears threatened to return. Kris dipped their head, sinking their teeth into their lower lip as they willed themself not to cry again.
Carol stroked across the back of their hand in a slow rhythm. “Still—you want to make up for it, don’t you? Take responsibility for your mistakes?”
Kris nodded again, huffing out a scratchy, “Mm.”
“You’re a good child, Kris.” Carol patted their hand once last time, before she raised hers to lift their chin, forcing Kris to meet her eyes. “Then, keep coming back to this house. Don’t try to run away or hide any longer. Do you understand?”
Kris swallowed through a dry throat. “Y-yeah. I understand,” they mumbled.
“Good.” She released them, her smile satisfied. Then, she stood up from the couch. “I’ll get you a hot chocolate. Something to help you relax before bed.”
She left them to their own devices, taking the first-aid kit with her; not that Kris did much more than hug their knees against their chest, while they processed what’d just happened. Despite everything, Carol wasn’t holding a grudge against them…instead, she was asking them to face the consequences of their actions.
Kris was fine with that, though. Rather, it relieved them deeply. Finally, finally, someone else understood. What happened to Dess was their fault, and they had to atone for it.
Carol returned with a steaming mug, which she set on the coffee table. Kris wanted to drink it immediately, but they knew it’d be hot enough to scald their tongue, and probably too hot for them to hold with their wounded hands. Still, the smell of hot cocoa relaxed them.
“I’ll set up the spare room for you, too,” Carol said, as she sat back down beside them, “so you don’t have to sleep on Noelle’s couch again.”
“Thank you, Auntie Carol,” Kris mumbled.
She smiled, again, and patted their arm. “No need to thank me, Kris. We’re family. We all need to look out for one another, especially at a time like this.”
Kris gingerly picked up the hot mug in both hands, blew steam off the top, and sipped. It wasn’t as good as Asgore’s or QC’s, but Carol had remembered to add some cinnamon, the way Kris liked it. Their heart ached.
Carol’s hand remained on their arm; cool, but not unpleasant. “Does it help?” she asked, gently.
Kris hurriedly wiped at their eyes, which were stinging anew. “Y-yeah.”
“Good. I’m glad,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it. “Remember, Kris, you’re welcome in this house any time. And if you need anything else—anything at all—you can ask me.” Carefully, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind their ear, then withdrew. Her temperature lingered on Kris’ skin. “You aren’t alone, after all.”
They were words Kris had heard from others, but Kris wasn’t fooled by those hollow platitudes. Carol, though; Kris knew she meant what she said, and they knew they could believe her.
“Yeah,” Kris whispered, again. “Thank you.”
Carol stayed with them until they emptied their mug, and then, she departed to ready the spare room for them while they cleaned up for bed. It was far from home—too neat and clean, smelling of pine rather than butterscotch, or Asriel’s body spray—but when home no longer felt like a place Kris belonged in, it was enough to comfort them for one night.
At the same time, Kris knew it comforted Carol to take care of them; to assure their presence and safety, in place of the now-gaping void in her life. It wasn’t exactly the atonement they’d been looking for, but it was a start.