Chapter Text
There was a new kid in Middleground Youth Residential Treatment.
Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be anything of note. After all, in her time at this stupid place, Susie had seen many kids cycle in and out. Some downright crazy, some a little messed up, and some put here to give their parents an excuse not to see them. Actually, no. All of the kids here were here because their parents didn’t want to see them.
That wasn’t what it said on the tin, but it was true. All the bullshit about this being a place for troubled children to heal outside of an unstable home environment was just that: bullshit. It was a punishment, really. A place to put a bunch of bad kids and pretend to make them better. Therapy and “healthy” coping strategies and “healing” and blah, blah, blah. All they wanted to do was say they’d tried to fix her and failed before foisting her off to a new place. Just like all the other kids here.
All the other kids, and this new one.
She stared at them intently from across the room, trying to dissect them like a bug or a frog or whatever those scientists on the TV did.
Really, they wouldn’t have caught her attention at all if it weren’t for their age. Though this stupid place and its stupid staff specialized in kids, most of the kids were more like teens than this one. But no, they looked her same age. Nine or so, human, with a messy tangle of brown hair and a green striped sweater and brown shorts.
They were curled up on themself, picking listlessly at a scab on their knee with dull, bitten nails. The edges of the wound were red, the way it was on humans when a scrape was just this side of going sour, and getting more irritated as their finger searched along the edges. They tried a couple more times, unflinching, before getting the nail under and pulling it clean up. In the wake of now-raw skin, blood pooled and dripped down.
“Kris,” one of the caretakers chastised gently, already hurrying to the first-aid kit to get a bandage. With practiced precision, the adult human placed the nonstick pad over the cut, using tape to stick it down. The new kid– Kris, presumably– didn’t move. Not an inch.
The caretaker sighed and knelt before them. “It won’t heal if you keep picking at it. Next time you want to pick, we have toys you can play with instead, okay?”
Kris didn’t reply. Maybe they were mute, or maybe they were just nuts. They wouldn’t be the first.
Not that she had much time to think about how weird they were. It was group therapy time officially now, and god forbid they wasted a fucking second of that. Because if this stupid place and its stupid staff and its stupid everything liked anything, it was fucking group therapy.
Fucking fantastic.
Susie leaned back in her chair, watching the other kids who’d been placed at the bottom of the barrel along with her with slitted yellow eyes. Some monsters. Most human. All of whom she knew and hated, just like everyone else in the world.
Stupid introductions. Stupid icebreakers. Every time someone new came in, she had to reintroduce herself. Every single time. Sometimes she was in the mood to grunt out her name so they stopped bothering her. Most of the time she just glared.
Now was one of the latter, and everyone here knew she wouldn’t change her mind with more pestering.
So, they skipped over her. Around the circle, until it reached the newbie.
“Would you like to introduce yourself?” the therapist asked in that infuriatingly sweet tone that made Susie want to punch something.
The kid pulled a little closer to themself, bringing their bandaged knee up to hug. For a moment, Susie was sure they wouldn’t say a word, but they managed out a quiet mumble of, “Kris.”
“It’s good to meet you, Kris. Is there anything you’d like to share about yourself? It can be the reason you’re here, or just a fun fact about yourself. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
They paused for another long, long moment, then whispered, “I play piano.”
Oh, fuck off.
Susie must have growled, or maybe everyone just knew what had brought her here, because all eyes had turned to look at her.
She snarled– purposefully this time– and most of the shitheads who’d been looking at her realized that she was going to bite their stupid heads off if they didn’t stop staring. Only she was allowed to stare at people, thank you very much!
“Susie?” the stupid therapist asked, stupidly, because they was stupid and she hated them. “Do you have something you’d like to say?”
“Yeah, that it’s stupid,” she grumbled, baring her teeth at both him and Kris.
Someone mumbled something like, “not stupid enough to get in trouble over, apparently.”
Susie growled at him, too.
“Let’s take a breath here. Ritchie, anything shared here isn’t meant to be used as a weapon. When you come into this room, you’re agreeing to those rules. Safe spaces have to be safe for everyone, okay?” The therapist asked.
Her eyes focused on hin, and he scowled back at her. “Not like Susie doesn’t do it to us.”
“And it’s not okay then, either.” But damn it, that stupid teenager had sicced the therapist on her now. “Susie, I’d be curious to hear why playing the piano is an issue to you?”
“Because it’s stupid! Like- only stupid rich people with nothing better to do do that kind of crap. That’s why.”
“Could you use your emotion wheel?” the therapist asked, and oh.
Oh, she saw what this was. They were trying to get into her head! And she hadn’t even noticed! They thought they could crack her open and see that her insides were all soft and mushy and that she could be fixed like all the other crazies in this place if he just tried. But they couldn’t. She was hard and spiky and badass all the way through, and no foster family or shrink could rip that from her.
Forget trying to finally get out this month. She wasn’t going to stand for this. For all she cared, she’d rather be sent to juvie than let go of the anger that made her who she was.
She stood, sending her chair clattering to the ground, and threw the damn chart at their head. The laminated paper traveled only a foot or two, then fluttered limply to the ground. A couple choked snickers rose from the nutjobs she was locked in with, and she could feel the tears gather in her eyes despite herself.
A gaze across the room showed that everyone was looking at her. Everyone, that was, except the ghost that was the new kid. They were looking down at their new bandage, picking lifelessly at the edges. Somehow, being ignored hurt worse than being laughed at.
With a roar, Susie kicked the chair as hard as she could, sending it skittering across the room, and stormed out.
The sounds of crayon against paper filled the room with deafening. Yellow, pink, and black all worn down, leaving the rest in pristine condition. What purpose was there to use any of the others? None of them had appeared then, deeming them utterly useless.
Kris swirled black in the eyes of the creature they were drawing, the messy artwork. It wasn't a great depiction— not even really good. The crayon was streaky and they didn't think the right number of legs were there, but it was putting the thought to paper that counted. That was what Mom always said, after all.
They missed their mom. They missed a lot of things, really. Mom and Asgore and Azzy and Noelle and warm butterscotch pie and nights spent playing the piano. More than anything, they missed her.
They missed her voice, her face, her hands playing the guitar or teaching theirs. She'd looked so brave, cutting through the trees of that forest. Telling them to keep following, even when their legs hurt after so many hours of walking. A little further, she'd echoed from their guide, and when they'd broken down into tears, she'd picked them up despite her own tiredness.
She'd placed them down only at their friend's insistence, in front of the darkest dark they'd ever seen, gushing black into the sky.
Her, it had said, not you.
It was as much its fault as it was Kris's that only one of them had walked out of that shelter. Maybe if they'd refused to leave her side, she would have realized it was a bad idea. Or maybe, they should have disobeyed and gone instead.
It was selfish to think like that. She'd been so selfless in protecting them, and yet they still wished they'd been the one to go.
If they had a chance, they still would. Even if it didn't bring her back.
The black crayon snapped in their hand. Another thing they'd have to grieve the loss of alongside everything.
"Well, it seems your crayon has broken," the man remarked. He tilted his head ever-so-slightly. "Would you like another one?"
"I'm finished," they managed to say, despite the way that words hardly seemed to work for them anymore. They'd been hard to form in the first place; Kris just wasn't good at talking, even when things had been good. Then, things had shattered into a before and an after, cracks spreading through their entire life, and the few words they'd been able to muster had vanished within the crevices.
"Would you like to show me?"
Not really, they thought, but they knew they would have to.
Mom and Dad had put them here to get better. Better, like they'd been before they'd been cracked open and spilled out all over the floor of that black, black place. They'd only get that away from the home where parents who were supposed to love each other fought nearly every day, always about the same thing. Always about them. It made sense. Kris was sure their parents were regretting adopting them. They were sure they'd regret it even more when they realized that the children they'd loved were gone for good.
Kris placed the drawing facing the man. Even in this form, their friend scared them. Round multicolored eyes, a wide smile, and a disjointed, pointed tail. It slithered through the darkness, unwinding them like a thread from one of Mom's knitted sweaters, pulling until there was nothing left.
"Is this your friend?" The man asked.
"Yes. I hate it," they whispered back.
He placed his hands together, fingers tenting. "'Hate' is quite a strong word. It saved your life, did it not?"
"I wish it hadn't."
They wished they'd died. They wished they'd been taken instead. All she could do was scream now, and that fate was the cruelest she could have been given. After all, that voice was meant to sing. It still should. Why did she have to leave Kris behind, when all they could manage was a hoarse whimper? Why had it made her?
The man remained silent, clearly waiting for an explanation. Instead, they whispered, "why did it have to be her?"
"I doubt it is your fault, little one. Fate has a way of playing tricks."
The drawing on the page taunted them. They could swear the eyes were watching them, no matter how they shifted. It was moving, wasn't it? This whole place felt… off. If they looked just the right way, they could see glitches in the presentation. Shapes, little squares, making up everything. Too bright. Their head hurt.
"Is this real?" Kris asked.
"Well, what is reality, anyway?" the man asked. His face was all pixels. "You are living it, are you not? That must count for something."
That didn't make sense. None of this made sense. Their head hurt. Their hand found their bandage, peeling at the adhesive and clawing at what was underneath. It hurt, but the pain was grounding. You couldn't feel pain in dreams, could you?
The blood that oozed down their leg didn't feel real, either. They hoped it never stopped all the same. They hoped it bled until there was no blood left in their body.
The man hummed. "Well, it seems you don't understand quite yet. That is okay. We will try again another time. Please, try to remember my words."
That was a dismissal, wasn't it? They stood, leaving the paper on the desk, and stared at him for a second. He stared back. They couldn't see his face. Their head hurt. Their knee hurt.
Slowly, nervously, they edged towards the door and opened it. The world shifted as they stepped out, as if it had tilted a single degree to the side. Everything was just slightly different, and it sent goosebumps up their arms. All of this felt surreal, like a dream they couldn't quite wake up from. Maybe their mind had thought up a place for them to go when the Dark World had gotten too scary. Maybe they were still in there, moments from death.
But what did it matter? They hardly wanted to go back to that place. So, they would play along until they could figure out what reality really was.
Kris looked around. None of the staff were here. In the warm, wood-lined white hall, there was no one waiting. They glanced back at the door, wondering if they'd been let out early. It stood tall, and they rubbed their arms nervously. It was best to go down the hall then, wasn't it? Look for an adult to tell them what to do.
They shuffled down the hall, feet scuffing along the floor, back to the main living space. It was cozy; hardwood and rugs, couches set in a half-circle around a fireplace. The group therapy room had had plastic chairs, but the couches here were soft. There was even a piano tucked away in the corner. It reminded them of home.
When they'd thought of being sent away for their mental health, they'd thought of scary white walls and padded cells and straitjackets, but this place felt like someone's living room, not a hospital.
It wasn't their home, but it wasn't as scary as they'd thought. If this was a dream, it wasn't an unpleasant one. A bit of solace, at least, from the fear that had consumed them so entirely that it had left nothing.
Around them, older kids were splayed around the couches, reading or drawing or chatting with one another. In one corner, the purple monster— Susie, right? She looked their same age, so they wanted to remember her name— was glowering.
"Kris?"
And there was their mother, standing in the hall and looking utterly relieved. She hurried over to them, crouching and burying them in a hug.
"Oh, I am so glad you are safe! I was looking for you everywhere, my child!"
Everywhere? But they'd just been in therapy. Wouldn't the caretakers have mentioned that? Or maybe she just went looking herself. Hm.
"You came," they mumbled instead. The drive had been so long; they'd expected that she would come later in the week than this.
"Of course, sweetheart. Oh, I've missed you so terribly." She pulled away, tucking their hair back. "How was your sleep these past two nights? Was it comfortable enough for you? I brought quilts in case you were cold. And how is your roommate?"
So many questions. They didn't think they could answer everything. Even talking this much was a lot for them. They took in a breath, intending to tell her everything was fine, that they weren't assigned a roommate yet, and that they didn't need more quilts.
Instead, her eyes caught on their knee and the crimson dripping from it, and immediately she gasped. Was she mad that they'd gotten blood on her dress?
"Oh, Kris," she whispered in that heartbreaking way.
They couldn't understand it. Her concern, her love, her care— how could they deserve any of it? They'd let Dess be taken. If anything, bleeding was their punishment. A reminder of that day. They'd told that to her in less words, and now, they were here. Being watched so they wouldn't hurt themself.
If only they hadn't picked up that knife. Or more accurately, if only they'd hid it better. They'd just… wanted to hurt. It wasn't fair that she was and they weren't. But Asriel had found them, and went running to their parents.
They'd never stab themself where it would kill them, like in the scary movies Dess had allowed them to watch against their parents' will. They'd only wanted to hurt. And if it killed them, they wouldn't mind.
All bad behavior was supposed to be punished. Why was it bad when they were doing it to themself?
Mom looked like she was the one hurt. She shook her head, blinking away tears, and stood. "I- I suppose I should… well. Let us find a caretaker to patch that up for you."
Why? Why did it matter? Why was she so worried, when none of this was even real?
But they didn't question. Instead, they looked down, let her grab their hand, and followed. From the other side of the room, they could feel Susie's eyes boring into them.
Their head hurt.
The sheet full of multiplication problems was covered almost in its entirety by pencil lead. The graphite stained Kris's hands like gray blood, shining dimly in the light. They felt a little bad; Mom had worked hard to make this curriculum for them, but it was like trying to focus on a speck in the distance when the entire world was rippling around them.
They knew how to do it, it was just… unimportant. So, they'd made the paper into something to get out the visions that haunted them. The trees, the friend, the darkness around them. They didn't dare try to draw her, but they drew themself in the center, numbers in black ink cutting through their form.
The adults had told them to try to focus on it. Asked if they didn't know how. Ultimately, they must have given up. There were better people to teach, anyway.
At least, until now. A gentle tap on their desk brought their attention up to one of the nice ladies who helped around this place.
"Kris, honey," she murmured gently. "School is done for the day. It's time for your individual therapy."
Dazedly, they looked up at the clock. Four PM. Just like when they'd gone for their first session yesterday. But… "I already went today, didn't I? Before family therapy at ten."
The woman's face shifted in that way adults tended to do when they took issue with a statement, but she remained gentle. "What are you talking about? Your appointments are at four with Dr. Chang. Every doctor we have was busy at that hour."
"But I saw him," they insisted, with as much emphasis as they could. They had, just earlier that day. And maybe they didn't remember his face or his name, but they knew they'd spoken to him. They knew it.
Please, they couldn't have another thing that the adults didn't believe.
"I-" the woman hesitated, then shook her head. "Could you give me a second, honey? I'm going to double-check your records."
With that, she hurried away, leaving Kris to go back to scribbling the paper restlessly. The dark encroached on their figure on the page with each stroke of the pencil, threatening to swallow them whole. It would be fitting, they thought, for all the light within them to be swallowed. It already had, in a way. They'd used to move in such a purposeful way. Things used to have meaning, even if they hadn't realized. Now, they were left drifting in this half-reality.
A hand came down on their paper before they could fully eclipse the form that had once been human-like. Had the lady already come back? But no, this wasn't a human hand. It was a monster's, scaly and four-fingered with blunt, yellowed nails. Even dull like that, they could probably do a lot of damage.
It- she snatched the paper up, crumpling it as she observed with a sneer.
"The hell's this?" Susie's voice was raspy, edged with a growl in the way that only a monster could manage. Kris would know; they'd tried.
"Drawing," they mumbled in response.
She bristled, looking downright offended. "I know that! I'm not stupid!"
"You asked."
"I-" she bared her teeth. They were as yellow as her nails and far sharper. Maybe she would bite them. They wouldn't mind that. Bleeding from another's actions was just the same as bleeding from their own. "I meant, why the hell would you just color in the page when they let you get away with not doing it?!"
Was that uncommon? Huh. Maybe they'd been lucky, at least a little bit. Then again, there was a large chance none of this was real. Maybe Susie was a part of their imagination, too?
Their silence drew her to growl again, flipping it over. "And this! You can't even draw a cat right?"
"It's not a cat," they corrected quietly.
"Clearly," she scoffed.
The silence drew out, an unasked question, and for once, they took the initiative to clarify, "it's my friend."
"Of fucking course it is. God. Shoulda' figured you were crazy from the start. No wonder your mom dumped you here. She probably doesn't want a child that's out of their mind. 'Course, she won't tell anyone that. That's why she put you here, so she can get rid of you and still look like a good mom. And you know what? She can be all gooey in front of everyone all she wants, but you wouldn't be here if she actually liked you. Everyone here knows that," Susie snarled.
They considered that a moment. Could it be true? No, Mom wasn't the type to lie about things like this. She'd cried when she'd dropped them off, even if she'd tried to hide it from them. Maybe in reality, she really would be the way Susie was saying.
"I hope so," they whispered.
Susie jolted back, like she'd been shocked, and bared her teeth again. "The hell does that mean?! Did you hear me?! I said-"
"Susie!"
That was another one of the adults, voice raised. He stormed over, clearly frustrated, and glared at her. Being an older monster, he towered over her, and even she seemed intimidated, if the way she seemed to shrink and put invisible shields up was any indication.
She still glared back up at him, eyes narrowed. "What?"
"This isn't acceptable behavior. Return their paper right away." His face was stony— obviously. He was a gargoyle, after all.
"Or what?" Susie challenged. "What are you gonna do, huh? Make me? Fat fucking chance!"
Before he could grab it from her, she ripped it in half and slammed the two pieces on the table in front of Kris. When she pulled her hand away, it was stained with graphite.
Their attention was immediately on the paper's remains. She'd torn it so easily. Reduced the overwhelming darkness to half of itself like it wasn't suffocating. She'd conquered it like a knight to a dragon. Like she was light itself.
They hardly heard the adult yell for her to go to her room, or apologize for Susie's actions. They were too busy staring at her retreating form, wondering who exactly she was to be able to do this.
When they went to therapy that day, told that their earlier session was just a fabrication of their mind, they couldn't bring it in themself to argue. Nobody would believe them anyway. But maybe, just maybe, she might.