Chapter Text
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You feel a migraine coming on, but it’s fine.
After all, it’s not like ‘YOU’ feel it. The throbbing behind Kris’s temples and the prisms of dancing color in their vision don’t actually affect their walking speed, or their Dark World stats, or the brilliant white SAVE points scattered around like fallen stars. In terms of status ailments, it’s nothing more than one more line of flavor text in a full chorus of one-liners still echoing from last night’s encounter.
You feel your migraine getting worse, but it’s fine.
A part of you knows you signed up for this. Kris chose to be the Cage. They chose to betray Susie, Toriel, Undyne, and everyone in Hometown who loves them. They chose to throw their SOUL away every night like some rotten apple core, despite everything it’s done for them. If slamming their knightly glaive on all the buttons marked THIS WILL HURT YOU gives them pain, why is that a problem? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Dreemurr.
You feel your heartbeat pulsing at the edges of your skull with every noise echoing through the Dark Sanctuary, but it’s fine. (It has to be fine.)
...Another part of you... worries. You don’t know how much sleep Kris actually got last night (not much), or the night before (less), or the night before (none). You don’t remember if they’ve eaten anything besides pie and moss and the diner food you shared with Susie (nope). You aren’t sure how to check if they’re hungry, or tired, or bleeding (they are but it’s fine).
What little you are sure about... isn’t comforting, either.
You’re sure that they care about Susie so much it aches.
You’re sure that they’re in over their head, and hurt, and they blame themself.
You’re sure that they’re scared.
And you’re sure that the GODDAMN BELLS GOING OFF EVERYWHERE IN THIS PLACE AREN’T HELPING THIS GODDAMNED MIGRAINE AT ALL.
Breathe.
In, and out.
You feel a migraine settling in deeper, but it’s fine, it’s fine, IT HAS TO BE FINE.
The least you can do is keep being the leader. Susie and Ralsei are breathing down your back, following your every move in a caterpillar line. Ralsei’s already anxious enough about this place, staring down each prophecy panel like they’re personal failures. His big dark eyes keep shining with ethereal blue. And Susie’s got her own problems in the real world, too--you won’t force her to take on any more, not if you can stall them for even a second longer.
That’s the best way to play the game, isn’t it? Keep finding ways to distract everyone, trying new minigames, dragging your feet exploring every inch of each Dark World for eggs and crystals and secrets. If these youthful days stretch on long enough, if you do everything just right in this fantasy where you’re a leader and a pacifist and a good person, you can almost forget about the future squeezing ever tighter around your neck.
...You just want to keep doing this forever.
You don’t want to get banished. (You don’t want to stop playing pretend.)
You don’t want to lose friends like this. (You don’t want to take away friends like this.)
You feel your migraine getting worse. Your echoing, blue-rippling footsteps stagger in the pitch black maze, their tempo turning erratic, but you push on and no one notices. Just a little further til the next puzzle, anyway. The next room will be better. The next room won’t be so loud. The next room will--
The next room is a sprawling maw of MORE GODDAMN BELLS.
Great blue behemoths stretch on for ages overhead, a whole ceiling full of bells, arching up and over a gaudy blue church organ the size of a building.
Worse: as soon as you enter, every bell starts ringing at once, a great ghostly warble that rumbles down to your very bones and cracks through your aching brain like an egg against a hot pan--but it’s FINE. Something in you starts screaming immediately, but it’s FINE. Your ears pop and your teeth itch and drool gathers in the back of your throat but it’s FINE, IT’S FINE, IT’S--
Kris turns to the side and throws up onto the beautiful stained glass tiles.
...It’s not fine.
Susie and Ralsei start yelling, their voices muffled aftershocks against the pounding, pulsing bells and the searing electric colors of the organ and the chafing metal weight of Kris’s armor. Kris sways, their blue skin turning ashen as sweat pools behind their bangs, their heart beating so hard it threatens to come splattering free with every sour, hacking dry heave they give.
It’s not fine, it’s not fine, it’s not fine.
Their head feels too heavy to keep upright. It swings on their neck like an iron weight, first hunching them forwards, then swaying them sideways, and finally spilling them over backwards, the tiles rushing up to greet them with a cold glass impact--
Susie catches them first, a rasp of coarse purple scales like a cat’s tongue rustling against their shoulders. She squeezes, claw tips and warm fingerpads wrapping around them... but it’s funny.
Somehow, they’re still falling.
Kris blinks, frog-like and slow, and the world goes gray with it, swirling out of focus and back like a reflection in a rainy puddle.
A blink, and they’re swaying through the air as the ground slides past them in reverse, scrolling upwards and away like the credits in a movie. There’s an arm and shoulder pressing tight against their spine, a hand grasped tight around their stomach, and rumbling shouts from beside them. They can’t remember what this hold is called.
A blink, and Ralsei is jogging to keep up with them, his big damp babydoll eyes locked on theirs as he mutters healing spells. Their head hurts less as the pitch-black maze is cast in crackling green light. Ralsei’s paw pads and claw tips slap and tap against the ground like a dog itching to go for a walk.
Another blink. A football hold, they remember. Susie’s hiked them up over her shoulder like a football. Haha, that’s funny. They were braced for a bridal carry. They don’t know why they were looking forward to that so much. This is fine, too. Anything Susie does is perfect.
Another blink. The smell of old books and turtle wax blocks the migraine-worsening stink of church incense and smoke and syrupy-sticky shadow ichor. A fire crackles, bathing everything in soft orange warmth instead of blacklight intensity. The bells are quiet.
Voices mutter around Kris as Susie shuffles about.
“Old man! Hey, old man! Get your geezer ass out here already, we got a problem!”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’! You kids and yer dang hurries, gyeh-heh-heh... You’d think the whole dang world was endin’. What’s--”
“Something’s wrong with Kris! They got, like, poisoned or something by that stupid puzzle you sent us on!”
“Eh? Poisoned? That ain’t right... The only poisonous organs I ever seen are the ones in frogs and snakes and book critics, gyeh-heh--”
“I’m not joking, asshole! They’re dying!!”
Kris feels scaly hands grasp under their arms and hold them up like a shield, then shake them around. Their head lolls on their shoulders, but they don’t object to being rattled. If it’s Susie doing it, it’s okay.
Besides, their head already feels halfway back to normal. They aren’t sure if the new quiet, the throwing up, Ralsei’s healing, or Susie being herself helped the most, but they won’t complain regardless. In fact...
They squint at the old man. He squints back, his one bulging eye narrowing to a slit beneath his bushy eyebrows and weathermarked forehead. They frown.
You tell the old man that you feel fine, now.
Ralsei, hovering behind Susie and wringing his hands against his chest, sighs in relief.
“O-oh, that’s good! I’m glad! The healing must’ve helped.”
“Is that so?” the old man hums. “I see, I see... Lemme take a looksee, all the same.”
He reaches forward, digging a gnarled finger against Kris’s lower lip and wrenching their jaw open to peer inside. He presses a clammy, calloused hand to their damp forehead. He pokes a claw at their lower eyelid and hisses stale breath and sucks at his yellowed tortoise teeth.
Finally, he steps back, tapping his cane against the floor. “Aha! Jus’ as I thought. Figured out the real trouble.”
Even from behind, Kris feels Susie’s heated glower at the old man. “...And? What happened? Sneak attack? Poison dart? Weird Knight crap?”
“Worse’n all of the above. Worked too hard!” The old man glares at Kris, smacking their forehead with the tip of his cane. They flinch.
“...You can’t be serious,” Susie says. She lifts them up out of the way of another cane whack, and their headache thanks her.
“Deadly so! Used to do the same thing back when I was yer age. I’d get so wrapped up in a big new idea fer an adventure I’d stay up all night without eatin’ or drinkin’ or pausin’, jus’ to see it through.” A laugh. “An’ that was jus’ for the sake of writin’ books! Can’t imagine how much I’d push aside if I thought savin’ the world was at stake.”
“It’s just... tiredness?” Susie echoes, at first sounding skeptical... then relieved. “They’re not dying?”
“Not yet! Keep that up, though, and ye just might keel over before forty.”
Ralsei winces. “K-Kris, I... I’m so sorry. I didn’t even notice you were... I-if you need a break, or some yummy treats, or anything, you know you can just ask me, right? I’m happy to make you anything you need!”
“Yeah, dumbass! Why didn’t you say anything to us?” Susie agrees, and their neutral expression deepens into a frown.
You say that you’re fine now. It’s not a problem.
“Eheheh... yeah, is about what I woulda said at yer age, too,” the old man points out. He points with his cane towards the back of the study, to the couches lined up behind his ‘shop’--if you could call a couple tables of leftover Rhapsoteas and WaferMints a shop, anyway. “Purple girl, couldya put ‘em on one a’ them couches over yonder?”
You say that you can move over there fine--
And Susie picks Kris up again, hoisted under one arm. Oh.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” She stomps past the shop tables, setting Kris down with a whumph of cotton stuffing against the cushions. “Park your butt, mixer.”
Mixer...? Kris blinks at her, but she’s already turned back towards the old man, cracking her jaw in a grumbling yawn.
“Man, maybe Kris has a point... I’m freakin’ bushed. How many Dark Worlds has this been in less than a week, anyway...?” She grimaces. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun and all. I wouldn’t trade these sick adventures for anything. But jeez.”
Ralsei digs his hands into his scarf, his eyes wide with concern. “I-it’s important for Lightners to get lots of rest and real nutrition between adventures, you two! You won’t be able to save the worlds if you can’t take care of yourself, first!” He smiles, nervously. “H-how about this? You two get some rest here, and... and I’ll go ahead and solve the rest of the puzzles for you! All you need to do is take it easy and--”
“Nope. Get over here, fluffybuns.” Susie grasps Ralsei’s arm, dragging him over to the couch. Before he can do more than yelp and wiggle in objection, she drops him directly on top of Kris like a living weighted blanket.
...They’re strangely okay with this.
“You’ve been actin’ weird all day. You don’t get outta this that easy,” Susie explains.
When Ralsei doesn’t immediately scramble back off, Susie dusts off her hands in satisfaction, then drops onto the far end of the couch, narrowly missing crushing everyone’s ankles with the impact. Her arms drape over the back of the couch, her head rolled back against the headrest and knees spread wide like she isn’t sharing the couch with two other people.
It’s a mess. Ralsei is blushing and stammering, jolting off of Kris to sit as primly and properly in the middle as he can manage, taking up as little space as possible. Susie is taking up even more space than should be possible.
And Kris? They’re draped across the cushions like a plank of blue wood, their arms rigid at your sides and their armor backplate digging into their spine.
“Theeeere we go,” Susie says, like nothing is wrong. “Everyone comfy-cozy?”
Kris gives a thumbs up.
Ralsei mumbles, “S-stationed, Susie!”
“Good.” Susie glances back. “Thanks for the help, old ma--”
She stops. Frowns.
The study is empty. Behind the old man’s signature desk sits nothing but rows of books, floating dust motes, and the sinking licks of a dying fire.
“Huh. Where’d that guy go...? Ain’t this his office? Is there some kinda secret passage in here or something...?”
Ralsei says nothing, but he twitches with his scarf and stares at the floor, in that far-too-knowing way he has.
After a second, Susie shrugs. “Eh, whatever. His loss. Fun Gang Formation: Cuddle Pile Triple Z is complete!”
Ralsei claps politely, and Susie grins, her fangs glistening yellow.
“Hope you’re ready, Kris, for the comfiest, coziest, most relaxing break of your freakin’ life.”
You say you’re ready, captain.
“Good. Now--” Susie chucks a couch pillow at Kris, whapping them in the face. “Shut it!”
And who are they to argue with that?
...Logically, they shouldn’t sleep. They have to seal the fountain before it grows out of hand. They have to help the Knight set up enough obstacles to strengthen the SOUL, to activate all its latent powers and skills and test them out, before...
Before YOU...
...
...It’s a really nice pillow, though. And the fire is crackling with more warmth than they’re used to feeling in any Dark World. And Susie’s already snoring loud enough to rumble in their bones--not like the Goddamn bells, pounding and cracking at their migraine, but like... a cat? Like some sort of animal, purring and warm against their legs, while Ralsei is soft as a dream they barely remember, humming a lullaby under his breath...
And they’re happy.
And you’re happy.
And you decide, despite yourself (despite yourselves), that the game you’re playing with the Knight and this Dark World and the SOUL and everything else--this game you’re so desperate to keep playing forever, without eating or drinking or pausing--can wait a few minutes.
A few minutes, a few days, a few years... No matter how long it takes, your DELTARUNE will be waiting.
So it’s okay, in the meanwhile, to take a break. To sleep. To dream.
Dream of a happy ending where everyone is alive and free, where flowers bloom and birds sing, and when Susie takes your hand and drags you along laughing into the dark, this time, you never ever let go.
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