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Silently, in the vicinity of her room, she took in every word with consideration, trying to make out anything and everything that could give an explanation or the faintest shaft of light to guide her. Sometimes, she would end up having books scattered around her room haphazardly, more often than not after trying to write down what she felt could help and even going as far as leaving notes of which books and chapters she took the information from.
In her shelf, her favorite books now had new additions that felt more as the proof of the shadow that lingered for way too long in the corner, the desesperate attempts to find a solution, or just a steady ground to work from there. The shelf was now home to the thin thread between turmoil and the desire to change. She did not have space to hide these books from them anymore, so she at least tried to keep it tidy. "How to care for a child after trauma", "Post traumatic episode on children and what to do afterwards", "Brain development of human children", among many others, from the most scientific and biological explanations to the most abstract stories, from facts to fiction grounded on reality, books on how to deal with grief, pain and trauma now filled her room. The information desesperately clinging to every crevice of her brain, trying to find any point of normalcy to give the child in the next room a safe place.
For all she could and all she failed or was not able to do, she still tried to be the steady rock in the family. Trying so exhaustingly hard, even though the rain and wind would eventually start eroding it. All the psychiatrists, psychologists, and neurologists could only provide so much, could only answer so much, and it was not enough — not when the child she loved so painfully much started losing themself in the process, slipping away through the edges of her fingers until they were completely gone, it felt rude to describe them as such, but she felt as if they were now a living corpse. Sometimes they would just sit alone, hunched over, staring at nothing specific and maybe at nothing at all, dissociating. Sometimes she would sit with them, trying to say something, to see if they would break out of that haze and communicate with her or simply acknowledge her. When the attempts at bringing their life back failed, she caressed their back or head in silence until they slowly came back to consciousness after drifting for so long.
"Can they still live a normal life, like other children? Will they recover?" She asked every professional, and the answers were never sactisfactory, nor pleasant. She did not blame them by any means, it's the fact that what they said always left her more terrified than she already was. "They will not be able to live like other kids", "it is too early to diagnose them, but there are signs they could be experiencing psychosis symptoms, as if their mind is creating another reality to comprehend what happened", and many other things, so similar and so apart from each other, giving too much insight and nothing at once. Nothing could ease the fact that she did not know how to move forward and bring Kris with her.
On the night of the incident, when they were found, the police officers took them to answer questions in a secure place, and Toriel would have moved the earth if anyone dared to get on her way, sprinting to the room the second she heard from one of the officers that Kris was asking for her. Her presence in the room did not make it any easier for them to speak a word, but it did help them calm down enough to reduce their wails to small sobs as they clung onto her — and so she held them, cradling them in hopes to, even for a fraction of second, separate them from the dangers of the world. And so she waited, and waited, and for all they said, nothing made sense — everything seemed so complex and so otherworldly it was hard to decipher what was real and what could be their brain catastrophizing what happened when they were with her.
She held them again, when they couldn't hide it for any longer and bled in front of her. She held them again, after she found a series of artworks in their room, so morbid and dark — pages filled with nothing but as much of a void they could convey with what they had. And she held them again, when they couldn't talk or sleep alone, resorting to sleep between her and Asgore. And tonight, he was not home, going somewhere else like he has been doing after their particularly intense discussions. She did not have it in her anymore to think about his whereabouts, hasn't had for a while, now. They settled on officializing the divorce after Asriel left for college — it would be easier this way, to have one less witness.
She closed her book and placed it on her nightstand, deciding that for now she would allow herself to take a break. It was past nighttime, but sleep would not come soon. Standing up, she touched her surroundings for guidance in the dark, practically tiptoeing in order to not wake up the kids. Right after leaving her bedroom, she heard the faintest sounds coming from the living room. Buzzing, barely perceptible voices she could not recall listening before. As Toriel walked down the stairs, she found the house as dark as it was everywhere else, except for the living room. She carefully made her way there, trying to not make any noise, feeling like her own home could become a maze if it was dim enough.
Upon arriving, she found Kris curled up in the couch while a program she did not recognize was playing on the TV. Truthfully, it felt more like background noise than anything. The volume was low to the point the conversations could only be made out if someone was near the source. As she turned to them, she wondered to herself for how long Kris has been here, their breathing was even and deep, sleeping peacefully. Maybe for a while, then.
Toriel stood there for a moment, letting the scene play in front of her, allowing herself and Kris to feel this brief moment of normalcy, the voices of the TV becoming static in her brain. She took a cautious step closer to Kris and kneeled down in front of the couch, lightly pressing a hand to their forehead and then their arm — cold.
Normally, she would let them sleep there, not wanting to disturb or stir them awake. Normally, she would bring them a blanket, cover them so they would feel warm. And normally, she wouldn't have stopped to think about how, had she been more attentive, she could have protected them. So, against her better judgement, she held them in her arms. She felt them stir and grunt sleepily for a moment before she raised herself, and as if they were giving up a protest due to their tiredness, they fell asleep again.
Using the light of the TV to see her surroundings, she walked them upstairs, holding them closer when the light could no longer accompany her. Right now, they were as small as the day they arrived, and so she cradled them again. She opened their bedroom's door, wincing ever so slightly at the creak it made. After securing both Asriel and Kris were still asleep, she approached their bed, and with the moonlight she watched them for a minute. After taking a deep breath, she slowly placed them on the bed, watching them shift into a better position. With as much love as she could muster with an action so simple, she tucked them in, ensuring they would not feel cold for the night. And with as much grief she could keep to herself, she planted a kiss on the top of their head, soon turning to leave the bedroom, casting a quick glance between her two children. For now, they were safe, and for now, she would love them until they were able to love their life again.