Chapter Text
The Ruins had been quiet for a while now. Ever since the door to the rest of the Underground had opened, ever since the barrier had shattered, the sheltered denizens of the very beginning of the cavern had taken the opportunity to branch out to new horizons. Whether that meant going to the surface or just managing to reach Snowdin, it meant the Ruins was empty.
Save for Flowey, that is.
He wasn't sure how long it had been before Asriel had slipped into unconsciousness and awoken once again as Flowey, but he did know that when he had fallen asleep -- died? could he die again? -- there were still the soft sounds of activity echoing down the halls and now it was silent. Part of him wanted to go and look around for any stragglers, but the rest of him kept firmly planted in his spot. The last thing Flowey wanted was to enter a situation where he might have to talk to someone. An annoying, familiar tightness in his face told him he was close to crying, even though doing so now would be pointless.
Sunlight that had poured in from the opening in the ceiling of the cave soon dimmed, letting Flowey know nighttime was quickly settling in. A wave of exhaustion rushed over him and he drooped forward as a thought that had been fluttering around his subconscious was quickly shoved to the forefront of his brain: 'I should move out of the light come morning and find some place to wilt and die.'
As if on cue, the sound of footsteps coming closer jolted Flowey from this train of thought. He stayed as still as he could in the hopes that he would be passed by.
No such luck.
"Flowey?"
The quiet voice that called out to him, one he'd only heard a handful of times, was instantly recognizable. "What do you want, Frisk?" he asked, trying not to be shocked at the gravelly quality his own voice had gained. Right, he hadn't had anything to drink in a while...
Frisk made their way over, their movements slow as if Flowey were some easily startled wild animal that they wanted to feed. They took a seat beside him at the edge of the patch of golden flowers. Their expression, decidedly neutral as always, made Flowey's face burn with frustration.
"Let me guess, you were expecting Asriel to still be here?" he asked, attempting to add a mocking edge to his tone but only managing a slightly defeated sounding one instead. "Nope, just little old me. I told you, Frisk, I'd be a flower again in no time..."
"I know." Frisk replied, pulling their arms free from the straps of a backpack they had on and dragging it around in front of them. "I figured you wouldn't lie about that."
Their calm in the face of Flowey's taunt just made him angrier. "Then why are you here, huh?" he shot back, turning away from them. "I told you to get lost, Frisk!" However, instead of responding, Frisk continued to fiddle with their backpack as if they hadn't heard him at all. After rifling through the contents, they pulled out a canteen, a pad of paper, and a box of crayons. Flowey glanced back over, eyeing the items warily. "What are you doing?"
Frisk looked down at Flowey again, shrugging. "I just wanted to stay down here with you for a bit." they said, popping open the lid on the crayons. "Things are noisy on the surface right now."
A bitter smile crumpled across Flowey's face. "So you wanna stay here in the silence with the lonely flower? How nice that you have that choice to make."
"Stop that." Frisk frowned, their mouth curving into a pout. "You're just trying to find something to be mad about while pretending you aren't the one keeping yourself here."
Flowey flinched back a bit, eyes wide. He'd finally managed to get a rise out of Frisk, only for it to spectacularly backfire. However, the moment didn't last as Frisk flipped open the pad of paper and spilled the crayons out in front of it. "Come on." Frisk said, offering a red crayon out to him with a small smile, "Let's colour."
The next few hours were spent mostly in silence, yet the quiet was nowhere near as deafening as it had been when Flowey woke up. Though only the occasional noise of paper rustling accented their time spent together, it felt more as though they didn't need to speak instead of neither having any idea what to say. As time passed, however, Flowey felt himself starting to nod off. Through his hazy recollections the following morning, he could only just recall Frisk placing a warm, gentle hand on his sepals and whispering "Good night."
As the morning light shone in, Flowey's eyes opened slowly to realize Frisk had left the paper and crayons for him, as well as the canteen which, upon closer inspection, was filled with water. Flipping though the drawings the two of them had done the night before, Flowey caught himself smiling and quickly pushed the pad of paper away. He knew Frisk was right: he was the one keeping himself here, and if Frisk kept coming down here to escape the hustle and bustle of whatever was going on outside, Flowey knew he would start getting... attached. Admittedly, his inability to let go hadn't lessened despite his admission that maybe putting Chara on such a high pedestal wasn't such a good idea. If he got attached, that would mean he might consider leaving for the surface with them eventually, and he couldn't have that.
Shooting a glare at the canteen, Flowey dove underground only to shoot up in a dark corner of the room a few yards away. It was decided -- he would have to wilt and die before Frisk could hang out with him any more. He would even hide from them if need be. For the sake of everyone's happiness, he would wither away to nothing as he rightfully deserved to.
Every couple days, Frisk made sure to find a reason to give to keep returning to the Ruins. They felt bad not giving Toriel the full story, but given how concerned Asriel had been about upsetting his parents, they had decided it was best to take some time to give her any insight as to whom Frisk was paying these frequent visits to. Of course, they had little hope they would ever be able to convince Flowey to come live with them -- he was awfully stubborn, after all -- but if Frisk could at the very least keep him the occasional company, maybe he could be persuaded to at least enjoy the surface with everyone someday.
The first time they had come, Frisk had found Asriel lying beside the patch of golden flowers, unresponsive. Trying not to panic, Frisk had hurried to his side and carefully taking his furry white hands in their's. They were still warm, but Asriel remained unconscious. Seeing him this way had made Frisk think back to the entries in Alphys' lab, the ones about monsters that had 'fallen down'. They were resigned in knowing there was nothing they could do. Asriel himself had said he wouldn't stay like this after all. Lifting Asriel's head slowly, Frisk placed it in their lap and stroked their friend's soft fur, hoping somehow he could sense their presence to let him know he wasn't alone.
The second time had been similar, except instead of Asriel's body, a lone flower stood in it's place. Still unmoving and not at all cogent, but after Frisk's last visit, they had come more emotionally prepared for such a reception. They had spent that visit reading aloud to the unconscious Flowey, occasionally reaching over to stroke one of his soft petals with their thumb.
When Flowey had actually answered them on their third trek into the Ruins, Frisk had to keep their heart from leaping into their throat. They had wanted to be more excited, but he... looked so frail. Even his voice was raspy and weak. Thankfully, Frisk had planned for this and brought water for him, but Flowey didn't seem to take the hint during their time together colouring so Frisk decided to leave it for when he woke up.
Their spirits dropped when they returned for their fourth visit, only to find the canteen in the same exact spot, still full, and Flowey nowhere to be seen.
"Flowey?" they called out, as they had done only days prior. No response. They called again. Nothing.
The panic from before resurfaced. Frisk began to scour the area, trying to find any clue they could to Flowey's whereabouts. They searched high and low, even asking around to some monsters that still remained in other parts of the Underground if they had seen a yellow, talking flower.
After hours of looking, Frisk reluctantly had to return home due to the late hour. However, they made a point to set aside some time tomorrow to track Flowey down.
Tomorrow came and, much to both Flowey and Frisk's dismay, he was found.
A week without water and half of that with no sunlight had taken it's toll on the flower. Frisk had only managed to locate Flowey -- in the basement of Home, no less -- because he no longer had the energy to move hiding places. The colour of his petals were washed out and dull looking and his stem seemed brittle and scrawny. A million questions blew through Frisk's mind at light speed, but they only managed to croak out "Why?" When Flowey didn't answer, they grabbed the canteen and unscrewed the lid, splashing some water onto their hand and kneeling down to reach Flowey. Slowly, they eased his mouth open with their damp fingers, draining some of the water that had pooled in their palm down his throat. Sprinkling some water on the dry dirt around him as well, Frisk took a moment to search around Home for something, anything, to transport Flowey in.
In the end, they decided to regrefully remove some water sausages from their planter and brought the pot over. Flowey blinked up at them blearily, murmuring something incoherent.
Frisk hurried outside Home, scooping some soil at the base of the old tree into the pot before taking it back to the flower, who seemed unable to process what was happening around him. As Frisk began to carefully dig at the dirt around Flowey with their hands, they could have sworn Flowey addressed them as 'Chara' in his vague mumblings. Biting their lip, they carefully lifted Flowey and placed him in the pot, carrying him back upstairs and to the tree to get more soil to pack him in for his journey to the surface. Frisk could only imagine the tongue lashing they would get from him once he was fully aware once more for dragging him to the surface against his will, but they were ready to face that when the time came. For now, Flowey's survival and safety was more important than his self-imposed exile.