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The light was blinding.
Maybe if he tried to ignore it, he could hold on for just a little longer, but it was getting harder to breathe. He did not need to breathe. But he so desperately wanted to breathe.
“I don’t want to go…”
And yet something was trying to split them apart. Was it just him? Was it the wall that he built around himself since running away, now acting on its own volition as not mere protection, but as an assailant against its originator?
Whatever this thing was, it grew impatient, and it finally seized him and hurled him away from her, shot him through the air like a cannon, through the nothingness. And the nothing stripped down his flesh until he was one with it. Spread thin by it. Completely atomized. Yet in no pain, somehow. Retaining his mind. Retaining sense. In his limbs and parts cast aside in the unseen corners of an unseen world, events took place.
His foot rifling through sea foam as he walked along the beach with his two best friends.
His hand rolling up a fresh-powdered snowball as he fought in a friendly game.
… His chest pressing against her buttons as she held him close.
All his memories stamped on his body looping on through eternity all at once.
It was more than he deserved.
But even then, even when settling into this strange peace, he was selfish. Because to whoever may have been watching, to whoever may have been listening, he wanted to ask for a chance to try again. He knew it was wrong. He knew it. For someone such as him to be so bold at the very end of things. But despite all he had done, could he ask to… to try again?
Please.
But life did not work that way.
And death did not either.
Not for someone like him. Not for someone… who did not even remember… to say he was sorry.
It was too little too late.
And he realized that there was nothing and that there would continue to be nothing but the memories, both good and bad, mixing together into a harmless, useless noise, and he cried. Somehow, he cried. Tears flowed from an eye that was north and an eye that was west.
And a coolness pressed firmly to his head from the east.
“There, there. No need to worry. It will be all right.”
He was misremembering things now. Because this was a woman’s voice. Not his mother’s. She had never sounded so sweet.
“Are you waking now, dear? Take your time.”
It was the same voice. In the same instance? Paired with a light touch to his shoulder, many feet away to his right, but… much closer than anything else.
And getting closer every moment. As was all of him. As was the voice.
He… wanted to walk towards it. Could he… walk towards it?
“Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh. It is okay. It is all right now. You are safe here.”
It was right over him. Right over him. And something warm and soft overlapped the cold and swept across his head, back and forth.
It was not just a voice.
Could he… see them?
“Of course, you may see me! You only need to open your eyes, young one,” the voice chuckled.
“Open my…?”
Words slipped from his mouth. He could feel them this time. From his mouth on his face. It startled him so much that without meaning to, he did open his eyes, and instead of nothing, there was a ceiling. Walls. Some furniture. Stuffed animals. And some goat’s face hovering over him.
“Greetings—"
He jerked upright and struggled to back away, held captive by a blanket over his body.
The goat creature was also taken aback, apparently.
“Oh! Oh my goodness! I have frightened you,” she said, catching her breath, but smiling. “I do apologize, but I am very glad to see you awake. You had quite the fall, but aside from minor injuries, you seem unharmed. Only asleep for awhile.”
“Wh— huh?”
“Ah, where are my manners?” she chided herself. “I am Toriel, caretaker of The Ruins. It is the place you find yourself in. But do not be afraid. You are safe in my home. And once you are all rested up, I can guide you through the catacombs so you may familiarize yourself with your surroundings.”
The goat lady waited patiently for his response. He gave none, only staring at her bewildered, wondering what all this was and what this thing was and why she was talking weird like a… like a game, or…
He scoffed. Then he guffawed, shooting out short, ugly barks through his teeth. The goat woman’s smile faltered.
“That psychopath… that psychopath!!”
“Er… I…"
“Real low, Caine. Actually making me feel something, and it was just another one of your elaborate adventures the whole time! Nice work. You really had me!”
“I am sorry?” the goat woman asked.
He ignored her. “Well, joke’s on you! ‘Cos I… I didn’t mean anything I said! Nothing she saw in my head was real. I made it all up! So we can go back to how things were! I don't need to be plopped into another game-- th-this... 'Sleepy Time with Mommy Sheep', or whatever the heck you're calling this one!”
“I… do not understand.”
“Yeah, I’m not playing along. So you can just shut up now,” he snapped at her.
Her hand flew to her chest. “E-Excuse me—!”
“Caine! Stop the adventure or I’m going to get really upset!” he spat at the ceiling. No one retorted. “Caine…? Caine!!”
“Maybe you have hit your head harder than I thought.”
The goat woman leaned forward in the chair she was sitting in and reached out to him, just barely brushing his face, before he swiped her hand away.
“Don’t touch m—!”
He froze.
His… his glove…
His glove was gone.
And so was his fur.
It was a normal human hand.
His human hand.
And so was the other. They flew to his face. They scratched at his scalp.
He… he couldn’t believe it.
He bolted out of bed and started tearing through the room. The woman frantically trailed behind. “Please— please, calm down! Do not— I ask that you do not— stop, please!”
He grabbed her by the arms and yelled, “Mirror! Mirror, mirror, mirror! Where’s a mirror?!”
“T-To the left, at the end of the hall.”
He ran out the door and to a mirror at the end of a yellow hallway. And looked at himself, really looked at himself, something that he hated doing for how many years he had been trapped in The Circus.
And… there he was. Mop of black hair that he never wanted cut. Two green irises in the whites of his eyes. A mouth that actually opened and closed.
He cursed. And covered his mouth when he did so. No filter. It was just… gone.
He shook his head. “No. No. This is all… this is all just a trick. Another adventure. That he…! I… this can’t be real…” he said, but he couldn’t get himself to fully believe it. Because Caine… couldn’t do this. Couldn’t mess with them like this. It was impossible. His knees went weak and dropped him to the floor.
Was this it? Was he out? But… he was dead. He had to be! That’s what abstraction was. That’s all there was next! Not… whatever this was! This wasn’t the real world. But… it wasn’t the circus, either. Right? “It can’t be… it can’t be…”
“You have been through much. That I can tell for certain,” the goat woman said after a time, having exited the room and quietly watching him. She kneeled down near him. “You do not have to tell me everything if you do not want to, but I know conversations are best held at a table with some tea and butterscotch pie.” She held out her hand. “Would you care to join me?”
He eyed the woman, not sure what to make of her. Was she— was all this— just a hallucination? Had he entered some weird super-insanity where he looked normal to himself but he was still the same thing trapped forever in some digital hellscape? Or was this all just… happening? Unexplainable, but happening?
The only thing he knew for sure was that he was tired. Tired of trying to think through things, and even if this goat… this Toriel… wasn’t real, at least she seemed nice. He hesitated, then took her hand, and she took his in a warm, gentle yet firm, very real grasp and helped him to his feet.
“By the by, I have not gotten your name. Might I… ask for it?” she requested.
“Y… yeah. It’s J—” he was about to say.
But then he remembered.
“It’s… Leeroy.”