it be like that sometimes
Chapter 2
You didn't trust in fairytales.
The orphanage's library held a meager collection of books, but within the shelves and the dog-eared pages there were a couple of happy endings that the children wanted to be read every night. The caretakers gave up on confiscating the bedtime hours, since you did manage to get them all to fall asleep before ten. And you? You picked up a new one and kept reading, because you liked to see how stories ended.
You've heard folklore mainly from word of mouth, told by the elderly that came by to interact with the younger orphans. (They were kinder, more open than the people that came to adopt them. That in itself told many things.) The grandmother was a fantastic storyteller, each of her claims being vivid and more outlandish than the last, but you ate it up anyway: the wishing well, the mushroom rings that gave way to the fairies, the lights that led many astray. The one you noticed most was the one about Mt. Ebott: the hole in the ground. Once upon a time, six souls had fallen to their graves. The seventh would save them all.
You enjoyed the company, and so did the children. They've always cared a bit more about fairytales than you, though, so you couldn't complain.
There was a foundation to your rules and regulations when dealing with adults: don't keep eye contact for too long, stand as straight as you could, keep your expression neutral. To this house of wild children, with dreams stretching as wide as the skies above them, you played the role of the housekeeper. The matrons played the adults who came, but you had confided in these kids like the eldest maintained secrecy. Your orders were unquestioned.
You've overheard the financial instability of the orphanage. The caretakers had governmental backing, but there was just barely enough to manage, and you've heard that they might send some of the children out to the other orphanage hours away from this one. Less mouths to feed. You'd prayed that if stories like the ones you'd heard were true, then the days would be kinder.
"What was your home like?" You remember asking the old woman once, curiosity overtaking you. In her experience, she had mentioned stories of the place she had lived in throughout her life, but she had yet to tell the name of the actual place.
"I lived in the grasslands, once, but I'm assuming that's not what you were asking for." She had laughed, loud and clear and strong despite being so wrinkled with age. Her shriveled hand reached out and wrapped lightly around in yours, calm and unyielding. "Home is whatever you make it to be, my dear. If you feel as if where you are right now is home, then it is. It can up and move with you wherever you want to go."
You had been taken by those words: the children's raucous laughter when play-fighting around the corridors, the food pranks despite all circumstances telling them not to, the way they huddled up close during the winter nights and slept away around you like a blanket: you loved them, and they mattered to you more than anything. Your home lived here, and everything fell into place.
(You knew that one day, that wouldn't be the case: you were nearing the limit age, and you'd avoided getting picked out like a fish in water. The caretakers knew you wanted to stay and had kept you since the children obeyed under your will - you couldn't very well tell them to never get you to leave, you did not want to rely on their ever-present kindness, but when you looked back and saw the people you've lived with for so long - taller, older, wearied and with more calluses by the sheer force of will alone and straggling behind you almost stopped with your mind whispering leave, leave, they are suffering and you must go, and then you blink and they have resumed their tasks with ease.)
Rage was a terrifying thing, and you hoped to God that whatever you did you would never resort to anger, that you wouldn't leave them behind because fighting and mending were the two things you knew best and squandering that meant death. These beaten souls shivered at night, sleepwalked to the kitchen from hunger, minds scarred beyond your reach because they'd already become like this before you'd ever arrived to meet them.
"I'm sorry," one boy had sobbed in your shirt as you'd huddled together underneath the open cabinets, back pressed to the refrigerator door. His hands were clenched in your shirt. You'd found him holding a kitchen knife, wielding it clumsily and in danger of cutting himself in the process. (We're all a little messed up sometimes, you tell him. This has happened before, many times over.) "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," you'd whispered back, rocking him back and forth. Mindlessly humming calmed the both of you, and for a moment you could briefly ignore the red stain that was blooming well past your shirt and into the monochrome tile that patterned the floor. "Don't worry about it, it's fine. You're alright."
And although you stood there now, surrounded by crumbling walls and runes covered by spiderwebs, your heart reminded you to keep going, they were waiting for you aboveground, don't stop, and you didn't because who were you to make them worry? You were the leader. You had things under control because staying controlled was part of the job description. You avoid, you survive, you keep moving.
You didn't trust in fairytales. After all, in this world, what more were they than just empty promises?
You'd briefly rested in an empty room after the encounter with the ghost, where a wooden sign read "Spider Bake Sale." You squinted down at the pricing, then checked the coins you'd found in your pocket. 21 g. You stood in front of the spiderweb and dropped the coins onto it, eyeing the small spiders that fall from above as they retrieved a couple of spider donuts for you. They placed the treats in your empty hand, waving various legs goodbye as they slowly climbed the threads back up. After contemplating the donut, you chomped down.
It filled you with warmth.
There was a light that shone faintly, you noted, watching it move in an entrancing pattern. How sunlight managed to reach this deep into the ruins, you would never know. Spots of light rose up and danced across the leather of your boot before you could fully comprehend it, mellowing the color into pale yellows and blurred circles of molten gold. You placed the other donuts into your pocket and continued on, brushing off the excess crumbs from your mouth with a finger.
You greeted the frog monster on your way down the hall. It didn't attack you immediately, which was both a surprise and a relief: you'd wondered why they were so keen on fighting as soon as they'd spotted you. They introduced themselves as Froggit, and you had bowed your head as you passed by which seemed to please them immensely. Since then, none of the creatures had chosen to attack you.
The paths changed yet again, and you spotted a tree bare of any of the scarlet foliage you'd seen earlier. Underneath one of the low-hanging branches lay innocently a small toy knife, hard and plastic but brittle to the touch.
You picked it up, examined it, and put it back down. The leaves rustled, and you quickly turned to face your possible assailant before they blindsided you.
The flower had returned.
"So," the flower - it, he - spoke, petals shivering. "You haven't met Toriel yet. You haven't fought anyone, either."
"No," you replied. You had relaxed just as quickly. His expression was set harshly in a scowl, but you found comfort in that. His posture seemed more veritable to analyze, more authentic. "I haven't."
"Stupid," he sneered, vines sprouting from the ground. White bullet seeds materialized from thin air, encircling you in a threatening manner. He glanced to your feet, and your eyes followed. He was looking at the toy knife. "You got a weapon, don't you? Pick it up."
"No need to fight you, shorty," you teased, and you ducked just as a bullet shot towards you. The bark of the trunk bit against your clothing as you moved behind it, hauling yourself up as the vines attempted to close in but failed to locate your position. The flower relocated just as you reached the top, finding you slinging one leg over while lounging in a carefree manner against a dry branch.
"What's your name?" You ask him, propping your head on one hand. He stops, petals furrowing restlessly.
"Flowey," he snaps. "I'm Flowey. Flowey the flower."
"No you're not," you reply, and this time the vines do halt just before they reach your leg. "What's your actual name, dude?"
"That is my name," he says, irritated, and you knock against the vine with your foot. Flowey jerks back. "Hey!"
"I'm Z," you say to him. "Z the human."
"'No, you're not,'" Flowey snarks back, and you grin. Was he saying you weren't a human or that your name wasn't Z?
"You got me," you say sullenly, throwing one hand over your eyes dramatically as you lean further back against the trunk. From the corner of your vision you can see Flowey roll his eyes. "I'm actually a pink platypus monster in disguise. Oh, how the tables have turned."
The vine catches you by the ankle, and you are hanging off the edge of the branch. Flowey gives an experimental tug, but he doesn't pull you off entirely. "...How did you know?" He asks, quieter.
"I know a kid when I see one," you say, and the vine yanks itself back as if scalded. "You were hard to read at first, man, but you seem as though you're hiding quite a few secrets. A tough-sounding, temperamental kid with some stuff under the bed that you maybe don't want to show. That's cool. I won't look."
The flower bursts out in a spluttering growl, face twisting into something you don't recognize (something you do recognize, you've seen it in mirrors when you turn to look.) "I'm not a child anymore."
"Oh, kid," you breathe, smiling. "You get mad, you rage, you get angrier and angrier and you're terrified once you stop because that's when it all ends. That's what you are, and that's so hard to grow up from."
(And wow, haven't you been there before? Too many times.)
Flowey visibly shakes, then falls still. "Let's try this again. My name is Z," you say, grin widening. "What's yours?"
"...It's Asriel," he murmurs, petals drooping and face lowered. The leaves seem to swallow him whole. He sounds so tired. "My name is Asriel Dreemurr."
Slowly, little by little, you two share conversation with each other. Asriel mentions a few things that you take note to remember: the falling humans, Chara's death, his descent into terrorizing the next human that falls down because he wants to be mad at mankind, the ones who'd taken his sibling away. You question him about the history between monsters and humans, and so he starts from the very beginning. Hours seem to have passed when he finally answers all your questions (with a relative weariness, you note, as if he has been asked this before.)
There are still niggling reminders burrowed in the back of your mind, but you ignore it. You stand up sharply once he finishes, grab a vine, and pull.
"H-hey!" He's mad, but not the slightest bit pained. You tug until he complies, roots pulling from the ground as he wraps around your arm. "Where are we going?"
You smile at the 'we' he says. "We're going to Toriel's, of course."
Flowey - Asriel - shakes his head vigorously. "No. She can't know. She's - she thinks I'm-"
"But you're not," you reply, cutting him off. Whether he would have said he were dead, or that he was a demon, you didn't care. He placed his face upon your hoodie, covering his expression from your glance.
"Thank you," he whispers, and his throat catches. Your heart trembles.
The goat woman - Toriel - greets you at the door when you knock. She takes in your dirtied form. "Oh," she says, paw coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh," she says again, eyes resting on the flower currently riding on your hoodie arm.
You press his petals close to your chest and hum. She invites you in, cautiously. You bow your head as the flower hides beneath your clothing.
Toriel excuses herself and goes to the kitchen to prepare for you as guests. Eventually the shaking stops: the vines settle and wrap around you slowly, carefully, like the hands of an unsure child who wants something but doesn't know how to say it. You murmur quiet whispers into the air, and the room becomes filled with sound: the crackling of the hearth, Toriel's cooking while in the kitchen, the sound of liquid tapping gently against a ceramic mug.
"Do you think...people can change?" Asriel asks you in the silence of the room, when he's calmed down completely.
"Of course," you say, hand patting lightly over his head. "That's not my choice to make, though. You've got to make it for yourself."
He starts to unravel, hesitates, then pulls tight. "Can I go talk to her alone?" He chokes, petals fluttering. You get up and take a walk outside.
Once upon a time, there were six children. That was how the story went. You probably weren't the seventh, considering you weren't a kid anymore, but that was okay, because you knew exactly how one lonely old woman who lived in the ruins felt, how one grieving child in the midst of their suffering felt, and you would hold onto that feeling until the bitter end.
You were at the tree with the toy knife again. You picked it up and nudged it gently back into place so that it rested above the leaves again, brushing aside any soil that had fallen over it in your brief strife. You noticed the carving in the trunk of the tree.
CH + AS. Chara and Asriel.
You chuckle.
You made the return trip before the gnawing in your stomach reached astronomical levels - you ate another donut, but you were still rather hungry. Toriel ushered you back in, much to your chagrin. You were starting to feel like a kid again. "Clean up, now, dinner will be in a half hour. I'd like to speak with Asriel for a moment." Asriel.
You both share a small, secret smile at that, but you take the cue and go to the bathroom under her instructions. You couldn't hear anything through the walls with the sound of running water, so you shrugged off your hoodie and washed your hands. You take in your expression. You seemed...happier.
You heard snippets of muffled conversation once you left the bathroom, and you knocked twice on the wall to alert them before entering. Toriel's eyes were a little red and Asriel looked downright ecstatic, but he quickly smothered it with a scowl in your direction. You stick your tongue out.
"Is everything good now?" You ask, sitting down beside them.
"Thank you," Toriel says, leaning forward to embrace you in a warm hug. You reach out with your other hand to grab Asriel and pull him in, too. He yelps as his roots untug from the wood of the table. "I'll be back soon. One moment."
She gets up and heads to the hallway to the right. You turn to Asriel, but before you say anything he puts a vine up to stop you.
"Call me Flowey," he said, eyes averted. "I've been...Flowey...for such a long time that I think my mind's all messed up. Keep calling me Flowey."
"Sure," you say without a problem. The sound of Toriel's footsteps alerts you both as she returns with an empty flower pot. She reaches down and fills it with soil using another potted plant that stands somewhat tall in the living room.
"Here."
Flowey uncomfortably retracts his roots and sinks into the pot. The ground shifts, but that's about it. His vines fold into themselves a bit, but they stay mostly hanging out of the pot.
"Please come back."
Toriel says this to you this time. You're going to leave is a quiet question left unsaid, but you know it was going to happen sometime and you were sure that Toriel had known it too. Flowey jerks up, a question in his eyes (you can't stay, you love them already but you can't.)
"...I'll text you every day," You finally reply, and the relief on Toriel's face is both heartwarming and sad. "I'll make sure to call often."
"Three times a week," Toriel orders, but the smile tugging at her mouth makes it hard to stay serious.
"Thank you."
You stay for dinner. Toriel sets the table and places Flowey in the spot next to you before you take a glance: the butterscotch-cinnamon pie was calling your name. Flowey chomps his down in three bites and attempts to take some of yours too, and although you push his face aside with a protective hand and Toriel tells you both that "we have more! Slow down!" and you're laughing so hard you nearly do choke, Flowey screams as you shove the pot off the table and it's one of the best times you've ever had.
And as Flowey is taken to his room (the children's room: the other side of the room with one lone bed makes your heart tighten), you make eye contact with Toriel and she waves goodbye silently as you head off below the stairs. You will miss her. You will miss them both.
But you had a life to live up aboveground, and damn everything that said you couldn't do what you set your heart to. You glare deep into the empty hall and walk forward.
Your soul swells with determination.
I've been planning on opening them up little by little, but I guess everything just came out in the second chapter. Oops
see y'all later
