.
.
the first word you would use to describe the surface is: vast.
the second might be: beautiful.
the third would probably be: terrifying.
because.
it's not just the surface this time, it's not the one you're used to, the one where you explore for a few days a week maybe never for long and then blink yourself back underground— the normal way, the way you've done it a thousand times like clockwork over and over and.
it's not.
they're not.
it's not just the surface, it's the surface, the whole thing—
no more resets, frisk says to you in a way that is meant to be quiet and reassuring but just makes your whole body tense and tighten like a bow string, i'm done, asriel's here, i've saved everyone, no more resets this is it no more resets it's over
—the whole thing and time stretching out in front of you.
you don't know: what is out there, who is out there, if it's safe, what will happen; you don't know what will happen. you've spent so long memorizing every little thing like picture perfect pieces in one of pap's puzzles, and suddenly you know nothing, nothing. and it—
it terrifies you. it's terrifying. time and space and no more resets.
(you should be happy- no more resets, no more scarves in the snow or knives in your ribs, no more resets you're free wow free- but you're not quite as happy as you think you should be, as everyone else is, as papyrus is.)
you hide your shaking hands in the sleeves of your too-big jacket.
you all step out- really step out, for good, forever- into the world.
you are terrified.
.
.
everyone is so grateful to frisk for bringing them all to the surface. but it's- it's different for you.
you are grateful, have been grateful, were overjoyed when you saw the actual real stars for the first time. real stars, and space and stuff.
it was great.
but it's different now. it's been a long time, and no time at all; too many things happened and nothing— none of it matters anymore, nothing you've done matters because that's not what happened, not really, right?
(you never could change things. barely did anything this run-through other than the handshake thing and the puzzles thing and the dinner thing and the 'congratulations, you didn't kill anyone this time, wow' thing— like it's an accomplishment, like not killing anyone is such a difficult thing, such an accomplishment (is it an accomplishment? is anything? what counts as an accomplishment anymore?), such a great completed task.
you barely did anything this time, and. things turned out great— perfect, even.
—how many runs did it take to get this 'perfect' ending? you lost count around fifty a long time ago because fifty was too many times wasn't it so you let the numbers slip away; it's so damn funny—
you never could change anything.)
everyone is so grateful, and no one knows what you did. how much you tried. how long you tried. how hard you tried for nothing, and you will never tell them and neither will frisk, because what is the point of ruining all the happy in this happy ending?
everyone is so grateful.
you're just glad it's over, but still.
but still.
but still, frisk could change their mind. something could happen. you could wake up back underground.
so still.
you are terrified.
.
.
the night terrors; nightmares; twisted timelines don't slip from your skull onto the floor of the underground when you leave, like they should, like you want.
they stick around just because they can, rolling around in your head and out of your eye sockets and your mouth like usual- it's so so funny, you got out but you didn't really leave, did you?
you (and pap and frisk and alphys and undyne and tori and asgore- and all that emotional tension) are all piled into one rented house for the first little while. none of you have human money yet. this is all you can afford.
you cannot wake up screaming with glowing eyes and panic panic panic in this house. you don't want attention. questions. you can't.
you can't.
so you stumble outside at three-something in some-morning to breathe, breathe, breathe that crisp surface air and look at all those damn endless stars in the sky.
—it takes you four minutes of breathe breathe breathing before you notice frisk standing there, leaning on the balcony rail, a few feet away from you.
—you say nothing; they say nothing.
—you look at the stars together.
—nightmares? they say eventually, small, quiet, and …yeah, you reply eventually, small, quiet, embarrassed sort of (which you shouldn't be; you know each other too deeply at this point to be embarrassed).
—i won't reset this time, they say again, i promise.
—i sure hope so, you say.
—half of these night things have something to do with them, with frisk. and you know half of theirs are about them-self too. you think that's a cruel kind of irony.
it's so twistedly funny you can't laugh.
you don't think you want to anyways.
.
.
you get a series of odd jobs here and there along the way.
it's almost familiar, this 'take it as it comes' type of work. you've had a bit too much routine in your life.
this? this works for you.
really.
selling 'One Of A Kind Underground Monster Hotdogs', which invoke a mixture of interest and disgust in these too-similar humans (at least you monsters look different, at least you can tell each other apart— you laugh; these weak-ish look-a-likes killed the prince and trapped you all underground, it's hilarious).
—it gets you looks similar to the ones you get when you and papyrus walk down the streets and explore new shops: some discomfort, some whispers, no eye contact, stepping out of your way, trying not to touch you, some curiosity. like they're afraid you might kill them if they get too close or something.
(a part of you thinks: i could, i could destroy you without breaking a sweat.)
(another part of you thinks: chill.)
(another part thinks: you spent too long killing and look what it's done to you. murderer.)
part-time janitor at the school frisk goes to now (not toriel's; she's still working on getting it started), which too invokes those stares, those looks. from kids and teachers. and parents. everyone.
this is the surface you all fought so hard to make it to?
it makes you want to dig a hole back to your home in snowdin.
.
.
you want to tell papyrus, you really do. frisk wants you to tell papyrus, so you do too. really, you do. you want to tell him.
(you don't want to tell him.)
(you really don't. really.)
(you don't think you know what you want.)
.
.
you blink awake to the ceiling of your dirty little room in snowdin.
you blink. you blink. you stare at that ceiling until it sinks in.
no.
you're shooting out of bed, running to the window, snow, just snow and the glass on the ground.
no no nono no no.
you give up.
you give up you give up you give up you give up it was over you can't not again you can't you cry you give up you give up you—
you blink awake to the folds of pap's oversized t-shirt he sleeps in, all shaking hands on your back and whispers and it's okay 's just like old times and shit thank god.
really had you going for a second there.
no more resets, frisk said.
you still can't really believe it yet.
.
.
you find out that middle schoolers? are assholes. middle schoolers suck.
a kid saves an entire civilization, beats a giant evil flower thing, helps sort things out between the humans and monsters who first approached, and they still get trash talked?
assholes.
you hear them talking one day, taunting another day, shouting another day.
and. and.
and you.
(they called toriel old and ugly and they called you brother stupid and they called you a smiley weirdo and they called frisk a freak and they called undyne and alphys things you don't want to repeat ever and they called your brother stupid, an idiot, and you—)
and you're angry, shit, you're angry.
you haven't been this angry in a long long time, not since the beginning, not since—
you're angry.
you think your fingers might splinter and break with how tightly your fists are curled, shaking, angry, so damn angry at these little goddamn kids who think they know anything about any of you, who think they have the fucking right.
(you want to de— you want to. you want. you can't.)
you tell toriel. frisk moves schools.
you all move towns actually.
(they ask if you're okay with it, if you'll be able to find any other jobs, if you'll miss the hotdog street corner.
you say nah, you won't miss a thing about this town. there's nothing for you here.)
.
.
you want to tell papyrus.
you want to explain. now that it's over, you think he deserves an actual explanation of all the nightmaresterrorstimelines he's helped you through, and all the secrets and all the lies— god, the lies, you're horrible.
frisk thinks you should tell him too. so.
so if you have them back you up on this ridiculous fucked up story, maybe he'll believe you (you told him once, remember? a long time ago?)
so.
so you try. you stumble around your words because it's permanent this time, he won't forget this time, you have one shot this time.
and when you get to the— i've watched you die over and over again so many times and i couldn't do a thing about it wow don't i suck isn't it so funny— part, he sort of. wraps his arms around you? and frisk has to finish the story in their soft little voice, because papyrus is sort of shaking? pulling you tighter and tighter and it's different, this time, from the post-nightmare hugs or the happy hugs, something very very soft and hard and gentle and tight and.
yeah.
why didn't you tell me? he asks in this little broken voice, and he's crying, probably, you can't see his face from this angle, and you are the one who made him cry, you're horrible.
i tried to, you say, repeat like a shaky mantra, i tried to i tried but you forgot and i couldn't keep doing it i'm sorry.
frisk wraps their arms around your rib cage and buries their head in your side and pap rests his head on the top of yours and you stay like that for a very long time.
he knows and you are…
terrified?
he knows, and you…
are relieved.
.
.
you're walking frisk home from school. from toriel's school.
they won first place in the science fair (asked for your help— you helped them build a one of a kind self-sustaining tornado), and you feel that twinge of affection, the one usually reserved for pap.
toriel bakes a pie in celebration. everyone comes over for dinner. and for the first time in what feels like decades and decades, and even though you are still vaguely anxious sometimes, when frisk helps out in the kitchen and picks up a knife and you see flashes flashes (the fear, it's built in at this point, and they always put it down when they notice you),
you feel.
you feel content.
.
.
the first word you would use to describe the surface is: vast.
the second might be: starry. pretty.
the third would probably be: terrifying.
because.
you are free.
but you're not.
you wonder if you'll spend the rest of your life waiting with baited breath for another reset.
you hope not. you hope you'll get your mind out of the past and slam dunk it into the present, where it's free, where there are no more resets.
not for the first time, you wish you could forget.
but you are free, and you step out into the world.
and you're terrified.
(too terrified to be more than a little bit hopeful.)
.
you don't really know how to be free.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
you blink awake to the ceiling of your dirty little room in snowdin.
.