Ahaha. Sorry this took a while. I've got a lot of ideas but can't seem to put them on paper, you know? Just be patient with me here. I'm more an artist than a writer. You've seen my profile bio, I can barely scrape up enough muse for a drabble lmao.

Also, if anyone's too OOC, tell me. Revisions and constructive criticism is always welcome.


The pit of Frisk's stomach dropped. "N-Nico! I didn't know you were, uh, looking too?" The startled pitch of their voice rose into a question. They were fearing he would think differently of them, misunderstand the situation. That they were just some weird freak who saw things and maybe he was better off without them. That he would go away and leave Chara with them, alone.

His look was scrutinizing, carefully taking in the area around them. His eyes landed on the knife.

The knife.

"Frisk," he says carefully. "Who were you talking to?"

The answer was so simple and yet so hard to deliver. All they could do was stutter for a desperate explanation, their mind working hard to sort out their words and their mouth not cooperating at all.

"Frisk," Nico repeats, and his tone is firmer. "Who?"

"Chara," they blurt. It was simpler than trying to express the situation, especially when that idea had failed so fantastically.

"Oh. That one."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, my dad knows them, alright. They lived a long time ago. They were a young demigod who slew monsters left and right with only a knife, reknowned as the best fighter the camp'd ever seen. Even since their first battle as a newbie, Chara had won nearly every sparring match, and they were against demigods with years of experience on them. It was rumored single strike from them could take down giants. Wrong, of course. They were just really aggressive, like they had a personal vendetta against monsters or something."

Frisk paled, if they hadn't already. Their fingers began to twitch feeling the ghost of a leather grip under their palm, warm with body heat, worn with use. That was the ugly thing: use. "What happened to them?"

He looked around briefly, checking for monsters, they assumed. Nico started walking back in the direction of camp, gesturing for Frisk to follow. "Come on. It's probably best if we talk about this somewhere else."


The newcomer had made it back to camp, crying and scared half to death, which was exactly how close he'd come with that knife.

They couldn't look anyone in the eye.

(Not that many thought the boy's accusations were true, even with all the evidence heard. The laughs, the yells, the broken wrist. But Frisk was so merciful that no one could believe it.)

Speaking of the knife, it had been left behind in that spot of the woods. Neither Frisk or Nico had meant to. The weapon had been forgotten in the heat of confusion. Maybe, they thought, it was for the best, to keep themselves away from holding a weapon.

Nico held their hand, leading them into the Hades cabin where they could talk in private. He took a seat on his bed, Frisk sitting down next to him.

"Okay," he said. "You wanted to know about the Chara kid, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. This kid was really fast an aggressive. Not strong, just aggressive and pretty brutal. But eventually, they got fed up with the gods-I don't know why, but something made them angry enough to want to eradicate everything, gods and demigods and mortals. They turned their knife on their own siblings and friends. Chara became heartless, and not even the monsters the gods sent to stop them worked. Every time the Olympians above looked around to smite them, they were gone. Demigods fled camp to hide, in woods, cities, and gods know where else.

"Eventually it was their own foolishness that got them killed. Wandering a forest for demigods, they began to starve, and in desperation, found a field of buttercups and ate them. Turns out they're lethally poisonous." Nico laughed, which was honestly a little unsettling.

Frisk paused for a second, then looked at him. "Wait a second. How'd you know which Chara I was talking about? The Underworld is full of every dead person ever, right?"

"I'm the son of Hades. I could sense a malicious Underworld presence up here. So tell me, Frisk-" he turned his whole body to face them, "- what does this have to do with you?"

Their heart siezed and fear spiked. Even though it was only them in the dark cabin, and Nico was a close friend, it felt like he was interrogating them.

If you tell him, I'll kill him.

This is our little secret. Do you understand?

"N-nothing! They uh, talked... err..."

Gods, why did they have to open their mouth like that?

"Wh- hey! Frisk! Where are you going?"

[ *FLEE ]


Outside wasn't much better, really.

Too many stares and too many hushed conversations. Of course, there were always both of those, since there was never a shortage of magical pranks and slips of gossip in Camp Half-Blood.

But looking around, there was noticeably more. They could only feel like it was all about them.

Frisk sat down on a bench in the middle of the cabin green, among the grasses, wild flowers, and scattered statues and fountains. With a heavy sigh they leaned back and slumped against the wooden back, staring at the sky, watching the clouds skirt the valley. Strange thing, magic weather shields. You stay at the camp for years and still you sometimes forget it exists. Absently, they wonder what the wind gods think of magic like this, and if they can bypass it. Probably. Zeus did it once.

Frisk's mind drifted to other meaningless thoughts, until their reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. They turned their head and found Cecilia Harpwood, an African-American Demeter kid who had helped them attain the first seeds for the golden flowerbed.

"Hey," she said, sitting down. "New kid came blabberin' to me an' Allison, crying about you with a knife an' his wrist, hand or something. I don't believe a word he says, but judging by your grump, somethin's gotta've happened."

They didn't respond, only sat up straigher, crossed their arms and looked back over the field.

Frisk didn't want to think about this. Any of this. The poor kid they'd traumatized for life. The demon living in their body with free control whenever it wanted. The knife in the woods, how badly things could have gone, Nico's suspicion about them and Chara.

"Come on, talk to me here."

They turn away. Stress is an overwhelming thing, especially when your friend's lives are at stake. They so badly wanted to tell someone, to get help, anything, but not if they wanted Chara to kill their demigod family; and with Frisk in tow, forced to... to watch...

The thought makes them feel gross.

When they try to speak, their voice is quiet and cracked, edging towards tears. Their head is bent low. "Please leave me alone."

"Frisk?" Cecilia puts a hand on their shoulder. "Frisk, what's-"

Her hand is thrown off as they quickly turn to face her fully. They're angry and upset, on the border to crying.

"I said-!"

Then she flinches.

That movement, that fear, is what gets them to stop. All their anger has drained out in an instant, replaced with guilt and regret. Frisk's arms drop to their sides, and they hunch again, pressing their eyes shut.

"Just... please go."

She goes.

They curls in on themselves, putting their head to their lap and wrapping their arms around it. They kick up their legs to rest beside them, so that they've reduced themselves to a tiny ball of big sweater.

Then they try not to cry too loudly.

Nobody bothers them until dinner.