Chapter 12: Thicker Than Water

Sergio knew little about his father's background prior to his birth. His mother constantly mentioned that Sergio never should have been born, but he could never get an answer as to why that was. One of his earliest memories was walking around a brightly lit room dressed in a toddler-sized tuxedo. There were a lot of people pinching his cheeks and wanting to pick him up, which Sergio regularly fought against. He threw a temper tantrum when one adult just wouldn't get the hint that he didn't want to be touched. After that, his father talked to him about something, Sergio calmed down, and some really good cake followed afterwards.

Most remember their moms being at home doing the nurturing and whatnot. That wasn't the case for Sergio. When he wasn't dropped off at daycare, he spent his time with his dad, going to different restaurants and parks, playing sports, the works. His mother, on the other hand, would come home about an hour before he went to bed at that time. Sergio was happy to see her, but he realized only too late that the feeling wasn't exactly reciprocated.

As far as he could gather, she was working two jobs since his father wasn't working. Even without the inflation of the current day, rent must have been killer on a single-income household. Still, it didn't excuse what happened when she came back from work...

His seventh was the worst birthday when his father died in a car accident. The only thing he remembered from the police report was that he was involved in some criminal activity. Was he involved with a bank robbery? A drive-by? He didn't know. He always asked, but his mother refused to talk about it.

From that point, the mask his mother wore came off. It was absolutely clear that she had the worst intentions for her own son, and there was nothing stopping her from doing as she wished. It started with her words. He first thought she was just teasing him as his dad would do every so often, but there were times where he'd snivel up trying and failing to fight back tears. In attempts to justify her verbal abuse, she would say, "Yo' dad wouldn'ta cried 'bout that."

He'd gasp, and she'd scoff. She knew that he idolized his father and would use the same reasoning to manipulate him. His perception of what a man was supposed to be was encapsulated purely in his dad. Many of his friends didn't really see their fathers that often, and his mother disallowed going to anyone else's house in the middle of elementary school.

Over time, his mother only seemed to get more aggressive towards him. Words eventually became fists, pots and pans, broken beer bottles. Oddly enough, Sergio had his mother to thank for teaching him self-defense, albeit in the worst way possible. For a long while, he was convinced that it was his fault if he'd broken a piece of the wall or gotten blood on the carpet. He assumed it was normal for kids to be disciplined in such a way, and his mother was a strong proponent for "whatever happens within a family stays within a family."

He was aware of his extended family, but the last time he'd seen them was at his father's funeral. After that, his mother angrily rejected the notion of seeing them again.

Needless to say, there was a lot of weight on his shoulders as he approached his mom's apartment. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, around the time she'd come back and prepare for her second job. Her car—or rather, his father's car—wasn't parked in its spot yet. He would have checked the time on his phone, but he hadn't turned it back on since the last night. He didn't want any more distractions for what he needed to do.

The apartment complex was a standard three-story brick building with catwalks leading up to the other floors. Sergio ascended a small stone staircase to reach apartment seven. He instinctively looked around the street, then realized he didn't have anything to worry about. He tested the doorknob. Locked. He reached under the welcome mat and pulled out a key, unlocking the door.

Inside, he found the same shabby little brown couch where he would snuggle up to his dad when he was younger, watching cartoons or hood films. On the opposite side of the living room was the same tube TV with the VCR and DVD player built in. Such a concept used to be the coolest thing ever. The black living room rug had a visible layer of dust on top of it. Nobody cleaned up the place ever since the night he left.

That fact was more evident when looking at the coffee table in front of the couch. Empty glass bottles littered an entire corner of the table, microwaveable food packages and unwashed dishes on the other. There was an empty space on the table near the center of the couch. Sergio walked in, closed and locked the door, and investigated the table further.

The things closest to the center of the couch were a TV remote on one side and a rolled up dollar bill on the other. Sergio picked up the dollar bill and took a tentative sniff, coughing. He caught a whiff of what smelled like flowers mixed with the metallic scent of blood. He dropped the dollar bill when he confirmed what it was.

Cocaine.

This partially explained why she made a habit of hurting Sergio, but this made him wonder how long she'd been doing this? How long had she been addicted to it? Who was her dealer, and what alleyway did Sergio have to go to in order to beat him up as well?

Click-click-click. She was home. Sergio silently trotted toward the door and put his back against the wall, positioned to be behind it when it opened. Sergio was scrawny enough that even with the door all the way open, his mom wouldn't at all initially notice that there was something behind it. The door swung open, Sergio drawing in a quiet, tense breath, balling his hands into fists.

His mother closed the door, then gasped when she and her son locked eyes. She was a few inches shorter than him and had his same dark brown eyes. Her hair was poorly braided and was already starting to grey just a little on her scalp. She wore a magenta vest and skirt with matching heels and lipstick. Her eyes were wide as the dinner plates on the coffee table. "Sergio?"

Impulsively, he brought his right fist back and connected a jab that landed on her eye, sending her staggering backwards. He advanced forward and landed another jab on her gut, causing her to let out a big cough and sending her on her back. Still unsatisfied, he wound his foot back and placed a kick on her forehead, his mother crying out in pain.

"Sergio, what are you—" she tried to say before he cut him off.

"So you thought I wasn't gon' come back, huh? You thought you could just sit here sniffin' yay and drankin' without you gettin' what was comin'?" Sergio made sure the door was locked, then slowly walked toward his mother, cracking his knuckles, his face frowning with malice.

His mother was doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach with one hand and her face with the other. "What are you talkin' about—" Sergio planted a tennis shoe square on her spine, causing her to curl up in fetal position to shield herself from more attacks.

"I'm talkin' 'bout all the shit you put me through, Mama. Every damn day, you come through that door and look for some reason ta beat my ass! Every day, ya kept tellin' me that I shouldn't be cryin', that I should be grateful ya let me even be born! Well, I'mma make sure you wish you neva was!"

"Sergio, I...I'm sor—"

"'Sorry?' Nah, bump all dat. It's too late fa 'sorry.' I came in here wantin' answas...but what's stoppin' me from beatin' the shit outta you til it hurts ta breathe?! Huh?!" He could feel flames developing around his fists. His mother turned and looked at his hands with horror, her mouth agape.

"The hell? How you doin' that?!" she answered, a mixture of shock and defiance in her voice.

He looked at his hands and flexed his fingers a bit to quell the flames. It would have been too easy to do this with magic. No, she needed to feel his raw, unadulterated fury with no magic involved.

Either to retaliate or to make a break for it, his mother put a palm on the ground, trying to get up. Sergio pushed her away with a forward kick. "Sit yo' ass down!" he exclaimed, his mother landing against the TV, now prone.

His last statement gave him an idea. What better way to send a message than to use his old abuser's MO? He stepped toward the coffee table and grabbed an old beer bottle, slowly approaching his mother, who looked at the beer bottle with horror.

"You bet not do what I think you gon' do!" she demanded, trying to back away from Sergio.

"I'm jest gettin' started, bitch." He swung the bottle against her face hard, the bottle shattering.

. . .

Sergio saw the blood rush toward the drain as he washed his hands with dishwasher soap. The feeling of the several bottles he went through would forever be etched in his muscle memory, complete with every one of them shattering. At one point in the process, he couldn't tell whether it was her bottles or her bones shattering more.

He shut off the water, shook some excess moisture from his hands, then dried his hands with a paper towel. He was dressed in a dark red shirt and grey jeans, now carrying a backpack with some extra clothes. He had emptied out his mother's purse of anything valuable, including a few hundred dollars in cash, her old wedding band, and cell phone. Where she was going, she didn't need any of them.

He burned the clothes he came in with; there was a bit too much evidence of what he'd done on them. He also got rid of all the bottles he went through. There were probably other things within the house that could have incriminated him, but the chances of getting the police involved seemed low. It wasn't as if his mother had any sort of rapport with anyone else since his father died. Nobody came to check up on her in the last four years; they wouldn't suddenly start now. By the time anyone noticed, he would have been more than ghost from Harlem.

The hood rat took a final look at his mother. Blood had trickled down from her forehead, covering her eyes and mouth. She lay with her back against the wall the TV was set up on, her mouth stuck wide open. Her arms lay lifeless at her sides, and her hair was caked with shattered glass.

He took a moment to really think about what happened. For so long, he thought of the perfect way to get back at his mom for what she'd done. There were possibly millions of ways ranging from the epic verbal shutdown to the epic beatdown, and he expected something about as cathartic as what Asriel must have felt when he saw parents who loved him.

Yet now that the deed was done, he just felt...empty. After all that had happened, he had nothing to really look forward to anymore. Even if his mother somehow came back from all of this, he didn't see himself mustering up the energy to do it again. He very clearly made his point, one that wouldn't be soon forgotten if the head trauma didn't cause memory loss.

He tried to feel proud, "badass," and even guilty, just so he could feel something about clobbering his own mother. There had to be some emotion he felt about it; you didn't really hear about these things that often, and most people would have shed a tear or two once they realize that they'd committed such a criminal act.

But he felt nothing.

That was the scariest part. Never mind the possibility of getting hunted down by the NYPD. Never mind the fact that he couldn't return to the underground after what happened between him and Toriel. The fact that he likely just killed his own mother and felt absolutely nothing from it made him realize that he was possibly past redemption now. There was no hope, no love, no friendship in store for him.

The only thing he had left was survival.

He put his hoodie back on, put both arms through the backpack straps, then exited the apartment.

. . .

"NGAAAH! Don't ignore me, punk! Call me back!"

"Message marked for deletion. New message."

"Hello, Sergio! I heard you were feeling blue! I, the great Papyrus, will sacrifice time training for the Royal Guard to cheer you up! Come to our place and we can make another 'mixtape' about how you feel!"

"Message marked for deletion. New message."

"H-h-hey, Sergio, I, um, don't know what's wrong, b-b-but I want to help in any way I can! Undyne told me you left the throne room after Asgore's son came back—"

"Message marked for deletion. New message."

"Kid? Where'd you run off to? Nobody's seen hide or hair of you since you left the Snowed Inn. The big man himself's been calling around looking for you." Sans sighed. "I think I know what's going on. You don't feel like you belong here anymore. There's another human down here who knows the surface and can use magic. Asriel coming back isn't the easiest pill to swallow for you. But you being gone would hurt all of us just as much as if we lost anyone else." The skeleton paused. "We all hope you'll come back. Heh. It's kinda weird when you think about it. You haven't been gone that long...and I'm saying these things like you've been gone a lot longer...Talk to me whenever you can, kid. I'm always available."

"End of message. To replay this message, press 1. To delete, press 2. For more options, press 7."

Sergio sat on an air conditioning unit atop another apartment complex, going through voicemails on his phone. Somehow, Sans knew just what to say to make him start reconsidering going back.

But the hood rat felt trapped. Sans was trying to mack Toriel, and him hearing about how Sergio almost hit her was sure to lead to another voicemail message that wasn't as friendly. How was Sergio supposed to explain that? Sorry 'bout that, I confused Toriel for my mama and I wanted ta fold HER instead. Nobody could understand his situation. Since there was more blood on his hands, Sans was sure to notice.

He was also sort of in the public spotlight. It didn't happen too much, but the few times people noticed him as the "kid with the monsters" or something was enough to indicate that his identity was somewhat compromised. He may have needed to head out of the bigger cities, at least until the news of the monsters first appearing died down.

Assuming that would ever happen was ridiculous. The more negotiations that happened between Asgore and DeMarco, the more the monsters would be in the news. Even if Asgore and the rest of the underground never saw Sergio again, the king would still fight for the monsters' rights to live on the surface. That thought only underscored the lack of relevance Sergio had to the grand scheme of things.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice someone approaching him on the rooftop until it was almost too late. "I understand why you come here to the rooftops so often. It's actually quite peaceful up here, away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis."

Sergio turned to see his doppelganger, dressed in an olive green turtleneck sweater, blue jeans, and black formal-looking "church shoes," for lack of a better term. Said doppelganger stood with his hands folded behind his back. Usually Sergio would have cautiously addressed that last detail, wondering if there was a gun or a knife in hand. This time, however, he knew that the doppelganger would have done even more damage with different weapons, ones not always so easily seen.

The hood rat stood with his feet shoulder width apart, balling his fists. His unexpected visitor stood about six feet away. "Who are you?" he asked quickly.

The doppelganger's neutral expression and somewhat relaxed posture was unchanged. "To my family, I am known as Tobias."

Realization flickered in Sergio's eyes, then slight confusion. "We ain't family, so what do I call ya?"

"I beg to differ, Sergio. We are members of the same family, or rather, the same families. You see, I, too, am a Salvadora."

Such a revelation had nearly floored Sergio, but he still wasn't fully convinced. "How you know my last name?"

"I was born on March 2, 1922. I had two brothers and three sisters. One of my brothers, Cassius Salvadora, ended up becoming your great-grandfather. It then went to Franklin Salvadora, then your father, Demetrius Salvadora. And now here you are. I suppose this makes me your third great-uncle, though our age is the same. I don't have to explain that though, do I?" he finished with a chuckle.

Sergio couldn't tell how much was fake and how much was real, only that Tobias got his father's name right. Considering how he never told anybody, or learned, about his family history, the fact that Tobias had woven all those names and stories together showed that he'd done his research.

"Aight, let's pretend that we both Salvadoras. What's that matta ta me?"

"It matters because bloodline Salvadoras have a gift. Has anyone told you about the Human/Monster Wars of old?"

"Prolly, but I don't eva rememba givin' a damn," Sergio retorted, crossing his arms.

Tobias walked to the edge of the rooftop, looking out toward downtown. "The war of land and resources that emerges nowadays was more than verbal centuries ago. Our ancestors fought in that war after learning the arcane secrets the monsters had." He turned to Sergio, bringing his fists to his own chest in a gesture indicative of desiring something. "They learned magic, Sergio. This magic was powerful enough to continue for generations after them. Of course, after the witch trials that occurred after European colonization, this magic remained dormant, and it would only manifest in the same company it originated."

"So that's the reason why you went ta the undaground."

Tobias's face twisted a little. "Not exactly. What you call the Great Depression started, and it became difficult to keep a family like mine all fed. I was seven years old when my mother took us all on a picnic. I was being chased by my brothers in our childish games, and that's when I fell to the underground. I felt alone, abandoned. My young, naive mind thought that it was simply a misadventure and that I was lucky to survive. Looking back on it, however, it was an elaborate plot for the family to have one less mouth to feed when times became difficult. They knew how sickly I was back then, so they figured an 'accident' would have taken care of me more swiftly than letting me starve to death or letting the illness take me."

"Again, what's this all got ta do wit me? Why is Asriel on ya ass?"

"For your first question, I explained all this to show you why I understand what you did to your mother."

Sergio's heart sunk, but he shook his head quickly. "If you know what I did, why don'tcha tell me?"

"Earlier this afternoon, you waited for your mother to return home from work. If I had to guess, you had beaten her to within an inch of her life. Death wasn't a mercy you wanted to grant, but you still left her in a condition to where it's up to fate to decide. You wouldn't have changed your clothes unless it was to get rid of the blood on your old ones."

Damn...he good.

"As for your second inquiry," Tobias continued, "my brother is thoroughly convinced that what I do is morally reprehensible and detrimental to the underground's progress."

"And what are you doin'?"

"I'm taking the extra steps necessary to ensure the underground can live on the surface. I love the family I had underground, but you've surely seen for yourself the dissonance that occurs when the topic of 'morality' comes up. The Dreemurr family was torn apart when Father took the initiative to break the barrier. I admired that and decided to follow his footsteps. Mother...bless her heart, she would never accept the role she'd have to take as queen. As for my brother, Asriel...well, he truly exemplifies the strongest features of our parents, Mother's caring nature, and Father's determination.

"How this relates to you ties back into what happened last night. When the policemen were arresting you, you saw how corrupt they were in planting drugs in your pocket. Of all the problems for you to deal with, crooked cops shouldn't be one of them. What makes this very interesting to me is that you reacted far differently from what Asriel would have done. A group of humans could be on the verge of killing him, and yet he would try to do everything in his power to make sure they continue to draw breath. You? You understand that survival is top priority and that sometimes your survival means others' lack of survival."

Sergio squinted his eyes. "'Kill or be killed,' huh? I can see where 'Flowey' got that from now."

"Precisely. You sought non-lethal options for other foes to spite Flowey, but you recognized that in order to survive Asriel's 'restored' form, it required lethal means. Even if a monster's supposedly 'all-powerful,' if the monster's heart's not in it, that power ends up being moot. The souls we absorbed only longed for one thing, and that was freedom. What you did at the barrier should have killed me and Asriel for good, but it only split our souls. Now, Asriel and I exist separately, thanks to you. Because of that, I decided to return the favor last night."

"Uh-huh." It was a lot for Sergio to take in, but it more or less made sense. A kid felt left for dead, fell underground, and hated humanity for abandoning him. Life probably would have been a lot easier for a lot of people if someone took a pillow to suffocate the kid in his sleep.

Tobias took a few steps closer to Sergio, the hood rat maintaining his distance. "I'll finish with this, Sergio. Now that you've undertaken the personal task earlier, you may be wondering where to go from here. Just because I can't exactly return to the underground doesn't mean you can't, either."

"And why cain'tcha return?"

"Because my purpose requires me to remain here on the surface. According to the surface records, I've been dead since 1929. Nobody knows who I am. My image to the underground dwellers has been so thoroughly tainted that my reappearance would cause too much friction. But you? You still have a place in the underground, and a role to play in their liberation."

"My role been taken. Asriel's new girlfriend down there got the whole package: human, magic, actually likable, and no rap sheet. Since Asriel down there, too, I figured I'm done wit the undaground."

"Ah, yes, the Oriental girl," Tobias spoke, nodding. "Her case is especially interesting. Perhaps her ancestors were involved in the Human/Monster Wars as well. While she may have those qualities you specified, I'd bet my life that you have a much more realistic perspective on life here in New York, as well as a willingness to do what others won't." He turned and took a few steps away from Sergio, then said, "I'd advise not fighting against destiny, Sergio. It has a habit of fighting back."

Sergio frowned. "Hol' up, what's that supposed ta mean?!" As he approached Tobias, he jumped off the ledge. Sergio peered over the ledge to see Tobias freefalling, "standing" straight up in the air. About 10 feet from the ground, he cast what looked like a quarter-pipe of ice, sliding down on it gracefully and landing safely on the concrete below, hidden from public view.

He remained standing at the ledge, brows furrowed dumbfoundedly. So that was him, the reason Asriel currently lived and breathed, the supposed bogeyman Asriel warned about time and again. That was the Tobias, the first human to fall underground.

He didn't seem so bad until he mentioned "destiny." It was as if Tobias felt he was orchestrating a play, and he didn't want Sergio to break character from what he had in mind. It was a threat veiled in general advice, obviously, but what did Tobias plan on doing if Sergio didn't do what he wanted?

There was something percolating under the surface...pun intended. Now that he knew that Tobias was real and saw some of his power, he figured some apologies were in order...Nah. I don't want this goat feelin' 'imself jest 'cause he was right 'bout one thang. But would he join Asriel in his not-so-fanatic crusade against Tobias if it meant it could repair the damage he'd done to those who may have actually loved him?

He scrolled through the contacts on his phone, then called one. The phone rang a few times before someone answered, "Hello, Sergio!"

"Papyrus...I need ta talk ta ya brotha."