Me, writing an Undertale multi-chapter fic after all this time? More likely than you think.

Me, stealing the title out of a song from a fandom I'm not in? Also more likely than you think! (I couldn't help it, it just fit too well, ok)

Everybody is gone.

Of course they are. Flowey had not expected them to stay, had he? Not when things finally worked out for them. Not when there was something better waiting for them up top.

He would be a moron to think otherwise.

And the worst part is that for the longest time solitude was all he really cared for. He didn't believe in karma, maybe he should know better really, but he had stopped messing with others long before the last human fell. The novelty worn down like the sheen of a coin kept in your pocket too long, the surface scratched and dull and not worth it anymore.

People were horribly predictable and Flowey did not care for them. Well, most of them anyway. Regardless of outliers though, it hardly seemed fair to him that he had to pay for it now.

Though even the bitter irony of his current situation did little to lessen the sting.

Something tight and painful, hard to think about and even harder to put into words. Not that there is anybody left to speak to. Not that there is any reason Flowey would even want to.

Not that he is lonely.

He ponders on it, while counting the days by the changing of the light, the red glow of a setting sun and the unbearable yellow shade of morning. He can see just a sliver of wavering sky and sometimes the stars. If only the smiley trashbag had known he could have seen them whenever he wanted to, if he had just been able to pull away from his self-absorbed apathy for a minute. If he hadn't been so selfishly preoccupied-

Flowey shakes his head, but the thought won't leave. He never liked Sans, always hated the way he would react to any change with stagnation. The kind of person who would settle for misery over improvement if it meant sticking to what he knows, the comfort of well-worn clothes and the familiar path trodden to nothingness. Somebody who would take the status quo to their grave.

It had irked him before. It had annoyed him, sure. But it hadn't angered him.

Flowey isn't even the one who should be angry about that. He has no resentment to spare, not for himself and certainly not on behalf of others, but Papyrus didn't seem to get angry about things so much as he got silently resigned, and that is arguably even worse. So that's why before, despite not feeling any anger, Flowey couldn't help being mad at Sans, if only for Papyrus' sake, and mostly because nobody else was filling that role.

But now he feels... something- Maybe he has gone too long without emotions to properly identify them anymore, too preoccupied now with the enigma of having them at all.

He ignores it, counting the days and nights and hoping that the kid will just reset already, though part of him doubts they will now that they have finally satisfied their morbid curiosity. He still silently hopes for it though, maybe that would make this go away, and then he could go back to not thinking about it at all.

Sometimes the status quo is better for everyone.

"Do you like what you see?"

It is an unfair question, he knows. They don't answer, the slight flush of their cheeks betraying their hurry in getting here. Flowey feels kind of bad, because they probably expected him to be waiting where they left him, like a little kid put in time out, idling in the corner until a parent called out to them that all was forgiven. Instead, he had left and gone back to the only place that still mattered and they had to run the entire length of the Underground, now nothing more than ghost country, to find him.

Their feet shuffle across the ground, crush the flowers there and Flowey frowns, annoyed.

"Pathetic, isn't it? Surely you have come to gloat."

They hesitate, not ill at ease but maybe slightly perturbed by his shortness. He is not happy to see them, but he has a sneaking suspicion the discomfort is mutual. When they start to sign the gestures are sharp, delivered with a certain urgency. "I need you to come with me."

"Oh, really?" Flowey says, practiced sarcasm dripping from his voice and he might not be able to deal with these new emotions yet, at least he always has petty indignation to fall back to. "Fancy that, you thinking of little old me all by myself here after what, three weeks? How kind."

They shake their head slightly, though he can tell they are not ashamed of their actions. And after all that happened Flowey can hardly blame them for leaving him to rot here, even just for a little while. They had never wanted to save him, they had wanted to save the person he used to be, but couldn't be anymore.

They had wanted to save Asriel.

"Something happened-" they tell him, hands still for a moment, hesitant in a way they hardly ever are. An antithesis to the determination he had come to associate with them. It isn't like them at all to second guess themselves. "There's something wrong."

Flowey can't help but laugh, and if he sounds spiteful he does not care. There is a lot inside him now, threatening to burst and if he doesn't let it out just a bit he might just self-destruct completely. He is angry and upset and really tired all of a sudden.

"Golly, that's really too bad for you but how about you ask your new fami-" He stops, and then there is sadness too, sharp and real, an after-image of something he thought he had long gotten over. Something he had gotten over but is now revived as if it had just happened, as if it had never left. "Why don't you ask your new 'friends' to help you. I'm sure they can fix whatever is amiss with your perfect happy ending."

They shake their head again, more seriously. "No. It's bad. I think I-" Their lip worries between their teeth. "I think I screwed up."

Flowey looks away, the tightness more pronounced than before. He wishes it would just fade again. "Well that's not for me to say, but everybody screws up eventually. It isn't like you to run away from the consequences, Frisk."

Their name seems to surprise them. Flowey hadn't realized he hasn't used it before. Not in his current form anyway. It isn't like him, but he is starting to doubt he is himself anymore.

But he isn't Asriel anymore either and that's where the problems arise.

They try to smile at him, fragile and scared and Flowey doesn't believe in karma but maybe he isn't the only one who regrets their actions. "I need your help," they tell him.

"Even if I wanted to help you, which I really don't, what makes you think I can help at all."

"It's about Papyrus."

It stops him dead in his tracks. He observes them carefully, looking for any dishonesty on their features. They are a tricky one, but not deceitful by nature and more importantly, they aren't Chara, closed off and hard to read. Frisk wears their emotions on their sleeve, often too much so but he doesn't think they would lie to him about this. Then again, if the goal was getting his attention, that name was the perfect means to an end and they both know it. If he cared to, Flowey would call it a weakness.

But that didn't mean he would forsake his dignity for it.

"Is that so? How convenient for you..." he hums, though there is some kind of odd discomfort prickling at the back of his mind already. A very distant part of himself might have called it worry. "... that your little crisis just so happens to concern the only person who manages to still hold some of my interest and not be a complete waste. But last I remember, Papyrus doesn't need me. Why don't you ask the trashbag for help?"

"I don't think Sans knows."

"Sans doesn't know anything." And if he sounds bitter he doesn't even care. "That's the entire point."

They kneel like they're about to plea and Flowey really doesn't think he can take that with a straight face. But they seem calm instead, like they already know he's on the brink of giving in. He waits.

"Papyrus needs help. You're his friend, right?"

At that moment it wells up again. But this time he does not need more than a second to identify what it is that clogs up his mind unpleasantly. Maybe because it is the last thing he remembers feeling, too long ago now to even be tangible anymore. But this self-loathing guilt he would recognize anywhere.

And more than anything else Flowey knows he can't bear to go through that all over again.

"Fine," he grumbles, stubbornly not looking at the way their face lights up with relief. "I guess I can come along then, but don't expect me to be able to fix anything."

He sits through their pleasantries with cold detachment. He had expected more resistance to him being here, had expected them to hate him maybe, but more likely they just didn't remember him properly. Your soul being violently ripped from your body and then unceremoniously shoved back in would do that to a person. Their dull confusion at his presence was followed by eager acceptance and it left him feeling hollow, for a second almost having him believe maybe he had been fooling himself after all.

The only one who Flowey thought would pose an actual problem isn't even paying attention anyway.

The surface is a first for them, a welcomed break from the rehearsed routines that long have grown stale for those who remember them and while Flowey knows Sans is probably as doubtful as him about the legitimacy of their promise, he couldn't deny everybody seemed happy and so did the kid.

And yes, even Papyrus.

Papyrus always seemed happy though, which rather complicated things. Frisk had filled him in on the way back, though it was hard for them to sign properly while grasping the flowerpot under one arm - when Flowey had said he wouldn't lose his dignity over this, clearly that had been a foregone conclusion. From what he could gather though Frisk was more than a little convinced that something was seriously wrong with Papyrus, but Flowey had told them he would have to see it to believe it.

So that's what he does, closely keeping an eye on Papyrus when they arrive at the house his mother now lives in with her most recent charge. When he was a kid his mother's kindness and the unwavering devotion she showed when it came to caring for others was something he admired and even imitated. After he had died the endless procession of vulnerable people she tried to protect just seemed stupid to him, but easily ignorable.

Now just watching her doting on her new child felt like ripping out a piece of himself and burying it.

Luckily he has something else to occupy himself with. He brushes off the myriad of questions aimed at him, reciting all the lies Frisk had told them about him. It is pretty obvious that they are more than a little skeptical of the hand-waved explanations, especially the good doctor looked like she was about to interject more than once but Alphys is too scared of confrontation to speak her mind and for once it will work to their advantage.

Papyrus greets him last, smiling like a fool and it makes Flowey wince, the guilt flaring up again at the back of his mind.

"I knew you would come back," he says, quietly and it's almost like a secret, a little promise just for the both of them. Flowey always forgets nobody ever believed Papyrus when he told them about him.

"I didn't go anywhere. You did," he answers, studying the grin on the other's face, the slight tilt of his body. Papyrus always was hard to read, but Flowey had a lifetime of practice. "Thanks for that by the way, was real fun down there all by my lonesome."

"Oh..." And for a split second, there's something there, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment that slips through your fingers like sand at the beach. Papyrus catches himself quickly though. "Indeed, I was quite sure you would be able to handle yourself nicely in the face of any adversity. And you being here proves that I was correct once more."

"You didn't worry about me because you thought I'd be able to take care of myself?"

Papyrus laughs lightly, a soft sound. "Something like that."

Flowey doesn't know what to respond to that and by the time he does Papyrus is gone, across the room with bouncy steps that seem too fast even for him. Sans is there, talking to Undyne and Flowey watches the way Papyrus approaches them, touches his brother's shoulder with one hand.

Sans looks up and smiles at him. Papyrus smiles back. His hand lingers even as the conversation moves on.

There is something seriously wrong with Papyrus. And Flowey is going to get to the bottom of it.

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