Ghost Buddy

Summary: In your defense, the scary movies you used to watch made it seem like possession was much easier.

Disclaimer: Undertale belongs to Toby Fox

You were born in a remote village, just a few miles on the outskirts of Mt. Ebott. Despite the technological advances of the world around you, the cult your village was founded around preferred things the old fashioned way – swords and bows to guns, horseback to cars, and unfortunately, midwives to an actual hospital.

Your birth was not an easy one. You learned from your older sister that the complications were unforeseen, and despite the efforts of the town doctor – if you could call the old badger that – there was nothing they could do to save your birthmother.

Death in childbirth was considered a bad omen for this village. After all, giving birth was blessing, so why would something like that happen unless the child themselves were bad? So children who survived when their mothers didn't were considered to be demon children. You fell snugly into this category – born into the world with a kill count on your head, and the scorn of the village.

Now, these children were supposed to be raised like the normal children, and that through the teachings of the cult and their gods they worshiped, could be redeemed into good, worthy children. However, the label follows one around for their whole life. What's more, raising children was considered, "women's work," so your birth father was daunted and shunned for not only spawning a monster, but also for having to take over the task of child-rearing. Not alone though, you had a ten year old sister, Suzy, who was abruptly yanked from childhood to be, "promoted to parent."

Father, who, like all the other men in the cult, took pride in their masculinity, was shamed and bitter about things. For the first few years of your life, your memories weren't too bad; Suzy and Father did their best, and you would go to the commune park to play with other kids. Nothing was out of the ordinary, until you started going to the community school.

It was something out of the past; kids of all ages went to the same school and usually there weren't too many teachers. So you were in a class with kids ages five to nine, all learning different things, mostly the teaching of the gods worshiped by this cult, the evils of the modern world, how to read, how to write, math, and whatever sciences didn't conflict with the cults teachings.

It was here that word got out about how you used to be – from the teacher, no less. They made it clear one day, when you were looking out the window, that you of all people needed to pay attention to the teachings, lest you be a demon forever. Whispers went out among the crowd of children, and your teacher proudly announced, "Oh yes class, Chara is the town demon child. Poor mother never stood a chance, did she?"

She got down write in your face when she said, "So you listen good, or you'll burn in hell with the rest of your kind." Her ruler went down against your knuckles, and you cried out in pain, but she was already back to teaching.

Now kids can be cruel, and the older ones wasted no time making sure you learned that lesson too. The ones your age wouldn't go near you, and sat and watched as your were pummeled by the bigger kids. You would come home every day covered in dirt and scrapes, and Father never asked. Suzy would clean you up.

One day, you worked up the nerve to ask Suzy, "Am I demon?"

Suzy might not have been the best one to ask. Being forced to grow up at ten doesn't exactly leave you happy with your lot in life, so she just nodded as she would clean you up. "Yes, Chara. You are a demon child who took mama away from us. That's what daddy says. That's what the preacher says too."

In tears, you asked Father if you were a demon. He just responded by drunkenly smacking you across the face. You see, despite all the forbidden things in the village, alcohol was not among them, unfortunately.

Maybe it wasn't easy for Father either. He would get dirty looks when he dropped you off at school, and he lost most of his friends, save for five who would come over once every few weeks and drink with him. But, beating your kid – and then having your friends do it because you were too drunk and tired – there is no excuse for that.

You learned pretty quick to keep to yourself at school. You focused on your work, and learning to read. The kids still picked on you, but you made sure to keep yourself in the background so they'd overlook you as much as possible.

Things at home, however, never got better. As you got older, Father just resented you more and more. Once you were old enough to cook, clean, and whatever, it was expected that you would do that full time.

"You took your mama away, you can fill her shoes, you little demon shit," your Father slurred one night, after coming come and finding out you didn't have dinner ready.

"Dad, Chara's eight." Suzy replied, dryly.

Father just hit her across the mouth too. "Then you teach the little monster."

So you took on the responsibilities of your household. You learned to cook. You learned to clean. You learned to bake. You fell behind in school too, which your teacher just would then announce that, "Chara could not be bothered to learn about our ways, and is giving in to the demon inside them." This made you really popular on the playground. Days became a cycle of school, getting your butt kicked by the other kids, coming home, cooking, getting your butt kicked by Father, and cleaning up.

You made a resolution to yourself, at about nine, that no one – Father, the other kids, Suzy, the teachers – none of them would ever see you cry again. Your emotions had already began to dull over time, so you turned them off.

"CHARA!" Your Father called one night.

You were in the middle of cooking some ground beef on the stove. "Hold on, got some food cooking here."

Something about this response set him off, so he stormed into the kitchen and threw the skillet onto the floor.

"Father, the food." You replied, robotically. He didn't answer you, but he grabbed your hand and pressed it onto the still lit oven. You cringed and held in a scream. You did not allow yourself to cry.

Surprised, he pulled your hand back and looked at the burns that were already forming blisters. "Yeah, that didn't feel good, did it?"

You shook your head. "No Father." You quietly turned off the stove, just in case.

"Listen, you little demon: You come when I call your name, got it?" He growled.

"Yes, Father."

"No, demon, you say it."

You gulped. "I – I am the demon that comes when it is called."

"Don't sass me. And smile once in awhile, will you?" Father growled.

You robotically curled your lips into a smile. Asriel called it the creepy smile, because even though your mouth was the right shape, your eyes were empty and shiny.

Father didn't much like it either. "…creep."

Sometimes at night, tears would happen when no one else was around. But other than that, you had done a good job putting a mute button on your emotions. Still, it was a miserable life. Even Suzy, who would patch you up after a rough day at school, barely tolerated your existence, and she didn't pass up the opportunity to tell you that you ruined her life, too.

At ten, you needed outlets. Turns out repressing your feelings was beginning to make you a rather angry person. You stopped being able to sleep. So at night, you would sneak out and go to the neighboring town a mile down the road. There, you could take things out on the trash cans in the back alley and no one cared. One night, you lost control, and threw a can right through a store window. Alarms began to blare, and you went to leave, but something caught your eye; books. With colorful covers and flashy words, you grabbed them and took off running before anyone saw you.

Something about the experience had been exciting; you had stolen some books, and gotten away with it. And it wouldn't be the first time. You found you liked books; they gave you an escape, and the heroes in the stories usually had things work out better.

And of course, the kids at school found ways to pick on you about this, too.

"Hey, Demon Chara, sitting all alone practicing your witchcraft?"

You looked up at the boy. Twelve maybe, flanked by two of his friends. You looked back at your book, rolling your eyes.

Your book was snatched away though. "What's this, Chara? Harry Potter? This isn't allowed in school, you really are reading about witchcraft." A slow smile spread across the boy's face, "Miss Rose is going to beat you in front of the whole class."

Something snapped in you. You put on your empty, glass-eyed smile and looked at the boy. "That's right, Thomas. I'm going to learn the ways of magic and burn your house down."

"What did you say?!"

You didn't want to wait for the usual playground trash talk. You grabbed the boy by the throat, smiled wider, and headbutt him. Your forehead smashed the boys nose, leaving a trickle of blood that ran down your face. It was pretty gross, but you didn't break your smile, despite the haziness of your vision from the headbutt and blood in your eyes.

You got beaten pretty hard by your teacher, and harder by Father that night. But that just made you angrier. You couldn't strike back against the adults, but taking it out on Thomas was fun, and it felt good to blow off some steam.

The cycle began. Soon, you were becoming the aggressor in these playground incidents. Starting fights to relieve your anger, then getting beaten for it and being told you were an evil being bound for hell. One day, you came home once again, with a note from the principal in your hand, blood on your face, bruised knuckles, and shirt in tears. Father looked at you, sighed, and turned back to his bottle of scotch; he had long since abandoned the need for a glass when he was drinking. He was playing cards with his friends too, which was never a good sign for you.

"One again, my kid comes through the door." Father swirled the drink in the bottle, "Looking like a torn, beat up piece of garbage."

Silence hung heavy. Finally, Father whipped the almost-empty bottle of booze at your head. His aim was off; he only got your cheek, and the bottle smashed against the wall.

"Get out of my sight, you little shit." His voice was different. He sounded resigned.

He'd never thrown a bottle at you before. You were scared. For a minute you almost started crying. He glanced at you again, and saw you trembling there. "NOW!" He screamed.

You ran up the stairs. Fear coursed through your veins. Something about what he was doing was different. You had a sinking feeling, listening to the whispers from downstairs. What would they do to you?!

You looked for comfort in your books, but you had read them all, and when you tried to read a page, your anxiety made the words jumble together. Your chest tightened. Books. More books. You would sneak out, and get more books.

You hopped out the window, not bothering to be quiet; they were too drunk. Still feeling panicky, the run to town was hazy and blurred. You found yourself at the general store; you had to change what store you stole from sometimes, otherwise they'd know. You found a brick, and you aren't sure where it even came from. You threw it through the window, and dove inside, grabbing the first book you could see in a daze. You stumbled out of the store, and to your horror, you could see blue and red sirens blaring.

If Father wasn't already going to kill you, getting caught by the police would give him more incentive.

You ran. You ran until your chest hurt, you ran until your legs felt wobbly. There were woods. There was some climbing. You didn't notice much about where you were going. When your senses came back to you, you were on the footpath to Mt. Ebott, finally at the summit.

You'd heard the legends, but never given them much thought. Stories of monsters abducting people, or people disappearing off the trail without a trace. But you realized they were potentially darker; subjects you read about in the more mature books you had stolen. People maybe came up here so that they wouldn't have to go back. Maybe to make sure that they wouldn't come back.

You saw the pit in front of you. You'd never heard of a pit in the center of Mt. Ebott. But it was curious; the only thing before you and a drop straight down was a rickety, "Danger," sign.

You didn't think about it much. But; you didn't have anything to go back to. You didn't want to go back. You had no one to go back for. So, you…fell.

You had been staring at your knees the whole time you were telling the story to Frisk. You didn't look at them. But, suddenly, and you weren't sure how, you felt Frisk's head lean against your shoulder. Some moisture hit you too; they were crying. They were crying for you, and that filled you with guilt. You did not feel worth their tears.

"I'm sorry, Chara," Frisk whispered.

You shifted, uncomfortably, "Frisk…it's okay."

"It's not okay!" Frisk yelled, making you jump. That rare anger they would display always shocked you. "You don't hurt someone. You don't hurt your own kid."

"I was a demon-" You began, but Frisk cut you off. They wrapped you up in a hug, and squeezed. Hard.

"No, shut up Chara!" They squeaked. You chuckled a bit; it was cute and unexpected coming from them. "You're not a demon! I don't EVER want to hear you call yourself that again."

"Frisk," You said, quietly, "You knew what I wanted to do. I'm a monster. I – "

You were silenced by a pair of lips crashing into yours. A million of those feelings you had never felt before went spiraling throughout your body; that feeling of your insides doing flips exploded through your finger tips, you felt a little lightheaded, and your face turned bright red.

"Stop it!" Frisk insisted, pulling away, "You need to stop. I know what you did. And it was wrong. Don't…don't think that I'm saying that it's not wrong. Okay? But…I get it."

You didn't say anything; you couldn't. Mostly because you were still blown away. Is that what human kissing was?! Was that your first kiss?! Does it count if you're dead?!

"Chara, I threw myself down the mountain too. It…I mean, what happened to you messed you up a bit." They gave a small, bitter laugh. "No offense."

"None taken," you replied, smiling.

"The truth is, Chara," Frisk sighed, "I'm messed up too."

"Frisk, what are you doing?" You asked.

"Let me tell you my story too," Frisk insisted.

"You…you don't have to." You replied, shaking a bit.

"No, no…I want to." Frisk gave you their smile, so you stopped talking. They rested their head on your shoulder.

For as long as I can remember, I had lived in this orphanage. I don't know who my birth parents were, or why they decided to leave me there; the orphanage told all the kids that, "your parents loved you but they just weren't able to take care of you." I had, at some point, stopped believing this when I realized that's just the story every kid was fed.

I had learned at a fairly young age that adopting children was a lot like when people get pets: everyone tends to want a puppy first. Barring that, they wanted one with the same skin color first, and one with no health issues, and a million other things that can be crossed off a check list. Once you get a few years on you, and your complexion makes it hard for anyone to tell what sort of background you have, you'd get overlooked.

I was only six or seven when I had accepted that this was my home. I was not special like of the other kids; the babies who were out of there usually quickly, the kids who had a remarkable talent that could be displayed on the walls or on the old piano, the kids who weren't shy and awkward; they were all special. They all got picked first and foremost. I can't remember ever getting much more than a second glance. So the next few years, I learned to stop hoping for anyone to take me in.

"Frisk," the old nun who watched all the kids told me, "you can't expect anyone to adopt you if you don't put yourself out there more. Be nice! Smile! Compliment them!"

I don't remember how many times Sister Rosemary told me that. More than I could ever count. But it wasn't that easy. Still, I had some sort of ideas of how compliments worked. And I had no problem being nice to the little kids; they kind of looked up to me. I was that older sibling they always wanted, up until they were adopted and got real siblings. Then there was no need for Frisk.

I just locked up when couples came to the center to look. Like when I had to ask Toriel to leave; I crack a little bit under pressure.

One day, an older man and his wife came in and were looking around. They gave me polite smiles and asked how I was. I panicked! I know it sounds silly, but what are you supposed to say? "Please take me home, all I've ever wanted was a family?" That just reeks of desperation.

So instead, I said the first thing that came to my mind: "Hey handsome, you looking for a good time? You should take me home, I'm lots of fun!"

I'm not sure what about what I said wrong, but the two of them left in a huff. Sister Rosemary ran up to me and asked where I learned that. So I told her, "There are some ladies who always hang out outside my window at night, and I hear them say that to older guys all the time! They all seem to get along great."

I changed rooms that night, and it took me awhile to understand why. Yeah. Smooth, Frisk.

I did learn though, that flirting and compliments were fun. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and I was able to make more friends with the other kids if I could tell them they were cute or make them smile. And they would get so happy! I really liked making the other kids happy. If I could make someone feel good, even for just a few moments, then maybe that's what was special about me? I did learn things that were…more appropriate for my age of course.

One day, something…weird happened. A couple came in, like they tend to do, a younger man and his wife. They couldn't be older than their late twenties. The woman seemed rather unemotional as her husband looked around.

"What do you think, honey?" I heard the man ask that at least fifty times. Every time, his wife answered, "I don't know honey," and gave a fake smile. I could tell the smile was fake, I'd rehearsed a million for the couples who came in. I guess you get good at spotting them when you do that.

So anytime these two looked at a kid, I noticed the wife would find some sort of objection, "they're a little young dear, do you think our busy work schedules would let us take care of a baby?" Or, "Sweetie, they just got through potty training, moving might make them have a lot of accidents." Some of them got more arbitrary sounding, but they kept looking. At some point, the lady dropped her purse on a table, and they walked off without.

I grabbed the purse of course, and tugged on the lady's sleeve, making them both jump.

"Pardon me," I said, with my best polite attitude, "you must have dropped this miss." I remembered what the Sister had said, and added, "pretty bag for a pretty lady!"

"Aw!" She cooed, "what a charmer this one is!"

The man laughed, "And what's your name?"

"Frisk!" I exclaimed; I'm not going to lie, I was excited. This was the best a talk with any of the adults who came in had ever gone.

Their name's were James and Janet, and within a few weeks, they adopted me. I guess the pet analogy was more accurate than I'd like; because while James thought I was a riot, Janet's favorite quality about me was that I was, "low maintenance." Good descriptor for a cat, not a kid.

Their house was nice; a cute two-story place on the outside of town. That summer was really nice; I went camping for the first time, I went to the beach, and Janet and James took lots of pictures of us all together. And in the fall, I would be starting school!

"James, are there going to be lots of kids at the school?" I asked.

He laughed. He always loved my questions, it was strange but nice. "Of course kiddo! And call me Dad! Frisk is going to love school, right babe?"

"Hmm?" Janet asked, looking up from her phone, posting all the pictures she had taken. "Oh, of course!"

James was a teacher at the high school, so he started work a lot earlier than when my school started. So Janet, who worked night shifts a few times a week, would grab me after work, drop me off, and come home and go to sleep. But that night before my first day, I was so excited I could hardly sleep! But then, I did fall asleep…and I didn't wake up to any alarm. I heard birds chirping outside my window, so I pulled myself out of bed and went downstairs: no one was there, but it was noon already. I was late! On the first day! Maybe James' alarm clock hadn't gone off?

I went to my parents room, and neither of them were there. I was scared, to be honest. I curled into their bed, which I had done the first couple of times I slept at that house, and cried. It wasn't long though until I heard the front door open. I bounded down the stairs, and saw Janet stumble into the living room, her guard uniform all over the place. She looked a mess, but she gave me a confused, groggy look.

"Hey, kid," she said, words slurring a bit, "aren't you supposed to be at school?"

I nodded. "You um…you didn't wake me up."

"I'm supposed to wake you up?!" She asked, rubbing her temples.

I nodded. "You and Dad…James, talked about it a few nights ago. You would come home after work and take me to school before you went to sleep."

"Shit!" She yelled, make me cringe. Swearing at the orphanage would get you a, "belt on the backside," as Sister Rosemary put it.

"Maybe I can still go in?" I suggested, "Just explain you got caught up at work late."

Janet rolled your eyes. "Get real, Frisk. I'm not going to get that sort of judgment."

I didn't really understand what she meant, but she called in and made an excuse about me being sick.

"Janet needs a nap, kiddo," Janet sighed to you after she hung up. "Let's just go play in the basement and I'll lay on the couch."

They had set up my play room in the basement alongside with a small living room. Most of the toys were for kids younger than I was, but I didn't mind. The thought was appreciated. So Janet fell asleep on the couch, work uniform and weird odor and all, and I played for awhile, hoping I didn't miss anything exciting at the first day of school.

The day took a turn downhill when James got home though. "Honey? Frisk?" He yelled, but I could tell he sounded angry.

Janet groaned from the couch; she could tell he wasn't happy too.

"Janet," James said, ignoring me completely, which kind of hurt, "why did I hear from the district that Frisk wasn't in class today?"

"Frisk was not in class today," Janet answered, groggy.

"Janet have you been drinking?!"

She shrugged, "Some of the girls wanted to grab a few after the shift."

James was livid, "Frisk had school in the morning! Even if it had been an emergency, you should have called!"

"Nothing ever happens on the first day!" Janet replied, raising her voice, "Frisk didn't miss anything."

Despite how much my name was getting thrown around, I didn't think either of them realized I was in the room. Especially since now the yelling was starting.

"Frisk is already behind in the curriculum and needs all the help they can get!" James shouted, "Learning to read doesn't happen overnight, and missing class isn't going to help!"

"It was one day! Why didn't you take them to school?"

"Janet, I have to be at the high school two hours before Frisk even needs to be awake! There's no before-school program at this district."

"So I have to go out of my way to get them after work when I'm already tired?!"

"Yes! That's what we AGREED on! And you weren't too tired to go out and drink with your friends! You're a mom now!"

"UGH!" Janet yelled. "I'm going to bed!"

She got up and stormed upstairs, but James wasn't letting her get away, they yelled all the way up the stairs, and turned the lights off, leaving you in the pitch dark basement.

"D-dad?"! I stammered.

I had a pretty big fear of the dark. I cried and yelled for them, but they couldn't hear me over their own yelling and plate-breaking. I know this might sound kind of silly, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I sat in that basement, and I cried. The time I did try and move, I stepped on something – probably just one of my toys – and it scared me more. I was hungry and tired, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I just thought something would get me. Finally, I heard James say upstairs, "Where's Frisk?"

"I don't know!" Janet snapped.

"HELP!" I yelled, spotting my opening.

I heard frantic footsteps, and the door to the basement swung opened. The lights clicked on and I felt silly for sitting in such a familiar room, sobbing my eyes out. James ran downstairs and hugged me. "Oh! I'm so sorry! Come on, dinner is almost ready!"

"O…okay." I stammered.

Things were different after that. James would get me up and take me to school with him, and I had to get up REALLY early. Then he'd run me down the block to the elementary school. For the rest of the week, things went well, otherwise. Janet would pick me up from school and go back to bed. But, Janet and James didn't go out and play with me like they used to. Maybe it was something they said to each other.

Over the weekend, we were all watching a movie – it was my favorite movie about this fish that gets lost and his dad has to find him – before my bed time. And I think they both thought I fell asleep.

"Babe…can you start taking Frisk to school?" James asked.

Janet groaned. "I guess. Why can't you keep taking the kid?"

The way she referred to me as, "kid," a lot was starting to hurt my feelings. It wasn't like affectionate," kiddo," or something it used to be.

"Well, I feel bad making Frisk wake up two hours early and sitting in my office for my first two classes."

Janet rolled her eyes, I could tell. She did that a lot lately. "Fine."

"Janet, what's gotten into you lately? The last few weeks you've been acting really different?"

"I'm going to bed." She replied, curtly, and stood up.

I sat up, surprising them both. I cleared my throat and said, quietly, "I'm sorry that I'm in your way, Janet."

Janet turned really pale, but didn't say anything. James hugged me and assured me that I wasn't in anyone's way or anything of the sort.

"I just…I just don't feel like Janet love's me anymore." I confessed.

James wouldn't hear it. "Nonsense. We're your parents, we love you!"

I wasn't so convinced. James was at least attentive, but something seemed off.

Monday rolled around, and I was once again woken by the sound of birds. The house was once again empty, and this time, I didn't panic. I went down to the kitchen, poured myself some cereal, and watched some cartoons.

James came home and threw the door open. "JANET!" He yelled, "We need to talk!"

He stormed into the kitchen to see me, working on my second bowl of Fruity Circles, still in my pjs. "Hi." I said, awkwardly.

"Hello dear," he replied, putting on a calmer tone, but he wasn't nearly as good hiding his emotions as I was. "Where's your mother?"

I shrugged. "She hasn't been home since I've been awake."

James went into a panic mode and began making calls and sending texts on his phone. He must have spent hours on that thing, trying to track down his wife. Finally, he sat down at the kitchen table.

"I'm sorry Frisk."

At the time, I didn't realize how serious he was being. I thought he was just apologizing for me missing school again. So I joked back, "I'm sorry for finishing the Fruity Circles."

He laughed, but it wasn't his normal laugh.

We ordered a pizza and he had my assignments emailed to me from my teacher, so I did my homework and went to bed.

Late that night, I was woken up to the sound of a plate being broken.

"JUST SHUT UP, JAMES!"

"Janet, you're going to wake up Frisk."

"DO YOU THINK I GIVE A SHIT?"

Janet was slurring her words again.

"What has gotten into you?" James asked, his voice growing a bit too.

"ME?" Janet gave an angry laugh and there was another sound of a plate breaking. "You! You're the one who decided, not two weeks after I found out I couldn't have kids, to go looking to adopt one!"

"You said you wanted a family! We both wanted a family!"

"Maybe I wasn't ready! Maybe I wasn't ready to take in someone else's child! Maybe I was still hurting!"

"Why didn't you tell me this a few months ago?!" James sounded hurt, and betrayed.

"Because you were so excited! And at first I thought I was too. But now all of a sudden, I'm a mother to this eleven year old, and I'm twenty-eight. What sort of memories can I make with this kid? There's no cute baby photos! I don't even know what Frisk likes!"

Janet was crying now. She wasn't the only one; despite all that was going on, to hear my fears being true broke my heart.

"That' so shallow!" James was choking up, too, "you told me that you wanted Frisk because they were low-maintenance! You can't just go back on that now! Parenting isn't about baby photos! It's about loving your child!"

"FRISK ISN'T MY CHILD!"

I started to sob. I knew I wasn't their kid, obviously, but we had gone camping together, as a family, not even a month ago. Why couldn't we just be happy again?

"Janet…what do we do?"

"…let's take Frisk back."

Panic gripped my chest, and I grabbed the stuffed dog that I took to bed every night. I held it against my chest as tightly as I could. I didn't want to go back.

"Janet, we can't take Frisk back. It doesn't work that way."

"James, I can't do this anymore. I was…I was at my parent's today. I think I'm going to stay with them."

"Janet, no..."

"I'm sorry, James."

James didn't say anything, and Janet walked to their room to gather her things. She walked past my room and looked into the door, and she saw me sitting up in my bed, still sobbing. Our eyes met, briefly, and she looked down and whispered that she was sorry.

She left that night, and I never saw her again.

James did his best, but he was a broken man after that. He stopped taking me to school. We barely talked anymore. Every day, I gave him a compliment, told him he looked nice or that it sounded like he helped the students a lot today. But after awhile, he didn't even smile at them anymore, so I stopped.

And then I accepted it; no, I wasn't special. I couldn't make anyone happy. In fact, I was brought into this marriage to help these two, and all I did was tear them apart.

Sometimes, when I was home alone and James was at work, I would go to the park by our house. One day, I heard some drop out kid telling his younger brother about Mt. Ebott, telling him how no one ever came back.

I actually went to Mt. Ebott a lot of times after that. I thought maybe if I disappeared, James and Janet could be happy again. They roped off that hole you fell in really well, Chara; I didn't even know it was there. So it'd start to get dark, and nothing would happen, and I'd walk back home. James stopped noticing.

Then, one day, when I went up there, the ropes were down. And I don't know what compelled me, exactly, but I explored further into the summit. And there, there was the hole.

It's a bit like what happened with you, Chara. I wanted to disappear, so that everyone could have a better life. And what a better way to disappear then falling into a bottomless pit?

You wrapped your arms around Frisk and held them, tightly. "I'm so sorry, Frisk."

Frisk wiped a tear out of their eyes. "It's okay. All things considered, I didn't have it as bad as you."

You shook your head against the top of theirs and replied, "Having crappy childhoods is not a competition. You're an amazing person Frisk, and neglecting you was terrible of them."

"Thanks, Chara." Frisk sighed. But this was a happier sounding sigh.

"And just for the record, I still think making people happy is like your super power," you added, and they laughed.

As the mood relaxed, your arms went through Frisk again, making them go, "Aw," in disappointment.

"Well, that was nice while it lasted." Frisk said, winking at you and making you blush again.

"C-cut it out!" you stammered, "We should get going. I want to find out what that weird phone call was all about.

Frisk stood up and nodded. "Me too, come on."

You both went to the elevator. But as it thunked on, the cables made a grinding noise, and it began moving so fast Frisk was thrown to the ground with an, "AH!"

When it finally stopped, you were not in Alphys' lab; you were back outside of New Home. You and Frisk stepped out, and squelching sound rang out from behind you. Whipping around, you both saw that the elevator was covered in vines. You felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your gut.

"I'm starting to regret your decision to ask Flowey for help." You gulped.

Frisk shook their head and gave you a confident grin. "Well, we'll see. I think things are going to work out, just you wait, Chara."

"Don't get too cocky, Frisk," You warned.

Frisk laughed. "How can I not be feeling great? I just smooched a ghost."

You turned a bright red and groaned. But, apparently it does count as your first kiss.