Chapter 40
Mew Mew shivered and pulled her scarf over her face. Not that it did anything to keep the chill from sinking to her body's animatronic bones. Just last week she spent most of her time in a hot room trying to stop the overheating Core from exploding, and now she hid tucked away in a pocket of ice somewhere within Snowdin Forest.
It was the last place anyone would look for her. When Sans teleported away after getting into the Core's systems and correcting the problem, Mew Mew hesitated only a second before she, too, fled the scene. By the time her warrant finally went up, nobody knew where Mew Mew was or where she went.
Nobody save Muffet, who deeply mourned the death of her lover.
The news both shocked and didn't surprise Mew Mew. As much as she anticipated such violence from the human, hearing what Frisk did to Mettaton did not make processing it any easier. Mew Mew and Mettaton might not have been friends and only interacted because of their respective connections to Muffet, but Mew Mew still cared enough about the tin can to be upset by his fate.
"Should have killed the human while we had the chance," Mew Mew muttered into her scarf as she walked through the remains of Snowdin Two. It didn't matter who should have killed the human – Mew Mew, Muffet, and Mettaton all knew of the potential danger, yet none of them acted on it. Now it was too late. The next time Mew Mew and Frisk crossed paths, she would not make the same mistake again.
Darcy . . .
Mew Mew felt her blood turn to ice, and it had nothing to do with the chilly air.
Darcy . . . , the same broken whisper echoed through the air like the wind Mew Mew heard so much about in the human books she used to read, like the wind Chara told her about once when he was alive and she was someone else entirely.
Avenge . . . me. . . .
"You hacked into the Core and set a timer to kill everyone Underground," Mew Mew said, not feeling as foolish as she thought she would talking to no one. This person was dead. Chara killed her one hundred years ago. Mew Mew saw it.
Yet so many things were left unexplained. The whispers. The Core. The hairpin. . . . Mew Mew resisted the urge to reach inside her pocket and touch the hairpin she found in the Core and carried everywhere since.
Not . . . my plan. . . .
"Then whose was it?" Mew Mew thought she heard the whisper respond, Master's.
"In case you haven't noticed," Mew Mew sternly told nobody and somebody, "I'm a wanted criminal now. For killing Toriel. Isn't it enough I killed the queen who chose to save Chara's soul and give his body a proper burial? It's not like I can do anything to Chara anyway, so isn't his mother second best?"
The whisper was not satisfied. Avenge . . . me. . . .
It crossed Mew Mew's mind to throw the hairpin into the water, leave her body, and flee to the Ruins as the ghost she was. When enough time passed, she would find a new body and start over again with a new life. Yet the idea was only considered for a moment. Mew Mew didn't know if the ghost would have an easier time speaking to Mew Mew if she was in her ghost form. She didn't want to risk it.
"Avenge you how?" Mew Mew questioned, choosing to play along.
The . . . human. . . .
I have seen . . .
. . . things. . . .
Their . . . bond. . . .
How he . . . cares. . . .
Not just here . . .
. . . but "there" . . .
"Everywhere."
"I have been in the snow far too long," Mew Mew decided aloud after a moment. She hugged herself and began walking away. "The cold is getting to me, and now I'm imagining things. What else could it be?"
As if in response, a force grabbed her wrist. Mew Mew spun around to see another monster grinning at her. The sight nearly shattered Mew Mew's undying soul.
"You will kill the human, Darcy," the monster said, no longer a disembodied whisper, but solid as if she was alive again. "When the time and place is right, you will carve out her soul. I know you really want to, so why are you doubting the opportunity to help me while you're at it?"
Screaming, Mew Mew yanked her arm free from the monster's grasp. She pulled so hard she fell over, face planting in the snow. When she pushed herself upright and looked back where the dead monster stood, nobody was there.
The pain Mew Mew felt on her wrist and the bruise forming there told Mew Mew enough.
Mew Mew took a shaky breath as she cradled her throbbing wrist to her chest. There were no signs that anyone else had been around. No other monsters. No footprints. Even the whispers were silent as if they had never been.
Despite her history for sneaking away being well-known, resulting in someone constantly keeping an eye on the human, Frisk had managed to sneak away from her "sanctuary" – she thought "prison" was better suited – to steal some alone time. Life was no longer the same since she appeared on Mettaton's show. It hadn't been the same since the day she discovered Chara.
Frisk was no longer a random human Underground. She had been named the queen's heir. The Blues saw her as a symbol to their cause. While the Reds actively sought her death with a gusto unlike before, the Blues kept her hidden away till the day she could challenge King Asgore. It was miserable.
It was why on nights when the days had been too much to bear, nights like that night, she would don a black sweater with black leggings and, with Chara's help, slip out into the dark.
Walking down the rocky path, Frisk held her umbrella high to keep the rain from touching her. She wasn't sure how it could rain Underground, but as the rain was constant, she and Chara both had theories. Until a moment ago, they discussed them to fill the silence as they traveled. Now neither spoke.
"I miss the sound of rain," Chara eventually whispered, softly as to not drown out the dripping.
"I miss rain, and I miss sunlight," Frisk replied. Her skin darkened as she grew healthy again, but it wasn't the same as the rich brown she had from spending nearly every day sunbathing in the Ruins under the hole in the mountain.
They didn't walk much farther until they came across an old statue. The water dripping onto it had washed away most of the stone. There wasn't enough left of the statue to know or even guess what it once was.
"I feel so sad looking at it," Frisk whispered. "Abandoned. Forgotten. Left to fade away with nobody to remember it."
Chara didn't reply, and Frisk said nothing else. Acting impulsively, Frisk reached out with the umbrella and tucked the handle into a small hole in the statue. Now no more water could drip on it, but the damage could never be undone.
Taking a deep breath, Frisk got to the ground and crawled so that she sat by the statue's side. Chara followed suit. The two sat together without speaking and listened to the falling rain.
Try as she might, Frisk was still unsure of her and Chara's relationship. They were . . . mostly nice to each other now. There was still teasing, but it was good natured. Arguing didn't occur as often. Frisk wholeheartedly believed Chara would never trick her into getting herself killed again. To that extent, they were friends.
Yet a barrier still existed. Both sides hesitated to open up to the other. Whenever they laughed together and shared smiles, more often than not the moment would end with someone going quiet. Frisk didn't know what to make of it. This wasn't the sort of thing she experienced before. It was almost as if they still weren't friends no matter how they tried.
"Hey, Chara," Frisk called after a few minutes. He didn't speak to acknowledge her, but Frisk still asked, "What color is your soul?"
He answered her question with one of his own. "What color do you think it is?"
How many sleepless nights Frisk spent wondering such a thing. When her eyes couldn't stay closed, Frisk stared at the ceiling thinking about Chara's soul as much as her own. She had her theories ready, but she still hesitated to respond so Chara wouldn't know how much thought she already put into her answer.
"Yellow."
"Wait . . . You think I have a soul of justice?" Chara sounded surprised.
Eyes sliding in Chara's direction, Frisk softly explained, "You insist you deserved to die for what you did. Whenever you talk about the negative side of being a ghost, you never not say that it's what you deserve."
"But this is what I deserve."
"Really, Chara, it's okay to say you hate being what you are without saying it's a punishment you earned for yourself. After everything you've been through, haven't you suffered enough?"
To this, Chara had no response. Frisk watched as he stared ahead at the rain. Both listened to the water splashing onto the rock, smelled the murky water colliding with the earth.
"Have I suffered enough?" Chara quietly echoed Frisk's words. "I'm the very reason some broken hearts will never mend. I destroyed so many lives. I took all the hope the Underground once had and grounded it beneath my feet. Is there even a 'suffered enough' for me?"
"Yellow soul or not," Frisk said, eyes locked onto Chara even as he continued looking into the rain, "you have a strong sense of justice. Maybe too strong. You can't keep punishing yourself over something that happened a hundred years ago."
"The Underground would not be what it is if it were not for me," Chara argued. "I suppose I won't suffer enough until nobody left suffers because of me. This pain is well-deserved, my own personal Hell. Stripes, how can you even look at me? How can you look at me and not still hate me for all I've done?"
Sensing there was no right response, Frisk merely suggested, "Turn off your sense of justice. Only for a moment. I won't judge."
Now Chara looked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Stomp around. Scream. Curse the world if you so desire." Frisk counted on her fingers. "Go crazy. I'm the only one who can see and hear you, and I won't judge you for getting all of it off your chest."
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Chara chuckled. It was a small, pitiful sound, but a true chuckle nonetheless.
"Maybe I'll take up stomping and screaming another day," he said. "Although one thing I will complain about is my inability to express the emotions I still feel. I can't cry when I'm sad. I can't interact with anything to help me calm myself when I'm angry. I can't communicate with anyone who isn't wearing the locket when I feel lonely. Instead I'm forced to suppress every emotion, multiplying it and growing it into something even worse than the parent emotion. I made lot of bad decisions suppressing emotions while alive. It's no wonder I spent a long time after making even worse decisions I now regret."
Frisk didn't have words of comfort to offer. She couldn't even hold his hand. "What would you do if you could touch?"
"What can I touch?"
"Anything."
"Anything, you say. Hmmm, then I suppose that depends on the situation. Maybe I'll want to punch a wall, or perhaps throw myself into a pile of the world's softest pillows."
"Those are such polar opposites I don't know what to think."
"Well, think about this instead: If not yellow, then what color do you think my soul is?"
Frisk didn't hesitate as long before she said, "Green."
"Green? Now I know you got your colors mixed up. There's no way you think I'm a soul of kindness."
"Sure, you're a jerk," Frisk admitted, earning a "thanks a lot" from her companion. Smiling, Frisk continued, "However, I believe deep down, you're a good person."
"Not all jerks are good people deep down, Stripes. Sometimes, a person just sucks, and that's that."
"Yes, but no matter how much you believe otherwise of yourself, I believe you're one of the kindest souls around. It's just you don't know how to show it. Not after a lifetime of everyone convincing you there's no good within."
Chara didn't respond, and the silence dragged on for a moment too long.
"Speaking of souls and their colors," Frisk muttered after a few minutes, "now would be a good time to practice."
"With nobody around to see, it would be a great time," Chara agreed. The two adjusted so that they faced each other, and Chara held out his hands. "Whenever you're ready."
Chara holding out his hands was only for show, but it gave Frisk a sense of comfort to hold her hands over his. They looked close to touching each other. Something about it never failed to send a wave of calm over Frisk as she steadied herself.
Closing her eyes, Frisk took a deep breath. By this point, Chara didn't need to tell her what to do. She had his words memorized.
Focus. Slow your breathing. Listen to your heartbeat. Don't shy away from yourself. Embrace what your soul will show you.
Frisk still couldn't see her soul, but she had gotten close a few times now. Exhaling slowly, she allowed herself to drown in the moment. The sound of rain washed over her. Frisk could hear her heartbeat. Then, even fainter, she could feel the pulsing right over her chest.
Chara's soul inside the locket. A soul that may have been green or yellow or maybe another color. A soul Frisk slowly began to realize she valued just as much as her own.
With a deep breath, Frisk let go of herself completely. Memories she tried to forget rushed in, and she didn't stop them. She let the good and bad flow through her unrestrained.
Her own mistakes. Her own regrets. Frisk pushed nothing away. She dived headfirst into the ocean of her being. It was painful, but Frisk didn't try to fight it off any longer.
Even more, she chose to love and accept every part of her – the good and the bad, the broken and the beautiful. Not that this wasn't a choice she would have to make everyday, with some days ending with her choosing to not love and accept the dark parts of herself. But for now, she chose to accept.
"Stripes," Chara said, sounding awed, "open your eyes."
Frisk obeyed. Her first reaction was to nearly panic at how black the world was, but a little light helped her catch herself. This was like the day she first fell, when Flowey presented her soul to her.
Until now, Frisk had forgotten all about the experience.
Sucking in a breath, Frisk observed the heart floating before her. The heart was neither blue nor purple as Chara expected. Instead, it was none of the colors Chara told her about.
Unable to maintain her composure, Frisk's soul wavered before the black faded entirely. She was back sitting against a statue. Chara again sat across from her, his expression unreadable.
"Did I do something wrong?" Frisk asked, afraid she messed up a step or two in the process. "My soul was red. You didn't mention red."
"That is because a red soul is so rare I didn't think it was worth mentioning," Chara answered, his demeanor shifting to astonishment as his brows rose and his lips failed to completely close. "Your soul color is one most people believe only exist in legends."
After the treatment Frisk received at being "Toriel's heir," she didn't want to begin to imagine how she would be treated if the others knew she was some sort of chosen one. "What does red mean?"
"It's a balance of the six traits. Patience, bravery, integrity, perseverance, kindness, and justice. It even is said to contain other . . . powers."
Frisk furrowed her brows. "What kind of powers?"
Sighing, Chara said softly, "According to legend, if two people with a red soul were to ever happen to cross paths, they would be instantly bonded. How they're bonded depends on the individuals. They could be anything from like siblings to best friends to worst rivals to more. Even more outlandish is the belief that if a unbonded red soul ever came across the resting place of another unbonded red soul, the living red soul's determination would be enough to bring the deceased red soul back to life. It's ridiculous, but . . ."
"Ridiculous indeed," Frisk mumbled, having nothing else to say.
"I owe you an apology," Chara then whispered. "I never should have said it was your fault Toriel died. I only said that to hurt you. Toriel truly fought with everything she had that day, but she didn't see the knife until it was too late."
Instead of replying, Frisk looked at her lap. Chara's words did nothing to undo her guilt. Even if he never accused her of being at fault, Frisk would still blame herself. She ran away, leaving Toriel all alone. If Frisk had stayed and let Toriel explain . . .
There was no knowing how different things would be.
"Do you believe red souls really are bonded to each other?" Frisk asked, not caring all that much but wanting to change the subject. "It sounds almost like something you would hear only in fairytales."
"Not really," Chara answered, "but it's an interesting legend nonetheless."
Swallowing, Frisk looked at her lap and forced herself to say, "I have one more guess, if I may try?"
It took Chara a moment to reply, "Go ahead."
"Your soul is also red, isn't it?" Chara's lack of response was confirmation enough. "Do you . . . do you think we're bonded."
"I don't know. I truly don't believe the legend, or at least I don't think I do. However, I do know two things. Of all the humans who have fallen Underground, by fate or coincidence, you are the one whose journey I'm following."
When Chara didn't continue, Frisk pressed while still looking down, "And the second thing?"
It took Chara so long to respond Frisk looked up to see him hesitating. With a sigh, he finally said, "It's likely a coincidence given their location, but the patch of golden flowers you used to spend every day lying on top of . . . aren't just a random small field of flowers. It's my . . . It's my grave."
Frisk felt a chill run down her spine. For the past eight years, she as good as daily visited a burial sight and lied on top of it. She allowed herself to be swallowed up by flowers that fed on a one hundred-year-old corpse.
Yet Frisk didn't find herself feeling disgusted or disturbed. She should have felt that way, but she didn't. Those flowers broke her fall. They were the first thing she saw when she fell Underground. If Frisk could go back to visit the Ruins, she didn't doubt she would still manage to feel that sense of peace being in that small field of golden flowers always brought.
"Did it ever upset you that I spent so much time where you're buried?" Frisk asked, genuinely wanting to know what Chara felt about it.
"I thought it was morbid," Chara answered, "but it never upset me. At least in that way, I was never alone."
Before Frisk could think of a response, something creaked behind her. She snapped her head around to find nobody else there. The sound came again, and this time she knew it was coming from the statue.
It was slow and rustic at first, but then a song began to play. There was a music box inside the statue. Now that water wasn't dripping on it, the music began to play again.
The song was a lullaby of some sorts. Frisk felt sad hearing it, but also . . . hopeful. As if no matter how bad things got, good would come out of it in the end.
"This was Asriel's song," Chara whispered and offered nothing more.
Frisk hovered her hand over Chara's. Even if she couldn't touch him to offer comfort, she hoped the thought would still count. It did, and Chara smiled a sad smile and softly spoke a word of thanks.
Turning away from each other, they sat together and listened to the rain and now the music box. Frisk would have to go back soon. She had been gone for too long already.
Her heartrate spiked when Frisk heard someone coming. She pressed herself against the statue while Chara got up and walked towards the steps to see who it was. When he returned, he told Frisk she could relax.
Before Chara could tell Frisk who it was, Sans's voiced called out, "You shouldn't be out and about, kid."
Frisk waited until Sans was in sight before she replied, "I can't take being watched all the time. Hasn't anyone ever heard of privacy over there?"
"A small price to pay for protection, don't you think?"
"No."
"Good, I don't think so either." Sans walked closer and offered his free hand while the other held an umbrella. "We should take you back before anyone else realizes you're missing."
"Can we walk back instead of teleporting?"
"I don't see why not."
Frisk accepted the hand, and Sans pulled her to her feet. Casting one final glance at the music box, Frisk whispered, "I never got to have my dance."
"Wait, did you actually want to do that part of Mettaton's show?"
"I didn't spend all that time practicing for nothing."
Even without stating what she really thought, Sans understood. He let go of the umbrella and used his telekinesis to hold it up. For a second the two struggled to correctly position themselves, then they began to dance along with the lullaby.
"You're pretty good," Sans commented after a minute.
"I had a good teacher," Frisk said. She smiled Chara's way. Expecting him to make a comment or tease her about being unable to step on his toes, Frisk was a little surprised when all Chara did was shrug.
"You gotta go back sooner or later, y'know?"
"I know, that's why I'm pushing for later."
Sans chuckled and said nothing else.
For a few more minutes, the two danced in the rain while an umbrella hovered over them. The old music box kept playing. It was the happiest Frisk had been since all the things that happened with Mettaton.
Everything about the happy moment pained Chara, and the worst part was he had to pretend nothing about it bothered him at all.
End of Part Two
