[Post-Event Post] I don't need safety, I've grown up

[itstheend]

They wake up.

They wake up, and for a moment it's a confusion as two sets of impulses try to sit up, try to roll over, what is this why can't I move-

It all comes flooding back, and the thrashing, twitching body goes still, glassy eyed, panting.

*...
*Hi Chara.

Breathe. Breathe.

*Sorry I kicked you out.

Chara groans and presses their palms to their eyes. There's a dual storm of self-loathing here, turbulence kicked up by the past crashing into the future. Things that neither wanted to come to light, exposed. Breathe.

Well then. Damage control. Lock this all away and focus on getting up. They've been sleeping under a bench in the chapel this past month - they touch the back of their head with their fingers where they just cracked it on the pew. Didn't notice, in the heat of the moment. It seems that the Castle always shoves Frisk back into Chara.

They get up, and start walking - no particular destination, but places they are avoiding. The library. The balcony. The swings, certain spots in the garden, the kitchens. They just need to run, and they do, and when running's not enough, when their legs burn and their lungs are filled with knives from the cold air they screech to a halt and scream and punch a window, bright glass shattering, before turning on a vase. Anything inanimate nearby is getting destroyed.

Frisk makes no move to stop them.

For Poke-Frisk and Sparks:

There's something that needs to be done, and it has to be done sooner rather than later. Frisk would prefer to give the apology in person but... that would raise some questions they don't think Chara would particularly want to answer right now.

While they do have control over the body (it aches - Chara themself has retreated to a ball at the far back, spent) they spend some time making enquiries - they don't know where the Frisk with red eyes and the dog monster live, and need to to slide this under a door. They've written an apology letter (and not a Bureau of Communication one).

They feel terrible about attacking Sparks -  they're pretty sure that was Sparks, even if he looked different - and it profusely says so.

Comments

[itstheend]

It is old news, indeed. Something they've actively taunted others with in the past. Chara has never not been trapped, in their entire life. They have practice at it, adapted to it even as they hate it vehemently, because at least that gives them some control.

This is the first time they, as who they are, has been changed against their will in such a way. This is what's bringing the entire affair crashing down.

The other laughs too, and that only increases it, a raw sound. They try to force it to stop, and it keeps going and going until they lean against the window.

"I hate this," they say at the end of it.

[dustless]

Frisk shoves their hands up their face, palms grinding the inside of their cheeks into their teeth.

Their laughter is slower, stuttering, but it goes along with Chara's until theirs stops before it peters out entirely.

"...know that. 'M sorry." They wish they could just let people who want to go home go home.

[itstheend]

A mirroring game. A memory game. Look at the two of them laughing. Aren't they happy?

"I doubt even a mastermind such as you could be responsible for this," Chara says, still looking out, and while the sentence would usually have a slight amused tone put in it (a wry acknowledgment) mostly it is listless.

The main message is there, at least. There's nothing for the other Frisk to apologize for, in Chara's eyes. Eyes which look down at their hands.

"Do you. Would you." They hate how much this is sounding like their past self already. "Mind. If we just sat here, for a bit."

No talking, no touching, just. Sitting, on opposite sides of a window, looking out into the gardens.

[dustless]

'Still sorry.' Not said, just mouthed. They don't even know if Chara can see it, staring out, the glass reflection not clear enough.

Chara does sound like...their younger self, and Frisk's stomach twists. They don't know how to feel about it. They don't know what they're feeling in the first place.

They put their hands back onto their lap. "...Sure. Let's." They press their face against the glass again, too. A pity they'll be hyperaware of Chara sitting there now, every slight movement they might make, but if it makes them feel better, then okay. They can handle being quiet and still and waiting.

[itstheend]

Chara misses it, just as they miss the other's discomfort from their presence. In a better state of mind they might think to parse that through what they know of the apparently common-to-Frisk's tendency to sacrifice their comfort for others, but at this time they take the agreement at face value.

There's very little movement from them, beyond the up and down of their breathing, and their eyes slowly, slowly closing, fluttering open in hypnic jerks before falling again. They lose track of time.

And then they fall asleep, utterly exhausted. It's either a testament to how tired they are or how much they've come to trust this Frisk or how much they don't care what happens to them at the moment or all three, that they've allowed themself to become this vulnerable.

Their breathing is utterly shallow, and their face for once relaxed - it's currently dreamless. It looks like a mask.

[dustless]

It's a while before they turn their head and notice.

It's...a lot longer before they can think to do anything except watch. It's strange to see them this way.

A part of them thinks they should wake Chara up. If they're going to sleep, they might as well be in a bed, or something--but they need the sleep.

Habit from the last month has them carefully reaching for the curtains--stopping every handful of seconds, making sure they're not making too much noise--and gently...putting it over Chara like a blanket. There's no fireplace out here, and the halls are still cool.

[itstheend]

Chara's a light sleeper - the slightest noise or touch can have them awake and on high alert instantly, on most days. Running themself into the ground like this, however, has consequences. They are well and truly passed out.

Even so, their face pinches at the faint rustling of the curtain as the other pulls it over, and when it's settled over them they twitch, kicking and punching slightly in their sleep before slowly settling when nothing else happens, sliding down the glass onto the sill.

They'll sleep for a good while unless disturbed, until the sun coming through the window starts to send the temperature inside the curtain up and they thrash awake, hair mussed and not really feeling better in a lot of respects, as well as kicking themself for letting themself fall asleep there.

But they do acknowledge the gesture, even if it sends faint prickles at how close someone could have gotten while they were unaware.

[dustless]

Whenever they wake, Frisk's...been around. They're not close, but where there were broken vases and the like down the hall, they've been pushed to the sides where they'll be harder for passerby to step on.

They're not far, but not exactly announcing their presence either. They originally hid on the window to be alone, and even though they're concerned for them, they still don't want to be put on the spot. It's a compromise in their head; if they're called for or searched for, they'll be found, but if they're not, then they'll get their peace.

it is late, but I think this is wrapped

[itstheend]

It doesn't take a genius to spot Frisk's handiwork, once they gather the wherewithal to get up and off the sill (the thought of someone coming across them as they are at the moment works wonders).

They pick up a shard of window as they walk down the hall, and pocket it. It's sharp enough to cut into their hand as they do, leaving a red smear on the clear glass.

They won't search for Frisk. In hindsight, they can see the signs of someone who wanted to be left alone even if they didn't pick them up at the time, or maybe ignored them, and either way it's a small drop in the bucket of reasons to dislike themself.

They could probably find them, if they wanted to, but they won't. They head down the halls. Time to move rooms again. They'll leave the other to their peace. (They might even pass them, unknowingly.)