[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]

"Frisk, to be less in the way you would have to have somehow relocated yourself to an entirely different planet," they snark. "NASA would honour your burnt and/or frozen corpse."

There's mining operations on the moon in Chara's time, but they're for the most part un-manned. No-one's gotten to Mars yet, although there's been increasingly more serious attempts as climate change starts heating up. They don't know if it's the same in this Frisk's world.

So the answer is no, in both the literal and the metaphorical. They watch the other Frisk's cheek slowly become one with the glass, catlike idle, before speaking again.

"Perhaps it would be better for me to ask that question."

They are, after all the one who came over here and spoke, and while it grinds their teeth and gears to say it (however bluntly, airily and unapologetically they can muster) because it reminds them far too much of how they were and they have to wonder how much of that other self has stuck in them like glue... they would leave scarf-Frisk to their rest, if the other asked.

[dustless]

Who doesn't like Mars? Not that it's cheap to get there. But the mental image Frisk gets is more 'being catapulted out of Earth's atmosphere' than 'being brought by rocket ship', and that could result in either, depending in the direction. Or both.

Anyway. They shake their head.

"No. But you look...busy." Or did. A little while ago.

Frisk folds up, in case Chara wants to sit on the seat across from them, no legs in the way.

"And don't, um....please don't tell anyone else where I am right now," they request quietly.

cw suicidal... ideation...?

[itstheend]

'Catapulted into space by, like, some highly specialised trebuchet or something' is, admittedly, a fantasy Chara has indulged in on occasion. Often it features the sun as a target.

Busy. "A sad dearth of things to smash in the vicinity has left me extremely unbusy as of now." I.e. they've run out and have been successfully distracted from looking for more.

They hop up to sit on the indictated seat, legs folded and arms in their lap and they lean back as they look out the window, warm golden sunlight spilling on them. Ordinarily they'd be sleeping at this time, in a place much like this, but sleep isn't coming. No matter how tired they feel right now.

"Who would I tell?"

That means yes in Charaspeak, but it is a sad fact in their Frisk's opinion that since Kubo seems to have left, the only person in the castle they're on somewhat good terms with is this Frisk. Chara props their chin on their uninjured hand, still staring out as they speak.

"Do you ever feel," they start conversationally. "That you would like to find whatever is responsible for these transformations and rip it to shreds?"

Because boy, they sure do!

[dustless]

They consider mentioning the perfectly breakable windows around half the castle. Then again, that would be dangerous for everyone, Chara-and-Frisk and anyone else who might be running around today.

"People who might ask," they reply, matter-of-fact. It doesn't matter that they're a Chara and some people distrust and dislike them. Frisk is well aware that a lot of people care about them, and most would muscle past the dislike of one to figure out where they were.

A question that has them clenching their fists in their lap. "Maybe...sometimes..."

There's a short pause as Frisk thinks that over again and decides to answer a little better. They might be a little too exhausted to paste on the cheer they'd been running on before, for everybody else.

"Actually, yeah. Something like that. Dunno if that's possible, or it'd help, though."

[itstheend]

Well, the windows in a certain radius are all smashed. Mostly, though, Chara doesn't want to admit they've worn themself out.

"I am not given to freely dispensing information." This is somewhat of a lie - they can get carried away and exposit - but it's another yes, another roundabout way of saying they won't tell.

The other Frisk agrees and that... surprises them a little. It also... it feels like there's a goal, now, and determination loves a goal to hook into. Someone else in alignment makes it feel better somehow. They sit up a little, mind whirring, and they can feel their Frisk contemplating it too. It was a hypothetical, but now they think of it...

"If it is something in the Castle, it is possible something at the least can be done. Even though this place is small, it could be actively shifting rooms to protect it."

Which might explain why no such thing has been found - the other explanation is, of course, that no such thing exists. But Chara loves control, and power, and doing things.

[dustless]

"Thank you." Frisk can manage on their own, and it doesn't guarantee somebody might find them some other way. It's still a giant weight off their shoulders.

Finally, they unstick their face from the window. (There's a nice print of half their face on the glass there.)

"If it all shifts, we probably won't be able to get to it. A center, a control thing, something to even just talk to. There--there was...I did, I looked for something like that before. Didn't notice anything then." Frisk doesn't think they messed up--doesn't want to think they could've.

[itstheend]

Chara is a little too caught up in the very attractive idea to realise the inherent 'well you didn't try hard enough then' in the proposing of it, if the other really did try.

"That makes things a great deal more difficult," they say, thinking. They do think the other Frisk to be competent in this area, so if they say they didn't notice, then it's extremely likely there was nothing to notice.

Their expression shifts from sudden disgruntlement to neutrality as their Frisk pushes to say something, talking to both parties..

"When, um, I was a ghost, I went through a lot of the Castle." Literally, as walls were no obstacle. "I didn't see anything like that either." So if it does exist, it's not in a room barring physical access, probably. There's always that 'moves around' factor.

Chara switches back in, glaring down at their knees. "There has to be a cause. This is not something that simply happens without reason!"

It can't be. There has to be something for them to latch their teeth into.

[dustless]

Frisk didn't have high hopes in finding anything in the first place.

Still. They can (almost) never resist trying to help someone.

"It doesn't...we don't know much about it." The Castle itself. They tap their fingers on their knees, putting together facts they can think of: "It's magic. We think it's alive, but we don't...we're not even sure 'bout that. It can fix what's broken or eaten, it can change stuff inside it, us and...stuff. The...the...like those decorations, and food. It never talked--spoke to any of us, even when we tried, or even if we break stuff, accident or on purpose..."

They lean back, thinking about the age thing, the change thing earlier.

"...it just does stuff. It doesn't--it doesn't pick, I think. For punishments."

[itstheend]

"It would be difficult for it to communicate, if it is living," Chara replies in turn, sounding out ideas. It's a Castle, after all. "But not impossible."

Their Frisk tosses them the idea of a seance, half jokingly and half serious. Yes or no questions, and things they know the Castle to be able to do.

Indifference can be worse than malice, sometimes, in Chara's book. At least with malice, someone cares in their hurting of you. They agree that it feels like punishment, and they deserve such, but fighting against it is ingrained in them now.

"If we cannot find a way to make them cease, we must find a way to escape."

They are well aware they're on their last thread. Fight when running doesn't work. Run when fighting doesn't work. It's their Frisk that introduced them to SPARE.

[dustless]

"If it can change us an' itself so much, think it could do something if it tried," Frisk replies dryly, weaving their scarf between their fingers.

They angle their eyes from Chara to the wall. Is the Castle listening right now? Maybe. Somehow, they doubt this'll be what provokes it into finally talking.

A bird flicks past in the window. Idly, they remember the Aviary was much quieter when they visited it with all the snow.

"That would be...a good option for a lot 'f people. But we dunno where to start there either? Not flying, or falling--not even dying gets anybody out." It's got strong magic, and even with it's apparent SAVES for the castle's residents, it's not the kind Frisk knows of. "People've tried, Chara. They really have," Frisk says, tired and sad.

[itstheend]

Chara's response is a small nod - exactly so. They follow the other's gaze automatically. Feeling of being watched intensifies. They turn their gaze back out the window at the movement in the side of their vision.

"It sounds like there is some kind of Barrier at work. Did the," they feel bile on their tongue and in their throat just thinking of it, but they have to ask. They have to be able to guage exactly what they're up against here. "Absolute God of Hyperdeath attempt to break it, when he had the SOULs?"

'The SOULs', like they weren't one of them. They weren't aware of much, but they were aware there were others. Absorption is something they never want to experience again.

They wonder if this sort of impossible problem is what monsters felt they were up against, before humans fell. They don't doubt that others have tried, but they have to be sure themself.

*...

[dustless]

Frisk's own skin crawls with memory. Not because of what Asriel did, not fully, but what they wanted to do. How bad they hated.

That determination.

"It--that wasn't--not 'zactly. He...was...he tried to take it over. To break the actual castle, an' the timeline, to make sure...nothing bad happened again. Didn't work," they say, toneless and needlessly.

[itstheend]

If that much raw power couldn't do it, then that doesn't bode well for this idea. A repeat of using souls is off the table, as far as Chara's concerned - they doubt there'd be that much consent, and doing it without... no.

They start laughing, hysterically. "This certainly is a fine trap we find ourselves in!"

They want out, one way or another, so, so much. It burns in them, in their chest. There's more smashed things in the future, probably.

Their sides hurt, and their eyes sting, but they can't stop.

[dustless]

Bad laughter. And...Frisk's staring at Chara like they've grown two heads, since this is old news, isn't it?

They're not going to try to stop them in this, either, because there's nothing they can even think of that would.

In fact, something cracks deep in their throat, and they've got to put a hand to their own mouth to muffle a few panicked giggles themselves.

"Guess so," they manage to spit out.

[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.)