"...they'll catch up," Frisk says quietly. "But. Still glad I'm here, so you're not alone."

The spores start growing--up, not down. They slowly climb up Frisk's shoes and socks. They don't seem to notice.

"Why? Wouldn't that be good? The castle's for help and new chances," they say, raising their voice before the noise cuts them off. Frisk is firmly certain about that.

Commander. They imagine a fusion of Undyne and Asgore, and the pan sends out a handful of sparks, tiny Asgore-attack bullets. They flinch back, hiding their hands in their folded arms. A little.