Memory
How easy. How easy would it be to do it? To let go, to let yourself tilt just a bit forward. To shift your weight just slightly enough to send you billowing over the edge. To be engulfed by the bubbling lava below. How easy it would be, to just let go and fall.
You want to. Isn’t that sick? Isn’t that twisted? You want to do it because you can’t handle your life. You can’t handle your own life! You don’t even have it hard. Your father does, as well as Papyrus, as they both have to deal with you. Whatever you had done to warrant your father’s hatred initially- even now, you’re not exactly sure what it is- it must have been something bad. You are your own self after all. It doesn’t help that you keep messing things up, forgetting to clean, breaking things, doing all sorts of stupid things that it’s no wonder why your father hates you. The words of the conversation you had with him just this morning echo in your head.
You had made a snarky remark. Something dumb. Something that wasn’t even funny. You were in a bad mood to begin with, and unfortunately you had taken it out on your father. Obviously that was not the right decision.
As soon as you had realized your father heard you, you began to mutter ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘i didn’t mean it’ over and over. Your father was not having it. Which, you suppose, he shouldn’t have to listen to your pathetic excuses and apologies of your previous words.
“No, Sans, you did mean it.” His tone suddenly became extremely angry, “Fuck you! This is the last time I put up with your crap! I don’t need this in my life! You can decide to be a decent being, or leave.”
His words had rendered you speechless.
“Goodbye!” He clarified, “Leave. Right now.”
He kicked you out. You deserved it.
“...’m sorry i fuck everything up t-then…” You had almost whispered, “i won’t talk to you again....”
You faced away from him, preparing to leave before he decided to speak again. “You feel kind of bad? Is that right?” His voice was mocking. Cold.
“y-yeah…”
As a sort of last blow to hurt you, he said, “Well maybe you should have thought of that before.”
You remember at that point you had given up trying to remain composed. “you know what? i’m sorry. i’m sorry that im a fuck up. i’m sorry that i’m rude. i’m sorry that i can’t do anything right. i’m sorry that whatever i say is sarcastic. i’m sorry for having to be a part of your life, okay? you don’t have to speak to me ever again if you don’t want to!”
“You’re trying to make me feel bad now!?”
“No!” You shouted back, “i’m literally just saying sorry!”
You had then stormed out of the house, angry, upset, crying. Not going very far before you landed where you are now. Staring into the depths of the lava below. Wanting to fall in.
The only thing that’s kept you sitting here instead of fifty feet below and dust already is the thought of Papyrus. He knows you got in a fight with dad. He was home, and the walls aren’t thick enough to mask the words of your shouting father. What would he do if you never returned? Your father said not to come back, but the way he said it… It was out of the heat of the moment. He probably expects you to come crawling back to him. Which you figure you will. Which is probably what Papyrus thinks too.
But… What if you listened to your father. What if you never went back home? Never went anywhere anymore? The only downside, and it is a big downside, is Papyrus would have to handle your father by himself. To take the brunt of the anger when you’re not there to take it for him. He doesn’t deserve it, while you do.
Well… Another thought comes to you. WIthout you around… Maybe your father would be nicer? Maybe he wouldn’t be mean, or cruel, because you aren’t there to ruin his day anymore. He would only have Papyrus, who is so, so much better than you.
It’s not a hundred percent guarantee. Nothing ever is. But it’s the better outcome then if you went back to your house alive and well, because Papyrus and your dad would still have to deal with you. This option, the option of moving forward just a bit, opens the wonderful idea of chance. Standing up and returning, well, it’s obvious that with you around your father isn’t going to change his ways. But without you… Everything is so much less predictable. For better or for worse, but most likely for better.
You stare down below you, the light reflecting in oranges and yellows across your skull. You become so immersed in the idea of what awaits you if you allow yourself to slip forward, that you don’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you.
It’s too late when said monster who belongs to those footsteps speaks up, saying “Howdy! Sa-” when you’re utterly startled by their voice and you fall forward.
You feel the edge you were sitting on disappear, and oh no you didn’t want this not right now, you don’t want to fall please no-
Suddenly, you feel a large paw grab you and place your shaking legs back on solid ground.
“Oh my, I am incredibly sorry! I did not mean to frighten you! Golly, you shouldn’t sit so close to the edge! It’s dangerous!”
The irony of the last statement echos in your head as you look at the monster before you, hands still shaking because of what had almost just happened.
It’s… Asgore?
He seems to notice you’re still very shaken up, so he doesn’t take your silence as rude.
“I was just coming up to warn you to get away from the edge. And silly old me almost frightened you off!” He gives a hearty chuckle, but still looks guilty. “I am truly sorry for that though. I’ll have to speak to someone about getting some safety rails around here.”
Now, your dad being the Royal Scientist, you’re not unused to seeing the king quite often, unlike most monsters. But there’s always something in his presence that’s so frightening but also comforting as well.
“i-i’m s-sorry, it’s my f-fault.” You mumble out.
“Nonsense!” The king looks abashed at your words. “It’s my fault if anything. Lucky I caught you!”
Yeah. Lucky.
Asgore seems so notice something as he looks you over. “Oh my, I do believe I have accidently ripped your sweatshirt in that process. It seems I might have grabbed you a bit too tightly! I hope I didn’t hurt you!”
You nod your head no. Again, the king still looks guilty. “Ah, If you wouldn’t mind, I can take your sweatshirt and fix it up for you. I’ll bring it by the next time I meet with your dad. I think I still have that sewing machine from when Tor-” He cuts himself off, continuing with a saddened look in his eyes now. “I mean, I believe I have a sewing machine lying around. I should be able to patch it up in a jiffy!” He adds some enthusiasm to his words, but it’s more forced now.
“o-ok…” You take off your sweatshirt without a second thought. Trying to get rid of the awkwardness, you try and make conversation, albeit still jittery from before, “s-so, uh, what are y-you doing in Hotlands anyway? Y-you usually don’t c-come by unless fath- uh, dad has t-to meet with you.
“Oh you know,” Asgore says, seemingly cheerier because of you talking to him. There’s still is a sadness in his eyes, but you presume that’s almost permanent nowadays. “I was just going to meet with everyone around. Just to see how they’re doing!”
You hand him your sweatshirt, and he looks like he’s going to say something, but he instead looks at your body. It makes you uncomfortable. “Oh my, I hope I didn’t do that!”
You look down at yourself, wondering what he’s talking about before noticing the large crack lining one of your ribs, alongside other smaller… injuries.
Your father made the crack that you believe Asgore is talking about. About… two days ago? Certainly not enough time to heal. It was over you not coming home on time, about two minutes late as you remember. Of course you’re not telling Asgore that.
“o-oh, no. that wasn’t y-you.”
“What happened? Are you okay?! Do you need me to heal you?!” He reminds you of a protective dad in a way, which you suppose he once was.
“nah, i’m fine.” You reply as calmly as possible. The king looks like he’s about to retort, but you stop him when you speak again. “hey, it w-was nice seeing you. take as much time as y-you need with the sweatshirt. i have p-plenty more.” You’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest to avoid the impending conversation.
The king almost looks lost. “Well, uh, thank you! Are you sure you’re okay? I can heal you-”
“don’t worry.” You give a small, hopefully convincing laugh. “anyways, see you around? i’d love to chat, but i really gotta go. d-dad needs some help at t-the lab.” That’s an obvious lie, but you just want to get out of the conversation.
You’re already walking off when you hear a bemused Asgore mutter a “Um, See you around!”