Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You've died eighty-seven times."

Frisk ducks behind the waterfall cave, grabbing at their chest and choking on tears. They don't bother wringing out their sweater or shaking the water out of their hair. They might make it to Hotland and be able to dry off later, or they could die again and end up back here, just as cold and wet as they are now. 

The translucent, slightly unfocused shape of an older kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, leans into Frisk's line of sight. The deadpan expression in their searing red eyes, the only part of their form that was in perfect, crystalline clarity, seeming to pierce deep into the world around them, as if they were seeing a layer of reality unavailable to the living child. 

"Did you hear me?"

The young human buries their head in the turtleneck of their sweater with a wet sound. They're tired of Chara keeping track of their failure. They might've been able to assume it was all a dream if not for the mean ghost that glared and made fun of them every time they died, or tried to run from a fight. They should've stayed with Toriel. Why do they keep leaving Toriel?

"Good, you did." Frisk doesn't know how the ghost knows when they didn't respond, but it doesn't matter because they're used to it by now. As Chara continues, Frisk slides down the wall. They sit, and their tears mix with the rest of the water in their clothes. 

"Stop that, you baby. I'm trying to talk to you."

<No. No, no, no,> Frisk signs adamantly. <I can do this by myself.>

"Oh, sure. That's why you've died eighty-seven times." Frisk shrinks further into themself when the ghost snaps, even knowing that the dead kid can't hurt them. "I want to help you Frisk, I n- want to save you. Don't be stupid. I'm older, I can get you out."

<You're mean and rude and tried to get me to kill Papyrus,> Frisk snaps with a sharp wave of their hand. peeking up out of their sweater to glare. <And you can't be much tougher than me since you're dead-dead.>

Chara doesn't always jump at insults, but they usually do, and it's almost scarier how calm they become this time. A smile that's just a fraction too wide slips into place on their intangible face, and the red of their eyes glows just a shade brighter. 

"Frisk," they say with a tone that drips like saccharine, too sweet and choking, "I'm sorry. You're right, I misjudged the skeletons. But you were getting hurt while fighting him, and I just want to keep you safe. We're humans, aren't we? We have to stick up for each other."

As satisfying as it is to hear Chara admit they were wrong or apologize, nevermind both at once, Frisk shudders at their tone. They're an upsetting person to be stuck with, and it's worse when Chara is trying to be nice, for some reason. Maybe it was their face: always slightly incorrect, as if the spirit was forgetting how to express their emotions. Eyes too wide, smiles too long, the tilt of their head going just slightly too far. A lilt in their voice turning just a bit off-key like sour milk. 

If Frisk hadn’t met Napstablook, if they hadn’t met real monsters that were only attacking them for the sake of their freedom and were otherwise kind beings, they’d have assumed Chara was a ghost monster doing a bad impression of humanity. Frisk wonders briefly if Chara is a real ghost, or if Napstablook is, or if the ghost monster just looks like a ghost but isn’t really, like how they were pretty sure Sans wasn’t made of real bone. Was he?

Frisk shakes their head, both to clear their thoughts and to respond to Chara as they wave their hands dismissively in sharp, disdainful gestures. Regardless of the truth of whatever the dead one was, it was clear their attitude was pure acting, all on purpose, and malicious. And Chara could not be allowed to win their “game”.

<Thanks, but I don't need your help.>

Chara frowns again, which is their most normal looking expression, and crosses their arms. 

"You'll need me eventually," they tell Frisk as if they know, words lagging slightly behind their mouth as if they had to travel some impossible distance, or were part of a bad anime dub. "You can't handle all this dying on your own- feeling it. Remembering the pain. I'll be here when you're ready."

And with that, the ghost is gone. Not completely, as they seemed to be connected to each other, but out of sight, and silent. That was the best Frisk could ask for. 

 •••

Every reset, every rewind, every Save star. 

Chara appears at every one, asking with their voice that sticks like honey, if they're ready to give up now. But Frisk isn't the type to give up, and they ignore the offer to help every time. They can do this! They can survive, they can get out safely! They already made friends with Sans, and Papyrus, and those kids in Snowdin! They had a playdate with Papyrus and went to the libarby, and played with MK in the reeds of Waterfall! It wasn't all bad, it couldn't all be bad and dying! 

They could do this. 

"One hundred and two. Are you ready yet?"

Frisk stomps and flips off the ghost, even though they aren't supposed to do that. They sprint out of the cavern with Napstablook's house to try again. They had to make it past Undyne, they've done it before! They just forgot to find the star, but that won't happen again.

There had to be a way out.

Frisk: Age 10

Chara: Age 14 (deceased)

Chapter Text

Frisk shivers in the cave again, hiding. Hiding, hiding, more hiding. Maybe Undyne will forget if Frisk just stays here. Maybe they'll be here forever. They don't want to see her spears again. They're too bright to be so dangerous and sharp. 

"Wow, almost a hundred and fifty," Chara snarks. When Frisk's hands remain still, the ghost smiles. Their mouth is a black line with no teeth or lips. A tear. "I can feel you breaking. Let me help you."

<Leave me alone.>

They were going to prove Chara wrong. There was always a way to make things better.

-

Frisk only stops screaming when they can't make another sound. They punch and kick the wall of their hiding spot, spilling tears from their eyes and bloodying their fists on blue-lit stone.

They're tired. They're so tired. They don't even need Chara to keep track, they know how many times they've died, not only to Undyne, but Aaron, Shyren, Woshua, the snowdin kids, even Toriel.

232 deaths. 

They're so tired. 

Chara says nothing, simply floats an inch off the ground as they pretend to stand. They don't look smug as Frisk falls to the floor, shaking like a leaf in their soggy clothes and painful experiences. The smaller child hiccups and cries, and shakes even harder.

<Help,> they sign. <I'm tired.>

Frisk knows what Chara's anger feels like, mostly, but also impressed, sadness, annoyed, and something as sticky as their voice. They feel that stickiness now in the spot where their soul floats out from, and the echo of an energetic shock. 

"What was that kid? Can you repeat that?"

Frisk considers taking it back right there. But they're tired, so tired they could sleep for a million years. They want to run back to Mom- Toriel and Story, they never should've left. They've asked Story to come with them but- they never- why couldn't Story want to leave too, why couldn't they leave together and feel safer and- and- Story could keep them safe… like Chara wants to…

They roll over to face the ghost, not leaving the floor. <Help. Please. I don't want to die anymore.>

Chara tries extra hard to make this smile look nice. They crouch down, still hovering, and mimic the motion of brushing back Frisk's tangled hair. "Do you mean it? You have to let me in."

Frisk nods, the tiniest nod.

<Please. I want to be alive.>

"Then go to sleep. I'll take over, and fix everything."

Moments after Frisk's eyes close to rest, they snap back open. Wider, redder, alert. A wide, lopsided smile takes over their face, and the child giggles madly. 

"Y-" they cough, body not used to speaking, and already worn out from before. It didn't take the smile away. 

"You're really stupid," they whisper in the darkness, "but don't worry. I'll get us out of here."