Chapter Text
It is complete
It is, top-to-bottom, complete.
…
But it is empty.
And it has been that way for months.
Despite everything they’d tried, despite all the contacts they had, despite the hours and hours and days and weeks of research and footwork they’d dedicated, nothing.
It’s… nice to be home.
But there really isn’t any home without family.
Cross lays sprawled beneath pale purple skies with white clouds drifting lazily through it. He tracks them half-heartedly, focusing less on them and more on the feeling of the wind across him and the dusty purple grass he laid upon.
Really, they should have changed the monochrome tone of everything but…
…But then it wouldn’t be home.
The trees nearby are black-barked and purple-crowned. What isn’t a shade of purple is black or white, with only the occasional yellow flower to break it up.
It was all he’d known for so long…
…He didn’t think other colors– red notwithstanding– existed. He couldn’t have imagined them before…
… Everything.
There were so many other colors, but Cross thinks his favorite is green. Green is the color all of this foliage should be. Green is the color of healing, of kindness. Green is a color he associates with life.
He likes blue, too– it’s the color the sky should be– but green… has a special place in his heart.
He closes his sockets as another warm breeze rushes over the grass and over him, causing the blades and petals and leaves nearby to rustle in a peaceful noise.
It may be empty, but at least… It’s calm here. It’s quiet. It’s comforting.
He’s brought his friends here a few times– Nightmare most commonly accompanied him while they were constructing the place. He’d offered resources, insight, but…
He’d always seemed kind of distantly sad in a way Cross couldn’t define.
Dream dropped by to inspect the place and had a similar expression. Cross figured it was something to do with them both. Maybe the quaintness of the countryside reminded them of their home. Maybe it was the colors– Cross never bothered to ask.
Ink was frequently with them in the early days, painting scenes into reality, detailing every last inch of that AU the way it had always been.
Cross is… glad to have him as a friend again.
Ink could parse his shitty drawings and pull the memories clean off the page in a flawless recreation of the world he remembered, down to the last nooks and crannies between rocks and branches. He doesn’t understand how. He’s not going to question it. But… having Ink help him restore the world that he visited so often while it was empty but for Cross… felt like a sort of poetic justice.
Killer, Dust, and Axe have all come and gone as well. They all have their own little homes or flats, depending on what they want. Sometimes they stay for a few days themselves, sometimes they swing by to pick Cross up if he’s been in over his head for too long.
Baggs had stopped by once or twice as well, to observe. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the monochromatic beauty of the place, and Cross doesn’t think he’s ever seen the doctor more content and at peace. Calm. Comforted.
Baggs had later likened the world to warm lavender tea. Cross… agreed. Nostalgic, tranquil, reassuring, and soothing– he could see the analogy.
Chara has been here almost the entire time. While Cross comes and goes, depending on if he has a mission to run or not, Chara has taken up full-time residence in his AU, and if Cross thought he was obsessively working on restoring things…
…He didn’t hold a candle to Chara.
Fortunately, Nightmare has become exceptionally skillful in removing the human if he gets too obsessive and spirals into the depths of self-loathing. He tends to show up every now and again and escort one or both of them from the AU.
He’d led Ren here, too. They like the place, say it reminds them of him and Chara, and admires how perfectly they fall into place here. They’ve also lamented that they can’t help more than moral support.
Cross thinks that’s more than enough. It isn’t their job to try and fix this. It’s his and Chara’s.
…Which is where they’ve been stuck for the last six months.
Neither of them are Creators, and the only one they know they can call upon is someone Cross doesn’t want to see for a very long time, if ever again. Just thinking about him causes an unpleasant itch in his marrow. Cross doesn’t have a ton of LV, but he can still feel it when he’s stressed or angry. Clearing his mind, he sighs and lets the thought go. No need to worry himself over the old man right now.
Dream and Nightmare have searched the multiverse corner-to-corner. Ink has been checking all of his contacts and trying to get more. No one has been able to come up with anything solid.
Ink can make a great deal of things with his brush– but living people– beings with souls– he can’t make. No one can.
Only some greater power can.
Cross isn’t sure he really believes in those beyond the beings who dream up the multiverse. He’s not sure his world had a Creator besides XGaster, anyway. Could other Creators step in to fill his role? Would they?
The thought makes Cross’ head hurt, so he gently massages the sides of his skull with a soft groan.
“Careful, could see the smoke coming outa your skull from fifty feet away.”
Cross gives up his leisurely afternoon nap in the grass to sit up and regard Chara resignedly.
“Can’t really get my mind off of it.” He admits wearily, “It’s frustrating. We’re so close and just… nothing .”
Chara offers his friend a tired sigh and drops onto the ground next to him, leaning back on his palms and tilting his head back to look up at the sky.
“Yeah. It’s driving me crazy, too.” He sighs, “But… we have to be careful, or Nightmare is gonna come herd us back to the castle.”
“Stars, I don’t need that right now. I just… need a hint. A line. Something to pursue towards a solution. Moving locations isn’t going to fix that.” Cross rubs at his face.
“I hear ya.” Chara ruffles his hair, “Ink said he had something, but… thinks it might not be better than anything else he’s turned up. Anything’s worth a shot, I say, but I’m not going to get my hopes up.”
“Same.” Cross drapes his arms over his knees and looks out over the hills toward the town.
If he imagines hard enough, he can pretend that it’s bustling down there in the streets, that he’s just taking a breather from all the commotion.
…It’s still too quiet.
Cross reaches for his swords beside him, picking up the one that has the locket dangling from it. The gold surface of the heart is scratched and cracked, dented and dinged, and a little dirty… but it’s stayed with him every step of the way since he ruined everything.
Now… sitting here…
He’s back at the beginning again.
Slowly, he unwraps the string from the hilt and holds the locket in one hand.
Chara watches him, unconsciously touching the locket around his own neck.
“That’s the one… Frisk gave you, right?”
Cross remembers with a stab of regret how he’d reacted when first presented with the locket.
“It’s so ugly. I don’t want it.”
He can’t imagine life without it now.
“Yeah.” He replies.
He tries to force out the unwelcome images of his best friend bleeding out in his arms from a wound he himself inflicted. He tries to push out the genuine, apologetic smile, deafen himself to the weakness of his voice, chase off the anguish that creeps up on him.
He’s making it better.
Or at the very least, he’s trying.
Chara removes his locket from his neck and inspects it in his hand as well.
His is shinier, largely unscathed– not a lot managed to hit Chara close to where it was. Cross fought with his on his weapon. It reminded him every time it caught the light of what he fought to protect– what he could never forgive himself for, what he had to make amends for, and what he would eventually, one day, restore.
He sighs, and pops the locket open.
He is greeted with the hand-drawn image of he, Frisk, and all their friends, with ‘FREEDOM’ scratched on the inside opposite the picture.
He bites back the bitter tears as they form.
“Some freedom.” He croaks.
“At least we don’t have to worry about the old man ruining things, huh?” Chara tries. Cross can hear it in his voice. It’s hollow. It’s a sentiment, and nothing more.
Cross doesn’t respond to it.
He hears Chara sigh shakily after a moment.
“...I know. There’s not really any freedom without the people… you wanted to free. Sure, we managed to get out, but… Everyone else…”
“Everyone else is dead .” Cross fights hard not to cry.
It’s a fight he’s losing.
The longer he stares down at the locket, the more his soul aches. His vision blurs. His ribcage hurts.
He blinks, and purple tears splatter against the protective glass over the picture.
He doesn’t even jump when he feels Chara’s hand on top of his skull. It makes things worse for a moment, but the steady warmth it radiates eventually helps calm him down some.
“For the moment.” Chara adds after a long period of silence.
Cross makes a noncommittal noise.
He glances sideways at Chara, who is running his thumb over the smooth, golden surface of the locket he has.
“What’s in yours, anyway?” Cross mumbles.
“Dunno. Never opened it.” Chara shrugs, “Never… really wanted to, in case it was something I didn’t want to see.”
“Like what?”
“Idunno, something to do with the old man, like… if he put something in there.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s gonna be the case.” Cross eyes the locket, “You’ve had it since Nightmare separated us. He hasn’t had that power over you in about… what, five years?”
“Has it really been that long?” Chara frowns, and scratches at his beard.
“...Just about. I’ve been a part of Nightmare’s gang for about that long. That means you’ve had your own body again for the same amount of time.”
Both of them look at the locket in silence. The wind blows by, rustling leaves and grass again, but the air is heavy.
“...You gonna open it?” Cross finally prompts, and Chara blinks several times, pulled from whatever reverie he was laboring under.
“Can’t hurt, I guess. And even if it is something to do with that bastard, we’ve got backup.”
Chara clicks open the locket.
There is a brilliant flash of light that comes from both his and Cross’ open lockets, and Cross reflexively reaches for his swords, turning his head away and closing his sockets against the brightness.
The locket falls to the ground as he scrambles to get his feet under him and back up against a tree. He can hear Chara grunt in surprise at the sudden light and his armor clatters next to Cross shortly after. He’s done much the same thing.
The light dies down, and once Cross can’t see color on the inside of his closed sockets, he opens them again cautiously.
His swords fall to the ground unceremoniously as everything about him goes completely slack.
He grows dizzy, blinking several times to try and make sure he’s seeing this right.
Before him
Before them both
Stand Papyrus and Frisk.
Papyrus looks the same as the day Cross took his life. He stands in his guardsman’s uniform with his scarf billowing behind him in the gentle breeze. He looks surprised, taking stock of where he is.
Cross isn’t sure if the lightheadedness is from his tension or from lack of simulated breathing, but he gasps in a great heave of air just to make sure.
Papyrus finally looks at him.
So does Frisk, who had been inspecting his hands. He is grown up, as Chara is, and his messy dark hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. His eyes are hidden behind long, dark lashes, but after he meets Cross’ gaze…
He smiles.
He doesn’t get to say anything to Cross because Chara takes him off his feet.
Cross can’t remember a time when he heard Chara cry like that. He’s not sure there ever has been one.
But he can’t really blame him.
Cross’ own vision is blinded with tears again, and as Papyrus steps tentatively towards him, he loses control of his body.
He’s dashing forward with no heed to his own safety.
He leaves the ground.
He doesn’t think anyone’s ever held onto him so tightly in his life– not even Ren.
He hasn’t cried this hard, either. He knows he hasn’t. Not even when defeating XGaster had he cried so hard. He isn’t making noise. He’s gasping, but no sound comes out of him but for shrill croaks he can’t control.
He doesn’t care.
“I SHOULD PUNCH YOU FOR KILLING ME.” Papyrus speaks first, and at his voice, Cross only cries harder.
Papyrus’ embrace tightens, and Cross feels like he might dust on the spot at feeling his brother’s cheekbone atop his skull.
Eventually, Cross manages to wheeze out a mantra of ‘I’m sorry’, and he can’t even think to stop himself.
He doesn’t know how this happened.
He doesn’t care how this happened.
His brother is back.
This is real.
He’s not dreaming. He’s not lost in his memories or a flight of fancy.
His feet dangling in open air and the pressure around his body are proof enough that he’s not lost somewhere in his own thoughts or mind.
He reels, trying to grapple with that realization, and the only thing he can think of is to say every apology he ever thought in those five years. Every time he felt grief, remorse, regret, longed for his family back– he apologizes for all of them.
Cross feels his feet touch the ground again, but Papyrus doesn’t let go. He’s knelt down.
Cross holds on so hard that his hands shake. He feels like this will all disappear again if he lets go. He can’t let go.
“SANS…” Papyrus trails, “NO, CROSS -”
Whatever he says next is drowned out by Cross’ broken wail. Papyrus holds the back of his skull, his own hand shaking.
“BROTHER, LISTEN TO ME.”
Cross tries. He really does.
But when he pulls back to look his brother in the face, his vision is once more overtaken by tears.
Papyrus holds his brother’s face and strokes them away with his thumbs.
Cross holds onto his hands for dear life.
He tries to quell his frantic sobs enough to listen.
“IT’S ALRIGHT. WE’RE HOME AGAIN. I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.” Papyrus preemptively jostles his brother before a new wave of tears can overcome him, “ BUT .”
Cross, with wide, watery sockets and wavering eyelights, regards his brother owlishly.
“I NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU WERE NEVER WITHOUT US.”
“Wh…what?” His voice is hoarse and weak. He doesn’t care.
“WE WERE ALWAYS WITH YOU. SOME PART OF US. IN THE LOCKET.” Papyrus looks to the open locket on the grass beside them, “BUT WE WERE TRAPPED. THE DETERMINATION NEEDED TO FREE US WAS SEALED AWAY WITH CHARA. IT WENT WITH HIM WHEN HE WAS SEPARATED FROM YOU.”
Chara seems to be getting a similar explanation at full volume.
“WE COULD HEAR IT EVERY TIME YOU GRIEVED US. EVERY TIME YOU THOUGHT OF US.” Papyrus’ face softens, his smile wan, but genuine, “I CAN’T BRING MYSELF TO BE ALL THAT ANGRY AFTER FIVE YEARS OF LISTENING TO YOUR REGRET.”
“S-so…” Cross chokes as he tries to laugh, “You’re not going to punch me?”
Papyrus screws up his mouth.
“I AM THINKING ABOUT IT.”
Laughter bubbles out of Cross, unbidden. It dissolves into soft sobs after a moment, but he thinks he does a decent job of pulling himself back together.
He finally takes stock of everything else.
Chara is curled as tightly around Frisk as he physically can be, and he’s shaking. Cross can hear the soft, gentle tenor of Frisk’s voice every now and again, but Chara is wheezing. Cross’ tears flow anew, but out of relief.
He manages to only take a deep, shaky breath.
And for the first time in the newly recreated world, he can hear birdsong .
There had been no sentient life in this AU at all until just now.
Cross feels numb awe for a moment…
…And then it melts into bitter self-loathing. That feeling is familiar.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think about the lockets until now, motherfucker, this world’s been empty for six fucking months -” He berates himself.
The back of his skull stings, and suddenly he’s rolling down the hill.
He watches Chara and Frisk flash by him as he tumbles, both looking alarmed.
He topples for a few seconds more before he rolls to a stop, and picks himself up.
The back of his skull sings in agony, and he hisses as he rubs at it.
“Ow, Papyrus!”
“QUIT BLAMING YOURSELF.” His brother snaps from atop the hill, “YOU DID WHAT YOU COULD, AND WE’RE HERE NOW.”
“Is that-” Chara’s voice is rough, “Is that everyone ?”
“YES.” Papyrus puts his hands on his hips, “ EVERYONE. IF I HAD TO GUESS, I’D SAY THAT EVERYONE ELSE IS IN TOWN.”
Frisk helps a shaky Chara to his feet, making sure his brother is alright to stand before letting him go. He makes his way toward Cross, who feels a new wave of grief overtake him.
“Oh, don’t start that,” He cautions gently, “Don’t. Our plan didn’t work out the way we wanted it to, and we shouldn’t have tried to use you in it. I don’t blame you. I never have. I know what it’s like to have had enough and snap. I shouldn’t have pushed you to that point. If there’s anyone who should be apologizing, it’s me. I’m sorry, Cross.”
Cross isn’t sure when he ran into Frisk’s arms, but he welcomes the embrace all the same.
“You’re my best friend,” Frisk’s voice falters, “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Cross breaks into a new wave of tears, and feels Frisk shudder with his own. They’re both just about cried themselves into exhaustion, though, so they fortunately don’t cling to one another sobbing for very long. Frisk releases Cross, who is somewhat unsteady on his feet. He uses Frisk to steady himself, and slowly takes stock of the scene again.
Papyrus and Chara are chatting as well, and Chara looks chastened. Papyrus’ hands are on his hips, and he’s glaring down at the white-haired human.
Still, Papyrus throws an arm around his neck and drives a noogie into his hair. Chara flails for a moment before managing to escape, and he’s laughing despite himself.
So is Cross, even if it's kind of wet.
“Come on, silly skeleton.” Frisk nudges him, “Everyone’s waiting.”
Everyone, apparently, included the entire population of the world– not just the ones closest to him. The town is bustling, vibrant– it’s like nothing ever happened. Cross can hardly believe this is real.
It is real, isn’t it?
It has to be– the queen is approaching. Out of reflex, he stands straighter and folds his arms behind his back in parade rest.
She laughs softly and smiles at him.
“At ease,” She says softly, “You’ve more than earned your downtime.”
Cross is vaguely aware of Undyne jostling Chara off to his right as his eyelights sweep over the familiar faces of the royal family and royal guard.
He feels a jolt of cold as his gaze lands on…
…Alphys. The Assistant.
She regards Cross blankly for an agonizing couple of seconds before…
…She smiles. It’s small, but it’s there.
“You’re welcome.” She says.
Cross balks.
“Wh-”
“Backups. Backups of backups. I archived everything in the event that it was needed.” She pushes up her glasses, “...But none of it would have mattered if you didn’t manage to free us and fix things. So, thank you for that, at least.”
Cross screws up his mouth in a wry smile. He remembers her throughout the ten timelines. He remembers the final one, being raised with her like a sister. He almost regards her as one. Maybe now, without being tethered to the old man, she’d be able to live a happier life.
“I had wondered what that spike of emotion was.”
The crowd splits as Nightmare picks his way through it, the rest of his court in tow. As his gaze lands on Cross, he smiles. It’s warm. Proud, even.
“I told you that you would figure it out in time.”
Dust, Killer, and Axe are all talking to villagers casually. Baggs has approached Alphys, and they are talking about the logistics of saving and backing up an entire world.
Ren follows Nightmare, and smiles at Cross as they approach him. Cross feels his cheeks warm, and his own smile pull across his skull.
“Welcome home, Cross.”