Chapter 1

Too Much in the Sun

“I’m here to see Chara Dreemurr. Do you know if they are available?”

Frisk’s voice, subdued as it was, came clearly to Chara’s ears through the closed door as they lay abed in their quarters in the Hillsboro Behavioral Health Retreat, their mind half-focused on a battered trade paperback of WATCHMEN. Chara’s hearing had always been sensitive, painfully so when they were in a hypomanic phase.

“Hypomanic phase”. The term still seemed bizarre and incongruous to Chara, like so much of the jargon of this strange, technocratic era into which they had been reborn. But it was curiously comforting now to have a dry, bookish label to apply to all those uncomfortable episodes from their past, all those times when Asriel would watch them anxiously, his brown eyes filled with worry, striving in vain to calm them, trying to hide the tears when Chara rebuffed him—

No, Chara commanded themself. You are ruminating again. Stop. They tried to remember the tricks they had been taught in therapy for halting these incursions from the darkness. Visualization, that was one of them. Replace the troubling images with peaceful ones, Chara had been instructed many times as they shifted about restlessly in an uncomfortable chair while one therapist or another soothed them with psychological bromides. Rubbish, Chara had said both to themself and even aloud, but afterward they had grudgingly to admit the method was of some value. Chara closed their eyes, slowed their breathing, and called forth the image of a peaceful garden in which they were resting. Asriel was with them, lying on the grass side by side, gripping Chara’s hand lightly in his paw, and the sunshine was warm on their closed eyelids…

“Chara?” A brisk pattern of knocks on the door and a different voice broke into their reverie. It was one of the nurse attendants, an elderly man named Barton whom Chara had found the least intolerable of all the staff at the Retreat, largely because he hadn’t ever mispronounced Chara's name more than once or tried to get them to “cheer up” with the sort of vapid small talk that humans loved to inflict on the unsmiling. “Your friend Frisk is here to see you,” Barton went on. “Are you indisposed?”

A cloud of guilt tinged with fear rose up to obscure Chara’s thoughts. For a second they struggled with the impulse to keep silent and still, pretending to be asleep, waiting for their visitor to take the hint and leave. Don’t you want to see Frisk? Chara’s mind demanded. They smothered the fear and guilt with a pillow until the bastards stopped kicking, then raised their voice to answer. “I’m in, Barton,” they said. “Just lying down reading.”

The door opened to reveal the tall, bulky, white-coated figure of Barton and, standing in front of him, the slighter, shorter person of Frisk, their customary striped rugby shirt (yellow, white, violet and black stripes this time) clashing incongruously with a dark green skirt. Chara drew in a sharp and painful breath when they saw that one of Frisk’s dark eyes was still covered with a bandage and that they still were leaning on a cane. But Frisk’s brown face bore a wide smile and they lifted up the cane in a jaunty wave. “Hey there, Chara! You're looking well,” they said, in their soft, whispery voice.

Chara kept their comic book in front of them, rust-red eyes peering over the top of it. “Hello, Frisk,” they answered quietly. “You look…better.” It was true enough; on their last visit Frisk had still been leaning heavily on their cane like an arthritic grandmother.

“Will you be needing anything, Chara?” asked Barton.

“No, nothing, thank you,” Chara said. “Aside from some privacy.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you to your visit.” Barton shut the door behind Frisk as they stepped into Chara's room. The young ambassador grabbed the folding chair, turning it backwards and straddling it, grunting with only slight discomfort as they took their seat. They folded their arms over the back of the chair, resting their chin on their wrists, their solitary eye studying Chara intently.

Chara kept WATCHMEN in front of them, pretending to be engrossed, flicking only the occasional sharp glance in their visitor's direction. “I'm surprised Undyne didn't give you one of her pirate patches,” they said.

“Oh, she offered,” Frisk replied with a grin. “But I told her I didn't want to steal her look. Anyway,” they continued, pointing to the bandage with one finger, “I’ve only got another week before this comes off. It wasn't that bad.”

Chara dipped their head a little further behind the cover of their comic book. “I'm sorry I hurt your eye, Frisk,” they muttered.

“Oh, Chara,” said Frisk, scooting the chair closer to the bed. “How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not mad about what you did to me. I'm the one who should feel bad for not going back for you sooner.” Frisk reached out a tentative hand toward Chara's shoulder.

“Don't,” Chara said, squirming away from the proferred touch.

“Oh,” said Frisk. “After last week—I thought you’d—”

“Not today,” Chara shot back.

“Ah. Sorry.” Frisk's smile faded and they refolded their arms on the back of the chair. “Anyway, in a couple of weeks I’ll be as good as new.”

“Good. That's good.” Chara's heart sank when they saw that Frisk's expression had fallen, and they lowered WATCHMEN for a moment to treat Frisk to a tight-lipped smile. Immediately their savior's face brightened again, alight with joy.

Of course, Chara thought. One strained little smile from me, Frisk, and it’s like I just gave you an early Christmas present. Why must you be so damnably... cute ? Chara hid the human’s cute face behind their comic book again. “...And how is Asriel?” they finally got out.

“He’s...improving.” Frisk let out a little sigh, prompting Chara to peep over their book; Frisk’s smile was not entirely gone, but their eye was pensive. “Suddenly being able to feel again...it’s been more of a shock for him, you know. Mom’s probably been more help to him than any of the shrinks ever were. I don’t think human psychiatrists quite know what to do with a goat-monster, you know? But he’s getting calmer, bit by bit. Would you like to see him?”

For a moment Chara could almost see, in his mind's eye, Asriel there in the room, sitting where Frisk was. Except he’d be so proper and polite, wouldn't he…sitting the right way round on the chair, bolt upright, with his paws folded on his lap…looking down at the ground, just as shy as when we first met, not sure what he should say…

What would I say?

Another wave of guilt broke over Chara. “Mmm,” they replied, affecting a casual tone. “Maybe it’d be best if he’s recovered a bit more first.”

Frisk leaned toward the bed. “You're not going to be able to put this off forever, Chara,” they said. “After all, you’re not here for much longer, are you?”

Chara kept up the pretense of reading. “Two more weeks, I think they said.” Behind the cover of their book they made a sour face. “My keepers seem to think I’m almost ready to be released into human society. I’m not sure what gave them that ridiculous idea. What have you been telling them, Frisk?”

“Only that we’ve all been missing you and counting the days until you’re back with your family.”

Not quite my family any more, is it? thought Chara. The Dad I knew is gone. The father you know, your little skeleton friend—am I supposed to call him “Dad” now? If he’ll even let me... “Well,” they said aloud, “considering that I’ll be seeing Asriel at home in a couple weeks anyway, he should just rest up instead of going to the trouble coming out here to visit if he's not feeling well. I’m doing fine here for now.”

Frisk’s face was now entirely serious. They lowered their voice. “Asriel’s not doing so fine, Chara,” they said. “He needs more than rest. He needs the right kind of help if he’s going to get better and he needs it now. Not the sort of help than any of 'professionals' can provide him, not the help than I can offer, not even the help that Mom can give. Asriel needs you. Every day he asks when he’ll be able to see you.”

“What makes you think I can help him.” It was a statement, not a question. “History suggests I’m not the best influence.”

“Chara,” said Frisk gently. “You should have seen how much he brightened when I told him that I’d brought you back. Forget ‘history’. You’re already the best influence on him. Right now. Please, Chara. What are you afraid of?”

Chara threw down WATCHMEN and rolled onto their side, away from Frisk, wrapping their arms about their slender body. What am I afraid of? Their memory obliged with a swift answer. Hateful images flooded into their mind, overwhelming their feeble self-therapeutic defenses: images of Asriel’s face crumpling, Asriel’s paws rubbing away the unwanted tears, Asriel’s eyes no longer weeping because their only friend had once again browbeaten him into submission—

“Stop it,” Chara demanded of themself. They clutched their head in their hands. “Stop it!”

“Chara, I’m sorry!” Frisk pushed themself up from the chair. “What would you like me to stop?”

“Not you!” Chara ground out between clenched teeth. “Please...leave me alone.”

“Are you sure?” asked Frisk uncertainly. “There must be something I can—”

“There’s nothing.” Chara grabbed a pillow, holding it tight against their chest. “Stop trying to be so damn nice to me and go.”

“I—” said Frisk. Chara did not need to look at Frisk’s face to know what expression it wore. The stammer that they had almost succeeded in banishing from their speech was creeping back in. “I ju—just want to hel—help you, Chara.”

Chara silently cursed themself. How much worse do you plan on making this, idiot? “I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Frisk.” Chara said aloud, trying to keep their voice level. “You’re always trying...trying so damned hard.”

“So are you,” replied Frisk in a whisper.

Chara snorted derisively. “Are these the words of a properly socialized human doing the right thing?” they retorted. “Do I sound like I’m trying?”

“Yes, you do,” Frisk said, still whispering, but their voice slowly gained in volume as they went on. “Because after weeks of being prodded by doctors and doped up with antipsychotics and lectured by psychotherapists, as angry and impatient as you’ve been...you could’ve run away from here any time, but you haven’t. You’ve yelled at me, you’ve told me it’s all bullshit...and you’re still here.” Frisk paused for a deep breath, and when they resumed speaking it was in a louder voice, shaded witha hint of amusement. “Tell you something else, too, Chara. As nasty as you’ve acted sometimes, you haven’t once tried again to punch my lights out. Like it or not, you’re becoming a softie.”

"What did you call me?!" Chara whipped their head round to stare at Frisk. To Chara’s surprise, their visitor was smiling again, and before they could stop themself Chara let out a giggle. Frisk’s smile widened, their eye sparkling with delight, joining in the laughter.

“Dammit, Frisk…” said Chara, still giggling, “here I am trying to tell you to get lost, and instead you’ve got us both laughing over the fact that I almost took one of your eyes out.” Their laughter subsided and they gazed at the grinning face of their rescuer. “Why must you be such a lovable weirdo?”

“I’ve had nothing but lovable weirdos for friends ever since I looked a goat-woman in the eyes and called her ‘Mom’. I guess it’s rubbed off.”

“I’m glad. You’d be positively insufferable otherwise.” Chara paused irresolutely for some moments, then swung themself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, facing Frisk. Their ruddy cheeks flushed a slightly deeper red as they opened their arms, inviting a hug. “Uh. You can, um, touch me now if you like.”

Frisk beamed and with a happy sound they threw themself off the chair and into Chara’s arms, nestling their head against their friend’s shoulder. “I can’t wait till you’re home, Chara,” they whispered. “Do you know, I’ve actually missed the days when you lived in my head?”

“Sheesh, Frisk, you are a weirdo,” Chara replied, gathering Frisk’s diminutive body in a warm, snuggling embrace. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve got a body pillow of me that you rub up against at night.”

“Naw!” Frisk shot back, with a bark of laughter. “Though I’ve thought of commissioning one for Asriel. He’s…” Frisk’s voice sank, and they petted Chara’s back gently. “He’s really been lonely without you, Chara. I’ve hated to keep telling him again and again you’re not well enough for a visit. Don’t you miss him too?”

Chara’s head slumped against Frisk’s neck. “Like you wouldn’t believe, Frisk.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Chara sighed. “How do I explain it? As long as I’m here, alone...I can still remember Asriel the way he used to be. An adorable, sweet, little goatboy with a big smile and a delightful laugh, someone warm and open...someone who was as different from me as you can possibly envision.” Chara indulged a bitter laugh. “Now he’s a sad, wounded adolescent. I turned him into myself. You think I’m in a hurry to face up to that?”

“Asriel is hurting, but he still smiles, Chara,” replied Frisk, their voice a gentle whisper in Chara’s ear. “He still laughs. Maybe not like he used to, but you know...I have a feeling that, when you’re with him again, that’ll change.”

Chara said nothing. They lingered in Frisk’s embrace for a time, breathing softly, accepting their friend’s affectionate touches without stirring or speaking. Eventually, however, they withdrew from the hug and met Frisk’s gaze. “Okay, Frisk, you interfering busybody, you win again. Tell Asriel he’s welcome to visit me. But you’ll have to give me a little time to psyche myself up.”

Frisk’s face lit up. “Really? Oh, Chara, thank you!” Once again they wrapped Chara up in a close embrace. “You don’t know how happy this makes me.”

“I think I can guess!” said Chara, a little breathless from the strength of Frisk’s sudden hug.

“Oh, sorry.” Frisk let Chara go again. “When can I tell Asriel you’re ready to see him?”

Chara shrugged, once again trying to assume a breezy manner. “I’m not going anywhere and I haven’t anything to do. Tell Azzy he can come this afternoon, if he wants. But I’ll want a few hours’ notice.”

“Done,” said Frisk. They sprang to their feet, flexing their gangly limbs. “I don’t know about you, Chara, but all this heavy heart-to-heart stuff has made me hungry. Want to grab a bite from the cafeteria with me?”

Chara snorted. “Don’t tell me you actually like the food here!”

Frisk smiled. “It’s not snail pie but I’m not fussy.”

Chara frowned. “And I’d have to sit with humans and pretend to be nice to them.”

“It’ll be good practice,” reminded Frisk. “After all, isn’t that one of the reasons you’re here, to learn how to fake it? Anyway I’m human and you’re nice to me. Sometimes.”

“You’re human?” Chara scoffed. “When you run home every day to hug goatmom and skeledad? Nah, you’re just a monster with the wrong-shaped body.”

“I like the shape of my body!” Frisk punctuated their declaration with a balletic pose.

Chara scowled. “Wish I could say the same.”

“Aw, Chara...I’m sorry I touched that nerve.”

“It’s okay.” Chara got to their feet. “Fine, I’ll go to the lunchroom with you. After that though I’m gonna want some private time again. And when you next visit, bring some better reading material than they’ve got here. Something bloody and horrific.” They snatched up WATCHMEN from the bed. “I’m surprised they even had this.”

“It’s a deal.” Frisk playfully grabbed Chara by the hand. “Okay, let’s go!”

“Come off it, Frisk!” Chara exclaimed, tugging a little on Frisk’s arm. “I’m your friend, not your prom date.” But Chara didn’t trouble to disengage themself from Frisk’s clasped hand, and side by side they left the room in search of food.