Chapter Text
The instant Toriel posed her question, Chara’s smile withered. What was the surface like? That didn’t matter. What mattered was finding as swift an exit out of this conversation as possible. But how? They shifted their weight on the stepstool, pensive.
Complete sincerity was a non-starter. No. Too much honesty would invite further scrutiny, but not enough would make them seem untrustworthy. They had to find the optimal outcome. They stared down at the half-chopped potato, as though a convenient answer would sprout out of the vegetable. Perhaps no answer at all was the best strategy.
“That is too broad a question,” the human dismissed, and returned to cutting up the ingredient. Chop, chop, chop. Their knife tapped-tapped-tapped against the cutting board.
Asriel better appreciate the work they were putting in. It was his own fault he got sick. Making snow devils—humans could never be angels—might have been Chara’s idea, but he was the one who didn’t dry his fur properly.
“I suppose so. But I am curious.” The queen always spoke in a calm, level tone, even when upset. It made her so annoying to read. Curious. So long as the barrier remained, monsters—and any humans who fell into Mount Ebott—would remain trapped. It amounted to checking the weather forecast for a different country. Could the goat-woman not let them focus on the task at hand?
Chara’s nose wrinkled.
“Why do you ask?” Chop, chop, chop. The child cut careful, methodical slices, trying to get them all as close to the same size as possible. It brought them some joy, taking something uneven and transforming it into a uniform pattern. To force adherence. To bring order to chaos. If only it were as simple to do with people.
“You have been here so long. But I still know so little about you...” Toriel’s voice lowered, for just a syllable, at the end. Strange. It was usually so even-keeled, even during her rare bouts of anger.
Blub-blub. Blub-blub. The liquid bubbled softly, emitting a smell that made Chara’s mouth water. A magical flame crackled on the stovetop, a gentle warmth reaching their skin. The underground was colder than the surface. Monsters deserved better. The above-world’s gifts were wasted on perfidious humanity. Chop, chop, chop.
“Precisely. Is that an issue?” Chop, chop, chop, chop. Done. They tilted the board and scraped its contents into the pot. But the stewing stopped. Chara looked up to the queen, and found her with a hand pressed to her mouth, smiling, stifling something. Their eyes met…
…And Toriel snickered, a three-pronged little laugh that only perplexed her ward. It took her a moment to realize they were serious. Her good humor shriveled up, leaving an awkward air in its absence. She stared at them, as if waiting for something. Was the answer unsatisfactory? What did the monster want to hear, that would put her question to rest?
“Chara, did—”
“I am not the surface,” Chara interrupted, trying to keep their voice as flat as possible despite the budding irritation. The words lingered, unanswered, in the air like pollen. They stared. When Toriel’s gaze returned to the pot, their gut immediately relaxed. Better. Let that be the end of it.
She mixed the last addition into the meal proper, until the slices disappeared beneath the rich, brown broth. The flame under it settled into a simmer. She pulled the wooden spoon out—Chara flinched—and ran it under the sink to wash off excess broth. Wet fur clung to the drain. She dried her hands off on an old, tattered shirt Asriel outgrew years ago. Just when her son’s roommate thought the conversation over, she continued:
“That is true…” the Dreemurr matriarch began, with the way that always heralded an incoming but. They considered ignoring it, but she would just continue unprompted.
“But?” Chara instinctively rubbed the knife’s handle with their thumb.
“But it is part of you. You should…” Her lips kept moving, but Chara stopped listening.
Asriel’s mother was right, however much they loathed to admit it. She was usually right, about most things. Their time among humanity was part of their history. It did influence them. It was part of them. Like any tumor. But Chara didn't want to acknowledge it. To face it. Why reopen old wounds? There was nothing to gain by picking at scabs. Whatever happened, happened.
Why couldn’t Chara have hit their head harder when they fell? Hard enough to forget. Hard enough to crack their skull like an egg and let the memories leak out. They didn’t want to remember; they didn’t want to talk about it, but if they said as such outright it would invite future scrutiny. They needed to wriggle out of this. They needed to win the argument! They needed to—
“Chara?” Toriel crouched down to their level, waiting patiently for their gaze to refocus. They blinked rapidly, as though waking up from a dream. She reached out to touch their shoulder, then thought better of it and stopped partway, letting her hand fall. Wise.
“...Not anymore,” the child brooded, taking a sudden interest in staring at the counter.
“What do you mean?” How could a creature so tall, so bestial, be so soft-spoken, so kind and compassionate? Why could humanity not be the same? Even Chara themself lacked the same nurturing spirit. All their good deeds needed calculating first, before they could figure out the ethical course of action. The Dreemurrs made it seem effortless.
“I am here now. And it is impossible to return. So it is pointless to think about it.” Monsters were all such wonderful, kind-hearted, sentimental idiots that it annoyed the human. The war happened so long ago, yet the vanquished still clung on to some idea of release. Impossible. Even if the barrier could be shattered, humanity would strike again. Comparison has always been the thief of joy. The sooner monsterkind stopped fantasizing about an unreachable goal, the sooner they could refocus their efforts towards improving the lives they did have.
Crybabies.
“Chara.” She spoke in the tone reserved for when Asriel was being silly. They flushed. Ah. Were they zoning out again? How embarrassing. At least she found amusement in the fact. She rested a hand on the counter, right beside Chara’s, close enough to feel the fur on their finger.
“I understand if thinking about it is… painful. I miss it as well.”
Chara perked up like a soldier hearing a bugle. What? She was there? How old was Toriel? Boss Monsters do not age past adulthood until they have children, so it would be theoretically possible that she lived long enough to witness the war, but…
…How did divulging this information help her at all? She wanted to know about their life. Volunteering ammunition did not bring her closer to her objective at all. They needed more time to parse through the logic.
“What… was the surface like for you?” The words tasted strange leaving their mouth. The Dreemurrs’ guest didn’t talk much.
“I do not remember much. I was just a little kid back then, younger than you. It was… so long ago now…” She sighed like time’s weight finally settled on her shoulders. Toriel already looked the part of an old lady, but at that moment, Chara became acutely aware of every single crease on her face, of the expression wrinkles that shifted her fur about, of the backwards curve of her horns. How long did she have left?
Chara’s fingers curled.
“What do you recall?” They remembered the sun on their skin. Grass between their toes. The pitter-pitter-patter tapping of rain on roofs, leaving behind a fresh, clean, rejuvenating scent, like the planet itself took a deep, calming breath. Those were all gone. It was always cold in Snowdin, always wet in Waterfall, and always hot in the Hotlands. But that was not weather. It was stagnant. No monster ever skipped a school day because of sudden hail.
“I remember… Wind. Like I was peeking my head out of a moving car. I had a small, colorful paper toy I used to fly. A… What was it called? A kit?” Hmm? How unlike her to forget such a simple word.
“A kite.”
“Right! I would go outside, and play with it for hours. The wind in my fur, leaves getting stuck on my horns. When I looked at it, I wished that I could fly too. One time, it got stuck on a tree branch, and I could not get it out. So I, ah…” Her lips settled on an awkward, guilty smile, “...Threw a fireball at it. Nearly started a forest fire.”
She blinked. Her face morphed from amusement to concern. Fsssssss. She finally dispelled the oven-flame.
“My parents were not happy with me.”
Interesting. Chara had only ever known her as the very image of maturity. They struggled to even envision her young and reckless. That was like imagining Asgore thin, or Asriel with a backbone. Angry parents, however, were exceedingly easy to picture.
“They must have been kite upset,” Chara spoke like a sword-thrust. Her gaze narrowed. The human curled their eyebrows, and the monster accepted their challenge.
“I suppose things did get heated for a moment,” she countered.
“I hope they did not blow up over it.” A fitting riposte.
“It did not get that far, thankfully. But it was a drafty situation at home. They were not the biggest fans.” A smirk tugged at their lips. Touché. Neither of the other Dreemurrs could match wits like her.
“Well played.” Toriel pantomimed celebrating atop a podium, lifting a trophy, blowing kisses to a crowd. As was her right as victor. Her ward rolled their eyes, but the smile lingered.
With a grunt of effort, she finally stood up out of her crouch, arching her back. Something popped. She preemptively glared down at Chara, who already knew not to poke fun of her for it. Placated by their silence, she opened a cupboard and picked out a handful of bowls. Each depicted a row of three swimming ducks, followed by a cygnet impostor. She passed them to the child, who laid them out neatly on the counter while she picked out the cutlery.
“You should be angry. Humanity took it away from you.” The brown-haired one spoke matter-of-factly, because it was true. She refused to even dignify it with a reaction.
“I am happy that I got to experience it at all, however briefly,” Toriel concluded, producing a ladle from a cupboard. Chara held out a bowl for her to fill. Once she did, they swapped it with another empty one, and another, and the final one. It was efficient. Warm, fragrant steam tickled their face. They enjoyed the heat on their palms.
The pair brought everything to the dining room.
“Gorey! Dinner is ready!” his wife called out.
“Just a moment, dear!” he answered from across the house, with a voice like falling boulders.
Chara stared into the food, lost in thought. However much they tried, they still did not understand the purpose behind her anecdote. If it was an attempt to bait them into trading stories, it was always doomed to failure. She should have known better. The entire line of questioning was ridiculous from the start, and its execution even more baffling. In the end, she let them escape without conceding a single morsel of information. She was smarter than that.
“Would you bring dinner to Asriel? He needs his bedrest.” Toriel nudged two bowls closer to them. Oh? How convenient! That was precisely what they were about to say. All in all, a success. They managed to divert her attention from her own question without giving her anything to yield against them in a future discussion. They were safe.
“Of course. He will get lonely if he eats by himself regardless. The crybaby,” Chara reasoned, a parting shot of persuasion to make absolutely sure the topic was laid to bed like a sick child. Kicking an enemy while it was down prevented it from getting back up to hit back. They took the meals and turned to leave.
“Ah, before you go…” Chara stopped. What now? “We can continue our conversation whenever you are ready. I want to understand you, my—Chara.” She corrected herself.
Ah. So it was not over at all. They traced the rim of a bowl with a thumb. Why so damned persistent? She claimed contentment, and yet refused to let the matter drop. Perhaps the monster was more invested in the surface than Chara anticipated. Still, she made a critical error.
“Right. I will inform you when I am prepared.” Never. Chara would never be prepared. If confronted, they would evade. If left alone, they would never approach the topic at all. There was nothing to be gained from it. The surface was wonderful, but the invasive species infesting it made it untouchable. Should all of monsterkind resign themselves to their fate, then? Chara thought so, but the melancholy in her voice twisted something in their chest.
It would be so easy to tell her something small before they go. Something harmless. How much quieter winter was without cicadas. How clouds drifted in the sky like so many aimless sheep. No. Their grip tightened. It would only remind her of what she had lost. It would open the door for further questioning.
They kept walking.