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[Saved. Almost immediately upon the word used, Chara's eyes go right to his shirt. Or rather, what was under the shirt; beating away in a horrid echo that they'd been mistaking for something else, but that wasn't it at all. Saved what he could, that's...

That's really something, they'll give him that. It's beyond words.

And they have plenty of words. They always do, and always, constantly, Chara uses them. It's a weapon in a new FIGHT, a knife with ATK 99 that deals out blows and causes their enemies to take several proverbial steps back for every step taken forward. So they could FIGHT. They could argue his right to even hold onto what had been saved- or SPARE themself the trouble of bothering and go immediately for their knife, an easy target. Leave his dust to feed the grass, take Frisk and go. Leave.

Colin's still here. Witness. Enemy with unknown strengths; he's not a monster either, he's just- human. And for all their usual barbs, all the knives that they come with, this time, they best they have to give Sans is-

Is the fact that they feel sick. They meet his eyes, just for a moment.]

I thought, if there was one thing-

[Never again. Deep breath, gaze drops. Hands shaking so hard they can feel them; it's hard, being powerless. It's hard, knowing that in order to go unchecked long enough to win, they have to walk away.

They have to leave Frisk with him.]

I trusted you.

Edited 2016-04-30 18:51 (UTC)

Welp.

[ He deserves that, watches that bridge collapse and burn, not that it'd been much more than rotted boards haphazardly nailed to rickety sticks. Trust isn't their strongest suit, either of them.

Still.

That smarts.

And he screwed this one up. All things considered, if he thought he didn't deserve the knife he'd be up where he could stand a chance at dodging. He isn't. Which either means he doesn't anticipate an attack or wouldn't see a point to defending himself. ]

Guess that was your mistake.

Ah....

[Colin looks at Chara.]

Hang on just a sec.

[He raises his index finger in a "Hold on" gesture, and he walks over to Sans... and dumps the blanket he's carrying on top of Sans' head. Sit in the cave of shame for a moment, would you?]

What did he do to earn your trust, kid?

[He's giving the blanket mound of Sans a disapproving look for a moment, before he looks at Chara.]

[He might as well have slapped them. And Chara's a fair few shades paler when they look Colin's way, brow furrowing as he-

What...is he doing? It takes them longer to collect themself than they'd like, expression shifting into something- close enough to expressionless. Maybe.]

...Excuse me?

[ Oh, hey.

Sans is under a blanket and, guess what? He's ok with that. He'll just hang out under here and... listen, mainly. This is for the best, Sans was on a self-destructive roll there and that really wasn't helping matters. ]

Sans, love him as much as I do, is being an idiot. Also, probably hurting more than he's hurt except when he saw his brother die.

Doesn't excuse the foot in mouth disease, but sure explains the attack vector it took.

But anyway, Trust ain't easy. Trust ain't cheap.

What did my skelebro here do to earn your trust, kid? That you could throw it in his face like that?

[He reaches down to pet Sans' head through the blanket.]

[Trust ain't easy. Trust ain't cheap.

No it's not. Trust comes from things like people turning around and telling you...that they don't buy what you're selling. It comes from people poking holes in your stories, and sending you stupid puns. Telling you to breathe and other, ridiculous exercises that you grew up doing, absolutely useless. It comes from hands on your head that pat the bump, the boo boo, trying to separate the demon from the child, the same hands that pick you up and don't put you back down- don't drop you. Don't throw you into the wall or the floor, the ceiling. Doesn't matter where, plenty of places to throw.

It comes when people listen to you sing stupid songs and actually listen to you sing stupid songs. In stupid songs being sung back. Who hear two hundred and six and nothing has changed spat at them like red hot pokers and go reeling from the contact and still don't ask a single question when you come to their room days later caked in blood and a hand split open like overripe fruit. When a bandage is changed, and bandages are changed, and words go unsaid and knives aren't taken. Just a hair ruffle, just a question.

Ever heard of Pranksgiving?

And the stupidest part of all is that they'd-]

Nothing. He didn't do anything.

[Their voice comes out hoarse, but their eyes are steel. Nobody likes a crybaby. Why cry over spilt milk.]

Guess that's my mistake. But I have a better question for you.

Why don't you ask him how many times he watched Frisk die and never lifted a finger to help them?

[ There's a touch to his skull that he identifies as a hand because he can feel the warmth beginning to seep through the blanket.

An answering rasp under that unmoving lump of blanket: ]

Two hundred and seven.

Yes? And?

Let's clear the air here...

You're a knife-wielding murder-child with skewed priorities.

I've got enough murder under my belt to put me away for the rest of my not insignificant life.

Sans may well be the most innocent one here.

NONE of us are good people. But that doesn't make a lick of difference to the topic at hand.

Right now, the topic is Trust. And right now? You're scared and hurt and trying to strike out at someone to make it better.

Ok. Buddy? I'm real sorry I dragged you into this, but--

[ A bony hand emerges abruptly from under the blanket to make a grab at Colin's wrist, the other yanking the blanket off his white dome.

It doesn't show up often, but Sans looks... angry. ]

Take that back.

Whoever you think they are? They aren't that. They're a kid, they're a goddamn kid. They never deserved the hand they've been dealt, ok? You wanna explain how saying that's not supposed to dehumanize 'em?

[ His eyelights dim, but they flick over to Chara, while his phalanges tighten. ]

Kid, I'm sorry. This is why I don't make promises.

[...So that's the new definition for them now, is it? No longer just demon, or kid. It's murder-child now. Exactly what it says on the box.

947 confirmed kills and counting.

It's like all of their favorite things to respond to rolled into one. They've got another definition to add to the ever growing pile of just what they're supposed to be- theFutureofHumansandMonstersbestFriendForeverDemonThatComesWhenYouCallIt'sNameNotHumanAreYouKeepPretendingToBeOnem u r d e r c h i l d- the assumptions of what they're thinking and feeling and the even better assumptions of why.

And then Sans pops out of his shell, barks a little judgement of his own-

Like he's never been the one saying exactly what Colin has. The most innocent one standing here.

And they laugh at him. They burst into laughter, and absolutely no one can miss that hysterical edge to it. No one can miss it when Chara's laughing so hard they have to clutch their stomach, when Rio lets out a nervous cry and the pokemon edge away from whatever it is standing there feeling whatever it does and doing whatever because-]

Oh, no! Don't stop him now! He's got a point! You are the most innocent person here!

[And what a point it is.]

Please, Colin. Imbue us with your wisdom.

Tell us all how we can make this all better.

[Colin? Actually smiles at that.]

Sure, one sec kid.

Sans, buddy... You wanna have it out with me later, go ahead. But I'm not dehumanizing anyone. I'm observing that it's already happened. And you're not doing Chara any favors by saying they're just a kid. Or an adult. They're something else entirely, something I can't even begin to quantify... Now...

[He reaches up and gently draws Sans' thumb back from his wrist so he can extricate his hand.]

This isn't going to be clean, nor is it going to be pretty. It's probably gonna hurt like hell, and if you don't forgive me for what's to come, well... That's okay. Because sometimes the universe is terrible, and actions have consequences...

Now...

[He turns to look at Chara, is expression more neutral now.]

Sans does have a point, I was perhaps too... abrupt. It's a failing of spoken language and my own inability to adapt to social situations. You don't like what I said? I apologize. It was a generalization on the road to a point. I can elaborate, if you prefer, but believe me when I say... It's not important to my point. It's probably VERY important to everyone here... but to the point I was making? It's not important. I was merely expressing the fact that ALL OF US here have killed, have done things irredeemable to society's judgments... and society can fuck right off into a black hole, because life will go on in the grand scheme of things.

[He takes a step closer to Chara, looking down at them.]

You want me to make things better? I somehow doubt that, I recognize casual dismissal well enough. But if you'll listen, I can absolutely start it down the path.

THE POINT I WAS MAKING...

Is that trust? Is hard, scary, and oh so easy to betray.

Sans, over there? Took the trust you gave so freely and he apparently threw it into a shadowy portal.

When you've been hurt as badly as you have? And feel free to correct me if my observation is wrong, because I'm NOT perfect and all knowing... But I know what I've seen in the past, and I see so much of it in you now.

When you've been hurt as badly as a person like you has been, trust is a an exceptionally scarce commodity. When you trust someone, you explicitly give them the opportunity to betray that trust, to hurt you. And that pain is worse than almost, ALMOST anything that someone else can do. Betrayal, among most cultures, is considered the ultimate sin.

I say almost, because there are of course outliers. Like, for example, reducing someone to a simple label like "knife-wielding murder child." Again, sorry about that, it was a poorly chosen brick on the road to a more important point. Anyway...

The real gut-punch of it is, we want to trust. We want to believe that people won't hurt us, can't hurt us.

Sans, again? A pretty decent fellow. I'd trust him with my life.

But I also trust that he is mortal, fallible, and not omniscient and omnipotent. He can fail... And he has. Oh gods above and below, he's failed and you can see it in how he carries himself... He wants things to go right, and... Apologies Sans, for this estimation... But he doesn't even know if they can any more.

[He gestures to Sans as he talks, then he turns and gestures to Chara.]

He's an adult in his culture. He's... had time to adjust, to get hardened to the merciless cruelty of a disorderly existence. You... unless I'm wrong, you weren't even a teenager when things went wrong, were you? When things went so wrong that you broke time...

I have no idea how old you are, how much you've seen. But I'm guessing, and it's JUST A GUESS... But I'm guessing that you never had the chance to grow up. In spite of the fact that your life did everything it could to make you grow up way, WAY too quickly... Your mind still has the trappings of youth wrapped up with the wisdom of age. And it must play merry phlonking hell with your perception of things...

Now... NOW we're going to get to the scary part. So I apologize in advance for that...

And let me preface this with something more important than you can possibly imagine...

DON'T TRUST ME.

I don't belong in this world. My perceptions don't work quite right here. My morals don't know how to quantify what everyone's been through, what's okay and what's not. My goals? Well, let's just say I fix things and I don't really know or care what kind of damage fixing things will do outside of the physical laws of the universe. If you trust me to make things right with a wave of my hand, you can only be disappointed and hurt.

With that out of the way... I look at you, Chara, and I see someone who's been hurt by everyone they've ever cared about. Everyone their heart ever opened up to. So yeah, that knife of yours? I have to think, that knife is about the only thing you actually trust implicitly... Of course, I don't know you. I don't know Sans. I don't know Frisk. And I don't know any of your lives, so everything I'm saying is just a careful decision based on the facts I know...

BUT...

The pain you've got within you? The grip you keep on your knife? The readiness you show to react to a betrayal of trust?

I've seen it before. In the person I'm closest to in the multiverse.

[He glances at Sans then, his expression slightly harder now.]

The body, the mind, the soul, all show reactions to the things they've experienced. A beaten dog will shy from a friendly hand. A repeatedly chastised subordinate will cringe at even a raised voice. A child harmed by those they revere will see betrayal around every corner...

That cannot be fixed by any means I've yet seen. Not by any kind word or merciful deed. Not by any loving family and healthy home. Not by any reset. The only thing that can be done is to TRY to rebuild, to work to make things better, to show that not everything in the world hurts. Even when that has been proven to be a lie by reality and time.

So let me just say this.

[He starts walking around Chara now, slowly, just talking as he walks.]

You want me to try and fix you? That's fine. I can do that. It won't be pleasant. It won't be immediate. And there will be MISTAKES the likes of which you can only imagine.

Me? I don't actually think that you want me to. If I'd talked to Anna like I'm talking to you, she'd have run and she'd have never looked back.

But you're older than Anna. You're different from Anna. You're NOT Anna.

I'm not gonna take it easy on you because you're a kid. And I'm unfortunately going to keep treating you like a kid because appearances are deceiving. And because I'm an arrogant asshole who treats everyone like they're less advanced than they really are. Sorry about that one, it's a problem that I have yet to be able to fix in spite of my efforts, and the efforts of several doctors.

You are broken. And I don't mean that as an insult. I mean that in the way that you have been through stuff that nobody should have been through, and you don't want to have been.

You want me to screw off? That's fine. I won't trouble you any more, unless you come see Sans while I'm around. 'Cause I'm sticking with Sans. He's my friend, and he trusts me.

You want me to stick around for whatever reason? I can do that too. I'll stick my nose into your life however much or little you want me to. You're a pretty amazing person beneath all your layers, and I'd like to get to know you better. 'Cause you've got layers that nobody's seen. Maybe not even you.

And kid? If I'm wrong, TELL ME. I can't fix mistakes that I don't know about. Neither can Sans. Or anyone else.

So how you doing now?

[ Colin has no resistance when he extracts his wrist from his hand, because Sans has gone cold right down to what passes for the marrow in his bones, all over two hundred of them. Not sure who he means to watch, the human or the Corsican.

Maybe that isn't right. Cold is what he feels on a constant basis, having nothing in him to generate heat, and nothing outside of him to really retain it anyway besides soft slippers and a puffy coat. Numb's better, but not quite it.

Sans is paralyzed by the prospect of what this might do to the kid, of having the luxury of being a bystander as everything he tried to build up with Chara is torn down under its own weight. He set them up to fall, he thinks, and it's only fitting he sit there and see what he's done, making them start to trust him.

He knew it was bad news. Knew he'd fuck this up sooner or later.

Somewhere in his numb observation, he hears Colin declare that he shouldn't be trusted with a kind of pessimistic acceptance that makes him feel scraped hollow, fragile and paper-thin like he was when he watched Frisk getting dragged towards the portal.

Yeah.

It was too good to be true, anyway.

Fun while it lasted. ]

[ (and yet he feels that beat...)

It makes him lift his left hand over his sternum, reminded. There's still a chance here. Frisk's gone but they're still here. 43 times eventually halted their advance. He believes in one kid and yeah, he believes in the other one, too. Chara's not lost to them yet, and Colin... Colin's a misfired firework burning the house down and to what end, he can't even know.

But hey, maybe it was never meant to be.

Maybe it was never meant to go that way.

As attractive as giving up is right now, this isn't about how comfortable he is with being a waste of space. Colin's testing his friendship like he's never done before, but to interrupt now might derail a thing and it all rides on the kid. ]

[Chara lets him talk.

What else is there to do, when he’s so intent on running off his mouth? And Sans- Sans doesn’t even make a motion, does he? Of course not. Eyes flicking between the two of them like he’s not sure who the biggest danger is right now; who’s going to do the most damage? Colin, with his words and pomposity and contradictions? Or Chara?

Chara and their knives.]

...How am I doing?

[Their turn already, is it?

Okay.]

I’m swell, Colin. Positively delightful. In fact, I do enjoy what little time we’ve spent together, discussing so many needless pleasantries in the face of such tragedy. It really calms the mind to ignore that a child’s been ripped to pieces right under the nose of what can only account for an adult, in his culture.

[It was Chara’s culture first. But hey. Technicalities. Soon to be addressed. They smile, cheeks burning. Their wrist itches with the weight of the flower, tucked so neatly within their sleeve. Fingers tacky.]

You do a fantastic job of caring for your friends, who trust you oh so much. Dressing them down and tossing them about to make your point. At their lowest, too. When he wants things to go right, and doesn’t even believe they can anymore.

I wonder if you’ve ever heard about how monsters Fall Down. Because I can tell you; it’s because anguish, hopelessness- things that human SOULs melt under the weight of, while their bodies struggle to function, shouldn’t exist to them. They don’t have the physicality to take it.

But Sans...he’s a pretty decent fellow, isn’t he? I know all about that. I’ve watched him struggle and struggle not to let it go, his one, last, line of HoPe...he’s an aberration. An Anomaly. If he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t take the risk. Then he can’t possibly lose that, can he?

Can he?

[Happy thus far, Colin? Satisfied? Welcome to their attack vector; the real one. The one where they don’t stop until they’ve made all their own points. Until they’ve let loose every knife in their arsenal, with an understanding of just how sharp they can be.

For once, Sans isn’t their target.]

But of course, it’s not about depersonalizing your skelebro, is it? You just fix things with no knowledge or care outside of the physical laws of the universe- rules, one might say. Rules that exist to be studied, followed, bent, AND broken. The universe doesn't work if everything's all nice and orderly. Oh, but those are your words, aren’t they?

[Thrown in the wake of a child brushing off a near death experience, a stab wound with no consequence. Red vocals from a child who shouldn’t be capable of them, who definitely wasn’t anymore.

But who’s really concentrating on Frisk anymore, really? No one gathered here today for that.]

You don’t belong in this world, Colin. Your perceptions don’t work quite right here. Your morals don’t know how to quantify what everyone’s been through, what’s okay and what’s not. Your goals? We’ve discussed those, to a point.

You fix things. But you don’t.

You go by the laws of what’s right in the universe in a place where universes and timelines are converging rapidly, an anomaly in of itself. You must hate it here, Colin. So much that needs fixing, so little time. So many aberrations that don’t quite belong. And that’s us. The collateral damage. You don’t really know or care what kind of damage fixing things will do, so we can only be disappointed and hurt.

I have a word for fixing things, myself. It’s one I quite like.

ERASE.

I do hope you live to see it someday, Colin. I hope that day comes when you go back to one of those perfect, orderly little universes you’ve fixed, and the wasteland that meets your eyes. All that you’ve destroyed in your own, inane sense of perfection. Because it’s right. Because it’s good. Because it’s in the rules of the universe.

What will you do when you turn around, and the butterfly effect of every wrong you’ve created catches up with you?

Because sometimes, the universe is terrible. And actions have consequences.

Now...now we’re going to get to the scary part. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. This was supposed to be about me, wasn’t it?

So perhaps, you’d be so kind as to answer a question for me. I’ve been dying to know this one myself.

[This is the point they falter. For the briefest of moments; too raw, too real- but they’ve started now, and they won’t stop. Won’t look at Sans, because he sees. He always does; looks past acid and barbed wire, napalm and throwing knives, and always sees when they’re telling the truth. The bare honesty, when they want him to focus on all else.]

Who am I?

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1/8 I'm sorry I guess not really

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