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Frisk tells you that it will be okay.
They tell you that Toriel and Asgore will forgive you. That's what parents do, they say confidently, but you can see the shadow of doubt darkening their eyes and when you press, they admit they only know because of the children's book shelf at the orphanage. You wonder if their parents are dead, then. You don't know how to ask.
You don't have the heart to tell them that they're wrong anyway. Storybook parents might be forgiving and loving and welcome prodigal (dead) children home with open arms and weeping eyes, but you were never theirs to begin with. Not really. They pretended, but you know that you didn't really count- you were a foster at best, taken in because there was no one else, nowhere else to put you. You called them Mom and Dad, you called yourself Dreemurr (by now, you've forgotten your original last name, anyway), but you weren't really.
Asriel was. But Asriel's dead now and it's your fault. You got their only child killed and you can't see how they would take too kindly to that. In other lifetimes, other timelines, you know they would act without hesitation to protect monster-kind. You've seen children struck down, blood spreading across the front of their shirt.
You don't want to look down and see it staining the front of yours, too.
But Frisk won't take no for an answer, not with this, not this time. It's too important to them and maybe to you, too. They speak optimistically of hugs and boxes of band-aids and butterscotch pies and being tucked in at night. It hurts because you remember all of those things, and you remember forehead kisses when you finally stopped flinching from them, and you remembered them looking for you once when you ran away- You had to see, trust beating like a living thing at the base of your throat, and they found you. They found you and Asgore carried you home on his shoulders and Toriel gave you an extra big slice of pie and a chocolate bar besides, and Asriel hugged you until you couldn't breathe. It felt like that was what home was supposed to be, for one long, shining moment, and you wish with all your heart that you could go back and fix it.
But you can't. And no matter how much Frisk implores you, you don't think this is a second chance.
They're together in the same room. For the first time in a long time. And you like that, but it hurts that it's because of Frisk. Because Frisk is made of mercy and love and goodness- when it comes down to it, that's what it is, Frisk is good, and you- you aren't. You hurt people and you're too loud and too angry and you still hate humans, even knowing everyone who hurt you is gone, you still hate them, perhaps even more fiercely, because it's not fair that they're gone and you're not.
Frisk goes in first. To smooth the way, they tell you. You don't see how there's anything they could say to make this easier, but you agree anyway. It's simpler that way. You sit outside and drum your heels against the posts of the bench, pressing your arms close to your sides to hide their trembling. You aren't afraid, you tell yourself. Even you know it's a lie.
There's a shout from inside and you freeze, fingernails biting crescent-shaped bruises into your palm. All that glues you to your seat is the knowledge that if you flee, they'll track you down and find you. You still want to run. Run and keep running, all the way back to the garden of golden flowers that marks your grave. Perhaps if you dig fast enough, you can enshroud yourself in your own rotting bones.
The door slams open and suddenly, Toriel is there, but she doesn't look angry, she looks- relievedhappyshockedsad, you don't know, and you're suddenly swept up in her embrace, nearly choking on the flour dust that stains her apron. You cough and splutter, fingers plucking ineffectually at her fur, and she sets you back down. You're not positive, but you think she's blushing.
"Sorry, Chara, I- I don't know what came over me, child," she apologizes, but you don't care, your heart feels like it's bursting. Even knowing that she will probably take it back as soon as she learns of the plan, spit on you and revile you and bloody you when she learns how it's your fault Asriel is dead.
Asgore follows, stooping to make his way out of the front door, and in his eyes is the same blend of emotions you saw on Toriel's face, and you fling yourself at him, burying yourself in a corner of his cloak as his arms come around you. Through a crack, you can see Frisk now, smiling smugly, and you want to stick your tongue out, but don't dare.
"Sorry," you whisper into the fabric, words rushing together. "Sorry sorry sorry-"
"For what, child?" Asgore rumbles above you and you shake your head, the ends of your hair cutting across your ears.
"My fault," you mumble, stepping away from him and wrapping your arms around you like you're freezing. You still want a hug, but you know you don't deserve it. "It's all my fault, I- I had a plan, it was so stupid, I just- it only required one human and one boss monster to get through the barrier, I-I wanted to help you, I wanted to free you, Asriel-" Tears glitter in your eyes, turning the ground into a prism. "I was s-sick because of the buttercups, I ate the buttercups, I p-poisoned myself so I could- we could- I'm so sorry." You rock back and forth on your heels, fingernails biting savagely into your arms. It hurts, but you don't care, you want it to hurt. You want to bleed and bruise and die because it's all your fault and you don't deserve this second chance at life and now they know and they'll agree and they'll kill you or throw you out, they'll keep Frisk because Frisk is Good but you are not and you never have been.
And then Toriel's arms come around you, gently disengaging your fingers, and Asgore steps up to the other side, and you're awkwardly sandwiched between them. (And you wonder if this is the closest they've been in years and you think maybe it is.)
"I'm so sorry," Toriel tells you, and you stare up at her in shock. "Chara, I'm so sorry we didn't see, didn't understand. Buttercup poisoning, I..." She shakes her head and now you can see the tears in her eyes.
"We failed you," Asgore says. He sounds defeated and you shake your head frantically. No. No, they never failed you. You failed them, don't they see? Don't they get it? You poisoned yourself but you were a poison to their family the whole time, a blight in the garden.
Frisk glares at you, as if they can sense your thoughts, and steps closer.
You deserve to be happy, they sign at you, eyebrows scrunched together in one determined line. You deserve your family.
You shake your head at them, but it feels formulaic.
"Come inside, child," Toriel tells you gently. "I'm so glad that you're home."
Home is the nicest word you've ever heard.