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Despite what people may think, you're no stranger to bad days.
You know yourself well enough by now to recognize them before they come. You can't pinpoint them exactly—that would be too easy, you guess—but in the days preceding, you'll fall into a pattern that you now recognize as the prelude to a downward spiral. Even if you can't say with any certainty when exactly you'll be dragged back under, at least you have a general idea of when to start preparing for the worst. That way, you don't have to drag anybody else down with you.
Your downward spirals are usually marked by exhaustion. Your sleep becomes restless, too fraught with nightmares to be healing, and no matter how much rest you actually get, you can never quite manage to wake up.
Once exhaustion comes, anhedonia comes soon after. The fog in your mind becomes too thick for you to see any reason to smile or play along with others. You become listless, determination fading, until finally, finally, all you want to do is lie down and wait for everything to stop.
Movement becomes tiring. Signing becomes tiring. Eating becomes tiring. Everything becomes so, so tiring, and as the exhaustion overtakes you more and more, it's as though you slip into a waking dream, where the nightmares follow even when you're not asleep. You see memories that you don't want to have, hear voices that you wish you could forget, have thoughts that aren't really yours, and all of it is inextricably bound up in you. You can't escape it, it's inside of you, and it's all you can do to keep yourself from tearing your own skin apart to try and get away.
Those are the Bad Days. The days where you want to tear yourself apart. The days where wish that when you'd fallen, you'd stayed down.
You remember your Before parents like a hallucination. At times you see their faces more vividly than you can see your own, but there are no words for them, only distortion.
You wonder sometimes if they'd ever existed. Maybe you've been crazy all along. But there are certain memories that never leave you, no matter how foggy they become. Like creeping downstairs and seeing sleeping on the sofa, floor littered with garbage and empty bottles. Like the way they raised their voices when they caught you poking through the cupboards. Like wandering through brush, stumbling over rocks, tripping and falling and scraping your knees, and you can't find them. Where are they? Why did they get rid of you? Why won't anybody let you stay? What are you doing wrong?
When you wake up that morning, your first thought is oh no.
You touch your forehead. It's slick with sweat. Your hand is shaking. Your chest feels tight. All physical symptoms point to panic, but what do you feel?
Tired. Numb.
You close your eyes.
You guess it doesn't matter. There's nothing you can do. This is just your life now. Sometimes you can trick yourself into feeling normal, but in the end, it all comes back to this. The best you can really hope for is learning how to cope, and sometimes, people just so happen to cope by staying in bed all day.
You burrow deep, deep under the covers and try to forget that you are real.
Time passes. You're not sure how much. Maybe an hour. Maybe five. Maybe seven hundred years. Then suddenly, from the doorway, Chara says, "Toriel wants to know if you're coming down for breakfast."
You don't know when they got there, but you shake your head, hoping they can see it underneath the covers.
"Uh, okay," they say, and you hear their footsteps disappear.
You sink even deeper into your pillows.
Your body is so heavy. Your every thought feels like a stone weighing you down when all you want is to drift away and join the clouds forever.
Your breathing hitches.
By the time Toriel arrives, you're crying. Your tears are silent, leaving hot trails on your face as they slip down your cheeks and stain your pillow. You try to pretend that they're not there: you're not supposed to cry, it's selfish. Just a pathetic bid for attention. You pray that Toriel doesn't notice them, but fortunately, she says nothing. Instead, she helps you sit upright, then hands you a glass of orange juice and a little box of pills. Monday through Sunday, a handful for each day. Can't afford to miss a day. The last time you did, you were in trouble.
As choke down the bitter tablets, Toriel rubs small circles on your back. She asks, "Do you need to stay home today?"
Your throat grows tight.
Do you? The thought of leaving the house today makes your chest hurt, but...is that something you can ask for? Isn't it too much?
No. No, you should go to school, you need to—
"Perhaps you should stay home today," Toriel says, interrupting your panicked train of thought. Your eyes once again sting with the threat of tears.
Is that okay? you sign. The motion are unusually slow; your hands feel clumsier than usual today.
"It is fine," she soothes, smoothing down your hair. "You miss school so rarely. Taking the occasional day off when you are not feeling well is perfectly acceptable. Chara will be here with you; I will let them know."
Then, sounding a little more uncertain: "Do you want me to stay home with you as well?"
You shake your head. You can't ask her to do that, not when you already ask so much. She has students who depend on her, and you're just being selfish.
Toriel kisses your forehead, once again smoothing down your hair. "I love you, my child," she says, and then she leaves, taking the empty glass and the remainder of your pills away with her.
Once more, you sink into your pillows.
Toriel loves you. Toriel is your mother now. But you had another mother once, a mother and a father both, two parents who said we love you, who said you know we love you, even though we lose our tempers sometimes, and when a pillow was pressed against your face and marks were left where nobody would see, you thought, this is love.
A sob escapes.
You don't want to think about this. You don't want to think about anything anymore. You're suffocating in the memory of words you wish you'd never heard, faces that you wish you'd never seen. You want to overwrite those thoughts, leave them all behind, keep only the memory of warmth and friends and safety, and a clammy hand around your wrist salt and steel and sweat it hurts it hurts I'm sorry please, and then there was nothing, no one, no one ever came for your again, and even pain and fear is better than being alone, alone for real, completely and utterly alone—
Another sob.
You're meant to have disappeared on Mt. Ebott. You're meant to be dead. Everything that's wrong is wrong because you're here. You're throwing everything out of balance just by existing. You're shameful, you're worthless, you—
And then something warm is crawling into bed with you, wrapping itself around you.
The weight is good. The pressure is good. You feel secure; contained. Like anything that would try and hurt you would have to go through them.
"Go to sleep," Chara says, patting your hair. The gesture is an awkward one, like they're not fully used to their hands being gentle, but it's affectionate, and that’s what really matters.
With Chara hugging you, you gradually fall back asleep.
You're dumb, can't even talk, that's why they leave, that's why they make you go away. You're bad, you're selfish, that's why they're gone, they're gone they're gone they're gone but even when they're here you don’t really want them, they're loud and scary and have claws and tridents and a single glowing blue eye and then there are bones and vines and stars tearing you to pieces tearing you apart.
You die and you die and you die and you die and you die and you die but it's never enough to make them forgive you and how many times do you have to die to be allowed to go back home? How many how many how many how many how many how many?
Not enough. Not yet enough. You need to earn it.
Maybe one more time.
RESET. RESET. RESET.
When you next open your eyes, your phone reads 10:17 and Chara's gone. Chara's gone, and you're alone, and—
And something's burning.
You take a deep breath, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.
Something's burning. That means someone is downstairs. Chara's the only one who should be home right now. So that means they're downstairs, and you're not alone. Everything's okay.
Wait. Chara's not supposed to cook.
You should probably check on Chara.
It takes you far too long to get out of bed. Your limbs feel like lead, but...you have to check on Chara. You can't be useless right now. You have to make yourself move, even if that means resorting to desperate measures.
'Desperate measures' means fluff. Whenever you get bad like this, your whole body becomes raw, like an exposed nerve. But if you wrap yourself in blankets and pajamas, then they become your shield. Like Chara's arms around you, they keep you protected. Contained. A secret promise to yourself that you won't get lost.
You keep your pajamas on and tug on fuzzy socks and slippers. You drape your fluffiest, comfiest blanket around your shoulders, and just like that, you’re secured.
With your armour on, you’re finally able to drag yourself downstairs to investigate. You take your phone with you, imagining absently that you might have to call the fire department.
When you reach the kitchen, you come to a halt.
Asriel is standing at the stove, wearing one of Toriel’s aprons and poking something with a spatula. Chara’s hugging him from behind, resting their chin upon his shoulder and absently playing with one of his ears. They both look up in surprise when you enter.
"You ruined it!" Chara whines.
You cock your head. Your hands are busy holding your phone and blanket, so you can't sign, but you hope they know you're trying to ask ruined what?
"We were going to bring you breakfast in bed," Chara explains. "We're making pancakes."
You blink in acknowledgement, then point at Asriel.
"I SKIPPED SCHOOL," Asriel shouts, wild-eyed, like he himself can't quite believe his own daring.
"Asriel skipped school," Chara confirms, mouth curling into a cat-like grin. "Because you need pancakes and I can't cook, so this was the only option."
You frown. Asriel shouldn't be skipping school just to make you breakfast. You wonder if he came up with the idea himself or if Chara suggested it, but before you can ask, Chara says, "Stop worrying so much and get your ass into the living room and watch cartoons."
They say it with such authority that you find yourself obeying without a second thought.
As you're walking to the living room, your phone chimes. You check it and find a message from Toriel.
Dear Frisk,
Here is a joke that I hope will make you smile.
What is a slug?
A snail with a housing problem!
L-O-L!
Here is a fun fact: slugs and snails are both the only gastropods that can be found on land. In a way, it is only really the presence or absence of a shell that distinguishes them from each other.
As you can see, although that was a joke, it was also very educational.
I hope that made you smile. I love you very much.
Sincerely, Toriel.
Somehow, by the end, you are smiling. It's a watery one, however, and you don’t think you have the energy to reply just yet. Not in a way that wouldn’t worry her.
You hand closes around your phone. You’ll try to answer soon.
In the living room, you curl up on the couch and pull your blanket snug around you. The remote is waiting on the coffee table, but despite Chara's orders, you don't reach for it to turn on the TV. Your blanket feels too much like a cocoon; you feel small and safe in that cocoon (so small you don't exist, don't take up space, don't bother anybody) and you don't know if you can bring yourself to leave it long enough to reach for the remote.
It's fine, though. The TV would just be noisy anyway. You can wait. You don't mind waiting. You'll stay quiet, let Asriel and Chara finish making breakfast undisturbed. You won't bother them.
And then Asriel comes skittering into the living room, stumbling so much that you're pretty sure somebody pushed him. He snatches up the remote, switches on the TV, and clicks through a few channels before stopping on one and saying, "Um! Is this okay?"
You're mind is still too foggy to identify what's playing, but it's something gentle and pastel, with warm shapes and quiet sounds, and that means it's fine. You nod.
Asriel looks relieved, then awkwardly sets down the remote beside you before scampering off once more. His claws click on the tile.
When he returns a moment later, he's proudly bearing a stack of lumpy and misshapen pancakes doused in syrup. Chara, meanwhile, has a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a bowl of what appears to be sliced apples. You've never heard of having apples with pancakes before, and the slices are so thin that you can’t help wondering if they just wanted an excuse to chop something up, but...well, you like apples. You won't complain.
The two of them set the food down on the coffee table. Your hand snakes out from underneath the blanket to grab a slice of apple. It's crispy and sweet and there's something satisfying about the way it crunches in your mouth. Chomp chomp chomp.
As you eat, Chara plants their hand on their hip and points dramatically at Asriel. He immediately salutes. "Get the thing we talked about!" they bark, and Asriel darts upstairs.
You continue eating in silence.
You can't finish your meal. You want to—the pancakes taste good, despite appearances, and you've been a lot better about eating lately, but then your stomach starts to clench and you have to set down your knife and fork. Thankfully, Chara doesn't comment on it. When you push the plate aside, they begin to help themselves, licking their fingers clean when they're done.
When nothing’s left, Chara tugs you against them in a hug and says, "Today we're taking care of you, Friskybits."
You blink.
"You're feeling sad, right?" they continue, patting your hair. Again, the gesture is an awkward one, but there's affection in it, even if they're doing little more than thumping their palm against your head. "So Azzy and I are gonna take care of you, because we're your awesome and incredible best friends and know exactly what you need to cheer up."
You swallow. Suddenly, your throat aches.
The better part of you wants to smile and reassure them that you're fine, that you'll manage somehow, that you've always managed in the past, that they don't need to worry. Nobody should have to see this ugliness. You're supposed to be their hope, aren't you? The saviour of all monsters? What kind of saviour can't even change out of their pajamas sometimes?
The selfish part of you just wants to sink into them and disappear and let them bear the brunt of everything the way they've borne it all for you before.
Then again, maybe this is just the evolution of that sort of thing. They can't literally shoulder your pain for you anymore, but they can still bring you apples and hot chocolate and offer hugs to let you know you're not alone.
"Thank you," you whisper. Your voice is very, very soft, and it feels like you're peeling the words out of the lining of your throat, but you still need to say it.
"No big deal," Chara says, voice casual, as though you speaking out loud is something completely unremarkable. "You've helped Asriel and me plenty of times. Of course we're gonna try and return the favour when the opportunity arises. Besides, I need to make sure you go back to school soon. If you don’t, then Asriel might drop out entirely to stay with us.”
For the second time that morning, you manage a smile, and Chara gently pokes the dimple of your cheek.
Asriel returns soon afterwards, bearing what appears to be a dark green shoebox covered in brightly-coloured stickers. Stars and swirls and comets, all glittering and shimmering.
"Ta-da!" he cries, dropping it on the table with a flourish. He strikes a dramatic pose. "My secret weapon! The enemy of despair, the slayer of sadness, the vanquisher of—"
"Asriel, oh my god, can you not be a dork for, like, five seconds?" Chara interrupts.
"I'm not being a dork!" Asriel huffs, looking indignant. Chara ignores him and leans over to grab the box, pulling it onto their lap and removing the lid. They hold it out for you to see.
Inside is bubble wrap. Bubble wrap and popsicle sticks and what looks like a beanbag and a notebook and you don't know what you're looking at, not even slightly.
"This is my box!" Asriel says happily, leaning over to examine the contents with you.
"Chara has one too, but I'm not allowed to see it, so I just brought mine."
What is it? you manage to sign.
"Um," Asriel says, and then he shrinks a little, suddenly looking embarrassed. "It's...like a first-aid kit, kind of?"
"That doctor he's seeing made him make one," Chara says when Asriel falls silent, apparently too shy to explain any further. "For when he has bad days. I made one too. It's secret, though, so I can't show you. Sorry."
"See," Asriel says, and then he sits down on the other side of you so that he can reach into the box. "See, it has all this stuff that's just...comforting. And, and when I get mad or sad or whatever, then I open up this box and see how there's all this nice stuff inside to make me feel better. And then it's like, I don't have to break anything, because I can just do this."
He pulls out the bubble wrap and slams his fist against it. The bubbles pop with an enormous crack. You jump, Chara snickers, and Asriel smiles gleefully.
"You can use any of the stuff in here," he says, glancing back up at you. "This stuff is for me, so it might not work as well for you, I guess, but...I mean, if you want to, you can."
You take the box and begin to pick through it, thoroughly examining each item. Popsicle sticks for breaking, you bet, and the beanbag is a stress bag, too firm for you to really squeeze. Half the pages in the notebook have been torn. Shreds of paper line the bottom of the box.
"Those are for tearing," Asriel explains. "Sometimes you just gotta rip stuff up, y'know?"
You don't know, actually, but you nod anyway. You think you sort of get it, even if you've never felt that way yourself. You know that Asriel gets angry sometimes, and he tries to hold it in, not wanting to scare anybody, but it makes sense that he'd need a way to get it out.
The box is clearly made for Asriel, you realize, so much so that nothing in it is really calling out to you. Everything is meant to be destroyed, but you don't want to break anything—you just want to feel quiet for a bit.
Maybe you can make one for yourself someday. What would you put in yours?
Soft things, you decide. Silk and velvet and fur and feathers. Things that smell good, too, like a little satchel of Chara's tea. A snack, maybe, like a pack of cookies or a chocolate bar. Nail polish and paint. Pictures of your friends and family. Maybe you could even print out some of Toriel's texts, so that you can keep them even if they ever get deleted from your phone. Kind things, comfortable things. No anger or violence or rough edges.
Asriel and Chara sit on either side of you, pressing up against you as they watch you going through the box. Asriel is soft and warm, and Chara's all sharp edges, but both of them are good, you think. You tell yourself your blankets are your armour, but Asriel and Chara are a hundred thousand million times better, and they're both here when they don’t have to be. Chara could've spent the day ignoring you. Asriel could've stayed at school. You would have been alone and sad, but you would've found a way to manage. You always manage.
But today, you're not alone. They didn't leave you. They're keeping you secure between them, and between the two of them, you won't get lost.
You return the box to Asriel.
"You don't want it?" he asks, looking crestfallen.
You shake your head. With unsteady hands, you sign,hugs.
Asriel looks surprised, but Chara gives a curt nod. "You got it," they say, expression determined, and they wrap their arms around you, leaning heavily against you.
Asriel immediately mirrors the gesture, and you hate to say it, but he’s much, much better at hugging you than Chara is. He’s all fluff and fur and squish, and as you sink into the cuddles, you find yourself beginning to feel truly happy for the first time all day.
"Asriel!" Chara barks after a moment. "Let Frisk play with your beans!"
Asriel unwinds one of his arms and sticks his paw in your face, showing you his paw pads. They look tantalizingly pink.
"It's okay," he says. "Chara does it all the time."
"Stop revealing all my secrets!”
You hesitantly reach out and let the very tip of your finger brush against one of his pads. Soft.
Despite Asriel's previous reassurance, he immediately squeaks and withdraws his hand. A giggle manages to slip out, and Chara says, "You can't stop now, it made them laugh! You gotta let Frisk poke the beans again."
A little more reluctantly this time, Asriel holds out a hand. You once again poke one of his pads, this time a little firmer than before. Again, Asriel squeaks and tugs away his had.
You're giggling even harder now. Chara’s giggling as well, and once Chara starts to laugh, Asriel joins in too, and then the three of you are laughing on the couch like the children you were always meant to be, and you feel...good.
At noon, when Asriel and Chara decide to make lunch, Chara sends you upstairs to have a bubble bath with the very firm instructions to use every bubble bath you own. You decide to only use the lavender, but you squeeze in an awful lot, hoping that will make up for it.
The water is piping hot, just the way you like it, and you inhale the sweet smell of lavender as you let yourself sink into the bubbles.
Your sadness, your loneliness, your guilt...all of it is slowly fading away, leaving only comfort.
It shouldn't be this easy, you think. But then again, who are you to say what should or should not be?
Amid the lavender-scented bubbles, you find yourself smiling.
You soak for what feels like centuries, but when you leave the bath and start tugging on clean clothes, you can hear Asriel and Chara still arguing over whether chicken or tomato soup is better for cheering someone up.
They love you, you think, heart swelling. They love you and you love them and you feel as though your chest may burst with all the love you suddenly feel for every single person in your life, every single person who cares enough to help you and be patient even when you're not yourself, every single person that you always, always want to be there for in return.
You take out your cell phone and open up the text from earlier. You finally feel good enough to answer her.
I love you mom!!! :)
Then, a moment later, a reply.
]: )
Still smiling, you go downstairs for lunch.
You’ve thought at times that your past is something that's bound up in you; something inescapable. But it's not, really.
It's more like a bruise. An injury that you've sustained, that still sends pain lancing through you whenever something bumps against it, no matter how slight.
But the thing about bruises is, they heal.
Even if it hurts sometimes—no matter how the memory of your life before may intrude on the life you're living now—you know that someday, it won't hurt as much.
Until then, you just need to focus on other memories. Better memories. Like meeting everyone. Like hugging Chara for the first time. Like eating your first slice of your mom's pie. Like going home.
You have all those and so much more, and someday, someday, it won't hurt as much.
You are bruised, but you are healing.