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The sun has stained the sky red, like the blood that had burbled around Chara’s blistering lips, like the glint in their eyes, like the shine of their SOUL, wrapped tightly, so tightly, around Asriel’s, like the best-worst-scariest-warmest hug he’s ever had.
“I don’t want to let go,” they whisper.
Asriel pushes himself forward. He can see the entrance to the Underground, just through that clearing.
“I don’t want to let go,” they scream, yanking at Asriel’s—at their body (but not their body), trying to take over, what would they even do now, they’re dying, he’s dying, we’re dying. Asriel pushes himself forward. Chara’s body felt so light, at first, in that moment of union, but now it’s—oh, that’s bad. That’s not funny.
“Dead weight,” they laugh-cry-hiss. They are roiling with anger and grief and pain, and Asriel can feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice all wrong but still Asriel in its cadence, in its shakiness before the dam bursts. Chara does not answer.
Asriel passes through the barrier, dwindling light on his back, and he stumbles. Almost drops them. There is darkness creeping at the edges of his vision, tears streaming down his snout, and he can’t get back on his feet. Chara is so quiet, now, and the red of their SOUL feels all funny and faded, and Asriel coughs and sobs and uses one too-big arm to cradle their body against his chest and the other to drag himself down the hallway.
Arm forward. Heave. Arm forward. Heave. Arm forward. Heave.
I’m sorry, he thinks, as loudly as he can. Can’t spare the energy to talk out loud. He has to keep moving. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
He makes it to the throne room. To the garden. To the beginning of the end. He collapses, and he can’t really see anymore but he can feel Chara in his arms, and he can feel them clutching at his crumbling SOUL, and he takes shallow, rattling breaths and says,
“Chara.”
He says, “I love you.”
He says, “You’re my best friend,” and it hurts so badly to cry like this, but he can’t help it, such a baby, ruined everything—there is movement somewhere, voices, but everything is getting fuzzier and fuzzier.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, one last time. Just so they know how much he means it. There is something strange and echoey in how it comes out of his throat, but he can’t figure out why anymore and distantly, he can feel himself crumbling, until that goes away, too, until twin cracks ring out like someone stepping on little glass ornaments, until, until, until—
Asriel’s apocalypse is an explosion of light and sound and color, dancing, burning, howling, and the Chara-who-wasn’t won’t stop. They just dodge and leap and scream his name, over and over, desperate, like a spell, like the stories where the human children click their heels and close their eyes and find their way home after all. Asriel has been home many times, and he can tell you: it doesn’t help.
“Stop it!” he roars, voice booming, echoing, pulsing, pulsing (his paws holding Chara’s wrists, feeling their heartbeat fluttering). “Get away from me! Do you hear me?! I’ll tear you apart!”
He swings his arms wildly and launches an attack that the human dodges, barely. They call for him again. He is seeing red (Chara looking up at him, wide-eyed and wary, letting him help them to their feet). They call for him again and their voice is wavering, but they won’t stop (Chara plucking buttercup after buttercup, palms cracking and blistering) and they won’t stop (Chara hoisting their own body into Asriel’s arms) and they won’t stop (Chara clutching, clutching at Asriel’s crumbling SOUL).
“I’m not—” Asriel chokes. “I’m not ready for this to end. I’m not ready for you to leave.”
(He says, “I love you.” He says, “You’re my best friend.”)
He says, “I’m not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again,” and his power rains down on them, burning, screaming, crying, and they don’t stop. They’re shaking and panting, and their SOUL is getting all funny and faded, but they look up at him with dark brown eyes and whisper his name one last time. A sob claws its way out of his throat, and everything is dazzling, shining, white, white light, until. Until.
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
The human’s name is Frisk, not Chara, and Asriel can’t quite figure out where he saw his best friend in their eyes, but they say, “I forgive you,” and they walk over and wrap their arms around him so, so tightly. Asriel crumples, presses his face into their shoulder, and they stroke his back like a parent, or a sibling, or a friend. He can feel a hundred SOULs dancing in his chest, overflowing with love, and he laughs wetly.
“I don’t want to let go,” he says.
(“Me neither,” whispers someone, somewhere in the dark.)