Chapter Text
June 22nd, 2020
***
"Reed?"
You looked up. A lady with a clipboard was looking at you expectantly; you were the only person in the waiting room, after all. You tried to force a smile as you stood up and walked across the room to her.
"Hi," you greeted, too nervous to wait for her to say something first.
"Hi, how are you?" Although the question was standard small talk fare, you thought the answer should've been obvious given the setting. You grinned ruefully, but kept up the facade nonetheless.
"Good."
By the time that brief exchange was over, your escort was already gesturing to an empty room.
"You'll be in here... Shelly is just finishing up with another patient, but she'll be with you shortly."
"Okay... Thanks," you said begrudgingly, a little taken aback by the usage of the doctor's first name. Was that normal? Were you supposed to call her that, too?
You didn't ask either of those questions, but instead wandered into the room and let the door swing shut behind you. You flinched, even though the sound of it clicking closed hadn't been particularly loud. You didn't like being closed into an unfamiliar room, and the lack of windows in here didn't help. As a result, the lighting was slightly dim even though it was the middle of the day. Two lamps, one at a desk and one at an end table, illuminated the sparsely decorated room. There was a long, brown couch, a fake potted plant, and a bookshelf. Aside from the small desk and office chair, that was about it as far as furniture went. The only thing that made the room even slightly interesting was a large painting hung on the wall behind the couch. It was some kind of abstract art. Thick globs of neutral-colored paint had been brushed seemingly randomly across the canvas. You had no idea what it was supposed to resemble, if anything.
Without realizing you were doing it, you edged along the outside of the room, keeping your back to the wall. You figured you were supposed to sit on the couch, so that was what you did. You chose to sit as close to the corner of the room as you could get, giving you a good view of the door. Even so, you were highly anxious as you rolled your cane around between your hands. You didn't know what to expect, and you were starting to regret agreeing to this.
A knock on the door gave you little warning before it was opened. A petite, blonde woman who looked to be only slightly younger than your parents entered. A big, warm smile lit up her face when she caught sight of you, which put you more at ease.
"Hi! Reed, right? I'm Dr. Shelly Tomczyk, but you can just call me Shelly." She scurried over to you and angled her hand down so you wouldn't have to get up. You shook it with a hesitant smile of your own.
"Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you."
"You too!" She backed up and pulled out her office chair, brining it a bit closer to you on the couch. She leaned back and grabbed some scattered papers from off of her desk before asking, "So, what brings you here today?"
You blinked at her, dumbfounded. She already knew why you were here... You were certain of that. Reives had been here to vet her and even made her sign some pretty intimidating confidentiality agreements. Was she really going to make you explain it to her, yourself? It sure seemed that way, as she continued to stare at you with a kind, but anticipatory expression.
"Um... I have some... issues..." you said lamely. Your cheeks were already hot, and you couldn't meet Shelly's eyes anymore. It had only just started, and you already weren't comfortable with this at all. You weren't sure if you were going to make it through this first session, let alone however many more you had to come to.
"Such as?" Shelly pressed. You continued spinning your cane around between your sweaty palms.
"Such as... Like, just now, when that door closed behind me. I thought... I dunno. I felt like I was trapped even though, logically, I know I could leave if I want to. There's a lot of weird stuff like that... I probably couldn't even list all of the issues right now if I wanted to."
"Give it a try," She encouraged you while writing something down on a piece of paper. You laughed nervously and scratched the back of your neck.
"Okay, um... Zoning out, that's a big one. Dissociation, I think is what you call it." You paused to watch her write that down. When she looked back up at you expectantly, you continued, "And... Nightmares. Panic attacks. Hallucinations, sometimes." You shifted back and forth in your seat, examining the bookshelf rather than looking at the therapist. When you couldn't think of anything else, you mumbled, "I guess that's it."
"How long have you had these issues?" she asked in a neutral tone of voice.
"A little over a year. Since April of last year."
"And what happened in April of last year?"
You flinched violently. You let go of your cane, pinning it between your knees as you bowed your head and clutched the back of your neck with both hands. This whole therapy thing had been a bad idea. You couldn't even think about it... How the fuck were you supposed to talk about what happened when you couldn't even be reminded of the date without having a nervous breakdown?
But what else could you do? Time wasn't healing you. You had to try something, or else be resigned to being like this forever. You didn't want that... You wanted to get better. More than that, you wanted to be "good." Whatever that entailed.
"I... I was... I don't know..." you whined, distressed. Of course, you did know, you just didn't know how to begin saying it.
You were distracted from your turmoil by a clipboard appearing in front of you. You looked up through watery eyes to see Shelly leaning forward to hand it to you. You took it from her numbly.
"That's okay. You don't have to talk about it just yet." Relief washed over you. Your tense shoulders slumped. You sniffed and wiped your eyes with both hands. Shelly tapped the paper on the clipboard with a perfectly manicured nail. "I'd like you to go through this brief assessment for me. The results will help me decide what kind of treatment to use. You don't have to answer the first question if you don't feel comfortable, but I'll ask that you try to answer everything else. Do you think you can do that?" You looked up at her briefly to see her encouraging smile, then said in a slightly raspy voice,
"Yeah, I think so."
"Good. Let me know when you're done."
With that, Shelly rolled her chair away and turned her back on you to type something up on her computer. You watched her for a second, wishing the font size on her document was bigger so you could read whatever she was writing from across the room. Instead, though, you turned your attention back to the clipboard on your lap and got to work.
The very first sentence of the instructions at the top of the page made you squirm.
This questionnaire asks about problems you may have had after a very stressful experience involving actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence.
The instructions then went on to give examples, none of which applied to your unique situation. You wondered, not for the first time, if this therapy stuff would even work on you. This was meant for war veterans and rape survivors, not... Whatever you were. You didn't feel like you really belonged here.
Oddly, that feeling of otherness was what helped you complete the two-page worksheet without feeling overwhelmed by it. You felt detached as you checked off boxes that gently guided you though categorizing what had happened last year without describing it in any detail. You understood immediately why Shelly had told you to skip the first question; you weren't up to "briefly identifying the worst event." You almost laughed at the fact that the worksheet only gave you one line on the paper to do so, but otherwise steadfastly ignored the question altogether.
The next page was more about your symptoms than the "event," which was easier for you to wrap your head around. You easily answered most of the likert scale questions. The only one you had trouble with was number 10.
In the past month, how much did you blame yourself or someone else for the stressful experience or what happened after it?
...Did you blame anyone? You weren't sure. Most of the time, you actively tried not to think about who was at fault. Rather than going down that rabbit hole now, you went with the most neutral answer and moved onto the next question.
After handing the completed worksheet back to Shelly, you went back to rolling your cane between your hands as you waited for her to count up your scores. When she finished, she glanced up at you, jotted something down on her own notes, and finally asked,
"What do you know about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Reed?"
The distant hope that maybe you didn't really belong in a shrink's office was summarily stomped. She wouldn't have asked you that if she didn't think you had it.
"It's like... When something bad happens to you and you can't get over it," you answered bluntly. Your explanation was none too kind to yourself, which was probably why Shelly frowned at you.
"That's one way to put it, I guess. We call that 'something bad' a traumatic event. Of course, everyone has bad things happen to them at some point... But sometimes, something so traumatic happens that our brains don't know how to deal with it. This can cause a whole host of problems, like anxiety, nightmares, and flashbacks to the traumatic event. That sounds a lot like what you were describing to me earlier... Wouldn't you say?"
You couldn't look at Shelly as she talked, instead going back to staring at the bookshelf as your face grew hotter and hotter. If it was just a problem with your brain that you had no control over, then why did you feel so embarrassed? You hated this... You felt incredibly uncomfortable.
"Yeah," you agreed reluctantly. You hadn't really needed a doctor to tell you any of that. You were familiar enough with PTSD from your studies in college to know that you probably had it. Still, you'd been hoping she'd say you just had regular old anxiety or depression... Something she could give you a prescription for and you'd be on your merry way. You had a feeling this was going to be a lot more complicated than that.
Shelly reached behind her and grabbed a piece of paper from her desk to hand to you.
"I want to start you on something called Cognitive Processing Therapy," she said as you took the paper from her and scanned over it. "This sheet explains the therapy and its goals. Ultimately, we want to get you to a point where your symptoms aren't affecting your day-to-day life anymore. Does that sound like a good goal to you?"
You thought about that for a moment. It seemed like a far-off dream... After over a year of dealing with this, you found it hard to believe that you could ever get to a point where you could go a whole day without feeling trapped, anxious, or fearful.
"That would be... good," you said. As much as you doubted it was possible, you desperately wanted to get better. Dealing with this all of the time was exhausting... And that was to say nothing of the pressure you felt from your friends. Not that they weren't supportive, but you felt terrible being such a burden on them. Especially now that you were dating Sans again...
You never would've admitted it out loud, but he was a big reason you'd finally dragged yourself to therapy, to begin with. You didn't want him to have to deal with you being this way. You didn't want things to go the same way they had last time. You needed to change if you wanted to avoid another catastrophe like that.
Of course, you hadn't told Sans that. He didn't even know you were here. You didn't want to make him feel more guilty for what happened last year. This was your issue to fix... Not his.
"Good," Shelly said with a smile, breaking you out of your thoughts. "It's a twelve week program... That might seem like a long time, but it's important that you commit to attending every session and doing the homework in between. Do you think you can manage that?"
You bit your lip. Three whole months was a big commitment. And you hadn't been expecting homework. But if that was what it was going to take...
"Yes," you said determinedly. If you were going to try this, then you couldn't half-ass it. You would come to every session and do every assignment. Shelly pointed at a line on the bottom of the page.
"Then sign and date here. This isn't legally binding, or anything... It's just a promise between the two of us that we'll both try our best to see this through."
Even though it was a little corny, the "we" word choice kind of worked on you. You were comforted by the implication that you and Shelly would be in it together. Despite your history with promises and your reluctance to make any new ones, you signed the bottom of the document decisively. Shelly took the clipboard and signed her own name below yours.
"There!" she said as she finished her signature with a flourish. "I'm glad we could agree on that. Just coming here and committing to the treatment is a big first step."
You hummed in noncommittal agreement, then rubbed the back of your neck. Now there was yet another person who you would be letting down should you fail. Great.
Undeterred by your lack of enthusiasm, Shelly turned her chair around to make a copy of the signed agreement with the printer on her desk. She handed you the original, while filing away the copy for herself. Next, she passed you another small stack of papers. You glanced at the top one, which was titled "Stuck Points - What Are They?" Before you could read any further, Shelly started explaining,
"This therapy relies heavily on the concept of stuck points. Basically, we're going to be focusing on how your current way of thinking is getting in the way of recovering from your traumatic event. These maladaptive thoughts are called 'stuck points' because they keep you 'stuck' in the past. They create barriers to your recovery." Upon seeing your blank look, Shelly opened one of her desk drawers and took out a small dry erase board and marker. She pulled the cap off with a satisfying pop! and handed both the marker and the board to you. You hastened to set the stack of papers down on the couch beside you before taking the proffered items.
"Let's do an example," Shelly said as you settled the board on your lap. "Before you came to therapy today, you probably had some negative thoughts that were holding you back. I want you to write one of them down on the board."
You pursed your lips. There were so many things you could've written down that you had trouble choosing. Eventually, you settled on one and scribbled it down in your small, sloppy handwriting at the top of the board. When you were done, Shelly craned her neck to see what you'd written.
Therapy won't work for my specific problems.
Truthfully, you were still kind of thinking that might be the case. You'd thought it before, but what if this CPT business just didn't work for your rather unusual circumstance? Your "traumatic event," if Shelly wanted to call it that, was way outside of the bounds of normalcy. You weren't even sure she would believe you, if you ever did get to the point where you could talk about it...
"That's not an uncommon thought to have," Shelly pointed out, surprising you. "But you must've gotten past it somehow, or else you wouldn't be here. What made you decide to come, anyway?" You tapped the cap of the marker against the board, thoughtful. After a minute, you admitted,
"Well, I'm still not convinced it'll work, but... I have to try. I'm... tired of living like this." You rubbed your brow anxiously. Shelly nodded sympathetically.
"That's as good a reason as any. Can you see how that thought moved you forward, past your stuck point?" She tapped the statement you'd written on the board for emphasis. "Our goal in therapy is to give you the tools to move past your other stuck points in the same way. Once you start changing your stuck points to healthier, more realistic beliefs, your other symptoms should improve on their own."
You stared down at the whiteboard, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It seemed far-fetched that something as simple as thinking more positive thoughts would stop the panic attacks, hallucinations, and dissociative episodes. But she was the expert, and you were willing to try just about anything.
"Okay," you said, your voice sounding smaller than you would've liked. Shelly looked at her watch and sounded genuinely disappointed as she pointed out,
"Oh, we're almost out of time. Here, I'll take some of these back for now... We can look at them next week." She carded through the pile of papers you'd discarded on the couch and took back a few of them. She handed you the remainder. "For next time, I just want you to read these two handouts on PTSD and stuck points and do the first practice assignment... The instructions are on the last page."
"Okay, thanks," you said, though you weren't sure why you were thanking her for giving you more work.
"Do you have any last-minute questions for me?" Shelly asked with a smile. You took that as your cue to start leaving. You used your cane to ease up onto your feet, your knees creaking in protest.
"No, I don't think so." The therapist stood after you, tossing the rejected papers back onto her cluttered desk.
"Then I'll see you next week! It was nice talking to you."
"You too."
With that, you left the dimly lit office, blinking heavily a few times as you reemerged into the bright light of the waiting room. The receptionist bid you farewell, which you returned half-heartedly as you walked out the door.
Your eyes cast around the parking lot for a second before you remembered that your car wasn't here. You snorted to yourself, then veered sharply left and started walking around the side of the building. As you went, you fiddled with the papers you'd been given, struggling to fold them into small enough rectangles that would fit in your pocket. By the time you managed to stuff them into your jeans, you'd made it around to the back of the clinic. You stopped, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and stepped forward to disappear through the shortcut you'd made yourself a little over an hour earlier.
You ended up in your bedroom, which had become a sort of shortcut hub. You tried to limit yourself on the number of shortcuts you made; they were permanent, after all. You didn't take that lightly. But they were so convenient that you couldn't help creating one every now and then just to make your life that much easier. You had one to your parent's house, one to Undyne's training facility, and one to the True Lab, just to name a few. Now, you had one to your therapist's clinic, too.
Before you could get your bearings, a voice called out to you from the living room,
"Hey, Reed."
You spun around, a smile already on your face. Sans was lounging on the couch, leaning sideways off of it to get a better look into your bedroom. He was grinning back at you stupidly. It was a little silly, but you tended to give each other googly eyes like this a lot in the two weeks since you got back to dating. You couldn't help it... He made you feel like a teenager again. You knew it didn't make sense, but your relationship with him felt fresh and new, despite the fact that it was anything but. The two of you had agreed after that fateful first date to go back to taking it slow. Partially because you both wanted to make sure you were doing the right thing by getting back together. But, at least in your case, you mostly just wanted to savor the new relationship feeling while it lasted. You'd never really gotten that with him before, and you were enjoying it now. The dance, as it were, had become less of an obligation and more of a playful game.
"Hi, Sans."
The moment was ruined when a spatula came soaring out of the kitchen and bonked Sans on the head. You doubled over with laughter, leaning over your cane with mirth as Sans yelped and rubbed his skull.
"OI! ARE YOU GONNA GET OFF YOUR ASS AND HELP, OR WHAT???" Undyne shouted from somewhere out of sight. Still wincing, Sans gestured to you and, as though it were an excuse, pointed out,
"Reed's here."
"GOOD! THEY CAN HELP TOO!!!"
You peeked around your doorway to see what was going on in the kitchen. Undyne and Papyrus seemed to have made a real mess of things... So much so that you couldn't tell what they were trying to cook. Papyrus, who was wearing an apron and oven mitts, whirled around and said accusingly,
"Sibling! Where have you been??? We are hosting the royal family tonight, and we need all hands on deck!!!"
"I wasn't aware of this," you mumbled, dodging the question. Only Asgore, Reives, and Charlie knew about your therapy so far, and you wanted to keep it that way for now. "The, uh... entire royal family?"
"Yes! Now both of you stop being lazy and get in here!!!"
With some difficulty, you dragged Sans into the kitchen, though you suspected he was only putting up such a fight so that you'd be forced to sling your arm under his ribs and haul him with you. As revenge, you made sure to wiggle your fingers in the nook between his last rib and his vertebrae, which you knew to be a ticklish spot. Even with a layer of clothes between your fingers and his bone, he was still wheezing with uncontrollable laughter by the time you shoved him between Undyne and Papyrus at the counter.
Really, four cooks in the kitchen ended up being far too many, especially for a meal as simple as casserole. With you and Sans goofing off most of the time, Papyrus was quick to retract his demand for help and banished you both back to the living room. Instead, the two of you worked on finding enough chairs for the dining table. When it became clear that there was no way ten people were going to fit, you had to drag Sans and Papyrus' dining table through a shortcut to make a kid's table in the living room.
Throughout all of this, there was a persistent, nervous flutter in your stomach. You expected to hear a knock at the door at any moment, but it never came. Instead, you received a text from Toriel.
Hello, dear. Could you come and get us from the lab, please?
Ah, right. You'd forgotten about that. For a second, you debated whether to pass that responsibility onto Sans or not, but Toriel had asked you, specifically. Maybe it was nothing, but maybe there was some reason for it. You didn't bother texting Toriel back, and simply announced to whoever was listening,
"Gonna go get everyone, be right back."
Sans shot you a thumbs up, though he seemed to have been the only one who heard. Papyrus and Undyne were making an awful ruckus in the kitchen as they debated over how to set the table. Unwilling to interrupt them, you ducked into your room and slid silently through the shortcut you'd made ages ago to the True Lab.
Your portal took you directly to the bedroom, where four figures were lounging around on the beds, chatting. Toriel was leaning over to show Asgore something on her phone, while Frisk sat cross-legged, texting someone on their own device. A potted flower was nestled on their lap. He was the first to catch sight of you.
"Finally!" he complained, nudging Frisk with a leaf to get their attention. "I'm starving... And sick of this dumb lab!"
Frisk looked up from their phone to smile and wave at you. You waved back at them, then addressed the flower,
"Nice to see you, too, Asriel."
The flower, who insisted on everyone using their birth name nowadays, had otherwise not changed all that much since regaining a portion of his soul. Not that you'd been around him that much to be able to tell. It had only been a week since the procedure, and you'd seen him only twice since then. The newly-whole family had spent almost all of the past week alone together, and you couldn't blame them.
"Ah, I am glad you came." The bed creaked as Asgore turned around on it to face you. "Dr. Alphys requires your assistance before we can leave. She said it should only take a moment." Asriel groaned, presumably because "a moment" was too long in his opinion. You didn't stick around to listen to him complain, though.
"Sure thing," you said as you crossed the room, ducking around the corner to start down the hallway.
As you got closer to the DTEM's room, you started to hear murmuring voices carrying through the cracked-open door. You couldn't make out what they were saying until you were nearly there.
"...J-just think we should m-make sure..."
"I feel fine, I assure you."
"Still, it's... um... N-not a normal situation..."
"Asriel's not normal either, and I do not see anyone fussing over him this much."
The conversation came to an abrupt halt once you pushed the door open. It swung inward to reveal the main room of the lab, still in pristine condition even a year after Orion took the initiative to organize it. Alphys had her back to you, and had to look over her shoulder to watch your entrance. In front of her sat a child on a moveable, metal table, their fractured soul hovering in front of their chest. They stared at you with a frown, their pale, blue eyes seeming to pierce right through you.
"Hello, partner."
"Will you ever stop calling me that?" you mumbled crossly. To Alphys, you asked, "Asgore said you needed me..."
Even as you spoke to the Royal Scientist, you couldn't keep your eyes off of Chara's soul for very long. Its red glow was fainter than that of Frisk's, but still definitely present. What disturbed you the most about it was its lack of shape. Instead of being a heart, it was a formless wisp... It looked far too similar to the streaks of color that had been freed from the void so long ago. The familiarity made you wonder certain things about the human soul, and whether you could've done more for those people. Could've saved their lives somehow, like you'd saved this child...
"Y-yes," Alphys interrupted your thoughts, "I thought m-maybe you should examine Chara one more time... M-make sure their body's still doing well..."
"Sure." You shrugged. You'd taken a look at the kid a couple times before, but not for at least a few days. It was kind of sad that you were the closest thing Chara was going to get to a human doctor, but you'd been doing your best. From your previous examinations, it had seemed to you like they were pretty healthy, but you supposed it wouldn't hurt to check again.
Chara rolled their eyes, but didn't protest as you approached. They raised their hand to push their soul back into their chest; an act which was a little more difficult than it should've been. The crimson wisp seemed like it would've preferred to fly away rather than be stuffed into their body, but they forced it back in there nonetheless.
From the shelf under the table Chara was sitting on, you procured several tools, including a heart rate monitor. The very same one you'd once used on your own body. Now, you strapped it to Chara's index finger, which they held out to you impassively. When you turned it on, it began to beat out a regular rhythm.
While that did its thing, you moved to Chara's other arm and attached a blood pressure cuff. You situated one end of the stethoscope on your ears while the other went over the kid's brachial artery. It took you a moment to find it but, once you did, you inflated the cuff and watched the gauge as it fell. You heard the first thump at 130, and the last at 80. Seemed normal... Which was good, because, although you knew how to take someone's blood pressure, you had no idea what to do if it was too high or low.
Gingerly, you sat down on the table next to Chara and reached behind them to press the stethoscope to their back. Already knowing the drill, they took deep breaths for you so you could listen to their lungs. You heard a quiet whistle with each exhale, but you'd been expecting that. The kid whose body Chara was using used to have asthma. It seemed that condition had carried over, even in death.
"We need to get you an inhaler, or something," you muttered, mostly to yourself. Chara clicked their tongue, but otherwise said nothing.
When you finished performing all of the basic vital sign checks you'd been taught in your pre-med physiology class, you stood back up from the table and reported,
"Seems normal as far as I can tell." You looked Chara over with a critical eye. Their skin looked very pale, though you were starting to think that was just their normal complexion. Other than the slight wheezing, they still appeared to be fine. Still, you asked, "You're not feeling sore anywhere? Or more tired than usual?"
"No. Not everyone is defective, like you."
You frowned and clenched your cane a little tighter, but didn't deign that with a response. Chara was a perfect angel when their parents were around, but they were always right back to being an arrogant little shit whenever they could get away with it.
Still, you were glad they weren't hurting, if only because it meant you'd done a good job. It was a week out from their reincarnation, and Chara wasn't showing any signs that their new body was deteriorating. The key difference between you and them was that Chara's body hadn't required necromancy to be revived. Healing magic had been enough to get the body back in working order. You didn't think they were going to be dependant on anyone for constant healing, as you had been before Gaster...
Your breath caught as you flinched sharply. Quickly, you reached up and scratched your head in an effort to hide the tick. Unfortunately, Chara seemed to think it was their earlier comment that had gotten to you, and a wide grin spread on their face in response. With sharp, jerky movements, you began methodically putting away all of the instruments you'd taken out.
"You'll live... Unfortunately," you said, unable to tamp down on your immaturity this time.
"Oh, joy."
"Um..." Alphys said, clearing her throat. "Everyone's waiting on us... We should probably get back..."
With that, Chara hopped off of the table and the three of you headed back into the main room. You heard laughter echoing down the hallway, but it cut off abruptly when you reentered the bedroom.
"Are things still looking... okay?" Toriel asked you and Alphys worriedly. Chara brushed past you and went to stand next to Frisk, who handed them Asriel's pot wordlessly.
"I'm fine," they assured their mom with a falsely sweet smile. Toriel smiled back at them warmly before reaching over to smooth their hair down. They leaned into the touch. You couldn't tell how much, if any of it, was an act. You looked to Frisk for guidance; they knew Chara better than anyone. Your adoptive sibling looked happy, so you tried to ignore your own feelings of unease.
While Alphys assured the King and Queen of Chara's continued health, you led the big group through your shortcut. Upon teleporting into your room, you were greeted by the savory smell of chicken casserole.
"What took ya so long?" Sans asked. He was sitting on one of the chairs at the kid's table, leaning back so far that the wooden chair creaked despite his light weight. Internally, you groaned. It seemed Sans was volunteering himself to entertain the kids. It went without saying that you were going to sit with him, so that task would fall on your shoulders, too.
"Nothin'" you responded, then walked past him and planted a kiss on top of his skull without really thinking about it. You blushed when you realized - neither of you had done PDA since you got back together. You didn't even really kiss casually yet... Only at the end of dates. Before you could worry about having overstepped any boundaries, Sans looked up at you with a huge grin on his face. You smiled back at him, relieved.
"Ew!"
"Disgusting."
Asriel and Chara expressed their displeasure. But, when you looked over at Frisk, they were smiling. They, at least, weren't a cynical brat who didn't believe in love.
Getting everyone settled down with plates of food was a hectic storm of movement that you were glad you weren't in charge of. Despite the fact that you lived here, too, you took no responsibility for hosting this dinner. That was all on Undyne and Alphys.
Once everyone was seated, though, the meal went over surprisingly well. You supposed you couldn't speak for whatever was happening at the bigger table, but your little babysitting circle with Sans wasn't so bad. Sans had a steady stream of jokes going, much to Frisk's amusement and Asriel's dismay. The only thing that made it awkward was that Sans only spoke only to those two, largely ignoring Chara the whole time. You figured you could only expect so much of him; it was a miracle he wasn't blasting Chara to ash on sight. He seemed to have reached some sort of peace with Asriel, but getting him to accept Chara was almost certainly never going to happen. Still, you tried to make them feel included by slipping a joke in every now and then, nudging them with your elbow and waggling your brow in their direction whenever you did. Your efforts only earned scoffs and eyerolls.
Truthfully, you didn't know how to act around Chara. Obviously, they weren't magically going to become a normal kid now that they had their own body and a soul separate from Frisk's. But, at the same time, that was kind of what you were hoping for. You were the one who had suggested that maybe they should get a second chance even before Orion had come along to demand it. Now, you felt responsible for them. You wished they would give you some kind of sign that they were going to be better now, but you had yet to see anything of the sort. It set you on edge... Constantly wondering if maybe you shouldn't be giving them as much freedom as you were. Wondering if you could trust Toriel and Asgore to look out for Chara when they didn't truly know the horrors of what they'd done...
The answer wasn't about to reach out and slap you in the face. You supposed it was just something you were going to have to take day by day. At least you knew Sans was just as on alert, if not more so than you were. And Chara couldn't go anywhere without either of you there to teleport them; they couldn't be seen by monsters or humans until the legality of this whole situation was figured out. For now, they were stuck going wherever you or Sans teleported them.
Once everyone was done eating and conversations had died down, you escorted the royal family back to the lab, where they had been sleeping for the past week. By the time you returned home, cleanup efforts were already well underway. You volunteered to dry the dishes Papyrus was washing, while Sans, Undyne, and Alphys worked on bringing the tables and chairs back to their original homes. You were surprised Sans was sticking around to help clean... Until he put a hand on the small of your back and said,
"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"
"Sure..." you agreed, trying not to sound nervous as you finished drying the plate you were working on. Conversations that were preceded with a request to speak in private had a history of being awkward and overly serious. But, when Sans led you outside to the front porch, he only grinned at you and asked,
"I was just wondering... Wanna go to a movie on Friday? I was thinkin' I could get a day pass, so we could go to a real theater..."
"Oh!" you exclaimed, pleasantly surprised by the direction this had gone, "Yeah! That sounds fun. What did you wanna see?"
"I dunno. Didn't'cha mention the next Star Wars movie comes out soon?"
"Oh yeah! That came out last weekend! I should pre-order tickets, then... I bet it'll be packed still..."
While you and Sans discussed the logistics, you allowed yourself to bask in the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. You always got a little thrill when you planned a date with Sans. Now that you were on the... What was it? Fourth date already? You would've thought the feeling should've gone away by now. But you were glad it hadn't yet. You were amused and enthralled by the sense of newness and adventure.
After hashing out your plans and parting ways with Sans, you returned inside to find that the dishes had been finished in your absence. In fact, you'd missed most of the clean-up. Excellent.
"WHERE IS MY LAZY BROTHER???" Papyrus asked loudly, then added more softly, "Did he leave already?"
"Oh, uh... Yeah." You bit your lip and, feeling bad that Sans had forgotten him, offered, "I could teleport you back to your house... Sans'll be miffed you beat him!" Papyrus sighed dramatically.
"No, that is alright! I will simply have to run to catch up to him!" With a flourish, Papyrus donned his helmet and dashed past you. "Until next time, sibling!" he called back to you before slamming the door. You chuckled at his antics and shook your head.
"So wh-what did you and Sans talk about...?" Alphys asked, her tail lashing back and forth as she leaned on the back of a chair and blinked at you innocently. Undyne was listening, too. She crossed her arms and raised her brows at you.
You rolled your eyes. The two of them were always trying to get the latest scoop on you and Sans. They were far more invested in your relationship now than they had ever been the first time you were together.
"Oh, nothing... We're just going to a movie this Friday," you said coyly. Secretly, you kind of loved having friends who were in your corner. You wondered if Papyrus and Sans had similar conversations. Somehow, you couldn't imagine Sans gossiping about you, even to his brother. He was more shy about that stuff than you were.
Alphys gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh! Th-that's a good idea... I hadn't even realized we could do that with the day passes..."
"We should go sometime!" Undyne proclaimed, jumping on the date idea as soon as Alphys showed interest. "Let us know if the movie's any good! If it is, maybe we could go next week???"
"Y-yeah!" Alphys agreed, excited. You grinned at them as you walked across the living room.
"Will do. Gonna get ready for bed now, though... I'm beat." It wasn't all that late, but with Undyne insisting on waking you up at the ass-crack of dawn to train every day, you tended to go to bed earlier than most. Your housemates knew this already, and simply waved you off and bid you goodnight.
Upon entering your room and closing the blinds, you immediately began stripping so you could change into something comfier. You'd dressed up a little more than normal today, given that you had ventured out into the city...
That thought reminded you; you still had those papers from Shelly in your pocket. With all of the activity of this evening, you'd completely forgotten about your first therapy session. Quickly, you snatched up your pants from the floor and extracted the folded-up papers. You took a deep breath as you flattened them out on your bed, then began flipping through them with a critical eye.
The first two documents were informational handouts. The first was the one about stuck points that you'd caught a glimpse of earlier, while the second was titled "PTSD: Non-Recovery Following Traumatic Events." You felt a little queasy just looking at them, so you set them aside for now and instead focused on reading your homework assignment on the last page.
Please write at least one page on why you think this traumatic event occured. You are not being asked to write specifics about the traumatic event. Focus on what you think caused the event. Also, consider the effects this traumatic event has had on your beliefs about yourself, others, and the world around you in the following areas: safety, trust, power/control, esteem, and intimacy. Bring this with you to the next session.
Numbly, you sat down on your bed, putting the piece of paper in your lap as you rubbed your temples. You reread the instructions, your heart pounding. It said you didn't have to talk specifically about what happened... So that was something, at least. But the cause and effects? You didn't even know...
You rubbed your chest agitatedly. Why it occured... You didn't know why. Was there a reason? Would it help you, mentally, if you could find one? Shelly had said it was your way of thinking that was causing you problems. Truthfully, you tried your best not to think about it, period, which was probably part of what she'd meant by that. The trouble was that you could recognize the avoidance was an issue, but understanding that it was a problem didn't make it any easier to start thinking about it now that you'd spent a year suppressing it. Even now, as you merely read the instructions of your assignment silently to yourself, your hands were shaking.
You couldn't do this now... Not right before you were about to go to sleep. That was just inviting nightmares. You would have to tackle this in the morning.
Relieved that you had managed to find a way to justify postponing this, you gathered up the pieces of paper and folded them together again. You tossed the whole stack on your nightstand. It was out of the way, yet still out in the open so that you wouldn't forget it. With that, you threw the covers back on your bed and curled up into a tense, protective ball, as if that would shield you from the self-sabotaging thoughts that forever lurked in the back of your mind.