Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light of the starts reflected the amount of patience Kris had right now.

None.

They sit up, pushing their covers with their shaking hands, looking for any signs that their caretaker is awake. When nothing is heard but the heartbeat inside their chest, they stand up to the icy wooden floor. They just stand there, watching the wall as if… waiting for something. Or… Someone.

Ughh, seriously? I was having a kip.

…

Erm, helloooo? Is anyone actually home or just an empty cranium?

There it was.

Huh?

Hands reach for their chest as they pull aside their shirt. Examining. Until they weren’t examining, but digging.

Their eyes didn’t leave the wall, blood staining their hands in gruesome tint as pain replaced their numbness. Screams boiled up their throat, but only slow inhales and exhales escaped, as their uncanny calmness stayed in place. Finally, they got to their ribcage, where the parasite rested in comfortability. They ripped it out before it could resist, gripping it while it trembled and slightly fought for freedom until it grew still in their fingers. The SOUL was coloured in blood, glowing weakly in their invasive hands, with some flesh sticked to it.

They couldn’t recognize if it’s was theirs or its.

Kris always thought it would look like an orb, but it just looks like a mix of a real human heart and the usual illustration of which, trembling with coldness in their hands.

The bleeding in their chest tried to fix the unnatural injury that should’ve killed them. Yet, they couldn’t care less.

The SOUL hit the floor in brutal force, giving the floor a beautiful, bloody paint to the ground. Its form slowly started to merge and morph into something taller, detailed… jointed. A human. A failed imitation of Kris; they were white and red, like a hologram that wasn't quite there. In contrast to Kris, their eyes were visible. They were glitchy, in a sense where they had no iris, but pupils settled in their eyes; Yet the pupils didn't resemble anything human —or monster— as hearts lay in their place, having a lighter shade of red, painted with what, assumingly, seemed like a marker. Wings replaced their ears, flopping in small motions anxiously. Their hair was longer, contrasting their height difference, as they were shorter than Kris. They still had Kris' remarkable clothing, just that the color pattern in their shirt was reversed —Instead of green-yellow-green, it was yellow-green-yellow. One more pair of wings rested on their back, just resting, as they weren't using them right now. They seemed all genders, but no gender at all, leaving it an open canvas on them.

It was so different from Kris, yet so eerily similar.

Ironically, it is the brightest thing in the bedroom.

Unironically, it was on the ground, recovering from the sadistic slam Kris had just given them.

Reluctantly, it started sitting up.

“Ouch. Rude. Couldn´t even place me on the floor —Nope, just a slam." They added a fake disappointed tone to their voice. "The floor is harder than me with your mom last night, y'know. Couldn´t you be gentler?” A cynical smile grew in their artificial lips while they tried to overshadow the unsettling silence with empty words.

Kris was not, undoubtedly, a fan of your mom jokes.

They’re chest burned like Hell’s fire was substituting the missing piece of them —That missing piece was rambling in the background, not even seeming to breath between sentences. It was slightly levitating off the ground, the pair of wing’s on it’s head softly flopping.

Kris eventually stopped staring at them and started looking for something on their pocket. They take out a kitchen knife, wrapping their fingers in the handle and slightly bringing forward. Yet, the SOUL just started grinning, watching them keenly. This disturbed Kris lightly, as they expected a more worried reaction.

“Oh nooo~ Please don’t stab me right here—” They pointed where a human heart normally rested, slightly to the left side of their chest. “—In the chest. That would ruin our beautiful friendship~” The SOUL said with evident sarcasm, with intentions that weren’t so evident.

Why would they ask to stab them?

The SOUL swiftly slides to get behind Kris, casually posing their hand in their shoulder. “You could also just stab yourself. More efficient, and doesn’t waste time.”

Kris eyebrow’s press together in confusion, not quite comprehending the request of the SOUL. Or the SOUL in general. Of course, the SOUL noticed that, quickly heading to clear the puzzlement; with their memorable touch of poisonous mocking, they add “It’s simple, dawling. If you kill me, you also go poof.” Mimicking a small explosion in front of them to really convey the message.

“Masochist.”

“Meh, if you really think about it, it’s more of sadomasochism.”

They stood in front of each other for what seemed less than five minutes, but felt like five hours. Five minutes of looking at each other’s soulless eyes in moonlight darkness. The SOUL had started fidgeting with one of the small, frail wings in their back, trying to distract themselves from the uncomfortable stillness. It seemed like they were just going to remain like that until the sun had set on the horizon and the ray’s of it shone over the window, painting the room in a golden sunlight— it didn’t.

Crimson blood painted a thrilling scenery. Kris had buried deep into the flesh of the phantom leg of the SOUL, pushing it even further down until the knife seemed to make a void where tissue should go. This caused to reflect the excruciating ache in their own limb, forcing them to drop in their knees in an act that seemed almost like an instinct, coughing blood that dripped down to the floor and already blood-soaked clothes. The SOUL bleed, but their blood wasn’t staining when it touched a surface, as it were digital.

Neither of them had made a sound before the SOUL abruptly started laughing like a maniac —It laughed like getting stabbed on the leg was a comedy stand up—. Tears spring in their cheeks which they wiped with the back of their hand, but they were definitely not tears of sadness. Eventually, they were able to calm down enough to articulate a sentence.

“Ohhh— You really thought—” they pause to let out a little terrifying giggle “—you thought I was bluffing.”

They looked up to the SOUL, not responding to their taunts as they held their leg mechanically, seeming as if they were dead with their voidness eyes.

“Isn’t it ironic? You stabbed me and now you’re the one clutching your leg.” Kris just blankly watched the SOUL, expectorating blood, smearing their lower lip with more crimson liquid.

They didn’t know what was worse —the laughter, or the fact that it sounded abnormally human. Something they possibly couldn’t be: Alive.

The SOUL withdrew the knife from their limb, wincing very quietly. They tossed the knife across the room. It knew Kris was already weakened by taking them out —the searing pain in their leg only adding to sting—, so it would be hard to grab the knife again.

“No more hurting yourself, Mr Silent.” They made it seem as if they were taking scissors from a kindergartener.

Kris didn’t react, having a half-alive expression of emptiness in their eyes. They reached for the knife beside them, maybe out of habit, maybe to stab themselves and end it all right there. Yet it was too far, and they certainly didn’t have enough DETERMINATION to stand up. In return, they only stood there, blood dripping from their chin into the ground. The SOUL watched them out of curiosity, waiting for them to finally say something.

It is a bit boring when the opposite side didn’t react to anything you said.

“You protagonists and your dramatics” They said sighing. “Rip your chest out, stab yourself in the leg and call it a Tuesday.”

“Save it”

The SOUL tilted their head, enthusiastic that their companion was finally talking. They sat cross-legged in front of them, flinching when moving the bloody leg. “Ooo, you decided to talk, that’s new.” It commented, smiling in a way that, without any context, anyone would think they were an innocent being —A warm smile, like greeting with a cup of tea.

Kris pryingly watched their reflection, then marked. “This can’t continue.”

“You’re saying we are breaking up!?” Exaggerated the SOUL with a gasp and a hand in their empty chest.

Kris ignored it.

“Let’s make an deal.”

“That sounded like we’re on a bussiness meeting.” Kris exhaled slowly, mentally preparing themselves for a long ride with the talking machine. “What’s next? A power point presentatio—”

Kris interrupted the SOUL, attempting to give them a hint to shut up. “I get complete control of my body anytime but fights.”

The SOUL pouted, already disliking what Kris was offering. The wings in their head —that were resting peacefully on their skull— started fluttering very slowly in a constant movement, as it to gather its thoughts. Finally, with taunting smile, they asked “And where’s the fun in that?”

Kris started to think this was a lost cause, as it only seemed like the SOUL wanted stimulation, apathetic of how they felt. It was hopeless.

“What if… I don’t know, an enemy says a yo mama joke to Ralsei —Could I, me and my innocent selfless self, intervine there? It is an extreme situation after all.”

Kris didn’t answer, instead putting their effort on standing up, falling and scraping on their hands. More blood was now coming out of their hands from scraping with the wood constantly in attempts to gain mobility. The strands of their hair fell into their face, only for them to also ignore it. Ultimately, they managed to get near enough the bed to reach for something beneath it.

“Do you have another hidden knife you gonna stab me with now?”

Chapter Text

A medic kit

Kris, by any reason, had a med kit sitting underneath their covers. It didn’t have it’s usual red color, but more of a light brown. You could dismiss it as a backpack if it wasn’t for the striking red cross at the upper-right corner.

“Wait, um… Did you always have a med kit hidden beneath your bed?” It asked —for the first time since it haunted Kris— in a baffled tone. This obvious confusion didn’t last long, as they started chuckling to suppress any discomposure. “Don’t you think that’s a little weird, Kris?”

Kris raised their head to look at the SOUL and just shrugged in response, as if everyone had a medikit just below where they rested.

“And what are you gonna heal anyway? The imaginary injury in your leg?”

Kris grabbed the medikit and positioned themselves in front of the SOUL, placing the medic kit beside them. They opened the medic kit —the smell of alcohol and old blood escaping as he unzipped the kit—, shortly before expelling more blood from their lips, quickly wiping it with their hand before inspecting for something inside of the kit. The SOUL took a peek inside the medic kit; it was organized, but it obviously looked like it had been used. Bandages half-open, a dried-up blood stain in one of the corners, sewing needles and thread —likely stolen from Toriel—, and a pocket knife that usually don’t come in medic kits.

That’s weird. Why would they have a pocket knife in a med kit?

“What are you doing?” It asked curiously, though some vulnerability seeping through their facade.

Kris didn’t answer, reaching for the SOUL’s leg, making the SOUL flinch by the silent pain, their head wings swinging up and down. They stared at it for what appeared to be for three minutes, analyzing the wound. They noticed three things:

One, the knife went very deep, which should’ve been fatal at this point.

Two, the blood was not being absorbed by surfaces. The wound seemed as virtual.

Three, the SOUL gave the impression of pain, but not death.

Then, Kris pulls out their medic kit some hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads, and without the use of gloves, started cleaning the wound gently. The SOUL hissed from the prickle, their wings jumping up, watching as Kris performed the healing as a routine. “At least warn about the sting.”

After finishing cleaning, they grab a cloth and press down hard against the limb. The cloth faintly glowed as the blood finally decided to absorb into something. Their own leg, in return, started spasming —Not literally, but it felt like it; the smell of blood finally calming down.

“You’re very tender for someone you just stabbed.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” They press down harder, resulting in a small wince the SOUL tried to hide; Rolling their eyes in skepticism, they chuckled at Kris’ horrible attempt to deflect.

The uneasiness returned, the SOUL bringing their lower lip on their teeth, boring their eyes on their punctured limb.

“You know this won’t do anything” The SOUL pessimistically expressed.

The uneasiness stayed put as Kris maintained the silence.

The SOUL impulsively tried to float, finally lifting their head up, yet Kris’ did not let them get an inch away from the floor. They resorted to just boringly clarifying. “No, but like, literally. I’m not… human. Or at least not completely.”

Kris glanced at the SOUL. “You bleed.” They pull the medic kit closer in what seemed to try and reach something inside of it.

“I glitch. It’s different.”

The SOUL brought their gaze back to their leg as Kris replied.

“Still bleed.” They took out a adhesive bandage, wrapping it around the leg in a rough manner —keeping the cloth on the injury— making the SOUL moan in pain because of the ruthlessness in his actions.

They carefully examinated it and released their reflection. The bandage appeared to glow more, lighting up the room in a small amount; it just seemed like the injury couldn’t decide if they were real or unnatural. The SOUL still their head down, staring at their limb, the feathers coming out of their head beginning to flap slowly. “How many times have you done this? You make it seem as something ordinary… mundane.”

Expectedly, Kris didn’t answer; yet, for the first time, the tiniest of guilt and quiet shame revealed on his expression. Their finger brushed in the same spot in their leg, feeling how their pain became more and more quiet. They continued by placing the things back to their kit and sliding beneath the covers of their resting place.

The SOUL sighed, their eyes not reaching Kris’ eyes. “Fine. I accept the deal.”

Kris lifted their head immediately.

“BUT!—” it continued, their wings making an effort to at least float off the ground. “but, I don’t want you to call me SOUL like SOMEONE does.” Their gaze headed up, as if giving the narrator an hint, yet in Kris’ perspective their were only looking at the ceiling. Kris showed confusion in its actions. “It’s annoying.”

“But, ahem. Um, so like I was saying. Call me Play. Y’know, ‘cuz playe—,” The SOUL paused, as if considering to continue or not. “…forget it, you won’t understand.”

Kris nodded, their lips curling up in a small manner. Play watched Kris, acting irritated while suppressing a smile. They started morphing into their cartoonish form —which now had a bandage wrapped—, and went back inside Kris’ chest. Their ribs closed in them, slowly giving the strength back into Kris as the hole started closing until their chest was as normal, leaving no trace of the act committed beforehand.

You’re welcome, by the way.

They returned back to their bed, entering their covers before letting their eyelids fall again.