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[catchacold]

( ACTION | AUDIO | MIRROR | TEXT | VIDEO )

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[determinedest]

[Hurt like...now. They breathe in through their nose, their expression taut, but they don't make a sound. They slowly flex their fingers open and shut. The whole thing aches, but it doesn't feel like there's any slivers of anything stuck inside it anymore.

They shake their head slowly.]

It feels like they're all out.

[Never had to deal with injuries this...small before. Usually it's spears or bones or electricity or something. Something big and powerful enough to kill. Pain is secondary, and death is a temporary setback, and monster food is the immediate relief. Not used to doing things this way. The slow way.]

sorry for the amazing slowness, I was on unofficial hiatus, back to normal now!

[catchacold]

Good.

[There's not really any way to make this easy for them, not with what he knows. Leonard has never gotten familiar with the easy way.]

Think you need some stitches. Trouble with hands, you keep having to use them, so if they're not treated properly, they won't heal.

[He looks up at them from where he's crouching on the floor, recognising that look, the determination. He knows that look.]

Up for it, kid?

it's totally cool!

[determinedest]

Yeah.

[They nod shortly, firmly, decisive. However painful it might get, they've handled worse, they think. Even if it's on a smaller scale now. Death hurts, and they remember every moment of it.

Every moment of slowly expiring in the Deep Roads from some kind of fantasy illness.

Frisk sets their jaw, locks their expression.]

Don't worry. I'll be fine.

[catchacold]

Yeah. You will be.

[He picks up the needle, threading it with sure hands. When he makes the first stitch, he looks up at them, just so he'll know whether they're going to pass out.]

I only need to make two more.

[determinedest]

[They wince a few times, unused to the minute twinges - death is always so much bigger, so much more all-encompassing. Spears slam through them or bones pierce them or electricity disintegrates their body with a searing blaze of ozone and burning flesh. It's abrupt, complete, and vicious, and it hurts every time but they always get the peace of death and the Continue following it.

They wince as the needle pulls at the bits of apposed skin, closing the open wound, but they lock their jaw and nod.]

Okay. It's okay.

[catchacold]

You're doing good, kid.

[He makes another stitch, putting his hand down on the sofa next to them, just in case they do faint. Doesn't look like it, but better safe than sorry. One, then two more stitches and he ties the thread off, looking up at their face again.]

Gonna bandage it, then we're done.

[He picks up the bottle and tilts it over one more time, making sure it's all disinfected. Then he holds the bandage out to them.]

Want to do it yourself?

[He's noted - and can relate - that they don't care for being touched.]

[determinedest]

[It's an offer they don't quite expect, and it earns him a slightly startled glance upwards in his direction followed by the faint furrowing of a brow. And then - a nod.]

Yeah. I know how.

[Had to do it many times. Many, many times. Old bandage clinging to dried blood on their wrist and arm when they fell Underground. What happens when you've got spare time and scissors, ha-ha.

Accept the bandage, start to wind it around their hand in careful, precise movements. They're not left handed, but they know how to bandage their right hand. Done it enough times.

Don't quite look up to meet his eyes, focus on wrapping their hand tight, but not too tight, not tight enough to cut off the circulation and make it numb.]

...thank you.

[catchacold]

[He sits back on his heels and watches, just to make sure they can really do it. Since it seems like they have practice, he finally gets up and walks over to the mirror, picking up a handy hammer he keeps next to it and smashing it, as he does periodically.]

Don't mention it, kid.

[No, he's not fond of the mirrors either and he only turns back to them again after he puts the hammer down.]

Does the pain help you any?

[determinedest]

[Almost flinch at the loud noise, the crash of things breaking other things. But it's okay. Didn't do anything wrong (is that a joke?!) so it's fine. Just making sure no one looks in on them.

Flinch at the question, trying to frown, look appropriately scandalized. But they can't.]

I don't know what you mean.

[It's too obvious a lie, too stammered out, too hesitant. Of course the pain helps. It's the only thing that helps.]

[catchacold]

Right.

[He leans back against the wall, folding his hands loosely in front of himself as he looks at them.]

I used to get hurt for showing weakness. Helped condition me, I guess.

[determinedest]

["Get hurt." Not...hurt myself? Frisk swallows hard and finds it difficult to stay focused on the task. Breathing through their nose. Trying to balance themselves.]

"Get" hurt?

[catchacold]

M-hm.

[He keeps his eyes on them, just in case they lose balance, to make sure they'd fall on the couch and not drop to the floor.]

My father thought it was a good way to teach a lesson.

1/2

[determinedest]

[A flinch, barely perceptible, maybe, and a sharp intake of breath.]

He -

[Chara knows what it's like. They know they know what it's like. They know how hard it is to survive like that, keep going even though things break and people break things and you're just a greedy little smear on their lives, all taking and no giving.

Who else?

Who else got hurt because humans are hateful, loathsome things that hurt children who dare to act like children?]

[determinedest]

[And then their expression closes into something cold and tautly contained, subtly angry.]

Humans, [they grind out between clenched teeth,] really suck.

[catchacold]

[He nods, because he's not about to disagree with that. Why would he?

But on the other hand.]

Yeah. But somehow there's still some people that are good. That try helping others. Risking their lives. Never got that.

[Then he went and did it. Again and again.]

I always wondered how that happens. Do these people not know that the world sucks? But life ain't really easier for them. They just do it anyway. Hell if I know why. Good people. Why do they exist? What's in it for them?

[determinedest]

Because you get to feel good.

[The answer is immediate and sharp, without the barest hint of hesitation. They should know. They're one of those people everyone says is good and nice and the friend I always wished I'd had. But they're not all that, are they?

Of course not.

They're just better at pretending.]

You treat someone nice. You say something good to them. You smile at them, you spare them. You get to pretend, for a minute, that you're not just a mistake.

But it's just selfish. You're not doing good things for them. You're doing it for yourself, just so you can bear to - to live with yourself.

[catchacold]

Yeah? Then how come you just feel like shit?

[He moves one hand up his arm until it's around elbow level, which is just far enough from hugging himself that it's not too obvious in his body language.]

[determinedest]

[Ha...is he asking them? Them? They never have the answers they wish they had. They flex their fingers, closing them shut and then open again, outwardly testing the integrity of the bandage. Inwardly reveling in the minute spikes of pain the action generates. Deserved.]

'Cause we can't escape it. [They say it faintly, softly, eyes flicking briefly up and down again.] We're humans. We're evil.

[* Understand, human?
* This is your only chance at redemption.]

[catchacold]

That's bullshit. That logic doesn't add up, kiddo.

[He looks at them, one eyebrow raised. Not really challenging them as much as the argument itself.]

If there ain't such a thing as good, you still wanna claim to be evil instead? That's some indoctrinated brainwashing level of logical fallacy. If selfish intent matters for good, good intent has to matter for evil. Cancels each other out. Nothing evil, just grey. Lines aren't that clear.

We can escape it.

[determinedest]

[They frown, and look away. Not wanting to contest the viewpoint when he just helped them, uncertain where they stand in terms of this impromptu psychological, philosophical debate regarding humanity and morality and who knows what else.]

So what, then? We just act like it's okay?

Good exists. I know it exists. But we don't get it.

["Good" is for monsters. For beings that require that love and compassion and kindness to exist.]

[catchacold]

"We" being humans? Cause I don't know if that's true. I've seen good people. I've experienced goodness.

Y'know. I think by just saying that humans are only capable of evil, you're making it really easy for all the assholes out there. If we don't get a choice in this, then it ain't our fault, is it? If we can't be anything but.

[He looks down for a few moments, then shakes his head slowly.]

I've seen humans be good. Not me. Maybe not you. But if none of us could, it'd mean that we're just as bad as the rest. Don't know about you, but I know I'm worse.

[determinedest]

[Ha...he kind of has a really good point. If you say you're evil and bad and wrong and accept it, it just makes it that much easier to do all those horrible things. Humans are evil. You struck down that helpless Whimsun because you're evil. No choice in it. That's just how humans are.

It makes them sick.]

So...what, then? What are we?

[catchacold]

Ain't ever as simple as black and white, kid.

[That's kind of it, but he has a feeling that answer won't be good enough. Nothing straight-forward.]

Capable of either and usually a mix. Don't think most make it past mediocre. People don't have the dedication to either side.

[determinedest]

[Wish it would be. Wish it could be. Wish it could be simple as don't kill and don't be killed. But sometimes, apparently, people hurt you without meaning to. Sometimes, apparently, people have a really good reason to try to kill you and worse, and it doesn't always make them terrible and irredeemable.

Sometimes, apparently, the world doesn't bend to their wishes.

Is that so terrible?]

Someone, um... [Voice is wavering. They try to exert some level of control over it.] Someone told me that, that being good is a...choice. That you keep making. Over and over.

[Frisk said that. To Chara. Didn't even really believe it.

Some friend they are, huh.

Some friend.

Some partner.]

[catchacold]

Sounds a lot like something I was told. Definitely something I learned.

[He offers a shrug, feeling the fabric of his jacket between two fingers.]

Same with being bad. And some choices, hell, most, are both at the same time and meant to be neither.