Colors | Chara x Papyrus

Chapter One: Red Guardian Angel

- - -

     Everyone led her to believe that if she stayed determined, everything would be okay. Life wouldn't always be easy, but she could make it. Frisk could overcome any obstacle, just as she did in the Underground.
She was wrong, they were wrong. And they never bothered to tell her that her life would become a living Hell.

     Chara plagued Frisk like a curse. That demon resided in the back of her mind for what felt like eons, whispering, insulting, abusing.
Frisk was a ticking time bomb, one that would explode then reset itself. Nothing was ever at ease, she was always stricken with fear and paranoia. Dust bunnies building up beneath the ottoman would briefly turn her blood to ice. Her heart would erupt in panic, and her mind would flash with unsavory memories from her time in the Underground.
     The glint of knives and their pull made her sick. Frisk had a dreadful draw to them, their gleam so enticing in the worst of ways. She wanted to throw them all out, but the thought of even touching one of those blades immediately dismissed the notion.

Chara's pure essence made Frisk bitter. Somedays, she just couldn't bare it. In the seclusion of her home, like light rain before a storm, she breaks down. There's a slight drizzle before dark clouds cover and blur her world. They grow darker, rain pouring down in an endless stream, but thunder would never hit. She'd cry in racking sobs, but they're silent. They have to be.
     No one could know of her inner torment. She found it easy to smile around others, to act as if all her problems were fantasy. They couldn't help her, nobody could, not even herself. She'd suffer through it unwillingly, wondering if all this pain was really worth it.

At times she'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't, but she would never go through with it.

- - -

     Sans had taken Frisk out to their neighborhood's annual carnival, but she wasn't too interested in any of the prizes or rides. Frisk didn't even seem to have any desire for cotton candy, which he knew she loved.
     They'd gone to sit on a bench after Frisk didn't vocalize, but greatly conveyed her indifference. She stared distantly into the gradient orange and violet sky, the life gone from her eyes. Frisk was voiceless, leaning into Sans' shoulder with their fingers intertwined. Sans had easily noticed that something was off. Frisk seemed neglectful. Her digits were limp, and barely closed around his.
     "Y'know, Frisk. I'm glad I've cotton to know you, I know I candy a little much at times," Sans attempted, internally shaking his head at how awful that was. Even he knew he could've done better. Despite that, Frisk smiled sweetly, but her eyes remained desolate. Sans drew circles on her palm, staring at the ground. His eyelids shut momentarily, before looking back to Frisk.
     "You had them again, didn't you," his voice had lowered an octave, tension sneaking its way into the air.

A few months after migrating to the surface, she'd told him. She told him of her nightmares, of her burden. Most of the time it was hard to notice her shift in behavior. Sans had to look out for the tired eyes, the distant stares, and the long silences.
Frisk's grip on his hand was suddenly firm. To his own surprise, she nodded, tears dribbling down her cheeks. Sans felt a twinge of sorrow at his lover's distress. He pulled her into his embrace, Frisk whimpering into his shirt.

She then heard an unmissable voice groan in disgust. Her blood ran cold. She'd never get used to it.

"I can't believe you're still doing this," Chara scorned. Frisk kept her head buried in Sans' warmth, she didn't want to see her, she didn't want to see her demon.
"Taking shelter in your most prominent killer, I'm astounded by your stupidity," Frisk could feel herself trembling, now gripping the edges of Sans' hoodie.
"I'm even more speechless by the fact that you think he even cares about you. Are you aware that this is the same trash bag who shot bones through your ignorant little head?"
"Please stop," Frisk whispered, her voice feeble.
"The same dunce who laughed as your lifeless body hit the floor," Chara continued, her words overflowing with hate.
"Enough."
"The same skeleton, who had no problem taking your life over and over and over again," Frisk was full-on shaking at this point, her hands trying desperately to seal her ears, but she heard Chara loud and clear.
"Frisk?!" She stopped. Chara was gone, but her aura lingered, buzzing in the back of Frisk's head. It drove her insane.
"Sorry, Sans. I'm fine." Frisk rose from Sans' arms, frowning at the sight of his now tear-stained shirt. A bony hand reached over to occupy her cheek. Frisk pressed into his touch, meeting Sans' small pupils.
"I can't watch this anymore," Sans stated. Frisk tensed, knowing exactly where this was going.
"Sans I-"
"No, Frisk! I won't watch you endure any longer. It's killing you," Sans said harshly, but his voice cracked. Frisk didn't respond, resting her hand atop his, accepting defeat.
"I'm going to contact Alphys, she can help us sort this out." Sans informed softly, taking out his phone. Frisk sucked in a breath.
"You must be out of your mind," Chara claimed jadedly, fear masked by her words.