A drop here, a drop there (a one-shots/snippet book)

A Story About Him 2 (UT/WtNV)

Frisk sat in a bench in Grove Park, the tune that had became familiar in their three weeks in this town fading off into silence. The radio clicked, turning itself off as if aware that its two listeners had no wish to listen to whatever show is next ("Tune in next, for that feeling when you enter a room and wonder why you entered it in the first place.").

Considering where they were, maybe it was.

"How did he get that many details?! We didn't tell him all that!" Flower exclaimed angrily from where he was in a pot. He would've preferred the ground due to increased mobility, but the town was too unpredictable and unfamiliar for him to feel comfortable wandering by himself yet. So, pot it is.

Unless he's absolutely sure there aren't any giant worms slobbering about or radioactive grass or something like that, he'll stay in his safe little pot thank you very much. ("Stop laughing, Frisk!")

Frisk hummed, and he knew what they were gonna say so he replied, "Yes, I know Cecil just seem to know things he's not supposed to, but all that was before we came to Night Vale! And it all happened outside of this weird town!"

Frisk just shrugged, which made Flowey grumble to himself. The child reached over to pat the flower's head, making him flinch in surprise and then hiss like a particularly grumpy cat. Frisk just smiled, completely unaffected.

"You don't have to be so nervous, Flowey."

"What?" Flowey bristled. "Me? Nervous? As if! What makes you think that?"

"Cecil said so."

"Bah! He doesn't always know everything. He's making that up."

"Sure, sure..."

"Hey, what's that tone for?!" Flowey exclaimed indignantly, but Frisk just giggled. He turned his head away with a huff.

A short silence, then Flowey was speaking again.

"Ugh, it's so embarrassing... how you convinced me to tell through the radio I have no idea." He muttered, but his voice didn't have as much heat as it used to. Instead, the way his eyes wandered down and to the side hinted at uncertainty, even while he made an attempt at anger with a scowl.

Frisk hummed, kicking their legs back on forth. "Cecil said he can make sure that only those who needed to hear will. Everyone else in town will hear a different broadcast."

"And how exactly can he do that?"

A shrug. "Night Vale." That seemed to be the typical answer to anything weird/impossible happening around here. "Also, you said that telling it through the radio would make it easier. They get to learn the whole thing without you getting interrupted again and again with questions."

Flowey groaned, "Whatever my reasons were, I'm regretting everything right now. Can you put me down in the ground? I need to bury myself for the next hundred years." To hell with giant worms and radioactive grass.

"Don't be like that. I'm sure everything will go fine," Frisk assured. They got up from their seat and smiled down at him. "Well, ready to go home and face the music?"

Flowey sighed, "Let's just get this over with."

Frisk then proceeded actually create music by humming some tune, which made Flowey glare at them.

Frisk, the little brat, just grinned cheekily.

_________________

It's not that Flowey didn't have emotions. Curiosity is what drove him to try different things each time he reset. Boredom is what drove him to start killing just for something different to happen. Loneliness and longing were what he drowned in for those long years without Chara and before Frisk. Happiness was what he felt when he thought Chara had come back. He had emotions. They're not as strong as when he was Asriel, but they're there.

It's just that he is incapable of feeling compassion for another person. Empathy. Putting yourself in other's shoes, and feeling what they're feeling. When Flowey hurt someone, he can't connect with what they're going through. So even if a mother begged at him to spare her child, the desperation and fear in her eyes wouldn't move him, wouldn't make him feel guilty.

It made killing easy. He's a terrible person, he knew.

But, while he can't feel compassion, he did have memories of when he had. And one of those memories was very recent.

When the souls of the Underground's inhabitants was inside him, and once the rush of power and bloodthirst was pushed away by memories of happinesslovepaingriefmercy, he was reminded of what compassion was like. What compassion felt like.

And so, looking at Toriel's wide eyes, filled with tears as she looked back at him with fragile hope and a grief that lasted centuries, he couldn't bring himself to say any harsh remarks, or even anything snarky to snap her out of it.

"Are-are you really..." Toriel made a motion as if to reach out to him from where he was placed on the window sill in Frisk's room, but stopped herself.

Flowey sighed. "Yes and no. I used to be Asriel...but I'm not him, not anymore. His soul had passed on, I'm just someone who had his memories."

"But..."

"I'm not the Asriel you know, Toriel. I'm Flowey now. I just decided to come clean with my past, but I'm not your son," Flowey said firmly, though somewhere inside, there was a slight feeling of loss that he'll never admit. It was better this way, to make it clear. If they tried to be what once was, all they would find was disappointment as Flowey failed to act like their little Azzy. And Flowey didn't want to pretend. He's done with pretending. "You heard the broadcast, you know the things I did, what I went through. You really think your dear Asriel will do those things?"

He realized that hint of mocking had entered his voice when Frisk frowned at him, and he sighed again. "I did terrible things," Flowey admitted quietly, "and your son is a good person. He would've never..."

Toriel was crying stronger now, hands covering her mouth and shoulders shaking. Frisk quietly sat on the other side their bed, letting the family have their moment, but close enough to give Flowey their support with their presence. Also to make sure he didn't say anything he shouldn't.

The slowly door opened with a creak, and as Asgore joined the family gathering, as Frisk became sure Flowey had gotten the hang of explaining what was needed, Frisk silently slipped away. They figured the family needed the space.

"C-can we have our Azzy, just for a little while. Just- one last g-good bye..."

A pause. A soft sigh, and a softer, "Okay."

A faint rustling of cloth as the Dreemurrs gave their son a final hug.

The last time they will do so as the family they once were.