Chapter Text
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I watch the kid jump into the door, and it closes.
Again, that… that NOISE sounds, and the entire thing disappears. I hate that goddamn sound. It's like a cello or a violin being violently beaten to death.
They're gone. I'm only gonna see the kid in the form of ink on a page. If even that. I don't know if that kid likes me.
We're friendly enough for nicknames, at least.
The Old Man hums, and walks closer to me as if he has a corporal form. “We shall return home then, won't we?”
“Yup. Let's get goin’, ya old bastard.” I've been trying to limit my language over the years. I was quite the potty mouth when I was younger, when I did speak anyhow. But with the kids… I had to take advanced courses. Like having Carmen deep wash my mouth with soap for a week every time an expletive came out my mouth.
That was hell. Assuming hell doesn't exist now. Which it assuredly does.
As my creaky legs carry me slowly up the hill to the Toyota, I wonder.
November 30th. That was the day I fell.
We fell.
Those savages… The idea that ANY amount of damage I dealt to those literal troglodytes was undeserved is complete hogwash!
But… apparently so.
Literally the Word of God.
I got two jobs now. Suppose that's just the way it is.
I always figured something was gonna come out of that Hellhole, ready to take away all the good I had managed to do… That I’d have to fight to protect humanity from those scoundrels. But I never expected something like this.
I just don't get that kid. How. How can they believe in those animals when they have only hurt them? Pretty words and deception?
Naw. The kid may be… The way they are, but they ain't stupid.
I don't understand.
The Loner, a psychotic blood drinking freak who nearly made that kid have a heart attack with those thunderbolts…
The Fake Cowboy, a Poindexter wannabe who aimed a gun square at a child's face…
The Furry Drunkard, a negligent idiot who got TWO children hurt due to her own idiocy and mental problems…
That Tincan, who MURDERED A EIGHT YEAR OLD CHILD, COVERED IT UP, AND HAS THE ABSOLUTE f*ckIN’ GALL TO FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. WHAT HORSEsh*t.
“Inhale. Exhale. Breathe, son. We're on the road.” That's the worry in the Old Man's voice. I have to give it to the Tyrant. He gives good advice.
These are the things that run through my mind as I drive back home.
I wonder how the kids are gonna take a second job?
đź’›
Rot.
That is what I do. On the couch.
Watching movies.
I forgot how much I loved cowboy stuff when I was a youngun. Little Eastwood sat there for five hours watching different westerns that they'd already seen before, acting as if they had seen them for the first time.
The stars in their eyes…
Is it weird to find a younger version of myself cute? They're smaller than Bell or even Daisy, and that kid is younger. I never realized… Maybe my intense atmosphere stopped people from feeling that way.
I “grew out” of cowboy stuff a long time ago. Never because I had… thought it was stupid, or immature, or any of that. I just… lost the energy for it.
After my mission.
I've been recommended therapy by Carmen. And ESPECIALLY Ray. That asshole will never shut up about it, it feels like. They will never know what I went through. They assume that I had been abused by foster parents or something. I can tell that's what they're thinking. Their silence doesn't remove that look in their eyes or the way Ray walks on eggshells regarding the topic of families when I'm around, or how Carmens punches are always just a little softer when she's looking me straight in the eye.
But they don't know.
But what would I even say? To them? To the Therapist? Nothing. That's what.
Therapy would just be a waste of time and money. And a dangerous risk for all of humanity. That money would be better spent on more clothes for the kids or something.
So I keep quiet.
Story of my life.
I sit on the couch. Watching old Clint Eastwood movies. Dirty Harry.
I pigeonholed myself into cowboy movies as a kid. I never realized that just because it didn't have the hats or the desert, it didn't mean that there wasn't just enough Cowboy for my liking.
That kid lit something in me. I haven't really felt this interested in movies or anything in years. Their enthusiasm is infectious, I suppose. Not even the kids were as excited about it as Little Eastwood was.
The Old Man watches along with me. He's never seen this one before. He keeps whinging about “violent human movies'' and how “he now gets where I got it from.” That old bastard can be a smartass at times. He didn't use to be that way.
The doorbell rings.
I immediately pause the movie. It's 7 o'clock.
Kids’re here.
I manage to liberate myself from the not very comfortable couch, and speed walk on over to the front door.
But before I can actually open the door, Blonde locks come and punch me in the face, and I feel the breath taken out of me as I feel my daughter throw herself at me.
“Daddy!”
She doesn't have her “Cowgirl Ritz” on. Just simple overalls and a white shirt. She's held up by her iron grip on my intestines, it feels like.
“Howdy, Pumpkin. How was that… uh…”
“His name was Hiro.” Bluebell informs me. Wait.
“Hero?”
“No, HIRO.”
Oh. “Well, how was Hiro’s place?”
Bluebell wears their bandana around their neck, which is covered by a purple hoodie.
“It was fun…” Suddenly, they look a lot less talkative. They shyly walk on over to the table, putting their pack on the table, and begin digging it to fish all their stuff out.
“Yer darn tootin! His house was BIG! Even bigger than ours! We played dart gun, and I won a whole lot-”
“She sure did…” Bell bitterly grumbles.
Daisy waves her hand around a little more, like she's conducting an orchestra. “And we watched that old cartoon western about the lizard, and the Japanese cartoon about the Aliens and the Dragon genitals and… and…”
As I sit there, listening to the sound of her voice, Daisy suddenly stops. And she's giving me an odd look. Her animated movements suddenly stop as her hands drop, and she looks worried.
“Did something happen, Pa?”
Not this again. I scratch at my beard. I think I need to shave sometime soon.
“Why ya say that?”
“Well..” Daisy suddenly looks a lot less chipper. “Yer not smiling. Yer usually smilin’ when I tell you about muh friends.” sh*t. Am I not?
“He sounded weird over the phone, too. I told you about that, right?” Bluebell suddenly chimes in, pulling out their drinks they brought over. I knew it. Little Eastwood was clouding my thoughts on the phone.
“Yup.”
“We both think something happened over the weekend. Will you tell us about it or not?”
They both walk up to me, one looking worried and the other having an almost dangerous expression on their face. They swarm around me… like those alley cats that beat the sh*t out of Aster that one time.
Poor thing. Still has some scars on his ear.
“The children can wait until they're older… as for now. Tell them you… Think of it as a new position at work. It is not entirely incorrect.” The old man says. He doesn't look very enthused about telling me this. He's usually happier when the kids are around.
I'm almost convinced he helped me along with the adoption process because he wanted to be around someone that wasn't me. But I digress.
“I'm gonna be working longer hours, you two.”
Suddenly, the look on Bell's face disappears, and I can only see… Dismay.
I don't want to tell them this. It hurts.
“Oh. Okay…”
I can't handle this. I have to act.
I suddenly get on my knees, and hug the moody little cowpoke before they can get into that state where they barely talk to me and don't give me smartass quips. I hate it when they do that.
Makes me feel like I'm one of the caretakers at the Foster homes.
I really hate it when they do that.
I feel Bell grab tighter to me, but they stay silent. They were never especially… vocal, with their emotions. They either do and say nothing at all, or they act. They're like me in that way.
The kid has abandonment issues. They had complicated feelings about their… biological parents.
They were both abusive, and neglectful, all at once. They were never around, and when they were, they were horrible. Unspeakably horrible.
I never did meet their parents. Those varmints were dead long before I even saw little Bell holding Daisy's hand in the home. They looked like they wanted to kick my ass.
Bell's told me a lot. But they never did tell me what exactly happened to their parents. Ebotts Home for the Orphaned Young never gave me a concrete answer either. I don't think they knew the answer.
But the way Bell talks about them… and how cagey they are about it…
They had a .22 short revolver, hidden in their pocket, when I adopted them. That's more iron than I was packing at their age, with my plastic Toy Dart Gun.
I wonder…
Well. Worse things have happened.
Oh, how things change…
Bell buries themselves into the crook of my neck, despite the fact I haven't showered in two days.
I hear the clack of Daisy's loud ass boots.
“Well… I suppose if it's more money… for us to live here. Then, what's the harm?”
She sounds like she's trying to convince herself, more than anything. Always with optimism, with her. Even when she doesn't really believe in it.
Daisy, even though she's quite the chatterbox, is guarded. She's deceptively honest. I don't know a goddamn thing about her life before I came into the picture.
I'm sure she's told Bell, though.
The bruises I see sometimes, on her neck… and the way she flinches when I playfully swat at her…
Calm down. Not now. Best not to think of that right now.
“But that just means Clover’s gonna be away from home more…” Bell mumbles in my neck. They sound miserable. I feel like a demon, sucking out the hope these kids have.
Always at work… I hate it.
But that's the way the world is. The only way I could even get up here was by… getting stronger.
Strong enough to blast that weed and the Old man to smithereens.
I took out a debt that day. This is how I pay it off. This is how I earn my keep.
For them. Bluebell and Daisy. My children.
And Aster, I guess. But he's a cat, he'll be okay without me. Maybe. He's one lazy ass feline.
“I'm sorry… But it's for us. For you. For Daisy.” I pull away from Bell, and they give me the damnedest expression. They can give puppy dog eyes better than anyone else, even Daisy. It's no wonder that they and Aster never did get along. Cats and Dogs...
“And even Uncle Ray and Aunt Carmen. I have to..." How to word this? Ah. "...Take this position. Okay?”
“Come here, you two.” I beckon to them, my arms outstretched.
I feel both of them suddenly run up to me, and hold on to me like I'm about to dissolve to dust if they let go. If their arms were around my neck they would kill me.
I even feel little Aster come up to us, and Daisy giggles as he climbs onto my shoulder. I hiss as I feel his claws dig into my back. Should have kept the jacket on.
And of course… Asgore, with a wistful smile on his face. Looking down at all of us.
I was reminded off the kid. Hugged by their new friends in New Home.
The Fake Cowboy. That nerd has the nerve to have tears in his eyes, right after he pulled the trigger on a child. “Sheriff.” Please.
The Furry Drunkard. She's acting stoic, but she's a complete mess, I can tell. I feel my blood boil, thinking of her. The betrayal. Just how hurt little Eastwood was… What a miserable bitch. Literally.
…And Martlet.
I hope she got that letter. I can tell by the look on little Eastwood's face that they were not going to give most of those letters to their intended recipients. But I'm alright with that. Those were intended to just let off some steam on my own end. Somewhere, in some way, those selfish jackasses know just how much I hate them. Just how much Little Eastwood should hate them, if they weren't so…
But… that letter to Martlet… I really hope she got that letter.
Martlet is really such a nice name…
It has to be Martlet. Martlet is the reason that kid believes in those savages. I understand, I suppose.
I hug tighter to my kids. If I have anything to say about it, they'll stay blissfully ignorant about that day in November.
But. Whatever happens… I’ll deal with it.
As I always have. I'm stubborn that way.
Or I'm just lucky.
God only knows.
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