Chapter Text
The wind had picked up again, and little gusts of snow swirled around his feet. Asgore shivered again and drew his coat tighter around himself and the drowsy boy who huddled closer to him. He had told his son that they would wait until nightfall before returning home, but Asgore had decided to wait a little longer. He had two reasons for that. For one thing, he simply didn’t want this moment with his son to end.
This wasn’t what he had planned when he had come to the empty park alone a few hours earlier. He had intended to bring a long, painful journey to its end. To meet the father of a little girl, to confess terrible sins, to beg for forgiveness, and then to await whatever judgement the man gave, delivered in whatever way he chose. The arrival of Asriel had been entirely unexpected. The sudden torrent of confessions that had poured out of his boy a few minutes later had been both bewildering and horrifying. And now, despite the cold and discomfort, Asgore was grateful for a few more moments of quiet just to hug his son and try to make sense of the deeply disturbing things he had just been told.
His son… the little prince of monsters who bore a crushing burden of brokenness and guilt that no child should have to bear. His son who, in the quietness of that empty park, had finally unburdened himself in a way that Asgore had been hoping for, longing for for months. Asgore wanted so much to fix it – fix it all, take away all the sorrow, remove the burden of guilt, help his son heal somehow.
But where could he even begin? How could he even begin to comprehend the things his son had said? The atrocities that Asriel had witnessed - no, not just witnessed. Had committed. That casual, almost detached recitation of murder, slaughter, and genocide of his own people… and the horrific details of how, in a way Asgore could not comprehend, Asriel had killed his own father repeatedly, in progressively more barbaric ways, rewinding time so that he could invent some newly debauched way to rip him apart. The ice that had run through Asgore's blood as he listened had had nothing to do the winter cold.
And yet, it wasn't as though he could even remember any of the events that Asriel had described. Asgore had no doubt his son was telling the truth, but despite Frisk's best efforts at trying to explain how it was possible for certain people to go back and change the events of history, it still seemed like a dystopian fantasy. Asgore could only listen to his son's description of his crimes as if it was a grisly horror story someone had forced Asriel to write. It was a mercy, the king thought, that he didn't have any memory of those events. Hearing Asriel's confessions was bad enough, but the massacre he had described still felt detached from the real world. The words were shocking to him, but with no memories of the attacks, the raw emotional pain was mercifully absent.
But that didn't mean his heart hadn't broken for his son.
Unburdened? No, that was the wrong word. Asriel hadn’t unburdened himself. The horrors had been acknowledged, confessed, and wept over, but not released. It hadn’t mattered that Asgore had told his son that he still loved him. That he didn’t judge him. That he was still his son. That it hadn’t really been him doing those things, but a twisted corruption of who he really was. That he was really back now and that other soulless creature was gone forever and he was Asriel again, gentle Asriel, Asriel whose heart was tender and compassionate and would never ever ever do those things, he was back now, and everything was OK and he and his mother loved him dearly, and his brother Frisk and all his other friends would be there for him and nobody was angry with him now and everything was OK now and...
His words had trailed off into helpless pity. It hadn’t helped. It hadn’t mattered.
Asriel had given him a sad smile and had eventually grown quiet again, as if the floodgates of anguish he had opened had drained him completely and left him empty. He had wordlessly snuggled back up against the king. But the pain had only been temporarily numbed. Asgore knew that better than anyone. How can you possibly atone for that level of wickedness? How do you beg forgiveness from people who don’t even know you hurt them? How do you forget their faces, their begging, their screams as you murd…
NO! thought Asgore. That wasn’t Asriel!
It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. His gentle, kindhearted son? His innocent boy with a beaming smile, who squealed in delight when you tickled him, who loved to make drawings for his parents, whose eyes shone with the light of the crystal stars he loved to watch in the rocky ceilings far above him, who had been the first one to welcome a human into the monster kingdom with excitement and delight, who laughed as he chased his brother through the golden flower beds, who would burst into tears if you looked at him funny? His Asriel… a sadistic murderer? The very thought was obscene.
No. It was Flowey. Flowey had done those things. Not Asriel.
Certainly there had been something of Asriel in Flowey. That much was clear to Asgore, even if the rest of the explanation was still incomprehensible to him. Flowey had held all of Asriel’s memories, and for a brief time the true character of Asriel had still been there – helpfulness, a desire to bond with his parents and befriend others, willingness to contribute to life in the Underground. But Asriel’s soul wasn’t in Flowey. And eventually, everything that was good about Asriel had drained away. If the only thing that had been left was Asriel’s memories - if the flower had no soul, no emotions other than sadistic pleasure, no morality, no conscience – could it really have been Asriel? Could his gentle, sweet son have really been a barbaric murderer? Was it really Asriel who had killed him? Had it really been Asriel who had gone to the Ruins and murdered his dear Tor…
“NO!”
The lump under Asgore’s coat jumped at the sudden outburst, and a flush of embarrassment washed over Asgore. A furry head burrowed its way out.
“Dad… are you OK?”
Asgore cleared his throat and gave a little cough. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, Asriel. I was just… thinking about something. I guess I accidentally stopped thinking and started talking there for a moment”. The king gave an awkward little laugh.
From the slightly-worried look on Asriel’s face, it was clear he wasn’t buying it. “Are you sure, Dad? You sounded kind of angry about something”.
Asgore sighed, and gently laid his massive paw on Asriel’s head. “I’m fine son. There are just a lot of things to think about these days, aren’t there? A great deal has happened over the last few months. I suppose I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
The vague explanation clearly hadn’t answered Asriel’s question, but after looking at his father’s face for another moment or two, he took a deep breath and huddled back against him.
I’m still trying to figure out how you are even here, dear one. Unconsciously, Asgore wrapped his coat back around his son and pulled him tighter. And I know that whatever happened in the past, the REAL you is here now. My boy. My dear boy…
As his eyes drifted aimlessly over the park lake in front of him, another feeling began to rise up in him. A frequent, unwelcome visitor, as familiar as it was hated. Guilt filled his mind as it so often did in quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts.
At least one of us has an excuse, he thought. How do I explain what I did? What excuse did I have?
A flood of memories washed over Asgore, even as he closed his eyes and fought in vain to not think the thoughts. The death of his adopted son for reasons that were never clear to him. The compounded grief of his other son dying in an attempt to grant his brother’s last wish. The wailing and wrenching agony when he and Toriel had discovered the two bodies in the throne room, one cold and lifeless, the other a pile of dust, the only thing left of his dear Asriel who had surely cried out as he had collapsed and disintegrated with nobody to help him, nobody to be with him in his last moments. And then…
Then, the beginning of Asgore’s downfall. The fist raised above the crowds below him. The angry oath sworn to his people. The horror as he realized what he had just done, even as the applause and cheers rose up to the palace balcony. The mixture of anger, grief, and revulsion in his wife’s eyes as she turned her back on him. The paralyzing feeling of not knowing how to escape the path he was on, or undo the vow he had made to all monsters. And then…
… And then, the first girl.
Asgore’s head dropped. All these years later, their faces were still clear in his mind. He remembered the look that every one of them gave him. Some hopeful. Some pleading. Some desperate. And then…
… And then his trident, stabbing downwards. The fireballs erupting from his hands.
How do you find forgiveness from children you murdered?
The other reason Asgore was still sitting on the park bench was because he simply wanted this to be over. Five families. Five painful conversations that, for better or worse, were at least concluded. His journey of atonement was almost complete, and he desperately just wished the father of the final child would come over the hill and say or do whatever he was going to do, so this could all be over with.
Atonement? No, that, too, was the wrong word. Nothing he could do would ever pay for what he had done. No amount of apologies, no amount of effort to show the goodwill of monsters towards humans, no amount of work to help his people integrate and grow and thrive on the surface world - none of that would atone for the souls of innocent children that Asgore had ripped out of their bodies. There was no undoing that.
“Dad?”
A sleepy voice came from underneath his arm, muffled in the layers of his coat.
“Yes, Asriel?”
“Do you think…maybe we should just go home, and try another time? I mean… I know it’s my fault I’m out here this late and all, but it looks like he’s not coming and I’ve gotta get up for school in the morning and… well… can we go soon?”
After a long moment, Asgore sighed. “You are right, son. It is getting quite late for you. Frisk has probably been asleep for some time, and you should really get to bed soon yourself. If he doesn't come in the next few minutes, I'll take you back to your mother's house and then go home myself.”
As much as he wanted to get the ordeal over with, Asgore was at least glad for his son's sake that the man might not show up. Asriel had worried that the meeting might go very poorly if he were present. If the dead girl's father saw Asriel sitting there - the very child whose death had caused Asgore to pronounce a death sentence on all humans in the first place - then it could be disastrous. Asgore had been able to ease his son's worry by telling him that no humans knew anything about that. But perhaps it was better to be safe than sorry.
Asgore reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It was a comically-sized brick of a device. Alphys had eagerly given it to him once they had reached the surface, and her enthusiasm had only been slightly dampened when she realized that his massive paw pushed every single button at once. With her usual unnecessary apologies, she had whisked the phone away and returned less than 30 minutes later with the massive one he now held. Asgore shook his head and smiled to himself. His former Royal Scientist was an amazing woman.
9:20 PM read the display on his clock. Then *BEEP*, a sharp chirp so sudden that he nearly dropped the phone. A text message appeared at the top of the screen:
From: Robert Edwards
Something has come up. Cannot meet you tonight. Let's meet tomorrow, same place. 7:30pm.
Asgore frowned. The man was already forty-five minutes late. Why was he telling him only now that he wouldn't be coming? There could be any number of reasons, of course. Perhaps some emergency had kept him occupied till now. Perhaps his vehicle had broken down. Maybe he was simply inconsiderate. Or perhaps (unlikely as it seemed) he had forgotten about the meeting. Asgore had become painfully familiar with schedule conflicts and sudden meeting cancellations especially now that he was dealing with the bewildering bureaucracy of human governments. A message like this would normally have just annoyed the king. But given the context, the feeling that dominated Asgore was worry.
The cryptic letter that the girl's father had sent him nine months ago still had him on edge.
“What was that, Dad?” His son’s inquisitive eyes looked up from under his arm.
Asgore sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It appears he will not be coming tonight after all. I am going to have to meet him here tomorrow evening instead.”
“Oh. Well… I’m kinda glad. If he had shown up now, we probably wouldn’t have gotten home till 10:30 or something, huh?”
“It would certainly be sometime far too late for you, son. Well…” Asgore stood up and stretched and brushed the snow off his coat and fur. “Let’s get you home.”
Asriel got up and stretched as well, and the two of them headed off. It was a lengthy walk if they took the park’s paths and city sidewalks, but Toriel’s house bordered the woods that ran along the southern edge of the park. A few minutes’ walk through the woods would bring them to her back yard and then into a cozy house, where a woman he still counted dear to him would have a hug for Asriel and perhaps (if he was lucky) a soft smile for him. A smile that would not fully mask the fear he knew she felt every time he met with one of the families.