[CLOSED] you, beneath the bed, i know all your tricks

[lets_see_what_happens]

Who: Gregor and Chara
When: A short time after this.
Where: The hold.
What: A much-needed talk.
Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, which is approx. a jillion times more violent than anything should be, basically ever


Gregor schools his face to careful blankness before he opens the door to the hold and steps inside.

His eyes flick around the room until he locates Chara, curled up in a corner and clearly sulking. Gregor latches the door behind him and moves farther inside, his steady hazel eyes locked on Chara as he sits carefully on the edge of the cot and leans his elbows on his knees, his posture open and nonthreatening, his hands loose as he draws in a slow breath and debates how to begin.

"How are you?" he asks. Better to start simple, and his tone is polite and genuinely interested, but his gaze is watchful and alert as he tracks them from across the room.

Comments

[lets_see_what_happens]

Gregor's brow creases and he looks down at Chara again, frowning a little. The expression is thoughtful, instead of displeased.

"No, they aren't," Gregor says slowly, confirming. "Not if I have anything to say about it. But do you have so much trouble controlling your temper that you can't be around other people? That you'd rather stay in the vents?"

[heart_breaking]

They take a sidelong glance at the moron as though he's asked a trick question. "I literally just attacked you." He was there. He should remember that part. He's not trying to draw them into some kind of word-trap, is he?

They wouldn't rather stay in the air vents. There's more freedom there than there is in here, but there's none of the hope they would get if they... what, if they were out and around people? Walking around the Mess Hall? Collecting cutlery to attack people with later, running a can't-kill-people-worth-jack-shit marathon? Maybe they suck at living on a ship (or as anything but the screaming demon they are) and maybe they should leave on the next stop they get.

Still, at least that smaller freedom would be a step up from now.

[lets_see_what_happens]

"Well, yes, but I was provoking you," Gregor says reasonably, settling a little against the wall. "I wasn't trying to, but I still did. And I could let you out of here, but I'm not, it's not exactly a mystery why you'd be upset with me. I deduced that you and Papyrus have a certain history, but if you have trouble lashing out at people as a matter of course, that's a separate issue."

He looks down at them, faintly troubled, a little frown creasing his forehead.

"I don't know what kind of life you've had and I don't have the right to tell you not to be angry--even if I knew every last detail about you I still wouldn't have that right. But if you don't learn to control that anger, it isn't going to be of any use to you, and things like this are going to keep happening. Whether you're locked away voluntarily or by someone else, it's a temporary measure that won't resolve the actual issue."

[heart_breaking]

Chara doesn't know what to do with him, and they look away, scanning the cell with a lost look they refuse to imagine they have. It would all be overwhelming if he weren't moving on. Good thing he is. Chara latches on to his next words, because these are at least ones they know: just listen to him. He's condescending, and he's read them a book that this teacher-cop-leader should've recognized was worn almost to destruction, and Chara's more than happy to hold 'not being fucking psychic' against him. Do adults get a kick out of that? They keep talking to them about control, so they must.

Words have to be forced out like their throat is actively resisting.

"Look. I--know this isn't crap you can fix. Like. Like a cold, or cancer, or--" Their jaws are so tense that they bite their next words dead, but that's okay because they would've only meandered anyway.

"I'm." They're what. Trying? Bullshit, they haven't for a long time. Fuck him, he knows it doesn't work either, so what's the point of this? They look forward and don't even pry their jaws apart, trying to decide if they should snarl or if he's trying in some obtuse way to get them to play along. Maybe Chara's obtuse. Maybe they both are. Hell, of course they are. What a pair they make.

"I can start trying."

He just saw how much he can trust their 'trying'. Their teeth clench harder, then relax, and maybe they should put their head down in their arms and ignore him until he gets bored. It's not their job to write his lazy bastard's reports for him, nevermind what a fucking stupid idea it would be to get a ten year old to write one at all.

[lets_see_what_happens]

Gregor looks down at them, a little startled.

"I don't think you need to be fixed, Chara," he says, tilting his head. "You're just fine as you are. Is that why you think I'm here? Good Lord." He blows out a soft breath. "No wonder you tried to scratch my eyes out. No."

He looks over at them again and his eyes aren't cruel but they're openly calculating now, sharp and intent, and he chooses his next words carefully.

"Being a murderer doesn't make you a bad person, Chara. Some of the most decent people I know, pepole who have saved my life, are also people who have killed in cold blood. Sometimes for bad reasons, even. You don't need to be fixed. I think you just need some direction. Not even from me, necessarily, but you're fast and smart and dangerous and if you keep lashing out at people indiscriminately you're going to keep getting stuck in a cell, and it's a criminal waste of your talents. You're, what, ten years old? You have a lot more time than most people to learn self-control, but don't do it because you think it's some stupid hoop I want you to jump through to let you out of here. Do it for yourself. Find a goal beyond basic immediate needs and work towards it." He stops, then shrugs a little. "Every murderer I've known who's functioned day-to-day, that's how they've done it, as far as I can tell."

[heart_breaking]

Cold syrup pours over their soul and their bones feel pliable and warm, and they've shifted a razor-sharp stare at him before his third sentence. It's one thing to have known that this man with a cloak of kindness had a rotten core inside of him the whole time, but it's another to see it in action.

This is probably the kind of twistedness that Chara would've fit right in with if they'd been born somewhere far away. 'Murder is fine', he's just said. 'You just need to do it when it's useful.' His voice has been unfailingly gentle, and his surprise at them spoke volumes about how much he believed himself. He believes in Chara, at least sort of, and the echo of Papyrus' hope in their ears is distinctly mocking.

Chara rests their chin on their arms, looking forward without seeing. Sins are crawling on their back and marching through their hair and holding hands as they form little circles around them like a ring around the rosies from hell's failed pest control. It wouldn't make that much of a difference on their soul if they grew into someone that could actually coexist with people like he's describing. What could be worse than killing until they were covered in enough dust to bake a cake? Papyrus believed their shriveled heart still had some good in it, but he was a idealist. This guy--if he doesn't think murderers are bad, then what does 'good' even mean to him? What's it like to live with a mind like that?

Their smile is as unnerved as it is tolerant.

"Space is weird," they drawl.

[lets_see_what_happens]

Gregor has the slightly sinking feeling in his belly of having misstepped somewhere--perhaps that last was a bit too much, to provoke this slightly alarming locked control. He's balanced on a knife's-edge of honesty and caution--too much hedging and Chara will catch the scent of bullshit, he can tell they're used to detecting it a kilometer away and they're ready for it on him in particular. But too much honesty might provoke... just this reaction, actually. Ah, well.

"What I mean to say is, Chara, what I truly mean," he says gently, "is that these things you've done, bad or not, don't mean that you're bad. That you should just... give up being better, or being the kind of person you want to be. You're worth the effort--you're worthwhile. And I don't know exactly what you've been through, but I think I understand, at least a little. And I do want to help, even if you don't believe me."

He hesitates for another moment, then reaches out, fingertips brushing their hair briefly before he settles an arm light around their shoulders, not restraining them at all. He half-expects a punch in the kidney for his efforts, but, well, then so be it.

[heart_breaking]

Their throat closes from the storm inside of them, and it's like trying to comfort a fencepost. The presence of one strong emotion hasn't canceled out any others, and Chara has thought this was unfair in the past. They've wished there was some quota, and that their mind would turn extras away like overflow from a restaurant. 'Sorry, there's just no room left for you here.' Maximum capacity achieved. Chara is outraged. They're worthless. They're a very small person in a very new place, and they're very, very alone.

They can't take more.

The arm on their shoulders is so different from the ones they've lost. He doesn't smell of cinnamon or snails, and there's none of that sheltering softness, no fur that they could sink into and be protected forever. He has a crisp uniform. He's closer to their size, and shaped like the species they hate the most.

Their head turns a degree or two towards him. He must be tugging them in his direction, because they're pressing closer, but only just, like that same wooden post but now balanced crooked. He smells a little like wood paneling. They try not to think about it. They're trying not to think at all.

It takes them a long time before the cacophony in their chest has died down. When it finally does, they jerk and shove away from his side, grabbing their ration bars hard enough that their fingers scrape on the floor. The cell isn't large enough to gain any real space, but the opposite corner by the bars is the next best thing, so they stomp over to it and sit down as hard as they can, ripping open a wrapper like they have a violence debt to make up for.

They tear off some of the ration bar and chew it with enough force to grind rocks. "Go away," they tell him haughtily, glowering at nothing at all.

[lets_see_what_happens]

Gregor doesn't startle when they lean into his side slightly, but his eyes widen as he looks down at the top of Chara's head, something awful wrenching in his chest. He only sucks in a breath when they jerk away again, gathering up the food and scrambling to the other side of the cell. Gregor sits for a moment, unmoving, looking away from Chara as he gathers his composure.

Eventually, though, he pushes to his feet again, watching them with clear, steady eyes.

"All right," he says quietly. "I'll go. I'll see you later, Chara."

[heart_breaking]

"Whatever. Bye." They mean it like they're throwing rocks at his retreating back, and it takes a special kind of sulking aggression to pull off an eye-roll just like that.

They're not going to look at him while he leaves. Not that their attention won't be on him, but looking would break the ostentatiously cold shoulder pointed his way. They have to listen to track his departure, and when he closes the cell they stop the noise of their chewing.

Chara doesn't move from their place until he's gone.