“There’s no need, I’m fine,” Arthur said, taking the flask and tipping it back for a swallow.

     Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head. “You nobles are all alike. Too proud to admit you’re not okay.” He took his flask back for a few long sips. “I’m sure I’ll have to say it more than once for it to penetrate that thick skull of yours, but it’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’ We won’t think any less of you for it.” He glanced at Arthur and sighed as he saw his friend’s face close off. He passed the flask back to him rather than comment on it. “Drink the rest. It’ll ease the pain.”

     Arthur looked like he might refuse but then relented, taking the flask and bringing it to his lips once more. “Thanks.”

     Gwaine nodded, patting Arthur’s shoulder before taking his leave and heading to the forest to help Merlin collect the firewood.

     It was late at night when Gwaine found Arthur in the training yard, yelling in rage as he destroyed a fighting dummy. He watched in the pale moonlight for a minute as Arthur utterly demolished the sturdy wood figurine, anger and grief making every movement sloppy but powerful until he stood there, chest heaving as he stared at the fallen target. Gwaine stepped forward then, calling out to his friend. “Destroying our practice dummies won’t help.”

     Arthur whirled to face him, eyes sparking with grief, but his face set in a furious sneer.

     Gwaine spoke again before Arthur could retort. “What you need is a real challenge.” He drew his sword, lifting his chin in a clear dare for Arthur to come at him.

     And Arthur did, lunging at Gwaine and holding nothing back as they parried, dodged, and exchanged blow for blow. Gwaine goaded him on, provoking Arthur at every missed strike and letting him work out his anger. He took every hit Arthur delivered, his muscles straining as he fought to keep up with Arthur’s erratic pace. He kept up until Arthur’s attacks started growing weaker, until Arthur’s tears blinded him to the point of missing every strike, until Arthur’s hands shook so hard they couldn’t hold his sword anymore, and it fell onto the grass.

     Gwaine threw his own sword aside as Arthur fell to his knees; the prince-turned-king wracked with sobs as he doubled over and screamed hoarsely into the dirt. Gwaine knelt next to him, one hand around Arthur’s lower back and the other at his shoulder as he held him close. “That’s it, Arthur. You don’t have to be okay. Not now.”

     The knight looked up and saw Merlin standing several yards away at the edge of the yard. It was nearly impossible to see Merlin’s eyes in the low light, but Gwaine couldn’t help noticing how his best friend was drowning in guilt. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sooner than he had, Merlin turned and ran, as silent as if he’d never been there.

     Ringing in his ears brought Gwaine to, and he reached up to hold his head on as he sat up. “Merlin?” He called, looking around and wincing when his voice felt like a hammer against his head. “Arthur? Anyone?” He stumbled to his feet, looking around for his compatriots. There were a couple of men face down in the dirt, wearing the sigils of the clan that had attacked them, but his friends were nowhere to be seen.

     “Gwaine.”

     A weak call of his name had Gwaine whirling around as he hurried towards the voice, the ache in his head fading slightly from adrenaline. “Arthur! Are you okay?” He called, stumbling over the uneven ground of the forest.

     A shaky breath preceded the soft answer. “No.”

     The answer chilled Gwaine to the bone as he came upon his king. “Arthur.” He breathed upon finding the young man sitting against a rotting log with blood staining his clothes. “What happened?” He asked, kneeling beside him as he lifted Arthur’s shirt to examine the wound.

     “Got… stabbed,” Arthur said, his eyes closing for a minute before they struggled to open again. “Merlin. They took Merlin.”

     “We’ll get him back,” Gwaine promised, fastening a makeshift bandage around Arthur’s torso. “But you need medical attention first. Do you think you can stand?”

     Arthur shook his head, grimacing as he admitted, “I’m not okay.”

     “That’s alright. I’ve got you.” Gwaine promised, swallowing thickly. It was the first time Arthur had admitted such a thing to him, and while the circumstances were what brought it about, it was obvious those words cost Arthur his pride. He placed a hand under Arthur’s shoulders and another under his knees. “Alright, up we go.”

     He stood with Arthur in his arms, the king gasping in pain from the minimal movement and a little more red seeping into the bandage around him. “Stop, stop,” Arthur begged, and Gwaine stilled for a moment as Arthur got used to the new position, his face growing paler by the second until he nodded silently.

     “Let’s get you home, Princess,” Gwaine said as he walked forward, grinning when Arthur still managed to glare at him for the nickname. They walked for hours, occasionally taking short breaks for Arthur to drink some of the water from Gwaine’s half-empty canteen. As they went, Arthur got paler and paler, slipping in and out of consciousness as he started to whimper in pain.

     “It hurts,” Arthur admitted at length, voice smaller than Gwaine had ever heard from the young king. “It hurts.” He repeated, and Gwaine glanced down at him just as Arthur passed out.

     The knight cursed and walked faster, frantically searching for any sign that they were getting close. A half-hour passed before Gwaine recognized a small stream, his eyes lighting up. “We’re almost there, Arthur. Not much longer.” He informed his unconscious friend as he picked up his pace.

     When they finally reached the capital, Percival met them at the gate, carrying Arthur to Gaius as Elyan went to fetch Leon. As soon as they learned that Arthur would be okay, they wasted no time saddling their horses to ride out in search of Merlin and his captors. But as they were about to mount their horses, a commotion at the gate drew their attention. There, at the entrance, stood Merlin. Gwaine’s friend was shirtless, with some sort of symbol half-drawn, half-smeared in blood across his chest. His arms were littered with bruises, and more blood smudged his face and hands. The sight was so startling that no one moved nor said a word until Merlin spoke, his voice shaking as he asked about Arthur.

     At Gwen’s stuttered assurance that the king was okay, Merlin sobbed in relief before crumpling in on himself. His knees hit the stone floor of the courtyard hard, spurring them all into action as they rushed to the servant’s side.

     Sometime later, after Merlin had been cleaned up, Gwaine stood with him by Arthur’s bedside. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, watching Merlin closely.

     “I’m fine,” Merlin said, echoing the same phrase he had said earlier, even after being forced to explain the horrible things the cult had tried to do to him.

     Gwaine sighed, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’” He told him, watching as Merlin’s eyes flicked to his, his blue eyes haunted and wary. Gwaine shook his head fondly, ruffling Merlin’s hair. “It’s okay, Merls. You don’t have to say it now. But I’ll be here to listen when you’re ready to say it.”

     Merlin stared at him for a moment longer before nodding once, curt and stoic, before looking back at Arthur like the king would disappear if he took his eyes off him for too long.

Taking a deep breath, he marched out of his room and into the living room. He strode in confidently, then balked as he was greeted by the sight of his audience. His mom sat expectantly, his dad was blank-faced, Frankie looked bored, and Finn was messing with a pillow he had on his lap. Feeling his face flush, he cleared his throat and shuffled through his notes. “Okay. So. I’ve called this meeting today…” He ran a hand through the hair he’d convinced his parents to let him cut short. “…to, to make an announcement.” He closed his eyes; he couldn’t bring himself to watch his family’s faces. Time to just drop it. “I’m not a girl. I’m a boy.”

He cracked open one of his eyes nervously. He was met mostly with blank or confused stares. He squeezed his eyes back shut, and almost considered backtracking and saying it was a joke, when his mom finally broke the silence. She still looked a bit confused, but she was smiling. “Alright, sweetie. Do you want us to call you anything different from now on?”

He didn’t need the notes for this one. He puffed out his chest and declared, just like he practiced so many times to himself in his room, “Felix Jackson Fix, Jr.”

There was a painful moment where no one said anything. Frankie barely held back an awkward snicker.

His mom gave him a gentle smile, but glanced at her husband’s face, as if trying to gauge his reaction. His dad’s face remained stoic as ever, for one second, two seconds. Felix started feeling nauseous when a grin slowly split across the impenetrable wall of his dad’s facial hair. “I think that’s a great name, son.”

Felix blinked a few times in disbelief, before blinking a few more times as his eyes got blurry with tears. “D-do you really –“

Finn had been fidgeting in his seat for the whole meeting, and he finally blurted out, “Does this mean I have an older brother now?!” He threw his pillow aside, jumped out of his seat, ran over and nearly toppled Felix over with a hug. “That’s so cool! We can play video games and baseball and and –“

“Finn, we already do all of that stuff,” Felix laughed.

“I know, but now I get to do it with my brother!” Finn hugged Felix even tighter.

Frankie got up and ruffled Felix’s hair. “I guess having two little brothers won’t be so bad. Just don’t team up on me for water balloon fights.” She cracked a crooked grin.

His mom wrapped all three of them in a big group hug. “You know we’ll love you no matter what, sweetheart.” She pulled Felix back to arm’s length, looking him over. “I’ll need to take you clothes shopping, then.”

His dad grunted as he arose from his armchair, and all attention shifted to him. “Let’s all go together! Family trip to go get Felix some new duds.” He clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Everyone to the car!”

Finn ran excitedly to the back door, and Frankie and his mom followed suit. His dad motioned for Felix to hang back with him. “I’m proud of you, son. It took some real courage to tell us about this.” He patted him on the back. “What are you going to want, polos? I could set you up with some real spiffy button-ups.”

It was inevitable really...that one day a human would come along and finally destroy him. It was a day he’d both been dreading, and longing for at the same time. So many years of suffering alone and in silence. He would finally be free, and someone else could take the throne, change things for the better. The human at least told him, that they’d killed very few on their way to get to him.

Asgore started out laying in the garden, blood seeping down onto the ground. And dust drifting through the air, caught in the streams of light that broke through the Underground’s roof. The human had walked away, instead of just finishing the job, they wanted to wait. They said they’d be back for his Soul later, and then they’d leave.

Groans of pain echoed in the halls and tunnels as he moved to his throne. If he was going to die like this, he’d die in a noble manner. But he never made it to the throne, the sound of steps coming up from behind. Had the human returned? No...they were heavier, but softer. Feet with pads at the bottom of them, some sort of monster.

Ears twitched and focused, he recognized them. Toriel, why was she coming here, of all places? The human could come back for her too....although they would’ve likely killed her in the ruins if they’d wanted to. Did she know what was going on? Word spread quickly in the kingdom, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Please...don’t....” He called out weakly, blood spilling from his mouth. “Don’t....come....in.....” Either she didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. His ex wife broke into the throne room, and was at his side. “....why?” She lifted him up, held him close. He could feel tears dripping onto him. “....why did you come?”

How often he’d dreamed of being held by her again. But not like this, not in this situation. He could feel her magic, she was trying to heal him. “Hold on....please...” The sound of her voice made him smile, but the magic wasn’t working. She had come too late. “I’m sorry....Tori....”

“D-don’t....call me that...” He could hear sobs, and the magic stopped. She knew it was futile. There wasn’t much time left, his body starting to properly turn to dust from his feet upwards. At least it didn’t hurt so much anymore. And at least, he could say goodbye.

“Goodbye Tori....I never stopped loving you.” Weakly, he leaned up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. An imprint of his lips in blood stained her white fur. “Goodbye....Gorey....” He wanted to hear her say she still loved him. And it seemed like she was going to. “I...l-....”

The sentence fell on nonexistent ears. Asgore was gone, dust scattered on the flowerbed. It was his family’s resting place. His parents, Chara, Asriel, and now him...they all died here. And all that remained was Toriel, crying alone, with Asgore’s soul slowly fading away as well.

It was funny. Blood could feel like water with your eyes closed. Will only knew this because he– he liked baths. He had no idea how to fucking swim but baths? He liked those. The warm around his skin. Able to close his eyes and go under and just let the world float. The water could wash away the blood, and sometimes the burden, if only for a little.

Right now, he was unable to recall that feeling. Everything hurt all at once. In the past, as a child, it had been easier. He’d been used to the pain. Able to be numb to it. Able to swiped across the face and still bark and bark because that pain was NOTHING. However, he hadn’t faced such pain in the past years. It had made him weak. Vulnerable. Will never thought about it too much but it became apparent with each bit of punishment his father bestowed.

He remembered the words. If he had just behaved…. He brought this on himself. Believing in a women with false ideals. Getting himself cozy in a world he didn’t belong in. Getting close to people and knowing the bonds between them would be the rope that choked them. That broke them. He was terminal. Toxic. This… this was good. It was good. They were going to be happier without his disruption. Safer.

Will had prayed that Lizzie had done as he instructed. Told them he was dead. Better yet, perhaps she hadn’t seen any of them at all. Perhaps they all thought he was out doing his own dumbass thing and maybe that was enough. It had to be enough.

It had to be enough. Five stupid words pulled on repeat and repeat and repeat because it had to be enough. Until suddenly the pain was too much to bare. Not just pain. The emptiness. the void. the ABYSS. Stuck in what equated to a pit. A voice ledging down at him. Not even his father’s the man was too busy for that. Just a voice asking. Are you ready? Ready to kill. To become a weapon. To do all he was trained to do and all he had been rejecting again and again. Sometimes it was Fuck off. Other times it was no answer at all. Then there was no. Any answer which wasn’t prescribed as his father wanting came at a price.

Scars, fractures bones, broken ones. Cuts. Pieces of himself missing. And then letters. Letters then just made all those small fractions of hope harder to carry.

They came every fifteen minutes. Will had counted it originally, but he was starting to believe the times drew closer together. There was a reprieve though. Maybe it was once a day. Maybe it was once an hour. Time couldn’t be told anymore. The reprieve came in the form of his father. Who had offered a gentle hand. Who, with gentleness pawed on his skin, reminded Will how he had done this to himself. How he had brought this punishment down upon himself. after all. Children who misbehave had punishments. And he was a child.

He reminded Will how no amount of good would undo his own evil He’d start naming Will’s victims only to remind him that there were too many to hear all at once. That his victims went beyond the dead, and onto the people who lost them. The lives that could of been saved by the heroes Will stole from the world. No amount of good would ever make him someone viable to live in the world of saviors. How he brought destruction. Death. It fueled him. He was good for no else.

His father would smooth over the scars, the wounds, the broken bits of him. Treat the wounds before ripping them open and giving the reminder that all choices were in Will’s hands. He brought this upon himself and he could stop it. He was at fault.

But he didn’t want to be a weapon. Will wasn’t quite sure what he did want to be. What he was capable of being. What he was allowed to be. But a weapon. A murderer. It wasn’t that. He didn’t want to be hated even more then he was. He didn’t want to cause more damage in his wake then had already been done.

Eventually, his father would have to get tired right? Make the choice that this was far too much work and simply kill him. Yes. Or use him in other ways. Those thoughts lingered. In fact. All thoughts did. Of the look Max gave him when they met. Claudia’s look when he attacked her and why did he attack her? Why was he like this? Lizzie’s eyes staring at him and so sure he was exactly what his prior actions made him out to be. Wasn’t he?

By now any bits of light burned his already damaged vision. Visits from has father had grown less and then less. Whether it was a good thing or not was another question will had no idea of the answer to.

However the pain never stopped. Just became more aggressive. He felt– he didn’t FEEL. It was all numb. Regular. Simply a part of the cycle of his world. Pain. Nothingness.

In the past he had had the hope of his mother to hold onto. Clinging to that beautiful pedestal he built for her. But now that pedestal was gone and he had nothing. Nothing to fuel the fire. Nothing to rage hope. Nothing to scream against just nothing. But an empty world. No disillusionment. No hope. Only despair. He was bathing in it. However unlike the water that brought a sense of safety. He felt nothing.

Then things changed.

His vision was distorted. His world was distorted. Yet there were rays of light and they burned his eyes. He was hallucinating. Dreaming up a vision. After all, there was a lack of people. No. They were just colors against each other. Colors with loud muffled voices and motions too fast for his eye to catch. Colors splashed into the world. Hosting him up and dragging him along.

And Will let himself get dragged. What was the point in stopping it? He wasn’t doing. He wouldn’tdo. He wouldn’t hurt. Never again. But even if he wanted to push against the pull, he had no strength too. Pain swelled within him. However the pain felt ordinary. It was normal. Why should he cry about it when tears meant nothing?

So he let himself be dragged. Falling in line with whichever way he was brought. One of the colors vanished. Mixing into a array of darkness while the other continued with him along. Running running and running and the pain screaming at him but also– it was ORDINARY pain. Why cry about it?