A Second Chance (Papyrus X Flowey/Asriel)

His Words

"I still think you're good, at least as long as you try to be!"

Words, those few words Papyrus would say to him without even hesitating. Those and many others, his vocabulary nothing short of sugar filled and hopeful. All wasted on an unfeeling, monsterous amalgamate of souless flower and fallen prince. Even without palpable empathy, even without that soul, Papyrus gave him something he'd had only once before, without even realizing it.

Papyrus gave him a feeling of destiny. A destiny to save them all, a goal to try so he can see everything alongside him, so he can learn new things and experience what that little prince couldn't. Only one person had given him such a gift, and they'd been taken from him too long ago. Or, maybe they'd just changed. Maybe they were just like him now, not gone, just dead. Whatever it was, he knew better than to question it.

It had been a pacifist route, bored, he'd not changed anything about how he'd greet Papyrus on his daily walk. Nor how he'd compliment the variety of his death trap puzzles, all of which he'd memorized one or two hundred times ago. No, instead he watched. He watched the Human fall, greeting them with an empty grin, watched them bleed as they naively listened to every bit of dialog, make friends with the weakest of the weak, even pity him in his 'God of death' spiel. He tried not to remember how their hug felt so similar as they walked into the bright distance.

And there, there was the click. The flip of a switch, press of a button that told him that he was alone. The strange ability to reconnect with their past self, to undo the horrors done, it was gone yet again. At first he was confused, curious of that future. What would have happened if he had gotten to join them? To see their smiles, even the most undeserving of freaks, all of them together?

And then he got the sense of deja vu he'd always hated, knowing he couldn't join them in that weakness, that out of control peacefulness. He couldn't experience the outside without a bad taste in his mouth, couldn't see the faces of friends he'd not grown up with, couldn't experience his life like he'd never lost it.

And then it happened again. The click, the push of a button, and it would all go back. Maybe it was stupidity, boredom, desperation, some small part of that childhood that pushed him to beg for peace, to beg whatever destiny there was to let them be happy, even without him. To let Frisk be.

And then he'd wake up, and he'd watch the human fall. He'd greet them with an empty smile, watch them scowl at anything that moved. Watch as they picked off every bit of magic one by one, a demonic curiosity fueling their weapons. He'd watch as they'd pick off the one monster that cared about him, his lazy brother, and eventually himself. Death wasn't unfamiliar by now, just like trying to remember something on the tip of your tongue.

Then, when you finally remembered, you woke up, and you watched the human fall. And you watched the little changes, you watched how every monster looked at you, you saw a kingdom under the control of a little humans actions. And you saw hope, hope in the monsters that worked all day, hope in those that kept the underground sane with bad jokes and entertainment, and hope in the skeleton that refuses to back down. The one skeleton he couldn't crack, not mentally, he'd done it thousands of times physically. Something in his soul maybe, the very nature of him, he was always something new. A new movie, a puzzle trick, even his deepest thoughts, there was always something more.

Maybe that's why he was so eager to trust that skeleton, the one with a strange request, something new to fill the time.

Something that would change everything.

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(Welcome to the first chapter. If you couldn't tell already, this one is more focused on the dynamic of Flowey(Asriel) and Papyrus, one I find completely underutilized. In case it wasn't hinted at enough, Flowey talks about the resets, and when he tries to convince the player to let Frisk live after a pacifist route. Gushing over Papyrus in his own, soulless way.)