"Bones and the Beast." (Fell!Asgore x Sans)

"A Wakeup Call" - Chapter One

Asgores POV

Jolting awake, they quickly sat up, cupping their hands together and hid their face beneath their own cold and clammy paws. Hid away from the world, from the nightmare reality he so desperately tried to escape, and the consequences that came with it. Away from the sins he committed, and the sorrow that followed suit.

It had been 365 days since 'the incident'. A year since Asgore lost himself in his furious, uncontrollable rage, and killed the only light that shone in his life anymore. The pressures of what came with being king, along with the new upcoming rebellion at the time- it made his emotions unstable, rash in his decision-making; and once he heard what his beloved had said back then, he snapped at them.

Oh how the memories flowed to the forefront of his mind. He remembered it all, as if it happened yesterday.

He never meant for it to go that far. For his reckless anger to be the very thing that destroyed what he most cared for in this pitiful world. And hell knows that he never wanted to hurt them. But Asgore never was good at controlling his temper. Maybe that's why his old marriage fell apart, or why their children died all those years ago.

His lungs tightened, making it hard to breathe. Taking in a shaky, deep breath of air; the scent of dust never yielded, no matter where in the kingdom you were, not even his own castle- which was cleaned on the daily. After a long moment, he exhaled. Pushing himself out of the comfort of his bed, he stood, tiredness drawing an achiness deep within his bones.

Thoughts ran wild through his mind, most telling him to go back to sleep, to forget about today and pretend that it never happened. To pretend that their blood wasn't on his own hands. He pushed those thoughts aside, making his way to his closet, and began to put on his armor and robs, making himself the image of a king that everyone saw him to be.

First, he slid on his leggings, then chest plate. He paused, looking down at his arms that were filled with old battle scars, and memories arose as he stared. The memoirs of fights from war, and fights between himself and his beloved. An invisible weight pulled heavily against his heart.

And then there was a soft knock at his door.

Asgore paid no attention to it. But once more the knock softly thumped against the ancient oak. A deep rubble rose up from depths of the kings chest, like thunder ringing out from a stirring storm. "Speak."

"Your majesty-?" a shaky, muffled voice called out from the other side of the thick wooden door. "-where will you be spending morning tea?"

"The garden." he grumbled, as he began to put on the armored sleeve. "Cancel any meetings for the day. I will be spending the entirety of it alone."

"Of course, my king." the servant said, and then scurried off; their footsteps becoming more and more distant as they made haste to pass on the kings message.

Asgore let out another deep, tired sigh. The thought of his beloved crossed his mind once more, and the weight on his chest kept feeling heavier by the moment. He stood there, unmoving. It was so hard to think about anything else when everything was drowned out by his own grief. Slowly, he finished dressing himself and once more, he pushed himself to make his way to the sanctuary of his personal garden.

* * *

Flowers of every type could be found in his collection. From blood-red roses, to sunshine-yellow buttercups, and graceful white lilies, to the somber nightshade; it was hard to think of any flower that wasn't present in his collection. All taken cared for by a gentle touch, that wasn't his own. By a gardener, instead. Asgore, once upon a time, used to take care of his own garden- but as years passed by, he lost his gentle touch, even towards flowers, resulting in many of the precious plants dying. He never lost his appreciation for them, though; and soon after the loss of many beautiful, fragile flowers, he had a servant tend to most of the garden in his place.

Dispite the sweet scent that filled the air, dread had followed the king, and the atmosphere felt thick, and dense. As he roamed throughout his sanctuary, he approached a more dense part of the terrarium; where the plants were more wild and unkept. This area was restricted for all but him, and him alone. He halted where he stood, his gaze growing cold as it fell upon the gravestone, mostly hidden away by the greenery, tall grass and vines.

'Rest in peace, beloved Red. 19xx-20xx.'

Reading those words engraved in the cold, hard stone struck deep. The memory of that day flooding to the foreground of his mind. If only he stopped himself in time. If only he had listened to their pleads, as they uttered their last dying breaths. For a year, he had their blood on his hands. A year of bearing the guilt from his actions and paying the consequences. His world went dark when they had left it. He turned away from the gravestone, the harsh reality becoming too much for even him to bear.

Asgore retreated to the center of the garden, where he found a tea set waiting for him, but he ignored. He took more solemn, deep breaths; trying his best to keep composure. All he could ever wish for, was to have them back. Red, back.

Coiling his hands into tight fists, he pounded the side of one into the table; and the fragile tea set rattled and trembled under his sorrow. Covering his face with the other, he held back a pent-up sob. Ushering himself away, he went to one of the many windows at the outskirts of the garden. Staring out, he felt his heart ache. Something gripping tightly around his soul. But soon enough, that sorrow turned to annoyance; and annoyance to anger. He heard the russle of leaves, which is what had caught his attention. He turned, and saw that in the courtyard, he vaguely could see the silhouette of someone bundled and scrunched up, hiding in the masses of flowers and grass. Without much of a second thought, he summoned his trident in hand, swiftly made his way over and struck; plunging the head of it into the ground.

" . . . "

It was a skeleton; he thought, examining them a bit closer. Small, short, blue jacket and shorts- and visibly had the wind knocked out of them. They were lucky. Because of their small size, the massive weapon narroely missed them, yet had them pinned down between its prongs. Their breathing shacky- uneven, and their body was trembling and rattled. The shocked and fearful expression bore up at the king that loomed over them, and it seemed that they were still processing what was going on.

They reminded him of someone. Someone Asgore dared not think their name right then. He scowled down at the short monster; he thought he made himself clear to not have anyone bother him for the day.

The skeleton began to sweat under the mighty goats gaze, trying to think of what to say. Their eyes darted from side to side; it seemed that perhaps they didn't know where they were. And after a moment of clear panic, they calmed themself enough to try and choke out a sentence.

"Eh h-heh.. Uh-" they stuttered, failing to find words.

He knew that voice. But that couldn't be- couldn't. They died a year ago; and the figure before him bore none of those familiar scars. He found that odd, but then he remembered, something that one of his lead royal scientists said, about new treatments and ways to get rid, or reduce scars if one chooses to take the treatment. It was still experimental, but he wouldn't think it out of the realm of possibility. A way to repair the sacred magic that stayed on a monster's body.

Red..

It had to be; he thought. Did they fake their death? To him, there was no other explanation, least- he couldn't think of anything else on the spot.

As he saw it, Red had all right to run away, to leave him and never return. But that only left one question in mind.

Why would they come back? Why.. now? He couldn't think of any logical reasoning, but hopefully he'd have that answered soon enough.

Slowly, he lifted his trident from the ground, the weapon fading to nothingness as Asgore let go of its magical form- offering a soft, small smile. He held out a paw to the small, shaking skeleton. As gently as he could, he spoke.

"I missed you, my beloved. Please, come have a cup of tea; and tell me all about where you've been all this time."