... So, uh, this is awkward. I haven't updated in what, four months? Yikes.

Life kinda shoved itself in my face and I had to put writing on hold while I sorted things out, so a sudden hiatus happened. Sorry to everyone who's been waiting patiently, I hope I won't let you down again!

Well, albeit very late, I'm gonna go ahead and continue now. Okay? Okay.

Coming Undone

Chapter Four: To Find a Flower

Frisk wasn't used to the silence in her room just yet.

Having spent the last few weeks with the sadistic foliage throwing out a thousand insults a minute, it was remarkably quiet in her room without Flowey's voice filling almost every second. It was strange to wake up in the morning without a rude comment hitting her ears, and even stranger to glance over to her desk and see it completely bare, save for her sketchbook and pencils. If it weren't for her wounds, it would almost be as though he had never existed.

Despite the calm, Frisk had never felt more lost. The day she was attacked and had almost strangled Flowey to death was on a twisted replay in her mind, and she couldn't shake that feeling she had with his throat gripped tightly in her hands... a powerful, almost sensual feeling. The perverse thrill of being in control, of having someone's life literally in her hands and completely at her mercy, with all of the potential to both let him live and end him right then and there. She could've killed him. And in that moment, she wanted to.

The voice in her head, Chara, as she now knew, had been quiet since then. Frisk had spent several nights awake, suffering through both the pain of Flowey's assault on her wrists and face as well as the fear that Chara could assume direct control of her body. For so long, Frisk's mind had been tormenting her with the possibility that there was more to Chara than just a spooky voice within her head, and that terrifying encounter only solidified that fear. As her grip had loosened on Flowey's neck, Frisk felt nothing. It was as if she weren't even there anymore, and yet, she could still hear the voice of Chara, speaking clearly for her victim to hear. Frisk knew now that something was horribly wrong, much more than she had originally thought.

Flowey... no, Asriel was the only one that would know what to do. She had to see him again.

Of course, she had absolutely no way of knowing just where he was, or if he were even still alive. Having been stuck bed-ridden while waiting for her wounds to heal and under constant supervision from her mother, Frisk was helpless to track down Flowey's whereabouts, and asking Toriel was definitely out of the question. With the effort her mother had gone through in recent days to ensure Frisk had no idea what had become of him after his assault on her, the chances of Toriel giving even the slightest hint as to Flowey's fate was practically non-existent. Even still, Frisk couldn't give up. She was determined to reach him and make sure he was alright... both of their fates depended on it.

"... Dear, did you hear me?"

Frisk's face darted up with an expression of dumbfounded surprise and absentmindedness. She had been too busy jotting down ideas and notes in her sketchbook and had completely missed what she was just asked... that is, if she had even been asked anything. She pursed her lips and gave an awkward shrug, hoping Toriel would take it as a weird sign that she had been paying close attention.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. "Frisk, please. I understand you are focused on your writing, but I need you to answer me." Toriel placed the warm bowl of soup she held delicately in her hands just atop the desk beside her daughter's bed, before leaning closer and carefully examining the medical gauze plastered onto Frisk's cheeks. "Do these still hurt?"

Frisk gently nudged her shoulder against the side of her jaw and applied pressure, scrunching her face up at the mild burning she felt. "A little."

"Well, that is certainly a step up from last week, is it not?" Toriel smiled. Seeing her daughter give a weak smile of her own in response, she furrowed her eyebrows and carefully sat along the edge of Frisk's bed. "Is... something troubling you, dear?"

Gently clutching her blanket, Frisk tensed her body as she stared nervously into her mother's eyes, completely unsure of what to say. She'd been through this song and dance countless times before, and yet, try as she might, the words just refused to leave her mouth. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn't bring herself to admit to her mother all that had been endlessly cycling through her head, from the guilt she felt over failing to keep Flowey from spending his days all alone, to the constant fear and stress she was under due to Chara's potential influence. She knew she should tell her mother, but having seen the emotional pain Toriel had been in after laying eyes on the damage Flowey had done, Frisk couldn't bare to even imagine how she'd react to it all.

And so, even still, she decided to hide behind her metaphorical wall. "Um... just, miss everyone," the young teen sighed.

Toriel frowned. "My child, I have said before that your friends are very worried and wish to see you, but you always seem so hesitant."

"Don't feel like talking," Frisk shrugged, reaching over in an attempt to pick up the soup at the end of her desk but coming up just a few inches short.

Toriel hummed quietly to herself as she carefully lifted the bowl and placed it gently in her daughter's lap. "Deep as your wounds may be, I am certain you have rested enough to see them again. Why not invite them over for dinner?" she suggested, smiling brightly. "If nothing else, it would greatly ease their minds. You do not speak to them as often as you used to, it seems."

Frisk winced. What would her friends think? They had only ever seen the happy side of her, all of the positives she had when she first met them; her mercy, her friendship, her smile... how would they react to hear of such dark thoughts brewing within her mind? What would they say when she admits to crying herself to sleep every night from the terrors haunting her every dream, or the horrible whispers of gruesome acts of violence that would echo in her ears? Would they even be able to help? She wasn't sure, and it terrified her to even think about. "... Still hurts," she mumbled, motioning to the medical gauze on her face. "Maybe later..?"

Frisk could feel the hint of exasperation coming from her mother as Toriel let out a deep sigh and rubbed at her temples. After a moment of internal though, the older woman huffed and glanced back at her daughter with a weak grin. "... Well, do keep it in mind, dear. And please mind the soup, your sheets were cleaned this morning."

"Mmmff hummff," Frisk garbled, mouth full of noodles.

With a giggle, Toriel leaned close and kissed her daughter's forehead before lifting herself off of the bed and clasping her hands together. "I have some writing to do in my diary before bed, remember to call out for me if you need anything." And with that, she gave the teen one more smile before turning and making her way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

As soon as her mother's footsteps echoed far enough away down the hall, Frisk almost choked on the noodles in her mouth at the sudden realization: Toriel's diary! She had recently began to write down the day's events and her personal thoughts every night, maybe there would be a passage about what she did with Flowey? There was a chance, and a chance was all the motivation Frisk needed as she hastily slid the soup onto the nearby desk and tore her way through her sketchbook, immediately jotting down notes and brainstorming perfect opportunities to sneak into her mother's room.

As her clock struck 3AM, Frisk was startled awake by the buzzing of her phone directly underneath her pillow. With a groan, she lazily dug under the cushion to drag the device out, and as she gazed at the hour with tired eyes, a sudden flurry of butterflies began to swarm within her stomach. She sat up and gave her back a much needed stretch, running the details of her personal mission through her head a few more times; by all accounts, sneaking into Toriel's room and taking a peek in her diary shouldn't have made her so nervous, but the act itself wasn't the issue. When was the last time she had done something against her mother's trust, especially to invade her privacy in an attempt to directly disobey her? Pretty much never, she realized, and along with that revelation came bubbling excitement. She knew it was wrong to do this, but, somehow, it almost felt... great.

It was now or never, Frisk told herself. Quickly rubbing her sleeves over her eyes and flinging her blanket off, she quietly snaked her body out of bed and shook her feet into the soft pink slippers on the floor just beside her desk. With the phone firmly in her grip and a slight hesitation in each step, the young teen gently pushed her way out of the door and began the quiet trek through the hallways in the dead silence of the night.

And silent it was. Despite the muffled whisper of the wind just outside, she could distinctly hear every creak of the floorboard beneath her as she paced farther away from the comfort of her room. She cursed under her breath as darkness blanketed the house from her sight - feeling as if the moon decided to hide away behind the clouds tonight, of all nights, as a cryptic sign that she was making a mistake - and the desire to just turn back and crawl into bed grew stronger with every step she took. But her determination couldn't be swayed, and her quiet pace only quickened as she thought more and more about what turning back would mean... no, she needed to see Flowey again, to talk with him about everything and figure out just what she had to do to feel sane again. Her mother couldn't understand.

Face-to-face with the door to Toriel's room, Frisk could feel the pace of her heart suddenly leap in anticipation. She tapped her phone to life and lifted it just above herself to light the way, and with careful, quiet hands, turned the doorknob and crept into the room.

There was a candle lit just beside Toriel's bed, the flame licking at the sides of the glass and peppering the room with the fresh scent of cinnamon. Frisk could make out the shape of her mother under her blanket, shifting ever so slightly with every peaceful breath she took as she slept on, unperturbed.

Now on the tip of her toes, Frisk carefully slid through the small crack she left in the door, leaving it ajar for her return trip. She bit her lip as she silently snuck around the bed, eyes fixated on the shape of her mother, and lifted her phone to search the top of Toriel's dresser at the end of the room. No diary in sight. Muffling a growl under her breath, she knelt down and gently opened each drawer as quietly as she could, cringing at every small creak the furniture made as she jumped from one to another in an almost frantic search for the book. Sweat threatened to trickle down her forehead as she discovered nothing but assorted clothes and tangled jewlery, and as seconds turned to minutes of ruffling through socks and pajamas, Frisk could feel her drive fading and the urge to flee growing stronger and stronger. As she swore to herself to leave after one more failed attempt, she shoved yet another folded dress aside before hitting her hand against something solid. As her fingers grazed what could only be paper, her face lit up as pure glee and relief trembled through her body. Finally!

Frisk checked behind herself once more to gauge her mother's unconscious status and, after confirming her to still be knee-deep in dreamland, slid the diary atop the dresser and hovered the dim-lit screen of her phone over the cover. Sure enough, carved with precise fire magic, was Toriel's name, and Frisk couldn't contain the sly grin from stretching over her face. Should she be feeling this excited, when she knew what she was doing was all kinds of wrong? Maybe not, but the rebellious urge she felt couldn't be stopped, and without hesitation, she flung the book open and skimmed through with her thumb to reach the newest written page. Another quick glance at the bed, and she began to read the passage:

"My Dearest Diary,

Once again, I... cannot tell you how it feels to see scars on Frisk's face. Has it been one week already? Looking back, it indeed has. Strange how time soars by so quickly. But I digress. The injuries are healing just fine, but I cannot help but hurt inside every time I see bandages covering her precious face. My sweet daughter, how I hate to see you in such pain..."

Frisk swallowed hard, taking a moment to swipe one hand across her eye. You're on a secret spy mission, don't you dare cry, she mentally scolded herself. Skimming the rest of the page, she realized there was no mention of Flowey to be had anywhere else in the passage, and she quickly flipped over to a previous page and glazed over the words at a feverish pace. Again, nothing. With a quiet groan of annoyance, she repeated the process almost five times before immediately stopping as she caught sight of the name she'd been looking for. She began reading from the beginning of the passage:

"Dear Diary,

Frisk has been drawing the flower again. I can see glimpses of it as she brings her sketchbook to the table (she still refuses to keep it away during dinner time, that stubborn teenager). I worry about her, her wounds are slowly healing but the bandages can only do so much before they need to be replaced... oh, how I despise doing so. Seeing blood on her, it never ceases to rock me to my core. I cannot stand it. But, of course, no one said a mother's job was easy. I refuse to be swayed from my duty to protect and watch over her until the day I die.

Ah, of course, I am distracted. Indeed, the flower is still on her mind it seems. I wish I could understand, but no matter what I try, I cannot fathom her decision to savor its memory... the creature was nothing but terrible to her. She argued valiantly time and time to keep it with her despite my efforts, but as you know, I would not allow that wretched monster to hurt her ever again. There are times where I do find myself wondering just what it does among the other golden flowers underground... likely yelling at itself, I would imagine."

And there it was. Frisk reread the line several times over to be sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her: Among the other golden flowers underground. So her mother hadn't killed him, he was still very much alive... and now she knew exactly where.

Frisk tossed her hand up in a silent fist-pump of celebration, before quickly shutting the diary and slipping it back where she had found it within Toriel's drawer. With her mission a success, she began to tip-toe her way back out of the room, eyes carefully watching her mother's still body until she finally reached the door. With one last triumphant grin, she quietly nudged it open, and snaked her body through while gently letting it close behind her.

The young teen let her mind wander as she made her way back down the hallway and towards her room. Flowey was alive and had been sent back to the underground, likely where she had first fallen all those years ago, given Toriel's description of him being among the other golden flowers. She bit her lip absentmindedly; it wasn't a very short walk to get back to Mount Ebott, especially on foot. The mountain would take about thirty minutes of hiking just to reach, let alone the extra effort she'd need to put forth to travel from where the barrier had once been all the way back to Toriel's old home... and she certainly wasn't keen on the idea of taking a 'shortcut' through the gaping hole she had slipped into on her first visit underground.

As she kicked off her slippers and hopped back into bed, her mind was racing far too much to let her drift to sleep any time soon. With a new purpose, Frisk snatched her sketchbook from the desk beside her and began to plan out her first visit back underground, to where it had all started. She had to see Flowey again, there was no other option...

... Their souls could very well depend on it.