Undertale - It Runs In The Family

It Runs In The Family, SFW, An Asgore and Asriel father/son bonding fic. A life on the surface is built on the darkness underground. That darkness stays with you, even in the light.

Word Count: 1467

***

Asgore checked his watch. Early afternoon, almost one year to the minute. He leaned against the rocks, trying to catch his breath. Even this short climb up the mountain had been something of a challenge for him. He’d been getting on in years for a long time, and now he was getting older still. It thrilled him, in some obtuse way, to find the occasional grey hair in his golden mane. After an age of stasis, it was nice to have something to offer someone else, even if that something was his life force.

The day wasn’t getting any younger either. Asgore collected his wits and faced the darkness.

The barrier was gone, but its memory lingered in his mind. Its shadow would loom over him for the rest of his days. It was disorienting to see it missing. He put aside the feeling and strode forth. There was work to do.

The garden was a mess, after all.

It was close to the entrance, enough that it could get the light. The warmth of the day was familiar in its mildness, already fading as the sun began to ‘set’ behind the mountain. The perfect time to work.

Asgore hefted the small bag of tools he had slung over one shoulder, placing it neatly on the ground with a gentle clink. He hummed tunelessly to himself, feeling oddly at home for someone visiting what used to be their prison. The humans had a word for this; stalking home syndrome, or something. Attachment to a place, fostered by the proximity. It was true that his race, his subjects, they had all been imprisoned here, and the captivity had been a struggle. But they had made a life here, under this mountain. There was a lot of memories here. Some good, some… Less good.

He pushed the darkness away and tried to focus on the sea of gold in front of him. That was then. The future was bright. This place was just a memory now, a memorial of sorts. The flowers were unruly and out of place, having gone wild in his absence. There was a lot to do. This was hardly an acceptable state of affairs.

He rolled up his sleeves.

***

Footsteps registered in Asgore’s awareness, but he was so intent on his work that he paid it no mind. There was something tinny and distant in the air, it made one of his ears twitch.

“But I don't have the strength to burn the page…”

Someone was singing, quietly, under their breath. Asgore blinked slowly and put the watering can down, turning to look over his shoulder.

It was his son. Asriel was carrying a backpack, with telltale wires snaking from the zipper and disappearing in the white fuzz around the base of both ears. He was walking by, totally lost in the song, so focused that he had totally failed to notice that the garden was now much neater and had a fresh pile of trimmings in the middle. He stepped around it without batting an eyelid, still singing to himself.

“If I could find the words, If I could shake the world, If I could turn back time, would you still be there?”

He closed both eyes and stopped walking, holding his hands out and miming at playing a guitar.

Asgore cleared his throat, attempting to catch the boy’s attention to no effect. He could hear the faint wailing of instruments from over here. He sighed and went to stand, managing to make it onto his feet on the second try.

Asriel started walking again, hefting his backpack and walking along, lightly bobbing in time with the song. Asgore sensed an opportunity, grinning to himself faintly as he strode up behind his son. The child was still so small, his stride so short, it was easy to catch up. He loomed over Asriel, reached out, and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Then would you still baaaaaugh!” He screamed, although it sounded suspiciously like a bleat, the child scrambling over his own feet and losing his footing as he tried to run, jump, turn, and throw a punch all at the same time, resulting in him landing in an undignified heap on his face.

Asgore couldn’t help it, he roared with laughter as he offered his stunned son a hand, pulling him to his feet and dusting off his shirt.

“D-dad? What on earth-?” He managed, blushing a bright red as he adjusted his clothing and tucked his headphones away.

“I’m sorry, Asriel. You were so intent on that metallic music of yours, I couldn’t resist!” He beamed despite his son’s embarrassed displeasure.

“I… It’s called ‘Metal’, Dad. I can’t believe you! What are you even doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you! You told your mother and I that you were going to a friend’s house for the day.”

“Uh… Well, I… Might have lied a little.”

“Clearly.”

“I just didn’t want… Anyone to know.” Asriel looked away, clearly bothered about something.

“Oh, Asriel. You know you can tell us anything, don’t you?” Asgore crouched down, resting on one knee and placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, trying his best to not loom. It was difficult not to loom when you were three times someone else’s size, but he had a lot of practice.

“I know, it’s just…” Asriel sniffed, reaching back and zipping his backpack open to show Asgore.

It was mostly empty. There were some trimmings, crudely cut, and a pair of Asgore’s garden shears that had gone missing a few weeks prior. A mostly empty water bottle, some receipts, a music player and it’s accompanying tangle of wires, and a half empty packet of store bought pies. From the smell of it, butterscotch. One of them was missing, and the other had a small bite out of it and some kind of wetness residue.

“Someone had to look after the flowers.”

The grave. All the way at the very centre of the mountain. It had been so many years, he had all but forgotten. Had his son walked all the way there, on his own?

“I, I know it’s stupid, but I felt bad leaving it to just rot away like that. I shouldn’t have done it, I’m sorry.” Asriel looked downcast, the familiar shame of being caught in the act.

Asgore reached out and pulled his son into a warm hug, startling him again.

“Ah! D-dad?”

“Asriel. What you did was very kind hearted, and I’m very proud of you.”

“You are?”

“I am. But no more lies. Next time, ask myself or your mother for permission. We can go there together, as a family.” He pulled back slightly, beaming at his son, hoping the smile would hide the glistening tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes. “Besides, imagine if your mother found out you were sharing someone else’s butterscotch pies with Chara? She’d have your horns!”

Asriel cringed, reflexively reaching up to cover the tiny nubs peeking out of the fur on his head. He seemed puzzled when Asgore couldn’t help but laugh again.

“You’re weird, Dad. What are you even doing down here?”

Asgore looked from his son to the garden. Six mounds, memorials, in a garden of gold, stained once with red. Sins instead of regret, his own cross to bare. Decisions made by time and circumstance, damning but necessary. A darkness he’d never be free of.

“Oh, nothing. Just some gardening. I couldn’t stand the thought of these flowers getting too unruly in my absence.”

Asriel looked around, as though seeing the garden for the first time.

“Huh… You’re way better at this than I am.”

“Years of experience. Here, come help me do the last of it and then I’ll drive us both home. Did you walk here?”

“Nah, I stashed my bike near the car pack.” Asriel unceremoniously ditched his backpack on the heap of clippings, wandering over to Asgore’s bag of tools and grabbing out a trowel. “What’s this for?”

“Putting down until I tell you to pick it up, for starters.” Asgore said calmly, plucking the tool out of Asriel’s hand. He shrugged and crouched down, looking closely at one of the golden flowers. Asgore tried not to hold his breath. Asriel had been good about the flowers until now, but there was still that moment of hesitation and doubt, if even a fraction of what Frisk had said was true…

“They’re pretty! How’d you get it to grow so big?”

Asgore sighed quietly despite himself. “Lots of love, like everything else that grows. Now, hand me the four tined spading fork.”

“The… The what?”

“The fork. The pointy one.”

“Oh, ok.”

Visible through the gap, the sky began to turn pink. The mountain was peaceful.