Just a Bad Dream

	Asgore’s head lay on his pillow, he was fully alone in the house, Frisk in Toriel had to go to a school meeting, but that was going on for way too long. His heavy eyelids closed, quickly falling to sleep.  What felt like a second later, his eyes flew open, the ceiling of his room looking back at him. But something was different, something was off.  Before he could delve into thought, he heard a door opening, very, very slowly.  Sniffles and labored breathing filled the room.

	“M-mom? Dad?” Oh no, it can’t be.

	“Please…” No, no, no, no, no, no. Why this? He tried to get up, to comfort his son, to do anything. But he was frozen, his limbs ignoring his commands.  He strained to look over at the doorway,but his eyes even refused to move. The ceiling kept its gaze, as if it were mocking him, laughing even.

	He heard heavy frantic footfalls, stopping around where the child’s voice first came from. “Mom… it hurts, mom pl-please.”

	“Shush child, you’re going to be ok, don’t worry,” the voice belonged to Toriel, but it was shaky, sobs hiding in her smooth voice, “There is no need to fear.”

	“I-I can’t feel my arm,” his voice was strained as he tried to move his useless muscles, tears blotting his vision.

	“As long as you stay in my arms, you’ll be fine,” her shaking voice not even convincing herself, “Asgore! Where are you?! I need help!” He tried to move, respond in any way to her words. But he was still, useless.

	He blinked, the scene around him changed, it was now brightly lit. The throne room, an ocean of golden flowers around him.  But they did not comfort him, their sickly sweet smell filling his nose, making his stomach churn.  He still could not move.

	A light voice came from his side, “Mister? Mister why are you doing this?”  Though he couldn’t turn his head, he could see the face in his peripherals.  She had black curly hair and somewhat dark skin. Her eyes were black, the mouth stuck in a twisted frown, what looked like tears staining her cheeks.

	“I just want to go home,” another voice, sounding slightly younger, a boy appearing next to the first child, his black hair short cropped, his skin also dark. His expression was the same, weeping black eyes and a broken frown.

	One voice after another, all six of his sins clawing at his sides, crying out. Some voices were muddled too horribly by their sobs, Asgore not being able to make out the words.

	“Please… please mister,” one called.

	“Mommy! Mommy it hurts!” cried another. The laments and caterwauls too much for the poor King, he tried to block his eyes, plug his ears. Anything to stop the awful voices.

	“It’s all your fault,” this voice was loud and clear, rising above the rest. The voice of his wife. She stood at the foot of the bed, her brow contorted into a look of disgust, her dark red eyes filled with hate. “You disgusting creature.” The room turned a dark red tint, the children’s cries growing louder, booming against his eardrums. The words echoing in his head deafeningly loud. He grit his teeth and tried to shut his eyes, knowing that it was futile.  Their faces grew, melting together above his eyes.  Their deformed faces still calling out, tears falling onto his fur, staining it black.

	“You could’ve stopped this,” Toriel’s voice rose above the rest, “But you sat back and waited, leaving your kingdom in despair.”  He tried to respond, to make his case, but he couldn’t.

	The world turned black. The screaming stopped, all was quiet.

	“Pathetic.” The word was spat out, and struck him like a bolt, his heart shattering.

	He was shaken awake, his eyes once opening wide, slightly bloodshot.  His fur was matted with sweat, his cheeks slick with tears. He looked up at face above his. It was Toriel, but her scowl wasn’t present, her face worried. Her eyes weren’t sharp and blaming, they were soft and comforting.

	Before she could say anything, Asgore jumped up, leaping into her arms.  Loud sobs wracked his body, he was shaking horribly.  Tears flowed down out of his eyes, his weeping echoing through the room.

	She rubbed his back, hugging him tighter, “It’s ok,” she cooed, “it was just a bad dream.”

	Her words slightly soothed her husband, his trembling easing and his sobs lessening. No more teardrops fell from his eyes. He finally calmed down, lessening his grip on his queen. But her words echoed in his head, haunting his dreams.

	“Pathetic.”