#hhhhgh i love when people hurt each other with good intentions that’s just my entire life

[finderseeker]

HERE’S MORE. I GUESS

the, uh. Previous part, for context. Yeah and there’s a tag now. For stuff related to the actual… “plot” of this. It’s #seeker/tempus storyline (hopefully that works on mobile,,)

This was not supposed to turn into a thing. This cannot become a whole thing I need to get back to my actual fic—

*sigh* But. Here we are. 4000 words of,,, whatever this is. I namedrop the other skeletons and then it’s Tempus ruminating and then him and Seeker crying at each other

Papyrus and Sans were, as one might expect, surprised Seeker tried to leave suddenly, especially without saying goodbye. WD only had part of the story when he went to tell them, after dropping her and Tempus off at the house. (He may have omitted the part where he initially refused to help Tempus stop her from getting killed.)

When the brothers all return to their house, a couple hours later, Seeker is curled into Tempus’s chest on the couch, and there’s a small pile of crumpled tissues on the floor. She’s since fallen asleep from exhaustion, but as tired as he is, Tempus can’t find it in himself to sleep too.

She said she loves him. It made his entire SOUL feel bright to hear that returned. He wishes they had been able to tell each other under better circumstances, but it remains a truth regardless, doesn’t it? Still, the joy is muted by fear and hurt. Does it make sense why she wanted to leave? Yes. Did she actually intend to leave him behind forever without ever saying goodbye? No. But it keeps replaying in his mind, the look on her face when he burst in to plead with her: the way she tried to ignore him. Yes, alright, she was probably focusing on not getting hit, but— there was just something about her expression. Something that stung like rejection. Would she not have told him her intention, even then, if he hadn’t directly interfered? She later told him that she didn’t know if she’d be able to come back, had she made it to the surface. What did that mean? Was there a version of this where she left and couldn’t return and he would have just never known why?

He pushes the thought away best he can and tries to redirect his attention.

It feels good to be able to hold her like this. To comb his fingers through her hair. To experience all the weird things close-up, like her heartbeat, and swallowing, and stomach noises.

…As happy as he is that she’s alive, and here, and loves him back, he’s a little upset at her, yeah. Yet how can he be? If he were in her shoes, wouldn’t he miss his family the same? And she wanted to help everyone. She wanted to help. It made sense to try to leave and come back—

But why was she so determined not to talk to him first? Maybe he wouldn’t have been happy about it, but…

And not only did she try to leave, not only did she try to ignore him when he came to find her, not only did she refuse to give any kind of explanation— she tricked him. Since the day they met, before he even knew her, he trusted her with his eyes. One of the first things she had learned about him was that he could hardly see more than blurred colors without his glasses. Sure, he took them off himself plenty of times, whether for his safety goggles, or to look cool in shades, or for some other reason, but that was different. She threw his glasses. She made him think she was relenting, coming to him in trust, and she tore them off his face.

Was everything else not enough without that on top?

She knew he wouldn’t stop otherwise. That was a correct assessment. She was convinced that what she was doing was necessary. That made her do things she otherwise would not have.

But did she have to twist the knife?

No amount of reasoning through it can pull out the seeds of doubt and fear that have begun to take root in his heart. No matter how long he spends sitting there absently stroking her hair and staring at the wall, no matter how much he reflects on what she told him, the thoughts of “she would leave if she could” play in perfect harmony with that background music in his soul that he rarely even notices anymore: a perpetual fear of abandonment.

And so when his cousins come home later, with Seeker asleep on his chest, he is sure the tracks of tears on his cheeks are still visible— as if the hollow expression on his face and equally hollow glowing of his eyelights isn’t enough to tell them he isn’t up for talking.

For once, no one tries to kick him off the couch for the night.

Papyrus brings them a blanket. At one point, without him noticing, Sans (presumably— since no one else can move that unnoticed) leaves a bag of takeout from Grillby’s next to the couch. Tempus eats his feelings in the form of then-cold fries. When he and WD catch each other’s eye at one point, Tempus looks away. Never one to push, WD leaves him alone.

In truth, he’s kind of pissed at his cousin. No, that’s not true. He’s livid. Sure: WD took him to the castle, and brought them home, and healed them. But he saw Seeker leave and wasn’t going to say anything? He knew full well what would have happened. He would have let her be killed. Even knowing how Tempus feels, even knowing she meant no harm, even knowing she thought of him as a friend! A human may be powerful, but not only is it blatantly obvious that Seeker would never kill, if WD had any doubt that Asgore would prevail, he would not have let her go.

He knew, he knew that he was letting her walk to her death. And then he tried to convince Tempus to let it happen.

WD is a nervous guy, and fears humans. As comfortable with Seeker as he had allowed himself to become in the last few months, none of the other skeletons were under the mistaken impression that he liked her very much. Even still, Tempus had thought it was more out of fear of being discovered or reported, out of fear for his reputation maybe, out of a lifetime of only focusing on humans’ potential for harm. Never, not once did Tempus think that WD, the cousin he was closest to, would just let someone die. And not just anyone— someone Tempus cares about.

In the end, is this how it really is? Not even the people you love care enough to tell you the truth unless you force it out of them. If it weren’t strictly necessary, would anyone actually tell him anything? Could he even trust them when they did?

Slapped in the face twice in one day.

…These fries taste awful cold.

- - -

Seeker wakes up late at night, when it’s dark in the house and everyone is quiet. Her head hurts like she got hit with a bat. …Why does it smell like fries? And what is she laying on? She sits up.

Oh.

Tempus.

Everything comes rushing back all at once and the guilt almost makes her vomit. He’s sleeping, but must not have fallen asleep too long ago because he looks like he’s been crying. It makes her heart twist so painfully that her eyes water a little. He was crying. And it was her fault. Gosh, he deserves so much better than her. When she thinks about everything he’s done for her, and how she’s repaid him…

A sharp, bitter laugh tears out of her before she can stop it. She still owes him $20.

Her stomach gurgles. She knows she’s hungry, and needs to eat, but the idea of eating is utterly repulsive with the nauseating guilt. Instead, she leans over Tempus again. He fell asleep with his glasses on. Wait, didn’t she have hers on too? It only takes a split second to locate them on the side table next to the arm of the couch where Tempus’s head rests. He must have taken them off for her. It’s never comfortable to sleep with them on, after all. She moves to do the same for him, but freezes just before. The scene from earlier plays in her head, so vivid it’s like it’s happening in front of her, and she flinches away to cover her face and claw at her hair.

“BAD bad bad bad—”

It’s a tendency— or perhaps a compulsion, because she can’t always stop herself— when unpleasant memories intrude like this, to hiss something at them in a frantic whisper. To make them go away.

“I’ll do better I’ll do better—!”

It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. But usually it’s older memories, not fresh ones.

She doesn’t try again to remove his glasses.

As much as she enjoys the thought of cuddling with him, she doesn’t feel totally comfortable with the idea of sharing a sleeping space just yet. She fell asleep on him in her exhausted misery, and she doesn’t blame him for not wanting to leave her alone. He probably didn’t think she would sleep so long, or that he would fall asleep too. But now that she’s awake, the best thing to do would probably be to sleep elsewhere.

…She very much does not want to leave. It’s cold outside, even just to get to where she’s claimed a “room” in the shed. And there’s nowhere else in the house. Well, there’s the floor. The floor would be alright— she can fall asleep just about anywhere, truthfully. But she’ll need another blanket. And maybe a pillow, if she can find one.

Seeker slowly moves to get off the couch without disturbing Tempus. She’s fairly certain she’s successful, too, until she turns and makes to step away.

“Seeker—! Don’t leave,” comes his voice, pleading and scratchy with sleep and tears, as small as she’s ever heard it. “Please.”

She spins with a pang in her heart to see Tempus’s outstretched hand reaching for her, eyes burning hollow periwinkle and already brimming with tears.

“Stars, please, Seeker. Please—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she rushes to reassure, on her knees beside him in an instant with his hand in hers. “Just getting another blanket.”

He blinks at her, seemingly all the way awake now, then laughs bitterly and covers his face with his free hand, knees coming up as he curls. “Blanket.” He sighs, and smiles grimly through what she assumes is embarrassment. “Of course.”

“I’ll… be right back.” She squeezes his hand, then lets it go.

A moment later sees her return with a blanket and pillow. Tempus is sitting upright now, feet on the floor, with his face in his hands and his glasses pushed up to his forehead rather than taken off. Seeker slowly lowers to the couch beside him, pillow and blanket set to the side.

“I’m sorry,” she says, quietly. ���I should have… done it differently.”

“You can get a blanket if you really want to,” Tempus mumbles, rubbing his sockets with the heels of his hands. “If that’s what you… But a heads-up woulda— Just, anything not to scare me so bad.”

She swallows. “I just… I don’t know if I could’ve…. still brought myself to get up, if I’d woken you up first.” She wrings her hands. “I would’ve felt awful, because I wanted you to be able to sleep. I thought I could go and get it with you being none the wiser. Okay maybe just… just a little colder for a minute, but then—”

“You really thought I’d be none the wiser!?” Tempus snaps suddenly, turning to look at her. “If you just disappeared!? With no explanation!?”

Seeker flinches away. With his lip curled in a snarl and his eyelights flared, he looks like a wounded animal. But it’s gone in an instant, and the anger gives way to hurt as he looks away again. But it’s done, and she’s retreated from him to the far side of the couch, curled in on herself and holding back tears again.

He’s right. (Because she knows he wasn’t talking about the blanket.) It was selfish. And she hurt him. Of course he’s upset. No matter what he said earlier, it was stupid to think he wouldn’t be, just because she was still here, and alive. He was just putting it aside for her sake. Because of course he’d do that, he’s Tempus. Lord, why was everything he did all for her?

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s a whimper. (‘Stop,’ she begs mentally, ‘my heart is going to break at this rate!’) She blinks back tears as she stares into his wide eyes, no longer flared periwinkle. “Didn’t mean to snap at you,” he rasps in apology, too fast, “y-you’re still…”

Seeker shakes her head and scoots closer. He turns his head away from her once again. “No,” she murmurs, “I should’ve handled it differently. It was— It was selfish.”

“You wanted to help everyone,” he counters, “that’s not selfish.”

“I shouldn’t have just left,” she presses, hoping the remorse is clear in her voice. “I should have talked with you guys.” She pauses. “With you.”

It’s quiet.

It’s quiet for a long time.

The blue darkness feels so big and so small; The whole entire world is somewhere in this dark, and at the same time there’s nothing in existence but this room and this janky green couch and the two of them. The empty fullness of it feels its own sort of alive.

“‘t’s hard to believe you,” Tempus murmurs after a while. After it’s been long enough that Seeker isn’t sure he’s talking about the same thing anymore.

She swallows nervously, afraid of the answer to what she’s about to ask. “That I regret how I handled it…?”

His head is still turned away from her, in the quiet. He doesn’t answer right away. The hesitation is palpable, the held-back energy full of so many reasons for being so. When he finally does answer, his voice shakes, shudders.

“That you love me.”

Seeker feels her heart break right in half.

“A-And I know, it’s not the time—!” Tempus throws a hand up as he continues, voice finally breaking as it all comes pouring out, and it’s so thick with tears and the same distressed smile he keeps forcing. He looks at the ceiling. The next part comes out with a laugh that’s trying very hard not to be a sob. “Ya just lost your family, this— this isn’t gonna be somethin’ you can deal with right now. I get it!”

She reaches toward him, hand hovering over his shoulder as he breaks down.

“But—”

Her hand curls around his arm, and he spins around to face her with an expression that shatters what’s left of her heart.

“—But to leave a-an’ then not even talk to me when I came runnin’! Ya kept your eyes shut every time I tried to getcha to look! And when I finally— When ya did, it—” He swallows a hiccup and shakes his head, looking somehow even more hurt. His eyes are lit again. “You tricked me,” he whispers. “Cuz y’know I can’t see.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment. “A-An’ then, when ya realized ya can’t leave, then,” he laughs, almost incredulously, “then y’tell me ya love me.”

Seeker can barely look at him, but he deserves to be looked in the eye. He shakes his head. “I-I wanna believe you so bad, Seeker, but what’m I s’posed to think?”

It does sound worse, like that. It was a given that he’d be upset, but she hadn’t thought about how confused he must be. How contradictory her actions must seem. And lord, it crushes her to see him hurting like this. She’s overwhelmed, unsure how to proceed, weighed down by her own grief and still processing the fact that she almost died today, on top of all of this with Tempus. She only wanted to reassure him when she told him that she felt the same, earlier, with all he had done for her. But instead all she did was make it worse. Lord, she always makes everything worse, no matter how she tries to make things better.

“I-I—” She’s utterly at a loss, searching his watery eyes with her own damp ones and wanting nothing more than to somehow clarify everything, fix everything, make him feel like he’s hers and she wants him and loves him and it’s real, it’s all real!

Not knowing what else to do, what she could possibly say, she reaches for his hands and intertwines their fingers as she leans closer. “I do,” she insists, urgently. Frantic, almost. “I’m so bad at everything about this and I did a really, really terrible job of showing it, but I do, I do!”

Her heart is in her throat and tears are burning her eyes and the longer she looks at him the more pieces her heart breaks into.

“Everything you do is for me, even though I’m oblivious, even though sometimes I’m crappy to be around, even though I’m so bad at being a good friend, even though you haven’t gotten anything back for it but hurt. I-I thought if I told you how I feel the same way, after everything you did for me today, th-then it would be reassuring that it wasn’t for nothing. But I made it worse!! I’m so sorry, Tempus, I’m sorry for all of it! But I meant it—” She sniffs and drops her head. It’s a small thing, but maybe it will mean something; she brings his knuckles to her lips.

“I do… do love you,” she insists, softly. “I’m bad at it, but I wanna- I wanna prove it.” A sniffle. “I just need… a little time. T-To grieve.”

Tempus sniffs too, and when she looks up he’s still crying but his cheeks are flushed. He nods a couple times before finding his words, between the occasional hiccup.

“That’s fair. ‘M… ‘m sorry, I didn’t want t’… bring all this up. B-But it…”

Seeker shakes her head. “No, you’re hurting too. That should get talked about.” Her fingers tighten around his. “I’m sorry your feelings keep getting put on the back burner.”

“They’re not as im—” He’s cut off by her head whipping up and the intensity in her eyes.

“Don’t say that! It makes me feel awful!” she cries. His mouth clicks shut. Seeker leans in close, one hand untangling from his to hover close to his face as she looks him over with so much heartache. “Everything about you is important. Just as important as anything about anyone else.” She swallows. “And— and more. Important. Than stuff about anyone else. T-To… To me.”

He stares at her in bewilderment, and then his eyes go periwinkle— solid, with white centers this time— as a fresh wave of tears hits. Another hitch in his breathing, and he leans his face into her hovering hand and presses over it with his own hand.

“You have every right to be mad at me,” Seeker murmurs, miserable at the idea despite knowing it’s her own fault. “But don’t think I did any of this because I don’t care. Or- Or because you’re not as important.”

His eyes search hers, and his mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind, and as he turns his eyes away, they fade back to just white. Still, he holds her hand to his face, and she thumbs away some stray tears.

“Tempus,” Seeker begins again, her voice still wobbly, and he glances back up. She makes sure she’s looking at him. “I’m sorry I took your glasses. And I’m sorry I threw them. That was…” She gulps. “That was a really shitty thing to do.”

She doesn’t like to swear, but occasionally there really is no other word that fits. This is one of those times. Tempus doesn’t even flinch at hearing it from her.

“…Yeah,” he whispers back, looking down. “It was.”

All the guilt she feels is deserved, she reminds herself. He doesn’t owe her forgiveness, either. And there’s more to apologize for.

“A-And I’m sorry I tricked you.”

His face scrunches up painfully and he almost turns away.

“It’s not an excuse,” she continues, “but in the moment I really did think it was the only way. Doesn’t make it okay, or right, but at- at least know it’s not because I didn’t…”

Didn’t what? Didn’t care about his well-being or safety? Obviously she must not, if she did that! Didn’t want him there? She didn’t, though, or she would’ve told him her plan ahead of time. There wasn’t a single good reason. Everything about that action betrayed a lack of respect. What could she even say?

“L-Like I said, I… should’ve handled the entire thing differently. And I’m sorry. F-For everything it implies.”

“Y’know I can’t see,” he whispers, an echo from earlier. Still doesn’t look at her.

“Y-Yeah.” She won’t try to avoid taking responsibility. Her hand squeezes around his. “It was too far. Way too far.” Seeker’s chest aches and it comes out in her voice. “I will never do anything like that again.” He finally looks back up at her. “You deserve more respect than that. I’m sorry. It doesn’t feel like enough, but I am.”

Silence as he searches her eyes, silence as she hopes he sees her earnestness in her expression, in her tears. Silence as he lowers his gaze and her heart drops with it.

“Promise.” It’s more of a question, a request, than a demand. Spoken so quietly she can barely hear.

“I swear to you.” No hesitation.

He pulls away from her hand on his face but doesn’t let go of it, and instead turns further to face her, leg up on the couch, and drops his head to rest against her shoulder when she turns too. He holds her hand against his face once more. Seeker lets go of his other hand to wrap her arm around his back.

“Okay,” is all he murmurs.

Is it acceptance, or resignation?

She rubs his back, slowly, up and down, tracing over the flattened spines down the middle when she comes to them. His little tail, sticking out from the bottom of his shirt, sways back and forth in time. Rather than say anything more, Seeker closes her eyes and presses her face against the top of his head. She’s so fortunate that after everything, he’s still here. Maybe he won’t want to be, once everything settles. That’s well within his right. But he’s here right now, and he wants to be close despite it all, and for never having acted on their feelings before now, really, holding him feels so natural.

Undoubtedly, he can feel her teardrops on his skull, but he doesn’t say anything. Seeker reflects on the irony of the whole situation: in a bid to save everything, she lost almost all of it. No more family. No way home. Maybe she could have coped with those facts better if she’d known sooner, and had her skeleton friends’ support. But instead it went like this, and she betrayed all of them, almost lost her life, almost lost Tempus— might still lose Tempus.

But he’s here for now. And she deserves whatever he decides to do, but right now, she just wants him to know, more than anything, that while her well-intentioned attempts to do the right thing were very misguided, while she was (and still is, even) prepared to give up who she cares about for the greater good—

“I love you.”

Said right against his skull, like she could somehow whisper it into his very being. She feels his fingers curl in the back of her shirt.

“I don't think… I could be very good to you. Right now. But if…” She swallows. This a lot to ask. She can hardly so much as whisper it. “If you'd wait… I’ll get better.”

Silence.

“J-Just think about it.”

He must be exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, physically. She feels his weight begin to sag against her– and while not especially so, he's heavier than she had once thought a skeleton would be. Maybe, maybe she can make an exception to her sleeping rule. These are extenuating circumstances.

“C’mere.”

With the pillow and blanket from earlier behind her, she shifts them around with one hand and holds Tempus close with the other. When it's sorted out, she leans back and pulls him with her. He doesn't fight it, instead adjusting himself as they move to better fit around her. Hesitantly, he finally removes his glasses, and reaches to set them on the arm of the couch behind her. It all ends with him half on his side, half on his stomach; half on her and half beside her. But the important thing is that his head is tucked under hers, and his arms are around her, and hers are around him. She pulls the blankets up over them.

One last little sniffle, and she squeezes him gently. “Get some sleep, Tem.”

He hums some sound at the nickname, but whether it's in approval or not, Seeker can't tell. In either case, he turns his face into her shoulder. She rests a hand on the back of his skull.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”