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Dried blood crusted along their arms and neck. The hospital gown hung loosely along Kris's back and torso, the folds of fabric scratching against their skin. Kris kept their knees tucked against their chest, head buried, arms tight around themselves as though in danger of their body spooling apart like yarn.
Shuffling came from outside the exam room; the tiles clicking as multiple monsters came down the hall. Their body shook. Mom and dad walking in unison; Asriel following suite, and the doctor heading them off. Not again. Not again. Kris hands tightened into fists, the fabric scrapping against the blisters on their hands.
The footsteps stopped. They heard the handle twist, an initial step into the room. Kris bit their lip to stop a sob.
"Kris," Toriel called, concern wavering in her voice. A few more steps into the room, with others coming in after her. The doctor must be waiting outside. Kris didn't hear any footsteps he didn't recognize. A minute weight lifted from their shoulders.
"Are they here?" Asriel questioned, pacing fast through the room. Asgore seemed to have stopped a few steps in; Kris could hear him adjusting his shirt sleeves. Their body shook, bottom lip wavering as they listened to the noise.
Asriel's footsteps stopped in front of Kris. In the time they'd been left alone, Kris had wedged himself between the exam table and the corner of the room. The pressure of the walls on their body made them feel whole. A small part of them had hoped their family wouldn't find them.
A gasp. "I found Kris," Asriel announced. They heard Toriel mutter a prayer of thanks, and Asgore sigh with relief.
"Hey, Kris," Toriel began. Kris turned their head just enough to see her face. Toriel was sitting on her knees, at the end of the exam table. Relief was in her features, concern in her eyes. They saw Asriel sitting criss-cross behind her, hands tight in his lap. Meanwhile, Asgore was moving a chair to sit with his family.
The hospital lights were sharp, bright, the white walls making it obnoxious to look at. Kris buried their head back into their legs, the darkness soothing the pain it caused. They heard Toriel scoot closer on the tile. "How are you feeling?"
Kris swallowed hard; words didn't come. There was a lump in their throat, a blockage where vocal chords should be. They knew they could speak. But the idea of forming the words, letting the sound ring true—it made their chest ache.
A beat passed. The silence was strained, words unspoken hanging heavy in the space between.
"We brought your blanket from home," Toriel offered. Kris perked their head up. In response, Toriel smiled and pulled the folded blanket from her purse. It was an old present from Dess—blue, with black music notes colored across it. Pain twisted their chest. She sat the blanket down slid it halfway to Kris.
For a moment, Kris stared at the blanket, as though willing it to come to them on its own. Just a few inches more and they wouldn't have to stretch themselves away from their spot for it. The blanket refused to move.
Relaxing their hands, Kris stared at the blanket. 3, 2, 1. They lunged for it, gathering it close to their chest, and hunching their body around it. Warmth flooded their chest and stung their eyes. Dess. Dess. Dess.
Dess was gone.
Pulling the blanket closer to themselves, Kris's senses were flooded with the scent of apples. Home. Relief soothed their fear.
"I know you don't want to talk about it." Kris's eyes flicked up to Toriel, watching her hands as she shuffled through her bag. "So, I thought there might be another way you could help us." She pulled out a sketchbook, one of Noelle's pens hooked onto the rings. Toriel smiled, setting the sketchbook down. "If you'd like, you can draw what happened. It would help us understand, and it might help you move forward."
Draw it. Draw it. The adults wanted to see it. The red bunker doors, always left just ajar for Dess and Kris's adventures. She'd been acting off. Kris knew something was wrong, and yet—and yet—
Breath hitched in their throat, panic twisting their gut. The memories fell through their vision like sand; images, colors, phrases, and smells. Feet pushed off floor, backing them against the corner. The walls hunched their shoulders, pressure against their back, neck, and legs. They buried their face in the blanket.
Apples. The scent stopped their thoughts. Memories of rolling down hills, the twigs scraping their legs; curling under Dess's bed until everyone stopped searching; hours spent playing piano at the Holiday's house.
"There's an hour before the police get here for the final questioning." Kris flinched, fear closing their throat. "We'll leave you to rest before then, okay?"
They tried to muster a sound. Anything to acknowledge their family. However, as they heard standing, Asgore carrying the chair back to its place, and Toriel's minute sigh—no sound escaped Kris's throat.
The door closed behind the Dreemurrs with a soft click.