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It occured to Callisto--perhaps a bit belatedly--that they really shouldn’t have gone on ahead without Gaster. He was much more confident, smart, composed--
“H-Hey, come on, just listen. Please,” They held their notebook out, open to their notes. “Look, it’s--I have a plan, sir--”
Asgore didn’t even look like he’d heard them. Callisto threw themself to the ground to attempt to avoid Asgore’s trident, though they did end up with a rather nasty gash on their bicep and a complimentary tear in the sleeve of their sweater. Their journal was dropped, loose pages scattering across the bed of flowers. They first grabbed at the wound, but all that did was get blood all over their hands.
Callisto still scrambled to gather up what they could, and stood again, eyes watery with tears. They took a shaky breath, sniffling a bit and readjusting their glasses. It was their turn to make a move, after all. Quivering, they flipped back to where they had furiously scribbled all of Gaster’s important points--why this was more efficient, why it was better, what good it’d do in the long run--and took another breath. A few stray tears slipped out, but Callisto dashed them away quickly.
Gaster would not be shaking in his boots.
Gaster would’ve convinced Asgore to discuss this over a steaming cup of tea by now.
I’m going to die. The thought was sudden; unwelcome. Callisto pushed it away.
“You s-see, if you would a-allow me to explain... Y-You don’t h-have to hurt anyone, sir.” Their voice cracked, trembling. They were terrified, and it was clear for everyone to see. Being so easily read was only making them more afraid, though. Would that make them lose their credibility?
“I can just g-go back home, and bring back my foster parents, and... And...”
I’m going to die.
The hesitation was all Asgore needed to make his move again, this time opening another deep wound on their calf. Callisto dropped to their knees, but kept the journal clutched tight to their chest.
“W-Wait,” They whimpered softly. “Please,”
Dark red was staining the buttercups underneath them. They were going to die.
The sudden sound of frantic footsteps turned their head, back towards the long hallway they’d come down to get here. In the tall archway--
“Gaster?” Journal dropping, Callisto dragged themself to their feet, turning their back to Asgore. They were so relieved. He was here, he was going to tell Asgore it was all okay, and Callisto could go home. They could fix this all.
“You... You came for m-me?”
Three metal points, coated with a viscous, red substance--was that their blood?--sprouted from their chest. Callisto’s eyes flickered from their friend briefly to look down. It didn’t look real. Confused, they looked back up to Gaster. They couldn’t read his expression. Asgore must’ve yanked back on the trident because now they were lying on their back with three gaping holes in their chest, struggling to breathe. Gasping for air, their hand started to look for their journal. It must’ve fallen nearby--
“Callisto,” Oh, no. No no no no.
"Oh... Oh my god,” There was a pressure on their chest. He must’ve been trying to stanch the bleeding. Callisto had a vague feeling of guilt; blood stains would be hard to get out of his white fur. At least it’d grow out.
“Sorry,” It came out garbled. It hurt. Everything hurt. Callisto was afraid.
There were dozens of assurances that it was okay, that it wasn’t their fault, but they started crying anyways. They should’ve listened.
“Am I dying?”
“No, no, you aren’t dying. We’ll fix you up, Little Moon.” Callisto let out a short sob. He was wrong. Weakly, they pushed his paws off their chest--the blood was just soaking through anyways--and gripped a furry paw tightly in their hand, trying to look him directly in the eyes for once. Their breath rattled in out out raggedly, and when they tried to speak again, all that came out was blood. They sucked in a breath; they sucked in blood. They couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t breathe. They struggled, free hand gripping at the bloody buttercups underneath them, as if by holding onto something solid, something real, they could stay. They had to stay.
They had to tell him--
Callisto’s eyes rolled back, tensed muscles gradually loosening.
Their blood-stained hand let go of Gaster’s.