A/N: Yes, I know Chara is canonically non-binary. I just want to explore the idea of a female character being prone to violence, rather than a male one.

We're in the kitchen together. Mom's out buying groceries. Dad's skulking around someplace outside the house. They argue a lot more now. Chara always claims she doesn't know why, but I sometimes wonder if she does.

"Wanna try something cool?" Chara calls to me.

I shrug. "Okay."

She beckons me with a distracted wave of her hand. I shuffle over to her.

"I have this thing I figured out," she says.

"Like what?"

"We can swap our bodies. Then you'll know what it's like to be me."

I say, "How does it work?"

"It's not really important," she says impatiently. "You have to trust me. Do you?" I nod. I trust her more often, nowadays. Maybe more than Mom, but I don't tell anyone that. She smiles. "Good." She holds her arms out, palms down and says, "Take my hands." I do. They're small compared to mine, even after a couple of years have passed. She's smaller than I am. I used to think that was why she didn't like monsters, but I'm not sure now. "Okay," she says, "now close your eyes." I obey. I feel her lean forward and her nose touches my snout, forehead following. She doesn't have fur, or a snout, so the position is kind of awkward. "You have to focus," she says softly. "And keep your eyes closed, or else it won't work."

I don't know what she means, but I go along with it. She hums quietly in her throat and her hands are kind of clammy against mine. There's a weird sensation that I still can't describe. Like I'm being lifted out of my body by a giant and everything is just barely there. Like a dream. I let the feeling pull me around and then settle. And my voice speaks, and it sounds faraway: "You can open your eyes."

I do. It's different. I feel smaller. The world feels muddied, no longer vibrant. I look at myself and I think: have I ever smiled like that?

"So, uh. I guess it worked?" My voice comes out higher and more confident than I feel.

She shrugs my shoulders. "I guess so." She has my voice, too.

"Can you change us back?" I say without thinking.

She looks sad, but also a little annoyed. "You really want to change back already?"

I backtrack. "Uh, no. I guess I'm not used to this, yet."

She doesn't look convinced. Sometimes she gets like this, and I wish she wouldn't. I watch my body walk over to the kitchen counter and she wobbles a little. She's not used to it, either. She rifles through a drawer or tow until she finds what she's looking for.

"Dad was really upset, wasn't he?" she says with my voice, and her tone is lifeless. It sounds wrong. "Yesterday. Remember?" I feel the words die in my throat. I just nod. "Because Mom said he was a coward." She pauses. "I really think he doesn't like me, As."

"What?" I exclaim. "Why would you say that? Of course he loves you, you're his kid."

She looks at me and smiles sadly with my face. "No. You are." I don't know what to say. I don't like the tone she's using, I don't like hearing myself talk this way. She walks back over to me, still shaky but a touch more confident. "And you know what else? I think you don't trust me, either."

"Stop," I plead, with her voice, and I sound weak, pitiful. I never want her to sound like this.

"Stop what?" We're face-to-face again and there's a new light in my eyes that I've never seen. Instinctually, I falter.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm sorry, Chara. That you feel that way, but I don't mistrust you."

Something in her hand—my hand—flashes in the firelight. "I believe you." My own white paw raises the knife and my eyes fix on it. "I just don't think you're sorry enough."

I want to defend myself, but she's stronger than me. I'm stronger than she is and I can't, even if I had to. I love her too much to hurt her.

So when she grabs my shoulder and pins me back against the counter I flinch. And she presses the point of the knife against my naked, fur-less throat and I want to cry. But I don't. I don't do anything. I just stare at her and it's my face that looks back at me, emotionless.

I ask her to stop, please, and my voice trembles. She doesn't. I tell her that she's only hurting herself and she smiles.

"If you ever tell Mom or Dad, or anyone else," she says with my voice, and she presses the knife up harder so I feel it poke in a little against my neck, "I'll tell them you did this to me." I want to scream but my throat is tight. "Promise you won't?" she asks with my voice.

It takes all the courage I can muster to speak.

"Y-Yeah. I promise, Chara."

She lets me go. She tells me not to move and walks over to the cabinet, rummaging through it. She tends to my wound and it hurts, but I don't make any noise. I try not to wince, but I do a little. I don't think she notices.

We make the switch, hastily, in my room. Chara doesn't bring it up until Mom comes back.

"It was only a game," she says, and looks at me. "It was pretty fun, huh, As?"

I hitch a smile.

"Uh. Y-yeah." Mom looks at me for a second, mildly concerned. I cover my tracks: "It takes a little getting used to, that's all."