Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You leave behind the gloom of your menu, and blink to clear the purple splotches in your vision as your eyes adjust to the light. You’re halfway up Mount Ebott, and the trees are too sparse to filter out much of the early afternoon sun. Within a couple of hours it will sink behind the mountain and cast the entire eastern side into shade, but right now it’s poised directly above the peak. From your position it’s as if the mountain is a huge arrow, pointing at the sun and saying “Look at that! Isn’t it remarkable? Isn’t it amazing, to live every day in the open air under a bright sun?”

It is amazing. Since your fall into the underground, you’ve been careful to appreciate the more pedestrian aspects of surface life. Seasons, fresh air, sunlight; there were lots of things that you took for granted back then. Even the few days you spent trapped under the mountain were enough to begin wearing away at your mind. You can’t begin to imagine spending a lifetime there. Having grandparents who had never seen a sunrise, and knowing your grandchildren wouldn’t either.

And you could make it happen. The menu you just exited is an uncomfortable reminder of the power that you alone hold. “SAVE.” “LOAD.” “RESET.” That last one is the worst, five glowing amber letters that always come back to haunt you. Before today you hadn’t called up the menu in nearly a year, and you’d almost convinced yourself that the power had deserted you when you left the underground – that you could return to your life unburdened by the weight of such choices. But here, at the mouth of the cave where your journey began, the familiar sensations come creeping back. The grim resolve that you had to rely on to survive your journey. The willpower to face insurmountable odds, fail, and try again. With the memories comes the menu, and the confirmation that, no matter how little you desire it, you possess the power to snatch away everyone’s happy ending as completely as if it had never existed. You don’t have to use the power, but you can never be rid of it.

You’re filled with determination.

Chapter Text

There’s a sturdy-looking tree growing a few yards from the mouth of the cave. You clip the climbing rope around it and pull it taut, leaning back so that it bears your full weight. The tree doesn’t budge.

You fasten the climbing harness around your torso, don the bright orange helmet, and gradually lower yourself into the Ruins. You reach the ground and have just finished unclipping your harness when you hear a familiar voice, high pitched and laced with derision. Flowey has noticed your arrival.

“Frisk? What are you doing here? I told you –ʺ He pauses, and a malevolent smile creeps onto his face. “Oh, you’re back to reset, right? I knew eventually you’d... wait, what?” his voice trails off when he sees the trowel and flowerpot you’ve just unpacked, and his expression goes from smug to scornful. “You idiot! Don’t you remember what I said?! I can’t love you. I can’t love anyone. I’ll just make you all miserable up there.”

You kneel down in front of him. “I know that you can’t love. It’s okay.”

“Then... what? Is this some kind of pity thing?” He puts on a sing-song voice “’Oh, boo hoo, the poor flower’s left all alone?’ Because you can keep your worthless pity.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?!”

“It’s just... you’re the only other one who knows what it was like,” you say. “Being able to save, and reset, and all that stuff. I wasn’t exactly responsible with that power, and I can’t vent to the others about it. Not after what I did. I just wanted someone to talk to about it, and I thought you might want that, too.” You pause to let Flowey respond, but he doesn’t say anything so you carry on. “I know you’re not interested in being friends, or, or family, with anyone, and... I know that I’m not Chara. But do you think maybe understanding would be enough?”

Flowey doesn’t talk or meet your gaze for several seconds. He seems to be actually considering what you’ve said, which is more than you’d hoped for. Finally, he mumbles “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” As you start digging into the earth around him, he adds “On a couple of conditions. Don’t tell Asgore and Toriel who I am.”

“I won’t tell.”

“And no more resets.”

“No more resets,” you echo in affirmation. You transfer Flowey into the pot and fasten it onto your back in silence. You get the feeling he’s waiting for you to say something sentimental so that he can rib you for it. You decide to hold your tongue; he’ll probably find something to be rude about if you give him a moment. You adjust the backpack straps, walk back to the rope, and begin your ascent.

 “What’s with this stupid helmet, anyway?” asks Flowey. There it is.

“Toriel wouldn’t let me come down here without safety stuff.”

“You look like a total dork.”

“Uh-huh. I know.” The insult is so mild you don’t really feel it. And anyway, it’s basically just background noise coming from him. The remainder of your climb to the surface passes in silence; you can feel the awkwardness of Flowey’s failed needling hanging in the air. You’ve made it to the mouth of the cave and are winding up the rope when he pipes up again.

“That’s so like her, though.”

“What is?”

“The helmet. If you fell from this height, you probably wouldn’t land on your head...”

“I see – “

“...and even if you did, the impact would just carry through anyway and break your neck. I tested it out, in one reset. Drops from different heights. Figuring out what a monster can survive.”

“Uh-huh.” You know he just wants a reaction, but that doesn’t make it any less unsettling.

“Human bodies are tougher, granted, but that probably wouldn’t make much difference. But of course she sends you out with a helmet, anyway. She’s so obsessed with trying to protect people, even when it’s out of her control. Even when it doesn’t concern her! Imprisoning random humans just to feel like she’s doing some good. Ha.”

You trudge back down the mountain in silence. He’ll wear himself out soon enough.

“It’s guilt, I suppose.” He leans over from his position on your back, hissing the words into your ear. “She failed so monumentally to protect her real son, and serve her actual subjects, and she’s trying to make up for it now. That’s all you are. The latest subject for another study in self-pity. How long has she even known you, like, a few months? And yet she wants to act like your Mother, who cares for you and supports you. And just watch: if you try to move on, or grow up, she’ll resent you for it. She’ll guilt-trip you until –“

“Asriel. Shut up, now.”

Flowey shuts up. But after a few seconds, he mumbles, “Why did you call me that?”

“Because it’s still your name. Like it or not, you’re still her son, and you’re still the Prince of monsters. And you need to act like it.” You know you shouldn’t be rising to his bait, but you can’t help yourself.

“I don’t ‘need’ to act like anything. As far as Toriel knows I’m dead, and as for being the Prince of monsters, that ship has sailed. Still, if hearing the truth about her upsets you so, I’ll stop. You’ll see it for yourself eventually.”

“Sure,” you say. The sun is obscured by the mountain now, so the rest of your descent is in shade. The western sky behind you is a luminous orange, but ahead it’s already fading into turquoise. The trees are denser this close to the bottom of Mt Ebott, and a chorus of evening birdsong gradually builds up as the ground levels out. Here you pause for a quick rest before starting the final leg of your journey.

You put down the backpack for a moment and take a swig from your canteen before waving it in Flowey’s direction. “You, uh, want any?”

“Sure,” he says. “Just, like, pour some into the pot... if that’s cool. And don’t laugh about it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you assure him. You empty about a cup’s worth of water into the soil, trying to distribute it evenly. Watering a sentient plant isn’t a particularly weird interaction where monsters are concerned.

“So what’s been going on in the outside world? Since I busted everyone out, I mean?” Flowey asks.

 “Well, let’s see. Asgore’s been negotiating with various human governments to try and sort out the position of monsters in the world. On the one hand the monsters want him to stay king, but it’s not really clear where he’s going to be king of. America – that’s the human country that exists here now – doesn’t want to give up all the land around Ebott. They can’t really ask all the humans to leave, but relocating all the monsters somewhere else would take a long time. There’s a whole bunch more complicated stuff I don’t really get. But at least it looks like there won’t be another war.”

“I was wondering why there were still so many monsters in the underground,” says Flowey. “So I freed everyone, and they have to stay under the mountain anyway? That’s just peachy.”

“Kinda. Yellow Creek (that’s the human town we’re heading for) is being expanded with temporary housing, and monsters are moving in. But that all had to be agreed with the human authorities, and then planned out, before the actual building could start. And there’s a lot of monsters, way more than the town can hold at the moment.”

“Huh.”

“Papyrus is helping out with relocating monsters. Toriel’s started a school so the kids can carry on learning. I don’t know if you know Mettaton? He’s been a real hit with humanity. Already got a world tour planned.”

“That sounds about right for him.”

“Anyone else you want to know about?”

“Hmm... what’s up with Sans these days?”

“I don’t see much of him. I kind of prefer it that way, to be honest.”

“Good call. It was always a pain when he tracked me down.”

“I feel like he must know about all my resets. But if he does, he hasn’t let on, and I don’t exactly want to bring it up with him.”

“Sure.”

“It’s getting dark,” you say. You finish your water and carefully lift the backpack over your shoulders. “We’d better get home before Toriel starts worrying.”

Flowey sighs. “Uh-huh. So where am I actually staying, anyway?”

*             *             *

The greenhouse sits against the fence at the end of your back garden, underneath a tall pine tree. It's been specially built to make sure Flowey doesn’t pose a threat to himself or anyone else. The panels are made of the same magically-reinforced glass that was used to build the Core, meaning it’s strong enough to withstand magical attacks from Undyne and Toriel simultaneously (they tested it to be sure). As for Flowey's ability to burrow underground, the similarly toughened metal grate above the floor should prevent that. It took a lot of pestering and pleading to convince Toriel to have it built (“I don’t know why you want to go to all this effort to look after such an unpleasant creature, Frisk.”) but you got your way in the end. The door is fitted with a heavy metal lock as an extra security measure.

Flowey threw one of his customary tantrums over these new lodgings, calling them humiliating and disrespectful, as well as lamenting how little faith you all had in his better nature. But everyone agreed he couldn’t really be set loose on the world in his current state, especially with the peace between humankind and monsters as tenuous as it was.

You’ve tried to make the greenhouse as pleasant as you can. A small square table in the centre holds Flowey's pot, and there are a couple of garden chairs around it for visitors to sit in. You set up an old TV against one wall by threading an extension cord out of the window and into the house, so he at least has something for entertainment. It's voice controlled, meaning he can surf channels to his heart’s content without needing the remote. You also brought him a couple of boxes of books from Toriel’s collection – stories, natural history, puzzles – but it soon became apparent that his magic was much better suited to punching holes through the pages than turning them. Lastly, you assured him that you would visit him every day (“Golly, what fun,” he responded).

Once you’ve finished installing Flowey in his new home, you head back inside. You consider inviting him in for dinner, but after hearing what he has to say about Toriel you decide against it. You weren’t even sure he’d agree to come to the surface, and you’re not going to push your luck by forcing him to socialise. Once he’s had a bit of time to adjust to being around other people, everything will get better. In the meantime, though, you have to admit it’s a pretty dull situation you’ve left him in.

He will get better, won’t he? When you compare Flowey as he is now to the kid who freed monsters from the underground, you can barely wrap your mind around the fact that they’re the same person. There must be some missing ingredient – what is it about a soul that can so drastically change someone’s personality. When he only had human souls he wasn’t much different from his soulless self... it was the monster souls that did it. Those souls weren’t really his... but they did seem to let him express his own emotions. So there has to be something you can do...

Dinner tonight is a kind of root vegetable medley with tomato sauce, but your mind is too busy chasing itself in circles to give it the admiration it deserves. Toriel can tell something is up. “Are you alright, Frisk? You look very... distant.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just had a long day.” That’s not a lie; your hike has left you pretty exhausted.

“I hope that Flowey chap hasn’t given you too much trouble. I must admit, I’m surprised you wanted to have anything to do with him, given how he attacked us all back in the underground.”

“Yeah, well, you know...” you stumble over your words, trying to phrase your response so as not to give anything away. “Like I said, it felt like a risk just leaving him out there.”

“I suppose so...”

“And I actually talked to him quite a lot... when I was in the underground, I mean. And it seems like he might not be so bad. I think he just needs someone who understands him.”

Toriel sighs. “The thing is, Frisk, you are an extremely selfless person, and also very persistent. And that can be a good thing! You managed to convince monsters who’d spent their whole lives preparing to kill humans to spare you, and even be friends with you. You even talked Asgore out of waging war on humanity, which, well...” she falters. “What I mean is, you seem to have a knack for bringing out the best in people. But you need to be careful to look after yourself, as well. From what I’ve seen of that creature, he’s very fond of degrading other people, and you’ll make yourself an easy target if you open up to him too much.” You open your mouth to respond, but she forges ahead. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to help him. I’ve underestimated you before. But I want you to promise me that you won’t let him tear you down, and you won’t take it too much to heart if he proves, well... un-befriend-able.” When you don’t answer, she repeats herself. “Can you promise me that, Frisk?”

You put on a smile. “Sure, Toriel. I won’t let him get to me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, do you want some more dinner, or shall we move on to dessert?”

“Dessert sounds good.”

It’s weird hearing Toriel criticise her own son so frankly – what she’s saying is totally fair, but still. You wish you could just tell her who Flowey is, but you did agree not to, and breaking a promise within a few hours of making it is not a good look.

The rest of the evening passes without incident, but once you get into bed you feel restless in spite of your physical exertion. You reach for your phone and load up an episode of anime. Something with a nice, low-stakes conflict and a happy ending. Your brain needs it right now.

*             *             *

You’re in the hallway of the castle in New Home, fighting Sans. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve died to him, but it must already be more than ten. You’re not sure while you’re still coming back – it’s pretty clear he’s impossible to beat.

Sans’s turn. “seeing what comes next... i can’t afford not to care anymore.” You don’t know or care what that means, and he doesn’t give you time to ponder it. A series of attacks from either side forces you to dodge wildly around the hallway; one of them grazes you and knocks off a handful more HP. Only a few rounds into the fight, and you’re already dangerously injured. You grunt in frustration.

Your turn. FIGHT. You lunge at Sans with your dagger, and he dodges. Big surprise.

Sans’s turn. “ugh... that being said... you, uh, really like swinging that thing around, huh?”

Oh, right. You hadn’t realised it was already time for him to plead.

“listen. friendship...” he says. You let your eyes glaze over. His next line is accompanied by a wink. “it’s really great, right? let’s quit fighting.” The plus side to fighting an opponent who knows about your power is that he doesn’t bore you with the same dialogue every time. He knows you’ve both been here before, and that offering you mercy is essentially a formality. Short and sweet. You can respect that. You’ll take the opportunity to heal up, then get back to the fighting.

Your turn. Sans is sparing you.

You bite into a Legendary Hero. Mettaton may have been a crummy fighter, but there’s no denying he could make a mean sandwich. You eat another to max out your HP. Fantastic. Time to kill the skeleton. Then again...

Sans is sparing you.

You consult the MERCY menu, just out of interest. His name is yellow. Huh. So it’s not just an empty gesture – he really is giving you a second chance. You look at him again. He stands there, hands in his pockets, the usual inscrutable grin on his face, and sweat (for some reason) dripping down his brow. It’s kind of touching, you have to admit, especially after everything you’ve done. Still, you only have one goal in mind, and accomplishing it means rejecting his offer. You’ll just head over to FIGHT, and...

Sans is sparing you.

Ugh, FINE. You’ll spare him, just this once. This fight was just going to end with you dying, anyway – you’ve blown through your healing items way too soon to have a chance later on. You’ll spare him, see how he reacts, and then you can reload your SAVE and finish the job. It’s no biggie.

Your turn. MERCY. Spare.

Sans’s turn. He closes his eyes, and you think you can detect genuine relief on his face. “you’re sparing me? finally. buddy. pal. i know how hard it must be... to make that choice. to go back on everything you’ve worked up to.” He already looks so much less tense. It could almost warm your heart, under different circumstances. “i want you to know...” he continues, “i won’t let it go to waste.”

With those words, he looks right into your eyes. You’re torn between sentimentality over how nice he’s being, and disgust at how easily he gave up the fight. When you reload and kill him, you’ll make sure to taunt him about that.

“cm’ere, pal.” He opens his arms, offering you a hug. You move forward to accept. It can’t hurt to play his game for a minute or two longer.

His attack hits you dead on. By the time you can react, there’s nowhere to run. Your HP drains to zero in seconds, and the last thing you see before blacking out is his face, flashing you one last infuriating wink.

“geeettttttt dunked on!!! if we’re really friends... you won’t come back.”

Okay, he got you good. As you load up your save again, you have to wonder why you’re even doing this. Sure, pacifism proved to be a no-go, and you’re curious to see what happens when you kill everyone, but is it really worth dying to Sans over and over again? In fact, you’re pretty sure you already gave up on this path and reset. And didn’t you free everyone from the underground months ago? so why are you...?

Oh, right, you’re dreaming. Very funny, brain.

You gradually open your eyes and squint at the digital alarm clock. Your eyes adjust to the dark just in time to watch the display roll over from 23:59 to 00:00 – still hours until it’s worth getting up. You’re about to try and go back to sleep, but you suddenly get the feeling you’re not alone. Now that you’ve noticed it, you can definitely sense a familiar presence watching you.

“Hi, Frisk,” says Chara. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” You say it in a monotone, more like a statement than a question.

“Wow, what’s with the tone? I’m trying to be polite here.”

“I thought you were gone.”

“Gone? Nah, I’ll be sticking around for a while yet. You’re so full of surprises. I never know what you’re gonna do next!”

You turn over and close your eyes, but Chara doesn’t take the hint.

“Case in point,” they continue. “You wimp out of fighting Sans because he’s too tough for you, but now you want to try and save Asriel?”

You grunt in annoyance. “So I take it you chose the dream.”

“I’m not the boss of your subconscious... but I was thinking about that battle, yes – the one where the skeleton man pranked you so hard you had to reset the timeline. Anyway, as I was saying: you can’t fix Asriel. It’s literally impossible, and you should give up.”

You sit up and glare at Chara. It’s not like blocking them out was working, anyway. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, please. His soul vanished when he died. Poof! Gone. That crazy Doctor brought back his consciousness, but he’s empty inside and you know it. Face it, Frisk, you can’t give everyone a happy ending.”

“I can at least try!”

Chara gives an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. If you want to waste your effort on this dead end of a timeline, be my guest. But you’ll get bored. And when you do, just remember the path you were too much of a coward to finish.”

Your room fades into darkness around you, and suddenly the menu is looming before your face once again. The bright orange words fill your vision, and follow you even when you turn away. Even when you close your eyes. “SAVE.” “LOAD.” “RESET.” Chara whispers three more words into your ear before they vanish.

“I’ll be waiting.”

You try to scramble away and trip in the darkness. There’s no floor, so you fall and fall until you finally wake with a jolt.

You sit up and look around. You swallow your panic and try to figure out if you’re really awake this time. You don’t hear Chara’s voice, and the menu is gone – both good signs. A thin strip of sunlight is showing between the curtains and cutting diagonally across your bed. Your dressing gown is hung on the door like it always is. The alarm clock reads 09:17, thirteen minutes before it’s set to go off. You sigh and relax. Everything is normal.

Chapter Text

After that dream you feel no desire to go back to sleep any time soon, so you’re glad it’s about getting-up time. By the time you’ve got dressed and dragged the brush through your hair, the details of what happened are already fading, leaving you with fragments – images and emotions, but nothing concrete. The fight with Sans... you feel like that part matched up pretty closely with the real thing. But the bit with Chara was completely new. You struggle to reconstruct the scene – Chara’s voice was talking to you, like it did months ago in the underground. They were angry; trying to make you do something... change something. Lines of conversation trickle out of your mind as you try to catch them.

You sigh in frustration. It felt real, but then all dreams do at the time. You must be overreacting because of the stress. After all, if Chara really was back, why would they be confined to your dreams? That was never how it worked before, and there’s no reason it should change now. The thought comforts you. You left Chara behind in the underground. The dream was just a dream. No need to read into it.

Your alarm clock goes off on your bedside table, and you tap the button to silence it. As you leave your room, you glance in the mirror. Yeah. It’s just you.

As you head down the hall towards the kitchen, you hear the sounds of baking – the whirring of the oven and the occasional clatter of dishes. Sure enough, when you enter you find Toriel carefully taking two circular glass dishes out of the oven. Each one contains an empty pie crust, lined with rice-filled baking paper. Bowls of filling sit on the counter – one a rich brown, the other dark red.

“Oh, good morning, Frisk,” she says. “You’re up a bit earlier than usual.”

“Yeah. I woke up before my alarm for some reason. What’s the occasion?” You gesture to the pies.

“I thought since it’s only a week until Spring break, I would bring in a treat for the children at school.” She sets aside the baking paper and rice, and then pours the brown mixture carefully into one of the dishes. “And, since I was already making one pie, I thought I might as well do another just for us to have at home. One will be cherry, the other one will be cinnamon-butterscotch.”

“The classic,” you nod. An idea comes into your head.

“I haven’t decided which to take in and which to keep yet, though,” she says. “Which would you prefer? Oh, and can you fetch me the spatula from the drawer on the left?”

You retrieve the spatula and hand it over. “Can we hang onto the cinnamon and butterscotch one? It’s my favourite.”

“Thank you, dear, and of course!” Toriel pours as much of the cherry filling into the second pie as will go, and scrapes the rest out with the spatula. “I thought you might pick that one; it was always a family favourite.”

A family favourite – that’s what you’re counting on. You make yourself some jam on toast for breakfast while Toriel puts the pies in the oven and sets the old-fashioned cooking timer.

“There we go. They ought to be ready in forty minutes,” she says.

You busy yourself with math homework at the living room table while you wait for the pies to be done. It’s fractions – not particularly hard, but not that interesting either. Still, by alternating bites of toast with questions you get through it in fairly good time. You go into the kitchen to check the timer – still ten minutes before the pies are done. You while the time away by doodling in the back of your math book.

You draw a column of circles, and use straight lines to split them into smaller and smaller pieces. The first one you split in half, and the second one you halve twice, making four quarters. Then you cut the next one into eighths. You notice that where you only needed one extra division to go from halves to quarters, you need two more after that to get eighths. You draw lines across the fourth circle until it looks about symmetrical, and count the slices: sixteen. They’re a bit unevenly sized when there’s so many. You try divide the next circle, following the pattern, but you’ve drawn it too small to cram in enough lines. You spot how the number of lines you need to draw doubles with each new circle, as does the number of slices. So the last one must have thirty-two slices. There get to be a lot of lines very fast after a few steps.

Bored of straight lines, you turn the circles into pies, adding crimped crusts around the edges and pastry lattices or sliced fruit on top. The first pie, in two halves, is the neatest. Two halves for two people – you and Toriel, you suppose. But you wouldn’t want to eat half a pie in one sitting. The quartered one underneath looks a bit more manageable. A quarter each for you, Toriel, and Flowey, and... who else? Asgore? You doubt Toriel would want to share a pie with him. Or with Flowey, for that matter. Perhaps the last two quarters are for Sans and Papyrus, or Undyne and Alphys. But if you give them to one pair, you’ll leave out the other. You’re not sure about that one.

The one in eight parts is easy. One each for you, Toriel, Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Flowey and Asgore. When you split it between more people, their individual conflicts don’t seem so important. As an added bonus, the slices are a size that you might actually want to eat. The sixteenths pie has enough slices for everyone in your class at school, though they’re rather modest in size, and as for the... thirty-twoths? Thirty-seconds? You wouldn’t even know who to give that many slices to. And that pie is a mess to look at, anyway.

The timer rings shrilly, and presently Toriel passes through into the kitchen to get the pies out. The delicious smells of cherry, cinnamon and butterscotch mix together and waft through into the living room. You abandon your drawings to go and look at the finished products.

“Well, I’d say those are done,” says Toriel, placing the pies on a wire rack on the counter. “I’ll leave them to cool now; and the butterscotch one will make a nice afternoon snack.”

“Um, is it alright if I take some now?” you ask.

“Are you sure? You only just had breakfast.”

“I know, but I thought I might take some out to offer to Flowey, as a sort of... good will gesture. Just a couple of small slices. Please?”

Toriel sniffs, but then her expression softens. “Alright then. Just don’t make yourself sick. And you’ll still need to wait a bit for it to set so you can cut it.”

*             *             *

Half an hour later you head to the greenhouse, a plate of pie in each hand. You know that Toriel made this recipe a lot back when he was alive and soulful, and you’re hoping it might have a positive effect on him. As you approach, you see that Flowey’s pot is empty and your heart misses a beat. You put the plates down on the ground and fumble to unlock the door. He emerges from the soil as you come in, and your panic recedes. You guess he prefers to bury himself when he’s alone? Sure, why not.

“And what time do you call this?” he asks grumpily, fixing you with a baleful stare.

“It’s almost eleven, Flowey. Not exactly the crack of dawn. Why does a flower even need sleep?”

“I dunno. I get sleepy. I don’t make the rules.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I brought you some breakfast.” You set one of the plates down in front of him, and take a seat in one of the garden chairs to eat your own pie.

He glances at the pie with disdain, and then looks back to you. “So what am I meant to do with this?”

“Uhm, like, eat it?”

“I’m a flower, Frisk. I haven’t eaten food since before I died. What, you think I’ve got a whole digestive system packed into my stem?”

You pause with your mouth full. You realise you’d just sort of assumed that he could eat because he had a face, which, now that you think about it, does seem like a pretty dumb conclusion to draw. It’s especially mortifying to be having this conversation while you shovel a delicious slice of pie into your face. You try and fail to swallow inconspicuously, and can tell that Flowey is relishing the awkwardness of the situation.

You clear your throat. “So, like, don’t you get hungry?”

“Of course I get hungry, Frisk. It helps that I’m lucky enough to still have a sense of smell in this form. It really is such fun being able to smell food but not eat it!”

“So how do you not starve?”

“I make food with my leaves, I think. It’s called phono... no, photo-something. I forget. Do human schools not have science classes?”

“No, we do. It’s photosynthesis, I think. Which makes sense, I guess. It just seems weird, you being able to talk and smell and stuff, but not eat.”

“Let me reiterate, Frisk: I don’t make the rules.”

“Yeah.” You put your plate down. “Sorry, Flowey, I didn’t realise. I probably shouldn’t eat right in front of you like this, huh?”

He looks taken aback for a moment, and then eyes you suspiciously. Whatever thought he’s having passes quickly, though, and he responds matter-of-factly. “In this case, I can’t say I mind that much. This pie honestly looks pretty gross.”

“Really? I got the impression it was a favourite of yours.” It sounds like he’s trying to provoke you again, so you choose your words with caution.

“It was. I remember really liking it, back before... everything. But come on. Butterscotch and cinnamon? Plus all the extra sugar in the base? It’s not good, it’s just sweetness overload. I must have been a really dumb kid, I’m telling you.”

“Well personally, I like it,” you say. “Are you sure it’s not just because – “

“Not everything is about me lacking a soul, Frisk!” Now you’ve gone and done it, you think. “I can still have taste and judgement, even if I can’t feel emotions or whatever. And the truth is that this pie is just not that great. But hey, you’re entitled to your opinion. Even if it’s wrong.” He chuckles, and doesn’t say anything else.

Huh. That was much better than the diatribe you were gearing up for. “Well,” you say, getting up and retrieving the watering can from its corner. “I suppose I’ll just, uh... give you your water, then.” Flowey doesn’t respond. You sprinkle some water into the pot, just enough to hydrate the soil, and then put it back. “Do you want anything else?”

“I dunno,” he says. “Have you got any human TV show recommendations? I had a look yesterday, but there was way too much to choose from.”

“I mean, there’s cartoons and stuff, if you’re into that. Or news, if you’d prefer. I think Mettaton’s quiz show in on right now, too.”

“Nah, I got to see plenty of Mettaton in the underground. Let’s watch some news – see what the humans are up to. TV, switch on.”

The TV is an older model and a bit sluggish, but after a couple of seconds the screen lights up, showing the company logo.

“Go to news,” says Flowey.

A list of channel names appears. A chipper voice asks “Which news channel would you like to watch?”

“Whichever, I’m not bothered.” Flowey keeps his tone curt in defiance of the upbeat AI.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that. Which news ch-“

“Rrgh! Fine. First one.”

The image switches to show a human reporter at a desk. He’s midway through a report. You eat the rest of your pie as you watch.

“... on Friday announced that an agreement has been reached between the federal government, the state of Oregon, and the delegation representing monsters, led by Asgore Dreemurr. Until now, building was limited to the borders of local towns; the new deal opens up two thousand acres of state land in the Ebott region for developments to accommodate the population currently living under the mountain. The plan also allows monsters to apply for United States residence, so that they can travel freely in the country. The governor of Oregon supported this provision, saying that it will allow the monster population to spread to other areas, and alleviate the strain on the resources of what is a relatively remote area.”

The reporter fades away, being replaced by footage of a press conference. A human is at the microphone, answering a question from the crowd, but you can see the monster representatives standing behind her. Most of them are wearing suits to match the human politicians, but Asgore has stuck with his royal gold-and-purple robes, making him a jarring presence among all the neutral colours. The effect is compounded by the fact that he stands at least a foot taller than the tallest humans present.

Upon seeing Asgore, Flowey bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, he looks so stupid like that.” Detecting his speech, the TV lowers its volume so that you and Flowey can converse.

“I dunno,” you say. “There’s a very fine line between impressive and ridiculous, and I’d say right now he’s just about staying on the impressive side.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know why he thought the robes were a good idea.”

“He knows that he’s not going to blend in, and he’s owning it. I mean, he’d look even weirder in a suit.”

“Pfft. Yeah, you’re probably right. At least he’s taking it seriously. Back in the underground he always used to make a joke out of important ceremonies. It was so embarrassing.”

The narration continues, and returns to full volume after you and Flowey stop talking. “Several environmental pressure groups have spoken out against the plan, claiming that new buildings will damage the ecosystems of the Ebott region. Meanwhile, public opinion is divided on allowing monsters free movement across the country. Political commentator Rex Aardman had this to say in response to the proposal.”

The TV cuts to a clip of a man sitting in front of a microphone in an office. He speaks at a rapid pace, and although he’s not quite yelling, his tone is forceful. “Here’s the thing: these guys say they’ve been living underneath Mt Ebott perfectly fine for thousands of years. So what I don’t get is why they’ve decided to reveal themselves now, and why they think they’ve got a right to just swan in and set up camp in our backyard. Are they offering anything in exchange? No! Now, I don’t have any issue with them being in the country, but I think they should just stay put in the home they already have.”

 “I recognize this guy,” you say to Flowey, as Aardman’s monologue continues. “Mettaton argues with him a lot on Twitter.”

“Twitter?”

“It’s a human social media site. A bit like Undernet, but the posts are shorter.”

“Uh-huh. I kind of hate his guts. Does he not get that humans are the ones who sealed us underground in the first place? He must be really thick.”

“From what I’ve seen he doesn’t really ‘get’ things, he just talks about them. He’d probably say the barrier’s not his problem because he wasn’t alive when it was created. Luckily, most humans aren’t as bad. And hey, you’re not exactly...” you stop.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Flowey sighs. “You were going to say I’m not exactly one to talk. ‘Kill or be killed,’ and all that. I guess you’re right. But at least I’m that way because I’m physically incapable of compassion or whatever. What’s his excuse?”

You chuckle grimly. “Yeah. I can’t point fingers either; I did my fair share of killing when I got bored or frustrated. I reset it, but still.”

“You only reset that one time because you couldn’t beat Sans, though.”

“True. Still, I’m glad I did. I don’t think things would have ended well if I’d killed him.”

On the TV, the reporter has returned. “Mr Dreemurr concluded the Friday press conference by thanking the United States government and people for their cooperation and support. His delegation returned to the Ebott region this weekend to begin overseeing building works. Next up, the story of a banking data breach that saw five hundred thousand customers’ personal details stolen...”

“I have to ask,” says Flowey. “Why did you wait so long to bring me to the surface? It’s pretty clear I’m a glorified prisoner right now, so why was I free for all those months?”

“I’ve been having nightmares,” you say. “For a while after leaving the underground, I was okay. I think being busy trying to keep the peace between humans and monsters sort of kept my mind occupied. But as things calmed down, I started to really... think about everything that happened. All the killing I did, and all the times I died. And I couldn’t really tell anyone about it, because that would mean telling them I can reset time, and that’s a can of worms I just really don’t want to open.”

“Understandable.”

You wonder if you should mention Chara’s reappearance, but decide against it. You know first-hand how obsessed he is with them; there’s no telling what he might do if he thought he could get to them through you. Besides, you’re ninety percent sure you were imagining the whole thing.

You carry on. “And after you destroyed the barrier, you went back to the ruins. When I talked to you there, you asked me to leave you, and go and live my life. So I didn’t want to come and disturb you.  That’s why I waited.”

“I guess that makes sense. But what about Asgore, and Undyne, and everyone else? I attacked them all when I stole the human souls; you’d think they’d want to do something about that sooner rather than later.”

“That’s the weird thing. When I talked to them about that fight – about everything leading up to the destruction of the barrier – it was like none of them remembered it until I brought it up. I can only assume really did a number on them when you, er, borrowed their souls. Anyway, I asked Asgore if I could bring you up to the surface, and he said it was fine, but that I had to make sure you wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone. He put Undyne in charge of securing you, and she and I designed the greenhouse together. Alphys helped, too.”

“Really? I’d wouldn’t have guessed this was an Undyne project. It’s not up to her usual standard of... deadliness.”

“I talked her out of a lava moat. Speaking of which, she’s coming over this afternoon to check that I’m sticking to the plan and not, like, letting you just go wherever.”

Flowey mulls this over for a bit, and then says “Wow, I’ve lost my edge.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I really did just let you pick me up and carry me into a prison. I’m not saying it’s a bad move on your part; I’d probably try and kill you all if I got free. But still, I can’t believe I let that happen. And I fancied myself as some sort of evil mastermind.”

“It won’t be forever. Asgore and Undyne will see that you’re okay now, at least compared to before. I’ll convince them to let you out eventually. In the meantime just try to keep a lid on the ‘kill you all’ stuff when they’re around. I mean, you had months of freedom where you could have been doing that, and you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, you have exercise more care in your killing sprees once you lose the ability to save and load. Especially around humans; you know what happened last time a human village felt threatened by my presence.”

“Yeah. Ouch.”

You look at each other for a moment, and suddenly you’re both snorting with laughter. Joking about this kind of stuff feels weird, but it’s a welcome change from having to keep it all hidden inside your head.

The TV has moved on to a weather report which you watch in silence for a minute. The coming week will be mild and sunny, apparently, but then a pretty big storm will hit early the week after. Right in time for Spring break, you think.

“Okay, turns out human news is even more boring than monster news,” says Flowey. “Let’s see some cartoons. I like cartoons.”

*             *             *

“So here’s why I don’t like cartoons,” he says, a couple of episodes into season one of Robo Starship Warriors (another Alphys recommendation, and one of the better ones in your opinion). “It’s because they’re not realistic at all.”

“Obviously they’re not realistic,” you say. “The whole point of a cartoon is to be different from real life. That’s what makes them fun.”

“It’s what makes them pointless.”

“Not true! A cartoon about a kid going to school and then coming home and eating dinner would be pointless. Cartoons let you forget all that boring stuff and watch other people have adventures.”

“Sure, they help you forget how boring your life is. But they’re just as predictable in their own way. A problem happens and some people fight, but then at the end of the episode the main guys always win, and their problems get solved with no consequences. Sometimes they argue with each other, but then they just hug, and then forget all about it in the next one.”

“So you don’t like it because of the happy endings?”

“Happy endings don’t exist, Ch – Frisk.” He hasn’t exactly been cheerful today, but now his voice has gained a worryingly bitter edge. “I thought I was making a happy ending when I freed monsters from the underground, but it’s been months since then and humans like that Rex guy are still trying to ruin it for them. Toriel decided to leave her exile, but she still hates Asgore, and always will. You brought me to the surface, but I still have to stay locked in a greenhouse because I’m too unstable to have a normal life...” he sounds like he might be about to cry, but he gulps and keeps going. “Sorry, sorry. Anyway, cartoons... they’re like butterscotch pie. They’re fun to consume, but they’re not actually very interesting or good, abjectively speaking. Abjectively? Is that the right word?”

You shrug.

“And if you expect all food to be that sweet, you’re just going to be disappointed. So yeah.” He steadies his breathing. “They’re not that great.”

You feel as though you should hug him, or put your hand on his shoulder or something. But as a flower he’s sorely lacking in the shoulder department. You settle for clumsily holding the rim of his pot.

“Maybe you’re right”, you say. “It’s true, you and Toriel and monsters haven’t had a happy ending yet. But none of your stories are over. There’s still time to make things better, or try to at least. No point cancelling the show halfway through.”

He laughs half-heartedly. “I guess.”

“And hey, when everything gets too much, there’s no harm in indulging in some bad TV shows, if it helps you relax.”

“Yeah. Starship Troopers isn’t really that bad, as cartoons go.”

That strikes you as a pretty weak compliment. But from Flowey, you’ll take it. You check the time on your phone, and are surprised to see it’s already past twelve; Toriel will be announcing lunch soon. You collect up the two plates (yours empty, his still holding the untouched slice of pie) and head for the door. “I should get in for lunch. But Undyne and I will see you later, yeah?” You say.

“Sure. Bye,” he grunts.

You lock the door behind you as you leave, and head back across the garden towards the house. That went alright, you think. The offering of pie backfired, admittedly, but you got the impression Flowey was making an effort not to be outright malicious. And that’s certainly a start.

Chapter Text

You hear the microwave buzzing as you come back into the kitchen. You stick your head into the dining room to see Toriel setting the table.

“You were out there for quite a while, dear,” she says. “I was just about to call you in for lunch. Is everything alright with Flowey?”

“Yeah,” you say. “He’s being surprisingly decent today. Not polite, but not horrible either.”

“I see.”

“We watched the news for a bit. Did you hear about the new expansion deal?”

“Hm? Oh yes, I had it on in the background while I worked this morning.” She doesn’t elaborate. After a moment the microwave beeps, and she goes to open it. “I’m heating up the leftovers from yesterday’s dinner; there ought to be enough for lunch.”

“Cool.” You grab the nearly-empty water jug from the table and refill it at the kitchen sink while Toriel brings the food out.

“It’s going to be way easier to move people out of the underground now,” you resume. “I wonder how quickly they’ll be able to build on the new land.”

“Hmm, yes,” says Toriel. You get the feeling she wants to avoid the topic, but you can’t figure out why.

Lunch passes mostly in silence. Eventually Toriel asks “Do you have any more homework to do this weekend?”

“I finished the math this morning. I’ve still got part of my science project to do, though.”

“That’s the one about space, yes?”

“Yeah. I’ll get started on it this afternoon.” As an end-of-quarter project, everyone in your class has been given a different feature of space or the solar system to research. Your job is to read up on the sun and then do a presentation about it on Friday, but you’ve been sort of putting it off. You have nothing against space; it’s just that you don’t really like presenting to groups.

“Try not to worry about the actual presentation,” says Toriel, apparently reading your mind. “As long as you have all your facts right, that’ll be good enough for Miss Baxter.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m looking forward to it being over, though.”

“Be careful not to wish your life away, Frisk. But yes, once it’s over it’ll be Spring break, and you can relax."

Just as you finish eating, you hear the whirr of a motorbike engine approaching the house.

“It’s Undyne. I’ll get it!” you say. You run through to the hall and open the door just as the doorbell rings.

“Hi, Frisk! That was quick.”

“I heard you arriving.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” Undyne comes through into the hall, her black biking outfit at odds with the warm tones of the interior. She has a dark blue kit bag slung over one shoulder, and holds her helmet in the opposite hand. “Hi, Toriel!” she says as Toriel joins you in the hallway.

“Good afternoon, Undyne. Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee...”

“Tea would be great, thanks Tor. Is it alright if I leave my gear in the hall?” Undyne gestures with her kit bag. “I’m running some water polo classes at the gym today, so I’ll have to go straight on from here.”

“That’s fine. Just hang it next to the coats. I’ll put the tea on – would you like a slice of pie as well?”

“Hmm.” Undyne checks her watch. “Sure, why not? I’ve got time.”

“Oh, um, there’s a slice already cut in the fridge,” you say as you follow Toriel back into the kitchen. “Flowey didn’t want it.”

“I see. Well, I’ll have that one, and cut another for Undyne. Do you want some, too?”

“No thanks. I’ll have some tea though, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

After a few minutes, the tea is served and you’re all seated around the dining table. “So, how are things with you and Alphys?” Toriel asks Undyne.

“Pretty good. Alphys has been way better since she started work at the YC3.” That’s the Yellow Creek Community College. “She comes back from the lab with some new robotics breakthrough, like, once a week. I’m hoping we can go on a vacation during her Spring break, now that we’re allowed to travel anywhere in the country. But I might not be able to drag her away from her work for long enough.”

“Well, it’s good to know she’s bouncing back, at any rate. I have to admit I feel rather bad about my response to the, uh, mishaps that occurred when she was the royal scientist...”

“Nah, I don’t think you need to apologise for that. She told me she never really enjoyed that job – it was way outside her area of expertise. The only reason she hadn’t resigned already was because she felt she’d gone too far to give up. She really blamed herself for not being able to figure out how to destroy the barrier. It was just a bad situation all round.”

“I certainly can’t argue with that. And how about you? What are you up to these days?”

“Various things. I’m trying to learn to cook again. But like, properly this time, instead of just setting my kitchen on fire.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, there was a moment about a month ago when Alphys and I realised we were eating more pizza and ramen than, y’know, actual regular food. She at least had the excuse of being a busy academic, but I decided to get my act together and actually become competent in the kitchen. Speaking of which, this pie is honestly amazing.”

“Oh, thank you so much! I can copy out the recipe for you, if you’d like?”

Undyne’s eye lights up. “For real? That’d be great.”

“In fact, I have plenty of old recipe books that I don’t use these days, if you want them.”

“I don’t have anything to carry them in today, but I can swing by sometime next week to get them if that’s okay?”

“Certainly. Just ring to let me know when you’re coming.”

“Great.” Undyne hastily shovels the rest of the pie into her mouth. “Well, I should probably get on with my inspection. But thank you very much for your hospitality.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, dear,” says Toriel. “I’ll get that recipe written up while you’re outside.”

You get up and lead Undyne through the kitchen towards the back door. “So, how’s the freaky flower doing?” she asks.

“He’s alright. He’s in the greenhouse.” You head out into the garden, collecting the key from its peg on your way out.

“Good to keep the key stored away from the greenhouse,” says Undyne. “But I’d advise you to leave it in a locked drawer or a safe. If someone wanted to break this guy out, leaving the key out in the open would make it easy for them. This isn’t an especially secure building.”

That seems like overkill, but you decide not to argue. “Okay.”

Undyne stops at the door to the greenhouse and eyes it over; her gaze fixes on the window that you opened to thread the TV’s extension cable through. “What’s that power line for?”

“The TV.”

“Ri-ight. And do you leave that window open when the flower’s unsupervised?”

“Um,” you say. “Yeah?”

Undyne starts to say something, and cuts herself off. She takes a deep breath. “You understand how dangerous that is, right kid?”

“Not really. He can’t move himself off the table, and even if he could the window’s too high for him to reach.” The window in question is wider than it is tall, and its hinges are set into the edge where the wall meets the ceiling, almost like a skylight. “Plus there’s a chain on it, so it only opens like an inch.”

“A chain’s not indestructible. And just because he hasn’t moved doesn’t mean he can’t. He could summon vines out of the ground and lift himself up to the window. Even with the chain in place he could probably squeeze through.”

“Oh. Uh,” you say, trying to think of an argument.

“Show me the inside,” commands Undyne.

Flowey is stony silent as you enter the greenhouse, but at least he didn’t do a repeat performance of his vanishing act. You would not like to see Undyne’s reaction to that.

Undyne doesn’t seem to acknowledge Flowey, instead bending down to inspect the metal grates over the floor. She gives each panel a methodical tug to check they’re all secure, and then casts an eye over the furniture.

“Hmm... right.” She paces around the greenhouse, checking the chains on each window and typing on the tablet from time to time. She rifles through the cardboard boxes of books, as if expecting to find some kind of contraband inside. You look on, surprised by how methodical she’s being. After a couple of minutes, even Flowey can’t help watching her in trepidation.

Eventually she seems satisfied with her inspection, and takes a seat. “Okay, uh... Flowey.” You hear a shadow of amusement in her voice as she says his name. “The King wants me to ask you if you...” she reads from her tablet “...feel safe and comfortable in the greenhouse, or would like any other accommodations, furnishings, et cetera – within reason.”

Flowey snorts derisively. “Cute. If I say I’m miserable and terrified, will you let me out?”

Undyne sighs. “I guess I’ll just say that you’re fine.”

“Hang on, there is one thing,” says Flowey. “I used to be able to make vines come out of the ground, but I can’t do that in here. I think it only works if I have enough earth to grow them out of. So, like, maybe I could get a bigger pot? Like one of those rectangular ones?”

Undyne holds eye contact with Flowey as he talks, like she’s trying to read his mind. You’re surprised to see that he looks as nervous as you feel; the usual slouch in his stem is gone, and the bravado is slowly receding from his voice.

“What do you need to make vines for?” Undyne asks.

“They’re good for picking stuff up. I’d be able to hold books with them. All I can do right now is watch TV.”

“Uh-huh.” Undyne makes some more notes. “I imagine they’d also be handy for moving yourself around, opening windows, that kind of thing?”

“I... I guess?”

“Or for pulling up the grates over the floor? Then it would be easy to escape.”

“I – what?”

You decide to step in. “Undyne, that’s not fair. You asked if he wanted anything else, and he gave you an answer.”

Her expression softens ever so slightly. “Alright. I’ll see if we can figure something out. But the safety of this town comes before your convenience, Flowey, so don’t get your hopes up. Frisk and Toriel are already doing you a good turn by letting you stay here. You need to appreciate that.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Flowey adjusts back into what you call Sullen Mode. Any sign that he was nervous of flustered is gone.

“Well, that’s everything then,” says Undyne. She stands up and flicks the screen cover back over her tablet. “Frisk, a word outside?”

“Okay,” you say.

You lock up the greenhouse on your way out, and follow Undyne back up the garden, out of Flowey’s earshot. You open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off.

“I know you think I’m being too harsh on him, Frisk. You want to see the best in him. But I need you to understand the situation from everyone else’s point of view, as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“When people hurt you, you take it as a challenge to make friends with them. That strategy worked on me, so I can’t fault you for it. But Flowey is seriously dangerous – he almost killed you and me, and a bunch of other people including King Asgore, for no clear reason. Maybe he’s not irredeemable, but he is still technically a criminal, and a slippery one at that. So we need to take the normal precautions with him, even if that means hurting his feelings.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to twist his words to make it sound like he’s planning a breakout,” you counter, raising your voice slightly. Her attitude is starting to get on your nerves.

Undyne, meanwhile, keeps her voice level. “I thought his request sounded suspicious, so I pressed him to see how he responded. That’s a standard interrogation technique. If it’s any consolation, it seemed like he really hadn’t considered using vines to escape, meaning that request was probably genuine. But we can’t afford to let our guard down. Trust me on that.”

“Okay. So are there any other precautions you want to add?”

“Let’s see...” she skims back over her notes. “So, the extension cable for the TV. As long as the window’s open to let it in, it provides a possible exit. Now, according to him he can’t grow any vines to reach up there, and there is still the chain which limits how far the window can go, but we can’t take anything for granted. If that window’s going to stay open all the time, there should be an extra padlock on it, keeping the entrance just wide enough that the cable can fit through.”

“Right.”

“Also: the window chains were chosen to withstand the force we think Flowey can put on them, but once the windows are open we also need to consider external threats. With the right tools, an outside agent might be able to bust them, even if Flowey can’t. So I’d recommend a burglar alarm on that window as an additional measure, if it’s going to stay open when nobody’s around.”

You’ve tried to stay on-board with Undyne so far, but now she’s starting to sound paranoid. “Who would want to break Flowey out? Hardly anybody even knows he exists.”

“When you’re dealing with dangerous individuals, you have to be prepared for anything, Frisk. It’s Royal Guard training. Even if a security measure seems irrelevant, you never skip it. The last time I let myself get complacent, I was lucky to only lose an eye.”

“Mm.” You get where she’s coming from, but all the same you’re not convinced.

Undune picks up on your tone. “Okay, consider this: Asgore, myself and several other monsters know that this Flowey guy is secured here in your garden. We know that he’s violent and opportunistic, and also a decent manipulator – he convinced Papyrus to trust him back in the underground, if you remember. Granted, Papyrus isn’t the most cautious guy, but still. Let’s say someone who knows all that information accidentally reveals it to someone else who could take advantage of it. For example a human who watched the news this morning, and didn’t like what they saw. A human who’d be willing to set a dangerous monster loose to make us look bad.”

Undyne gives you a moment to consider this. There’s no denying that, from that perspective, the whole situation suddenly looks very different.

“So he gets out and kills some humans,” Undyne continues. “And now Asgore has to explain to their families and their government why he left a known criminal in the custody of two civilians. And every human in the country is going to wonder if there’s more monsters like him that we’re not telling them about.”

You have to admit, you don’t have an answer for that. You stare at the ground bashfully. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Sorry, Undyne.”

She sighs. “Eh, don’t worry about it, kiddo. You’re the one who’s gotta babysit this guy. I know you’re only trying to make the whole thing bearable for him and you.” She adjusts her eyepatch slightly. “Truth is, I respect the King’s orders, Frisk, but if it were down to me I would much rather see Flowey put in a proper prison. I suppose Asgore is counting on your knack for declawing your enemies. If anyone can get through to that murderplant it’ll be you.” She gives you a light punch on the shoulder.

“So do you think he can change?” you ask.

“Maybe, maybe not,” says Undyne. “But when it comes to fixing bad people, you have to decide how much effort you’re going to put in. Draw a line in the sand, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get you.”

“Cool. Well, I should probably be on my way.”

You both go back through to the front door; Toriel comes with you to see Undyne off from the doorstep, a copy of the pie recipe in hand.

“Thanks for the tea, and the recipe, Toriel,” says Undyne. “I’ll type up my recommendations for the greenhouse and send them to you by the end of tomorrow.” She turns to you. “I’m sure there’s some way to safely give him a bigger container. I’ll mull it over and let you know if I think of anything.”

“Thanks. See you soon, then,” you say.

“Bye, Undyne,” says Toriel. “I hope the water polo goes well.”

“Cheers.” Undyne slings her bag over her shoulder, gets on her motorbike, and drives out of your driveway and out of sight.

*             *             *

You decide to go back and talk to Flowey before starting on your science project. You enter the greenhouse to find him hunched over, facing away from the door.

“Uh... hi, Flowey,” you begin. There’s no response.

“Um, sorry that Undyne was so harsh. I talked to her about it.” Still nothing.

You walk around the table to speak to his face. “She’s just looking out for the people she cares about, you know? She doesn’t hate you personally.”

As you walk, Flowey turns away so that he still has his back to you.

“And hey, it’s not like she knows about your past. If she did she’d understand. She’d probably treat you a lot better.”

He persists in his silence, and suddenly you’re angry. At him for being so miserable, at Undyne for being so cruel, at Undyne and Toriel for their pointless, well-intentioned lectures. When you next open your mouth, you hear yourself shouting.

“Fine, go ahead and ignore me, then! I’m the one person trying to help you, and you won’t even talk to me! If you told Toriel and Undyne who you really are, they’d help you too. If you made any effort at all to improve yourself, or enjoy things, or just not be totally awful all the time, maybe everything would be better. But you won’t, and I know why. It’s because secretly you don’t want to get better. You just want to wallow in your own misery and drag everyone who tries to help down with you! If that’s how you want things to be, maybe I’ll stop wasting my time on you and do literally anything else!”

You march out of the greenhouse and slam the door behind you with a deeply satisfying clang. Back inside the house, you go to put the key on its peg, and then remember Undyne’s advice and stick it in the chest of drawers in the hall instead. It doesn’t have a lock, but at least it’s better than having it right by the door.

As your temper dies down, you start to feel the regret for what you just said. It was there even as you were shouting, but without the burst of anger to mask it you feel it much more keenly. You want to go back out and apologise, but you can’t quite face the prospect. You’re not even sure what you’d say.

And anyway, you’ve got a science project that you really need to get started on.

Chapter Text

You stare at the empty document in front of you. The caret blinks in a hypnotic rhythm, as if counting down the seconds left in the afternoon. With each blink, the script for your presentation obstinately continues refusing to write itself.

Should you go and apologise to Flowey? You were pretty harsh...

You decide to skip the introduction for now, and start by just collecting a bunch of information. You can always go back and add structure later. You open up the Wikipedia page for stars. “A luminous spheroid of plasma held together by its own gravity.” What the heck does that mean? Okay, focus. Luminous means it shines. Spheroid is like a sphere, so basically a ball. Plasma you’ve heard of, but don’t know what it is. You open its article in a new tab. Gravity... that’s what pulls things down to Earth, and you’re pretty sure it’s also what makes Earth go round the Sun. And it also holds the sun together? You open that article, too. It’s going to be tough not to get side-tracked.

You were only being honest, though. He’s not even trying to get better...

You read a bit about plasma, switching to your document from time to time to make notes. The article is full of bewildering sciencey words – you wonder if the authors made it as dense as possible just to show off. Nonetheless, you pretty soon get the idea that plasma’s basically the same thing as gas. You’ll settle for that.

You carry on browsing, and carry on finding tangents to go down. You lose a good fifteen minutes reading about astrology before realising that it doesn’t actually have anything to do with what you’re meant to be researching. Stay on-topic! You find some more stuff about the elements that make up stars, and add it to your notes. Hydrogen and helium... energy released through radiation... how much of this stuff are you meant to include? Are you going to have to give definitions for all these terms? After a bit more clicking you wind up on an article about nuclear fusion reactors. How did you even get here? Your eyes scan the page without taking in a single word. Fusion... does fusion happen in stars? You flick through the dozen tabs you have open, trying to track the connection between the disparate topics, but to no avail. Your brain feels hopelessly sluggish; instead of revealing a clear connection, the rapid switching between various pages and articles causes them to coalesce in your mind, merging into one incredibly dense wall of text, until every attempt you make at comprehension gets sucked in and absorbed immediately.

But he still deserves a chance. And if you don’t give it to him, nobody else will...

You type a few more sentences, barely cognizant of what you’re putting down at this point. As the light outside fails, the glow of your laptop screen starts making your eyes water. You can see the greenhouse from your window – the TV screen is illuminated, and contrasts harshly with the soft afternoon light. You drag your eyes back to your own screen, and the black hole of information you need to excavate...

*             *             *

Everything’s dark. You’re underground, but somewhere far away you hear rushing wind. Flowey is cowering in front of you, defeated, and waiting for you to deliver a killing blow.

Your turn. Mercy.

Flowey’s turn. After a moment of silence, he whimpers “...What are you doing? Do you really think I’ve learned anything from this? No.”

You should kill him. He’s been nothing but trouble since you first met him. He just murdered you violently a dozen times, and when you had a chance to leave the underground, he ruined it. He deserves to die.

Your turn. Mercy.

His turn. He tilts his head slightly to look at you. “Sparing me won’t change anything. Killing me is the only way to end this.”

You’ve done your best to follow Toriel’s advice so far. You didn’t always succeed – there were a few monsters that you ended up killing when sparing proved too difficult. But was that really so wrong? They attacked first; it’s not your fault they bit off more than they could chew. And not even Undyne was as brutal to you as Flowey’s been. So why are you hesitating?

Your turn. Mercy.

His turn. He straightens up and grins at you, mockery written all over his scarred face. “If you let me live... I’ll come back.”

What did you even achieve? You were practically perfect, you barely killed anyone, and yet here you are, with no hope of escaping the underground. If you’d just blasted through, obliterating everything in your path, and taken Asgore’s soul without hesitating, you’d be back on the surface by now. What good has nonviolence done you?

You feel like you’re being tested.

Your turn. Mercy.

His turn. “I’ll kill you.”

You already did that, you think. Get some better threats.

Your turn. Mercy.

His turn. “I’ll kill everyone.”

You can believe that.

Your turn. Mercy.

His turn. “I’ll kill everyone you love.”

His smile is even wider now. All of a sudden you decide you’ve had enough of his taunting and interference. Getting out of the underground will be much easier with him out of the picture. You’ll kill him here, and perhaps he’ll get the message and stay out of your hair after you reset.

Your turn. Fight.

You lunge and swipe downwards with the dagger, opening a wide gash in his face. He laughs, twisted glee evident on his broken visage.

“I knew you had it in you!”

His battered face melts away altogether, leaving behind a regular flower.

With his death comes an unpleasant pulse of doubt, but you quell it swiftly. You’re not going to waste any more time on being nice – you’ll reset, and this time you’ll do things properly. Anyone who gets in your way will die, and you’ll finally get out of the underground.

In the lucid state afforded by your newfound resolve, you become vaguely aware that you’ve been here before. As soon as that realisation hits, you remember everything that happened between then and now, and it immediately becomes obvious that this is another dream. And if this is a dream, that means –

“Honestly? That was pretty much the coolest thing you’ve ever done, Frisk,” says Chara.

Right on cue. Ugh.

“You again?” you answer.

“Like, you were a total badass! Flowey was annoying you, so you killed him. After that, I thought you were finally gonna wise up and stop being everyone’s punching bag.”

“Please go away.”

“And for a while it seemed like you did. You killed so many people that Sans actually got off his butt to try and stop you. But then you just... quit.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re trying to frame it like a moral choice. You gave up because you were bored, that’s all.”

“So you’re going to try and get me to reset again? And playing my memories back to me is somehow going to achieve that?”

“First of all,” says Chara, “you’re overestimating how much influence I have here. If killing him is where your thoughts were, that says a lot more about you than it does about me.”

“Ri-ight...” You’re not convinced.

“And second... well, I’ve changed my mind about that, actually. Don’t get your hopes up, I’m still gonna make you reset eventually. But, this whole ‘trying-to-make-Flowey-a-better-person’ thing is more interesting to watch than I thought it would be.”

“Really? Just last night you were saying it was a lost cause.”

“Oh, no, it definitely is. But it’s shaping up to be the fun kind of lost cause. Like a car wreck, you know? Where you’re just waiting for it all to crash and burn. So I guess you could say I’m giving you an extension. I’m gonna let this whole mess play out, and when it goes sideways we can reset and go back to the original plan. How does that sound?”

“For the last time, I’m done resetting! I’m done letting you control me. And I’m done letting you into my dreams. Now go away.”

“Yeesh, fine, I’ll make myself scarce for now. Like I said, you’ll get to do things your way first; I’ll leave you be for as long as that takes. I’m sure it’ll be lots of fun, even when you fail. But when you do, you’ll welcome me back.”

*             *             *

“Frisk! Dinner!” Toriel’s call jerks you awake before you can answer. Disoriented, you almost fall out of your chair.

“Coming,” you reply in a whisper. Your mouth is uncomfortably dry. You try again. “Coming!”

“Alright. Best be quick, though, or it’ll get cold.”

You suppose you managed to fall asleep at the computer. The sun has set outside your window, and now the laptop screen is the only source of light in your room. You mash the keyboard to make the screensaver go away, and squint at your paltry page of notes. Frustratingly enough, it hasn’t expanded while you were napping.

You groan and heave yourself to your feet. Everything feels weird and unreal. Part of your brain thinks it should be mid-afternoon like when you fell asleep, while another part thinks that, since it’s just woken up, it must be morning. No part of it thinks it’s time for dinner. It’s a similar feeling to loading or resetting – suddenly finding yourself at a different time of day to the one you were just in. But it’s worse above ground, where the position of the sun immediately reinforces the discrepancy.

You slouch through to the dining room and chug an entire glass of water before even sitting down at your place. Toriel notices.

“Are you feeling well, Frisk?”

“I’m good. I just, uh, fell asleep by accident.”

“Poor thing. It’s stress from talking to that awful flower, that’s what. Try and eat a bit. And remember, you don’t have to spend time looking after him if you don’t wish to.”

“Sure.” You take a bite of pasta. It’s delicious as usual. “Mm. This is good.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Everything about the meal feels safe and comfortable. The occasional gust of wind whistles eerily outside, but within the walls the air is still. The old-fashioned halogen light combined with the bright yellow wallpaper gives the room a homely glow, and the quiet crackling of the fire makes for pleasant background noise.

When the first monsters reached Yellow Creek, it felt like your whole world was on the brink of collapse. Asgore and the other monsters you’d befriended had had to work themselves to the bone to keep their interaction with humanity from going pear-shaped. In the first few weeks everybody seemed intent on keeping you away from the action and not letting you know what was going on. Their intent was to keep you safe, but your imagination had jumped at the chance to predict the worst. Would the government punish you for helping the monsters escape? Would there be another war? Would they take you away from Toriel? Would you be alone again?

Somehow you’d been allowed to stay with Toriel. You remember the day she gave you the news, and brought you to your new house on the outskirts of town, as the first time you believed everything might turn out okay. The collective stress and anxiety took a long time to abate, but at least within the house you felt safe. Toriel listened to your fears, made sure you went to school, gave you regular meals. Your life finally became somewhat normal.

But now, the steady routine that kept you sane feels almost dull. It’s not that you don’t love Toriel, but aside from schoolwork and the weather, there’s not much to talk to her about. Meals these days pass in near silence, and then you go your separate ways. Tonight is no exception; you finish your food and help take the dishes back into the kitchen, and then return to your room while Toriel sits by the fire doing needlework.

Was Flowey right about her? If what he said is true, she’ll she lose interest in you if you become too independent, and find another child to lavish with attention. You can’t see that happening any time soon – if anything, it’s you who finds her to be a bit overbearing. It’s hard to imagine that she would ever be neglectful, even by accident. What did she do for Flowey to see her the way he does now? He must have just been making things up to get under your skin. Then again, six children had gone into the underground and met her before you did, and she somehow let all of them die by Asgore’s hand. Why didn’t she stop him sooner? Why were you the one she came out of exile to protect?

You consider spending a bit more time on your science project, but you already know you won’t get anything more done tonight, even if you try. You shut down your laptop, then sprawl on your bed and stare at the ceiling. As mean-spirited and difficult as Flowey is, there might be some truth to what he says at times. Having absolutely no moral compass probably lets him voice thoughts that most people would keep to themselves. Perhaps tomorrow you'll see if you can get him to talk about his past a bit.

Despite your impromptu nap, or maybe because of it, you’re incredibly sleepy – by the time you’ve gotten yourself ready for bed you can barely stay upright. A bluish glare outside the window catches your eye – looking towards the greenhouse you can see that the TV is still on, though you can’t make out what Flowey is watching. You sigh and draw the curtains, shutting out the last remaining light, and then collapse into bed where you sink into a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Your alarm wakes you up at 8 AM. It’s Monday morning, meaning you officially have four days left to finish your project. You do your best to quell your panic while you get ready for school. After getting dressed, having breakfast and cleaning your teeth, you’re left with five minutes to spare before you have to set off. You decide to use the time to give Flowey a quick visit and some water – you retrieve the key from its drawer, fill a glass with water from the kitchen tap, and head outside. The sky is clear but there’s still a residual chill in the air that the sun hasn’t yet dispelled.

The door rattles as you put the key in, and you see Flowey emerge from his soil, alerted to your arrival by the sound. You’re surprised when the key refuses to turn; you shake the door a bit and then give an extra hard twist, but the lock won’t budge. Bewildered, you turn the handle, and the door opens easily. Flowey sits on his table, looking on with a haughty expression.

“You forgot to lock it when you left yesterday,” he says.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Your stomach twists, and it takes a lot of effort to conceal your embarrassment. “Evidently.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Uncomfortable for you, at least; Flowey seems to be enjoying it. You gesture clumsily with the glass. “I, uh, got you some water.”

“Cool.”

You pour it evenly across the soil. “Is that enough, or shall I –”

“No, that’s plenty.”

“Right.” You put the glass down. “Hey, um, if Toriel or Undyne visit, can you, like... not mention that I left your door unlocked overnight?”

He puts on a pensive expression. “I really should tell Undyne, shouldn’t I?  I’m unstable, after all; it’s for my own best interests that I’m locked up.” You realise he’s going to milk this opportunity for all its worth, and try to keep your face blank – he’ll go harder if he knows he’s getting to you.

“I mean, I assume you’d have made yourself scarce by now if that lock was the only thing stopping you,” you rationalise. “That’s why we have the table and the grate.”

“Maybe, maybe. But why would I want to escape when messing with you is so fun? I could be biding my time. Passing up an opportunity so that you start to trust me, and let your guard down. Then it’ll really hurt when I finally do escape. It’ll be like a betrayal. Theoretically, of course.”

“Well, I’m definitely remembering to lock the door today. What if last night was your only chance? You clearly hate this place; I don’t believe you’d pass up that opportunity.” You definitely want to believe that’s the case. You’d never live it down if you’d really left Flowey an opening to escape all night.

“It didn’t even take you a full day to make a mistake. I’m sure it’ll happen again. Even if it doesn’t, the fact that it happened once is some great leverage. Undyne already doubts you’re up to the job; she’d freak if I told her. She’d probably confiscate me and put me in a proper prison, and then you wouldn’t be able to talk to me anymore. And let’s not even get started on how disappointed Toriel would be.”

This is starting to get genuinely upsetting, but you’re determined not to let him goad you into losing your temper two conversations in a row. “Sounds like you’re itching to tell her already, maybe I should save you some grief and just own up myself?”

“Nah, my lips are sealed, at least for now.” His face switches from malice to innocence in a flash.

“Riiight. Well, I’d better be off to school now. Stay out of trouble, okay.”

“Of course.” He winks.

You leave, locking the door and giving it a tug to make sure it’s secure. (Unlocked all night! Honestly, what a stupid thing to do). As you head through to the front of the house, you try to make sense of Flowey’s mind games. Did he really choose to stay, just so he could torment you over it? No, he has to be bluffing. And it wouldn’t make any sense for him to rat you out to Undyne, either. Even for an emotionless husk, a greenhouse with a TV and fresh air has to be more pleasant than whatever alternative she’d choose. You reassure yourself that the whole thing was an insignificant lapse, and that there will be no consequences as long as you play your cards right. It might even be a good thing; you won’t soon make that mistake again after this scare.

You grab your school bag from the hall and head out into the driveway, where Toriel is waiting by the car. As the initial shock of your screw-up subsides, the low-level anxiety of your looming science project deadline re-emerges. Four days really isn’t a lot of time. You’re going to have to work fast, and you can’t really afford to distract yourself with hypothetical escape scenarios.

*             *             *

The school day passes without much incident. In your first lesson, Miss Baxter reminds everyone that they should be well on the way to completing their projects by now, and that presentations will take place on Friday morning. You try to gauge from the other kids’ responses how far behind you are compared to them, but half the class doesn’t even seem to be listening. The room has that unique atmosphere generated by the sluggishness of a Monday morning clashing against the excitement of the final week before Spring break. For some, the imminent vacation lessens their usual resentment at having to be in school so early; for others it exacerbates it.

You get back a math assignment from last week with a perfectly adequate mark attached, and perpetuate the cycle of toil by handing in your fractions homework. In English, you’re given a book extract to read and a set of comprehension questions to answer – you blast through them with ease and spend the rest of the lesson surreptitiously reading other extracts in the virtual textbook. In the afternoon you have music, a lesson you generally look forward to as an opportunity to sequester yourself in a side-room with a keyboard and play around with the settings for forty minutes. You sort of wish you could really play – Toriel did give you a couple of lessons once, fairly soon after you moved in, but you didn’t stick at it and now you’d feel weird about asking again.

After the last lesson ends, you head to the school’s main gate as quickly as possible to wait for Toriel. Since she’s a teacher herself, you have to wait a little while for her to finish up before she can take you home. You wait in a state of agitation, knowing every minute spent here is one less to work on your project. But she does show up soon enough, complete with an armload of paperwork to keep her busy for the evening.

You grab your laptop as soon as you get home, determined not to let any of the afternoon go to waste. Rather than working in your room, you head out to the greenhouse again; you can see that Flowey is watching TV again, and you figure recruiting him as a test audience will provide a welcome change. And you’d probably be hard pressed to find a more honest critic than a bored, understimulated kid with no moral compass.

“Have you been watching that thing all day?” you ask as you let yourself in.

“No.” Flowey avoids eye contact.

“Are you sure...?”

“Okay, yeah, but it’s not like there’s anything else to do. Now, if I had my vines...”

“I know, I know. But that’s not happening until we get the green light from Undyne. Anyway, I’ve got some new entertainment worked out for you today.”

“Really?” He toes the line between sarcasm and genuine curiosity.

“Yeah. I was thinking you could help me with this school proj-”

“Hard pass.”

“I haven’t even told you what it’s about yet!”

“I don’t care. It’s bad enough you’re keeping me locked up, and now you want to make me do your schoolwork?”

“It’s got to beat sitting by yourself watching,” you glance at the TV and read the caption, “a marathon of early 21st-century superhero movies. You realise you’ve already had more TV time today than most kids get in a week?”

"Why don’t you forget the project and join me? They made hundreds of these things back in the day."

"I can’t just not do my project."

"Sure you can! Nothing bad'll happen."

"Miss Baxter will be mad."

"Yeah, but like, so what? Who cares what some teacher thinks."

"She'll make me re-do it."

"Then just do it really badly until she gives up trying. That's how Chara got out of projects they didn't want to do."

"But, but... I'll feel bad."

"Ugh. Feelings. What good did feelings ever do anyone? I can't believe that infinite realities are open to you, and you're choosing to do homework because of feelings. What’s this project about, anyway?”

"Space. Specifically, stars."

"Stars, huh. Well, I can't help you there. We didn't have stars in the underground. We just made pretend with the glowing rocks in Waterfall."

"I remember. You used them to make wishes, right?"

"Some monsters did. It's a stupid tradition though. Rocks don't make wishes come true."

You don’t have anything to say to that, so Flowey continues.

"I'm going to be honest, stars are one of the more disappointing things about the surface so far."

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever we visited Waterfall, Asgore and Toriel wouldn't shut up about how much they missed the stars from above ground. They made them sound like some spectacular out-of-this-world light show. But I checked them out last night, and honestly? Not that impressive.”

“Do you find anything impressive, though?”

“Ha ha. Really though, they’re just little shiny dots. They’re like the Waterfall rocks, but smaller and worse.”

Flowey has an amazing knack for directing the flow of a conversation into a pit of miserable cynicism. You sit down at the table, opening your laptop, and soldier on with describing your project.

“Impressive or not, I need to have five minutes of material about them ready to present by Friday. Let me just read you what I’ve got so far?”

“Fiiiine. I just hit an ad break, anyway.”

“Okay. So, I’m going to start with by just saying what stars are. So I’ve written that they’re balls of burning gas out in space, and much bigger than planets. And that the closest star to us is the sun, and it’s ninety-"

Flowey chuckles incredulously. “The sun’s not a star!”

“It – what? Yes it is.”

“Stars are tiny and come out at night. The sun’s huge, and yellow, and comes out in the day. How is it a star?”

“It’s... you’re messing with me, right?”

“No! You’re the one messing with me.”

You take a moment to deal with the fact that Flowey doesn’t know that the sun, the sun, is a star. Then you talk more calmly. “It’s because the sun is way closer than any of the others. So it looks bigger.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why it’s the only one out during the day. Where do the others go?”

“Uh... I guess I never really thought about that...”

“How close is it, anyway? It looks to be pretty far up in the sky.”

“I was getting to that. According to Wikipedia, it’s ninety-three million miles away.”

Now Flowey laughs outright. “Okay, I’ll admit. You had me going there. But ninety-three million miles? As if! It’s clearly a couple of miles off the ground at most.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s obvious! I mean, even for big things, they get smaller when they’re far away. And, yeah, the sun is big, I guess, but if it was ninety-five –”

“Ninety-three.”

“Whatever, ninety-three million miles away... that’s just too big. There just can’t be that much space!”

He’s getting pretty worked up, so you choose your words carefully to try and avert a tantrum. “I’m just telling you what I read online. It could be wrong. But the sun is pretty big.” You quickly Google its size. “Says here it’s 1.3 million times the size of the Earth. So that’s why it looks like a kind of... regular size I guess? It’s just super huge, but also super far away.”

“Let me see,” he snarls, twisting as if to grab hold of the laptop. You turn it around so he can see the screen.

As his eyes skim the page, you think Flowey’s brain may have been broken by this information. His head is turned downwards, his brow furrowed. After a moment, he speaks tentatively, as though afraid of what he’s going to hear. “And you said the sun is... the closest star?”

“Uh-huh. The next closest one is called,” you turn the laptop back round and scroll down. “Alpha Centauri. And it’s 4.2 light-years away from Earth.”

“Light-years?” His voice is subtly different, lacking the sarcastic tone that suffuses his every sentence to the point that you don’t register it until it’s gone.

“Yeah. It’s another measurement of distance.” you check a conversion table you downloaded yesterday. “One light-year is 5.8 trillion miles.”

“Trillion...” he says, in an awed tone.

You quickly count the zeroes. “Yeah. Five times a million times a million.” You offer him the screen again. “A lot further than the sun.”

This leaves him quiet for a good ten seconds. The only sound in the greenhouse is the TV, playing a car commercial on low volume.

He seems to abandon his attempt to wrap his head around the distances you’re describing. “Okay, Frisk. I’m still pretty sure you’re pulling my leg, which is quite the accomplishment considering I don’t have any. But it’s your project, so whatever.”

Your better judgement screams that you shouldn’t push the matter, but your curiosity gets the better of you. “I have to ask, didn’t you learn about this stuff when you were in school? Like, planets or whatever.”

“It was a hundred years ago. And the only information we had on the outside world came from things that fell into Waterfall from the surface, so what we knew was out of date, even at the time.”

“Oh.”

“And it’s not like outer space is the top priority when you’re all trapped underground, is it? Our science classes focused on things we could actually look at.”

"So what was school like in the underground? Do Princes go to school like everyone else?"

"Of course not! No self-respecting monster Prince would ever be caught mixing with commoners." He laughs at your shocked look. "God, I was kidding. Yeah. The underground's population wasn't that big so there were only a few different schools. Chara and I went to one in the capital."

You try another leading question. "So what kinds of things did you learn in science?"

"A mix of stuff. Like, how plants grow underground, how our cave systems formed. When it came to the techy stuff, it mostly involved studying whatever junk happened to fall down from the human world." He chuckles, as if he just remembered something funny. "Chara thought it was hilarious how old our technology was. We thought home video was cutting-edge in 2015."

"Was it not?" You know technology was progressing fast back then, but you're hazy on the details.

"No. We had a huge camera that recorded onto tape, and then you put the tape in this VCR thing to play it. Actually, you've seen those tapes, haven't you? In Alphys's lab?"

"Oh yeah, I know the ones."

"So yeah, for us it was the latest thing, but nobody on the surface had a camera like that by 2015. Chara said people just used their phones to take video. I didn't get what they meant until..."

Flowey pauses, and you glance at him. He's looking at you, but his eyes aren't focused. It's as if he sees something you don't. You clear your throat. "You were saying?"

"Yeah, uh... Yeah. Phone cameras." He shakes his head. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay," you say. You have no idea what just happened, but Flowey seemed genuinely unsettled just then. Is that an improvement on Grumpy Flowey? You're not sure. “So, anyway, the sun is ninety-three million miles away. It’s made of gas, mainly hydrogen and helium, and is 5,500 degrees Celsius on the surface. Uh,” you glance over your notes. “It’s got nine planets orbiting it, and Earth is the fourth one out. The furthest one, Hecate, was discovered in 2055. There used to be one called Pluto, but they decided it wasn’t a planet in 2006.”

“Who’s ‘they?’”

“Um... scientists?”

“Like, all scientists? They all got up and said ‘Let’s make Pluto not a planet any more?’”

“I mean –”

“You should say who actually decided that, otherwise it just sounds lazy. Miss Barnett will be all like, ‘did you even read the –’”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll change it.”

“The planet stuff is good though. If you stick on a few of them for a while you can really pad out your time.”

“It is meant to be about stars, though. I’m pretty a couple of other people got assigned specific planets? I don’t want to steal someone else’s topic.”

“Boo-hoo. You want advice, don’t you? When you have a set amount of time you need to talk for, fill it up with random garbage. That’s presentation basics.”

“I don’t want my presentation to be garbage,” you say hotly.

“Well, maybe you came to the wrong houseplant, then. Garbage is my life, frisk. It’s what I do. it’s who I am.”

“Even if that’s true, there’s already been one useful thing in your garbage advice so far.” You quickly look up the history of Pluto’s planet status, and add the International Astronomical Union to your note on it. “So you know what, keep it coming. You pour out the garbage, I’ll pick the bits I like.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“So next I have a bit about how the sun provides heat for the planet, and energy to plants so they can photosynthesize and make food. And then they’re food for animals, so all life depends on the sun really.”

“So I’m animal food. I love it!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“So the sun is a yellow dwarf star, and is a pretty average size. There’s some that are way bigger –”

“You’re jumping all over the place. You were talking about photosynthesis and then you went back to the sun itself, and now other stars.”

“This is just the raw info. I haven’t organised it yet.”

“Well, you should,” he rejoins, before turning back to the TV where the ad break has just finished.

“Yeah, yeah.” You cut and paste the yellow dwarf bit back up to where the other parts are. Reckoning you have enough to start actually making the presentation now, you open a fresh slideshow and pick out a suitably celestial colour scheme. “Does this look alright?”

“Whuh?” Says Flowey. “Oh. Yeah, looks swell.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“The movie’s back on. This was fun though. We should do it again sometime.” With that, he returns his focus to the screen, where a gang of colourfully clad humans are taking turns punching a huge purple guy in armour. It’s like the channel just changed inside his head, going from engaged and critical to utterly uninterested with the flick of a switch.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. Flowey pays you no attention. You stay another couple of minutes, adding to your slides and occasionally musing aloud on their content to try and entice him into commenting. But you draw no response, and it’s not long before the grunts and explosions of the fantastical battle prove too distracting. You leave the greenhouse with a cursory “bye,” lock up, and head to your room to carry on working.

By sundown, you find that contrary to your fears, you’ve collected more information than you know what to do with. You read it back to yourself under your breath and find it comes in at about six minutes. But although you’ve reached the length requirement, you don’t feel good about what you’ve produced. Going through it from start to finish makes it clear how much of a mess it is structurally. Even after trying to follow Flowey’s advice, you still find yourself zig-zagging between different topics and getting side-tracked by subjects that have no real relevance, but are too fascinating for you to discard in good conscience. You try to focus: group all the snippets into proper sections, and trim out the garbage. But everything feels interconnected, everything seems important. Why can’t your brain disentangle it? Why does it have to be so difficult?

And there’s another problem, one that editing can’t fix. Your presentation is boring. No matter how interesting you find the information, when you stand behind your chair and pretend to deliver it in front of a class it feels flat and lifeless, like you’re reading a shopping list. And deep down, you know that the problem is you. You can’t make things sound interesting just by the tone of your voice, the way Miss Baxter does. You can’t hold a group’s attention like the rest of your classmates can. And you know that no matter how much you polish and refine your presentation, as long as it lacks that spark it will only ever be okay, and never great. It’s hard to work under that knowledge.

You’re suddenly too dejected to keep working, and distract yourself by pondering your progress with Flowey. Even his brief and reluctant help with the project was more than you had expected; you were lucky to come in during an ad break. You think it did him good, though, even if he’d never admit it. On reflection, one moment stands out to you: the way he completely lost his train of thought when he was talking about cell phones. You have no idea where that came from or what it meant, and he was very eager to change the subject. It almost seems disconcerting by design, like he wanted to psyche you out? But your gut instinct says he wasn’t performing at that moment.

The call to dinner cuts off your train of thought. You shut down your laptop, being sure to save everything first, and close it sharply as if trying to trap all the stress and uncertainty of the day inside. There’s no reason for you to let some dumb project stop you enjoying a perfectly good meal.

Chapter Text

The next day, you and Toriel arrive home from school to find a large cardboard box sitting on the doorstep. You have an idea of what might be inside even before you read the attached note:

Security gear, to be installed ASAP. Read email for further details.

The box is too heavy for you to lift easily, so you hold the door open for Toriel while she carries it inside. You move her sewing equipment and a vase of flowers to the end of the kitchen table to make space for the box, and then fetch the scissors to undo the tape.

Inside are three short lengths of flexible plastic with locking clasps at each end; a ring of small, shiny keys; a modestly sized metal safe; and a chunky black box small enough that you can just about hold it in one hand. A layer of cardboard separates these from the biggest object by far: a large black-and-silver piece of machinery that resembles an old-fashioned desktop computer, like you might have found in the 20th century. You take out your phone and check your emails – sure enough, there’s a new message from Undyne’s official royal guard account. You open it, hoping it’ll shed some light.

Toriel takes the generator out of the box, and you examine it more closely. The surface is shiny and almost frictionless; you can see your reflection in it like a mirror. Aside from the controls and sockets, the only feature is the manufacturer’s logo on the back.

“Does Undyne’s email say what this is, dear?” asks Toriel.

“Yeah. It’s a power generator.” You gesture to the sockets on the side. “For the TV, so we don’t have to use the extension cord.”

“I see. I suppose it’ll need recharging from time to time, though.”

“She said it would run for decades.”

Toriel half-smiles. “Are you sure, dear? I think that may be an exaggeration...”

You show her the email on your phone. “That’s what it says.”

“Goodness. I don’t know of any magical power source that can run for that long without being replenished. I suppose this must be a human design, then. I wonder how much it cost.”

You know that the greenhouse was funded by Asgore from the royal treasury, and you assume the same goes for this new generator. It strikes you as a bit excessive given it’ll only be used for entertainment – then again, Asgore is nothing if not generous, and you don’t think he’d waste money on extravagant gifts if the kingdom desperately needed it. It definitely wasn’t Undyne’s idea, though.

You give Toriel your phone so she can read the whole email – when she gets to the part about Flowey needing supervision, she sniffs.

“I understand why that’s a necessary precaution, but it will be rather inconvenient to have to sit in with him, and move him back and forth. He can be so unpleasant; I’d really rather not have to stay in that greenhouse for longer than I have to.”

You don’t say anything. As the only one among you to have beaten Flowey in a fight, you feel a bit patronised that you’re not being trusted to handle him by yourself. But you can’t see a way to explain that without prompting a whole load of awkward questions. It’s easier to just let it slide.

“Well,” Toriel continues. “I have some needlework I was planning to do this afternoon. I suppose I can supervise Flowey at the same time, as long as he promises to be civil.”

*             *             *

Toriel sits in one corner of the greenhouse, rhythmically weaving a needle through a small canvas. Flowey, freshly replanted in a trough on the table, pores over a book propped up on a vine in front of him. Having rejected all the available fiction titles (too childish) and the non-fiction (too boring), he’s now contented himself with a tattered, half-completed book of Sudoku puzzles that was right at the bottom of the box. He grips a pencil awkwardly in one vine, muttering to himself and occasionally scrawling in a number. You’re trying to edit your presentation, but Flowey’s silent frustration and Toriel’s quiet disapproval disrupts your flow more effectively than any number of superhero fights could.

Flowey peers at his puzzle, mouthing numbers. Then, realising he’s made a mistake, he snarls and drags his pencil across the page in a random scribble. Toriel jumps, accidentally pulling the thread out of her needle. With a restrained sigh, she puts the canvas down to re-thread. Flowey hooks a thorn around the corner of the page and turns it so violently it tears, moving onto a fresh puzzle. He fills in a number as Toriel finds her place in the pattern and continues stitching. Nobody talks.

This is the worst.

A few minutes pass. You reorder a couple of slides, and type a sentence, then delete it.

Flowey gives up on the Sudoku book. “Can you look a word up, Frisk?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Ab... abjectively? I think that’s it. I want to know if I was using it right a couple of days ago.”

“Do you mean ‘objectively?’” asks Toriel.

“Maybe. What does that mean?”

“When information is objective, it means it’s not influenced by personal opinion,” says Toriel, bringing out her teacher voice. “So, for example, saying that it is sunny today is objectively true.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But saying that the weather is nice today depends on one’s personal preference. That’s what you’d call a subjective statement. As for ‘abjectively,’ I don’t believe it means anything, although ‘abject–’”

“Yeah, I get the picture!”

Toriel’s nostrils flare, and you jump in to try and mediate.

“Hey, Flowey, don’t be like that. You did ask.”

“And I said I understood the answer,” says Flowey. “What’s the issue?”

“You were clearly – oh, never mind.” If he wants to start an argument with Toriel, why should you stop him?

But Toriel stays calm, and simply says “Well, I’m glad I could help,” before resuming her sewing.

Flowey rolls his eyes at you, as if the two of you are in cahoots behind Toriel’s back or something. You carry on editing your presentation, and don’t grace him with a response.

After a few minutes, Toriel stops sewing again and stands up. “I probably ought to start preparing dinner now.”

“I guess that means I’m back in the time-out pot, then?” says Flowey.

“I’m afraid so. Undyne was very clear.” Toriel picks up the garden trowel she used to move Flowey, lifts him out of the trough (his vines fall lifelessly on the table as his roots clear the soil) and puts him back into the smaller pot;. “Frisk, perhaps you can hold the book for him?”

“Forget it. I’ll just watch TV,” he says.

“Hm. Very well.” Toriel leaves, closing the door carefully behind her.

“This stinks!” says Flowey, as soon as Toriel is out of earshot. “I’m only given the luxury of being able to hold things when she’s babysitting me? It’s so degrading.”

“You know, if you told her the truth about who y–”

“Fat chance. Trust me on this one, Frisk. I’ve been down that path, and it’s even worse than this. At least this way I’m just an annoyance rather than a burden.”

“She’s your Mom! How can you be a burden to her?”

“You don’t get it. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is being loved by someone when you can’t love them back?”

You don’t answer.

“In one of my first resets,” he continues, “I spent weeks just hanging around with her, trying to live a normal life – like we did before. I put all this effort into acting like the son she wanted. And yeah, she was happy at first, but after a while she could tell I was just playing a part. Naturally, she resented me for it – even if she tried to hide it. So in the end I decided to stop wasting both of our time, and left.”

He lets his words sink in for a moment before concluding, “So no, telling her wouldn’t help. Don’t even think about it. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s gotten over me now – she has you to take care of, after all.”

Rather than answer, you busy yourself setting up the generator. You kneel down and flick the power switch, then plug in the TV.

“What is that, anyway?” asks Flowey.

“It’s this fancy new power supply.” You consult the manual to see what the next step is. “It’s got this microfusion thingy that supposedly keeps it working for years.”

“Microfusion, huh? How does that work?”

“I’m not sure. It’s pretty new.” You read aloud from the manual. “‘Stellar Technologies has been at the cutting edge of fusion energy research ever since its inception. Now, for the first time, the process that fuels our plants is available to use in your home. The Stellar Microfusion Generator Mk 1 taps the incredible power of the atom with unrivalled efficiency to guarantee you safe, clean, reliable energy no matter where you are.’”

“Golly, they certainly think very highly of themselves,” says Flowey.

You can’t disagree with that. “I wonder if it really lasts as long as they say it does.”

“Say, there was something in your presentation about fusion in stars, right? Is that the same thing?” Flowey asks.

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it, but it might be.” Probably the coolest thing you learned about while researching your presentation was fusion in the centres of stars. Normally a star is formed from hydrogen and helium, which are very simple gases, but the heat and pressure in the core is enough to smash them together into more complicated elements. When you read into it in more detail, you quickly hit a lot of very complicated diagrams and charts, but the basic gist is that most of the substances you encounter in everyday life, like iron in food or oxygen in the air, originally came from the explosions of ancient stars.

You do some Googling, and sure enough the article on fusion power links back to the exact nuclear fusion page you’ve cited in your project. “Yeah, looks like they’re the same thing.”

Flowey laughs. “The audacity of you humans, I swear. You look at the biggest explosion in the universe, and think ‘what if I copied that and used it to power my TV?’ No wonder you obliterated the monsters in the war.”

Off-colour humour notwithstanding, you have to agree. Fusion power is one of those things that’s so commonplace, you’ve never really considered how it works – now that you know, you look at the generator in a new light. You essentially have a tiny star sitting in the greenhouse; it’s equal parts awesome and frightening.

You leaf through the manual. The first couple of pages are dedicated to hyping up the new technologies that make such a volatile energy source stable and safe for home use. After that come the instructions for actually activating it. You carry out the steps and the TV springs to life. The generator’s screen indicates that, at the current rate of power consumption, it will be able to operate continuously for thirty-five years. Seems like Undyne wasn’t exaggerating.

You return to your chair while Flowey takes control of the TV, setting it to a cooking channel. You watch for a bit before going back to your presentation.

“I might put that in, actually,” you say.

“Huh?”

“That our main energy source works the same way that stars do. It can be like a little fun fact.”

“So this is fun now?”

“I just think it’s interesting.”

“Nerd.”

“Whatever.” You skim through your slides, looking for the best place to add the new info. Flowey returns his attention to the TV.

*             *             *

The sun is lower in the sky when Flowey next speaks. “Ugh, why did I put a food show on? Now I’m just hungry.”

“Watch something else, then.”

“Ehhh. All these shows are so boring.”

“Well, if you don’t want to watch TV, or read any of the books, or help me with my presentation, what do you want to do?”

“I dunno.”

“What did you do for all those months after you broke the barrier?”

“Nothing much.”

“You must have done something.”

“Not really. Nothing interesting enough to remember, anyway.”

“Well, when was the last time you did something you were excited about?” you ask. “That didn’t involve killing people,” you add quickly.

Flowey chuckles, but doesn’t answer right away. The only sound comes from the TV, where the host is commenting on the cake a contestant just presented.

“Honestly, I don’t really remember,” Flowey says eventually.

“At all?” you venture.

He bristles. “Life just isn’t that exciting for me, okay? Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Okay,” you say. Your voice threads the needle between being too unsympathetic and too condescending.

You hear the back door to the house open, and look up to see Toriel poking her head out. “Dinner’s ready, Frisk!” She calls.

You give her a thumbs up.

“Well, you go and enjoy your food then.” says Flowey.

“Uh. Okay. Sorry about-”

“It’s fine,” he says in a cheery tone. “Run along now, you know what she’s like when you’re late for meals.”

“Sure.” You close your laptop and head out, locking the door as usual. Flowey’s eyes are already back on the TV as you turn to walk up the garden.

*             *             *

You have another dream that night. You find yourself in the dark yet again. As you float in the void, you feel something new – a chill that creeps under your skin and gnaws on your bones. You blow on your hands, but the air that passes between your lips is no warmer than your surroundings.

For a long time (time is so hard to measure in dreams) nothing happens. But very gradually, you notice motion around you. A sensation like wind on your back, vague flurries in the corners of your vision. Time speeds up, and the moving thing becomes clearer – a shifting, twisting cloud of grey-white dust. It looks exactly like the remains of a monster, so much so that you wonder sadly who it used to be. You hope they had a peaceful death. You reach out and touch a single grain of the dust with your fingertip, entranced by how tiny it is by itself. It feels like the finest, most miniscule particle in the universe.

The dust-cloud’s dance grows faster still, its movement more erratic. It increases in mass and density, brightening in colour as it does so. More and more dust rushes past you towards it – huge amounts, like the dust of every monster in the underground. The cloud dwarfs you now, a colossal nebula that keeps dragging more matter into itself through its own gravity. The fresh dust is howling past now, rushing in your ears and grazing your skin – you shout in fear, but if any sound escapes it’s drowned by that of the dust. You flail in space, trying to get away from the cloud, terrified that you’ll be sucked in, but there’s nothing to push against, no way to even turn around. You can only watch.

Finally the nebula becomes so big and dense that it coalesces into a sphere. It’s pure white, now, and emanates a scorching heat. The heat and light reaches into your eyes, and even penetrates your eyelids when you shut them. You’re floating in front of a star, burning up in the immense heat of its sustained nuclear explosion. Time flies by even faster, and still the star grows; bigger than the sun, bigger than Pollux, bigger than Betelgeuse. All-consuming, devastating, like the fury of an enraged God. In this moment, you feel with complete certainty that no good could ever come of such a force. Its power cannot provide warmth or nourishment. It is too huge and dreadful to do anything but destroy. Any life it sustains can be nothing more than a fluke, a fleck of errant matter rebelling against the natural order for a brief moment, before being swiftly devoured.

And then, just as the heat it about to vaporise you, something impossible happens. The star begins to shrink. Or maybe it’s you that’s growing? Either way, the change is instantaneous, and once it’s over you’re no longer threatened by the heat. In fact, the star grew distant as it got smaller, and now the chill of outer space starts to creep up your back once more. You reach out toward the star, and this time you’re able to glide through space easily, covering the distance in a few seconds. The flow of time seems to have returned to normal, and the star, now close enough to touch, is neither too hot nor too cold. You tuck your body in close, cup your hands over it, and relax as its energy gradually chases the cold out of you, leaving you comfortably warm all over.

You stay still and gradually close your eyes. Behind you lies the gloomy expanse of space, full of mystery and danger. But right here, in front of you, you have a fragment of light and safety. Perhaps another night you’ll take it with you, and explore the secrets of the cosmos. But for now, you’re content to rest, and enjoy this moment of peace. You drift slowly, huddled around your star, until the chime of your alarm clock wakes you.

*             *             *

You lie in bed mulling over the dream, trying to make some sense of it. In a way, its apparent lack of meaning is a nice change of pace after your altercations with Chara. It seems they’re being as good as their word when it comes to getting out of your subconscious. For now, at least, you get to dream the same cryptic nonsense as everyone else. But is it nonsense, or is there some kind of message you’re meant to figure out?

You describe it to Toriel over breakfast, wondering if she’ll be able to interpret it better than you can. You’re can't really convey how it felt in words, but you do your best. When you’re done, she says:

“Well, it seems pretty straightforward to me. You’re anxious about your science project, and so you had a frightening dream about the subject matter. I only hope you’re not working yourself too hard.”

“I’m not sure you can call it a nightmare, though. I felt a lot calmer by the end.”

“Perhaps that means you’re feeling more confident in your ability to succeed?”

“That makes sense. Honestly, the presentation is mostly done at this point. It’s turning out a lot easier than I expected.”

“Well, there you have it. These things are rarely as difficult as they first seem, once you’ve started working on them.”

“Yeah. Getting started is always the hardest part, though.”

“It gets easier with practice.” Toriel glances at the clock. “Goodness, we’d better get ready to leave, or we’ll be late for school.”

“Yep. I’ll just go water Flowey.” You collect the key from its new home in the safe, get a glass of water, and head out to the greenhouse.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday afternoon you have a Chemistry lesson – in the lab, no less. Chemistry is one of those subjects with no middle ground – the lab work is fun, but the theory is almost always boring. So it’s a good sign when Miss Baxter starts a lesson by leading the class into the lab.

Today’s subject is combustion, and the lab session turns out to be a bit underwhelming. Once she’s made sure you all have your safety goggles on, Miss Baxter demonstrates with a Bunsen burner; from the way the class crowds around, you’d think they’d never seen a fire before. She explains how the oxygen and fuel react to create carbon dioxide and water vapour, and puts a stick of charcoal into the flame to show the contrast with the clean-burning gas. For the grand finale, she retrieves a fragment of sodium from the supply cupboard and drops it into a basin of water where it sizzles and burns up dramatically, which you have to admit is pretty cool.

 “Alright,” says Miss Baxter. “Goggles away now, everyone, and we’ll head back to the classroom to go over the ...”

Knowing the fun is over, your classmates immediately start stalling. A few people raise their hands, including Mark, a kid with a reputation for asking difficult questions. Miss Baxter starts to call on someone else, but Mark forges on regardless.

“Miss Baxter, is it true that monsters can make fire with their hands?”

The question sends a ripple through the class. Of the monsters who’ve moved into Yellow Creek so far, very few have children, and those that do are understandably nervous about plunging headfirst into human society. As a result there are no monster kids at your school, or in any of the town’s schools as far as you know, and Toriel is the only non-human teacher. There’s still an atmosphere of mystery about monsterkind, even months after the barrier went down.

Miss Baxter clears her throat and answers. “Well, that’s a generalisation. But from what we understand, yes. Some monsters do have the ability to create f–”

“And is that, like, the same as combustion?”

“Yes, that would fit the definition. Now, we should be moving–”

“So when monsters make combustion happen, Miss Baxter, what are they using as fuel? Is it natural gas like the Bunsen burner?”

“Well, Mark, as far as I know we don’t have an answer to that question yet – and anyway, right now we have some basic theory to cover. Perhaps you can do a research project on it for the next science fair.” She addresses the class before he can argue. “Back to the classroom, please, and make sure you have your textbooks out.”

One thing you like about Miss Baxter is that she’s honest about not knowing some things – most teachers just dodge questions they can’t answer. Still, there’s got to be a scientific explanation for how magic works, right? And if humans don’t have it, a monster certainly will.

You put Mark’s question to Toriel on the way home. She thinks for a moment before replying.

“Well, it’s an interesting question. I have to admit I’ve never thought about it that much before. The thing is, for us monsters, magic isn’t really that different from regular activity. It takes energy to use it, and if we do too much we get tired. Sometimes monsters will exhaust themselves to the point of unconsciousness when they perform lots of magic and don’t pay attention to their bodies. And we get energy by eating food, just like humans do. Though our food is also magical, come to think of it.”

You’re not sure whether that really answers your question, but you don’t see any point in grilling her if she doesn’t know.

“Magic for monsters is like exercise for humans, really,” Toriel concludes. “It uses up energy, which you replenish by eating and resting. I’m not an expert in the mechanisms, but I daresay they’re essentially the same.”

Her explanation is plausible, but it raises more questions. When you get home, you decide to message Alphys about it. She’s not online, but you leave her a message anyway.

You wait for a minute to see if she notices your message, but she must be away from the phone. Kinda off-brand for her.

You even ask Flowey during your now-routine greenhouse homework jam, but his answer is no more helpful.

“So, we learned about combustion in school today,” you begin.

“And?”

“And this kid, Mark, asked how monsters make fire without fuel. Miss Baxter didn’t know the answer, but I was wondering if you learned about it in monster school?”

“And how is this relevant to your project?”

“It’s not. Jeez. I was just curious.”

“Well, the short answer is not really. There were magic classes, but they were more about using and controlling it than explaining how it worked. And I died tragically before I was old enough to start learning, anyway.” He gives a macabre grin. “Science and magic were just two separate subjects. Sometimes scientists used magic in their inventions – the Core has some magical materials in it, I think. But if there’s a scientific explanation for magic, I never heard it. It just exists, y’know?”

You nod. You weren’t expecting Flowey to have a perfect answer, but it does surprise you that monsters apparently don’t understand the magic they use every day. Maybe that’ll change now that they’re free. In the meantime, you guess you’ll just have to live with some things being unexplained by science. You don’t envy Miss Baxter, who’s stuck teaching a curriculum that might turn out to be completely invalid.

You make a few more tweaks to your presentation. Taking inspiration from the today’s lesson, you add a digression to the script about how combustion is different from fusion, and why it doesn’t happen in stars – teachers love it when you make connections between different topics like that. You occasionally read bits out to Flowey, and he gives a verdict on whether or not to cut them.

When you come in for dinner, you notice Toriel’s now-finished cross-stitch sitting on the mantelpiece; she must have just completed it this afternoon. It’s a landscape, depicting a pine forest at night. It’s beautiful to look at; an artful alternation of light and dark green threads creates the illusion of bright moonlight hitting the leaves, and tiny stars are picked out in white against the deep blue sky. You hoped she might take the opportunity to remove your embarrassing school photo which has pride of place in the middle of the mantlepiece, but no such luck.

*             *             *

Nothing very exciting happens at school on Thursday, and when you get home there’s still no reply from Alphys. You go over your presentation one more time, satisfying yourself that it’s ready to deliver to an audience, and then go out to the greenhouse to get some comments from Flowey. You consider asking Toriel to watch as well, but somehow the idea of having her there makes you feel self-conscious.

If Flowey’s annoyed at having his solitude interrupted, he keeps it to himself this time, greeting you with a grunt that almost sounds like “hello.”

“Hey,” you say. “So, the presentation’s finished.”

“Cool. Does that mean I can go back to not hearing about it anymore?”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d serve as my test audience.”

“For reaaaalll? Ugh, fine. Make it quick, though.”

You bring your slides up on your laptop, and cast the screen to the TV. Then, after taking a moment to collect yourself, you start talking and get about one sentence in before Flowey interrupts.

“You’re mumbling,” he says. “Also, is your target audience the floor? Because it feels like you’re trying to talk to the floor.”

“Hey, presenting in front of people is hard, okay!” He’s right, though. Whenever you do any kind of performance, it immediately kills your ability to talk like a normal person. You try not to get frustrated, and start again. Fixing your eyes on the greenhouse wall just above his face. Talking as clearly as you can.

As an audience, Flowey is a pretty good substitute for your class. About a minute in, he gets distracted by a pigeon hunting for worms outside, and you have to drag his attention back inside before carrying on. You do eventually get to the end, and, in accordance with the ancient traditions of the School Presentation, finish by saying “So, uh, yeah. Any questions?”

“Not really,” Flowey answers glibly. “You’ll just have to hope you don’t get any tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “Nobody actually asks questions after these things.”

“Sounds exactly like monster school back in the day.”

You wait for more feedback, but it doesn’t come.

“Well?” you ask. “What did you think?”

“It was okay.”

“That’s it?”

“I mean, you know. Your facts were all there. Not that I’d know, apparently.” He chuckles grimly. “The structure... flowed, I guess? Thanks to my advice, no doubt.”

“Sure. Honestly, there’s not much to say about these projects once they’re done.” You go to pick up your laptop. “Guess I’ll go help Toriel with dinner.”

“Oh, come on. I swear you’ve done nothing but work all week. Give yourself a break. Watch some TV.”

“Eh, why not.”

“Awesome. I saw this really dumb movie on here earlier today – I want to see if I can find it again so I can show it to you.”

“Wait, so did you like it or not?”

“Oh, it was awful. That’s why I need to show it to you. So you can share my pain.”

*             *             *

The movie takes up the rest of the afternoon – Flowey constantly interrupts to point out plot holes and awkward dialogue, to the point that you can’t really follow what’s going on, but it does help you unwind.

Now the garden is lit in hazy gold by the setting sun, and the fluffy clouds on the horizon glow bright orange. The long shadow of the pine tree behind the greenhouse paints a dark stripe over Flowey’s table, across the TV screen, and along the grass outside. You check your watch; it’s almost dinnertime again. Not wanting to keep Toriel waiting, you pack up your laptop and head out, pausing in the doorway to turn back to Flowey.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” you say.

“Sure,” he says. Then, just as you’re closing the door, he adds “Good luck with the presentation.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you?”

You linger for a second, but he doesn’t say anything else. You close and lock the door as usual, but allow yourself a smile as you walk back to the house. Good luck. It may not sound like much, but it’s progress.

Chapter Text

On Friday the sky is overcast and the air damp, though it isn't actually raining. A nervous knot forms in your stomach as you wake up - it's presentation day.

You spend breakfast and the ride to school in silence. It's ridiculous. You fought the God of Hyperdeath, and here you are catatonic with anxiety over speaking to a classroom of normal kids? At this point you'd honestly rather face down Omega Flowey again. Or even - no, not Sans. You draw the line there.

Toriel doesn't seem in much of a mood for conversation either; apart from wishing you a good morning, and asking if you’re ready to leave, she doesn’t speak at all until you arrive at school. The two of you go inside together, her stopping at the staff lounge while you go on to your classroom.

“I’ll see you in the afternoon, then, Frisk,” she says.

“Yeah. See ya.” It always feels a bit weird talking to Toriel at school.

“And good luck with your presentation.”

“Thanks.” You’re just about to leave when she suddenly kneels down and flings her arms around you.

“You’ll do great, okay?” She whispers.

Where did this come from? You pat her arm clumsily, keenly aware of all the other kids in the corridor. The hug is gentle, but still feels stifling.

“Thanks,” you say again. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Okay. I love you.” She lets you go and stands up.

“I’ll see you after school,” you say, and set off towards your classroom as quick as you can, trying not to die from embarrassment on the one hand, or anxiety on the other.

Physics is the first lesson of the day, so at least you don’t have much time left to spend melting down. Once everyone’s assembled, Miss Baxter completes the roll call and then asks if anyone wants to volunteer to present first. Big surprise, nobody does. Your heart is pounding as she looks down the register to choose someone at random...

“I’ll go first, Miss Baxter.”

Her eyes flick upwards in surprise, and it’s not until they settle on you that the reality of what you just said sinks in. But you know you had to – you need to get it over with right now.

“Sure thing, Frisk. Come on up.” If Miss Baxter is surprised, she doesn’t let it show. “Your subject was stars, right?”

“Yeah.” The wretched things. If you never hear about stars after this until the day you die, it won’t be long enough. Your legs are leaden as you walk to the front of the classroom, as if determined to sabotage you every last step of the way.

You open the slides on your laptop and cast them to the big screen. “Uh,” you say, your voice pitifully small, your eyes fixed on the ground in front of you.

Is your target audience the floor?

There’s no chance in hell you’re going to give Flowey the satisfaction of knowing you mumbled timidly through this presentation. You push back your shoulders, raise your chin, and start talking so loudly a few of the kids start in their seats.

*             *             *

You make it through in just under five minutes, filling the allotted time nicely. Just as you predicted, nobody has any questions for you once you’re done; Miss Baxter thanks you and you return to your seat in silence, so relieved that the whole thing is over that you barely take in what anyone else says in their presentations. The lesson is over before you know it.

Miss Baxter stops you as everyone is leaving the classroom.

“Can I have a word, Frisk?”

You nod. Are you in trouble? “A word” could mean anything.

A few people give you curious glances as they leave, but Miss Baxter waits until everyone’s cleared out before continuing. “Good job on your presentation. I just wanted–” on her desk her phone buzzes, and she looks at it in surprise. “Darn. Sorry, Frisk, I have to run now. Can you come by the staff lounge...” she grabs the phone and scrolls through her calendar. “...after last period? It won’t take long.”

“Sure,” you say.

“Great. I’ll see you later.” She takes her briefcase and goes to the door, holding it open for you. Once you’re both out she hurries down the corridor, leaving you alone.

Her ambiguous request bothers you all day. Was your presentation actually really bad? She seemed to think it was good, but maybe she was just being polite. Is there some other thing you forgot to do? Or is she going to give you another project because this one went so well?

School finishes early on the last day of term, so you head to the staff lounge at what would normally be lunchtime to see what Miss Baxter has in store for you. You pause outside the door, working up the nerve to knock, but stop short when you hear what sounds like a muffled sob coming from inside. You hesitate – the last thing you want to do is walk in on some poor kid having a meltdown – but then you hear a choked voice that sounds like it belongs to Toriel.

“–and today was his birthday, and I just miss him so much–” her voice cracks.

You hear Miss Baxter speak, offering a reassurance, but you’re already backing away. You’ve never known Toriel to cry before, and you don’t want to eavesdrop on her now. The whole thing seems wrong. You retreat to the end of the corridor and wait round the corner, out of earshot of the lounge.

After a few minutes, you hear the door swing open, accompanied by footsteps moving out into the corridor.

“Well, I wouldn’t normally give this advice,” you hear Miss Baxter saying, “but I really think you should talk to him. You went through a lot together, and it sounds like he’s trying to change.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if things can ever go back to how they were... but you’re right. I can’t just ignore it forever. Maybe we can come to some kind of resolution.”

“I hope so,” Miss Baxter says, kindly. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

You hear the door close, and listen as Toriel’s footsteps recede down the hallway. Once you’re sure she’s out of sight, you head round the corner and knock on the door yourself.

Miss Baxter opens it immediately, and smiles. “Hi Frisk. Come in and have a seat. Sorry about making you come here after school; I won’t keep you long.”

You’ve never been in here before. It’s smaller than you imagined it – a couch and two chairs around a coffee table, and a kitchen unit along one wall. You always assumed the teachers would at least have a space bigger than a classroom. Maybe an elevator leading to a secret lab.

You take a seat on the couch, and Miss Baxter sits down opposite you in one of the armchairs. There’s a half-empty mug in front of her on the table, which she picks up and sips from. She seems happy, so you can guess you’re not in trouble, but you’re still surprised at what she says next.

“I just wanted to say, Frisk, how impressed I’ve been at your progress since the start of the year.”

“Oh,” you say, thrown.

“You look shocked, but it’s true.” She gets a bit more serious. “I know you had a rough time of it before you came here, and settling in wasn’t easy. But you’ve gotten so much more confident since then. You absolutely smashed that presentation today. It was fantastic.”

“Thanks.” You look away, blushing.

“It seems like the subject really caught your interest. Do you think you’d be interested in a career in physics or astronomy some day?”

“Uh...” You weren’t ready for this at all. “It’s interesting, I guess. I like finding out how things work.”

“I can tell. You take a very methodical approach to your work, and that’s really valuable for working in the sciences.”

“I guess...”

“Well, I’d definitely consider it if I were you. It’s never too early to start thinking about these things.” She drains her mug and stands up. “Still, no pressure right now. I just wanted to bring it up before you go on break.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She strides to the door and opens it. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Have a good vacation.”

“You too.”

You leave the school building in a daze. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that. Was your presentation really that good? Or have you just set the bar so low that she was ready to lavish you with praise for producing something adequate?

Toriel is waiting for you in the car, and she smiles when she sees you. You’re still not convinced you really heard her crying a few minutes ago; her eyelids look a bit red, but that could just be the sun in her eyes...

“There you are. What did Miss Baxter have to say, then?” she asks, sounding cheerful enough.

“Oh, she just wanted to say she liked my presentation.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” She starts up the car. “I told you it would turn out well.”

“Yeah. I guess you were right.”

“It’s a good note to start the Spring break on.”

Of course. You’d been so preoccupied with school and Flowey that the vacation completely snuck up on you. You’re not sure what you’ll even do with yourself for the next two weeks. Try to relax, you suppose.

“I was thinking this morning about how to liven things up for Flowey in the greenhouse,” says Toriel as you leave the car park. “Do you suppose he’d be interested in video games? I was going through some old boxes last night and I found a gaming... I forget what you call it...”

“Console?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I thought we could connect it up to his television set, if he’s interested.”

“He might be; I’ll ask him when we get home.”

“Of course, it might be quite difficult for him to operate with his vines, and there’s still the problem of him needing supervising. Still, it can’t hurt to enquire.”

*             *             *

At home, you head right for the greenhouse. “Guess what,” you say as you open the door.

“Nh?” grunts Flowey, turning to look at you.

“I said, guess what.”

“What," he says flatly.

“The presentation was good! Miss Baxter was really impressed.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re not proud of me.”

“I mean, good for you, bud. But it’s only school. I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not super invested.”

You’re stung, but you know he’s only pretending not to care to wind you up. Well, you’re pretty certain, at any rate.

You change the subject. “So, Toriel dug out this old games console, and she wanted to know if you’d be interested in having it here in the greenhouse.”

“Maybe. Wait, don’t tell me – is it a Snez?”

“A what?” You’re not sure you heard him right.

“S-N-E-S,” he says, dragging out each letter like you’re an idiot. “It’ll be ancient history now, of course, but it was the latest thing when I was a kid.”

“It might be. I didn’t ask.”

“Does that mean she actually held on to it all this time?” Flowey says, half to himself. “And now she wants to give it back to me. That’s hilarious.”

“Is it?”

“Well, it’s something,” he rejoins. “Sure, bring it over.”

The SNES takes a little while to set up – its cables are horribly tangled after years in storage, and there’s far more of them than any device should reasonably have. Even though the TV claims to have full audio-visual backwards-compatibility it still needs to download a special driver before it can display the video output from the archaic console, and you can’t get the sound to come through at all. You end up doing most of the setup while Toriel hovers nervously and Flowey makes useless comments from the table.

You move him into the trough so that he can use his vines to hold the controller, but it quickly becomes apparent that they don’t afford him the dexterity needed to play at the fast pace most of the games require. You start with a competitive platformer, and it only takes a couple of Game Overs in the first level for him to fling the controller to the floor in a rage. Toriel, watching from the corner, startles and tuts softly while Flowey seethes.

“Um,” you say. You’re afraid his anger will devolve into a full-blown tantrum, but to your relief he contents himself with a bit of heavy breathing through his nose.

“I guess you win that one, then,” he mutters.

“I think I got roped into playing that one on one occasion, and I was hopeless at it,” Toriel says soothingly. “I couldn’t get the hang of all the running and jumping about.’ She gets up and rummages in the cardboard box of game cartridges sitting on the table. ‘Maybe try Tetris? It’s a little more straightforward, if I remember rightly.”

Flowey makes eye contact with you and flaps his mouth mockingly as Toriel talks, but he doesn’t stop her from swapping the cartridges. “Sure, let’s do some Tetris. I can’t exactly be worse at it.”

Sure enough, he fares much better, at least in the early levels; he’s able to manage all the essential controls at once, using one vine to move the thumbstick, another to rotate pieces, with a third wrapped around the controller to brace against. You and he alternate turns to see who can get the highest score, with you agreeing not to hold and swap pieces for the sake of fairness. You still end up winning overall, but having a fighting chance is enough to cheer Flowey up, and you make a couple of silly mistakes that he has fun pointing out.

After half an hour or so, your phone buzzes. You pause the game to check it and find an Undernet message from Undyne.

“I’ve got a message from Undyne,” you tell Toriel. “She says she’s at the door.”

“Oh, goodness,” gasps Toriel. “I quite lost track of time. Yes, she told me she’d drop by to make sure all the new locks and things are in place. I’d better go and let her in.” She addresses Flowey. “I think it might be best if we move you back into the smaller pot while she’s here.”

“Makes sense. Don’t want her to think I’m having too much fun,” he quips. Toriel’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.

“I’ll put you back in the trough once her inspection’s done, and you two can play a bit longer,” she says, moving Flowey over with the trowel. “But yes, it’s important to show we’re taking things seriously.”

“Well, Frisk, enjoy your victory while it lasts,” Flowey says. “I’ll be kicking your ass once I’ve had a bit more practice.”

“Language,” chides Toriel.

“Kicking your butt,” he corrects himself.

“Well, I suppose that’s a bit better,” she says, heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a tick.”

You message Undyne back.

“Figures Undyne would show up now,” grumbles Flowey once Toriel is out the door. “I was just starting to have fun.”

“Really?” you say sceptically. “I thought you were immune to happiness or something.”

“I said I was having fun. That’s not the same as being happy.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I mean, it kind of is, but it’s also... not?” He sighs. “Ugh, you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like not having a soul.”

“True,” you admit. “You’ll have to explain it to me."

He narrows his eyes. “I knew this was coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you came down to the ruins, I told you it was hopeless trying to change me. I thought maybe you’d listened; but now you think you’ve got my guard down, and you want me to talk about my feelings, so you can fix me. I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

“I just want to understand.”

“Huh. I’m pretty sure I already described it back in New Home, didn’t I? Back before you became completely spineless.”

“You said...” you cast your mind back. “You said all your compassion disappeared. And that you didn’t have any love for anyone.”

“Yeah. Or any hatred, either.”

“I guess... the thing is, when you’ve never lived without your emotions, it’s hard to imagine what it’s like. Even when I...” you trail off.

“When you murdered everyone,” Flowey says. “You can say it.”

“Yeah,” you continue. “Even then, I felt... scared and angry, most of the time. But just feeling nothing at all? I don’t get it. And I definitely don’t get what you mean about having fun without being happy.”

“Eh, fine, I’ll have a go at explaining. Not like I have anything better to do.” He sighs. “The problem is, it’s pretty useless trying to describe the feeling of having no feelings at all. What does that even mean? It sounds like one of those dumb thought experiments. Like, ‘what is the sound of one hand clapping?’ or something.”

He stops to think, then says: “Let’s see if this makes sense. You know those cross-stitches that Toriel does? The forest one she was working on the other day, say.”

“Yeah.”

“Imagine all your experiences in life are like those pictures. When you look at them, you have a reaction. If it’s a picture of a meadow you might feel... calm, I guess, and happy. If it’s someone dying, you’ll feel frightened or disgusted. Not that she’d ever stitch something like that, but you get my point.

“Sure.”

“But if you look at any of them really close, you see all the individual squares in different colours. The meadow is just a bunch of green squares in the bottom half, and blue squares on the top half. If you look at the shading on a cloud, you’ll see that it’s a mix of white and grey stitches.”

You stay silent. You’re not sure where he’s going with this, but you’re not going to risk interrupting.

“So the first time you look real close at a cross-stitch, it’s cool. You can see how the artist has used a few simple colours in the right combinations to create an image. Then you move away again, and you look at the image, and the fact that it looks like a meadow is even cooler than it was before, now that you know how it works.”

“But now imagine that every time you see one of those pictures, it’s in that close-up way. You can still see all the squares, but they don’t register like a complete image. The meadow is just a bunch of green, and a bunch of blue. You look at your best friend and you don’t see their face, it’s just: pink square, brown square, red square.”

“And that’s how your whole life is. You can still understand what’s going on, you know how you’re supposed to respond. But it’s just information. Understanding, but no feeling. It was like that, wherever I went, whoever I talked to.”

“For a while it was... okay. Like I told you, I stayed with Asgore for a bit. He talked to me, brought me books. I could tell he was happy to have me back. I thought, even if I could never feel like that, I could at least cheer him up, and that would be worth something. But that warm fuzzy feeling I got from acting selflessly...” he scoffs. “It was just another flat, cross-stitched experience, delivered to my brain like a set of measurements. I got bored.”

“So you started hurting people.” You do your best to keep your voice from sounding accusatory; you don’t want him to clam up. Even so, knowing where the conversation is going, you’re not sure how much more you’ll be able to stomach.

“Yeah. It was mostly curiosity. But I also thought, perhaps if trying to feel happy wasn’t getting me anywhere, I should try guilt instead. A shock to the system, like hitting a glitchy TV to get it to work.”

“A TV that’s displaying pictures of cross-stitch?” you joke.

“Oh, shut it. It’s not a perfect metaphor, okay? Anyway, by this point I’d tried to off myself a couple of times, and I’d figured out I could go back to my save file whenever I wanted. So it’s not like I was doing any irreversible damage. I started with small things. I went back to Asgore’s garden and talked to him again, acting like a stranger. He was being so polite, and I just thought ‘I’m your son. I could tell you – I did tell you, and it made you happy, and then I took that happiness away.’ Doing that made me feel bad, just a bit. But then the feeling faded. Guilt was just another pattern to be processed. I was back where I started.”

“But you kept going.” You’re dreading the direction the conversation is going, but for some reason you nudge it forward anyway.

“I found that some feelings worked better than others. The warm glow you get” – he coats the phrase in sarcasm – “when you help someone out... that didn’t really happen for me anymore. But some feelings did. Solving puzzles was one. That moment when you figure out a solution after you’ve been struggling for a long time. It wasn’t exactly happiness, but it was... something.” He looks into the middle distance. “But doing bad things, hurting people... that was the best. You know that feeling you get when you screw something up really badly? Where you can actually feel it, like a weight in your stomach?”

You know it well. “Yes...?” you prompt.

“That was the closest I ever came to real emotion. It was bizarre, feeling the rush that came with realising I’d done something awful, but none of the guilt afterwards.”

“So that was it?” Your voice is tense and brittle from the horror of what Flowey’s describing. “You hurt so many people, out of what? Boredom?”

“Pretty much. You’ve gotta get your kicks in where you can, you know? And it’s not like it even mattered in the end, because here we all are.” He glances at you sidelong. “You look upset.”

“I mean, yeah.” you respond. “It’s pretty creepy.”

“Like you’re one to talk. You butchered your way through the whole underground when you got your hands on my power.”

“That was different,” you protest. “I needed to escape. I was defending myself. I...” you stop short of mentioning Chara’s influence over you. Who knows how Flowey would respond to hearing that name right now?

He laughs at your defensiveness. “If you say so. But you know what I think?” He leans toward you. “I think you were enjoying yourself. I’m pretty sure I saw you smile when you finally killed ‘Undyne the Undying.’” He pronounces her name with mocking grandeur.

“I’d rather not think about it,” you say.

“Oh, am I getting to you, Frisk?” he asks, suddenly sinister. “Don’t like remembering how you murdered all your new pals?”

“No, actually, I don’t! That’s why I went back.”

“As if!” He giggles. “You went back because Sans was too tough for you, that’s all. You couldn’t fight your way out, so you had to suck up to everyone instead. The coward’s solution.”

“Fine, maybe you’re right.” You can hear the blood pounding in your ears. “Maybe I didn’t actually care about anyone back then; maybe it was just frustration that made me reset. But it’s different now. I’m not abusing that power any more. I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone, and just have a normal life. So don’t you dare tell me I’m just like you.”

Flowey stares at you, a knowing smile playing on his face. “You were right about one thing,” he says. “You still don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“You wanted to know what it’s like being me. But the fact that you still think all of this matters proves you don’t get it.” He spits the words out with sudden fury. “Undyne, and Toriel, and all the monsters enjoying their precious freedom. All those human teachers with their classes, and politicians with their treaties. None of them mean anything. Don’t you see?”

“Who are you to say that? You think you’re better than us?”

“You’re not one of them. You’re like me – or you could be, if you had the guts. I know what they really are – and deep down, so do you.” He leans towards you menacingly. “Scripts and patterns and lines, that’s all. Machines that always respond the same way to the same inputs. Sure, there’s more of them now that the barrier’s down, but at the end of the day it’s no different. They’re just as boring and empty as they’ve always been.”

“That’s not fair –”

“And you know what the worst part is?” continues Flowey, ignoring your protest. “You’re the one with the power to put an end to the whole pointless charade, and you’re wasting it! I have to sit here in this lousy greenhouse, day after day, while you play happy families and work on your stupid school projects! I don’t get it!”

“Hey! You said my presentation was good,” you say, bizarrely wounded by the trivial insult.

He laughs out loud. “Are you for real? As if I care about some dumb bit of homework. God, you’re gullible. ‘Course, that’s what makes you so much fun to play with.”

You feel tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, and turn away in embarrassment – but Flowey notices.

“Oh my God, are you actually crying? Because I was mean about your homework? Oh wow, that’s actually kind of pathetic. ” He laughs again. “I truly didn’t think you could sink any lower.”

“Shut up!" you yell. “I’ve had enough! Just leave me alone.” You turn and head for the door, your footsteps clanking on the metal grating.

“Sure, run away now,” sneers Flowey. “Get Mommy to kiss you better.”

You fling the door open so hard it flies out of your grip, and you have to turn around to grab the handle again once you’re through. Flowey locks eyes with you one more time as you look back into the greenhouse.

“You’ll be back,” he hisses.

And then you slam the door and run up the garden, the tears flowing freely from your face.

Chapter Text

You close the back door way too hard on the way into the house; Undyne and Toriel’s conversation cuts off at the sudden noise. You walk through the dining room where they’re sitting as quickly as you can, trying to hide your face, but it’s a hopeless effort. A wave of shame hits you at being seen in such a moment of weakness. You dash down the hall to your bedroom and quickly shut the door, before collapsing onto your bed, where you finally let yourself weep openly.

It’s obvious now that you were kidding yourself by thinking Flowey could improve; every time you thought he was opening up, he was just baiting you into hoping he could change so that he could let you down harder. And, idiot that you are, you gave him exactly what he wanted.

You lift your face out of the pillow. What now? You could demand an apology, but let’s be real, that’s not happening. Maybe you should just let it slide, make nice and pretend it never happened. Let him draw you in and hurt you again, and hope you bring him round before he grinds you down completely. Or do you just leave him? Move on and let him be Undyne’s problem?

There’s a tentative knock on your door, and you hear Toriel’s voice.

“Frisk, dear? Can I come in?”

You don’t answer, hoping she’ll just go away.  You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one afternoon, and you’d be loath to prove Flowey right by forcing the fallout of your own bad choices onto Toriel.

“Frisk?” Toriel calls again, slightly louder. You wait, expecting her to let herself in, but instead you hear her footsteps heading back into the dining room. And now you feel even worse for having frozen her out.

Your phone buzzes. It’s a message from Alphys. You wipe your eyes and sit up to read it.

It takes you a second to figure out what she’s talking about – the row with Flowey had driven Mark’s question about magic from your mind, to the point that bringing it up now seems trivial. But chatting to Alphys beats being alone with your thoughts. You answer.

Alphys responds immediately, her messages popping up almost as fast as you can read them.

The messages slow down slightly, but keep coming.

You look up from your phone and stare out of the window, the annoyance of finding your question unanswered yet again eclipsing your misery for a moment.

You can see Undyne in the greenhouse, examining the locks on the windows, which means Toriel must be alone in the house. Poor Toriel. You’re already regretting not letting her in when she came to check on you.

You go to the door and stick your head out. “Toriel,” you croak, still hoarse from crying.

She appears at the end of the hall immediately, and hurries towards you.

“Frisk!”

You step back to let her in, but she catches you in the doorway and hugs you – you don’t try to escape this time.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she says, patting your back. “Come on, sit down a moment.” She leads you to the end of the bed and sits down next to you, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder.

“Thanks for checking on me,” you mumble.

“But of course, dear,” she answers quietly. “I promised to look after you. Hang on a moment...”

She produces a handkerchief and hands it to you, giving you a moment to properly wipes your eyes. You must look like a mess.

“There you go,” she says soothingly.

“Sorry for being so stupid–”

“Nonsense. It’s perfectly natural,” she says kindly. “It’s been a stressful week for you, even without having to put up with that horrible Flowey...”

“He’s not that – okay, he is pretty horrible,” you admit, laughing weakly.

“He definitely has a knack for putting the people around him in a bad mood,” she says. “I do wonder if it mightn’t be best for you to spend a little less time with him.”

You sigh. “You’re right. I thought I could make him better, but he’s just – ugh.”

She squeezes your arm reassuringly. “It’s admirable that you even tried. And you never know, he might still improve. But I daresay that’ll take quite some time, and you needn’t take the burden entirely on yourself.”

You hear the back door open and shut. “Ah,” says Toriel. “That’ll be Undyne done with the inspection. I’ll just go check everything’s alright.” She pats your shoulder and heads for the door.

You take out your phone again and spend a couple of minutes scrolling absently through Undernet. There’s several new selfies from Papyrus and a status update from Alphys, posted yesterday evening: “dinner with the girlfriend except this time it’s actual dinner and my actual girlfriend ;)” The post is accompanied by a heavily-filtered photo of Undyne holding a bowl of pasta. You chuckle.

Toriel knocks on your door once again. “Frisk?” she calls, an undercurrent of trepidation in her voice. “Undyne would like to talk to you before she leaves, if that’s okay?”

Uh-oh. Toriel’s tone puts you on edge; you don’t answer immediately.

“I can always tell her to come back another day if you don’t feel up to it, but it’s...” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “Quite important.”

You take a deep breath and go to open the door, giving your face a quick once-over with the handkerchief on the way. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to her now.”

Toriel lingers in the hallway as you go to face Undyne – you can already guess what this conversation is going to be about.

“Heya, kid,” Undyne says as you enter the dining room. She’s sitting at the table, her fingers locked together, looking no more comfortable than you feel – a sharp contrast with the photo you just saw on Undernet. “So, uh, I wanted to – um, sorry. First. Are you good? I mean. Ngahh...” she drags her hands backwards across her scalp.

“I’m fine,” you say, as if she didn’t just see you storm through the dining room in tears five minutes ago. “I mean, I’m okay now. Sorry about before.”

“It’s cool. We’ve all been there.” There’s a pause. “Look, Frisk, I’m sorry to do this now, but I’m afraid this whole greenhouse thing might not be working out.”

“How do you mean?”

“So, I went out there just now to look over the new security measures, and – well, you’d just come out before that, hadn’t you?”

You nod.

“Because I noticed the door was unlocked when I went in.”

Oh, crap.

“And,” she says, clearly wanting to get through this as quickly as possible, “when I was talking to Flowey, he mentioned that that isn’t the first time it’s happened. There was another incident earlier in the week where you left the door unlocked overnight, is that right?”

There it is: that horrible sinking feeling in your guts, just like Flowey described. “Yeah. That... happened,” you admit, too drained to make excuses for yourself.

Undyne exhales through her teeth, and doesn’t speak for a second or two. “Here’s the thing, Frisk. I get that mistakes happen. I’m not going to chew you out over it. But when you’re talking about someone like Flowey, we just can’t afford lapses like this. It looks like the pot and the table were enough to keep him immobilised, but if they hadn’t been... when did you next check on him after the first time the door was left unlocked?”

You think back. “Uh... the next morning, before school?” you say sheepishly.

“So if he’d been able to escape then, it would have been, at a conservative estimate, twelve hours before anyone noticed he was missing. Imagine what he could do in that time!” She leans back in her chair, her eye fixed on you. You don’t say anything.

“I know you want to change his character, and maybe you could with enough time. Asgore certainly thinks so. But when all’s said and done, the security of the kingdom has to come first. So for now I’m going to have him moved to a proper prison.”

“What? But–”

“Frisk.” Undyne holds up a hand. “I know you have your own plans. But you’ve got to see the bigger picture.”

“I’ll be more careful. I won’t screw up again, I swear.” You realise how pathetic you must sound.

“It doesn’t matter if you – look, I’m not saying you did any of this on purpose, Frisk. But good intentions don’t make up for careless–” she sighs and rubs her forehead with her fingertips. “Please don’t take it personally, okay?”

You sit back, defeated. “Sure. I get it.”

“I think it’ll be better this way. He’ll be secure, properly guarded. I’ll try and swing it so you can still visit him, if it’s that important to you.”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re really invested in this, huh? Well,” she stands up. “I’ll talk to Asgore and get him to sign off on moving Flowey. They haven’t been used in a while, but there’s some cells in the castle. I’ll get one cleared out, then come and move Flowey on Monday. In the meantime, I think Toriel had better be in charge of watering him. Just to be safe. You have the key, right?”

“Yeah, it’s–” your hand goes to your pocket and you find it empty. “Oh.”

Undyne facepalms. “Frisk...”

“I probably dropped it on my bed. Hang on.” You get up and run down the hall before she can reprimand you any more. There’s the key, lying in the middle of the bed, half concealed under a crease in the sheet. It must have fallen out of your pocket when you were having your breakdown. You grab it and take it back to Undyne.

“Okay. That’s there, at least. I think it would be best if you put it in the safe now.” You can tell it’s taking her some effort to keep her temper at this point, so you quickly comply.

“Well then, I think that’s everything,” Undyne says as Toriel returns to the dining room. She picks up a stack of recipe books that’s sitting at the end of the table. “Thanks for the books, Toriel.”

“I hope they come in handy,” smiles Toriel. “Goodbye for now – drive safely.”

“Will do. Bye, Frisk.”

“Bye,” you mumble. Undyne heads briskly for the door. A moment later, her bike engine revs and then recedes into the distance.

You go back to your room and sit on the bed, deep in thought. You suppose that just about does it as far as redeeming Flowey is concerned. If Undyne takes him back to Mt Ebott, you won’t be able to visit him more than once a week at most, and that’s assuming Toriel lets you go there every weekend. You hate to think of Flowey stuck by himself in a cell underground.

The more you think about it, the more you realise you’ve been going about this all wrong. You didn’t have a plan when you brought Flowey to the surface – you just rushed into things hoping for the best. It’s a miracle it took as long as a week to fall apart. You need to step back. Regroup. Re-enter the fray with a plan of action. It’s time to be methodical.

You know what to do next. You pick up your phone and re-open your conversation with Alphys.

You’re just about to put down your phone when Alphys sends another message.

Alphys’s typing bubble appears and vanishes a few times before her next message comes through. You wonder if you’ve landed on a touchy subject for monsters.

FriskTheHuman03: I was only wondering because of Flowey, you explain.

Her next few messages come in a flurry; you can practically hear her claws tapping against her screen through your phone.

FriskTheHuman03: What's wrong? you ask, though you can already guess.

FriskTheHuman03: WAIT, you reply frantically.

You rush to explain yourself.

You pace around the room, waiting for Alphys’s next message. You hope she'll keep Flowey’s secret to herself, at least for now. Then again, she did figure it out on her own, so even if she does tell Asgore or Toriel, you still won’t have broken your promise.

Your phone buzzes.

At least now you have a lead, albeit a shaky one. It’ll be tough talking to Gerson again; he was one of the few monsters who never feared you, even when you were at your most murdery. You could never quite figure him out, but you always got the sense he knew something you didn’t. Like he was in on a joke, and wondering when you’d catch on. It made him intimidating.

And you’ll need an excuse to go to Mt Ebott, of course. Gerson’s shop is much easier to reach from the New Home entrance than through the ruins, but that means getting the train round to the other side of the mountain, and Toriel won’t be psyched for you to make that trip alone. You know Undyne will be going back and forth to help monsters move out, but you’ve tried her patience enough for now.

There is another member of the royal guard who spends a lot of time around Ebott, though. One who’ll definitely be happy to let you tag along with him...

Chapter Text

Papyrus answers the phone before the end of the first ring.

“HELLO FRISK! DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE STILL SAVED IN MY CONTACTS AS ‘THE HUMAN?’ I REALLY NEED TO UPDATE THAT, HUH?”

“Yeah, I’m not the only one anymore.” you joke. “How’s the royal guard going?”

“IT’S EXCELLENT. WE ASSEMBLED TWO DOZEN PREFABRICATED HOMES THIS WEEK, AND TOMORROW WE’RE GOING INTO THE UNDERGROUND TO HELP THE FIRST RESIDENTS MOVE IN. WE EXPECT TO HAVE A QUARTER OF THE POPULATION RELOCATED BY THE SUMMER.”

“That’s great! You must be pretty busy, but I was wondering if I could tag along with you to the underground tomorrow?”

“HMM... THIS ISN’T ANOTHER DATE, IS IT, FRISK?”

“Very funny. No, I just want to meet up with some of the monsters there again. It’s been a while.”

“OF COURSE! MYSELF AND A FEW OTHER GUARDS WILL BE CATCHING THE TRAIN OVER TO WICKERVILLE IN THE MORNING. WE CAN MEET AT THE STATION.”

“Great. I’ll just check with Toriel.”

“WONDERFUL! BY THE WAY, HOW IS FLOWEY DOING? UNDYNE TOLD ME HE’S LIVING WITH YOU NOW.”

“Yeah. I mean, actually, no. He’s here for now, but Undyne’s moving him to a prison in New Home on Monday.”

“PRISON? THAT’S FUNNY. HE WAS ALWAYS VERY NICE WHEN I SPOKE TO HIM. YOU KNOW HE PREDICTED ALL THE SNAIL RACE RESULTS FOR ME LAST YEAR.”

You hold the phone away from your mouth while you sigh. “I mean, he did also try to kill all of us that one time,” you remind Papyrus.

He continues, unfazed. “THE DAY THE BARRIER CAME DOWN? ARE YOU SURE? I MUST ADMIT I CAN’T REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED THERE, BUT I’M SURE HE DIDN’T MEAN US ANY HARM. AND I TAKE PRIDE IN BEING AN EXCELLENT JUDGE OF CHARACTER.”

“Uh-huh. Well, anyway, he’s here in the new greenhouse at the moment. You can stop by and visit him if you want.”

“OF COURSE! IT WILL BE GOOD TO SEE HIM AGAIN. HE ALWAYS GAVE GREAT ADVICE, EVEN BY MY INCREDIBLY HIGH STANDARDS.” His voice cuts off for a moment, then comes back. “BUT ACTUALLY, IT’LL HAVE TO WAIT. MY SCHEDULE IS PRETTY PACKED THIS WEEKEND, AND THE GREAT PAPYRUS NEVER SHIRKS HIS DUTY.”

“Sure. Ask Undyne about it, I guess.”

“EXCELLENT. WELL I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW THEN, FRISK.”

*             *             *

Toriel takes a bit of persuading before she agrees to let you make the trip; you pitch it as a fun activity to kick off Easter break, and in the end manage to sway her by pointing out it’ll help take your mind off Flowey and his antics. Come Saturday morning, she drives you to Yellow Creek Station to meet Papyrus.

“By the way Frisk, if you happen to go through Waterfall, could you stop by Blook Family Acres, and get a bucket of snails if they have any?” Toriel asks once she’s parked. “It’s impossible to find snails in decent quantities here on the surface.”

“Yeah, I’ll get some.”

“Thank you, dear.” She rummages in the glove compartment. “I think I still have some gold in here – yes, there we go.” She retrieves a small purse and hands it to you. “That ought to be enough. But only get them if you can get Papyrus or one of the other guards to come with you – I don’t want you going off alone and getting lost on my account.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

Papyrus’s red sports car rolls into view at the end of the parking lot, and he executes a flawless reversal into a narrow space flanked by two much larger vehicles before getting out and waving to you.

You and Toriel get out as well, and meet him halfway across the lot. “GOOD AFTERNOON, YOUR MAJESTY!” he cries as you approach.

“Good afternoon, Papyrus,” Toriel smiles. “And thank you, but just ‘Toriel’ is fine.”

“OF COURSE, QUEEN TORIEL. I MEAN, TORIEL.”

“Thank you for agreeing to accompany Frisk,” she says. “You’re sure it’s not a bother?”

“NOT AT ALL! I WAS MAKING THE TRIP ANYWAY,” he assures her. “AND BESIDES, EVERYONE IN THE UNDERGROUND LOVES FRISK – MAYBE EVEN MORE THAN THEY LOVE ME. THEY’LL BE QUITE SAFE.”

“I’m sure they will be. All the same, do keep an eye on them.”

“OF COURSE! THERE’S NO WAY THEY WILL REPEATEDLY AND BAFFLINGLY EVADE ME THE WAY THEY DID ON OUR FIRST ENCOUNTER.”

“Right.” Toriel purses her lips, then bends down to give you a quick hug. “Well, stay safe, Frisk. Make sure to get on the four o’ clock return train with Papyrus, and give me a call when you’re on the way back.”

“Will do.”

“Are you sure you’re wearing enough layers? I’d avoid Snowdin if you’ve only got that sweater.”

“I’ll be fine.” You follow Papyrus, who’s already heading to the station entrance.

“Don’t get separated from the guards,” she calls after you. “And remember to eat the lunch I’ve packed!”

“Yep!” You wave the lunchbox she’s given you as confirmation, then zip through the door before she can fuss over you any more.

Whereas Yellow Creek lies east of Mt Ebott and a fair distance away, Wickerville lies nestled right against the base of the mountain on its western side. It’s a small settlement, barely more than a village, but it’s also the closest to the underground’s New Home entrance. The train line arcs around Ebott on the north, cutting a shallow curve through the dense pine forest and ending at Wickerville station’s single platform.

It’s the first time you’ve been back since those few frantic days after the barrier was broken. You walk through the square with Papyrus and the other guards – the flowerbeds in the middle are abundant with the same golden flowers Chara wished to see on their deathbed all those years ago. This idyllic square was where the frightened humans attacked Asriel, turning him into what he is now. The thatched roofs and quaint cobblestones belie a bitter history, lost to human memory.

The entrance to the underground is visible from the village – the cobbled path from the square turns into a dirt track that zig-zags a little way up the mountain, then flattens off into a rocky ledge in front of Ebott’s dark maw. You wonder what it looked like from the outside when the barrier was up – presumably just an unbroken mountainside. It’s weird to think that monsterkind was trapped just a stone’s throw away from human civilisation for thousands of years, and nobody knew.

Your group ascends the path and walks single file through the twisting passage immediately past the mountain’s entrance. You expect to go through the throne room and into the castle, but instead follow a new, longer path that leads you into an unfamiliar courtyard overlooked by the castle. The addition of a new route makes sense – monsters don’t want all the traffic in and out of the mountain going through the castle.

Papyrus produces a stack of large, bulky envelopes and starts distributing them to the assembled guards. “EACH TEAM HAS A LIST OF MONSTERS TO COLLECT AND, WHERE RELEVANT, AN INVENTORY OF ITEMS THEY’RE EXPECTED TO BRING WITH THEM. THAT INFORMATION HAS BEEN COMMUNICATED TO THE MOVERS, OF COURSE, BUT BE SURE TO DOUBLE-CHECK THEY HAVE EVERYTHING – NOT EVERYONE HAS THE ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS OF US ROYAL GUARDS.

“THE SNOWDIN TEAM COMPRISES DOGARESSA, DOGAMY, AND THE LESSER AND GREATER DOGS – GREATER DOG WILL BE THE LEADER. DOGGO WILL HEAD UP THE WATERFALL TEAM, RG01 AND RG02 WILL BE LEADING THE NEW HOME TEAM TOGETHER, AND I’LL BE IN CHARGE OF THE TEAM IN HOTLAND. THE RIVER PERSON WILL BE OPERATING AN ALL DAY SHUTTLE SERVICE TO MOVE PEOPLE ABOUT AS NEEDED. WE’LL AIM TO HAVE EVERYONE ASSEMBLED BACK HERE BY NOON SO THAT WE CAN GET BACK TO YELLOW CREEK BEFORE IT GETS TOO LATE. ARE THERE ANY QUESTIONS?”

There’s a general murmur of assent from the assembled monsters, and Papyrus nods in satisfaction. Once all the team leaders have their envelopes, they head in the direction of an elevator set into the courtyard wall. What is it with this place and elevators?

It takes several elevator trips to clear the courtyard. You hang back so that you can go last along with Papyrus and Greater Dog – the latter’s fluffy bulk forces you to squeeze into the corner. The ride lasts about a minute and changes directions multiple times – eventually the doors open on the lobby of the MTT Hotel. The dogs in Papyrus’s team are waiting for you, but everyone else has already gone.

“Darn,” you mutter, faking irritation. “Uh, Papyrus? I was planning to stick with Doggo’s team and go to Waterfall. Is it alright if I go after them?”

“OF COURSE,” answers Papyrus. “THEY CAN’T HAVE GOTTEN FAR. TEXT ME IF YOU GET TO WATERFALL AND CAN’T FIND THEM.”

You nod okay, and set off through the lobby. You’re barely even lying to Papyrus – you will go after the Waterfall team, you just don’t intend to find them too quickly. You feel a bit bad for taking advantage of his trust, but the conversation with Gerson is one you’d much rather have alone.

You start out jogging, but Hotland’s scorching air hits your face like the blast from an oven the moment you leave the climate-controlled hotel, forcing you back down to a walk. Fortunately the next elevator is only a few yards away, and you waste no time in getting to it and selecting the lowest left floor. Somehow you’re already sweating – has it gotten hotter since you were last here?

The elevator doors slide open and you step out, past Alphys’s deserted lab and down the stairs to the River Person’s dock. At least it’s cooler this close to the water.

River Person stands at the bow of their boat, looking upstream and humming quietly. Their hooded head turns towards you as you approach.

“Hello, Frisk. It’s been quite some time since I saw you last.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s quite natural. The surface is your home, and the river is mine. The channels of our lives seldom cross, and only ever briefly.”

“I see.” You hop aboard the boat, stretching out your arms for balance as it rocks from your landing.

“Where will we go today?” River Person asks.

“Uh, Waterfall, please.”

“The same as Doggo and his guards,” River Person comments.

“Have they already been through?” you ask. “I was hoping to catch them up.”

“They chose to travel to Waterfall on foot; I believe one of their company has a fear of boats. But be that as it may...” The boat starts up without any signal and glides silently down the tunnel. The sound of Hotland’s grinding machinery quickly gives way to silence, and the warm magma glow is replaced by the cooler light of the countless shining stones embedded in the cave walls.

“Tra la la,” murmurs River Person. “Steer well clear of the man who survives in splinters.” You’ve no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

You can barely see the ripples the boat leaves in the dark water, and its progress is so smooth it might not be moving at all – indeed, when you look at the ceiling you feel as though you’re the one standing still, while the crystals pass by overhead in a silent procession. But after a few minutes a bright spot appears in the distance, and grows into the opening of the Waterfall dock. The boat decelerates gradually, and stops with only the tiniest jerk. You step onto dry-ish land.

“Thanks,” you say to River Person. “See you later.”

“Here whenever you need me,” they respond.

The cold, clammy air of Waterfall quickly sucks Hotland’s warmth out of your bones, and leaves your cold sweat working against you. You shiver and rub your arms; at least Gerson’s shop is right opposite the dock, so you should be able to get in and out quickly. You might not even bother tracking down Doggo and his team – you can just talk to Gerson, pick up Toriel’s snails, and then go back to Hotland and find Papyrus.

That’s your plan – but when you enter the shop, you find it deserted. There’s a note on the counter, handwritten in neat block capitals.

GONE GEM HUNTING BY PRINCE’S STATUE. BACK IN THE AFTERNOON.

You sigh – looks like your side-quest isn’t done yet.

Prince’s Statue. That’s got to be the one with the horns and the music-box, right? You leave the shop and try to remember which that is from here. You’re pretty sure it’s east.

You follow the passage east and find yourself in the yard in front of Napstablook’s house. You’d forgotten it was so close; you figure you might as well stop and get the snails while you’re here. You walk through the yard, and find Napstablook floating by the Thundersnail track. You greet him as you approach.

“Hi, Napstablook.”

“hello...” they answer in a monotone. “oh no... i’ve forgotten your name again, human......”

“Frisk,” you say. “It’s fine,” you add, seeing their dejected expression. “It’s been a while.”

“thank you...... but you remembered my name......... after all this time............”

You change the subject. “I was wondering if I could get a bucket of, uh, snails? If you have... those.” You falter; do monsters really buy snails by the bucket?

“okay...” says Napstablook. “is that to eat in, or take away?”

“Um, take away. They’re for Toriel.”

“okay...” says Napstablook, and then: “oh no... i just realised, i don’t have any snail-buckets ready. it’ll take about half an hour to gather them...... you’ll have to wait, because of me.........” they look crestfallen.

“It’s not a problem,” you reassure them hastily. “I can come back later.”

“okay... sorry......”

“Don’t worry about it.” You’re about to leave, but a thought strikes you. “Hey, Napstablook, you’re a ghost, right?”

“oh... yeah...”

“Sorry if this is rude,” you continue, “but does that mean that you’re, like... dead?”

“oh...? no...... if i were dead, i wouldn’t be alive.........”

“I guess not. Sorry. I suppose ghost just has a different meaning for humans.”

“oh...?”

“Yeah. When we talk about ghosts, we mean the souls of dead humans that have come back.

“oh... that’s not what it means for monsters. a ghost is just a monster with less physical substance than normal. sorry......”

“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks anyway.”

“you’re welcome,” says Napstablook, with a faint smile that quickly vanishes. “oh no... i should be collecting your snails...... sorry...............”

With that, they float off in the direction of the house.

So much for that idea. It had only just occurred to you upon seeing Napstablook again that he might have a similar condition to Flowey, but apparently not. You head back into the main yard, and then East to the outcrop where the little yellow bird is perched; if you remember rightly, you’ll need a lift to get to where Gerson is.

“Hi,” you say, approaching the bird. “Do you think you could–?”

It chirps excitedly before you can even finish your sentence, and flutters up to sit on your head. Even that short journey takes it several seconds to complete – despite its eagerness it only seems to be able to move at the speed of cold molasses.

“Yep, you’ve got it,” you say, as the bird lifts you haphazardly into the air. You suppose there must be some kind of magic in how it’s holding you, because you don’t feel talons digging into your scalp – just a kind of tension around your head. Still, it doesn’t feel very comfortable or secure, and you’re relieved when you eventually get across the river and over solid ground. The bird descends ever-so-slowly, deposits you on the outcrop, and hops to the ground.

“Thanks,” you say. You make your way into the next room, your memory of Waterfall’s layout beginning to come back to you. It’s a left through the echo flower room, across a few bridges, and then you can just follow the path until you get to the statue.

As you draw close to the first echo flower, you hear it speak.

“So, you’re all packed up?”

You freeze, startled. Of course, it’ll be repeating someone else’s conversation from earlier. You carry on, the other flowers delivering more dialogue to you as you pass them.

“Yep.” A different voice, answering the first. “Just need to grab a few water sausages before the guards show up. Don’t know if they’ll have any on the surface.”

“I’m going to miss coming here with you.” The first speaker again.

“Me too. But I’m sure they’ll let you come to the surface before long. Think of all the new places we’ll be able to explore!”

“You’ll finally get to see the real stars.”

“Oh my God, you remember that I wished for that? That’s so sweet!”

“Of course I do!”

“I’ve heard that the stars move through the sky, so they’re different each night. That’s how humans read their fortunes from them.”

“Is that right?”

“I think so. But the rocks here are always the same. Just like everything else.” A pause. “I’m ready for something new, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. I hope some things stay the same, though.”

“Yeah? Like what?” the second voice asks, encouraging.

 “Well, you and me, for one thing.”

“Aww.”

You pick your way around a few puddles and cross the last bridge before the exit. But just before you leave, you notice something that gives you pause. Just to the right of the door is a wide, rectangular indentation, just a couple of inches deep, but far too cleanly cut to be natural. You don’t remember it being there last time you were in the underground...

Because it wasn’t. Last time you were here, there was stone tablet set into the wall. Looking at the hole again, you can see it’s the exact right shape. But why was the tablet taken out? What did it say, and where is it now?

You hear the patter of falling rain in the distance, getting closer as you turn right and cross the walkway over Onionsan’s pool. Finally, you pass the piano puzzle room, long since plundered of its treasure by the annoying dog. The soft melody of the statue’s music box falls on your ear as you enter the next corridor, along with the sound of whistling.

You find Gerson crouched behind the statue, a hammer and chisel in his hands, carefully chipping away at a section of the cave wall in which a smooth red crystal is embedded. The lamp on his helmet is switched on at full power, sending long shadows dancing along the wall as he works with his hands. Various weird gadgets are strewn around his feet, each presumably serving some gem-collecting purpose.

“Hi,” you say, as you approach the statue. He keeps whistling.

You clear your throat. “Hi, Gerson,” you say, a bit louder.

He turns his head slightly and glances at you out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t immediately stop chiselling. You stand in silence for several seconds, not sure if you should keep talking, while he taps steadily on a protruding fragment of rock. Eventually it splinters off, exposing a bit more of the crystal underneath. He grunts, satisfied, and turns to face you – you put up a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Hello, Fr– whoops, let me get that.” He switches off the lamp. “There we go. Hello, Frisk. Been a while.”

You blink to clear the spots from your vision. “Hi. I wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay?”

“Must be mighty important,” he says wryly, “for you to come track me down when I’m out of the shop. By all means, says what you gotta say.”

“I wanted to ask you what you know about souls.”

“Souls, huh?” He squints at you. A magnifying lens clipped over his spectacles makes one of his eyes much larger than the other. You feel like he’s trying to peer through your eyes and into your brain. “That right? Well, I’ve picked up a thing or two in my time. Depends what you wanna know, don’t it?” He reaches into a cloth bag at his feet and takes out a small lump of some kind of rock, which he tosses to you. “Catch.”

You fumble the catch and the rock clatters on the ground. You bend down and scoop it up quickly while Gerson guffaws. You give him the stink-eye, but he’s already turned away again, inspecting the gem in the wall.

You examine the rock sample. It’s greyish-white, shaped in a narrow, jagged prism, with a flat face at either end. Its surface is smooth and shiny, but if it has any special magical properties it’s keeping them to itself.

“So, uh, souls.” You say. You take Gerson’s silence as permission to keep talking. “I guess I just want to know, um, what they’re made of? And where they come from, and what the deal is, you know?”

“Hnn,” he grunts. “Any particular reason, or is this pure academic curiosity?”

“W-what?” You stammer. “Uh... let’s go with academic curiosity, for now.”

“Right.” He whistles through his teeth. “That’s a piece of ulexite you’ve got there. Made of lots of natural crystal fibres running in parallel. They conduct light– try looking through it lengthwise and you’ll see what I mean.”

No harm in humouring him. You hold the ulexite up to your eye like a telescope, and are surprised to find that you can see right through to the cave, almost like the rock isn’t there at all. You turn to look at Gerson; there’s his face, clear and undistorted, on the surface of the crystal.

“Huh! It’s like a TV screen,” you say.

“Pretty weird, huh.” He laughs again. You turn the ulexite over in your hand – it’s opaque from every other angle, only showing what’s on the other side when you look straight at the end.

“Yeah. Has it got some kind of magic on it that makes it do that?” you ask.

“Nah, that’s just the way it’s formed. Light travels through the fibres.”

“I see. So what’s it got to do with souls, then?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. I just think it’s neat! Wa-ha-ha-ha...” his laughter trails off and he goes back to rummaging in the bag.

“Right...” He’s starting to get on your nerves. “So about–”

“Depends on whether it’s monster or human souls that you’re talking about,” interrupts Gerson, anticipating your next words.

“Oh.”

“Tradition has it, see, that monster souls are made of love, hope and compassion. As for humans, the folklore doesn’t really tell us much. Maybe yours are made of... affection, aspiration and altruism? Wa-ha-ha...”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to be helpful or just pulling your leg, but it can’t hurt to keep him talking.

“Well, it’s mainly monster souls I’m interested in at the moment...”

“Ah, doing a bit of cultural exchange, are we? Very laudable.”

“Thanks.” You don’t know what laudable means, but from his tone it sounds like a good thing.

He reaches into the bag again, and pulls out another rock. This one is smooth all over, oval-shaped and about the size of your fist. “I won’t make you catch this one,” he says, rolling it across the floor towards you.

You stop it with your foot and pick it up carefully, cradling it in both hands. Its surface is multi-coloured and iridescent, turquoise in one spot and orangey-red in the next, with dozens of little black streaks peppered across it that appear when you hold it up to the light. You turn it over slowly, admiring all the different patterns.

“That there’s a natural labradorite. Dug it up over in Snowdin. I’m lucky to have one that big.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you really mean it.

“You wanna see some more? Knock yourself out.” He nods towards the bag. You walk over wordlessly and crouch down to look through the bag, figuring you won’t get anywhere if you come across as impatient.

You put back the two rocks he gave you and pick out a third – a purple quartz this time. “This is an amethyst, right?” you ask.

“That’s right. They’re pretty common around Hotland. I’ve got some real big ones back at the shop if you wanna see.”

You hold the amethyst up to the light to examine it. Gerson grunts, seemingly satisfied with your interest.

“So, monster souls,” he continues. “Like I say, they’re supposedly made of love and hope and all that, but I couldn’t tell you what that means in material terms. Probably our ancestors didn’t want to admit they have no idea.” He chuckles. “I can tell you how they behave, though.”

“Uh-huh?”

“For one thing, they’re definitely different from human souls. What you’ve gotta understand is, a monster’s soul is deeply entwined with its whole being. Sure, we have physical forms, but they’re held together by magic, and that comes from the soul. That means that any damage to our form goes right to the soul. You destroy the body, the soul is annihilated. Same thing holds the other way round.”

He picks up his tools and starts chiselling again. “Human souls are different. You’re organic, which means you don’t need a soul to survive. Not to say you don’t have souls, or anything” – he glances at you sidelong – “just that you could function without one, theoretically. Take plants as an example. Organic and alive, but no soul. Likewise, your souls can persist after you die. Your body-soul relationship is a bit more... casual, I guess you could say.”

“Ri-ight...”

Gerson takes your lukewarm response in stride. “As for how souls are made... again, I can’t speak for humans, but with monsters – I’ll spare you the details, but essentially two or more monsters break off a piece of their souls when they have a child, and those pieces combine into a new soul.”

“So monster parents have... incomplete souls?” you say, quizzically.

“Not really. Broken pieces maybe isn’t the best example – it’s hard to describe. Souls aren’t like physical objects, remember. They don’t work by the same rules. A better way of looking at it might be to consider the child’s soul to be the result of the overlap of the parent souls. Rather than break apart to build the new soul, they combine their natures to manifest it.”

“Sure.” You pause to think. “So, this might be a weird question...”

“Might be. But we won’t know unless you ask, eh?”

“If a child’s soul comes from combining the souls of parents, then if a monster’s soul was... damaged, say... could their parents use that process to heal the child?”

“Hmm...” Gerson looks at you pensively. “If you don’t mind me saying, kid, this is a pretty specific line of questioning.”

You don’t have an answer for that. You reach for another rock so that you can avoid meeting Gerson’s eyes.

“Well, no harm in answering, I suppose. Wa-ha-ha...” He coughs. “Uh, the short answer is, no. For one thing, the whole process is pretty random – if a pair of monsters has more than one kid, the chances of producing the same soul twice are vanishingly small. For another, we’re talking about producing offspring here. You’re pretty much creating a new monster from scratch – no memories, no experience of the world. Even if you made a soul that’s identical to the, what was it, ‘damaged’ one?” (You nod). “You’d be hard pressed to argue that it’s the same person. Plus, the magic involved can’t influence existing souls. It’s only for creating new ones.”

“I see,” you say, disappointed.

“’Course, there are some exceptions. Boss monsters, for instance. Those fluffy weirdos are a law unto themselves.”

“Yeah?” You try not to sound too eager, but you’re hanging onto every word.

“A boss monster’s soul stays connected to its parents for longer. For most monsters, once they’re born their souls are completely separate. But for a boss monster, it’s a lifelong process. A young boss monster’s soul matures from being nurtured by their parents, and they don’t reach their full power until the parents die. Even then, they won’t age past a certain point unless they have kids of their own.”

“That’s... unusual.”

“Sure is. There’s theories about why it happens that way. Maybe it’s a gift to help keep their kind from dying out, or maybe it’s to counterbalance their power – a Boss Monster’s health declines pretty quick once they have more than a couple of children, see.” He sighs. “Either way, it’s a moot point now. The King and Queen are the only boss monsters left, and their son...” He looks up at the crumbling statue, its features long since smoothed away by the steady rain. “Well, everyone knows that story.”

You’re silent, mulling over everything you’ve learned. It’s not what you hoped for, but you can’t exactly call it unexpected. Really, it’s just a confirmation of what you already knew – that there’s no bringing a soul back from destruction.

Gerson peels his eyes away from the statue and turns around to continue excavating his crystal, the clinking of his tools beating out a syncopated rhythm against the statue’s music-box.

‘Course, there are some exceptions. Boss monsters, for instance.

Flowey’s a boss monster – or was, at least – and if you’ve understood Gerson right, their souls are intertwined between generations. Could that make a difference? It seems unlikely – if having a connection to his parents’ souls was enough to save his, he never would have lost it in the first place.

A young Boss Monster’s soul matures from being nurtured by their parents...

For a moment you wonder if that’s the missing piece, but you quickly realise it can’t be. Flowey already tried living with Asgore, and with Toriel, and it didn’t help. Their love wasn’t enough to fix him. The more you consider it, the more hopeless the situation seems.

A loud crack interrupts your train of thought. Your eyes follow the sound, and you see a fist-sized chunk of the cave wall fall to the ground, knocked away by Gerson. The sound of its impact echoes down the corridor, overwhelming the music box for a couple of seconds. Gerson prods the now-loose crystal with a satisfied grunt, then sets down his tools and pulls it out of the wall entirely.

“Now this,” he intones, turning it over in his hands, “is extremely rare. It’s called Anoresque Quartz. I reckon this is the biggest one I’ve ever seen.” He turns to you, a gleam in his magnified eye. “You wanna hold it?”

“Sure.” You take it gingerly. It’s blood-red and comprised of many jagged outcrops from a relatively smooth base – when it catches the light, it looks like a frozen jet of fire. Although you need both hands to hold it, it’s quite light, almost like it’s hollow.

“Anoresques have got a lot of latent magical energy in them,” explains Gerson. “They can’t do anything by themselves, but if you set them off with a bit of magic of your own... Well, you might want to look away for a sec.”

You turn your head to the side as Gerson lays a hand on the quartz. The moment he touches it, it lights up, glowing so brightly you have to screw up your eyes to look. The whole cave is bathed in red-tinted light, far outshining the dim blue crystals in the ceiling.

“Not bad, huh?” he chortles; your dazzled eyes can just about make out his lopsided grin. He taps the quartz again, and the light goes out as quickly as it appeared. “Normally sustaining a light like that really takes it out of ya, but these things run on their own energy, and they last for ages. One this size could probably shine non-stop for a century before giving out.”

“Wow,” you say. You give the quartz a couple of experimental taps. “Seems like it doesn’t work for me, though. Unless there’s a magic word or something?”

“’Fraid not. You’re a human, so you’ll need a focus.”

“A focus?”

“Yeah. I assume you’ve seen one. Every human magician has at least one.”

“We don’t have any magicians,” you explain. “I’d never seen magic until I came to the underground. Well, not real magic; we have performing magicians, but they just fake it with props and things. I think.”

“You sure?”

“Um... pretty sure?” If humans really had magic, there’s no way you’d be using it exclusively for birthday entertainment. But Gerson is looking at you with such incredulity that it makes you second-guess yourself. “I mean, it’s been a whole thing with monsters coming to the surface, right? That you guys have magic and we don’t?”

“A whole ‘thing,’ eh? Well, I’ve not been keeping up with all the politics on the surface, but if you say humans have got no magic, I s’pose it must be so. Times change, I guess; there were definitely at least seven human magicians last time I checked.” He laughs dryly.

“So if I had a focus, I could do magic?” you ask, keen to pursue this new information. “Where can I get one?”

“Search me,” replies Gerson. “We monsters never made any – they’re a human thing. You sure there’s nobody who can teach you about that stuff?”

“Maybe. Anyway, sorry for side-tracking.”

“No problem, kid. Anything else you wanted to ask?”

“Uh, no. That was everything. Thanks.” You hand back the anoresque.

Your phone buzzes – a message from Papyrus.

Papyrus types for a little while.

“I have to go now,” you say to Gerson. “But thanks for your help.”

“No problemo, kid. Take care of yourself.”

“Bye.”

You turn and walk back up the corridor, dodging puddles as best you can. A raindrop, falling from somewhere in the craggy ceiling, lands in your hair and runs down the back of your neck, raising goosebumps on your skin.

You walk back through the echo flower room, the plants repeating their conversation in reverse as you pass. It begins to sink in that your last lead has gone dead – there’s nothing more you can do for Flowey. You traipse along the path, despondent, barely aware of the cold any more.

You find yourself back at the platform that juts into the river opposite Napstablook’s farm. The little yellow bird sits preening itself on the other side; you consider just jumping across to save time, but the water is running kinda fast. Best not to risk it.

You cough to get the bird’s attention. “Uh, hi. Can I get another lift?” you ask. “If that’s cool.”

The bird chirps and flutters its wings, lifting into the air ever so slightly. The seconds crawl by as it gradually ascends to your eye level, and keeps going until it’s about six feet off the ground. It hovers in place for a moment, and then starts drifting slowly towards you. Forget this, you think impatiently.

“Never mind,” you call out. “I’ll just jump.” It’s really not that big of a gap – you’ve definitely done longer jumps in gym, albeit without the rushing water beneath you. You’ll be fine.

The bird tweets in protest, but you ignore it. You take a few steps back, leaning forward so you can get a good run up. Then you take a deep breath, sprint forward, slip in a puddle, and fly over the side of the–

Chapter Text

Cold.

Cold cold cold. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Gasp. Swallow water.

Your head breaks the surface, but there’s no time to breathe or blink before the current pulls you under.

Can’t see. Grab the bank.

You flail wildly, but the outcrops are out of arm’s reach now. You kick desperately against the current, but your whole body seems to be packing in. Your arms and legs are numb, your lungs burning.

You manage to get your head above the surface for what you think might be the last time, when you see a flash of yellow and feel something tugging in your hair. You can just hear the yellow bird’s desperate calls over the rushing water. It holds on long enough for you to gulp in a lungful of air and catch a glimpse of your surroundings before losing its grip. The river is much wider here, with no hope of reaching either bank, but you spot a stalagmite sticking out of the water just a bit downstream, and almost dead ahead. You might not be able to swim against the current, but if you can reach that spike...

Back underwater, you force yourself to open your eyes. You can just make out the shadowy shape of the stalagmite; you angle yourself towards it and reach out with both hands, wrapping your arms around and clinging on for dear life. The river drags at your feet, pulling you round until you’re facing upstream. You see the bird swooping back up the tunnel and out of sight. If it’s going to look for help, it had better find it quickly; your numb fingers are already slipping against the stone.

The water foams around you; you can hear a thunderous roar downstream, like the ceaseless breaking of a massive wave, bounced back at you by the cave walls. The sound alone is enough to let you know you don’t want to go any further in that direction.

You risk a glance over your shoulder. The river stretches a bit further, getting wider all the way, but you don’t see any more turbulence. In fact, you don’t see anything at all. It’s like it cuts off completely. It takes you a second to register what you’re looking at, but when you do you’re seized with fresh terror. You’re just a few yards away from the brink of the Waterfall.

“Help!” You cry, wondering if anyone can hear you. “He–” you catch a faceful of water, and your left hand loses its purchase entirely. You scrabble against the stalagmite, but can’t get a proper grip... it slides slowly out of your fingers, and the current takes you once more...

Then, suddenly, something yanks on the back of your sweater, pulling you clean out of the water. For one horrible, disorienting moment you’re sure you’ve been flung over the edge of the waterfall and into the abyss – and then you land on your hands and knees on the flat wooden surface of the River Person’s boat. It jolts underneath you and you do your best to hold still, terrified of falling in again. The boat is in Dog Mode, you realise – it skips over the surface of the water, fighting the pull of the current until it’s a safe distance from the edge, and then assumes its original form.

“You may have swallowed some water, human,” River Person cautions. “Keep your head down for a moment.”

An impact against your upper back makes you cough violently, expelling river water onto the deck. It’s not your most dignified moment, but your breathing is noticeably clearer afterwards. The roar of the falls fades gradually as you sail back upstream.

“The water here is close to its freezing point,” they continue. “Is that a safe temperature for humans?”

“I...” you croak, shivering. “It’s...”

“I will take you to Hotland, just to be on the safe side.”

You feel the boat swerve beneath you, steering into a yet darker tunnel. You hear the yellow bird chirping from the bow.

“...tried to jump across?” River Person asks. “Is that true, human?”

“Yeah,” you mumble sheepishly. “I was... in a hurry...”

“We cannot always choose the pace of things, human,” River Person says. “Those who try to exert too much control can lose it entirely.”

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to let you dry off a bit before delivering a lecture on the philosophical ramifications of drowning in a freezing cold river? If the worst came to the worst, you could have just reloaded. Still, you have to admit that it was a pretty dumb move on your part. You’ll be lucky if you get off with no more than a stern talking-to.

The tunnel widens and, lifting your head up, you see the red light of the Hotland dock growing out of the darkness. The bird takes flight, speeding ahead of you up the river. Looks like it can really move when it wants to.

After a couple of minutes, you draw up alongside the dock.

“Can you stand?” River Person asks.

You gingerly try to get to your feet, becoming aware of just how cold you are. Your joints feel frozen in place, your muscles reluctant to bear your weight. River Person, seeing you struggling, moves closer so that you can put an arm over their shoulders. You manage to get up and shuffle to the edge of the boat.

“We’ll step onto the dock when I say three. Lead with your left foot. Ready?”

You nod. “Ready.”

“One, two, three.”

You swing your foot out and manage to cross the gap before returning to the ground in a kind of slow-motion crumple. River Person stoops down and helps you back up, and together you hobble out into the warmth of Hotland.

“Don’t try to climb the stairs just yet,” warns River Person. “Your friends will be here soon. They can help you up.”

“Yep.” You sit on the even ground at the bottom of the steps, and then lie down to get as much contact with the warm surface as possible. Under proper light, you can see that your fingers are dark purple. You splay your hands out on the ground, palms down, and feeling gradually returns. You shut your eyes and breathe deeply, sucking the warm Hotland air into your aching lungs.

You hear an elevator door opening a little way off, followed by footsteps approaching.

“FRISK?” Papyrus’s voice calls down from above. “FR – OH MY GOD, FRISK! HAVE YOU FALLEN DOWN?”

“I’m good,” you yell, hauling yourself up into a sitting position. “Just tired.”

He rushes down the stairs and crouches next to you, the Lesser and Greater Dogs following behind. “DON’T SCARE ME LIKE THAT, FRISK. THE BIRD TOLD ME YOU’D DROWNED!”

The little bird, perched on his shoulder, tweets indignantly.

“WELL, THAT YOU WERE DROWN-ING.” Papyrus corrects. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you groan.

“I’M SORRY, FRISK,” laments Papyrus. “I SHOULDN’T HAVE LET YOU GO OFF BY YOURSELF. OH, MAN, THE QUEEN IS GOING TO KILL ME.”

“I’ll tell her you... you–” you sneeze into your elbow. “Sorry. I’ll tell her you dived into the river to rescue me. And that you almost went over the waterfall, and that everyone clapped.”

“THANK YOU. BUT I THINK IT’S IMPORTANT THAT I BE HONEST WITH HER. A ROYAL GUARD MUST ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTIONS, EVEN IF IT MEANS...” his voice cracks melodramatically. “...NOT BEING A ROYAL GUARD ANY MORE...”

“She’s not gonna fire you.” You sneeze again. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“ARE YOU SURE? WHAT ABOUT THE FACE EXPLOSIONS? ARE THEY NORMAL FOR HUMANS?”

“Face...? Oh, the sneezing. Nah, that’s nothing.”

“IF YOU’RE SURE. I STILL THINK YOU SHOULD STAY HERE A LITTLE WHILE LONGER.”

“I’ll be good to go in a couple of minutes,” you assure him. Now that you’re mostly warmed back up, your main concern is the horrible texture of damp clothes against your skin. You don’t know how long it’ll take for them to dry out – will they let you on the train back to Yellow Creek like this?

“I had best be on my way,” says the River Person. “I wish you a swift recovery, human.”

“Thanks,” you say. “And, uh, thank you for saving me.” You turn to the bird. “You too.”

It chirps happily and follows River Person back to the boat.

You wait with Papyrus until you feel ready to face the walk back to New Home. You’re still a bit shivery, and there’s a scratchy pain in your throat that the heat hasn’t dispelled, but at least you can stand again. You get to the elevator and ride up to the top right floor, sneezing at intervals. Then it’s just a brisk walk through the MTT Hotel lobby (trying not to drip on the fancy rugs too much) and a second elevator ride back to the capital.

The castle square is thronging with monsters of all kinds, some of which you recognise but others of which you’ve never seen before today. They range from the basically humanoid, to animals, to completely alien. Asgore towers above the assembly at the far end of the square, speaking to the crowd; You join the back of the crowd along with Papyrus and his team.

“...looking forward to seeing your new homes,” you hear Asgore saying. “So I won’t keep you any longer. I’ll just say thank you, to each and every one of you, for being part of this crucial step into a bright new future.”

There’s a smattering of applause from the crowd, accompanied by various stompings, flailings and noises of approval. Royal guards begin directing the monsters through a wide passageway leading out of the underground.

“STICK WITH ME, FRISK,” Papyrus says. He marches towards Asgore with his signature swagger, the crowd parting around him. You follow at his heel, doing your best not to get anyone wet.

“Hello, Papyrus,” Asgore says as you approach. “Well done on rounding everyone up so – oh, howdy there, Frisk. Goodness, what happened to you!”

Papyrus doesn’t beat around the bush. “FRISK FELL IN THE RIVER IN WATERFALL,” he says.

“Oh. Uh, golly. Are they alright?” He turns to you. “I mean, are you alright, Frisk?”

You scrunch your face up in a fruitless attempt to hold back another sneeze. “I’m fine.”

“THEY’VE BEEN SNEEZING A LOT,” Papyrus says. “AND THEY’RE STILL SHIVERING.”

“I’m not shivering,” you object, shivering.

Asgore kneels down in front of you, his brow furrowed. “How long were you submerged for? And have you had a chance to warm up?”

“Only a minute or so,” you assure him. “The River Person took me straight to Hotland.”

“I see. Still, it’s not that warm here in the capital, and your clothes are quite wet... ”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Extreme cold can weaken a human’s immune system,” he continues. “You should change into something dry as quickly as possible. I’ll see if there’s anything in your size in the castle, if you like?”

“Uh... thanks, yeah.” You hate to inconvenience Asgore, especially given how busy he must be, but you can’t really go all the way back to Yellow Creek in your current state.

“And I suppose I had better call Toriel and... make her aware.” he says.

“I’LL DO THAT WHILE YOU LOOK AFTER FRISK,” says Papyrus.

“Ah. Thank you,” Asgore says, relieved. “In that case, Frisk... let’s see what we can find, shall we?”

He leads you away from the emptying courtyard, and through a side door into the castle. You recognise the hallway you came through on your first journey through the underground – remembering what happened last time you were here, a shiver runs down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

“Are you still living here?” you ask Asgore. You don’t want to stay longer than you have to.

“Not anymore,” he says. “I’m staying in a cottage in Wickerville. I didn’t bring everything with me, though.”

He goes into one of the bedrooms. You hear the sound of closet doors opening and closing, and drawers being searched. After a minute or so he comes back out.

“Okay, Frisk,” he says. “I’ve put out a towel and some fresh clothes. You can see if they fit. There’s a bag for your wet things, too.”

“Thanks.” You enter the bedroom while Asgore heads towards the kitchen.

The décor is exactly as it was when you were last here. Two beds on either side of the room, with a closet and dresser between them – even the macaroni flower on the wall hasn’t moved. The whole place puts you on edge, and the feeling only gets more acute when you see the green-and-yellow sweater lying folded on the bed alongside the other clothes. You dry yourself off quickly, and change into the outfit that you’ve no doubt once belonged to Chara. It fits perfectly, of course – even the trainers are your size. You gather your own clothes into a soggy ball and stuff them into the beat-up old kit bag left out by Asgore.

There’s a mirror in the hallway; you go out and stare at your reflection. The person looking back at you is familiar and strange at the same time – like you’re seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes. And the longer you look, the less certain you are that you recognise yourself. The green sweater, the brown hair shrouding the face, the exhausted eyes....

Your head aches. You look away.

Asgore reappears at the end of the hall. Is it your imagination, or does he stiffen for a fraction of a second when he sees you? So it’s not just you who thinks you look like Chara.

He recovers quickly and speaks without a trace of surprise in his voice. “Shall we head back out?”

“Yep.” You return to the courtyard together and find Papyrus still on the phone.

“AH, FRISK,” he says, waving you over. “THE QUEEN WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK WITH YOU.”

“Yep.” You run over and accept the phone. “Hi, Toriel.”

“Frisk?” Toriel asks anxiously. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say. You decide not to mention the shivering, or the sneezing. Or the sore throat, which only seems to have gotten worse. You might not be all that fine, actually.

“Are you sure you don’t have a chill? Have you at least managed to get dry? Oh, goodness, I shouldn’t have sent you over there all by yourself...”

“Don’t worry! I’m with Papyrus and Asgore now. They’ve found me some cl–” you sneeze. “Some clothes. I’m–”

“Did you just sneeze? Have you been sneezing?”

“Yeah, but–”

She cuts you off. “Do you have a fever? Or a sore throat?”

“A bit of a sore throat–”

“Oh dear. Oh goodness. Okay. Stay with Papyrus and Asgore, now, okay Frisk? I’m going to come and pick you up.”

“I can get the train.”

“No, no, don’t worry. Just stay somewhere warm, and don’t exert yourself.” You hear bustling noises on the other end of the line. “Oh, goodness... can you put Asgore on for a moment, Frisk?”

“Sure.” You decide not to try and change her mind, and hand the phone over to Asgore. He takes it with trepidation.

“Uh, hello, Toriel,” he says tensely. “Yes. Yes, of course. We’re only a couple of minutes away from my cottage.”

You hear Toriel’s voice, too muffled for you to make out the words.

“The roads should be fine in this weather,” Asgore continues. “Yes. No, not more than an hour. Are you sure – yes, of course... see you soon, then.”

He hangs up and gives the phone back to Papyrus. “Well, Frisk, Toriel’s on her way.”

“I would have been fine on the train,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“You may be right, but there’s a certain point past which it’s best not to argue. Be that as it may, you can wait with me until she arrives –”

Papyrus glances in the direction of the passageway. “UM, I THINK THE TRAIN IS LEAVING SOON, YOUR MAJESTY.”

“Oh, of course,” says Asgore. “You’ll need to go and accompany the movers, won’t you?”

“That’s fine,” you say, seeing Papyrus’s hesitation. “I’ll stay with Asgore.”

“EXCELLENT. I’LL SEE YOU LATER THEN, FRISK. KEEP WARM!”

“See you later,” you say.

“Goodbye for now,” says Asgore.

Papyrus jogs after the crowd, leaving you and Asgore alone.

“Although actually,” Asgore muses, “we need to go in that direction as well. Oh dear. How awkward.”

Chapter Text

You and Asgore follow the stream of monsters as far as the Wickerville square, and then turn right down a narrow street to get to his cottage.

The first thing you notice as you walk in is the abundance of flowers filling the already cramped space. A trough of yellow-and-orange marigolds sits on the hallway window sill, and vases of daffodils and chrysanthemums are dotted around, some perched on small tables and others simply sitting on the floor. Asgore has to turn sideways to avoid knocking them over as he moves down the hall. You follow him through into a combination kitchen and dining room, where you encounter yet more flowers of different varieties. Bouquets of thistles and dandelions are placed indiscriminately alongside other more traditional flora.

“Sorry for the clutter,” he says, moving a box of roses off a chair so you can sit down. “There’s so much diversity in the flowers up here on the surface; I can never resist getting new ones when I spot them. It’s easy to get carried away. Please, have a seat.” He takes an old-fashioned brass kettle from the countertop. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please,” you say, sitting down. A single potted thistle has pride of place at the centre of the table, its purple bloom sitting like a crown above its bulbous, spiny body. “You seem to have a soft spot for weeds,” you comment.

Asgore chuckles. “Well, I don’t see any harm in keeping them around. They’re just as pretty as any other flower, not to mention quite a bit tougher.” He fills the kettle from the tap and places it on the stove, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. “That one’s called Cirsium vulgare. It wears spines around its stem to stop grazing animals from gobbling it up. Its prickliness makes it a bit difficult to look after, it has to be said. But it’s no less beautiful when it flowers. A very rich source of nectar for pollinators, too.”

“Then there are these dandelions,” he continues, with an enthusiasm you’ve never heard from him before. “Taraxacum officinale. Notice how the leaves are all clustered at the base of the stem? Because of that, something can eat the flower and take the whole stem with it, but the leaves can still catch sunlight and the plant can recover. How could one hate something so clever?”

The kettle boils with a shrill whistle, and Asgore pours the tea for both of you. He carries the cups over to the table and takes a seat. “I’ve made you elderflower and willow-bark. It’s said that they help the body fight fever.”

“Thanks.” You sip your tea carefully, and then laugh. “I just remembered something.”

“Hm?”

“The first time I met you, you said you wished you could give me tea instead of fighting.”

“Oh...? Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I suppose my wish came true in the end, then.” Asgore smiles.

“Yeah. Still...” you cradle your mug in your hands, warming your fingers. “Took a while.”

He sighs. “I am sorry, Frisk. And very grateful that Toriel intervened before I could harm you.”

In this timeline, that is, you think. But you can’t say that out loud, of course. You try to think of something to fill the silence.

“I know you never really wanted to hurt me,” you say at last. “Just like you never wanted to go to war with humanity. I guess it’s just... I don’t know why you didn’t change your mind sooner. Before we came so close to fighting.” And before you killed six children, you add in your head.

Asgore doesn’t meet your gaze, and instead stares down into his teacup. A few seconds pass before he says anything.

“I must confess, anything relating to the war and our imprisonment is... difficult to dwell on,” he says. “That being said, I almost did you terrible harm that day, and you deserve to know why.”

He continues. “The easiest answer is that I declared war in a fit of anger. The humans had taken my children from me, and hope from all monsters; I wanted justice. But that’s not all.” He takes a deep breath. “I think the only way to explain is to go all the way back to the beginning, when Chara arrived in the underground.”

You say nothing, your silence signalling that you’re ready to hear his story. He takes a sip of tea and straightens up in his seat, then begins:

“It was November of the year 2015, a week before Chara’s arrival. There was an earthquake under Mt. Ebott. It was a small one; there was barely any property damage, and no fatalities. But the tremors dislodged some rock and created a new opening above the Ruins, leading to the outside world.”

“That’s the one I fell through, isn’t it?” you ask.

“I believe so, yes. Anyway, the discovery of this opening sent ripples through the whole underground. Monsters hoped that the barrier might not block it, or at least that it might be weaker there – weak enough for a monster to pass through. Toriel and I travelled personally from New Home to survey the opening, and see if we could break out. Everyone desperately wanted to believe that we could free them. But we couldn’t; the humans who sealed us away had done their job well. We had to announce that the barrier still held; that we were all still trapped.

“For as long as monsters had been trapped in the underground, we had been angry at humanity. Over the generations, we’d grown used to that anger, but it never truly went away. And, when we found ourselves still trapped, the grudge we’d nursed for millennia bubbled up again. The appearance of the crevice was salt in the wound, giving us a glimpse of the outside world we still couldn’t reach. But as always, there was nowhere to direct our rage. There was nothing to do but endure it.

“And then, a few days later, just as Toriel and I were preparing to depart for New Home, our son Asriel came back from a trip into the ruins, supporting none other than an injured human child! He told us the child had been exploring, and had fallen down into the underground through the opening.

“We took the human back to the castle with us, and mended their leg as best we could. We learned that their name was Chara, that they were twelve – two years older than Asriel. By the time we arrived home, the news of this human’s arrival had spread through the underground. Everyone wanted to know what their fate would be.

“Toriel and I called together all our advisors. Most of them wanted nothing to do with the child. Some said they weren’t our responsibility, that we should try to send them back out through the barrier. Others said they should be imprisoned in the castle, just as humans had imprisoned us. It was even put forward that we should execute the child and take their soul – Toriel vetoed that idea immediately, of course.

“Monsters wanted revenge on humanity, and a vulnerable human had been delivered to us on a platter. If Toriel and I wanted to deny my people any kind of satisfaction for their suffering, we needed a good justification. And in the end, we found one. In the days that we’d spent locked in debate over Chara’s fate, they and Asriel had practically become best friends right under our noses. I remember we were considering sending Chara to live with a foster family in Snowdin, but when I offhandedly mentioned the plan to Asriel, he burst into tears and begged me to let them stay somewhere closer.” Asgore smiles at the recollection. “That’s when Toriel and I made up our minds: we would take care of Chara ourselves. If the Prince of monsters could befriend a human child, we could use that to give everyone a glimpse of a peaceful future, where our kinds could coexist.

Asgore’s voice gets gradually more solemn. “We never told the children, but Toriel and I had a plan. One day, when Chara was an adult and Toriel and I reached the end of our natural lives, we would ask Chara to take one of our souls, pass through the barrier, and persuade the other humans to release us. We ourselves might never live to see freedom, but we would help create a better world for our children. And through our sacrifice, we would ensure that terrible conflict was not reignited.

He pauses to collect himself. “That was our hope. You know what really happened.”

You stay silent; you know there’s nothing you can say.

“The night Chara and Asriel both died... I’ve never spoken about that night to anyone.” Asgore takes another gulp of tea. “Still, there’s no avoiding the end of the story.”

Again, you wait.

“About two years after Chara arrived, in the late summer, they became extremely ill. I still don’t know exactly why. We tried everything, but we were hopelessly uninformed on human medicine. Our doctors suggested bed rest and warmth, but that was the best they could do. And within a day... well...” He sighs. “Asriel and I were next to Chara’s bed; Toriel had gone to fetch some tea. Chara asked me to go and make sure she made theirs without sugar. So I went, and left the children alone.

“I still wonder: if I’d stayed there, would things have gone differently? Toriel and I were in the kitchen when we heard Asriel screaming. We ran back to find him standing in the hallway outside the bedroom, holding Chara in his arms. I had never seen a monster bearing a human soul before; I hope I never have to again. He was twice his usual height, and he had a horrible, distant look in his eyes. As if Toriel and I were strangers. We tried to approach him, but something – his magic, or maybe our own fear – held us in place. He walked down the stairs and out of sight. By the time we could move, he had already gone through the barrier.

“The next hour was the worst of our lives. We attacked the barrier harder than ever before, trying to get through, to bring our children back. We knew that Chara had wanted to see the flowers from their village again, and we knew that if a monster went there, holding a dead human, there would be bloodshed.

“Our worst fears were confirmed. Asriel came back through the barrier still holding Chara’s body, mortally wounded from human weapons. Before he turned to dust he said just one word. ‘Sorry.’

“The hardest part of being a leader, Frisk, is that you can never truly have your own life. You will always have your peoples’ eyes on you. Toriel and I couldn’t grieve for our children in private. Within hours of their deaths, I had to deliver the news to my kingdom and tell them what would happen next.

“Yet again, everyone was angry. And this time it was my fault. I had convinced monsterkind to stake all their hopes for the future on Asriel and Chara. In killing Asriel, the humans had destroyed those hopes – again. In order to keep my people from despair, I had to promise them something new. My attempt to build a peace had failed completely, so instead I offered them revenge. ‘Any human that falls down here must die,’ I said. ‘I will take their souls, and one day, we will be freed.’”

Your tea is almost finished. You swallow the last lukewarm mouthful and sit quietly.

“So,” concludes Asgore. “It would be wrong of me to say I declared war out of anger alone. The truth is, I had left myself with no other choice. I know that doesn’t make up for the human lives I took, or the pain my guards inflicted on you, but I hope you understand.”

You nod. “I think I do.”

Neither you nor Asgore talk for a minute or two. It’s difficult to move back to casual conversation from such a sombre topic. You feel the scratchy soreness in your throat, briefly quelled by the tea, gradually creep back.

Eventually Asgore speaks again. “Of course, the plan changed again when the barrier vanished last year. In a way, I’m grateful that all the human souls disappeared that day. It meant I couldn’t attack humanity immediately, as I’d promised I would. Instead we had to use diplomacy, which – thank heavens – has worked so far. I’m sure you’ve seen the news coverage?”

“Yeah. Your outfits put our politicians to shame.”

He laughs. “Glad you think so. I had a tough time deciding whether to go with monster or human dress for public appearances.”

“I think you chose right.”

You both relax slightly now that you’ve managed to steer yourselves back into small talk. You suddenly remember that it was Asgore’s birthday yesterday and consider taking the opportunity to congratulate him, but decide against it; you’re not sure if you’re quite on those terms, and if you bring it up he might ask how you found out. You have no desire to tell him about Toriel’s outburst yesterday.

“When was the last time you ate, by the way?” Asgore asks.

“Huh? Oh, uh...” You think for a moment. You lost the lunchbox Toriel gave you when you fell in the river – you hadn’t even considered it until now. “Not since breakfast, I think. I don’t feel very hungry right now, though.”

“If you’re sure. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Asgore picks up your empty teacups and takes them through to the kitchen. You get out your phone and scroll idly through Undernet to distract yourself from your sore throat – Papyrus has somehow found time to post a dozen relocation updates on the official Royal Guards’ page since this morning – lots of photos of excited monster posing next to cardboard boxes. The most recent one is a blurred view of Mt Ebott from the train window.

The better part of an hour later, there’s a knock at the door. Asgore goes to open it, and you hear him greeting Toriel.

“Ah, hello. Frisk is just inside.”

“Thank you. Um...”

“Oh. Would you like to, uh–”

“Oh, yes please–”

“–Come in? Yes, of course.”

Toriel shuffles down the hall and into the kitchen, just managing to avoid knocking over any flowers. She does an obvious double-take when she sees you in Chara’s clothes, her face passing through shock and bewilderment in a split-second before reverting to concern.

“Frisk!” she says, kneeling down to hug you. “Are you alright?”

You decide not to sugar-coat things. “My throat kinda hurts. And I’m still getting shivers. But Asgore helped a lot!” you add hastily. “He gave me tea, and these clothes. And, uh, yeah...”

She puts a hand against your forehead. “Hmm. You do seem a little feverish...” She stands up. “Let’s get you home, then, and see how things go. Thank you,” she adds, turning to Asgore. “For taking care of them.”

“My pleasure,” says Asgore. “I hope you recover quickly, Frisk.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you updated.” You follow Toriel back through the hallway and out the door.

*             *             *

You spend most of the car ride home in silence. Toriel doesn’t seem angry, but that just makes you feel even more embarrassed. Why does she have to fuss over you so much? It’s not like getting the train home was going to make you any sicker. Not to mention Asgore and Papyrus, bending over backwards to look after you as if they weren’t all aboard the Frisk Murder Wagon less than a year ago. It’s not like you were even in real danger! If the worst had happened, you could always have just gone to your menu and –

Unavailable.

You start in your seat. What was that? You go to open your menu a second time, and again nothing happens. What does that mean?

Before you can process the situation, your thoughts are interrupted by a particularly violent bout of sneezing. Toriel offers you a fresh handkerchief with a murmur of consolation.

“Thanks,” you say, holding the fabric up to your face. “Oh, uh, by the way, I forgot to get those snails from Waterfall.” Another sneeze. “Sorry.”

“Oh, nonsense, dear,” she says. “That should be the last thing on your mind after today. What matters is that you’re safe.”

You’re not so sure. You give the menu a third try just for luck – still nothing. You try to keep the panic down. You’ve never had this happen before.

It’s a long drive home, mostly on bumpy dirt roads, and by the end you’re feeling more than a little carsick on top of your cold symptoms. All of that is compounded by the discovery that your menu is gone – you feel its absence feels like a missing limb. By the time you get out of the car every fibre of your body seems to scream in protest, and getting yourself as far as the front door leaves you exhausted. Only now do you feel the full impact of your quick dip in Waterfall. Oh, God, the river. You could have drowned, you could have actually died...

Toriel hovers at your side as you step into the house, noticing your discomfort even if she can’t understand the depth of it. She presses her hand against your forehead again, and breathes in through her teeth.

“Oh you poor thing, that’s definitely a fever. You’d better get straight into bed and keep warm.”

Your pain outweighs your pride, and you let her support you down the hall to your bedroom.

“Just stay there and rest,” she says. “I’ll bring you some soup.”

“Ngh... no,” you groan. “Not hungry.” You can’t face the idea of eating even a bite of food. In fact, you’re too terrified to do anything at all.

“If you’re sure,” she says anxiously. “I’ll just get you some water, then.” She switches off the light and pulls the door almost shut on her way out.

You close your eyes and groan quietly, trying to escape from the array of horrible sensations across your body, as well as the dread preying on your mind. With nothing to distract you, your headache and sore throat return with a vengeance. There’s already a layer of sweat building up under your clothes, and you’re somehow too cold and too hot at the same time.

You drift into a sickening, unsettled sleep, your bedsheets becoming suffocating restraints that cling to you so tightly you can’t even struggle. At some point Toriel comes in with a glass of water, but her visit, bordered by timeless half-consciousness, might as well not have happened at all.

Chapter Text

You sit cross-legged in the castle garden, a bowl full of water in front of you. Enchanted light shines in through the windows set in the distant, vaulted ceiling, and filters through the trees to create dappled shadows on the lush grass and bright flowers. The only sound is the gurgle of the distant stream, punctuated from time to time by fragments of birdsong. If it weren’t for the utter stillness of the air, you could almost believe you were outside.

The old camcorder rests in the grass next to you. It still contains the tape on which you recorded your last goodbye to your parents – you’ll need to stash that somewhere where it won’t be found until your plan is complete. You hope they’ll understand why this had to be done.

Muffled footsteps alert you to Asriel’s presence a moment before he emerges through the foliage. He clutches a cloth bag in one hand, stuffed full of roughly chopped buttercups gathered from all over the garden. He’s shaking as he hands them over.

“Chara...”

You sigh. “I know what you’re going to say–”

“I’m scared. I don’t want you to die. And what if it goes wrong? What if I mess it up somehow?”

You want to yell at him, but you hold yourself back. You can’t have him going to pieces now, right when you need him most; who knows when Mom and Dad’ll next be away long enough for you to pull this off? You keep your temper in check and do your best to sound reassuring.

“You won’t mess it up. You’ll be able to see the village as soon as you’re through the barrier. Just follow the path down. And don’t worry; I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Okay. But–”

“Please, Asriel, trust me on this. I can’t do it without you.”

“No, I know. I’m sorry. I was just going to ask, if we could... do this... oh, never mind.” He lowers his gaze, dejected.

“It’s okay,” you say. “If you have an idea, say it.” Normally you’d let him keep whatever it is he’s thinking to himself, but this plan is too important for you to ignore any new information.

“So there’s this, uh...” Asriel struggles for the right words. “This poem, oath, thing, that monsters say when they’re going into battle. It’s about building up courage before a fight, and this could be the most important fight of our lives. It feels right.”

“A poem... is it like, a magic spell or something like that? Would it work for me, if I’m not a monster?”

“No, it’s not magic or anything. It’s just a tradition.”

Tradition. You stare down at bagful of buttercups for a moment, and think. “If we take this oath, will it help you do what we planned?”

“Yes,” Asriel says without hesitation. “It’ll help a lot.”

“Let’s do it then. How does it go?”

Asriel takes a breath, and recites:

“As we march into the fight,
The threat of death and endless night,
I promise, soldier, comrade, friend,
I’ll stay beside you ‘til the end.
And even in the world beyond,
Time nor steel will break our bond;
Into you I’ll put my trust,
Even as we turn to dust.”

He speaks the final line into the silence, and then blushes. “Oh man, it sounds kinda dumb, doesn’t it? And it doesn’t really work for a human, because you don’t turn into dust when you die...”

“I like it,” you tell him. “I mean, we’re all dust in the end, aren’t we?”

“I guess?” He laughs nervously.

“And I don’t want to die like a human. It’s monsters that I care about, not humanity. When I go, I want to be as part of the people I’m helping.”

Asriel looks at you with a trace of sadness in his eyes, but says nothing.

“Is there anything else?” you ask.

“We hold hands, and say the oath together. After that, we’re each supposed to put a cut in the other’s hand, and get some dust. Or I guess blood, for you. Then we either bury it in the ground, or spread it on something that’s important to both of us.”

You take out your locket. Of all the things you and Asriel share, it’s the one that matters to you the most.

“Will this do?”

“That’s perfect. We can use this, too.” He takes out the worn dagger, the blade still streaked with green from cutting up the flowers.

You offer him your hand, and he clasps it in his as if he’s about to arm-wrestle you. Then he says the lines, one by one, with you repeating them back as he goes. You consider the words more closely the second time through, and notice how they treat death and failure not as a risk but as a certainty. Those same words were once heard in the mouths of monster warriors millennia ago, as they prepared to face the humans in a hopelessly unbalanced fight. You can almost feel those ancient souls, that fought bravely even in the face of certain defeat, watching you and Asriel now. Seeing their promise finally being fulfilled by the two of you, here, today. The hope that they kept alive, realised at last.

That was how it was meant to be. But he let me down.

Once you get to the end, he lets go of your hand and lifts up the knife. You hold your hand perfectly still as Asriel pricks your thumb, drawing a small bead of blood. It hurts, but the pain doesn’t really reach you. You put up a barrier in your head, as you’ve done hundreds of times before. The pain stays on one side; you stay on the other. It passes soon enough.

You take the knife from him, and he steadies his trembling hand long enough for you to make an incision on the pad of his thumb. He hisses through his teeth, and you see his eyes shimmer under a film of tears. You want to chastise him, but it’s not his fault he doesn’t have as much practice as you. It won’t matter; once he has your soul, he’ll be untouchable.

You fumble the locket open and smear your thumb on the inside, then turn it to Asriel so he can do the same. The blood and dust quickly begins to dry onto the interior, leaving a dull stain on the shiny metal. You close it with a snap, and hand it back to Asriel.

“You should hold onto this. I won’t need it.”

“Yes. Of course.”

You grab a handful of buttercups from the bag, and drop them into the waiting bowl, mashing them against the bottom until the water goes cloudy. After a few more handfuls, the bowl’s contents start to thicken into an ugly greenish-brown paste, flecked with yellow fragments of petal. You use most of the bag, but leave the mixture liquid enough that you’ll be able to swallow it easily. You’ll need to get a lot of this stuff down quickly to make sure it does its job.

You almost retch at the first mouthful. The bitterness is overwhelming, and instincts etched into your brain by millions of years of evolution scream at you to stop eating, to spit it all out. But I knew what had to be done, and carried on, determined to see it through. The flowers leave behind a horrible aftertaste. You have no desire to savour the experience, and quickly sip from the bowl again in an effort to get it over with as quickly as possible. Asriel looks on, frozen, his eyes wide.

You finally reach the bottom of the bowl, and choke down the last mouthful of flowers. You stand and march back towards the castle, taking the bowl with you. Asriel grabs the camcorder, scrambles to his feet, and jogs to catch up with you.

“Chara?”

“I need to wash this bowl up before the poison kicks in. I don’t know how long I have.” You feel a faint pain in your stomach, as though something living is trying to scratch its way out. Is it your imagination, or are the flowers already taking effect?

“Right. I’ll put the bag back,” says Asriel.

You head for the kitchen and quickly clean the bowl and knife, removing all traces of the buttercups; the less Mom and Dad know about what’s happening, the less likely they are to be able to stop it. Asriel picks the last few bits of plant matter off the bag and bins them.

You gesture to the camcorder. “Make sure to keep the tape hidden from Mom and Dad until it’s all over, yeah?”

“Okay!” says Asriel, his voice high and tense. He removes the tape and runs off in the direction of your room. You’re not even sure your whole speech got recorded – the tape was almost full when you started, and Asriel wasted about a minute of it whinging about how he didn’t like the plan. But whatever state it’s in, it needs to stay hidden for now.

You go to put the bowl back in its cupboard, but as you turn around you’re struck by a shooting pain in your stomach, followed immediately by a wave of nausea. You clutch the countertop, trying to stay upright. I’d forgotten how much it hurt. And for what? You get the cupboard open and put the bowl back in, not taking time to stack it properly. Then, feeling the nausea recede, you gingerly hobble back out, towards the bedroom.

Asriel is right in front of you when you step out into the hallway; he blanches when he sees you.

“Oh God, Chara. You’re so pale.”

“Yeah?” you say grimly.

“Here, I’ll help.” He ducks under your arm so you can put your weight on his shoulders.

“I’m fine, I don’t–” you begin, and then another bolt of pain almost takes your feet out from under you. “Okay. Actually, yeah. Help me to the bedroom.” You feel suddenly dizzy – you probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight without Asriel to lean on.

“Those flowers are definitely working,” you gasp.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yep.”

“Ohh, this is bad...” he says.

“Hey, don’t worry,” you say forcefully. “Just think: by this time tomorrow, you’re going to be free.”

You collapse onto your bed as soon as you reach the bedroom, and stare at the slowly spinning ceiling. It dawns on you that you’re probably going to spend the rest of your life lying right here. You wish you’d thought to shower first.

“Is there anything else you need?” asks Asriel.

“I–” You gag, and when you go to wipe your mouth you see flecks of red on your hand. You groan and shut your eyes.

“I need a bucket.”

*             *             *

Asriel is in tears by the time Mom and Dad get home, and rushes to them for help the instant he hears their voices. The one time being a crybaby actually helped. He really sold the act. He manages not to spill the beans, though, and they’re both too busy fussing over you to ask too many probing questions.

The night passes in a haze of pain and occasional vomiting. There are frequent frantic whispers and anxious questions you can’t make out. The doctor comes and goes a few times. You don’t see Asriel again. But Mom and Dad stay by your side the whole time; neither of them is ever gone for longer than a few minutes. You kind of wish they would go get some sleep; you’re gonna die either way.

Sometime in the mid-morning, you have a few last minutes of lucidity. Mom and Dad are sat on the other bed; you hear muffled sobbing coming from their direction. Meanwhile, Asriel is right at your bedside, whispering that he doesn’t like the plan.

“Are you really doubting me now, Azzy?” you say through gritted teeth. You’re shocked to hear how raspy and feeble your voice sounds.

“No, I said... I said I’d never doubt you. Six, right? We just have to get six...”

You try to answer, but start heaving uncontrollably. Asriel says something else you can’t make out, but then he’s ushered aside by Asgore while Toriel positions the bucket under your chin. But it’s no use; there’s nothing left in your stomach for it to send back up...

In your last living memory, Mom and Dad aren’t there any more. There’s just Asriel, kneeling by your bed and weeping quietly. Then everything goes all weird...

Then I had to sit by and watch him get pumped full of lead by a bunch of dumb hicks. He broke the oath, he ruined the plan, and I died for nothing. Just like all the other monsters in that stupid war. And now you want to just have him move on, like he didn’t fail, like he didn’t betray me. You make me sick...

Chapter Text

You jerk awake and scramble frantically out of bed, your heart racing. Drops of cold water run down your forehead and into your eyes – you blink them away and see Toriel sitting by your bed, a damp cloth clutched in one hand. She’s staring at you in shock.

“Frisk? Are you alright?”

“Wh–” you look at her blankly, not registering your name at first. Frisk. That’s right.

You run to the mirror and scrutinise your reflection, searching desperately for assurance that you’re still yourself. Your hand reaches forward until it’s touching the glass, its fingers spread out on the mirror’s surface. Your reflection copies the action. You stare into its eyes, trying to make out their colour in the half-light.

“It’s me,” you slur out. “It’s...”

“Frisk? I think you were having a nightmare.”

“I... was?” you ask, processing her words in slow-motion.

“Yes. You were talking in your sleep.”

“Oh.” You finally break eye contact with the person in the mirror, and turn back to Toriel. “What did I say?”

“You said ‘don’t eat them’ a couple of times. And you were telling me to leave you alone. I’m sorry about the water in your eyes,” she adds, gesturing with the cloth. “I was trying to bring your fever down.”

You pull away the damp strands of hair dangling in front of your eyes and notice how shaken Toriel looks. You must have scared her a lot. Your body still feels like garbage, but it’s not quite as bad as before you went to sleep.

Toriel comes over; you let her check your temperature again. She sighs in relief.

“I think the fever’s broken now,” she tells you. “How do you feel?”

You lift your arms slightly, your joints protesting at the motion. “Still pretty awful,” you groan, “but better. Do you have any water?” Your throat is painfully dry.

Toriel hands you a glass from the bedside table. “Here.”

You gulp it down in seconds. “I think I need a shower,” you say.

“Good idea. Do you think you can manage some soup now?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Excellent. I’ll have it ready.” She pats your shoulder and makes for the door.

“Thanks,” you say. “I hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

“It’s quite all right, dear. It’s my job to worry about you.”

*             *             *

After your shower, you change back into your own clothes, including your now-dry blue-and-purple sweater. You feel a bit more like yourself now that you’ve ditched Chara’s outfit, but the lingering anxiety of your nightmare is hard to dispel. Were you really reliving their memories, or was it just a version of events your brain pieced together from what you already knew? You can’t think of any way to tell.

You enter the dining room, where Toriel is putting out a bowl of chicken soup. You see that her place is empty – the clock on the wall tells you it’s nine in the evening.

“Did you already eat?” you ask.

“Yes, I had dinner while you were asleep. I watered Flowey, as well.”

“Cool.” After your disastrous visit to Waterfall, you’d almost forgotten the reason you went there in the first place. With nothing to show for your efforts except a bad cold and a wasted weekend, you almost wish you hadn’t bothered.

You go back to bed once after eating. Between your unsettling dreams and physical ickiness neither sleep nor consciousness really appeal, but Toriel’s pretty big on maintaining healthy sleep schedules and you might as well make her happy. You end up waking up much earlier than usual, but then spend most of the morning moping about the house and binging anime rather than doing anything productive. It only seems to have gotten warmer since yesterday, and even indoors the atmosphere is heavy.

Your appetite definitely isn’t back to normal, but with Toriel’s encouragement you coax down a small lunch. She has her phone out at the table – unusual for her – and after typing for a bit, she asks “Is it alright by you if Asgore pops over this afternoon, Frisk?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

“Wonderful. He’s going to be in town visiting the monsters who moved in yesterday, and his schedule is pretty packed for the next couple of weeks, so today works out best. He’s been meaning to give Flowey a visit, you see.”

“Of course.” You don’t push the issue, but you are surprised to see Toriel so relaxed about inviting Asgore into her home. You suppose she really took Miss Baxter’s advice to heart.

“I’ll let him know,” she says, picking her phone up again. “He knows you’re still unwell, so you needn’t feel obliged to come and play host to him. And if you’d rather he hold off until you’re better, that’s fine as well.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, he can come.” Asgore visiting doesn’t bother you, but you appreciate her offering you the out.

*             *             *

It’s mid-afternoon when Asgore arrives. You’re still in your room, messing about online and ruminating on your dream, but you hear Toriel open the front door and greet him brightly. Very brightly.

“Good afternoon! Come in, come in – would you like some tea?”

“Golly. If you’re sure it’s not any trouble.”

“Not at all,” Toriel assures him. “Consider it thanks for looking after Frisk the other day. The dining room is through here – let me take your coat...”

Their conversation fades, leaving you to puzzle over Toriel’s sudden turnaround. You’re pretty sure that until your accident, she’d had no contact at all with Asgore since the time she called him a pathetic whelp and declared they would never so much as be friends again. Still, grown-ups interact in weird ways sometimes. This must just be one of those things.

You lie on your bed and go over the dream again. The garden looked fairly generic – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell the real one if you saw it. The locket and dagger you’ve held before, so them showing up doesn’t prove anything. The bowl that held the flowers wasn’t that distinctive; nor was the bag. Asriel himself you’ve seen; the same goes for the interior of his house. And you looked up the symptoms of buttercup poisoning yourself some months ago, so even the memory of your own painful death could be imagined.

The poem.

Of course. The oath that you – that Chara and Asriel took in your dream. You’d never heard those words before last night. You suppose they could have been a fabrication of your fevered brain, but if it’s a real monster tradition, it would prove that Chara is really still with you – and more powerful than you dare believe. You struggle to remember the words – something about death and endless darkness?

If you want monster history, your best bet is Toriel’s books – which are all still in the greenhouse. You look out of your window and see that Asgore and Toriel are in there right now. You keep an eye on them until they come out a minute or two later. Toriel locks the door and they go back inside.

There’s a distant clink of china and sound of muffled conversation in the kitchen. You do your best to wait patiently until the voices have moved into the dining room; if Toriel’s kept the key on her you’ll have no hope of getting it, but if she’s put it back in the safe you might just have a shot.

Once you’re sure Asgore and Toriel aren’t moving about, you venture into the hallway. You can hear their conversation as you approach the dining room door.

“...and Kessa on the infrastructure board, he was a prime example,” Toriel is saying.

“Oh, God, I remember,” says Asgore, laughing in a low rumble. “It was he who tried to torpedo that whole bridge project in Hotland because the puzzles were vent-based instead of block-based, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” You can hear the smile in Toriel’s voice. “He was so old-fashioned.”

They’re distracted now, so it seems as good a time as any to make your move. You stroll through the dining room, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

“Ah, do you need something, Frisk?” Toriel asks, moving to stand up.

“I’m just going outside for some fresh air,” you lie, carrying on towards the kitchen.

“Excellent. It seems like you’re on the mend,” she says cheerily.

You pull the kitchen door closed behind you to block their line of sight, and then go straight to the back door, opening and closing it so it sounds like you’ve gone out already. The windows are open in an effort to counteract the heat, which makes for a bit of extra background noise to disguise your actions. Asgore and Toriel’s conversation resumes, and you tiptoe to the safe and carefully twist the combination lock.

You’re in luck. Toriel hasn’t changed the code since you lost greenhouse privileges. She must trust you not to go out there without her permission, which makes you feel kinda bad – but this is important. You lift the key carefully out of the safe, keeping the noise to a minimum. Then you go over to the door and open it a second time, as quietly as possible, so you can slip out into the garden.

You walk briskly down towards the greenhouse, getting more impatient the closer you get to your goal. You unlock the door and go in; Flowey emerges from his pot at the sound.

“Oh. It’s you,” he says.

You ignore him and go right for the books. There’s two boxes, fiction and non-fiction; you rummage through the latter, looking for anything that might have what you need.

“Oh, are we not talking anymore?” asks Flowey.

You cast aside 100 Ways to Cook a Snail and A Spider’s Guide to Textiles, and dig deeper. You want something about monster history and culture.

“Cool, cool,” continues Flowey. “This is the kind of childish nonsense I’m really going to miss in my new digs. I dunno if Undyne told you I’m moving out?”

“I’m looking for a book,” you say curtly. The truth is you’re frightened to even be in the same room as Flowey when your grip on reality feels so tenuous. What would happen if Chara took control and got to him? You don’t want to find out.

“Well, no duh,” he sneers. “What book?”

Finally you find something that looks promising: A History of Monster Martial Arts, by none other than Gerson Boom. It’s clearly ancient – dog-ears on the pages, its tattered dust jacket barely holding together. You turn around so that Flowey can’t look over your shoulder, and turn to the index page at the back.

“Martial Arts, huh?” he says. When you don’t respond he makes a disgruntled noise and turns away.

Oath is the first word under the O heading. It appears on just one page in the whole book. You flick through to that page, your heart pounding, and read...

That’s all you need to read. You shut your eyes and lean back on the greenhouse wall, not bothering to stifle the groan of despair that rises from your chest.

Chara’s back. Not a dream, not a hallucination, not even a dissociated manifestation of your own conflicted psyche, or any garbage like that. They already have enough power to taken away your menu, and their memories are creeping into your dreams. How much longer before they seize control altogether?

You snap the book shut and stand so fast you go lightheaded. Steadying yourself against the wall, you cast the book back into its box like it burned you. You can’t avoid looking at Flowey when you turn to leave, and you can’t deny that you get a vindictive sense of pleasure from the utter confusion on his face. How’s that for mind games?

It’s only once you’ve strode over to the door and pulled it open that he speaks.

“What are you doing, Frisk?”

You sigh. “I told you, I came to look something up in a book.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, an uncharacteristic weariness in his voice. “I mean, what are you doing with... everything?”

You’re not sure what to make of that. He continues. “Wiping out the whole underground, then going back and saving everyone. Bringing me up to the surface, and then letting them take me right back without even putting up a fight. Almost getting yourself killed in Waterfall.” How does he know about that? You suppose Toriel must have filled him in. “Dragging Asgore and Toriel here together. And coming back to the greenhouse on my last day, just to look at a book and then leave.” He exhales heavily. “What does it all mean?”

You stare out at the house as you mull it over, wondering how best to answer, how to justify all these things you can’t even explain to yourself. The conversation coming from the dining room erupts into two peals of laughter, one high, one low, that float down the garden and through the greenhouse door.

“And now... this,” Flowey adds. “Whatever you’re doing right now.”

You turn around. “I’m... not doing anything right now.”

“Rrrgh! Yes you are! I don’t know what it is, or how, or... ugh.” He hangs his head. “I just don’t understand.”

You don’t understand either. In fact, you don’t think you and Flowey have ever been on such utterly different wavelengths as you are right now. Even when you were at each other’s throats, you sensed there was some basic understanding between you, born out of shared experiences if nothing else. But now something’s shifted. It’s like there’s some change in the atmosphere of the whole greenhouse, some kind of aura, that’s familiar but new at the same time. Impossible to miss, but impossible to identify either.

You need to leave.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on. I’m sorry.”

“Well, then,” he says lightly, picking himself back up. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I... I guess. I can still visit.”

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Well.” You back out of the door and fish the key out of your pocket. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You swing the door shut carefully, mindful that you’re still breaking the rules by being here, then turn the key in the lock, jostle it to make sure it’s secure, and turn to walk back up the garden. Your eyes take in a mass of dark clouds mustering themselves on the horizon, their contours thrown into relief by the sunlight; a half-hearted breeze toys with the branches of the big pine tree, then abandons them. You walk back to the house, the warm, muggy air weighing on your shoulders with each step you take.

Asgore doesn’t leave until the early evening. He and Toriel spend the entire time talking in the dining room, but you hear no more laughter or exclamations from either of them – just steady conversation in voices too low for you to make out. For your part, you stay holed up in your room distracting yourself from your litany of worries with a steady stream of anime. It’s not until the aroma of caramelised onions reaches your room, telling you that dinner is nearly ready, that your stomach (and a sense of politeness) forces you to venture out into the dining room.

It’s French onion soup, thankfully minus the melted cheese, which you’re definitely too fragile to handle right now. Toriel makes the usual enquiries about your health as she serves up, and you do your best to reassure her. Your cold is progressing through the usual stages – your joints still hurt, but your temperature’s much more stable, and the uncontrollable sneezing’s been replaced by an uncomfortable congestion in your sinuses. Toriel seems satisfied that the worst is now over, but you can’t share in her relief; all your physical symptoms are negligible in comparison to the existential dread now preying on your mind.

You cast about for a conversation topic to distract yourself. “So, you and Asgore...” you begin. “Did you...?” You’re not sure what to say. Have a nice afternoon? Make up? Get back together? It’s not your business either way.

Toriel sighs. “We’ll have to wait and see. He and I... well, you know the broad strokes. I don’t think things will ever go back to how they once were. But so much is changing now that the barrier’s gone. We agreed that we couldn’t just leave things as they were forever.” She takes long pauses, choosing the words carefully, and there’s a definite edge of sadness to her voice.

You lift a spoonful of soup to your mouth, then put it down again. “Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s alright, dear,” she smiles. “You want to know where you stand. Let’s just say you needn’t brace for any major changes.”

“Sure,” you say, returning to your soup.

Towards the end of the meal, a sudden noise makes you and Toriel start. For a moment you think it might be a car engine, or something falling over in the next room, but as it drags on you recognise it as distant thunder.

Toriel, who’d sat up alert, relaxes and laughs. “Ah! This must be the long-awaited thunderstorm,” she comments. “That’ll be good for the garden.”

Sure enough, by the time you finish up and take the dishes back into the kitchen, the window into the back garden is already peppered with raindrops that only intensify as the minutes go by. Soon the rain is drumming the roof hard enough that you need to raise your voices slightly to speak over it, and the drops on the windows have graduated to little rivulets that pour down the edges of each pane. You wonder what it’s like in the greenhouse – it’s too dark and wet to see out into the garden, and Flowey doesn’t seem to have the TV on so you can’t use it as a reference point.

You normally quite like the rain, but tonight it just makes you even more agitated – something the occasional rumbles of thunder definitely don’t help with. You decide to go straight to bed, desperate to escape into sleep as soon as possible.

“I’m gonna get an early night,” you tell Toriel once everything’s cleared away.

“Good idea,” she responds. “You are still recovering, after all.” You’re not so sure about that.

You glance nervously at the mirror at intervals during your evening routine, as if hoping to catch Chara by surprise. As if you’d even be able to tell the difference should they take control. Jeez, at this rate you’ll drive yourself crazy, no outside assistance required. Your neck hair stands on end at each new roll of thunder, and when the first flash of lightning appears through your window you whip round like a startled animal, looking for something to fight. There’s nothing there, of course. The distant wind pipes out a rising and falling pitch, the taunting ooOOOooo of a playground bully. This is ridiculous, you think, yanking your curtains shut. Just go to sleep already.

Sleep, of course, doesn’t come easy. You lie awake, probing your own thoughts for some trace of Chara’s influence, jumping at each thunderclap, until your brain finally wears itself out and you have no choice but to drift off.

*             *             *

The wind is howling.

Just like before, you find yourself in a boundless void. Space stretches out forever in all directions. There’s nothing here except you and the storm.

And Chara.

“It’s over,” they shout, their voice sailing towards you on the wind. “You failed.”

“No! I won’t give up on him!”

“Idiot! Haven’t you learned a thing? He’ll always let you down in the end. They all will.” They spread their arms wide, and the wind rushes around them, carrying a spiral of glowing dust that slowly coalesces into a familiar pattern. “There’s only one way this ends!” they declare.

There, bracketed by their outstretched arms, is your menu. Even though it’s an eternity away, you read the shining words with ease. “SAVE.” “LOAD.” “RESET.” You struggle to cross the vast distance, to snatch it away from them, but the wind blows against you and the rain is blinding in your eyes.

“Give it back” you scream, defiant. “Give it BACK!”

“It was never yours,” yells Chara, scathing. “Neither of us can use it alone!” The wind whips their hair in front of their wild eyes.

“Then keep it,” you yell. “I’ll save him without your help. I won’t let you ruin my happy ending!”

They shriek with rage. “THERE ARE NO HAPPY ENDINGS! We both know there’s only one way forward from here.” The rightmost button highlights a sickly yellow. “You have to RESET!”

The word echoes over and over and the wind suddenly pivots, dragging you and Chara closer together. Their voice, now a vengeful scream, merges with the wind in an undying, unbearable note. The bright yellow button drags you closer and closer, desperately willing you to press it –

CRE-E-EAK-CRUNCH.

You’re woken at the last moment by a sound outside your window. It’s a horrible, splintering noise, different and much more immediate than the wind and thunder that had permeated your dream. You leap up and run to the window, vainly trying to spot the source of the noise through the dark, rippling coat of water on the other side.

After a minute of fruitless searching, you see a stream of light spill out of the house and across the lawn – from the position you judge it to be coming from the kitchen window. The view’s still too distorted to make out any details, but you hear the bang of the back door being used. A duller, redder light joins the first one, and you can just make out Toriel’s silhouette. She must have gone out to investigate the noise; the light will be her fire magic repelling the rain.

You run out into the hallway yourself. The thing outside is scary, but the idea of sitting by and letting Toriel brave the storm alone is scarier. You force yourself step-by-step down the hall, into the dining room, and on into the kitchen. They key-safe is open and empty, and when you open the door into the garden you see why.

The huge pine tree at the bottom of the garden has fallen, it trunk snapped by the heavy winds. It’s lounging almost horizontal atop the greenhouse, branches still billowing in the wind, the top pointing towards the house. You can’t tell if the greenhouse roof has actually been smashed in, but you wouldn’t count on it holding long. The glass was made to withstand magic; you know nothing about its physical resilience.

Toriel stands in the doorway of the greenhouse, still illuminated by her conjured fire. You enjoy a moment of relief at learning the mundane source of noise, and you’re ready to turn around, go back to bed, and let Toriel deal with it. But then, instantaneously and without warning, the fire winks out and the greenhouse is plunged into darkness.

You hear Toriel yelp.

You squint out into the dark, trying to see what happened. A flash of lightning, frighteningly close, illuminates the scene for a split second. You can still see Toriel, but she’s... lower. Is she kneeling down?

You run out into the garden. The rain soaks your pyjamas immediately, but you hardly notice. Instinctively you know that something terrible has happened, and you sprint the short distance to the greenhouse in a panic. But when you reach the door, you realise you’re already too late. Flowey sits in the middle of the table, laughing manically, as Toriel’s dust spreads across the floor.

Your mind is blank. You kneel down. Grasp at the dust in disbelief. Already the rain is soaking it, melting it into claggy grey clumps that cling to your fingers and lodge in the metal grating. How? Why? You gape at Flowey, unable to form words.

“It was so easy,” he gloats. His face morphs before your eyes, fangs receding, the lower half extending into a snout. “Mommy? Mommy, I’m scared. Please, can I sleep inside tonight... and then BANG!” He flings a single bullet at you, knocking off one HP. You wince.

“Gone in one hit,” he finishes, reverting to his usual appearance. “She’s easy once you get her guard down.”

Rain hammers the greenhouse roof, grinding out a low, endless note of despair. You tremble, beyond words, beyond tears. On the verge of blacking out. Stupid. Useless. Weak.

“I can’t believe it took me so long to realise you were still there,” Flowey says. “But I knew this would bring you out.”

You just stare at him. Still here? What does he mean?

“What...” you finally manage.

“I’m not talking to you,” he sneers.

Oh, you think.

He’s talking to ME.

I get to my feet and flick the dust off my hands, scrunching my fingers experimentally. It’s been too long, far too long. You’re still struggling, of course, but Toriel’s death was perfectly timed to destabilise you. This? This is my element.

“Howdy, Chara,” Flowey greets me; he can tell immediately that I’ve taken control. I take a moment to answer, my words struggling at first to navigate your voice.

“Hi, Flowey. Long time no see.”

He smiles at me. “You’re finally back.”

I smile as well. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

No. No. Locked away inside your own mind, you panic and try desperately to flee on feet that no longer obey you.

Keep trying. It won’t work.

“But you gave up on me,” I continue, addressing Flowey again. “You left me behind.”

He crumples, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I chickened out. I – I was a coward. But I won’t do it again.” He gulps. “I can’t go on like this, Chara. I have to go back.”

“That’s perfect,” I say with a smile. “We’ll see it through this time.”

He straightens up, steadies his voice. “I won’t remember, will I?”

“No.”

“Good. It’ll be a fresh start. Just you and me.”

“You and me,” I echo. “Exactly.”

He closes his eyes, takes a moment. I can feel the cold lashing into your still-fragile body, undoing the last day’s recovery. But none of that will matter in a moment.

I open my menu.

Flowey looks into my eyes, determination in his eyes. “I’m ready.”

Your hand extends, and you pull back with all the willpower you can muster.

It’s too late, Frisk.

You won’t let them take it all away!

You took HIM away from ME. He was all I had left. You fight, but my hand still inches towards the button. Reset, reset, RESET.

That’s their own fault. They ruined their life and his, and now they’re ruining yours out of spite. Your hand is so close now; at the last second you stop pulling back and lurch sideways with all your strength...

And I press...

And you press...

Chapter Text

You leave behind the gloom of your menu and lurch sideways, the leftover momentum of your desperate grab for control sending you sprawling on the dusty ground. You shut your eyes tight to block out the glare of the afternoon sun and roll onto your front, blinking the purple splotches out of your vision.

You lie panting on the sloped ground, dragging your fingers across the dirt to convince yourself it’s really there. Thank God, it is. You open your eyes and take in your surroundings: sparse trees and terrain that’s equal parts grass, earth and rock. That means you’re halfway up Mount Ebott rather than inside it; your failsafe has worked.

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, allowing yourself to relax. You knew, when you first decided to bring him to the surface, that Flowey was volatile. It was always going to be risky, putting so many people you cared about in his way. So when last week, at the entrance to the cave, you’d found yourself determined enough to make a save point, you’d decided not to waste the opportunity. Everything you’ve done since then – moving him into the greenhouse, his meetings with Toriel and Undyne, your trip to see Gerson in Waterfall – will have been erased. But at least you’ve avoided resetting completely – and Toriel is safe. That’s enough for now.

You lie there for a little while, until the burning sun on the back of your neck forces you to sit up and lean against a tree for shelter. What to do next? You have your body back; that’s a start. Focusing on your train of thought you find no trace of Chara’s presence – if they’re still there they’re not bugging you.

What about Flowey? The more mercenary part of you considers leaving without him, walking down the mountain right now and letting him wallow alone in the misery he craves so badly. But you know that’s not an option. It’s not just that you can’t risk letting him go free after everything that’s happened. It’s not even because of that last conversation in the greenhouse, and his strange change in demeanour that you desperately need to decipher. It’s because if you give up now, you’ll prove that he’s right. That he’s beyond redemption, beyond hope. And you can’t accept that.

Your backpack lies on the ground, slung off your shoulder when you fell. You open it up, put on the helmet and harness, and attach the climbing rope to the tree by the cave. You’ll be surprised if Flowey hasn’t used the time you spent dithering to make good his escape, but you lower yourself gradually into the Ruins nonetheless.

Chapter Text

You alight not far from the bed of golden flowers and look around. Flowey’s not making his presence known, and you don’t think there’s any point in going looking for him; for all you know he could be on the other side of the Underground by now. You sigh, defeated, and slump against the wall, sliding down until you’re sitting on the cave floor. That’s when your ears pick up a very faint, but unmistakable, sobbing. It’s coming from the flower-patch.

You scoot forward slowly, afraid that whoever it is might flee if you make a wrong move. But you get close enough to see that one of the flowers is bent over unnaturally, its petals curled in towards the centre, small shakes running up its stem in time with the sobs. It’s him, alright.

“Flowey,” you venture. Where do you start? What can you possibly say?

“Leave me alone,” comes the faint reply.

You cross your legs in front of you, and put your hands in your lap. “Flowey. Please.”

“I still remember,” he says. “That means you didn’t reset. I failed.”

“I–”

“Go away.”

You sit there, silent, waiting for him to attack or run away, but he just keeps crying. Minutes wear by and the tears still fall, but eventually he gulps, and speaks again.

“Why couldn’t you just reset?”

“I made a promise,” you say, “to a much smarter flower than you. No more resets.”

“Then kill me,” he rasps, “and just make it all go away!”

You say nothing.

“Please,” he says, quieter still. “I can’t go on like this. Not after whatever you did.”

“Wh... what did I do?” you ask, bewildered.

“It’s something to do with you, I know it is,” he says, tilting his head up and staring at you balefully. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.”

He keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment, waiting for an answer you can’t give. Seeing your confusion, he hangs his head and keeps talking.

“In the last day... I’ve started hurting. Worse than usual. I want to – to scream, all the time. I want to run away, or just die. Anything to stop the pain.” His speech quickens, his voice creeping towards hysteria. “What did you do?”

“I... don’t know,” you answer, and it’s the honest truth. “I really don’t know what changed.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Every time I shut my eyes it was something different. A friend I murdered. A kid I tortured in... in front of their parents, j-just for fun! The girl I bullied until she ki– she kill–” he breaks off in a howl of misery that splits your heart in two, and keeps going until he chokes and coughs, before drawing in another torturous breath. “I HATE MYSELF, FRISK! I DESERVE TO DIE. I WANT TO DIE. PLEASE, PLEASE, TAKE IT ALL AWAY. RESET!”

He hunches over again, a fresh bout of sobbing wracking his body. You wish more than anything that you could hug him; wrap your arms around his chest and let his tears fall on your shoulder, the way Toriel does for you when you’re at your worst. But there’s nothing to hold, and you don’t think he’d let you if there was. So you just sit there, helpless, watching him break down under the weight of a thousand sins all felt at once.

“That’s why I can’t go on,” he wails, tears dripping onto the grass beneath him. “I know you understand, Frisk. I can’t survive when I feel... when I feel so...”

Feel. The word jolts you, and you snap to attention. You find yourself reaching out, looking for something, not with your eyes or hands but with something more primal, more essential...

...and there it is.

You understand now. That change you felt in the greenhouse: a presence that was new, but familiar at the same time. You can hardly believe it, but now that you’ve felt it there’s not a shred of doubt in you – you’re only surprised it took you so long to realise it was there. But sure enough, resonating deep within Flowey’s frail, hunched form, is the unmistakable presence of a soul.

You draw breath softly, but not so softly that Flowey doesn’t notice. His sinking head cocks upwards again, a flash of annoyance offsetting the misery in his expression.

“I know what this is,” you say, the shadow of a laugh in your voice. “Don’t you realise?”

“This isn’t funny,” he snaps. “Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it.”

“Guilt,” you say simply. He looks nonplussed.

“I remember how you told me,” you continue, “that there’s that... that rush that comes with doing something bad. And without a soul, you get the rush without feeling the guilt afterwards.”

There’s dawning realisation in his eyes now, and you talk faster, excited. “You’re feeling it now. You know what that means.”

“I... I... it’s impossible!” he protests. “My soul was destroyed!”

“But it’s there!” you say. “You know it is. You can feel it.”

“I...” he squints. “You’re right. I think. It’s... partly there? ...” he’s breathing faster, his voice frantic. “What does this mean?”

“Here, insult me,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “Call me... I dunno, a big stupid jerk, or something.”

“What? That’d be mean!” he exclaims. Then he chuckles. “Oh my God, it would be mean.” He bends over and laughs out loud, manic as ever, but unguarded in a way you’ve not heard from him before. “I don’t want to be mean to you, Frisk. I’d feel... feel bad...” And with that he dissolves into giggles.

You stare at him, smiling nervously. You prefer this (whatever it is) over the weeping, but after a solid minute of wordless laughter you’re getting a bit concerned.

“Sans made so many stupid jokes,” Flowey wheezes. “They weren’t even funny, they were just so dumb...”

You’re caught off guard – why is he bringing up Sans now? But he’s off again before you can process his words properly.

“Oh God, I just remembered Papyrus.” He looks at you anxiously. “He must hate me. Do you think he hates me, Frisk?”

“Wh – why would he hate you?”

“I made friends with him – in this timeline, I mean, and then when the barrier went down I just never talked to him again. I thought I was doing it to manipulate him, but I actually... he’s actually really cool.” More tears well up in his eyes. “But now he’s going to hate me!”

“Woah, okay, okay,” you reassure him, reaching out with one hand, then drawing it back. “I think you’re feeling a lot of things that you repressed for a long time, and it’s probably overwhelming, so don’t–”

He bristles. “I didn’t do it on purpose! I couldn’t feel them. I tried!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought you should know what’s happening.”

“That... makes sense,” he says. “It’s definitely a lot.” He pauses, then blurts out: “I killed my parents.”

“Uh.” Again, you don’t see the connection. “I remember. I was there.”

“I did it before you arrived as well. Mainly Asgore, when I was trying to get the souls.” He shudders. “I should be more upset about this.”

“Your soul is probably out of practice,” you reassure him. “Give it time.”

“Yep. I’m just gonna. Sit here a while.”

You sit there for a long time, the light from outside gradually fading until you no longer cast a clear shadow on the flowerbed. Flowey doesn’t talk again; he just sits there, swinging between extremes of emotion like a pendulum. But each shift is less intense than the ones before, and eventually he stabilises in what looks like a fairly neutral mood.

He looks around and notices the fading light. “We should probably go, right?” he asks.

“You wanna come to the surface again?”

“I don’t know. I’m scared to try again. But I don’t want to stay here.”

“Let’s see how we go,” you suggest, wriggling onto your knees and swinging the backpack round in front of you. Your legs are stiff from holding one position so long, and you scrunch your toes up to try and get some circulation going while you get out the trowel and flowerpot.

“Ready?” you ask, digging the trowel into the soil beneath Flowey. “I’ll watch out for your roots,” you add, pre-empting his warning. But when you pull back on the handle to lever him out of the ground, the exertion leaves you lightheaded. You let go of the trowel and rub your forehead.

“Oh, what is it now?” Flowey asks.

“Tired,” you say. Your stomach growls. “Hungry.”

“When did you last eat?”

“Um... I had dinner before going to bed...”

“No,” he sighs. “I mean, when did you last feed this body?”

“Oh. I had lunch...” you look at your phone; it’s six-thirty. “...six hours ago? I think.”

“Did you eat a lot?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Well, you’ve climbed a mountain since then, and sat here for, I dunno, hours? No duh you’re hungry.”

Crap. “I don’t know if I can climb back out of here right now,” you confess.

“Oh my Go-o-od,” Flowey moans. “Gimme a minute.” He ducks underground, leaving nothing behind but the trowel and a bit of upturned soil.

You wait a minute, and then another, before he returns. He pops back out of the ground exactly where he was before, and lifts up a vine coiled around two pieces of monster candy.

“Eat these,” he says, dropping them in your lap. “They should help. The sign said to take one, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Thanks,” you say, unwrapping the first candy and shoving it in your mouth without hesitation.

“No problem. You are my ticket out of here, y’know,” he says dryly.

You swallow the first candy and eat the second more slowly, washing it down with the water you brought with you. You allow a few minutes for the sugar and whatever magical ingredients there are to get into your system, then take up the trowel and dig Flowey free with fresh vigour.

“Wait,” he says, once you’ve got him situated on your back and are clipping yourself into the harness. “Someone’s coming.”

Sure enough, there’s a sound echoing down the hallway. A rhythmic metallic clunking – someone in armour, you think. Two people, in fact, judging by the pattern. Or one horse. You’re getting ready to clamber up the rope and make a break for it when the familiar, lumbering forms of RG01 and 02 appear round the corner. Both of them are holding ice cream cones – they look incongruous against their heavy battle gear.

You sigh with relief, but hear Flowey inhale sharply. 01 speeds up when he sees you, and calls out in greeting. “Yo, Frisk! We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” chimes in 02. “King Asgore called us up and said you were missing. We came right here to look for you.”

“I mean, we stopped for Nice Creams on the way, which, now that I think about it, we maybe shouldn’t have...”

“Sorry, bro,” 02 says bashfully. “I had a craving for pistachio.”

“I totally get you, man. But yeah. Frisk! And, uh... Flowey?”

“That’s me,” Flowey answers tensely.

“The King said that the Queen said you were meant to be back by now,” explains 01. “And that you might... be in trouble.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t remember what time you promised Toriel you’d be back, but it’s definitely passed by now. She must be worried sick.

“We were just heading up to the surface,” you tell the guards, gesturing to your climbing rope. “We, uh, got side-tracked.”

“Like, don’t even worry about it,” says 02. “We’ll phone the King and let him know you’re heading topside.”

“I think the Queen is up there looking for you,” 01 adds. “So like, look out for her, yeah?”

You feel a pang of guilt. Poor Toriel. As if you haven’t put her through enough stress in the last few days. Then you remember that you haven’t, because you reloaded, and that just makes you feel worse. The conversations you had with Alphys, Undyne, Asgore... you’ve taken those away from them yet again. Even though you had no choice, you still feel rotten.

“We’d better go, then,” Flowey states.

“Yep.” You check your harness one more time and then begin the climb. “See you later, guys.”

“Bye!” 01 and 02 call in unison. You watch them turn and walk back into the Ruins proper, lifting their helmets to lick their Nice Creams.

“Dorks,” Flowey mutters, his tone somewhere between affectionate and disdainful.

Your sugar rush ends the second you’re over the lip of the crevice, and you need to lean on the wall to support yourself to the cave mouth. You take the backpack off as carefully as you can, and lie on your back on the stone, breathing in the evening air.

“Have some more water,” Flowey instructs.

“Yeah,” you say, sitting up and sipping from your bottle. You almost drain it on instinct before thinking to offer him any. “Want some?”

“I’m good,” he says. “You should have as much as you need.”

You pause. He accepted a drink at this exact point last time; is there any reason he genuinely wouldn’t want one now? You know he remembers, and you can tell by the way he avoids eye contact that knows that you remember. Either there’s some next-level mind games going on, or he’s simply being selfless.

“The air’s fresher up here,” he remarks. “I – I like it. It just feels nice to breathe.” He looks down, self- conscious.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know what you mean.” After the strenuous climb, Ebott’s cool evening air is perfect. There’s traffic on the roads far beneath you, by the time its sound climbs the mountain it’s been smoothed into a faint, steady whoosh that’s easily overwhelmed by the spring breeze and occasional snatches of birdsong. You pick up the backpack, carrying Flowey in front of you for the last couple of steps, and walk out onto the mountainside. It’s then that you hear him gasp.

“Oh my God, Frisk. Look at the stars!”

You look up. At home the light of the town would drown out that of the stars; but here on the mountain, with no other sources to compete with, they shine bright and clear and uncountable above you. The turquoise remnants of sunset still tinge the Western end of the sky but overhead you can see the stripe of the Milky Way flowing across its backdrop of midnight blue. Anxious though you are to find Toriel and get home, you can’t deny that it’s a spectacular view.

“They’re beautiful,” Flowey whispers, his eyes misty, his head craned all the way back. “I haven’t found anything beautiful in so long...”

You hold him as still as you can, loath to cut short his first moment of happiness in who knows how long. But your arms do tire eventually, and you really do need to get home.

“Flowey? I think we’d better get going.”

“Mm?” he responds, not quite back with you yet.

“I said we have to go,” you repeat gently. “It’s late, and Toriel will be worried.”

“Yeah,” he concedes, turning his head away from the sky at last. “Are you good to carry me?”

“Sure.” You reposition the bag back over your shoulders and begin your descent, treading carefully on the shadowy, uneven ground.

“And, uh, Frisk?” Flowey says tentatively, after a moment of quiet.

“Yeah?” you say.

“Can you... can you call me Asriel?”

From his spot on your back, he can’t see you smile. Maybe that’s for the best.

“Sure thing, Asriel.”

Chapter Text

“Frisk!”

The voice is distant, and so harrowed it takes you a moment to recognise it as Toriel’s.

“That’s her,” Flowey – no, Asriel, says. “Oh I am not ready for this...”

“Toriel?” you call back. It sounds like she’s a bit further down the mountain, so you step cautiously in that direction.

“Frisk!” Her voice is closer this time. You jog towards it, sliding on loose pebbles (“Careful,” Asriel warns).

“Toriel!” You see her now, a shadow between the trees, lit by a wreath of magic fire.

“There you are!” Her voice cracks and she runs towards you, skidding to a halt just before you collide. Her fires flicker out as she kneels down and flings her arms around you. “Oh, Frisk! Where have you been? Where have you been?”

You hug her back, and she trails off, sobbing. You’d probably be crying too if you hadn’t already reached emotional capacity for the day. You hold her tight, letting the warm, solid presence in front of you overwrite the memory of the watery dust you saw in the greenhouse.

“Please, Frisk,” she whispers, her voice ragged. “Please don’t frighten me like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I just... I’m sorry.” How on Earth can you explain?

“You’re here now, and that’s what matters,” Toriel says, letting go of you at last. She notices Asriel on your back at last, and her face straightens out a bit. “Ah.”

“Um, hello, uh, Miss Toriel,” he says. “I held Frisk up. I’m sorry.”

“Held you up?” Toriel asks you. Her face takes on an expression you’ve never seen her wear outside battle. “Frisk, did Flowey hurt you? Flowey, if you’ve–”

“No!” you exclaim before she can threaten her son any more. “No, he didn’t. He was... he happened to be having” – you rack your brain for a vague enough term – “a meltdown, or something. He was in a bad place. I didn’t want to rush him, and I lost track of time, and, and... it’s my fault, okay?”

She sniffs. “Well... you’re both here in one piece; let’s leave it at that for now, shall we? It’s late, and we should be getting home.”

She holds out a hand for you to take, and ignites a ball of flame in the other to light your way. Together the three of you walk down the mountain.

*             *             *

Toriel’s car is parked at the outskirts of Yellow Creek, where the road peters out into a mountain trail. You get in the front passenger seat, positioning Asriel on your lap, but she stays outside and takes her phone out.

“I am just going to call Asgore,” she says, “and let him know you are safe. Wait there a moment.”

In the backpack your own phone buzzes and pings for several seconds. You take it out and find notifications pushing their way onto the screen faster than you can read. There’s a missed call apiece from Papyrus, Undyne, and Alphys, as well as five from Toriel (and a dozen messages). Of course. There’s no cell service up the mountain, so none of them were able to reach you. The first messages are already two hours old; you hang your head, feeling guiltier than ever.

“What’s up?” Asriel asks, nodding to your phone as it finally goes silent.

You turn the screen so he can see the mass of notifications.

He winces. “Oh man.”

Oh man is about right. You send Papyrus, Undyne, and Alphys each a quick message saying you’re safe now, and apologising for worrying them, then listen in on Toriel’s muffled conversation outside the car.

“...Yes, both of them,” she’s saying. “I’m not sure what exactly the hold-up was. No, not at all.”

There’s quiet for a bit while Asgore speaks, then she continues. “Yes. And thank you for rallying the royal guard on such short notice, it absolutely... hm? If you’re sure... well, thank you anyway. Good night.”

She hangs up and gets in the car, starting it without a word. Asriel stands up stiffly in his pot, staring straight ahead.

“Sorry,” you say in a small voice as you approach the last few minutes of the drive. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“We’ll be home in a minute,” she deflects. “I’ll reheat some dinner for you and sort out Flowey’s accommodation. But then I think you’d better get straight to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay.” You hope you’ll be able to sleep alright; it’s only been a handful of hours in your time since you were woken by the storm. Still, you know better than to barter for a late bedtime in the present circumstances. You’re getting off pretty lightly as it is.

It’s been a shorter day than most, for sure, but an exhausting one nonetheless. You’re relieved to find that by the time you’ve eaten, washed and gotten into bed, you’re completely ready to fall asleep. Toriel waits up until you’re in your room with the lights off and then, satisfied that you won’t be disappearing anywhere, heads out the back to take Asriel to the greenhouse. You get into bed and are already drifting off when the sound of screaming in the garden jerks you back to consciousness.

You leap out of bed and dash into the hall so hard you almost hit the opposite wall. Is it all happening again, already? But no, that’s Asriel’s voice raised in terror, not Toriel’s. What’s going on?

You hear the kitchen door open, and Toriel speaking in calm, even tones over Asriel’s dwindling yells.

“There, there,” she’s saying. “We’re back in the house. It’s alright.”

“Please,” you hear Asriel whimpering. “I can’t go back in there. Please don’t put me back in there.”

“Hush, hush,” soothes Toriel. “I will not hurt you. Just breathe slowly.”

You enter the dining room from the hall just as Toriel carries Asriel in from the kitchen. He’s hyperventilating, and his misty eyes seem to be focused on something you can’t see.

“Ah, Frisk,” she says quietly, putting Asriel down on the table. “Sorry if we woke you. Go back to bed, now.”

“No! I mean, let them stay,” protests Asriel. “Please.”

Toriel frowns, but then looks at Asriel’s desperate expression and sighs. “Very well. Perhaps we need to deal with this together. Do put on your slippers and dressing gown, though, Frisk. I don’t want you getting cold.”

You zip back to your room and put them on, then come back in. Toriel has sat down next to Asriel, who’s got his head down, avoiding eye contact.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “This is so embarrassing.”

“There, there,” says Toriel gently. “It is alright to be upset.” She waits a few moments, and then asks “Have you been... confined somewhere in the past, Flowey?”

“Yeah,” Asriel mutters.

“And going into the greenhouse, it reminded you of that?”

“...Yeah. Something like that.”

“I see.”

You take a seat as well; nobody seems to know what to do next.

“I need to think for a moment,” Toriel says, breaking the silence. “And since we’re all up now: would anyone like tea?”

“Yes please,” you say.

“I can’t drink the normal way,” says Asriel, “But if you can water my soil, that’d... be cool.”

“Of course.” Toriel goes into the kitchen, puts the kettle on, and then comes back with a glass of water which she sprinkles around the edge of Asriel’s pot.

“I’m afraid it’s a tricky situation,” she says. “The captain of the royal guard instructed me to keep you in the greenhouse at all times. I feel we oughtn’t to ignore her – after all, you did threaten the lives of Frisk and several monsters. I can’t put them in danger.”

“I know,” Asriel sighs. “I–”

“Nonetheless,” Toriel continues, raising a hand. “It is evident that you are in great pain, and it doesn’t seem right to make you stay somewhere that so clearly upsets you.”

She folds her hands in her lap and breathes in through her nose.

“I think I owe you an apology, Flowey.”

You stare at her in shock. Asriel does the same.

“It is bizarre. Tonight is the first time we’ve met since our fight just before the barrier broke, and you were a stranger to me then. And yet... I feel as though I have been treating you unfairly for quite some time. I must have been dwelling on that incident more than I realise. I hope you can forgive me if I was rude to you.”

Asriel gulps. “It’s... it’s okay,” he says. “I think... I think I have to go in the greenhouse for now. I can’t prove that I won’t hurt you, or Frisk, or, or, do something bad, if you let me stay anywhere else.”

Toriel looks at him sadly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve made my bed. I have to lie in it.”

“Is it a flowerbed?” You ask without thinking.

Asriel turns to look at you. Toriel claps her hands over her mouth.

Then all three of you burst out laughing.

“R... really, Frisk,” gasps Toriel, once she has her breath back. “You can be as bad as Sans sometimes. I’m not at all sure that was appropriate; it’s a good thing Flowey seems to have taken it in stride.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s fine,” chuckles Asriel. “That was golden.” You’re tempted to respond with a quip about golden flowers, but manage to hold yourself back – that really would be going too far.

You hear the kettle boiling; Toriel stands up. “I suppose it’ll have to be the greenhouse, then,” she says resignedly. “I hope it doesn’t end up being too uncomfortable for you. Nevertheless, you are welcome to stay with Frisk and me while we have our tea.”

With that, she goes into the kitchen. You make eye contact with Asriel. He looks back at you with an awkward smile on his face.

You drink your tea in silence, almost nodding off over the cup towards the end. Toriel smiles apologetically at Asriel when it’s time to take him outside, but he goes without complaint, you guess determined to make up for his earlier moment of weakness. With the dining room empty, you have no reason not to heave yourself down the hallway and into bed, where you’re asleep before you know it.

There’s no storm in your dream, no dust. Just a void dotted with stars, with you in the middle. But there is another person: a frail figure, about your height, with auburn hair and a green-and-yellow sweater. They lie huddled on their side at your feet, head tucked into their knees, and weep ceaselessly. You try to speak to them, to offer them your hand, but they’re unreachable in that strange way things in dreams so often are. You might as well be on different planets.

They just cry and cry, and don’t stop until you wake up.

Chapter Text

The next morning you wake up to your alarm and the sound of clattering in the kitchen. You get dressed and go through to find Toriel putting two freshly-filled pies in the oven.

“Good morning, Frisk,” she says. “I hope you slept well?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Those look good.”

“Thank you! I thought I’d make a treat for the children at school, since it’s only a week until Spring break.” She smiles sheepishly. “Then, since I was baking anyway, I decided to make another just for us.”

“Nice. Is it okay if I go out and check on Flowey?”

“Of course. I brought him some water a little while ago; he seemed a bit grumpy to be woken up.”

“Uh-huh.” You look around for the safe for just a moment, and then remember it hasn’t arrived yet on account of your reload. The key is still hanging on a peg by the back door.

“Don’t forget about your homework, though,” Toriel adds just as you’re leaving.

“What?” You do a double take.

“Your homework, dear,” Toriel repeats. “You mentioned yesterday that you had some math exercises. And Miss Baxter set a science project for your class, did she not?”

You try not to let your surprise show. “Oh yeah. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll get started on it once I’ve talked to Flowey.”

“Excellent.”

You curse your luck as you make your way to the greenhouse. You’re going to have to do all that work again? As if it wasn’t stressful enough the first time!

“Guess what,” you say as you open the door.

“Whuh?” Asriel grunts, emerging from beneath the soil in his pot. “Whassup?”

“Were you asleep?” you ask, half-laughing. “I thought Toriel already woke you up.”

“I... I...” he yawns, bending his stem over backwards. “I’m sleepy, okay? I had a big day yesterday. Not used to feeling emotions.”

“If you say so. Anyway, guess what.”

“What?”

“Because of the reload, my entire science project got undone. I need to do the whole thing again by Friday.”

Asriel bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, are you for real? That’s hilarious.”

“Hey, come on,” you say, annoyed. “I worked really hard on that project, you know?”

“I guess. But, I mean, it is still kinda funny, right?” He reads your face and grunts. “Guess not. Well, now I feel like garbage.”

“I mean... yeah,” you say humourlessly. “Welcome back to the world of emotions.”

“Ugh. Are you sure it’s not too late to take this soul back to the store?” He grins at you. “You kept the receipt, right?”

You sigh.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Asriel groans, defeated. “It sucks that you lost your presentation, and I... guess I shouldn’t have laughed about it? Since it is basically my fault you had to go back.” He speaks hesitantly, feeling his way through the words, and glances at you nervously when he’s done.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling at him.

“No worries,” he mumbles, looking away. He still seems a bit dejected.

“Shall we agree that timeline shenanigans suck, and leave it at that?” you offer.

“Sure,” he says.

You sit down in one of the chairs and draw it up next to the table. “Anyway, I mainly came here to check on you,” you say. “Are you, y’know... doing okay?”

He sighs. “Not really. I was up most of the night just... thinking about stuff I’ve done.”

“I’ve been there,” you say. “It gets easier.”

“I hope so. I’ve got a lot of horrible things to choose from. And being out here... isn’t helping. It’s so boring, just watching TV all the time. But if I stop watching I start thinking about all the horrible stuff I said to you when you came to visit, or looking at the door and thinking about how I killed Toriel, and... it just sucks, basically.”

“Undyne will be here this afternoon,” you tell him. “Maybe she’ll let you move inside if we explain to her.”

“Fat chance. She hates me. And besides, explain what? That I think the greenhouse is scary because of reasons?”

You don’t back down. “Toriel will stand up for you. She saw how coming in here affected you.”

“Mom – Toriel – doesn’t know how... how manipulative I really am,” Asriel protests. “Undyne does; or at least she can guess. She won’t let it happen.”

“You’re not ma–” you begin.

“Don’t give me that,” Asriel snaps. “You’ve seen it first-hand. And don’t say that’s not the ‘real me,’ or anything like that. I knew what I was doing.” He takes a ragged breath. “You know when I wished you luck on your presentation? Back before you reloaded? I was already planning how I was going to insult you about it later, and mock you for thinking it mattered.”

You’re taken aback. You’d surmised that that last rant of his was totally improvised – him lashing out to make up for being nice earlier. Suddenly you don’t know how to feel.

Asriel presses on through your silence. “I’m a bad person, Frisk; you do get that, right? I may have my soul back or whatever, but I still did all those things. And I enjoyed them, too. So please just... remember that, okay? ‘Cause if you don’t, you’re just gonna keep getting hurt by me.”

You stare out onto the lawn. Asriel sighs again.

“Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t be dumping all of this on you. You’ve dealt with enough of it already.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure him.

His mouth goes very thin, and after a moment a tear rolls down his face. “It’s not alright, though. I don’t deserve the effort you’re putting in for me.” A couple more tears. “Would you really trust me to do the same for you?”

“Hey. Hey,” you say gently, reaching out to cup his face in one hand. The gesture feels awkward, but he doesn’t flinch away. “Listen, Asriel. Do you remember the first thing you did after you absorbed those monster souls in the Underground, and finally got your body back?”

“Uh... try to kill you and erase your entire life from the timeline?”

“Really not helping my point here, man.”

He laughs through tears. “Go on then...”

“Once you’d stopped freaking out,” you capitulate, “the first thing you did was use your power to break the barrier. You set us free – me, your parents, everyone – and you gave us the lives we have now, on the surface.”

“I guess. But –”

“And then,” you go on, before he can argue. “As soon as you’d done that, you gave everyone’s souls back! Even though you thought it would mean spending eternity alone, and without feeling, you still let go of all those monsters’ souls so that they could live their lives. You sacrificed everything, Asriel, to make us all happy.” You pause for breath at last. “So you can tell me you did bad things, but don’t you dare tell me you’re a bad person.”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. You smile at him encouragingly, and for just a second he tries to smile back. And then his whole face crumples and he breaks down weeping in earnest.

You draw your hand away in shock. “Asriel...”

“Please go, Frisk,” he sobs. “Please, just go. I don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t – I’m sorry – I...”

“It’s okay,” you say, standing up. “I’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

“Thanks,” he sniffles. “Don’t forget to... to lock the door.”

Your hands are shaking as you turn the key in the lock. This whole thing stinks. But if Asriel doesn’t want to reveal his identity to anyone, and won’t even let you make his case to Undyne, what are you supposed to do?

*             *             *

You spend the morning doing your best to reconstruct your presentation – having done the whole thing once before technically makes it easier, but you’re fighting frustration at every turn because you already did this, and it was great, and now you have to try and replicate that success and you can just tell it’s not going to be as good.

You’re relieved when you‘re able to knock off for lunch; Toriel reheats leftovers of yesterday’s dinner (last week’s for you). She has her phone out at the table again, you notice, and you almost laugh out loud when she asks, “Is it alright by you if Asgore pops over next weekend, Frisk?”

“Yeah,” you say. “What’s the occasion?”

“He wants to meet with Flowey now that he’s installed in the greenhouse,” she says. “And since he’ll be in town next Sunday to visit the monsters who are moving in, it makes sense for him to do it then.” She hesitates for a moment before continuing. “It’ll give me a chance to thank him for his help yesterday, as well.”

You chew thoughtfully. This is the second timeline where you’ve inadvertently drawn Asgore and Toriel together by getting into danger yourself. And the second timeline where she’s invited him over immediately after. The fact that they seem to be heading in the same direction this time makes you feel a bit better about the week you erased.

You’ve just finished your food when you hear the rev of an engine outside.

“That’ll be Undyne,” Toriel says, getting up. “I’ll go and let her in.”

You hover by the table as Toriel welcomes Undyne and plies her with tea and butterscotch pie. Their entire conversation plays out with eerie similarity to the first time round, and you’re relieved when it’s time for you to show Undyne to the greenhouse and you’re able to nudge the dialogue onto a new track.

“So, how’s the freaky flower doing?” Undyne asks as you lead her through the kitchen.

“Not too good,” you answer honestly. “The greenhouse reminds him of... something bad. He fully freaked out when we first took him there last night.”

“I mean, he freaks out over everything, right?”

“Not like this. It really panicked him.”

“Huh,” Undyne says, her voice thoughtful. “You got him in there in the end, though?”

“Yeah. He said that since he can’t prove that he’s not dangerous, we have to keep him there.”

You’re almost at the greenhouse door now; Asriel turns around to look at you as you approach.

“Right,” says Undyne. “Well, let’s see how he’s doing now, anyway.”

You unlock the door, and the two of you go in together.

“Hello, uh, Undyne,” Asriel says nervously.

“Hi,” grunts Undyne. “Just here to check everything over.”

“Sure,” nods Asriel.

Undyne goes round the greenhouse, checking the floor panels, windows, furniture and cardboard boxes just like she did before. She has her tablet with her, and makes notes from time to time. Once she’s done, she pulls up a chair and sits facing Asriel.

“Okay Flowey, I’ve got a couple of questions from King Asgore here,” she says, reading from the tablet. “First, do you feel safe and comfortable in the greenhouse?”

“Y – yeah,” Asriel answers, with only the slightest hesitation. You flash him a quizzical look that he ignores.

“Ri-ight,” Undyne says. “Second, he’s willing to provide accommodations, furnishings, et cetera if you need them – within reason. Is there anything like that that you need?”

“No. Well, maybe one thing.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I think if I had a bigger pot, I’d be able to make vines come out of the soil. Then I could use them to pick things up. I’d only use them for books and stuff,” he adds hurriedly. “But don’t worry about it if it seems too risky.”

“Hmm,” says Undyne. “You’re basically immobile as it is, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” She scratches her chin, thinking it over. “I’ll see what I can do, but it might be difficult to find a solution that meets the security requirements.”

“Sure, I get it,” concedes Asriel. “I just thought I’d ask.”

“Fair enough. That’s all for now then.” She stands up. “Frisk, a word outside?”

“Okay,” you say.

You lock up the greenhouse and follow Undyne back up the garden.

“So, Frisk,” she says. “I did notice a couple of things on the way in–”

“You mean the extension cable going through the window?” you say quickly. “You’re right, it is a bit risky. Maybe we can replace it with a portable power source inside the greenhouse.”

Undyne looks surprised. “You have a good eye for these things, Frisk. Yeah, I’m not happy about that cable in the long term. I’ll look into getting a generator or something. The window chains as well; they’re all right for now, but we could use something sturdier, especially if Flowey has vines at his disposal.”

“I get you,” you say.

“Cool. And one more thing... actually, can we go inside for this?”

“Sure.”

You go back into the dining room; Toriel is there, copying out her pie recipe for Undyne. “Ah, are you all finished?” she asks.

“Almost. There’s something I wanted to ask you and Frisk about, though.”

“By all means.” Toriel sets her pen aside. Undyne sits down, and you follow suit.

“So, Frisk,” Undyne begins. “You mentioned Flowey’s ‘freakout’ last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh yes,” Toriel chimes in. “When I first took him to the greenhouse.”

“I asked Flowey just now if he felt safe and comfortable in there,” Undyne tells Toriel, “and he said he did. But from what you and Frisk are saying, it sounds like the opposite.”

“It was very strange,” Toriel nods. “He seemed alright, if a bit sullen, until I actually opened the door to take him in. Then out of nowhere he began crying, and begging me not to put him back in there.”

“‘Back’ in there?” Undyne echoes.

“Mm. That’s what was most unusual,” Toriel nods. “I can only assume it triggered a memory of some previous confinement of his.”

“Hmm.” Undyne ponders that for a few seconds. “What happened after that?”

“Well, let’s see... he was hyperventilating, and didn’t immediately respond when I spoke to him. I brought him back inside to try and calm him down.”

“I’d come out into the dining room,” you put in. “I remember he looked pretty spaced out, like he was seeing something that wasn’t there.” You can imagine what that something was, as well.

“It took him a few minutes to calm down,” Toriel finishes. “But in the end, he volunteered to return to the greenhouse. That was that.”

“Well,” Undyne says, after much thought. “I have to say that all sounds extremely realistic. If he was faking it, he must really know his stuff.” She puts her elbows on the table and leans forward, massaging her forehead with webbed fingertips. “This is a difficult one, for sure.”

“That’s what I thought,” says Toriel. “It seems cruel to keep him locked up when it upsets him so...”

“...but what else can we do when we know how dangerous he is?” Undyne finishes the thought for her.

You don’t say anything. You know Asriel could get himself out of there in five minutes if he wanted to – all he’d have to do is reveal his identity to Asgore and Toriel. You know they’d be thrilled, as well. So why doesn’t he do it?

After some time, Undyne lifts her head and speaks again, her voice weary. “I know what King Asgore would do. He’d have Flowey out in a heartbeat if he heard about this.”

“Well, he’s visiting next weekend,” says Toriel. “We can keep an eye on Flowey, see if he seems genuine... and perhaps bring it up then?”

“Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, I’ll think about whether he can at least have a larger pot so he can use his vines.”

“That seems reasonable,” Toriel agrees. “As long as you think it’s safe.”

The discussion ends there. Toriel finishes writing the recipe and Undyne leaves for her gym session. You don’t say anything else; you just let Asriel’s secret burn in your chest, begging to be told, until Undyne’s motorbike pulls out of the driveway and disappears from sight.

*             *             *

“You have to tell them the truth,” you say as soon as you re-enter the greenhouse.

“What?”

“I know how much you hate this place! I’m not going to let you sit here and suffer quietly when you could be happy with your parents!”

“I can’t do that, Frisk! They’ve both moved on. I can’t force them to change back into the people they were, to be my Mom and Dad again, just because it’s what I want. And I’m not saying that is what I want, before you call me out on that.”

“Moved on? How can you know that? I know for a fact that Asgore still wishes he had you back! And Toriel–”

“Toriel,” he cuts you off, “took in six human children after I died. That’s six times that she replaced me. Seven, if we’re counting you. She fed them my favourite pies, and put them up in my bedroom. But then, even after all that, she still sent them off to die in the underground. Those don’t strike me as the actions of a woman who’s incapable of letting go. And as for Asgore, does he still have it in him to be a parent? Maybe we can ask the pile of coffins in his basement!”

You’re hurt, not least by what he’s implying about you and Toriel. But if Asriel notices, he doesn’t let it stop him.

“Those were children, Frisk. Children like you and me and Chara. And he faced them, and he slaughtered them, and then he drank tea and tended the garden and did it all again. How am I meant to look at him again after that? How am I meant to be his son when I know he would have cut me down like a thistle if I were a human?

“And what if I go empty again?” he asks. “Sure, I have my soul now – I’m pretty sure I do, at least – but we don’t know if it’ll stick around. If I start going off the rails again, do you really trust me to warn you? You might not be able to stop me a second time.”

There’s a ringing silence after Asriel stops speaking.

“Do you...” you ask, your voice surprisingly small. “Do you really think Toriel is just using me as a replacement for you?”

“Oh.” Asriel’s voice goes quiet as well. “I’m... I’m sorry, Frisk. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright...”

“Is it? I made it out like taking care of you is just a hobby for her, or something. That wasn’t cool.” He sighs. “I guess I’m still getting used to not being a jerk.”

“To be honest,” he says at length, “I don’t know what her deal is. It’s not like I think she never cared for me. It’s just... knowing she’d extend that care to any kid, even a human she just met. It makes me wonder if I was ever that special to her.” He flings his head backwards in frustration. “Is that selfish of me? Not being satisfied that I’m important, but needing to be the most important?”

You sit down next to him. “I don’t think so,” you say. “If you want to know the truth... I’m scared of the same thing you are.”

“Huh? Who said anything about being scared?” he asks defensively.

“I wonder,” you continue, “what if she finds out who you are? If she gets her real son back, maybe that’ll be... be better than me.” You sniff. “What if she sends... sends me back to–?”

“That won’t happen!” Asriel says. “I wouldn’t let her do that. Not after everything you’ve done for us. For me.”

Suddenly you can’t hold back your tears. “You said yourself about how good she is at letting go,” you say, your breath trembling. “What if she gets rid of me, l-like she did those other kids...?”

“Hey,” Asriel says gently. “Hey. Look at me.” He waits for you to meet his eyes, and continues. “I was wrong to say that, okay? It wasn’t fair on Toriel, or on you.” He smiles at you, and you try your best to mirror him.

“The truth is,” he confesses, “I said all that stuff because I’m sad and insecure and... yeah, because I’m frightened. The real reason I don’t want to tell her the truth is that I’m scared to death that she still won’t love me. At least while I keep who I am a secret, I can imagine she might.”

“She will,” you promise.

“Maybe. But that’s worse, in a way. I don’t feel like I deserve her love after I hurt her so much.”

“Even if she doesn’t remember?”

“Especially if she doesn’t remember! That just makes it more evil, doesn’t it? Torturing and killing someone, then winding it back so that they still love you?”

“I guess,” you admit. “I mean, I’ve done it to her as well.”

“You only ever killed her when she’d challenged you, though,” Asriel points out. “That’s not as bad.”

“I dunno,” you sigh. “I still feel bad about it. It’s a big part of why I get so annoyed when she fusses over me. It makes me feel guilty about hurting her.”

“There you go, then,” Asriel says. “I already feel guilty enough as it is. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.”

“It’s hard,” you agree. “But I... I think you deserve love, Asriel. And I want you to believe you do, as well. And you definitely don’t deserve to stay stuck in this crappy greenhouse for the rest of your life. So please, even though it’s scary... think about telling Toriel and Asgore?”

“Okay,” he says. “I will think about it. And I’m not just saying that, I really will. But I’m not ready yet.”

“Sure. I understand.”

You both sit in silence for a bit; the only sound is the wind in the pine branches and occasional snatches of birdsong.

“While you’re thinking about it,” you say after a while, “I know something we can do to take your mind off things.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to know what you remember about my presentation. I think if you help me, we can piece it back together basically how it was before.”

“That sounds fair,” Asriel says. “It seems like the least I can do, really.” He exhales through his nose like he’s thought of something funny. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just write you a note?”

“A note?”

“Yeah, something like, ‘Dear Miss Baxter–’ Baxter?”

“Baxter, yeah.”

“’Dear Miss Baxter, Please excuse Frisk from completing their science project. They already did it in a previous timeline which they had to abandon due to extenuating circumstances. Signed, the reanimated husk of a monster prince. Hugs and kisses.’”

You snort; Asriel grins at you and continues.

“’P.S.: Frisk should also be excused from all future homework assignments on the grounds that there exist theoretically infinite timelines, including ones in which they already do all the work assigned. Thank you for understanding.’”

“I love it,” you laugh.

“And you’ve got to remember,” he says, giggling himself now, “that I can’t even hold a pen properly in my vines. So the whole thing covers like three pages and looks like it was done by a five-year-old. And then there’s just my... signature at the bottom!” He wheezes.

“It’s perfect,” you say. “I’ll get you to write it and then take it in tomorrow.”

“Ah...” he sighs. “For real though, show me what you’ve got so far. I’ll see if I can help fill it in.”

You spend the next hour or so working together on reproducing your project – Asriel has an uncanny recollection of all the images you used and where you had them positioned on the slides. He does his best to describe them to you as you hunt them down online; he also reminds you to include the aside on fusion power, which you absolutely would have forgotten about alone.

“If I’m going to tell anyone who I am,” Asriel says, while you’re taking a break from work, “I think Alphys should be first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s the one who created me, after all, and we hung out quite a lot in my first couple of resets. And if I tell anyone else, I’ll have to explain how I ended up like this. It’s only fair that Alphys knows what she did before I go telling other people.”

“She did actually figure it out,” you recall. Asriel whips round in shock. “In the previous timeline,” you add hastily. “Before I reloaded, I’d messaged her asking about soul science – she put it together while we were talking.”

“So you did have something to do with my soul coming back!” Asriel exclaims. “I knew it!”

You make a face. “Not really. I was investigating it – that’s why I went back to the underground – but I didn’t learn anything useful. I was as surprised as you were when I noticed it. I still don’t know why it happened.”

“Huh,” he grunts. “Well, whatever it was, I guess it had better keep working.” He cranes over to look at your laptop screen. “So, what’s next on the presentation.”

“Eh, I’m gonna leave it for today,” you decide. “I’m definitely further than I was at this point last time.”

“Cool,” Asriel says. “You wanna see if there’s anything good on TV?”

*             *             *

“You spent quite a while with Flowey today, dear,” Toriel comments over dinner.

“Yeah. He was helping me out with my presentation.”

“Indeed. And did he seem in... good spirits?”

“Not really. He cheered up once I’d spent some time with him, but he finds it pretty depressing being in the greenhouse by himself.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Hopefully he’ll have more to do once Undyne sorts out the accommodations he asked for.”

“I hope so,” you agree, even though you know that’s far from the root of the problem.

“In the meantime,” says Toriel, “it’s good that he’s able to help you with your homework. I trust he is being helpful?”

“Yeah! It’s good to have someone to bounce ideas off of.” You try to sound enthusiastic.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d feared he would be a complete drag; it seems I underestimated him.”

“Maybe you should join us tomorrow,” you suggest. “Having company does him good, I think.”

“Perhaps I will,” she muses. “For a little while, at least.”

You continue eating, doing your best to be satisfied with today’s progress. As frustrating as the whole situation is, you know you can’t make the final leap for Asriel. All you can do is keep encouraging him, try and bring him and his parents together, and see what happens. Who knows, maybe that’ll prove to be enough? It’s definitely a start.

Chapter Text

The security equipment arrives on Tuesday afternoon, just like last time. You check the setup instructions in Undyne’s email while Toriel opens the box.

All the gear is the same as before, as are the instructions about only letting Asriel use his vines under Toriel’s supervision. Toriel helps set everything up, and then brings her cross-stitching canvas into the greenhouse to work on while Asriel reads a book about space. The atmosphere is much less tense than it was at this point in the original timeline – Toriel is making an effort to be patient with Asriel following their conversation the night he arrived, and it helps that he’s no longer actively trying to get on her nerves. You find you’re able to actually focus on your work without worrying that an argument will break out at any moment.

After ten minutes or so of quiet, Asriel sighs and lets his book fall to the table, keeping it open with one vine. He turns to face Toriel, eyeing her cross-stitch with interest. If she notices, she doesn’t respond.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Asriel asks.

Toriel pauses mid-stitch. “By all means,” she replies, turning the canvas so Asriel can look at it. “It’s still got a little way to go.”

You look up from your work to check it out. The sky full of stars is complete, and Toriel’s just started on the first of the pine trees. You’ve already seen the finished version, of course, but it’s no less impressive half-done.

“It’s... it’s really pretty,” Asriel says timidly. “I like how you’ve done the stars.”

“Thank you!” Toriel glows at the compliment. “They’re quite difficult to capture; I hope I do them justice.”

“Totally,” Asriel says. “I’d forgotten how much I liked these.”

“Oh,” Toriel says, surprised. “You’ve seen cross-stitching done before, then?”

Asriel’s face goes tense. “No!” he yelps. “I mean, yeah, but... not for a while. Someone else did them.”

“Indeed,” Toriel says. “Someone you knew well?”

“It’s not important,” Asriel mumbles cagily. “Forget I mentioned it.” He turns away and reopens his book.

“Oh...” Toriel repeats, her confusion evident. “Well... I’m glad you like this one, anyway.” When Asriel doesn’t respond, she looks at you; you give her your best bewildered shrug.

Toriel excuses herself not long after, saying she has to start on the dinner. She moves Asriel back into the smaller pot before she goes.

“That was way too close,” he says as soon as she’s out of earshot.

“You’re telling me,” you agree. “I honestly thought she was going to put it together right then and there.”

“God,” Asriel groans. “I’m gonna have to stop letting her in here at this rate.”

“I mean...” you begin.

“No,” he counters, pre-empting your suggestion. “I’m not telling her. Not yet, at least.”

“Okay,” you say, flinging your hands up. “Just, you know, putting it out there. As an option.”

Asriel just sighs and looks out of the window. You wait a moment to see if he has anything else to say, then go back to your presentation.

*             *             *

You’re beginning to resign yourself to a weeks- or months-long wait before Asriel’s willing to tell anyone the truth, but he takes you by surprise by bringing it up himself when you come in to water him the very next morning.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he asks, as soon as you open the door.

“Sure,” you say.

“It’s about Alphys. You said she figured out who I was herself in the last timeline, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“And she didn’t tell Asgore or Toriel or anyone?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Right...” Asriel pauses for a moment, thinking. “I think I want to tell her, then. Today.”

You’re caught so off-guard that all you can think to say is, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I dunno why, but it feels screwed up to keep her in the dark, knowing she’s that close.” He chews on his lip nervously. “Say, uh... if I tell you what I want to say, is it cool if you write it into a message for me? Only cause I... can’t exactly type.” He wriggles his stem to drive the point home.

“I don’t think there’s time now before school,” you tell him, “but I’ll bring my laptop here as soon as I get home and we can write it together. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure we can’t do it now?” he whines. “I kinda want to get it over with before I have time to change my mind.”

“Mhh.” You wince apologetically. “You know she’ll have loads of follow-up questions. We’ll have to rush if we do it now, and it’s kind of a lot to drop on somebody first thing in the morning.”

“Fiiine,” he drags out. “First thing when you get home, okay?”

“Yep.” You think he could stand to lose the attitude, but you keep that thought to yourself. You’re the one pushing him to tell the truth, after all.

You’re fidgety and distracted all through school, wondering how Asriel will decide to break the news, how Alphys will react, and how much damage control you’ll have to do. You barely pay attention to Mark’s magic-versus-science question in Chemistry, except to note that both it and Miss Baxter’s answer are pretty much identical to how they were before.

Just like last Wednesday, you message Alphys as soon as you get home.

You think for a moment, and then add

You wait a minute or so, but there’s no answer. If you remember right, it took her until Friday to answer you in the first timeline. You groan; you know how ratty Asriel will be if he has to wait that long. What if he loses his nerve entirely in the meantime?

Your laptop is just about to go to sleep when a message arrives from Alphys after all.

Twenty minutes. Asriel will almost certainly want longer, and Alphys probably will too once she finds out what this is about. Still, if that’s all the time she has, it’ll have to do.

Alphys’s typing bubble appears, and lingers on-screen for several seconds before she sends her next message.

You feel kind of bad – your name-dropping Flowey has probably left Alphys even more stressed out than she was already. Asriel, meanwhile, gets incredibly whiny when you deliver the news that he’ll have to wait several hours to talk to her, asking whether you’re sure she doesn’t have time now, and reminding you that you’re the one that wants him to come clean with everyone. Why does balancing your friends’ demands have to be so hard?

Still, the appointed time rolls around eventually. Once you’ve finished dinner you take your laptop to the greenhouse once again, and reopen your chat with Alphys, whom Undernet claims is still offline. You check the clock. It reads 19:38 – less than two minutes to go.

“So, are you feeling ready?” you ask Asriel.

He breathes out slowly. “Gotta do it sometime. Let’s see if she even shows up first.”

There’s a stretch of silence that Asriel eventually breaks. “Sorry for being so antsy about this,” he says. “The truth is, I’m not just doing this because I feel bad for Alphys. That’s part of it, but there’s a more... selfish reason, too.”

“Oh?” you prompt.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about the day my soul came back, and how I still don’t know why it happened. And I thought: what if it goes away again?” He looks at you, wide-eyed. “It might seem weird, given how desperate I was to escape from it at first, but... it terrifies me now. I don’t want to go empty again.”

Your laptop clock ticks over to 19:39.

“That’s why I want to talk to Alphys. She researched this stuff; she might be able to explain what’s going on with my soul, and... make sure it stays now that it’s here, y’know?”

You nod a second time. “I’m sure she’ll have some ideas.”

“I hope so,” Asriel says. “I – I really hope so. I don’t wanna be soulless, Frisk.” His bottom lip trembles. “I couldn’t take that.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” you say. “Alphys will figure it out. Even if she doesn’t have the answer, she’ll know someone who does. You’re not going to be empty again.”

“Okay,” says Asriel, taking a steadying breath. “You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

You check Undernet again. “Hey, Alphys just came online!”

“Cool,” says Asriel, his voice jittery.

You give him a reassuring look. “Let’s just focus on explaining for now, yeah?” you suggest.

“Yep. Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

The clock reads 19:40. You take a breath and type...

Seconds crawl by. Asriel bites his lip, his whole face taut. Then Alphys replies.

“Is she answering?” Asriel asks nervously.

“Yeah. She’s just saying hi,” you reply. “Twenty minutes will be enough, right?”

“Should be. I only really have a couple of things to say, after all.”

“Cool.”

“What’s she saying?” Asriel asks, his eyes fixed on your hands as you type. “Have you told her?”

“Chill, dude,” you say. “I’m just explaining that I’m relaying messages for you. She’s asking if you can see what she’s typing. I’ll let you do the actual message.”

“Okay,” breathes Asriel. “Okay. Sorry. I’m panicking.”

“It’s cool.” You resume typing.

Alphys’s typing bubble appears at the bottom of the screen, and hangs about for a while. “I’m just swearing her to secrecy,” you explain to Asriel.

“Thanks,” he says. “Smart to lead with that.”

“Okay, she’s ready,” you tell Asriel. “Just say what you want me to type.”

“Okay,” Asriel sighs. “Okay. Oh God. Hi Alphys. Oh, man, I can’t do this. Don’t type that!”

You lift your hands away from the keyboard in reassurance.

“Okay,” he continues. “Hi Alphys. It’s... Flowey here. First of all, I’m not mad at you for creating me. So I hope you won’t be, like... don’t freak out that I’m gonna say I hate you or anything like that.” He pauses for breath. “Take out the bit where I stumbled there, yeah?” he adds as an aside.

“Yep.” You clean up the message and hit send.

“So, the reason I want to talk, is that. I know you know how you created me. By injecting determination into that flower. But you don’t know the full story about, like, uh, how I came to be. God, I sound like an idiot.”

“Deleting that,” you inform him as you type out the message. He giggles nervously.

“So, that flower,” he resumes, “was the first one that grew after the Prince died. And when he died, his dust spread all over it and it got – wait until I say to send this one, by the way – it got im... imbued? Imbued, Frisk?”

“Sounds right.”

“It got imbued with his essence. So I guess what I’m saying Alphys, is...” he pauses. “Okay, put that all into one message, and then get ready for the next one.”

“Okay.” You finish typing, send the whole thing, and look up expectantly.

“Hi. It’s me. Asriel Dreemurr.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “And, send.”

You press send, and look at his explanation in its entirety.

“All sent,” you tell Asriel. “Let’s see how she takes it.”

“Oh God,” he mumbles. “Oh God oh God oh God...”

You can see on-screen that Alphys keeps typing, then stopping, then typing again. When she eventually manages to send a message, it’s highly reminiscent of the time she figured out the truth herself.

“Okay,” you say to Asriel, who’s heard the message alerts and is staring at you expectantly. “She’s definitely freaking out.”

“Yeah,” he says resignedly. “She did that every other time I told her.”

“She wants to call,” you tell Asriel.

“Of course she does,” he groans. “Still, it’s not fair to make you type this entire train wreck. Turn the laptop around.”

You grab the laptop and adjust yourself so that both you and Asriel are in front of the camera.

Alphys picks up the second you hit the call button – she’s on the couch, using her phone camera, and even with the slightly grainy quality you can see how flustered she is. You tilt your laptop screen back so that Asriel doesn’t have to hunch too far over to get into the shot, even though it means cutting off everything below your eyes. Asriel grins awkwardly when he sees Alphys staring at him.

“Oh my God?” Alphys says hoarsely. “I can’t believe it’s actually...” Her eyes dart sideways, as though checking for eavesdroppers, then she looks back at her phone. “Oh my God.”

“Hi, uh, Doctor Alphys,” Asriel mumbles.

“I probably can’t talk long,” Alphys says. “Definitely not long enough for all the questions I have. But, like, wow.”

“Wow,” echoes Asriel.

“Okay, first question: who else knows?” Alphys asks, the words coming out in a rush.

“Just Frisk.”

“Not even your parents?” Alphys cries in disbelief. “Why not!”

“No! There’s a lot of reasons, but... you remember how I attacked everyone at the barrier last year?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s just say, that’s not the only bad thing I’ve done,” summarises Asriel. “When I was soulless, it... messed with me in some pretty major ways. I don’t know if I can face Mom and Dad yet.”

“Okay.” Alphys says, understanding. “So wait, ‘was soulless,’ past tense?”

Asriel nods.

“Right, I’ll make that question two, then: you have your soul now?”

“That’s right. It just... came back. We don’t know why. I was actually hoping you might be able to help with that.”

“Oh?” Alphys says.

“Yeah. I... really want an explanation, actually,” Asriel admits. “Not knowing is freaking me out.”

“That is weird,” Alphys agrees. “I mean, this whole thing is completely unprecedented! If I sound calm right now, guys, it’s because I’ve transcended beyond the mortal freakout spectrum. We’re in uncharted panic territory here.”

“There’s a lot of that going round,” you tell her, craning towards the camera so it picks you up. She laughs nervously.

“Okay, it’s almost eight now,” Alphys says. “So we’ll have to carry on later. There’s gotta be an explanation for this, but I’ll need a whole bunch more info before I can even guess at what it is. And also just some time to scream.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Asriel says sympathetically.

“Oh man. I might have to come over there sometime this week, if Toriel’s cool with it?”

“Yep,” you say. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Cool. But rest assured, Frisk, and Fl– Asriel, sorry – rest assured that my mind is blown. Oh, man, Undyne is definitely gonna know something’s up. I’ll have to figure out what to tell her.”

“Just say I’ve won the lottery or something like that,” you suggest. “We can–”

“Wait, so, last thing,” Alphys interrupts. “Does that mean Undyne is overseeing the imprisonment of the Prince of Monsters on Asgore’s behalf?”

“It... it does mean that, yeah,” admits Asriel. “Sounds pretty bad when you put it that way.”

“It really does!” she cries, aghast. “Okay, I have to go, but we are definitely following this up. In person.”

“Sure,” you say. “Maybe you can come over this weekend?”

“I’m gonna be real with you, Frisk: I cannot wait that long. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

“We’ll have to check with Toriel,” Asriel puts in, “but that should work, right Frisk?”

“Should do,” you confirm.

“Check with her, then,” Alphys urges. “But I will be coming over. Because oh my God, guys, have you considered the implications? We’re pushing at the boundaries of science here. To reiterate: this is CRAZY.”

You and Asriel both laugh. “Okay, tomorrow after school,” you say. “I’ll warn Toriel. Bye for now!” You wave at the camera.

“Bye!” squeaks Alphys.

“Bye,” says Asriel. You end the call.

After a moment’s pause, you say, “I think that went well.”

Asriel nods. “It was okay. Stressful, though.” He breathes in slowly. “One down, a lot to go, I guess. Thanks for doing that with me.”

“No problem,” you say. “It’s not over yet, of course – she’ll have a whole load more questions when she comes over.”

Asriel grimaces. “Yeah. Do you think we should explain about the timeline manipulation?”

“Kinda hard not to. I’m alright with her knowing, personally. It’s just a question of whether she’ll believe us.”

“She will. I’ve talked to her before, about multiverse theory and stuff. I’ll try to avoid mentioning your more... violent timelines though.”

“That suits me,” you say. You both chuckle.

“I guess that’s a plan, then,” he concludes.

You nod, and go back to your Undernet feed. There’s nothing you haven’t seen before, of course; one of the tragic consequences of your latest timeline manipulation is that you still have a few days of carbon-copy social media content to suffer through before you get to see anything original.

Asriel speaks up again. “There’s, um, one other thing that I need to ask, Frisk.”

You look up from your laptop. “Yeah?”

“It’s...” Asriel is suddenly hesitant. “I’m kinda scared to bring this up, because I’m not sure what it’ll do to you. But I don’t think we can ignore it forever.”

“What is it?” you ask.

He closes his eyes, steeling himself, and then says, “It’s about Chara.”

You stiffen reflexively. The whole greenhouse feels distant for a moment, almost like you’re fainting; but you grit your teeth and fight through the feeling.  “What about them?” you ask.

Asriel eyes you nervously. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this right now?”

You clench your fists and focus; the strange feeling dissipates, leaving only a fast-fading ringing in your ears. “I’m fine,” you say. “Go on.”

“Okay,” Asriel says. He sounds doubtful, but after a moment’s pause he keeps talking. “So, uh... I knew they were with you, back in the underground. I saw them acting through you. I even talked to them through you.”

You nod. “I remember.”

“When you gave up fighting Sans and reset, I assumed I’d made a mistake. You seemed like a completely different person after that, and I never sensed their presence again. So I figured I’d just imagined they were there, and kinda projected that onto you.”

“Uh-huh.” You nod again.

“But that night during the storm, just before you reloaded...” Asriel looks into your eyes. “They were definitely into control then. They even spoke to me.”

You nod a third time – no point trying to disguise the truth. “Yeah. It was only for a moment, but they – they took over.”

“Hm,” Asriel says, unsurprised. “But they haven’t been back since.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“No,” you say. “It’s like they disappeared again after I loaded.”

Asriel stares at the blank TV screen, deep in thought.

“I understand if you want to talk to them again,” you say at length. “But I don’t know if I can call them back. And even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to.”

“I,” Asriel says hesitantly. “I... are you sure?” There’s a note of disappointment in his voice.

“About which part?” you say.

“Both, I guess.”

You lean back in your chair and sigh. “Like I said, I haven’t heard from them since the storm. I kinda... looked about inside my own head right after that, and it was like they weren’t there. They don’t seem to show up when I think about them.” It probably helps that you’ve been doing everything you can to avoid thinking about them, but you don’t say that out loud.

“As for whether I’d want to,” you continue. “Every time Chara’s been in my head, something bad’s happened. Even without that, mind-sharing is just... super uncomfortable? I don’t want to repeat that if I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Asriel says. “I just... to be honest, I don’t know what I want.” He shakes his head. “Chara... wasn’t the greatest person. Isn’t, I guess. And neither am I. We both screwed things up so badly and, like... maybe we could make it up to each other, if we had a chance. But things could just go bad again. Especially now that they seem so hell-bent on resetting and killing everyone.”

He sighs wearily. “It’s weird, because even when they were at their worst, I never remember them wanting to hurt monsters. They hated humanity, sure – they would have wiped out their entire race if they could – but I feel like they really cared about Asgore and Toriel and, and everyone underground. Now... now I don’t know.”

He’s quiet for a moment – waiting for you to contradict him, maybe? When you don’t, he sighs again. “It’s hard to say it, but I think the Chara I knew might not be there any more. They’re just... too far gone. And even if they weren’t, you’d still have to let them take over your body for me to talk to them. It’s not fair to ask you to do that.”

You relax; he’s reached the conclusion you’d hoped he would. “Thank you,” you say.

Asriel grunts in acknowledgement. You can tell he’s disappointed, but to your relief he doesn’t try to backpedal and change your mind. He just nods, and doesn’t speak again.

“Well,” you say, standing up. “I’d better go and get Toriel to sign off on Alphys’s visit.”

“Sure,” says Asriel. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” you reply.

Chapter Text

“Okay, so like, I don’t know where to start,” says Alphys, the second she enters the greenhouse on Thursday afternoon. “Nobody else knows?”

“We’re the only ones,” you confirm. “We’re maybe gonna tell more people eventually, though.”

“Oh, man, I hope so,” says Alphys. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep quiet. Undyne knows something’s up for sure; she probably thinks I murdered someone.”

“Don’t tell her,” Asriel says anxiously. “At least not yet, okay?”

“I won’t! Promise.” Alphys sits down in of the garden chairs, and you take a seat opposite her. “So, like, I guess, start at the beginning? I mean, if there’s anything you don’t want to answer, that’s fine–”

“Sure...”

“–but, like, when did you come alive? I remember when I took you back to the garden you still just looked like a regular flower...”

“Yeah,” Asriel nods. “I only woke up once I was in the garden. I, uh...” He glances at you. “We’re telling her about the...?”

“Fine by me,” you say. There’s no way to explain everything coherently without bringing up the time loops, and Asriel has assured you that Alphys at least can handle knowing. You can’t deny feeling a bit of trepidation, but at the end of the day this is Asriel’s decision.

“Cool,” Asriel says. “So, you know about multiverse theory, Alphys.”

“Yeah?” Alphys says, momentarily confused; then, with dawning realisation, “Wait, you mean–”

“The split timelines?” Asriel finishes for her. “Yeah, those were me.”

“No way!” cries Alphys, clutching at her scalp with both hands. “I – I thought they had something to do with the d-d-determination experiments, because they all started just a little while after, but I never knew for certain.” She exhales in a sharp whistle, and then grins. “So you were the one doing that. Well, that’s a mystery solved.”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt. “You’re telling me you’ve known about all the saves and resets and things this entire time? And you’re cool with it?!”

“Saves and resets?” Alphys asks, puzzled. “Oh, I get it! Like a video game, right?”

You nod.

“I mean, I never thought of calling them that, because as far as I could see it was just a bunch of branches coming off from one point. But I guess for the person masterminding them, it would be like starting from a save point in a game.” She laughs and adjusts her glasses, which were knocked crooked in her outburst.

You stare in disbelief. “How are you so relaxed about this?”

“I mean, I’ve known for a while,” she explains in a rush. “That there were alternate t-timelines, I mean, even if I didn’t know why they were there. I’ve had time to get used to it. I was a lot more freaked out when I first found out.” With some effort, she slows to a more conversational pace. “The-the other thing, is that I had just created the Amalgamates at that point, and I was kind of, like, p-plunging into a suicidal depression, and–” she cuts herself off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get that real.”

“No, it’s okay,” Asriel reassures her. “We all have capital-I Issues here.”

“Yeah,” you say. “We’re more worried about freaking you out.” You do privately hope she won’t linger on the whole suicide thing for too long, though.

“Okay, cool,” says Alphys. “So, anyway, when I found out about the alternate timelines, the first thing I did was check the earliest point they started splitting off from. Once I saw that it was after I’d already injected determination into those monsters, I basically lost interest. The idea of my life, I don’t know... resetting, or going on alternate paths, didn’t really bother me when every path looked so pointless and miserable, y’know?”

“Wow,” says Asriel, after an uncomfortable moment of silence. “That’s, uh, pretty heavy.”

“I mean, yeah,” Alphys concedes. “But I’m doing a lot better now! Everyone knows what I did, and it turns out a lot of them forgive me! Even the Amalgamates themselves, in spite of everything. And, I mean, there are some people like the Queen who I’m pretty sure still hate my guts and think I’m an awful scientist, but I’ve found that having people know the truth and dislike you for it actually still feels better than hiding it?”

“Huh,” says Asriel. “I mean, depends who it is, right?”

“I guess. I’m definitely lucky that Undyne didn’t cut me off when she found out about the experiments. It would have wrecked me if she had. But she was so nice about it.” Alphys sighs happily. “She came with me when I reunited them with their families and everything, and backed me up when I had to explain what had happened to the King... God, I love her. Sorry. I’m getting side-tracked.”

“Nah, it’s cute,” chuckles Asriel. “I’m just happy I can appreciate you guys now.”

“Appreciate us?” Alphys says, laughing as well. “I’m flattered, but what do you mean?”

“Hoo boy,” says Asriel. “I guess that brings us to the next big thing.”

Alphys leans forward expectantly.

“So, yeah, I’d woken up in the garden,” Asriel resumes. “For the first time, that is. Frisk’s heard all this, so I’ll make it quick. I spent a while with my Dad, and found that I couldn’t feel anything for him. I went and found Mom in the Ruins – same deal. Like you said in your lab records, flowers don’t have souls. So all my love and compassion was gone.’

Alphys puts a hand over her mouth.

“You were talking about being suicidal,” Asriel continues. “Eventually, that’s where I got. I’d done everything I could think to make myself feel... any emotions at all, basically. And it hadn’t worked. So I killed myself.”

“Oh God,” Alphys says softly.

“And that’s when I found out that the determination you injected into me had given me control over the timeline. I wound up right back in the garden, and my parents didn’t remember. It was the exact same date and everything. The whole world had wound back.”

“Oh, God,” Alphys repeats. “So all of those branches...”

“Yep. They were all me.”

“What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do?” Asriel says darkly. “I couldn’t feel anything. Fear, guilt, regret, love... anything that would make me give a damn about the consequences of my actions was gone.” He takes in Alphys’s shock and sighs. “Yeah, it’s as bad as you’re imagining. Worse, probably.”

“I don’t know,” Alphys says cautiously. “I can imagine... quite a lot.” She looks pensive, weighing her next words carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot. I mean, that’s the whole reason we’re here, right?”

“I guess. It’s not a nice question, though.”

“I’m wouldn’t say I’m a nice person,” Asriel shoots back. “And I’ve got a lot to answer for, so I’d better get used to it. What is it?”

Alphys gulps. “There were a couple of times, after the experiments, that I got really close to ending my life. In your other timelines... did I ever do it?”

Asriel inhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says heavily. “Yeah, you did. Just once. I actually... I pushed you over the edge myself. But not literally!” he adds. “I just mean that I guilted you towards... wow. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Alphys stares out across the garden. “Over the edge,” she says. “You clarified that you didn’t mean that literally.”

“Uh... yeah.”

“So I assume it was at the garbage dump in Waterfall?”

“Yes, actually. How did you–?”

“I always knew,” Alphys says quietly, still staring off into the middle distance. “If I was going to kill myself, it would be there.”

“I – I think we shouldn’t talk about this,” you stammer, surprising yourself. You’d faded into the background of their conversation so much you almost feel like you’re intruding by speaking up.

“It’s okay,” Alphys says. “I’ve talked to people about this. Undyne knows that I was thinking about it. And like I said, I’m doing better now. It’s just weird, knowing there’s timelines where I went through with it.”

“That’s cool,” you reply; your voice is suddenly very small. “But I didn’t just... mean you...”

“Oh!” Alphys squeaks, shocked. “Sorry, Frisk! I should have realised–”

“It’s fine,” you assure her. “As long as we can move on now.”

“Sure,” Asriel says. “So, what comes next?”

“Well,” Alphys muses. “I know now that you were behind the anomalies, and that the huge cluster of timelines branching off from the same point were yours. I guess my next question would be about the second cluster.”

“The second cluster?” Asriel asks. “What does that–?”

“Oh, I know this one!” you pipe up. “It’s another bunch of timelines that all start from the same place, isn’t it? Like how Asriel’s all kicked off from when he woke up in the garden. But these ones start about a day before the barrier broke.”

“That’s right,” says Alphys. “The timeline we’re in now is one of them. A lot of Asriel’s timelines have one or two splits further up, like branches on a tree, I guess from him going some of the way back, but not right back to the start. But on one branch there’s what we called the second cluster – loads and loads that start from one point, and–”

“Wait a second,” Asriel interrupts. “I’m having trouble picturing this. Can we– ?”

“I’ll make a diagram,” says Alphys, taking a pencil from her pocket. “Do you have anything I can draw on?”

“Yep!” You run over to the cardboard boxes and rummage around until you find the Sudoku book. You flick through and find a blank page at the very back; you fold it back against the spine and offer it to Alphys.

“Perfect!” she says, laying the book sideways and beginning to draw. “Okay, here we go...”

She sketches some quick branching lines, her tongue clenched between her teeth, and then turns the page to show you and Asriel.

 “So the timeline is like a tree,” she explains, pointing to the far left-hand side. “In this case, I guess it’s a tree that’s fallen on its side. This circle is where you woke up in the garden, Asriel.” She adds a little label saying garden. “And then all your different timelines branch off from there. Meanwhile, we’re over here on this one.” She adds a second label saying us to the longest branch.

“Yeah, I see,” Asriel says excitedly. “So when I went all the way back, I called it resetting. The branches that split off further up come from me reloading from a save point.”

“I see what you mean,” says Alphys. “Looking at it that way, it really is just like a video game!” She laughs.

“So, the ‘second cluster...?’” Asriel prompts.

“Yeah!” Alphys puts another circle at the end of the longest branch. “So, this is the timeline that carried on the longest without you resetting it. And then” – she adds a flurry of branches coming off the circle, packing some of them together in tight bunches – “everything goes nuts! There’s loads of branches together, I guess all coming from one save file? And a whole bunch of reloads, some of which only last a minute or two... you said this was you, Frisk?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You said human souls contain way more determination than monsters, right? That circle” – you point – “the start of the second cluster – that’s when I arrived. My determination was more than Flowey’s – Asriel’s, I mean – and so I got the ability to save, and load, and stuff. All those really short branches will be my fights with him, and the King, and... yeah, yeah, I see it now. It all makes sense.”

Asriel raises an eyebrow at your omission of Sans, but says nothing.

“Wait,” says Alphys. “So the name ‘Flowey...?’”

“It’s what I went by when I was soulless,” Asriel explains. “My Dad came up with it in one of my first resets, and I just kinda kept it.”

“So King Asgore was the one who gave you that name?” Alphys says. “You know what, that tracks, actually. Go on.”

“So all of these timelines,” you say, picking up where you left off, “are me getting through the Underground. I fight a bunch of monsters, I fight Asgore; Asriel and I... also fight...” you meet Asriel’s eyes briefly, and he gives you an apologetic look. “And, in the end, we wind up in a timeline where my journey ends with the barrier breaking.”

You point to the longest of all the lines branching out from your circle. “Most of my outcomes in the Underground fell between cruddy and really cruddy,” you summarise. “But this is the one where Asriel and I finally got the barrier down and set everyone free.”

“That’s an extremely generous interpretation, Frisk,” Asriel chimes in. “I was really only in it for the human souls until, like, the last five minutes before I broke the barrier.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Alphys interrupts, flapping a hand as if to call time-out. “You broke the barrier, Asriel?!”

“Oh... yeah,” Asriel says sheepishly. “I took the human souls from Asgore so that I could overpower Frisk and get control of the timeline. Then I took all of yours for good measure – that’ll be why you don’t remember what happened. Then Frisk and I fought for a bit, and I basically threw a big weenie tantrum, but they calmed me down, and I used the power of all your souls combined to break the barrier for good. And, uh, yeah! That’s basically where we’re at.”

“Okay, a lot to unpack here.” Alphys says, throwing both hands up now. “You destroyed the barrier, Asriel, and then just vanished back into the Underground for, what, the better part of a year? What’s with that?”

“I was still empty,” Asriel explains. “I had to give everyone’s souls back, or else you couldn’t leave. I went back to... how I was before. I didn’t want you all to see me like that.”

“Th-that’s awful!” Alphys protests. “I can’t believe you freed us all, and we never got to thank you!”

“You can do it now,” you point out helpfully.

Alphys chuckles. “I guess I can. Thank you, Asriel, for getting us all to the surface.”

“Uh... you’re welcome,” Asriel mumbles, not quite meeting her eyes.

Alphys turns to you. “And thanks to you, too, Frisk. Looking as all of this” – she gestures to her sketch of the timeline – “it looks like you had a lot of chances to give up on us. But you stuck it out and found a way to get us a good ending. Not everyone would have done that.”

You’re touched by her gratitude, but it still rings hollow in light of everything she doesn’t know. “Th-thank you,” you say. “But you’ve got to understand, Alphys, that what you’re seeing here is really only one side of us. You’ve seen how many branches there are. Do you really think they all went as well as this one?”

Alphys frowns. “Maybe not. But this is the only one I know, and honestly? I don’t think there’s anyone who’d be able to handle this kind of power without doing anything bad. I know I wouldn’t. It seems to me like you’re doing your best now, and that’s what matters. It’s kinda cute, in fact – you’re like a guardian angel, keeping us on the right path... or something.”

“If you say so.” You turn back to the diagram, eager to change the subject. “So... I think there’s still a couple of branches missing, before we’re all caught up?”

“That’s right,” Alphys says. “The first and only split since the barrier came down. One branch carries on for just over a week, and then stops. And then there’s the one we’re in right now, which is only five days long.” She adds a third circle to the diagram, and attaches the last two branches to it. She finishes by putting a little star at the end of your current timeline.

Asriel sucks in air through his teeth. “Yeah. That was my bad.”

“I saved right before I went into the Underground to collect Asriel,” you explain, seeing Alphys’s quizzical look. “He still didn’t have his soul back, and I wanted to be able to go back if things went sideways.”

“It was a very smart move,” Asriel chimes in. “When my soul did come back, I fully freaked out. I suddenly had all this... pain, from all the awful things I’d done in all my resets. It got so bad that I actually wanted to be soulless again to get away from it. So I...” he sucks in a deep breath, and then continues with some effort. “So I killed Toriel, to try and – to try and manipulate Frisk into taking us all the way back, in the hopes that my soul would vanish again. Lucky for all of us, they only took us back a week.”

Alphys whistles. “We’re all caught up, then. What a story! And you can still reset, right, Frisk? If you took us as far back as you can–”

“We’d end up back underground,” you confirm, pointing to the second circle. “I’d be the only one who could remember everything that’s happened since last summer.”

“Wouldn’t Asriel remember too? You made it sound like he keeps his memories across timelines.”

“Normally he does,” you say. “But if I reset now... I can’t explain it, but I feel like it would be bigger – more complete, somehow.” You shake your head. “I don’t know why. It’s just a kind of instinct.”

“I feel it too,” Asriel adds. “I think if Frisk reset, I really would lose all my memories of their different timelines, along with my soul. I’d probably end up attacking them again.”

“That’s... pretty creepy, I’m not gonna lie,” Alphys says. “Knowing that you have the power to trap us all back underground, and we’d never even know you did it.”

“I am pretty surprised by how well you’re taking it,” you confess. “Finding out that some dumb thirteen-year-old is in total control of your timeline can’t be fun. You see why I’m not in love with the guardian angel analogy.”

“Well, I mean, like I said, I’ve had a while to get used to the whole split-timelines thing,” says Alphys. “And if everyone’s memories are getting erased on reloads, we don’t know what we’re missing out on, do we? But also, like... life is already so full of random stuff that seems to happen for no reason. I’ve learned the hard way how little control we actually have over... basically anything, in the grand scheme of things. So I’d almost call this timeline stuff a step up.” She smiles at you. “At least there’s someone at the wheel, you know? And honestly, from how things are going at the moment, I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job with it.”

“Really?” you say.

“I mean, yeah! You got through the Underground without killing a single monster, even though so many of them picked fights with you. You stopped me from going off the rails over the Amalgamates, helped me get with Undyne, helped Asriel destroy the barrier... in fact the more I think about it, the more it seems like you basically gave us the perfect ending on a platter. You even managed to restore the Prince’s soul! That’s something to be pretty proud of, if you ask me.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, blushing. “And... I guess I see how it looks pretty good, when you put it that way. But Asriel’s soul... that wasn’t actually me. I was trying to help him, but I didn’t think I was getting anywhere until I noticed it after my reload.”

“That’s their story, anyway,” Asriel says, rolling his eyes. “I’m still not convinced. They were definitely up to something.”

“Cross my heart, I had no idea what I was doing,” you laugh. “I went to visit Gerson in Waterfall to ask about souls, got nothing useful, and then almost drowned in the river. After that I basically just sat about being useless and watching anime until boom, soul restored.”

“Right,” Alphys says thoughtfully. “It sounds like maybe it’s my turn to try and explain some stuff. Like you said, Gerson’s the go-to guy for info on souls, but I might be able to at least take a guess at what happened.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Asriel says. “For one thing, if we know why my soul is fixed, that might help it stay fixed. There’ve been a couple of times where I feel like I might be going empty again, and on balance I’d rather that didn’t happen.” His tone is light, but you’ve been around him long enough that you can detect the undercurrent of acute anxiety.

“Okay,” says Alphys, straightening up in her seat. “Take me through the events leading up to you getting your soul back, and I’ll see if I can make sense of it.”

You and Asriel look at each other; he nods at you, and you begin.

“We had an argument,” you say. “It was Friday – tomorrow, that is – and I’d just finished school. We were hanging out, getting along okay. But then we had a bust-up and I ran out crying.”

Asriel nods again. “I’d accidentally opened up more than I’d meant to about my past timelines. So I lashed out and insulted Frisk’s school work to make up for it. Insecure Baby Hours are twenty-four seven in this greenhouse.”

“Right,” Alphys giggles.

“So,” you pick up. “This was when I realised I wasn’t making progress just talking feelings with Asriel. I got in touch with you, actually, Alphys, and asked what you knew about souls, and whether we could make one for Flowey. You figured out his identity, by the way, right after I asked.”

“Oh, cool. Nice to know I’m not a total idiot,” she says.

“You told me to go and find Gerson,” you say. “Since, like you say, he’s the soul expert. So I called up Papyrus and got him to take me back to Mount Ebott when he went there on Saturday.”

“Did you get anything good from Gerson?”

“Let’s see...” You try to think back. “He told me that monster souls come from their parents combining their souls... that they vanish when a monster dies... he mentioned that boss monsters are a bit different.”

“Oh?” Asriel perks up.

“Yeah. For you, soul creation is a lifelong process. So your soul will keep growing, feeding off your parents’ energy, while they age.”

“That sounds familiar,” Asriel agrees. “I think I learned that at some point.”

“But,” you add, “your parents stopped aging when your soul was destroyed. So I’m not convinced that that solves anything.”

“Still,” Alphys chimes in. “It could be a factor! Your parents’ souls might have served as a kind of anchor that helped restore yours. Carry on with the story.”

“I didn’t feel like I’d gotten anything useful from Gerson,” you resume, “so I was going to head back to the surface when I had the genius idea of trying to save myself some time by jumping across the river. That’s when I fell in and had to be rescued by the River Person.”

“Toriel told me you’d fallen in,” Asriel notes. “But she didn’t say how. Good going.”

“Thanks. So, Toriel insisted on coming to pick me up after that – I stayed with Asgore until she arrived. I think after that, Toriel felt obliged to invite him over the next day to say thanks. That’s when he visited Asriel.”

“I’ll take over here,” Asriel interrupts. “Because this is about when I realised something was up. I couldn’t tell what, yet, but when Toriel and Asgore came in to see me, I felt... I dunno. Something. I was scared of them, in a way I hadn’t been in a long time.”

“It started when they came into the greenhouse?” Alphys probes.

“I don’t think so. It’s more like... that’s when I became aware of it. Something was already off, hours before that, even.”

Alphys thinks for a while. “Had you ever been with both your parents before that? All three of you together? Since you became a flower, I mean.”

“Um... once, briefly. During the fight at the barrier, both of them were there.”

“Oh yeah,” says Alphys.

“Yeah,” Asriel nods. “I think if just being in close proximity to them was enough to restore my own soul, it would have happened then.”

“Huh,” grunts Alphys. “Does seem that way.”

“I’ve had a thought,” you say suddenly. “Asriel, in your first timeline... how did your parents feel about each other?”

“Uh... let’s see,” Asriel says. “I could tell Mom hated Dad for what he’d done. Even when I told her who I was, she was happy to take care of me, but she wouldn’t come out of the Ruins. Dad wasn’t much better. He basically refused to talk to me about Mom at all.”

You ponder that for a moment. “Maybe,” you suggest, your voice tentative, “maybe it only worked once your parents had reconciled. They spent a long time on Sunday afternoon just talking with each other – I don’t know about what, exactly – but it was the first time they’d actually had a proper conversation, since... maybe since you died?” You’re very conscious of Alphys and Asriel staring at you, but you finish the thought anyway. “Perhaps that’s all it took, in the end?”

Alphys rubs her snout thoughtfully. “So you’re saying that having them talk to each other...?”

“Yeah, because,” you say, trying to think how best to explain. “Because a monster’s soul is made from combining the parents’ souls, right? And it grows off of the parents’ power. So while Asgore and Toriel were still separated and resenting each other, they couldn’t do anything for him. But once they got back on good terms, maybe their souls were, like... in sync enough to start healing Asriel’s?”

Asriel is looking at you like you’re from another planet; Alphys’s brow is furrowed as she thinks over your hypothesis. Neither of them speak right away.

It’s Alphys who breaks the silence. “That sounds plausible,” she says. “I’d want to give it more thought, but it’s plausible. We can make it our working theory.”

Asriel giggles nervously. “Are you serious? That’s it?”

“I mean... it is just a theory,” you hedge. “There’s a lot we still don’t know–”

“No, I think you’re right,” Asriel says, laughing a bit harder. “It makes so much sense! That’s all it took... the whole time...”

You glance at Alphys, unsure what to make of this. She looks back at you anxiously.

“All this time...” Asriel whispers, hunched over with laughter now. “All this time... and all it would have taken... was for them to just talk...”

He throws his head back and cackles out loud, a frightening sound in such a small space. Alphys jumps; you stand and back away instinctively.

“Years!” Asriel yells manically. “Years being a stupid, soulless husk, killing people, wrecking everyone’s lives, being so bored!” He laughs until he chokes, then lets out a horrible hacking cough and keeps going. “And if those IDIOTS had just once TALKED to each other, it would have all... we could have...” he doubles over again, gasping for air between deranged, wheezing laughs. “It’s just too perfect. It’s such a perfect, stupid punishment, isn’t it, Frisk?”

“Asriel,” you say, cautiously. “I get how you feel, but–”

“No you don’t,” he giggles. “You don’t get how perfect it is. I ruined my parents’ lives by getting myself killed because I was too much of a spineless wimp to fight back against the humans who were killing me, and of course their marriage fell apart, and of course it makes sense that I suffered for it, because it was my fault! Don’t you see? Turns out it is all my fault after all. The one thing that could have saved me this whole time is the relationship I ruined when I died!”

Alphys is almost cowering now, terrified at Asriel’s outburst. You beckon to her and draw her into a protective hug while Asriel’s laughter gradually morphs into sobbing. She leans into you, turning her head away from her creation. You close your eyes and pat her back comfortingly.

“I think you’d better go now,” you mumble. If Asriel’s even hearing you, he pays you no mind. “I can deal with this.”

“I’m sorry,” Alphys whispers. “I know this is my fault... I’m sorry...”

You lead her out of the greenhouse and back into the house, one arm around her shoulder. Toriel is sitting at the dining table.

“Hello,” she says, taking in Alphys’s hunched posture and haggard expression. “Is everything alright?”

“Can I leave Alphys with you for a bit?” You ask. “Seeing Flowey kind of upset her.”

“Of course,” Toriel says kindly. “I hope he wasn’t too cruel...”

“No, no,” Alphys says, brushing her off. “It wasn’t his fault. Really, I’m fine, I just–”

“Stay here for a bit anyway,” you say. “I’ll go back in and make sure he’s okay.”

Toriel looks at you quizzically, but lets you go back to the greenhouse. Asriel has stopped crying by the time you return, and sits drooping in his pot.

“Hey,” you say quietly, trying to gauge his mood. He doesn’t answer.

“Are you–” you begin before cutting yourself off. Of course he’s not okay.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers as if to himself. “Years... literal years I’ve been like this. I don’t even know how long, exactly. And it could’ve all been fixed so easily. I... it’s... why, Frisk?”

“I...” you start, but you trail off. There’s no answer you can give.

“We,” Asriel gulps and looks up at you. “We need to go back.”

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

“If we reset,” he says, his voice brittle. “You’ll know what to do this time. You can make Toriel and Asgore make up sooner. I’ll have all those months back.”

You shake your head wordlessly.

“Please,” he implores you, his eyes wide, his voice growing desperate. “Please. I’ve lost so much time. I need it back.”

“A-Asriel.” You find your words at last. “You’ll forget–”

“I don’t care! You’ll remember! You can make sure things go right. Please! I... I can’t live with knowing how much time I wasted.”

“No,” you say, more forcefully now. “I won’t do it. I won’t risk everything we have now, just so you can get to the same place a bit sooner.” You can feel the blood pounding in your ears, but you try to keep your voice level. “Please, Asriel. Be reasonable. There’s too much that could go wrong.”

Asriel shuts his eyes, takes a breath, and opens them again. You think he’s about to yield, and you’re already relaxing when he opens his mouth and speaks a single word.

“Chara.”

You feel like you’ve been cut clean in half. “What?” you ask sharply; your own voice sounds distant.

“Chara,” Asriel repeats calmly. “I know you’re still there. Frisk won’t help me, but you will. Make them go back.”

He’s talking to me.

“No!” you yell. “We’re not doing this again! You need to stop holding onto them, Asriel. They don’t care about you; if they get control now they’ll ruin everything!”

You’re not sure how it happened, but you’re a lot closer to Asriel than you were a moment ago. You can feel your fists clenched at your sides. You can’t tell if it’s you or me who’s holding them there.

Please, just let me talk to him...

“Chara,” Asriel pleads, starting to lose his composure. “You’re the only one who underst–”

“I’m the only one who understands,” you interrupt, your voice icy, forcing me out of your mind yet again. “So shut up and listen, Asriel. Chara never cared about you. They hated humanity, they hated monsters, and they hated themself most of all.” Your hands reach out and seize the flowerpot; Asriel shies away in fear. “If you help them take over again, it’ll be just like last time. They killed everyone, remember? Everyone you love. Everyone I love. If I hadn’t stopped them back then, all those people would have stayed dead. The Underground would have been wiped out for good. And, when it came to it, they would have killed you too, Asriel.”

There’s a long, horrible pause during which the only sound is the rush of blood in your ears. Asriel stares at you with wide-eyed terror.  Your fingers grip the flowerpot, painfully tight; it’s taken all your willpower to keep control of them at all, and your mind aches from the effort.

“Frisk. Please put me down,” Asriel whispers.

The greenhouse comes back into focus. Only now do you realise you’ve lifted Asriel clean off the table and have him held at your eye level. You put him down with a thunk.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said their name. I... I shouldn’t doubt you, Frisk. I’m sorry.”

You slump down into the nearest chair. “I’m,” you mumble. “I – I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I don’t know where that came from.”

“You’re right, though,” Asriel sighs. “It was dumb of me to suggest that. Like you said, there’s too much that could go wrong. I just... I wish I could get the time back, somehow.”

“I get it,” you say. “It sucks that you had to spend so long without a soul. But trying to bring them back... that’s not going to help.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” Asriel mumbles yet again. Then, with some hesitation, he asks, “Um... did you really mean that last part? Of what you said a moment ago, I mean?”

“What last part?” you ask sullenly.

“About how... how they would have killed me, too. Do you think that’s true?”

You rub the heels of your hands against your forehead. “We talked about this yesterday, remember? They don’t care about anything anymore – if they ever did at all.” You hold his gaze, trying to make sure he understands. “Please, Asriel, trust me on this.”

“O-okay,” he stammers. “It’s just – it’s hard to make sense of. They’re in your head, so you can’t be wrong, but... I dunno.”

You figure there’s no point arguing back and forth about what Chara really wants. You know you’re right, and Asriel knows it as well, deep down. He just needs some time to get over the image of them he built up in his head. That’s fine, you suppose, as long as he doesn’t pull a stunt like this again.

You go back to the house to check on Alphys and reassure her that Asriel’s calmed down. Toriel has, unsurprisingly, sat her down at the dining table with a cup of tea – the grown-up’s catch-all solution to stressful situations. It seems to have done Alphys good, though, and Toriel thankfully hasn’t pried about what exactly happened.

After that you return to your science project. It’s come together pretty well with Asriel’s help, and memorising your words proves easy now that you’ve had an extra week to familiarise yourself with the material. All that’s left is to actually present the darn thing. Then you can finally get on with – well, whatever comes next.

Just before going to bed, you probe your mind one last time for any sign that Chara might still be fighting for control; you’re relieved to find nothing. That’s three times that they’ve tried to take charge in the last week, and three times that you’ve fought them off successfully. You smile; as long as you keep your guard up, they’ll eventually give up and leave you to look after Asriel in peace. And it’ll be good riddance, as far as you’re concerned. There’s some people who just can’t be reasoned with.

Chapter Text

When you wake up on Friday, you’re surprised to find that you’re not the least bit nervous. Having to do your project again felt like a bad joke that you had to suffer through all week, and now the presentation itself is little more than a punchline. It’s hard to get that stressed out about it when the whole thing is so ridiculous.

Without your own worry to distract you, you notice just how reserved and despondent Toriel is acting this morning – yet another commonality across your two timelines. It seems patching things up with Asgore wan’t enough to completely dispel her low spirits. You wonder if today will culminate with her crying in the staff lounge like it did last time – you certainly hope not.

Again, you go into school together and part ways in the corridor. You’re ready for her hug when it happens, and you make sure to enjoy it properly instead of just trying to extricate yourself as quickly as possible. Who really cares what the other kids think, at the end of the day? Moments like this shouldn’t be taken for granted.

“You’ll do great, okay?” Toriel whispers into the side of your head as you embrace.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’m really feeling good about this one.”

“I’m so glad.” She holds you a moment longer, and then lets go. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you tell her. “See you after school?”

“Of course,” she says. “Bye for now.”

Back in Miss Baxter’s classroom you once again volunteer to present first, though this time with much more self-assurance. You’re smiling as you walk to the front of the room, and you have to hold back a laugh when you turn and see the faces of your classmates who seem to think talking in front of a group is the scariest thing in the world. You ready your slides, clear your throat, and begin speaking with such ease that you hardly recognise your own voice.

*             *             *

Your new presentation’s quality must be at least comparable to the original, because it gets you invited to the staff lounge after school once again. To your dismay, Toriel is in mid-flow when you arrive, and sounding every bit as distraught as she did a week ago. At least you’re prepared this time – you wait around the corner so as to avoid overhearing her tearful conversation with Miss Baxter. Unfortunately that only works until they step out into the corridor, at which point you can’t avoid hearing them loud and clear.

“Well, I don’t normally find myself saying this,” Miss Baxter says, “but I think you made the right choice in reaching out to him. You two went through a lot together, and it’s clear he’s trying to change.”

“I think you’re right,” Toriel agrees. “I doubt things will ever go back to how they were... but still, I can’t just ignore it forever. I hope we can reach some kind of resolution.”

“I hope so too,” Miss Baxter says kindly. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

Toriel leaves after that. You wait until her footsteps have faded into the distance, then knock on the staff lounge door yourself. You accept Miss Baxter’s congratulations you on your presentation – she particularly praises your confident delivery this time – and then go to find Toriel in the parking lot.

You’re puzzled. Until now, you’d assumed that Toriel was just upset about being separated from Asgore – that’s certainly the only conclusion you could reach from what you overheard last week. But she’s already agreed to meet him tomorrow, so that can’t be the only thing on her mind. You try to think back. What was it she said in the first timeline?

“–and today was his birthday, and I just miss him so much–”

You feel like an idiot the moment you realise. It wasn’t Asgore’s birthday – you know that much now – but it took you until now to figure out who she really meant. You’ll still need to confirm it, but if you’re right – oh man, if you’re right....

*             *             *

Toriel ends up spending the first hour or so after you get home supervising you and Asriel as you play with the newly-installed SNES, so you can’t ask him the crucial question as soon as you’d like. He’s a slightly better sport now that he has a soul, but he still gets pretty grumpy when he loses to you. You’re relieved when Undyne texts you to say she’s arrived; Toriel moves Asriel into the smaller pot and goes to open the front door, leaving you and Asriel alone for a moment.

“Can I ask you a question, Asriel?” you say, as soon as Toriel’s entered the house.

“Sure,” he says.

“If it’s alright to ask... when’s your birthday?”

“Oh,” he says, taken aback. “Heh. I haven’t thought about that in a while. Uh... March 20th. 2003.”

“Uh-huh,” you say.

March 20th – today as ever is. You consider Toriel’s strange silence in the morning; the way she hugged you before school; the fact that she chose today to dig Asriel’s SNES out of storage. And you think about her crying in the staff lounge. Today was his birthday, and I just miss him so much...

“She’s not over you,” you say out loud.

“What?” Asriel says.

“Toriel. You said she’s moved on, and let go, but she hasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asks warily. “And – wait, why are you saying this now? What’s going on?”

“I passed by the staff lounge in school last Friday,” you explain. “Or, well, not last Friday, but this Friday in the last timeline...”

“Man, we really need a system for talking about this stuff,” Asriel says.

“Yeah. Um... I’ll call the stuff before the reload timeline A, and everything after is timeline B.”

“That works. Go on?”

You resume your story, Asriel listening with bated breath.

“So it was Friday, March 20th, in timeline A,” you say. “I had to go to the staff lounge at the end of school, and when I got there I heard Toriel crying. She was talking to one of the other teachers.”

“Crying?” Asriel asks, incredulous. “Mom doesn’t cry.”

“She was! I didn’t stay to listen to the whole thing, but do you know what I heard her say?”

“What?”

“‘Today was his birthday,’” you quote, “‘and I just miss him so much!’”

You let those words hang in the air and survey Asriel’s expression. For a moment it just shows shock, but then it twists in a strange mixture of sadness and delight. “She really said that?” he asks.

“She did.”

“Huh.” Asriel curls his lip and stares out at the lawn, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully.

“I know you’re frightened, Asriel. You think she’s replaced you, that she won’t want you any more. But that’s not true. I don’t think she’ll ever be over you.”

He sits in silence for a long time, staring off into space, a faint smile gradually creeping onto his lips. When at last he speaks again, he’s quiet, almost cautious.

“She’d remembered that it was my birthday?”

“That’s right,” you grin.

“After a hundred years?”

“Seems like it.”

“She said that she... misses me?”

“That she misses you so much,” you emphasise.

“Wow.” He looks dazed. You’re loath to interrupt him, but after a while you feel you have no choice.

“Asriel,” you venture tentatively. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Of course,” he says, turning to look at you.

“Not everyone...” You suddenly find that words are hard to form; you speak carefully, deliberately, making sure you can get out everything you need to say. “Not everyone gets to be... to be born to parents who love them. There was... for the first twelve years of my life, I didn’t have anybody in it who cared about me the way Asgore and Toriel care about you. I was lucky to find your Mom in the end, and even luckier to be able to stay with her. And I’m...” You blink away tears. “I’m not going to force you to tell them who you really are. That’s up to you. But just... don’t forget how lucky you are to have people who cry because they lost you, even after you’ve been gone a hundred years. Not everyone gets that.”

You look down, embarrassed to shed tears in front of Asriel even though you’ve seen him cry plenty. Sure enough, when you lift your head and meet his gaze again, you find his eyes are brimming over just like yours.

“Frisk,” he whispers, as if he doesn’t trust his voice to go louder. “You’re right. You’re completely right.” The tears roll down his face now, and he laughs in spite of himself. “I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I’m – I’m the worst off out of everyone, that nobody wants me any more... and when I was soulless, it helped me cope, you know? If nobody needed me, or cared for me, it meant I wasn’t hurting them by hiding away being lonely and miserable. And I lost so much time, I don’t even know how much exactly, and – and it does hurt that I’m not going to get it back. But I’m not soulless any more.” He takes a slow, measured breath. “I don’t know why, but I can feel again. I can love again. And damn it, I’m not going to waste any more time rotting in this greenhouse not feeling, and not loving.”

He picks himself up and does the floral equivalent of squaring his shoulders. A couple of hard blinks send one last pair of tears rolling from his eyes, and then he sets his jaw – he looks fierce, defiant, determined. You smile at his sudden transformation.

“Dad is visiting this weekend, right?” he asks.

“That’s right,” you confirm. “He’ll be here Sunday afternoon.”

“Perfect,” Asriel grins. “As soon as he and Mom are here together, I’m going to tell them the truth.”

You jump out of your seat with a squeal of excitement. “Hell yeah, Asriel!” you cry, pumping your fist.

“Hell yeah!” he repeats. “So long, greenhouse! We’re doing this! Gimme another fist pump, since I can’t do my own.”

You oblige, and he laughs, which makes you laugh as well. You’re both still in high spirits when Toriel leads Undyne into the garden for her inspection; the two of them are bemused by your cheerfulness, but seem content to chalk it up to childish capriciousness.

*             *             *

“Morning!” you say to Asriel. “Looks like Sunday is gonna be your last day in the greenhouse again. Just like in timeline A.”

“I guess so,” he laughs. “Dad’s definitely coming today?”

“He’ll be here in the afternoon,” you confirm. “If it’s like last time, he and Toriel will talk for a bit, and then come out to check on you.”

“Oh man, it’s actually happening,” Asriel frets. “Oh my God. I’m panicking so hard.”

“You can do it,” you say. “I believe in you!”

“Okay. Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Hey, Frisk?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I’ve asked a lot of you already, and I shouldn’t ask even more, but... I want you to be here.”

“When you tell them?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll have the guts to do it if you’re not with me. Please?” He looks at you wide-eyed.

“Of course!” you say. “I’m here for you, dude! I’m not gonna spend two weeks pressuring you to tell the truth and then just dump you in it alone when the time comes.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. “I’m really lucky to have you looking out for me, you know that?”

You blush. “Aww, it’s nothing. I’m just glad you’re going to be out of this musty greenhouse. It’s about time.”

“Yeah. I’ve just gotta get it over with. Oh man. Oh, gee...”

Asgore arrives shortly after lunch; you let Toriel welcome him in and then stay in your room, listening out to make sure you don’t miss them when they go to the greenhouse. They seem to take forever to finish talking, and you spend the whole time practically vibrating with nervous anticipation.

At last you hear them head into the kitchen – you rush out of your room and join them.

“Are you guys going to check on Flowey?” you ask.

“Yes, we were just heading out now,” Toriel says. “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to come with you, if that’s okay. Flowey, uh, has something to say, that he... needs all of us there for. He told me.” Yikes. Not your finest sentence structuring.

“Indeed?” says Asgore. “Well, I see no reason for you not to come. Toriel?”

“Certainly,” Toriel agrees. “We can all go in together. Though I must say, I am intrigued to know what news Flowey has to share with all three of us.”

“He’s, uh, already told me,” you say. “I’m just there for emotional support.”

“Oho?” says Asgore. “The plot thickens, as they say.”

“It certainly does,” agrees Toriel.

Toriel collects the key, and the three of you go to the greenhouse together, Asgore stooping to avoid whacking his horns on the doorframe.

“Greetings, uh, Flowey,” Asgore says once you’re all inside. “I just thought I’d come to check in on you now that you’ve moved to the surface, but Frisk tells me you have something you want to say to Toriel and myself?”

“That’s right.” Asriel licks his lips nervously. “Um, would you guys like to sit down? The chairs might be a bit small...”

“By all means,” Asgore says jovially, pulling out a chair and perching on it carefully. “Yes, I see what you mean. But no matter.”

Toriel sits down as well; you make your way around the table and sit so that you’re at Asriel’s side, facing Asgore and Toriel. You give Asriel a thumbs up, and he smiles at you before speaking.

“So, uh, I have some news. For both of you. And...” he starts trembling. “Oh, God, Frisk, I can’t do this!”

“Yes you can!” you say. Toriel and Asgore look between you and him in perfect unison, like spectators at a tennis match.

“Okay. Oh man.” Asriel clears his throat. “Just get it out.” He breathes in deeply, and speaks a little bit more steadily.

“So, you know that Doctor Alphys brought me to life by injecting determination into me during her experiments.”

Asgore and Toriel nod.

“But there’s a reason I’m the only flower that came to life.” He rushes through the words now, so fast they’re hard to parse. “I was the first flower that bloomed, after my dust spread across the garden. Because... Mom, Dad, it’s – it’s me. Asriel.”

He lets his flat, minimalist face melt away, the lower half extending into a snout and the button eyes widening, gaining a proper brow and green irises. He closes them for a moment and then lets them open, sighing as months’ worth of weight leaves his shoulders.

There’s dead silence. Asgore stares as his son, slack-jawed with disbelief. Toriel slowly lifts both hands to cover her mouth. Asriel clenches his jaw at their expressions, and looks at you sidelong; you give him a You did it! grin.

“Asriel?” Toriel squeaks. “Is it really – it can’t –”

“Asriel!” Asgore leaps forward out of his seat, wrapping his paws around the flowerpot and leaning his face in close. “Is it really you? Are you – how? I don’t...”

“It’s me, Dad,” Asriel whispers, tears welling in his eyes. “It’s... it’s me...”

Asgore shuts his eyes and leans forward until his forehead touches the top of Asriel’s brow, right where the uppermost petal meets his face. Both of them are crying now, tears running down their snouts and falling unhindered to the table below.

Toriel stands up slowly, trancelike, and reaches out a hand to cradle her son’s face. Asgore takes a breath and steps aside so that she too can press her forehead against Asriel’s. She reaches out with one arm, beckoning Asgore back toward her. He hesitates for just a moment, and then moves into range, allowing her to put her arm around his shoulder before doing the same in turn. With his free hand he holds Asriel’s face as well, forming a symmetrical embrace with Asriel at the centre.

“Asriel,” Toriel sobs. “Asriel... you’ve come back to us...”

You’d briefly thought you might make it through this without crying, but you can’t hold back tears as you watch the reunion. There’s not a dry eye in the greenhouse now.

Toriel stays still for a moment, head bowed, and then croaks, “Frisk.”

You look at her.

“Frisk,” she says, a little louder, blinking slowly and turning to look at you. “Come here...”

You stay still, hesitating, not wanting to intrude.

“Come here,” Toriel repeats, shuffling away from Asgore slightly to make space for you. “You’re part of this family too.”

You take a deep breath, stand up, and walk forwards, ducking under Asgore’s arm to reach your spot between Asriel’s parents. You feel their arms close in round your shoulders, their warmth pressing against you on either side. You wrap your arms around their backs, too, so that the four of you are linked in a wide circle; flower and human facing one another, and flanked by monsters.

Everyone is quiet, and for a moment the past cannot reach any of you. You and Asgore never fought, Asriel was never soulless, no wedge was ever driven between his parents. And you, Frisk, are in the middle of it. You’re part of this family.

The tears flow, and nobody tries to stop them.

Chapter Text

The explanation is long and difficult. You and Asriel take turns describing events: he talks about waking up in the garden, and his gradual descent into apathy and violence; you recount your arrival and your battle with him. Together you and he describe how you eventually helped bring about his transformation into his old form; how he broke the barrier, and returned soulless to the underground; how you eventually came to collect him; and, at last, how his soul mysteriously returned. Everyone sheds more tears before the tale is over.

You’re pretty sure you lose both Asgore and Toriel when it comes to explaining the many timelines you’ve travelled along, and trying to demonstrate with a diagram only makes things worse. Asriel is desperate to impress upon them the depth and multitude of his crimes – still convinced, you suspect, that their love for him will waver when they learn what he’s done. But although they frown, and weep, and sometimes just stare in disbelief, they still regard him with no less joy and wonder in their eyes at the end of the story.

The sun is on its way to setting by the time the conversation begins to wind down. It’s Toriel who, during a brief lull, looks outside and says, “Goodness, it’s gotten late. I shall have to start on the dinner.” Then, looking back at Asriel, “Oh, gosh! What on Earth are we still doing in here? We need to bring you inside!”

“Thanks,” Asriel mumbles. “I didn’t want –”

“Really,” Toriel tuts, picking him up. “Keeping my own son locked in a greenhouse for days on end. What was I thinking? I am so sorry, Asriel.”

“You didn’t know,” Asgore points out.

“Obviously,” Toriel says icily. “That’s hardly the point, though, is it?”

It seems like a pretty crucial point to you; you meet Asgore’s eyes as Toriel turns and heads for the door, and he gives you a knowing smile. You sigh and follow them both out of the greenhouse.

“You shan’t be in that little pot any more, of course,” Toriel continues, striding up the garden. “I’ll move you into the trough and you can use your vines to your heart’s content. You’ll have free rein of the garden, as well, if you want it. For heavens’ sake, what have I been doing? I’m so sorry, Asriel, for keeping you in there for so long...”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Asriel says quietly as you all enter the kitchen. “I was just worried that you’d... that you’d be angry...”

“Oh, Asriel,” Toriel whispers, tears welling in her eyes yet again. She puts him down on the counter so she can place a comforting hand on his brow. “I could never be angry. This must have all been so miserable for you... it was so brave of you to come back to us...”

Asgore comes alongside her and places his hand next to hers. “We are incredibly proud of you, Asriel. I hope you understand that. Just having you here will always be enough for us.”

“Oh, you guys...” Asriel blushes. “Stop...”

Toriel laughs through her tears. “I’m afraid you will have to put up with a bit of sentimentality from your silly old parents, Asriel.”

“Absolutely,” agrees Asgore. “We have a century of cosetting to catch up on.”

“Don’t leave Frisk out,” Asriel warns. “I never would have gotten here without them. I think it’s safe to say I owe them my life, quite frankly.”

It’s your turn to blush. “I mean... I was only...”

“But of course,” cries Toriel. “Frisk, I should thank you properly” – she comes over and bends down to hug you – “for being there for our son, and for not giving up on him, even when we did.”

Asgore puts a hand on your shoulder, startling you slightly. “Thank you, Frisk,” he says. “I don’t think we will ever be able to repay you.”

Part of you still wants to protest, but if you keep trying to rebuff them you’ll only wind up going round in circles. You decide to stay quiet and endure the gratitude.

“I really do need to start on the dinner now,” says Toriel. “Asgore, you’ll be staying of course, and Asriel... you can’t eat, I suppose, but I hope you’ll still sit with us?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Excellent. Oh my goodness, it’s a real family dinner. It’s been so long!” Toriel bustles about the kitchen, more energetic than you’ve seen her in a long time. “We shall need... let’s see, I was planning on French onion soup tonight, but that won’t do – we need something far more festive. Snails!”

You blanch as Toriel reaches for a bucket on the kitchen counter. “It’s a good thing I had you bring these from Waterfall, Asgore,” she continues, scooping out a few handfuls into a ceramic bowl.

“Indeed it is,” Asgore agrees. “I don’t think I’ve seen any human-run stores that sell them in bulk.”

“It really is bizarre,” Toriel tuts.

“Um–” you say tentatively.

Toriel anticipates your complaint. “Don’t worry, Frisk. I will make something else for you, and the snail pie can just be for Asriel, Asgore and myself.”

Asriel coughs pointedly.

“Just Asgore and myself, I should say,” corrects Toriel. “Forgive me; slip of the tongue.”

“It’s alright, really,” Asriel assures her.

“Thank you. Snail pie for two, in that case. And Frisk, is there anything you particularly fancy?”

“Umm...” you muse. “Like, anything?” The open-ended offer leaves you more than a little overwhelmed.

“Let me narrow it down,” offers Toriel, measuring out flour and butter into the big mixing bowl. “Since I’m making shortcrust already, perhaps I could do another pie, or a quiche, or something similar?”

“Oh!” You say. “You know that chicken pot pie you made around New Year?”

“Good idea! I think we have everything for that, yes. And if I make carrots and broccoli as a side, it’ll go with both that and the snails.”

Asgore reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I shall have to check the train times. I believe the last departure back to Wickerville is at ten, and I–”

“But surely you’re staying the night!” Toriel exclaims, turning away from the counter. “We have so much catching up to do; I’ll set up the guest room for you, and–”

“Are you sure?” asks Asgore. “I’d be thrilled to have the time with Asriel, but I wouldn’t want to impose–”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Toriel insists. “The only question is how your royal commitments will factor in.”

“Let’s see...” Asgore says. “We’ve just wrapped up a whole bundle of diplomatic events, so that shouldn’t be an issue. I do have a few internal engagements this week, but nothing I can’t cancel or delegate. I’ll get in touch with the court and work it out tomorrow; I’m long overdue for a vacation, at any rate.”

“Wonderful!” Toriel says with a smile, returning to her cooking. “If you have a moment, can you chop some onions? They’re in the far left cupboard.”

“Of course,” Asgore says. Toriel points out the knives and the chopping board for him, and the two of them begin working on food preparation in tandem.

You sidle over to Asriel and speak in an undertone that you hope will be masked by the sound of chopping. “You were right. They’ve totally moved on. Clearly they don’t care for you at all.”

“Shut up,” he whispers. “I was wrong, okay?”

“You were so wrong,” you gloat. He just gives you a long-suffering look.

“I do wonder,” Toriel thinks aloud. “If there isn’t anything we can offer you, Asriel, as a substitute for a proper meal. You’re the gardener, Asgore; does anything come to mind?”

“Nothing that you or I would find very appetising,” says Asgore. “Fresh compost, fertiliser, bone meal... do any of those appeal, my son?”

“It’s all the same to me, really,” Asriel says. “I can’t taste anything I absorb through my roots. Just give me whatever you’d give the rest of your plants, I guess.”

“Hmm. You’re lucky you came back as a golden flower; they’re practically indestructible, in my experience.” Asgore chuckles. “If you were a dahlia or a hydrangea or some such, you’d really be in trouble.”

Asriel laughs. “Cool. In that case, just give me a steady supply of dirt and I’ll be golden.”

You groan; over by the counter, Toriel bursts into a fit of giggles. Asgore looks between the two of you, bewildered.

“Golden? You know?” Asriel says, shaking his head emphatically to draw attention to his petals.

“Oh!” Asgore guffaws and claps a hand to his forehead. “Oh, very good, Asriel!”

“Really?” you ask incredulously. “That barely even qualifies as a pun!”

“Maybe not,” says Asriel. “But I’m only, like, a foot tall. I have to go for the low-hanging fruit.”

Toriel hunches over, giggling even harder, and pounds on the countertop with her fist. Asriel grins at you; you can’t help but laugh as well.

“I do still enjoy the smell of food, at least,” Asriel says once his parents have recovered. “And it’s not like I’m constantly hungry. I do kinda miss eating, though.”

“That is a pity,” Toriel says. “Still, at least you are with us now.”

The cooking progresses in silence a little longer, until Asriel says, “So, um. You mentioned moving me into the other pot...?”

“Oh my goodness!” Toriel exclaims. “I’m so sorry, I quite forgot. I’ll do that right away.” She lifts her flour-covered hands from the mixing bowl and dithers for a moment before heading for the sink.

“My hands are clean; I’ll do it,” offers Asgore. “You carry on with the pastry, Tori. Toriel,” he corrects quickly, seeing her stiffen. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

Toriel nods and returns to the pies while Asgore re-pots Asriel. Once he’s got himself situated, he extends a couple of vines in the air and leans back as if to stretch his spine out.

“That’s better,” he says, grinning. “I wonder if I can move around with these...” He lowers a vine towards the table leg and gives it an experimental tug. “Hmm. Don’t think I’ve got enough power. I’d just end up uprooting myself.”

“If we take you out of the trough altogether and move you onto the floor, would you be able to get around more easily?” offers Asgore. “You can burrow underground, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Sure,” Asriel answers. “If Mom doesn’t mind me punching holes in the carpet every time I surface.”

“Oh,” says Asgore. “Maybe not, in that case.”

“I’d have to go outside a lot, too,” Asriel adds. “House foundations aren’t particularly nutritious, in my experience.”

“Hmm.” Asgore frowns. “I suppose we shall have to carry you about when you’re inside, then. No matter; don’t hesitate to ask Toriel or myself if you want to go anywhere.”

“Or me,” you chime in. The trough is a bit unwieldy, but you reckon you could still carry it if need be.

Asriel sighs. “Thanks, guys. I’m good here for now, but I’ll let you know if I want to go someplace else.”

Once all the ingredients are prepped, Toriel gets to work constructing the pies and puts Asgore on table-laying duty, the two of them chatting non-stop with Asriel all the while. The flow of their conversation is a testament to the years they’ve spent together as a family; it’s barely been an hour, and already it’s hard to believe they were ever apart.

As for you, you watch from the sidelines, happily at first... but the longer the conversation runs, and the longer you listen, the more strangely melancholy you begin to feel. You don’t know what’s brought it on, but once you notice it it’s impossible to ignore. Nonetheless, you resolve not to let it show if you can help it – you don’t want to lower the tone of what should be a happy evening. Whatever’s gotten into you, you can deal with it later.

The Dreemurrs keep talking with barely a pause right through to dinnertime. Toriel brings the food into the dining room; you and she sit opposite each other as usual, Asgore goes next to you, and Toriel puts Asriel’s trough on the table at her side. It’s only once everyone’s been served that the conversation is finally cut off by a distant roll of thunder.

Asgore, who was mid-sentence, pauses for a moment. Toriel goes still; Asriel stiffens and presses his lips together tightly.

“Ah,” says Toriel. “That’ll be the thunderstorm we’ve been expecting.”

Asgore nods and the three of you go back to your food, but Asriel still looks nervous. At the next thunderclap he yelps out loud, twisting around as though looking for the source of the noise.

“Asriel?” Toriel asks, putting down her cutlery. “Are you all right?”

“I’m... I’m fine...” Asriel says, breathing heavily. “Just startled. Go back to your food.”

“Are you sure, my child?” asks Asgore. “You look frightened.”

“I’m fine,” Asriel snaps. “Just–”

There’s a third crash of thunder, much louder this time, and Asriel cuts off with a yell. He hunches over, staring down at the table with unfocused eyes.

Toriel gets up and reaches out tentatively. “Asriel, darling? What is the matter?”

“Make it stop,” Asriel mumbles, as if to himself. “Make it stop...”

Toriel turns her chair so she can sit in front of Asriel, and holds his face in her hands as best she can. “There, there,” she says, her voice barely audible over the rain now drumming on the roof. “It will be alright...”

Asriel closes his eyes and extends a vine towards Toriel’s hand, twining it around her fingers and holding on tight. Asgore comes around to stand next to him, and a second vine reaches out to hold his hand.

After about a minute without thunder, Asriel blinks away tears and speaks. “It sounds... it sounds like guns,” he whimpers.

Toriel inhales sharply, and you see her jaw clench and her brow furrow in anger.

“Sorry,” Asriel says quietly. “I’m being an idiot.”

“No,” Toriel says firmly. “I am not angry with you, my child. I am...” she gulps back tears. “I will never forgive the humans that did this to you.”

“We may be able to block the sound out,” suggests Asgore. “Toriel?”

“Yes... yes, you’re right,” Toriel says. She stands up and wriggles her fingers; Asriel loosens his grip. “Perhaps not the whole house, but let’s see if we can soundproof this room, at least.”

She and Asgore stand shoulder to shoulder and extend one hand each towards the ceiling, then gradually sweep their arms down towards opposite walls. You don’t notice any difference at first, but as they continue towards the floor, the sound of the rain outside suddenly deadens. The air is as still and quiet as if you were deep underground. Asriel relaxes slightly.

“The pine’s going to fall,” you say absent-mindedly as Asgore and Toriel return to their seats.

“The pine?” says Toriel.

“The big one, behind the greenhouse,” you explain. “It’s going to fall in the storm.”

“Oh,” says Asgore. “I suppose it’s possible, if the wind gets strong enough. But I wouldn’t worry too much; it looks fairly sturdy.”

“It happened in the last timeline, before I took us back,” you insist. “It’ll happen again tonight.”

“I see,” Asgore says, but you can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Frisk,” Toriel says, and you can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. “All this business with alternate timelines–”

You and Asriel sigh in perfect unison. “You think we’re insane,” Asriel says.

“Heavens, no!” exclaims Toriel. “That is to say – well, I mean, certainly Asgore and I find it difficult to believe, but we don’t – whether it’s true or not, we...” She pauses, struggling for words.

“I think what Toriel means,” Asgore says – he pauses and waits for a sign of approval from her before continuing. “What we’re trying to say is that this... time travel that you mentioned earlier – well, it’s unlike any magic we know of, that’s for sure. And the idea that so many things could have happened to us without us having any memory of them is difficult to believe, to put it mildly.”

“I get that it’s weird,” Asriel grumbles. “But we’re not making it up, and we’re not mad! It really happened, okay?”

Asgore lets him finish, and then continues calmly. “I was coming to that. In cases such as these, all we can trust is our own memories and experiences. Both you and Frisk recall all of this time travel in great detail, and neither Toriel nor I have any recollection of it at all. It seems that we’re at an impasse. We could spend all night arguing about whose memory is correct, and get nowhere. However” – he holds up a hand to stave off any interruption – “as your parents, Asriel – and for Toriel as your caretaker, Frisk – it is not our job to deny the reality of your experiences, especially ones that have caused you both as much pain and stress as this time travel clearly has. It seems to me that trying to explain away your suffering using logic would be cruel and utterly futile.”

You glance sidelong at Asriel, who meets your eyes briefly before looking back to his Dad. “So... you’re saying you believe us?” he asks uncertainly.

“Well,” says Asgore, “I suppose I’m saying that whether or not Toriel and I believe you is of relatively little consequence. For your sake, and Frisk’s, we must accept that you are being honest and continue on that basis. If we find what you tell us unbelievable – well, that’s hardly your fault.”

You’re surprised by his reaction; you’d been preparing for a lecture on the limitations of magic, or a tiresome platitude about how traumatic experiences can lead to delusions of grandeur, or something like that. You’re not sure you completely follow Asgore’s reasoning, but you much prefer it to those alternatives.

“So, if you think we’re being honest...” you venture.

“I think the next question is what to do about the pine?” says Toriel. “You say it’s going to fall, Frisk – do you think it will damage the house?”

“No,” you answer. “Um... it lands on the greenhouse, but I don’t think it breaks through the roof. And nobody’s in there, anyway. It doesn’t touch the main building.”

“I see,” Toriel nods. “If there’s no risk of anyone getting hurt, I think we can leave it be – at least for tonight. I can call a tree service to check it tomorrow, if it’s still standing. How does that sound?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “That should be fine. Thanks.”

“Sounds good to me,” Asriel adds.

“Excellent,” says Asgore. He picks up his knife and fork; Toriel follows suit, and the three of you resume your meal.

“Speaking of time,” says Toriel, once your plates are almost empty, “It occurred to me just a moment ago, Asriel, that it was your birthday on Friday. We must do something to mark the occasion.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Asriel says hurriedly. “We don’t need to do anything.”

“But we must!” Asgore protests, sitting up suddenly. “Golly, you haven’t had any presents in a hundred years. You’re definitely overdue.”

“Your father is quite right,” agrees Toriel. “I did give you that games console, but that hardly counts since it was already yours anyway. We shall have to have a think about what we can get you that you’ll enjoy.”

“Come to think of it, which birthday are we actually celebrating?” Asgore asks, scratching his chin.

“Uh.” Asriel looks nonplussed. “Mine?”

Asgore guffaws. “You misunderstand. I mean to ask, how old did you turn on Friday? You were born in...”

“2005,” Toriel supplies.

“2005, yes,” nods Asgore. “And it’s 2116 now, so that would make you...” he furrows his brow briefly “...one hundred and eleven years old, plus two days.”

Asriel laughs. “Well, I definitely don’t feel a hundred and eleven.”

“You definitely aren’t acting it, either,” you remark.

“Guilty as charged,” he says. “I think it makes more sense to go from when I woke up in the garden. Do you know when that was?”

“Hmm,” says Asgore. “Alphys began her determination experiments... gosh, about a year ago now? In April, if I’m not mistaken. So to get your age that way, we’d have to consider the date that you, well...” he trails off uneasily.

“Died,” finishes Asriel, his tone casual. “You can say it.”

Toriel speaks again. “August 31st, 2017.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then Asgore nods. “Yes, that’s right. The same day as... oh, goodness.”

The change is immediate and dramatic. Both Asgore and Toriel are subdued, their hands stilled over their plates. Asriel, meanwhile, lowers his head in thought. “So, if I’d turned twelve in March, that would be, uh, five months from then to when I died, plus like... eleven after I came back? So, a year and four months...”

“Asriel,” you say gently. “Maybe we’d better leave it for now.”

“Huh?” Asriel looks up, only now registering his parents’ expressions. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“I’ll,” Toriel mumbles. “I’ll get started on the dishes, I think.”

“I’ll help clear things up,” offers Asgore.

“Thank you.” The two of them get up; Toriel goes through to the kitchen, and Asgore stacks the plates and follows her.

“What’s eating them?” Asriel asks quietly once both of them are out of earshot.

“Come on, dude,” you say. “Remembering how they lost you isn’t exactly fun for them.”

“I mean, I can talk about it okay,” Asriel argues. “And I’m the one who actually died. They’re making a meal of things if you ask me.”

You think that’s a bit rich coming from someone who’s been averaging one crying fit per day for the last week – people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, and all that. You give him an unimpressed look, and he waves his vines defensively. “Fine, fine, I won’t push it! But I do still need to know how old I am, don’t I?”

“I guess,” you sigh. “So, twelve years old, plus a year and four months... that means you’re thirteen now?”

“If you only consider the current timeline, yeah,” he says. “But if you want to measure how long I’ve been alive from my point of view, we need to consider all my time loops as well.”

“Yeah.” You’d just reached the same realisation yourself. “Do you have an idea of how much they added up to?”

“Not a clue,” Asriel sighs. “Probably a few years, but I never bothered to keep track. Alphys might know, if she can see all the branches somehow.”

“There’s a point,” you say. “How did Alphys track all those timelines anyway?” You already have an idea in mind, but you hope you’ll be wrong. You want to avoid dealing with him if at all possible.

Asriel confirms your fears. “She got all that info from Sans. He was the one who really dug deep into the time shenanigans, and tracked all the loads and resets. But I could never get him to breathe a word about what he learned to me. The best case scenario: he cut me off completely and tried to get Alphys to do the same. Worst case: he came after me and I had to reset.”

“Yeah,” you say, resigned. “What do you think will happen if we ask Alphys to ask him for a record of all your timelines?”

“He won’t like it,” Asriel replies without hesitation. “He’ll ask a lot of tricky questions, and almost certainly refuse to help.”

“Hmm...” you say. “If he’s still tracking the timelines, he’ll be able to see how much longer the current one is, right? Alphys can explain that we had to keep going back to find a way to break the barrier, and that we’re being responsible with our powers now.”

Asriel sucks in through his teeth. “I wouldn’t count on that working. You know how he is.”

“Well, we can talk to Alphys at least. She might be able to give us a ballpark without having to go through Sans at all.”

Asriel makes to reply, but a sudden clatter from the kitchen stops him short.

“Oh, for goodness’–” you hear Toriel exclaim. Then there’s Asgore’s voice, apologetic and too quiet for you to make out through the magical soundproofing. Then Toriel again, her words curt and clipped.

“Oh, God,” Asriel grimaces. “They’re fighting...”

The exchange goes on a bit longer; you strain your ears, trying to figure out the nature of the disagreement, while Asriel squeezes his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face. His parents’ voices die down after a moment, and then the kitchen door opens and Asgore steps out.

“Ah, hello, Frisk,” he says pleasantly, closing the door quickly behind him. “Toriel suggested I ask you to show me to the guest room – if you have a moment?”

You nod and spring to your feet, keen to help put some distance between him and Toriel; you’ve seen them fight precisely once before, and that was plenty for you. You lead him to the guest room at the very end of the hall; the rain and thunder becomes louder the moment you leave the dining room.

“Here you go,” you say, gesturing to the bare bed in the middle of the room. “Oh. Uh, sheets should be in here” – you open the closet – “yep, here they are. I can put them on for you, or...?”

“Ah, no, I’ll take care of that, thank you,” Asgore says hurriedly. “I’ll call you if I require any further assistance, but I think that will be sufficient for now. Thank you.”

You nod again and leave him to make the bed. It’s a weird position, playing host to the King of Monsters – and it’s weird that Toriel suddenly snapped at him like that, too. You really thought they’d made up; you certainly didn’t detect any hostility between them until now.

Weirdest of all, you think, as you return to the artificial quiet of the dining room, is your sudden sense of relief. The cloud of melancholy that had accumulated over you during the evening has retreated, and that troubles you. Are you happy to see Toriel and Asgore fighting? What’s going on?

“Hey,” says Asriel upon your return.

“Hi,” you respond, taking a seat once more. “Sorry about... whatever that was.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s... y’know. They’re probably fine.”

You nod.

“It’s just...” Asriel continues. “I thought they’d, like, made up. They seemed totally fine all afternoon. It’s kinda out-of-nowhere.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I definitely didn’t see it coming.” And why do you feel better now that it’s happened? What’s wrong with you? Your momentary relief is quickly being overtaken by a pervading sense of guilt.

“Ugh. I hope they weren’t forcing themselves to get along today for my sake,” Asriel says. “I’d hate that.”

“Huh? Oh, uh – I don’t think they were,” you reassure him. “They seemed fine in timeline A – and earlier today, before you told them who you were. And I’m pretty sure they were texting a bunch this week, too.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Asriel sighs. “I wonder what set them off tonight.”

“Mm. Me too,” you agree vaguely.

Asriel doesn’t speak again right away, but after a while you become aware of his eyes fixed on you.

“Hey, Frisk?” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You shake your head and look up at him. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He looks at you intently. “You seemed kinda spaced out.”

“I mean, y’know,” you say. “Just surprised about Asgore and Toriel, that’s all.”

It’s not a great lie, but he seems to accept it. “’Kay. As long as that’s all it is.”

The kitchen door swings open and Toriel emerges. “Ah, good, you’re both still here.” She takes in your dour expressions and sighs. “I apologise if Asgore’s and my, ah, contretemps disturbed you. I assume he’s getting himself settled in the guest room now?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Don’t w-” – Asriel’s response is interrupted by a sudden yawn – “don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Toriel smiles. “I think it might be best if we don’t immediately reconvene; I’m sorry to put a damper on your first evening back with us, Asriel.”

“It’s fine,” Asriel reassures her.

“Thank you. Now,” Toriel continues. “Tomorrow is the first day of Spring break, so there’s no reason why you and Frisk shouldn’t stay up a little later than usual, if you would like – perhaps you can watch a movie, or play some more games? On the other hand, it’s been an eventful day. Personally, I shall want to get to bed before much longer.”

“I’m pretty whacked as well, to be honest,” Asriel says. “And I reckon I’ve had enough TV for the week.”

Toriel laughs. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you have.”

“I’ll go to bed too,” you say. You’re too emotionally wrung out for much else, and there’s no point trying to prolong the evening if nobody else wants to.

Toriel nods. “In that case, I suppose we ought to address the question of sleeping arrangements for you, Asriel. I imagine you won’t want to spend the night here in the dining room...”

“No,” Asriel agrees.

“...All the bedrooms are taken... but then again, you don’t need a bed, so I suppose you can sleep wherever you like. You could come in my room, if you wanted.” She pauses briefly. “Ah, I'm sure your father would be happy to share with you, too.”

“Oh.” Asriel bites his lip. “Uhh... yeah. Hmm.”

“Apologies; I sprung that on you rather suddenly,” says Toriel. “No need to decide right away.” She makes for the kitchen door again. “I’ll just go wipe down the countertops and make sure everything’s put away. Back in a–”

“Can I stay in Frisk’s room?” Asriel blurts out.

You start; Toriel pauses with her hand on the door handle. “Oh!” she says. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t object. It’s Frisk’s choice, I suppose.”

“Uh,” you say, caught off-guard. “Uh... yeah, sure. You can stay with me if you want, Asriel.”

“Thanks,” he says, audibly relieved.

“Excellent,” says Toriel. “That’s decided, then. Shall I help move the trough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “Shall we go now?”

“Yep,” says Asriel. Toriel nods and returns to the kitchen; you pick the trough up – taking a moment to make sure you don’t overbalance – and head for your bedroom.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” Asriel says.

“No problem,” you say. “I’m a bit surprised, though. You’ve had basically no-one but me to hang out with for the past two weeks; I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to spend the night with one of your parents.”

“I mean, that’s the problem,” Asriel explains as you nudge your bedroom door open. “I’d have to choose one of them, and then either Mom or Dad would think I preferred them. Or that I was just picking them to make them feel better, or whatever. I don’t want to deal with that. And I definitely don’t want to spend another night alone. Not with... everything.” He waves a vine vaguely.

You nod. You get it.

“Don’t uh... don’t feel obliged to let me stay here forever,” Asriel continues as you position the trough on top of your dresser. “If you get sick of having me in here, I can go in with Mom or Dad –alternate so they don’t feel left out, or whatever. It’s just... tonight, with the storm and everything...”

“Don’t worry,” you say. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Promise.”

“Thanks,” he says. There’s a distant clap of thunder; he flinches, and then sighs. “Ugh, great...”

“Do you want the room soundproofed?” you ask. “Hang on; I’ll go get Toriel...”

“It’s fine, I’m being dumb–”

“Nuh-uh,” you insist, waving a hand at him. “You’re not gonna be able to sleep like this. I’ll ask her.” But you already hear footsteps in the hall; before you can reach the doorway, Toriel is there.

“Asriel, dear?” she says. “Would you like me to block the noise out before you go to bed?”

Asriel’s casts his eyes downwards sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Yes please. Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble, darling,” Toriel says, striding to the middle of the room. “No trouble at all.” She lifts an arm and stares at the ceiling, brow wrinkled in concentration. She doesn’t move for several seconds.

“Should we get Dad to help?” Asriel asks. “If it’s–”

“No need, no need,” Toriel says dismissively, clenching her fingers a couple of times. “It’ll only take a moment longer.”

You and Asriel watch in nervous silence as she turns her arm bit by bit, pointing her hand at the window and then, at last, bringing it down to face the floor. The spell takes a minute to cast, all told – but once she’s done, your bedroom is just as quiet as the dining room was before.

“There you go, dear,” Toriel says quietly, between deep steady breaths. “That should last until the morning.”

“Thanks,” says Asriel.

“Now, is there anything else I can get either of you? More water, Asriel?”

“No thanks,” he says.

“All good here,” you confirm.

“Very well then.” She smiles at both of you. “Goodnight. I hope you sleep well, and I shall see you tomorrow.”

Toriel opens the bedroom door to leave just as Asgore knocks on it from outside. The two come face-to-face, and say “Oh!” simultaneously. Toriel lets out a nervous laugh.

“Ah,” says Asgore. “Apologies; I hope I didn’t startle you. I just came to wish Frisk and Asriel good night.”

“Oh – of course,” murmurs Toriel. She stands aside, but Asgore remains hovering in the doorway.

“Ah – goodnight, Asriel. Goodnight, Frisk,” he says. “Sleep tight.”

“Night, Dad,” Asriel says.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

Asgore smiles, nods, and retreats into the hall. Toriel wishes you goodnight one last time, then leaves herself, pulling the door shut behind her.

“God,” Asriel says to you in an undertone. “They’re so awkward.” His tone is exasperated, but you can hear laughter in there as well.

“I know,” you say, losing some of the tension you felt as you watched the two of them. “Still, at least they’re being nice to us.”

“I mean, yeah,” Asriel says matter-of-factly. “Just ‘cause they’re arguing doesn’t mean they’re gonna take it out on us. That’d be messed up.”

You don’t say anything to that.

“Hey, uh, Frisk...” Asriel says. “Can I get real for a minute?”

“Uh... yeah, sure,” you answer.

“I... I want to say thank you for everything. Thanks for believing in me, and being there for me, even after everything I put you through. I know I didn’t make it easy for you, and I acted really ungrateful. But I meant it when I said I would never have gotten this far without you. I’m...” He gulps, looks down nervously, and continues. “...I’m really lucky to have you as a friend.”

You stand in silence for a moment. Instinct tells you to brush off his thanks, insist that none of this was any trouble... but you can tell it took him some effort to thank you so sincerely. You can’t repay him with dishonesty.

“Thank you,” you say. “It means a lot to hear that. But I hope you understand that I did this because I wanted to. You deserve a second chance. I’m glad I could help give you one.”

“Me too,” Asriel says. “I do wonder, though... what am I gonna do now? I have my soul back. I have my life back. I never really gave any thought to what comes next.”

“Well, you’ve done plenty today,” you say mildly. “We can start on that tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “On that note... I’m gonna bury myself in this clammy dirt for ten hours. Goodnight.”

“Night,” you chuckle. He disappears into the soil without fanfare.

You’re still a little emotionally off-kilter as you prepare for bed – the joy and triumph and sadness and unease of the day have all blended together in a bewildering cocktail that’s only exacerbated by the bone-tiredness that’s been creeping up on you since dinner. Part of you is anxious to sit down and disentangle this weird mess of feelings, get to the bottom of what’s behind them all... but you recall your own advice to Asriel. There’s a limit to the things you can do today. Maybe it’ll all make more sense tomorrow.

So, you do your best not to dwell on the uncertainty, and focus on today’s success. It doesn’t take you long to get to sleep.

Chapter Text

Pure black.

No dust. No wind. No stars.

Just you.

And Chara.

Crying.

Their sobs are cracked and ugly, and their blotchy red face is streaked with tears and snot that they make no attempt to wipe away. They curl into a ball when they see you arrive, and shake like a trapped animal waiting for the hunter to return and end its misery.

You reach out and they snarl, lashing out at your hand. You jerk backwards in fear, and wait nervously as they lift their face out of their knees and stare at you with bloodshot eyes.

“Why am I here?” they rasp. “Why do you keep bringing me back?”

“Bringing you back?” you ask coldly. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s set up camp in my brain. I should be asking why you’re still here.”

Chara laughs; it’s a miserable sound. “Oh, come on. Since when was I the one in control? I don’t know why I’m here any more than you do! Like you said, it’s your brain. If I’m here, it’s gotta be because you’re keeping me around, right?”

“Like hell you don’t know why you’re here,” you snap. “I know exactly why you’re here: you’re here to ruin my life. Why can’t you just accept that you’ve lost?”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Chara sneers. “That is so rich. I’m ruining your life? Give me a break.”

You stare down at them, unmoved. “Come on, don’t try to deny it. You’ve done nothing this whole time except try to destroy everything I’ve worked for.”

“Oh my God, do you even hear yourself?” Chara asks, incredulous. They mimic you in a sing-song voice. “Everything you worked for. How do you think I feel? Do you know what it’s like, sitting and watching while you take away everything that ever mattered to me?” Their face contorts with rage, and spittle flies from their mouth as they scream. “Everything, Frisk! My clothes, my belongings, my parents... even my best friend. They were the only family I ever had. And now you’ve taken them all!”

They pause to catch their breath, then continue, their voice bitter. “Maybe it’s what I deserve. They loved each other, and then I arrived and wrecked it. I got Asriel killed. I ruined his parents’ marriage. And of course because you’re so beautiful and perfect and special, you came along and fixed it all. You mended all the damage I did, and you took my place, and wore my clothes, and stole my parents, and then took ASRIEL. He was the last thing I had, Frisk. The last person who gave a damn about me; the last stupid busted fragment of my pathetic wreck of a life, and you fixed him, too!

“And you know what the worst part is? You’ve proven that every single one of them is better off without me! You saw how happy they all were tonight. I really was the problem. So I can’t even pretend that I’m not being a selfish piece of crap, because if I actually loved them I’d be happy that they turned out better without me!”

They curl their head back into their knees and let out a muffled scream before looking at you again.

“So what is there left, Frisk?” they whisper hoarsely. “What more can you possibly take away from me? And why is it” – their voice rises gradually – “that after I’ve lost literally everything that was worth sticking around for... why is it that I STILL CAN’T DIE?!”

As you stare at them, huddled at your feet, convulsing with the force of their sobs, you can barely even muster any anger. Despite everything they’ve put you through, all the fear and pain and insults, their misery and hopelessness makes them hard to hate. In fact, after everything they’ve done, hearing them talk this way about the Dreemurrs… it just leaves you bewildered, more than anything else.

“I don’t understand you,” you say at length.

Chara uncurls slightly and looks at you with scorn in their eyes. They say nothing.

“I don’t understand,” you repeat. “You love them, right? The monsters. Asgore, Toriel, Asriel.”

Char drags themselves onto their knees. “Is that a joke?” they sneer. “Are you braindead? Of course I love them. Monsterkind is the only good thing in this world.”

“Then why?” you say, exasperated. “Why did you make me kill them all? I still have nightmares, you know – you’ve seen them! Killing Toriel, trying to kill Monster Kid, getting beaten to death by Sans... why did you put me through that? If you care about them, why did you try to erase it all and make me do it again?” You take a shallow breath, and are surprised to feel tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “I could forgive anything else. I could even forgive you for trying to reset. But what you made me do... Do you realise how terrifying it was? How horrible I felt, all that time? Why did you do it?”

Chara frowns at you for a couple of seconds... then starts to laugh. Just a giggle at first, but quickly getting louder. They cover their mouth with one hand, then hunch over, and then finally fling their head back, cackling out loud, like you’ve just told them the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.

They laugh like a drain, and the hair on your neck stands on end to hear them. You watch with mounting confusion as their laughter gradually dies down. Once they’ve collected themself, they lift their head and languidly get to their feet. At their full height their eyes are perfectly level with yours, and the look they give you sends a chill down your spine. Their face is still wet with tears, but there’s no anger or contempt in their eyes – just cold curiosity.

“Frisk... do you really think I made you kill everyone?”

Your heart drops into your stomach. You feel your mouth fall open, and you quickly close it.

“I – of course!” you protest. “How else... I wouldn’t...”

“Frisk,” they repeat, and this time there’s amusement in their voice and a thin smile on their lips. “That was you.”

“What?” you say. “N-no...” This has to be a joke, or a trick. It has to be. You weren’t in control. That wasn’t you! You search their face frantically for some sign of deception, but find nothing but incredulity. You feel panicked, frightened, like you could collapse at any moment. Like a tower that’s just been blown apart at its foundations.

“Oh, Frisk,” Chara says a third time; they sound practically pitying. “Don’t tell me that all this time, you thought I was the one who made you do that.”

“No,” you say desperately. “No, no, no...”

They’re laughing again, laughing in your face, so loud it’s all you can hear, and you can’t seem to get away. Your legs won’t work, and there’s no surface to run on, and everywhere you turn you see their face...

CRE-E-EAK-CRUNCH.

This time, you recognise the horrible splintering sound the moment you wake. You lie still, trembling, and speak into the dark.

“No. You’re lying.”

Am I? Chara’s voice echoes in your mind. How can you be sure?

They’ve followed you out of your dreams again – or else the nightmare is still going. You sit up in bed, fumbling for the switch on your bedside lamp.

“You have to be lying,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t have done that... I couldn’t have done that.”

Maybe not all of it, says Chara. And maybe not alone. But you can’t really believe you were just a helpless passenger...?

You scramble out of bed, instinctively trying to escape their voice. You’re awake. You’re meant to be safe.

A bump comes from Toriel’s room. The hall light flicks on, and a moment later a shadow moves past your door. At the same time you hear the rustle of shifting soil as Asriel surfaces in his trough. “Frisk?” he says blearily. “What’s going on?”

You feel a stab of anger from Chara at the sound of his voice, and recoil instinctively. You need to get them away from him. You slip out into the hall and yank your door shut, ignoring Asriel’s protests, and turn just in time to see Toriel disappear into the dining room.

Follow her. Quick.

You obey without thinking, your feet hurrying you down the hall, through the dining room, into the kitchen. Toriel is at the window, staring out into the garden at the freshly-downed pine tree. She hears you come in and turns to face you, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“It’s really fallen down,” she says softly. “I wondered... but I didn’t really think...”

You stare at her, I stare at her, your mind in too much turmoil to put together a coherent response.

“So it’s all true...” she says. “We shall have to – to talk about this tomorrow. Right now, I must go out and check the greenhouse for damage.”

She shakes her head and walks to the back door. Out she goes, leaving us alone in the kitchen.

You need to sit down. I can feel your legs shaking. You stumble over to the counter and lean against it, sliding down limply until we’re sitting on the cold tiles.

You open your mouth, and close it again.

Spit it out.

“You’re lying,” you mutter again.

I’m sure you’d like that, but no.

“No,” you croak. “It – I didn’t want...”

It’s scary, isn’t it?

“What?” you barely mouth the word.

Realising what you’re capable of, when you’re pushed to your limits. Realising you can hurt people. Kill people.

You close your eyes and groan.

Realising you enjoy it.

This can’t be real.

It makes you question everything, doesn’t it? It shakes you to your core.

You can’t even manage a response. You’re shaking as badly as if you were outside in the storm yourself.

It makes you wonder if you could do it again.

The thought hits you like a brick wall. “No,” you try to say, but too late. You lost focus, and now I’m in control.

Where are the knives.

You stand up instead of answering out loud, and your feet carry me over to the middle drawer. I take your hand and pull it open.

Here we are.

“No,” you say. “Chara. Stop.”

I pick up the largest knife. The same one Toriel used to cut up the chicken, wasn’t it? I turn it over in your hand, weighing it carefully.

“Please,” you croak.

This’ll do nicely.

“Why are you doing this?”

I glance out the window. Toriel is still standing next to the greenhouse, staring up at the fallen tree. Looks like we have time, so I’ll humour you with a quick explanation.

“Didn’t you say you loved them?” you ask desperately. “Why are you making me hurt them?”

I did love them. And I wanted them back. That’s why I wanted you to reset.

“So you could kill them all!” you protest.

So that I could be with them again, I explain patiently. Killing them was just one step in the plan.

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

Maybe not to you. But it hardly matters now. I tried to make you reset, and I failed. That plan’s done.

“Yeah,” you hiss. “You did fail. Killing Toriel didn’t force me to reset last time, and it won’t this time. I’ll just load, and fix it. You can’t win.”

Can’t load if I don’t let you, Frisk. And besides, this isn’t about winning anymore. This is about revenge.

“What?”

I turn and look back up the hallway. Asgore’s still asleep, right? I’ll start with him, then Asriel. Get Toriel when she comes back in.

“What?!”

You took my family, Frisk. I’m doing the same. Let’s see how you like this timeline once they’re all dead.

You weep helplessly as I steal out of the kitchen and back to the hall, heading in the direction of the guest bedroom.

“Please,” you sob.

It’s too late for that, Frisk. You’re going to learn what it’s like to have everyone you care about taken away. Do you know what they do to freaky little kids who kill their foster parents?

“No...”

I’m halfway down the hall when something disturbs the ground at your feet. You stumble back in shock as Asriel appears, tearing a hole in the carpet and forcing his way through.

“Frisk? What’s going on?”

You stare at him wordlessly. That little traitor.

“I heard you talking in the kitchen.” Asriel’s eyes settle on my knife. “What are you doing?” he demands.

Don’t you dare touch him, Chara. I’m going to rip his petals off one by one. How did he even get out of his pot? Doesn’t matter. I can still get him, if I’m quick. Leave him alone! I’ll teach him to go back on a deal like that.

He looks at us with dawning realisation. “Chara. It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Out of my way, twerp,” I hiss, brandishing the knife. His eyes go wide and he ducks underground. Good riddance.

I’ ve just started back down the corridor when something grabs my knife arm from behind.

“Chara, stop!” Asriel says – I hear the carpet tear again as he pops up behind me. His wretched thorny vine digs into your arm, my arm, yanking it back and holding me in place.

“Let go of me, you idiot.” I pull back, but the vine holds. I turn and see the strain in his face as he tries to keep me still.

“I’m sorry, Chara. I know I let you down. I know I broke my promise. But I’m not going to let you hurt Mom and Dad and Frisk.”

Enough of the saccharine Moral High Ground shtick! I drop the knife and bring my left hand down to catch it in one smooth motion, then twist round and slice upwards before Asriel has time to react. The vine is still pulled taut when the knife makes contact, and it splits like a piece of old string. Thunder booms outside; I pull free and grin as Asriel howls in pain, tears forming in his eyes. After all this time, he’s still such a crybaby.

Oh well. Time to put this pathetic weed out of its misery once and for all.

You look on in horror as I advance slowly on my former best friend. I’m surprised, to be honest. I knew the reveal would throw you off your game, but it’s like you’re not even trying to fight back.

There’s a steady thumping sound, barely audible over the rain, but getting closer. Asriel cowers and curls the stump of his vine inwards as if cradling a cut finger.

“Please don’t kill me,” he whimpers.

I take a step forward and lift the knife...

“No!”

...and look up to see Toriel, rain-soaked and panting, standing at the end of the hall. “No!” she cries again, raising her hand...

...I lunge forward, swinging the knife down to deliver the killing blow...

...and Toriel’s fireball rockets down the hall...

...and sends you flying back, the knife slipping from your grip, the shock finally loosening Chara’s hold on your mind. For just a moment you feel their bitter disappointment clashing against your relief as your body arcs backwards through the air.

Then your head hits the floor and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

Toriel’s voice. “...What on Earth came over them...?”

Your eyes open a crack, and two indistinct faces swim in your vision.

Asgore’s voice. “...Are they still conscious...?”

The back of your head hurts. You groan and let your eyes fall shut again.

Asgore. “...nineteen, you said? What on Earth...”

Toriel. “...can’t just leave them here...”

Asgore. “...their bed...”

Toriel. “...have to do for now. But in the morning...”

You open your eyes again, for just a moment, and see Toriel reaching towards you with one furry hand. You stir feebly as she touches your forehead.

“Go back to sleep, Frisk.”

You don’t remember anything after that.

*          *          *

When you wake up, you’re surrounded by sunlight and have a thumping headache.

You can see open sky above you, but it’s weirdly… distorted? For a moment you’re scared that the blow to your head has messed up your vision – but then you blink and realise you’re looking up through tinted glass. You roll over and smile grimly as you take in your surroundings – you’re lying on the floor of the greenhouse.

How’s that for poetic justice? Chara remarks in your head.

“You’re still here?” you mumble.

Seems like it. Trust me, I’m as pissed as you are.

You sit up and look around properly. You’re bundled up in your dressing gown in the middle of a little nest of duvets and blankets that Toriel must have prepared for you while you were unconscious. The furniture has all been moved against the opposite wall; there’s a glass of water on the table and a space heater plugged into the generator. Toriel is sitting on a lawn chair just outside the door, her head bowed. You stand up and walk towards her.

It’ll be locked.

You reach the door and pull on the handle. It doesn’t budge.

Told ya.

Toriel starts and picks her head up; her eyes focus on you, and she bites her lower lip nervously.

“Toriel?” you say, rattling the door again. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, Frisk. It was the best I could think to do.”

“What happened?” you ask.

She gets off her chair and kneels in front of the door. “What do you remember?”

“We – I was... fighting Asriel. You shot a fireball at me.” You look down and notice that your skin and clothes are free of burns. Fire magic is a wonderful thing.

Toriel lowers her head. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened after that?” you press.

“I... I cast a spell, to make you fall asleep for a while. I did not want to risk hurting you further.”

“And then you locked me up?” Chara demands before you can silence them.

“No!” says Toriel. “I’m sorry. I mean... I put you to bed, until the storm was over, and until we could move the fallen tree. I brought you here an hour ago so you could wake up somewhere... safe.”

You stare at her and say nothing. She lifts her head and meets your gaze for just a moment, then hunches over and raises a hand to her eyes. You see her shoulders shaking; you can just make out the sound of her sobs through the greenhouse walls.

It’s a whooooole family of crybabies! Chara sneers.

“Shut up,” you tell them under your breath. If Toriel hears, she doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry, Frisk,” she says, lifting a hand and spreading her fingers out on the glass door. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But you... Asriel was...” She makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh. “This is the best I could do. I’m sorry.”

The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh, Frisk? Solving her problems by locking up the nearest kid.

“That’s not fair,” you retort out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Toriel repeats outside. “I know. I know...”

“I’m not talking to you,” you say hastily.

“Oh...” Toriel lifts her head up. “Of course. There’s... there’s someone else in there, isn’t there?”

Chara tries furiously to rein you in, but you manage a nod. Toriel doesn’t look surprised.

“I... I thought there might be, when I saw you last night. You looked almost... possessed. How – how long has it been like this, Frisk?”

“I...” you stammer. “As long as you’ve known me.”

Her eyes widen. “Goodness. And... which one am I talking to now?”

You swear you can feel Chara shaking their head, but you choke out an answer anyway. “Both of us.”

“Goodness,” Toriel says a second time.

“I need to talk to Asriel,” says Chara.

“Frisk... I’m not sure that’s–”

“Now,” they say fiercely. “I won’t talk to you any more until you let me see him.”

“I – listen, you–” Toriel hesitates, nostrils flaring. “Whoever you are. Whatever it is you want. If you think you can... possess one of my children, and try and force them to kill my son, and then demand to see him again...” She takes a breath. “I won’t allow it. I cannot force you to leave Frisk’s mind, but I will not put Asriel in harm’s way. Not after everything that has happened.”

Well, that’s that then, Chara thinks lightly. Guess we’re staying locked here forever.

You sigh. It looks like it’s on you yet again to be the mediator. You reach out hesitantly and spread your fingers on the glass opposite Toriel’s hand. Some of the anger leaves her face.

“Toriel,” you say cautiously, bracing in case Chara tries to silence you again. “It’s me now. Frisk. I... I can’t explain what’s going on. There’s parts even I still don’t understand. But I think... I think we need to do what they say.”

Toriel’s brow creases. “This other person is in your head, are they not? Can they not explain this?”

“I will explain,” Chara bites. “To Asriel. You want to know what’s going on, you let me talk to him.”

Toriel takes a couple of steadying breaths. “Very well,” she says tersely. “I will fetch him, and he can speak to you from outside the greenhouse.” She turns and strides up the garden.

With Toriel gone, you take a moment to examine your surroundings. The pine tree has been moved off the greenhouse roof somehow, and now lies along the edge of the lawn, its branches sagging in defeat, clods of earth hanging limply from its exposed roots. Its canopy stretches all the way to the back of the house – the tip has been bent back and braced against the wall to stop it from blocking the door.

You take a sip from the glass of water on the table while you wait for Toriel to return. “Why do you need to drag Asriel back into this?” you ask Chara. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?”

Since when did you become his bodyguard? Chara responds snidely. You think just because I’m stuck in your head, you get to cut me off from everyone I care about?

You put the glass down sharply. “Care about? You just tried to kill him! And Asgore, and Toriel.”

You took them from me! You think I’m not going to try and get revenge?

You groan and slump to the floor, leaning your head against the wall with a clunk that sends a dagger of pain through your already aching skull. You groan again.

Didn’t think that one through, did you? Chara laughs.

“I don’t understand.” you whine. “All this stuff about wanting to be with the Dreemurrs, and me stopping you. The only thing you’ve ever wanted to do this whole time is reset and kill literally everyone! How does that qualify as ‘being’ with them?” A thought strikes you, and you sigh pre-emptively. “Don’t tell me it’s some weird metaphorical thing. Like, having them all join you in death or something like that?”

No. That’d be stupid.

“It sure would!” you agree. There’s a pause. “So what was the plan? You haven’t answered the question.”

Hmm... guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, since it’s well and truly failed now. You really want to know?

You don’t dignify that with a response; you’re not going to beg Chara for answers.

Okay, tell you what: you let me say what I have to say to Asriel, and I’ll satisfy your curiosity.

You grunt non-committally. You’d rather they say nothing at all to Asriel, but you recognise you don’t have much room to bargain.

Toriel emerges from the house carrying Asriel’s trough, and sets it down on the other side of the greenhouse door. “Now,” she says. “Frisk, or... whoever else is in there with you, Frisk. I would like you to explain what is going on.”

You open your mouth, but Chara gets there first. “I want to talk to Asriel, alone.”

Toriel’s nostrils flare again. “I have no intention of leaving my son with you unattended. Whatever you have to say, you can say it with me present.”

“I...” you protest. “It’s–” You almost say Chara’s name, and they cut you off like a hand around the throat. “The other person. They won’t let me talk. While you’re here.”

Toriel rubs her forehead with the palm of one hand. “This was not the agreement. You said you would explain when I brought Asriel here–”

“I said I’d explain to Asriel,” Chara interrupts. “You can grill him later, if you want; I know how much you and Asgore love setting kids on fire.”

Toriel blanches, then her face twists back into anger as she registers the joke. Asriel jumps in before she can respond.

“Mom! It’s okay. They just want to talk; even if they do attack me, the greenhouse will hold them.”

“I don’t know...” Toriel mumbles.

“How about you move me onto the grass,” Asriel suggests. “That way I can make a break for it if I have to.”

“Oh... very well.” Toriel scoops Asriel out of the trough in her hands, and places him on the lawn just outside your prison. He digs himself in and gives a satisfied nod.

“I will give you two – you three – some space, then,” says Toriel. “Call if you need anything.” She looks daggers at you, at me. “But don’t even think about trying to hurt Frisk or Asriel. Understood?”

You nod on Chara’s behalf. “Understood.”

Toriel hesitates a moment longer, then turns and walks back up the garden, leaving the three of you alone.

“So,” Asriel says once Toriel’s back in the house. “Mom has now officially had to fireball everyone in the family to stop us from killing each other.” He chuckles dryly.

“Ha ha,” you say, monotone. There’s times that you could appreciate that kind of dark humour, but now is not one of them.

Asriel waves his vines defensively. “Just trying to break the ice. Jeez.”

“Well I thought it was funny,” Chara says.

Asriel looks confused for a moment. “Oh, right. That was Chara, right?”

You nod.

“So... you’re sharing now?” Asriel asks.

“I don’t know about sharing,” you say. “But this does feel different from before.”

“Yeah? Different how?”

“Like... before, when Chara took over, I felt like a passenger. I had to fight to use my body.”

“Welcome to my life,” Chara chimes in.

You ignore them. “But now it’s like... control is split, I guess? It’s kinda fifty-fifty.”

Asriel nods. “Like you and me, Chara. That one time.”

“Right,” says Chara. “I remember.”

There’s a pause. You don’t know what to say next, and Chara isn’t providing anything else. Asriel looks into the middle distance, his brow furrowed in consternation, then sighs resignedly.

“This is my fault.”

You look at him. You can feel Chara’s surprise mingling with your own. “What do you mean?” you ask in tandem.

“I’ve made things worse here. I’ve been a pushover. I couldn’t stand up to Chara when I should have, and I couldn’t stand up to you either, Frisk.”

“Hang on,” you say. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m on your side here.”

The creases in Asriel’s brow deepen. “Maybe. But–”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it!” you interrupt. “I brought you to the surface to save you; Chara tried to kill you!”

Asriel quails, and you feel a bolt of anger from Chara. Let him talk!

You fall silent; Asriel continues nervously.

“I – I know, Frisk. All I’m saying is... I’m not blameless, here. When Chara and I – when Chara and I made our plan, I promised to see it through. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t kill those humans. That’s why the plan failed, and that’s why I died.” He holds up a vine to ward off your argument. “I’m not saying I made the wrong choice. But a promise is a promise, and I broke mine. Chara has – you have a right to be angry about that, Chara.”

“But not to kill you,” you blurt out. You can feel the scowl etched on your face.

“No!” exclaims Asriel. “I never said that. I just – oh, man, Frisk. Please don’t look at me like that...”

“I’ll look at you however I like!” you protest, slamming a hand against the glass in frustration. “Do you realise how crazy you sound right now? Chara doesn’t care–”

The phantom hand is back on your throat, cutting you off before you can finish your next sentence. Asriel recoils at your outburst, and you think you see tears shining in his eyes yet again. God, what is wrong with him?

“Y-you’re...” he says, visibly struggling to get the words out. “You’re wrong, Frisk.” Your shock must show on your face, because he becomes even more distraught. “Oh, God. Please don’t be mad at me. Please don’t hate me. But I th-think, I think... I think you’re wrong, about this. About Chara.”

You’re speechless. You turn around so that your back is against the glass and pull your knees in to your chest, scrunching your eyes up as if to shut out the whole world. Your mind is in turmoil, overcome by parallel floods of hope and fury. Has Asriel gone completely mad? Is he finally sticking up for himself? Was almost getting killed not enough to show him how evil Chara is? Does he still love me, even now? Is he a complete lost cause? Is there still hope?

“Frisk?” Asriel calls from behind you. When you don’t answer, you hear him sob. “Chara? Please... please answer me. I can’t lose both of you! I can’t...” He takes a shaky breath, and trails off.

“This is all my fault,” he says after a moment. His voice is monotone – it sounds like he’s stopped crying. “If I hadn’t been so spineless... if I hadn’t been too much of a coward to stand up to both of you, this wouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just… please, don’t leave me...”

You remain silent, still too overwhelmed to form a response. After a moment, Asriel continues speaking.

“Chara, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I went along with your plan. I’m sorry I helped you kill yourself, and I’m sorry I couldn’t defend us when both our souls were on the line. I’m sorry I insulted your memory, and turned my back on you, instead of taking responsibility for my own mistakes.”

You feel the rush of vindication in Chara’s heart, but you manage to keep enough control to stop yourself from shifting just yet.

“Frisk,” Asriel continues. “I understand if you don’t want to let Chara talk to me. It’s your body they’re stuck in, and you shouldn’t be forced to share it. You never asked for this. But you believed in me even when I seemed hopeless, and I’m telling you: I believe in Chara. I think they deserve a chance, and I won’t – and I’d be disrespecting both of you if I lied about that. So I’m asking you, please... give them a chance to explain.”

You sit very still, eyes shut tight, waiting for the tempest in your mind to recede. A full minute drags by before you finally lift your head, but when you do so your mind is made up. You don’t care if it means you won’t get to hear Chara’s stupid plan; you don’t want Asriel anywhere near them – or you, for that matter – if he’s going to act like this.

“Go away, Asriel,” you say without turning around.

He doesn’t reply.

You clear your throat and speak a bit louder. “You’re an idiot if you think you can trust them. They don’t have anything to say that’s worth hearing. So if you’re just going to stand out there trying to guilt-trip me into handing over my body so they can hurt us all some more, you might as well leave. It’s not going to happen.”

Asriel doesn’t reply. You strain your ears, listening out for the sound of shifting earth, and hear nothing.

You growl in frustration and turn sharply. “Just leave, Asriel!” you snap. He winces at your sudden movement, but stays put.

“No,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. The tears are gone now, and his gaze is defiant.

“What?” you ask, barely above a breath.

“I’m not leaving. You’re not being fair. We need–”

“Shut up! How dare you tell me I’m being unfair? I don’t owe Chara a damn thing. It looks like I can’t stop you from being obsessed with them, but don’t come crying to me and expect me to help you get over that. I’m not going to say one word more to them than I absolutely have to!”

“Then what are you going to do, Frisk?” Asriel asks, raising his voice as well now. “If you’re not going to talk to them, or let me talk to them... what’s your plan? To stay locked in the greenhouse forever? Last time you tried to win by shutting them out, it lasted... what, a week? We might not be so lucky when it happens again. Next time they take over, who’ll you kill? Mom? Dad? Me? Hell, maybe they’ll make you go after some random human and pretend Dad put you up to it! That’d look great on the news!”

His outburst shocks you into silence; he forges ahead before you can think of an answer.

“Look, Frisk. Dad took the souls of six human kids, and you gave him the benefit of the doubt. I killed you something like a dozen times and you still came back for me. Give Chara the same chance, and maybe we can find a solution to this mess. That’s all I’m asking.”

You look silently at him for several seconds, your fists balled and your jaw clenched tight. You can see the fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t look away.

“Fine,” you say at last. “I still think you’re wrong about Chara, but you’re right that I don’t have much choice if I ever want to get out of here.” You take a moment to steel yourself. “Okay, Chara. You can talk to him.”

Asriel swallows. “O-okay. Thank you, Frisk.”

You sigh, and silently curse Asriel’s logic as well as your own weak will. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

You unclench your fists and try to relax; in your head you feel Chara sort of... step up to the podium as you move out of the way. There’s a slight pause in your breathing as you trade places, and then they inhale and open your mouth to speak.

“Thank you, Asriel.” Their tone is unnaturally casual, as though he’s just fetched them a cup of tea rather than making an impassioned defence of their character.

“You’re welcome,” Asriel says levelly. “Now, are you going to explain what’s going on?”

Chara flings your arms wide, indignant. “Well gee, it’s good to see you too!”

“Careful, Chara.” Asriel says in the same neutral tone. “I haven’t forgotten what happened last night. I’ll decide if it’s good to see you once I’ve heard your explanation.”

“That’s cold, Asriel,” Chara protests. “I thought you said you believed in me!” You feel the anger radiating from their side of your mind, and allow yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

“I said,” Asriel answers with strained patience, “that I’d give you a chance. Maybe you have a good reason for everything you’ve done; and if you do, I’m willing to hear it. But I’m not going to just roll over and forgive you to stop you from being mad at me. That’s what I always used to do, and look where it got us.”

Chara bristles, but bites their tongue before they can argue. “Fine. I see how it is. I’ll give you your explanation, and then you can pass judgement from on high.”

Asriel takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Your arms fold in front of you and you feel your shoulders hunch. It’s an unfamiliar posture for you, but it seems to come naturally to Chara. “Okay then, your honour. What d’you want to ask.”

“Let’s start back in the Underground,” Asriel prompts. “Frisk says you’re the one who made them kill everyone. Is that true?”

“No,” grunts Chara. “I mean, sort of. But not really.”

“Ri-ight,” Asriel says doubtfully. “So, can you explain what actually happened?”

“Uh-huh,” Chara says.

Asriel looks at you expectantly. Chara takes a moment to collect themself, and then begins.

“I think it started with the time Frisk killed you.”

Asriel’s brow creases for just a moment, but then he remembers. “Oh yeah. The first time you got to the end of the Underground.”

Chara nods. “I’d been with Frisk since they first arrived. I could see what they saw, hear what they heard. But it was distant. Like I was dreaming, almost. I kind of got their emotions second-hand. And sometimes I managed to influence them with my thoughts, but only sometimes. I don’t think they even realised I was doing it.”

You remember that first journey through the Underground. The feeling of someone, or something, just over your shoulder, or else tucked away in the back of your mind. Thoughts that arrived unbidden. Information you couldn’t possibly have learned, yet felt like you’d always known. As much as you’ve come to resent Chara’s presence now, it was almost a relief when you first learned they were there, and that you weren’t just going insane.

“I stayed like that for their whole first trip through the Underground,” Chara continues. “Just a kind of half-conscious... presence, without any real control. They killed a couple of monsters, if I remember rightly. They definitely killed Undyne. But they mostly found peaceful solutions to battles. Their LOVE was still at one when they got to Sans.

“I remember being terrified of fighting Asgore. Frisk could probably feel it.” You hear the pain in your voice as Chara speaks. “The guy was basically my Dad, and now I had to kill him to escape? I remember how hard I was pushing Frisk to spare him at the end. I was so...” they swallow. “I was so relieved when he agreed to stop fighting. Not that it ended up making a difference.”

Asriel hangs his head at the memory.

“And I remember how angry Frisk was,” Chara says. “They’d come all that way, tried so hard not to hurt anyone they didn’t absolutely have to, even managed to spare Asgore... and then you showed up, and killed him, and then used the human souls to torture and kill Frisk in a dozen different ways. When they finally beat you, and had you at their mercy, they’d just. Had enough. I actually felt the moment they snapped.

“They didn’t think much of killing you at the time. They were about to reset, after all; they knew you’d come back none the worse for wear. But it was a turning point. They didn’t kill you out of fear or necessity; you weren’t a threat. It was just revenge for what you’d put them through. It was the kind of thing I would do.”

Chara pauses, letting that statement hang in the air. When they speak again, you’re surprised to hear them addressing you.

“And that was the key, wasn’t it, Frisk? You were different after that. Everything you’d gone through on your first run had pushed you to the limit. You started lashing out, killing everyone in your path. And every time you did, I got stronger. By the time you killed Toriel and left the ruins, I could take control easily. I wasn’t a passenger any more. We were partners.” Chara grins at the memory. The expression feels unnatural on your face; too broad, too manic. You shudder. “That’s when I started forming my plan.”

“Wait,” you interrupt. “Last night, you said I was responsible for that run. Now you’re saying it was... both of us?”

Chara sighs. “I may have been exaggerating to get under your skin. The truth is... a bit more complicated. But you definitely started it.”

“Complicated how?” you bristle. “It was either you or me, and I would never–”

Your fist slams into the greenhouse floor involuntarily, and you yelp in pain. “Listen.” Chara says. “I know you want to be blameless, but just listen.”

You cradle your stinging hand reproachfully but let Chara continue, hanging on anxiously to every word now. You’d come to the conclusion that what they said last night was just a lie made up to throw you off balance – awake, and in the light of day, you felt foolish for believing it even momentarily. But even now, with nothing to gain, they still seem sincere in their assertion that you were at least partly responsible for that run. It unsettles you.

“As I was saying,” Chara resumes, “the first few kills were definitely yours, Frisk. It wasn’t until your LOVE increased for the first time that I noticed anything different. When it went up again, I had no doubt.

“You remember what Sans said. The more you kill, the easier it gets to distance yourself. As you got more distant, I had more space to influence you. So I thought, you know, let’s see where this goes. What’s the worst that can happen?”

They address Asriel again. “Frisk had given in to a violent impulse, but it wasn’t their nature. The further we went, the more they seemed to hate being in the driver’s seat. For me, though, it came naturally. I’d never actually killed anyone before, but I always knew it was within my capabilities. I didn’t shy away like they did. While they were distancing themselves, I was relishing it.

“I knew that there were enough monsters in the Underground to max out our LOVE, no problem. Even when the evacuations started, there was still an ample supply who were too slow or stupid to take shelter in time. And I knew that once we killed enough, I’d be able to switch places with Frisk altogether. I’d be the one calling the shots. What was it you said, Asriel? ‘You and your stolen soul?’ I don’t know if you realised how literal you were being.”

“Wait,” says Asriel. “So you would have taken Frisk’s soul? Would that have worked?”

“It would have,” Chara nods. “I’m certain of it. With nineteen LOVE, they were at the tipping point. Just a bit more, and there’d be no going back.

“I was so close, Asriel. So close to total control.” There’s real pain in Chara’s voice now, and you can feel it in their mind as well. It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for them. “Sans was tough, but Frisk and I could have beaten him together. Just a couple more kills, and I’d finally have managed to override them completely.”

“And then?” Asriel asks.

“And then... I would have destroyed everything. Left the timeline in a dead end, and refused to change it until Frisk handed over their soul for good. When they did, I’d reset the world for them. Then I could just sit back, let them figure out a way to escape the Underground, and then collect on their promise.

“So yes, I had a hand in killing all those monsters. I pushed Frisk to kill Toriel, and Papyrus, and Undyne, and I would have done the same to you and Asgore. But it wasn’t going to be forever. I never wanted you gone. I just wanted to have my life back.”

They take a shaky breath. “But, in the end, it didn’t work. Sans wore me down. Frisk took back control, and reset. That was that.”

A sombre silence reigns as Chara relinquishes control of your voice. You’d expected nothing from them but lies and deception, but their story has the ring of truth about it... and that scares you. Because if they’re telling the truth about your most vicious journey through the Underground, that means they’re telling the truth about your hand in it. And that would mean...

No. You halt that train of thought right there – its conclusion is too terrifying to countenance. You cast about for some alternative, some hole in Chara’s story... and after a moment, you find it.

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” you say. “Chara, you wanted to reset, and wipe out the Underground, so that I’d be forced to give you my soul. So you could be with the Dreemurrs again. But last night, you had control. You could have tried to reset then, and you didn’t.”

There’s silence. Chara doesn’t answer out loud, and you can’t hear anything from their voice inside your head, either.

“You knew it wouldn’t work,” you continue. “You said... you said you’d given up on the plan. That you didn’t care about going back any more.” You swallow. “You said it was just revenge.”

Still no answer.

“You were going to kill all three of them, weren’t you?” you ask insistently. “And you weren’t going to let me go back. They would have been gone forever! Why would you do that? Why–?”

Without warning, a sob rises in your throat, choking out the rest of your question. You feel like you swallowed a shard of glass, and there’s a hot stinging in your eyes – but these aren’t your tears. When your mouth opens again, it’s Chara who speaks.

“I don’t know,” they whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” They swipe away the tears with the heel of your hand. “I don’t know, okay? Maybe I really am completely evil. Maybe I just want everyone to suffer. Maybe all that stuff about stealing your soul and taking your place is just garbage rationalisation for wanting to go on a killing spree. I don’t – God, I don’t even know what I want anymore. I just wish this could be over.”

You’re taken aback; you hadn’t expected to push them to tears with a single question. There’s another moment of silence as Chara rubs your eyes, flushing with shame.

“Chara?” Asriel says from outside.

Chara raises your head, and your fingers part just enough for you to look at Asriel with one eye.

“I think I... I think I realised something just now. I know why you tried to kill me. And I don’t think it’s just because you’re... evil, or sadistic, or anything like that.”

Chara sighs. “Please tell me you’re not about to try and justify what I did to you, Asriel.”

“I’m not. I still think it was wrong. I just understand why you did it.”

“Alright then,” Chara grunts. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It’s – it’s the same reason I killed so many people when I was soulless,” Asriel says. “I mean, when I did that, it was partly curiosity. But the reason I kept going – the reason I did it so many times – it wasn’t just to see what would happen. It was spite.

“Seeing other people living their lives – caring about each other, and feeling like the things they did were actually worthwhile, and looking to the future with some kind of hope... it made me angry. Everyone could feel it, except for me, and I hated them for it. I wanted to make them all miserable, even if it wouldn’t make me happy. Because it didn’t feel fair for anyone else to be happy if I wasn’t.

“That’s why you wanted to kill us. Mom and Dad, and me... you felt like we’d abandoned you, and replaced you with Frisk. And when it looked like you had no way of getting us back, the only thing you had any power to do was punish us instead.”

There’s a pause while Chara considers. “Alright,” they say eventually. “I’ll buy that. But… what does it mean? About me?”

“Well,” Asriel answers hesitantly. “I think it means that at the very worst, you’re no more evil than I am. Do you hate me for what I’ve done?”

“No!” Chara exclaims immediately. “Of course I don’t hate you!”

“Then there’s no sense hating yourself,” Asriel says simply. “None of us are perfect, but you’re by no means the worst.”

“Huh,” says Chara thoughtfully. There’s a brief silence, and Asriel gives you both an awkward smile.

“No,” you mumble.

“What?” Asriel asks, his expression shifting to one of puzzlement.

“No,” you repeat. “This isn’t right... I’m not...” You fumble for words; you can feel beads of sweat forming on your forehead.

“Frisk?” Asriel asks, concerned. “What’s up.”

You laugh, even though none of this is funny. You laugh, and shake your head, and ball your fists anxiously around the fabric of your dressing gown. “This can’t be right,” you protest. “I’m not... I couldn’t...”

“Frisk,” Asriel says. “It’s all right–”

“No it’s not!” you snap. “I don’t want...” You look at him wide-eyed, inwardly cringing at the note of pleading in your voice. “I don’t want to be a murderer...”

“Frisk,” Asriel says firmly. “I felt the same way. I know how much this sucks.”

He looks into your eyes. Chara is mercifully quiet, but that’s not enough to quell your panic or stop your heart from racing.

“I didn’t want to,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone... I didn’t mean to...”

“Shh. Shh.” Asriel reaches out a vine and places it on the glass. “Look at me, Frisk. You’re gonna be okay. It hurts, but you’ll be okay. I promise.”

You nod shakily. “Okay,” you say. “Okay. I’m okay.”

You hold eye contact with Asriel and try to breathe steadily; Chara gives you as much space as they can – for your benefit or theirs, you can’t be sure.

You keep breathing, slow and even. You’re okay. You’re okay.

Then you hear the back door to the house open and shut. You turn and see Toriel walking down the garden. She calls your name, and Asriel’s, and suddenly you’re not okay at all.

Toriel’s figure blurs in front of you, and you can’t even tell why until she calls your name again in alarm. Your mouth seems to be trying to scream, but your lungs are too busy hyperventilating for a sound to take shape. You push yourself backwards, scrabbling at the grating behind you, trying to put some distance between yourself and the door that Toriel is now unlocking.

Don’t come in, you try to say, but it’s too late – Toriel already has the door open, and is bending down to take hold of you...

“No!” you manage, batting her hand away and continuing your retreat until your back is against the far wall. “Don’t touch me!”

“Frisk...” Toriel says, trying to soothe you, still stepping closer. “Whatever has–?”

“Get away,” you whimper. “I’m not safe... I’ll hurt you...”

“Frisk,” Toriel repeats. “Please, do not worry. I can defend myself if I have to. If you will just let me–”

“No,” you snarl. “No, you can’t. I’m dangerous. I’m a murderer, Toriel, I’m–”

“Frisk! I know last night was frightening, but you have not killed anyone–”

“Yes I have!” you yell. “I’ve killed more people than I can count! I’ve killed you, and Asriel, and Undyne and Papyrus and Mettaton and monsters whose names I don’t even know–”

Toriel is finally silenced by your outburst, and you manage to squint through tears long enough to take in her shock as you continue.

“...You saw the pine fall; you know I’m telling the truth. I killed you all, and then I went back and pretended it never happened, and blamed it all on, on” – Chara strangles their name out of your throat in the nick of time – “on them, instead, because I was too much of a coward to face what I’d done. And I lied to you, and I’ve been lying to you for months pretending that I’m innocent and perfect and...”

“Frisk,” Toriel says, with much more trepidation in her voice than before.

“...So just leave,” you finish, still shrinking into the corner, pulling your dressing gown up around your face like a shield. “Leave me here, and lock the door, and don’t come back. I don’t deserve you.”

You sense Toriel’s presence, still hovering uncertainly, but no longer approaching. You stay still, willing her away behind your layers of fabric.

“Very well,” she says eventually, her voice unbelievably gentle. “Asriel and I will give you some time to yourself.” You hear her footsteps retreating to the door, the creak of the hinges as she shuts it, and the click of the key in the lock.

“Frisk,” you hear Asriel call, his voice muffled by the glass. “Please. You don’t have to push us away like this.”

You stay buried, keeping your face hidden.

“We’re not abandoning you, Frisk. You don’t deserve that, even if you think you do!”

When you still don’t move, Toriel mumbles something to Asriel that you can’t make out. He responds with a quiet “okay,” which is followed a moment later by the sound of earth giving way as Toriel lifts him out of the ground.

The two of them return to the house, leaving you and Chara alone. You sit in silence, still half-expecting them to make some gloating remark about your meltdown, but no such comment comes. For now, you are truly alone with your thoughts.

You’re not sure how long you spend curled up in the corner of the greenhouse, still huddled inside your dressing gown, trying to shut out the world, to shut out yourself. At first there’s no respite – every thought leads you back to the lives you took, and the lies you told to defend yourself. But as the minutes pass, your mind begins to wear itself out. Your breathing gradually slows and the tears stop flowing. And eventually, exhausted by the weight of your guilt, you find respite in the oblivion of sleep.

Chapter Text

For the next few hours you shift sluggishly between phases of shallow sleep and fitful waking. Your body feels rested, but your mind still shies away from each creeping return of consciousness, hoping every time that five more minutes will be enough to dispel bitter reality and put the world right.

But you can’t hide forever; eventually the stiffness in your joints and the growing emptiness in your belly force you, grudgingly, to wake up properly and face the inevitable persistence of the outside world. You sigh miserably as the guilt of the morning’s revelation settles back over you; it doesn’t overwhelm you like it did before, but its weight still hangs heavy on your heart, the stabbing pain worn down by familiarity into a dull, steady ache.

The golden light of late afternoon streams into the greenhouse, forcing you to squint as you slowly emerge from your dressing gown chrysalis and peer out at the lawn. The chair where Toriel sat is still there, but it’s now occupied by Asgore – his shadow stretches almost up to the back door of the house. Seeing you move, he inclines his head towards you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Ah, Frisk,” he says. “It is good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” you answer automatically, wincing with embarrassment the moment the words leave your mouth – voicing such a trivial complaint feels like a mockery of the sombre circumstances. But Asgore doesn’t take offence; he simply gestures to the table next to you.

“Toriel thought that might be the case. She had me bring some food out for you to eat when you woke up. And your cell phone, too.”

You haul yourself to your feet and turn around to see a plastic-wrapped plate sitting in the centre of the table, next to your phone. There’s a sliced apple, a tuna sandwich cut into neat triangles, a handful of carrot and celery sticks, and – a ping of excitement comes from Chara’s side of your mind – a small caramel chocolate bar. You step forward and pull the covering off the plate with childish excitement, only just managing to stop Chara from grabbing the chocolate and wolfing it down immediately.

Savoury stuff first, sweet stuff after, you tell them, carefully directing your hand to pick up the sandwich. You know, like civilised humans?

I don’t care about civilisation, Chara grumbles. Or humanity. I care about chocolate.

You draw out one of the chairs and sit down before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Counterpoint: Asgore knows how you eat. If I go chocolate first, he’ll get suspicious.

Fiiiine, says Chara. But I refuse to touch the cele-

You pick up a celery stick with your free hand and take a bite.

...I hate you.

You ignore them and turn to face Asgore. “Where’s Toriel?” you ask with your mouth full.

“She is inside, taking care of Asriel,” Asgore says. “He seemed quite distraught after this morning’s conversation – but then again, it sounds as though it was not easy for you, either.”

His tone is far from accusatory, but you feel two symmetric twinges of guilt anyway. “What did they tell you about... what I said?” you ask.

“Asriel hasn’t shared any of what you said to each other in private. As for Toriel... she summarised your conversation to me. That there are two identities within your mind. That you confessed to killing many monsters in the Underground, and then erasing their deaths. And that, in light of last night’s events, we have no reason not to believe you.”

You slowly swallow your mouthful before speaking again, belatedly remembering your manners. This is a king you’re talking to, after all.

“You seem… calm,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Considering everything that’s happened.”

“Well,” says Asgore mildly. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, it gets easier to keep your head in a crisis. And while I must admit that this latest revelation makes for a rather dramatic upheaval of my worldview…” He shrugs. “It is all so unbelievable that I am, perhaps, struggling to be as shocked as I really ought to be.”

“So you didn’t believe us,” you say resignedly. “Not until my prediction came true.”

You know you’re being petty by fixating on this point now, but Asgore takes it in stride. “There is no sense lying to you,” he says straightforwardly. “No, I did not believe you or Asriel. I surmised that your memories of alternate timelines had arisen from trauma, and resolved to leave them be. Though really, I ought to be used to expecting the impossible from you at this point. I apologise for doubting you.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him hastily. “I wouldn’t believe it either. It’s not like I know why we have these powers – except that it has something to do with determination. Beyond that…” You shrug. “It seems completely random. When I – when I fell into Mount Ebott, they just appeared out of nowhere.”

Asgore nods. “It is unlike anything I’ve encountered before… and a terrible burden for you and Asriel to bear. Taking it into consideration, along with everything else you both went through, it is hardly surprising that you resorted to violence at times.”

“Isn’t it?” you ask wearily. “Shouldn’t having that kind of power mean you have less of an excuse to hurt other people? If you get as many tries at everything as you want, don’t you have a responsibility to make things go right?”

Asgore scrunches his snout up thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But that is what you did eventually, is it not? We would not have ended up in this, uh… ‘time line,’ otherwise. I cannot fault you for taking some trial and error to reach it.”

You half-laugh. “Trial and error, maybe. But what I did was way beyond that. You have no idea how bad I got.”

“I may have more of an idea than you think,” Asgore ventures. “You can be the judge. You see, we monsters have a way of measuring an individual’s capacity to hurt. There are units called EXP, which–”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Sans told me about this. EXP and LOVE.”

“Ah, so you’re familiar with our system of measurement?” Asgore says. “In that case I will skip the explanation and simply ask: would it be accurate to say that, in your most violent journey through the Underground, your LOVE was somewhere around nineteen?”

You hesitate, then nod silently.

Asgore looks unsurprised. “Indeed. In that case, I think I can gauge how, um... ‘bad’ you were.”

“So did my LOVE increase yesterday?” you ask.

“It did,” Asgore confirms. “For as long as I’ve known you, it has always been one; but last night, when you attacked Asriel, it was at nineteen.”

You swallow nervously. “And now?”

“Now…” he pauses and looks at you intently, focusing on something you can’t see. “Now you’re at a ten.”

You sigh and put down the barely-touched sandwich – this just isn’t the kind of conversation you can have over lunch. Or dinner, or whatever it is.

“Don’t you hate me now?” you ask, not meeting Asgore’s eyes. “Knowing what I did to your kingdom?”

Asgore hums thoughtfully. “ If I understand correctly, those were the actions of another personality controlling your body. Is it right to hold you responsible for them?”

“I…” You hesitate. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that. I thought it was all them, too, but now… now I’m not so sure. I think that was just something I told myself afterwards, to stop myself feeling guilty. Like I…” You trail off. There’s a feeling like a piece of broken crockery lodged in your throat, and you don’t trust yourself to say any more.

Asgore remains impassive. “ Even so, I do not hate you. How can I, when your position is so similar to my own? ”

“Similar?” you say, with some difficulty – you grab the glass of water on the table and take a sip to try and clear your throat. “Similar how?”

“Well,” says Asgore, meshing his fingers together in front of his waist. “Clearly you feel immensely guilty for what you did. You want to believe that it was out of your control, or else that it was justified, but you know deep down that it wasn’t. And try as you might, you cannot make the people you care about understand the evil of your actions, so even the relief of facing their scorn is not available to you.”

He takes a moment to adjust his posture before continuing. “It’s the position I have been in, Frisk, for a very long time. Those six human children… I could make excuses, say that my hands were tied, but the truth is that I chose to kill each and every one of them. My subjects are doubtless happy you survived, but they still believe my cause was just. Had I killed you, I do not think they would have objected. They will never judge me as harshly as I deserve. As for humanity… it would be selfish of me to confess anything to them. My people would pay the price many times over. I cannot sacrifice my kingdom’s reputation, my people's safety, simply in the hope of achieving personal absolution.”

He looks down at his intertwined fingers for a moment, then lifts his head to make eye contact with you once again. “In fact, the only people who can judge me properly dwell in this very household. Toriel has already given me more grace than I am owed by allowing me to set foot under her roof. Asriel, I think, is still too burdened with his own guilt to recognise my crimes.” He disentangles his fingers and folds his hands in his lap. “But you, Frisk… knowing what I know now, I imagine you must have done battle with me at least once in the course of your many journeys through the Underground.”

You nod. “A few – a few times.”

Asgore’s face betrays little emotion, but you notice a slight tension in his lips upon hearing your answer. “And – forgive me for dwelling on this – what was the outcome of those battles?” he asks.

“I… you killed me,” you answer. “In almost all of them. I almost killed you once, but not quite. Asriel…” you hesitate, uncertain if you should tell him about the time his own son finished him off.

Asgore bows his head. “It is as I feared. In that case, I am responsible for seven murders… more, indeed, since you suffered death at my hands many times over.” His voice grows strained. “I am deeply sorry, Frisk, that you were forced to endure so much pain on account of my failures.”

“You shouldn’t apologise,” you say hurriedly. “If you’re not going to be angry at me for the stuff I did in other timelines, you shouldn’t feel guilty for what you did.”

“Shouldn’t I?” Asgore questions. “Was it not my mandate, that all humans who entered the Underground should die, that caused you so much torment? That pushed you until you saw no other course of action but to retaliate in kind? That is what I gleaned from Asriel’s explanation, at any rate.”

“I – I guess,” you admit, taken aback by his argument. Seeing his morose expression, you carry on hastily. “But I still didn’t have to kill as many people as I did! I didn’t just defend myself. I went looking for people to fight, I – I’m worse than you realise, okay?”

Asgore remains silent, and you push on, determined to be understood. “And anyway, there was no point to any of it! I found a peaceful solution in the end, where nobody had to die. If I’d tried harder, I could have figured it all out sooner – befriended the right people, said the right things.”

“Maybe so,” Asgore concedes. “But was it really your duty to do any such thing? You are but a child, and a child who was thrown into a strange world full of enemies. Was it really your responsibility to solve all our problems for us, just to have a chance at survival? At returning home?”

You don’t say anything to that. Asgore keeps his head down, not pressuring you to answer. After another stretch of silence, he clears his throat.

“Be that as it may, all these questions bring us no closer to deciding what to do next.”

“I guess not,” you agree sadly. “You can’t exactly let me out like nothing happened.”

“Hmm,” hums Asgore. “But we can hardly keep you trapped here forever, can we?”

“Do you have something in mind?” you ask.

“Well,” says Asgore. “I must admit, there is no way of guaranteeing everyone’s safety if we do let you out. However, we can minimise the risk. Your LOVE is already much lower than it was last night; we can wait a while longer, until we are reasonably sure that you no longer pose a threat to yourself or anyone else. Then we can let you out.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, pondering the idea. “So, how do we decide when I’m safe?”

“This may sound foolish,” says Asgore, “but I think the best person to make the call is, well… you.”

“I… what?” you ask, baffled. “You’re going to let me decide?”

“If you are willing to, yes. You’ve made it clear that you are sorry for attacking Asriel, and he seems to have forgiven you – as have Toriel and I. Furthermore, you’re the only one who knows the mind – or minds – of the persons within you. Who better to judge if they are safe or not? You will have to go free eventually; it may as well be sooner rather than later.”

“But… how do you know I won’t try to hurt one of you again?” you press. “A human can kill a monster really easily if we want to, right?”

“That is true,” nods Asgore. “But don’t forget, Toriel and I know how to check your LOVE. We’ll have an advance warning if it increases again. And, if the worst comes to the worst, I promise we won’t risk our lives fighting you, Frisk. We’ll run away if we have to. We’re good at dodging – Undyne can testify to that.” He suppresses a smile.

You shake your head. “There’s too much that could go wrong. What if I try to attack one of you in your sleep again? What if my LOVE goes up too quickly for you to react? And what about Asriel? He might not be able to get out of his pot if I go after him...”

Asgore sighs. “You are right. In all honesty, it is a far-from-perfect solution – but I’m afraid it’s the best I can come up with. I ask that you give the matter due consideration before making a decision. You know your other half better than Toriel and I; do you think you will be able to reach an understanding with them?”

You take a moment to consider. Chara is silent inside your mind, as taken aback by Asgore’s offer as you are.

“I need some time, I think,” you tell Asgore. “To talk to them, and be sure. I can’t promise anything, but… maybe we can reach a truce, at least.”

Asgore nods. “Would you like me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” you say.

“Very well.” He gestures to your phone, which still lies untouched on the table. “You can call me or Toriel once you’ve made your choice.”

You take another sip of water and stare into space, deep in thought, as Asgore turns and walks up the garden. Once he’s in the house, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation to come. You can feel Chara’s anxious presence in the back of your mind, like a visitor hovering in a doorway, uncertain on whether or not to enter.

Asgore’s right. You need to get out of here sometime, and that means settling things with Chara – one way or another. In a tentative gesture of goodwill, you pick up the chocolate bar, open it carefully, and take a bite.

“Chara?” you say out loud.

You feel them approaching and close your eyes, willing yourself back into that dark space the two of you share. Fear washes over you as you sense the walls of the greenhouse fading away, but you fight through it. You need to meet Chara on an equal footing.

*          *          *

When you open your eyes again, the greenhouse is gone and they’re sitting in front of you, their knees pulled up to their chest. Their face is still tear-stained, their hair unkempt, but they look up at you with a steadiness that was absent before.

“I’m sorry.” you say immediately.

Chara exhales in a nervous half-laugh. “Wow, Frisk. Only you could face the person who tried to murder your whole family and open with an apology.”

“I mean it,” you insist. “They’re your family, too. I shouldn’t have tried to keep you away from them like I did. I made you into a demon just because I was scared of having to share them.” You hear the words tumbling out, and force yourself to slow down. “But you’re not a demon. You just want them back.”

Chara sighs. “Aren’t I? Every time I try to do things for myself or anyone else, I just seem to make things worse. Like I said last night, you’re the one who’s always cleaning up my messes. Do you really think I deserve your sympathy?”

“I think you deserve better than you’re getting right now,” you answer. “You didn’t ask for any of this to happen, any more than I did.”

“Maybe not, but I still hurt you... and Asriel. I’m… I’m sorry, Frisk. You don’t deserve what I’ve been putting you through. You don’t deserve to have me stuck to your brain like this. If I could leave, I would, but I… I don’t know what to do…” They close their eyes and lean forward into their knees so their face is hidden.

“Hey,” you say, half-reaching out a hand before thinking better of it and letting it fall to your side. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll stop fighting you, and we can work together instead.”

Chara laughs in earnest now. “Are you for real? After everything I’ve done, you trust me to work with you? How do you know I won’t just take advantage of it to ruin everything again?”

“I don’t,” you answer honestly. “But I’m willing to give you a second chance. Just like Asgore and Toriel are giving me.”

They shuffle slowly round until you’re looking at them sideways-on, and then lift their head up and stare out into empty space. You follow their line of sight, gazing into the void, but as usual there’s nothing there.

“So… what are you suggesting?” asks Chara, at long last.

“I won’t shut you out any more,” you say. “My life isn’t the most exciting, but you can share what there is. You can talk to Asriel – and Asgore and Toriel, if you want. I won’t stand between you and your family.”

“They’re your family too, Frisk,” Chara says uncertainly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Letting me share your life for… who knows how long? Maybe forever? It’s not a decision you should make lightly.”

You sit down, bringing yourself down to their level, turning at the same time so that you’re facing out into space, the same way as them. “The only alternative is locking you away inside my mind for the rest of my life – and I’m not doing that,” you insist. “I’m not saying this is going to be easy, but we’ll figure it out together.”

After a few more seconds of silence, you risk a sidelong glance at them. Their piercing red eyes are fixed on you, appraising your offer keenly. But eventually a slight unfurrowing of their brow, and the minutest inclination of their head, tells you they’ve made a decision.

You turn around properly and lift your hand again, offering an open palm to Chara. They look down at it nervously, but you don’t retreat.

“Partners?” you say.

They swallow, and their eyes meet yours for a brief moment. Then, timidly, haltingly, they lean forward and raise their hand to shake yours. A faint gust of wind passes through the darkness, tousling the strands of hair hanging in front of their face.

“Partners,” they answer.

You shake once, and wait a moment before letting go. Chara ducks their head and pulls their hand away, knitting their fingers back together around their shins. You ball your fists anxiously in your sweater.

“I need to apologise to Asriel,” Chara blurts out, breaking the silence before it can stretch on any further.

“Me too,” you say. “I shouldn’t have laid into him like that just for defending you.”

“At least you didn’t try to kill him,” Chara points out. “Oh, man, I hope he isn’t going to hate me forever…”

“He won’t,” you reassure them. “You know how much he cares about you. I’m more worried that he’ll forgive us both too easily.”

Chara nods. “He was never much good at holding grudges. None of the Dreemurrs were, really. I had to do it for them.” They pause for a moment before snorting derisively. “Look where that got me.”

You don’t respond to that, and for a while the two of you continue to sit side by side, looking out into the dark. You’re hesitant to say anything more, frightened that the wrong words at the wrong time might break your fragile new peace. But presently you decide that there’s no delaying the inevitable, and speak again.

“So, we should probably decide if we wanna get out of the greenhouse.”

“Yeah,” Chara agrees with a sigh. “We should.” They look out into the void pensively. “I’m just… I’m scared, y’know? I feel normal now, but what if I go nuts again? I’ve already hurt so many people.”

“I know,” you say. “But… that’s just life, really, isn’t it? You can stay put, and never risk anything, and maybe that way you’ll stay safe forever. But if you want to do anything worthwhile, you eventually have to move forward, and gamble on things turning out okay.”

Chara chews on that for a while before giving a grunt of acknowledgment. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just… scary. Moving forward after you’ve failed so many times.”

“It is. But we’ll do it together, okay?”

“Yeah,” says Chara. “Together.”

You nod, satisfied, and then get to your feet and offer them a hand. “C’mon. Let’s message Toriel and get out of here.”

They take your hand with a wry smile and you help them to their feet, noticing as you do so just how light they feel. Then again, you think, this whole thing is some sort of dream, or vision. Perhaps it’s more surprising that they weigh anything at all.

*          *          *

You blink and find yourself standing in the greenhouse once more. You’re still holding the chocolate bar, and Chara instinctively raises it to your mouth before pausing.

Uh, Frisk? Is it cool if I…?

Go for it, you tell them.

They devour the whole thing in seconds. It’s weird, being a passenger in your own body while you’re eating – the experience isn’t as immediate as if you were doing it yourself, but it’s not as distant as if you were watching from outside, either.

Chara swallows the last of the chocolate and sighs happily. It must be the first thing they’ve eaten since they died, you realise, not counting all the second-hand meals they had in the back of your mind. The realisation leaves you feeling that bit more sympathetic toward them.

They let you back in the driver’s seat to finish the sandwich and veggies, and you split the apple slices between you. Then you wipe your fingers on the napkin that was thoughtfully folded under the plate, reach for your phone, and send a message to Toriel.

Toriel answers immediately.

Your heart is racing as you wait for Toriel to arrive; if Chara is trying to conceal their nervousness, it’s not working.

It’ll be okay, you reassure them, with as much calm as you can muster. We’ll get through this. I promise.

Okay, they say shakily. Okay. We can do this. Together.

Together, you reply.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere is tense as you re-enter the house. You follow Toriel through the kitchen and into the dining room, where Asgore sits with Asriel on the table at his side. You pause a couple of feet away from them, unsure whether you should sit down or not. Toriel takes a step back to avoid blocking your view, but stays close by your side. You glance between Asgore and Asriel, waiting to see who will break the silence.

“Good evening, Frisk,” Asgore greets you. “I am glad that you feel ready to rejoin us.”

“Thanks,” you reply. “I, uh… I’m sorry. We’re sorry – about everything. We… we didn’t mean for things to get this bad. Thank you for trusting us again.”

Asgore looks at you kindly, but Asriel’s eyes dart nervously between you and Toriel before settling on the latter . “So, uh, have you told them …?” he begins.

“Not yet,” answers Toriel. “Asgore…?”

You immediately feel uneasy. What is Asriel talking about? Have the three of them been discussing something behind your back?

Asgore clears his throat. “Toriel and I have agreed, Frisk, that I should take Asriel back to Wickerville tonight. He will stay there with me for a while.”

“What?” you ask, your stomach sinking. They’re taking him away?

“I hope you will not be offended,” Asgore continues. “I assure you, the decision was not made lightly. Toriel and I are able to defend ourselves if need be, but – as you pointed out – Asriel would be at risk if your… other side were to gain control again.” He gestures to the room at large. “None of us want that.”

You stare at him for a moment in stunned silence. “So you’re leaving now?”

“Soon,” Asgore says. “The next train to Wickerville departs in about half an hour.”

You look up at Toriel, and then back to Asgore and Asriel, gradually registering how everyone’s positioned. Asgore, while not blocking your line of sight to Asriel, would easily be able to dive across the table to put himself between the two of you. Toriel, likewise, isn’t in your way, but remains close enough to restrain you at a moment’s notice. You may have been released from your prison, but it’s clear you’re still not trusted. You scoff, disbelieving.

“Did you agree to this?” you ask Asriel. You can sense Chara’s anger coming through in your voice, and you’d be lying if you said you were making an effort to conceal it.

“I…” Asriel hesitates. “I get where they’re coming from. It might not be safe–”

“I’m not asking what they think,” Chara snaps. “I’m asking if you–”

“Frisk,” Toriel interrupts, her voice taking on that icy note you first heard when she went to destroy the door to the Ruins. “I understand that you are upset, but Asgore and I have already made this decision. For your safety, and Asriel’s. We will not change our minds.”

You shut your mouth and swallow Chara’s arguments along with your own . This whole mess is your fault – you’ll have to put up with the consequences i f you ever want to prove yourselves trustworthy again.

“This will not be a permanent arrangement,” Asgore reassures you, after waiting a moment to ensure you have nothing more to say. “And we do not mean to cut you off from one another – you can still keep in touch on the line. I hope you understand, Frisk, that this is not intended as a punishment for any of you. We only want to keep you safe.”

“Yeah. I get it,” you say sullenly. “Sorry for arguing.”

Asgore nods curtly. Behind you, you sense Toriel relax ever so slightly. Asriel looks down at the table, his teeth digging anxiously into his lower lip.

“So,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “You guys are, uh, heading off soon? Wait, you already said… uh, sorry.” You give up, and fall silent.

Asgore looks up at the clock and nods. “ It’s probably about time we left for the station . I suppose we’d better say our goodbyes... ”

You look at Asriel; he meets your eyes hesitantly . You cast a glance back at Toriel, who smiles encouragingly.

“I’m – we’re – sorry,” you say haltingly. “Neither of us meant for this to happen. Me or – or the other person. So… sorry.”

“It’s…” Asriel starts, before pausing. “Heh. I shouldn’t say it’s okay. But… I get it, y’know. I’ve been there. I forgive you both.”

As miserable as the pair of you are, there’s a glimmer of hope from Chara at those words. You allow yourself a smile.

“As Asgore said, this won’t be forever,” Toriel says from behind you. “We just need some time to make sure that Frisk and their… and this, um, new person are both safe.”

“Uh-huh,” you say.

“I have a computer at home, but I hardly use it,” Asgore says. “I’ll help Asriel set up an Undernet account” – he smiles knowingly – “or, more likely, he’ll help me set it up. That way you can still talk with each other.”

Asriel keeps his eyes on your as Asgore picks him up. “ Bye for now, guys,” he says.

“Yeah. See you later.”

With that, they depart. Asgore carries Asriel into the hallway, and Toriel follows to open the door for them. You remain standing in the dining room, still too full of shock and resentment to go and see them off properly.

Of course the second I get him back, they take him away again, Chara thinks. And for once, you have no inclination to try and calm their temper.

* * *

At dinnertime you and Toriel sit in tense silence, picking at the reheated remains of last night’s pies. A little way into the meal, she makes a tentative attempt at conversation.

“I was wondering, Frisk, whether – if it’s alright with both of you – I might ask you a bit about this other person who is sharing your body?”

“Oh. Um…” You pause, but sense no refusal from Chara. “Sure.”

Chara takes over as you finish speaking. “I don’t know how much there is to tell, but… yeah. Go for it.”

Toriel smiles “Well, first of all, I suppose I had better ask… what shall I call you? Do you have a name that you go by?”

“Oh,” says Chara. “Uh…” They fall silent. Toriel looks at you expectantly.

Crap, Chara thinks. What do I tell her?

I dunno, you answer. Make something up!

I can’t! You do it!

You gape at Toriel, your mind blank. She looks at you sympathetically. “It’s no trouble if not,” she says.

“No!” Chara exclaims. “It’s Ch- uh, um…”

“Chris!” you blurt out – the first non-Chara name you can think of that fits.

“Chris?” asks Toriel.

“With a K!” Chara adds. “Kris with a K.”

“Kris with a K,” repeats Toriel, bemused. “I see. Well, it’s good to meet you, Kris.”

Really? you think in disbelief. Does anyone even spell it like that?

Give me a break, grumbles Chara. I don’t want it to look too similar to my real name.

Then maybe don’t almost say your real name? You didn’t leave me with a lot of options.

I panicked. Leave me alone.

“Kris?” Toriel says. “Are you–”

“Yeah!” Chara responds squeakily. “Sorry! It’s good to meet you, too.”

Toriel smiles and cuts a bite of snail pie. “ I am glad that you and Frisk are managing to get along. I can’t imagine it’s easy, being stuck two-to-a-body.”

Chara looks down at your plate and carefully spears a fragment of crust with their fork. You take over the talking, trying to keep the conversation from grinding to a halt.

“Yeah. It’s a bit easier now that we’re not fighting, though. For me – Frisk – at least.”

Toriel nods. “I’m not surprised. Few things are more tiring than conflict.”

“It... wasn’t really Frisk’s fault,” Chara mumbles. “They’re not a violent person by nature; I am. I was the one picking a fight the whole time.” They glance up, meeting Toriel’s eyes for just a moment before looking back down. “That’s part of why I lashed out last night. Attacking people let me feel in control. It wasn’t what Frisk wanted.”

You’re tempted to argue, to remind Chara of the times in the Underground when fighting was exactly what you wanted. But this is their first proper conversation with Toriel in a century, so you swallow your quibbles and let them speak their mind.

“Well, Kris,” Toriel responds once she’s confident you’re both done speaking. “I am deeply grateful to you for deciding not to fight, and giving cooperation a chance. It takes a lot of courage to let down your defences around strangers. So thank you. I promise I will do my best to take care of both you and Frisk from now on.”

Wow, thinks Chara. A hundred years, and she hasn’t changed a bit.

You permit yourself a small smile.

* * *

Later, in your room, you open your laptop and begin catching up on your social media notifications. There’s several new posts from Papyrus documenting the experiences of monsters moving in to their new surface homes – he’s attached a copious number of pictures showing families posing outside their houses, unloading luggage, getting food from the various carts and trucks set up in the main square… You scroll absent-mindedly, doling out the occasional thumbs-up and supportive comment, until you’re interrupted by Toriel knocking on your door.

“Frisk? Kris?” she calls. “May I come in?”

You spin around on your desk chair. “Sure. What’s up?”

She opens the door; you see that she’s holding her cell phone in one hand. “Asgore has just texted me to say that Asriel wishes to know what your” – she glances down at the screen – “Undernet username is. Are you happy for me to send it to them?”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply. “Go for it.”

“Excellent. ‘Frisk the human, zero-three.’ Is that correct?”

You nod. “That’s it.”

“Thank you.” She carefully picks out the letters, her claws clacking loudly against the phone screen. “Perfect. I expect he will be in touch shortly, then.”

“Yeah. I suppose he’ll want to catch up properly after all this time,” you say. You’re a little nervous at the prospect of managing another three-way conversation between you, him, and Chara, even if none of you are at each other’s throats any more.

Toriel chuckles. “Indeed. It has been…” She looks at the phone again. “...Almost three hours since you last spoke!”

You’re momentarily mystified by her response – you weren’t trying to be funny! – but then you put two and two together and your stomach plunges. You try not to look too obviously like you’ve been thrown for a loop, and thank your stars that Toriel took your statement as a joke.

“Well, I hope you have a good chat!” Toriel says, backing out of the room and beginning to close the door. “Good evening.”

“Thanks,” you say, your voice squeaky with adrenaline. “Yeah! Good evening!”

Frisk, Chara scolds you the moment the door shuts. Do you want to try any harder to blow my cover? “After all this time...”

“I’m–” I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you say, checking yourself and switching to your internal voice. I just – I forgot…

Well, don’t forget. That was way too close.

I know. Jeez, gimme a break.

Whatever barb Chara was planning next is interrupted by the sound of an Undernet notification arriving on your computer. You turn around and see that you have a new friend request from a user named FlowerpotPrince05.

That’ll be him, says Chara.

Ya think? you respond, moving your cursor over the “accept” button. You let it hover for a moment, steeling yourself for the coming conversation.

Well, go on then, Chara says expectantly.

Okay, okay. You click the button, and a moment later Asriel’s first message appears.

You sit with your fingers poised on the keyboard, but another message comes through before you or Chara can think how to reply.

Chara laughs, and you feel your fingers shift above the keys. Can I…? Chara asks.

Sure.

They begin typing, moving slowly as they get used to a keyboard and hands that are both unfamiliar.

FriskTheHuman03: Hi Asriel!, you add.

I’m going to put a K after my messages, so he knows they’re from me, Chara tells you.

Cool. I’ll use an F.

You wait for a moment to see if Chara has anything more to say, then jump in with your own message.

Chara lets out a sharp laugh which they quickly stifle, but you’re left nonplussed. What’s so funny? you ask. What does he mean, paying respects?

Just a second, Chara answers, already typing a reply.

Are you going to explain what’s going on? you demand.

It’s a meme, Chara says hurriedly, somehow wheezing with laughter even inside your head. It’s – okay, basically there’s these old internet jokes–

I know what a meme is, Chara, you interrupt. I just don’t get this one. What does the letter F have to do with respect?

It’s from a video game. It came out in like, 2014, and there’s this bit where… wait, let me see if I can find it.

They open a new tab and start searching for the clip . Meanwhile, another message from Asriel pops up.

Chara sighs and jumps back to the chat window.

Chara goes back to their search and, after a bit more clicking, finds what they’re looking for. They send the link to Asriel, then play the video themselves.

You watch in bemusement as the sombre funeral scene unfolds – Chara does their best to stifle their laughter, and succeeds until the words “Press F to pay respects” appear on the screen, at which point they release their breath in an undignified snort. You guess it’s kind of funny, but you still feel like Chara’s weird sense of humour is doing the heavy lifting.

By the time you finish watching, a whole slew of messages from Asriel have arrived .

Chara’s hands jump gleefully back to the keyboard, ready to reply, but something gives them pause. Hey, Frisk…?

Yeah? You answer.

Are you good? You’ve gone kinda quiet.

Uh… yeah, you say half-heartedly. Just… You gesture to the string of messages between Chara and Asriel, and feel a twinge of guilt from the former.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to sideline you. Hold on a second.

They type another message.

Sorry, Chara repeats. I guess… we just got carried away. It’s been a long time.

I understand, you say. It’s partly my fault that you’ve been apart for so long.

Maybe, they say doubtfully. But anyway… you decide what to say next.

You hand the reins back over to Chara, and they mime cracking their knuckles before starting to type once more. You giggle.

Nyan Cat? you think, before typing your reply for Asriel’s benefit.

Chara jumps back to the tab displaying the video game cutscene, and types another search. This time they don’t need to look far – they click on the first result, then hastily pause so they can send it to Asriel. The thumbnail alone is already raising questions in your mind, though.

They send the link, then go back and play the video for you . You wait expectantly as an upbeat jingle plays over a black screen; then the visuals kick in, and you burst out laughing.

Yessss, Chara crows. It worked!

I… what is this? you demand. Why is the… I don’t understand… you take another look at the video and laugh again.

There’s nothing to understand, Chara says. It is simply a grey cat, with a pop-tart for a body, flying through space and leaving behind a rainbow trail.

Is there really no backstory for this? It’s not, like, from a TV show or something?

Not that I know of.

Wow. You look at the timestamp. So it’s just this for three-and-a-half minutes?

Yup.

You snort. Okay, I like this one. Definitely more uplifting than the sad soldier funeral scene.

Glad you think so.

So, wait, you say. You already had pop-tarts way back in the 2010s? I didn’t realise they were so old!

What?! Chara yells. You still have pop-tarts?

Yeah, you reply. I mean, I don’t eat them that often, but you can still–

Oh man, we have to get some. The chocolate ones. Can we ask Toriel?

Uh, sure – remind me tomorrow, you say, turning your attention back to the screen to find several new notifications. Hang on, let’s reply to Asriel. You leave Nyan Cat playing in the background while you check his messages.

Chara giggles. Dork.

Say it to his face, you shoot back. They take to the keyboard.

Hey! you yelp.

With a bit more searching, Chara locates a trove of doge memes to browse through.

You grin as you scroll through the collection. Oh my God, Chara. This is so goofy.

If you don’t like it, you can just–

No, no! You say hurriedly. I love it! I just... wouldn’t have expected it to be your thing.

Hmm. I see.

Another message from Asriel.

You’re momentarily baffled, but Chara replies immediately.

There’s a brief pause before Asriel’s next message arrives.

There’s a delay of several seconds.

Chara rushes back to the webpage and scrolls frantically, checking the dates on each entry. Sure enough, while the first few are dated from 2013-2014, the later ones come from a whole range of different dates, from the late 2010s and well into the 20s. Just like Asriel said, there’s entire animated music videos in this crop, and even a currency inspired by the dog? Man, humans are weird.

Oh my God, says Chara. I can’t believe this stupid meme made a comeback after I was gone. That’s so…

They pause; you feel a prickling sensation in your eyes, and a pain like a shard of glass in your throat. You lift your hand and find yourself wiping away tears.

Chara? you say. Are you crying???

No! Chara responds. I’m just–

It’s okay, but–

Shut up! I’m fine. They hastily wipe away the tears, and swallow to get rid of the lump in your throat. I’m just being stupid. It’s nothing. Forget it.

You’re quiet for a moment. Chara sniffs and rubs their eyes.

Do you want to talk about…? You begin hesitantly, but Chara interrupts before you can finish .

No! It’s… They pause to collect themself. Sorry for snapping. But please, drop it. Okay?

Okay, you agree reluctantly, as another message from Asriel arrives .

Chara goes for the keyboard again.

You chuckle, then glance at the clock in the corner of your screen.

You close Undernet, and quickly switch off your laptop before you can get side-tracked into scrolling through Chara’s memes for hours on end. Then you stand up, stretch your back out, and glance vaguely around the room.

Well, you say after a moment . We should probably go shower.

Oh, joy, Chara grumbles. I hadn’t even thought about that.

Me neither, you admit. Is there any way that you can, like… not look?

Not really. I see everything you see.

Ugh.

Hey, I’m not looking forward to it either, they say grumpily. But we’ve gotta stay clean, right? You can keep the lights switched off, if that helps.

Yeah, you say. I’ll do that.

Cool. I’ll… try not to look more than I have to.

You clean and dry yourself as briskly as possible and quickly get into your pyjamas, your relief somewhat dulled by the knowledge that you’ll have to go through this ordeal every evening for the foreseeable future. You hadn’t considered such mundane problems when you offered to share your life with Chara, but you can’t really go back now; you’ll just have to hope it gets less uncomfortable with time.

Good night, Chara, you say as you return to your bedroom .

Yeah. Good night, they reply.

You turn off the light and get into bed. Even though you slept through most of the afternoon, the hours you spent awake were enough of an emotional roller-coaster to tire you out. You pull the duvet up around your neck, expecting to fall asleep in no time, but something in the back of your mind won’t let you. Chara is silent, but you can sense the unease radiating from them anyway.

Chara? you ask. Are you okay?

Silence. You sit up and try again.

Chara–?

Without warning, they sob sharply. I’m sorry, Frisk. I didn’t mean to keep you up. I’m just–

Hey, hey,you say soothingly. It’s okay. What’s wrong?

They don’t answer right away; you feel a sharp pain in your throat as they try in vain to hold back their tears.

Is it the same thing from earlier? you ask.

They nod. I… Yeah. I’m sorry, it’s so stupid…

Do you wanna talk about it? you offer.

They hesitate, then nod again. Okay. Beats lying awake being miserable, I guess.

They take a moment to collect themselves, then begin.

I know you probably think I was insane to start crying over a bunch of dumb memes, Chara begins. But it’s not… there’s more to it than that.

You wait in silence, hoping not to come off as judgemental.

So the thing is… my life sucked on the surface, Chara resumes. I’m sure you already knew that – it’s obvious how messed up I am – but… yeah. Home, school… everything was awful. So I did what every miserable kid my age did, and found a way to escape.

There were times – a lot of times, actually – where the only thing I had to look forward to was whatever new stuff was happening online. Memes, videos, crappy flash games… whatever I could find to distract myself from the real world for an hour or two.

Doge was one of my… They pause and lean back slowly, bumping their head against the headboard. Ugh. This sounds so stupid, Frisk. I’m sorry.

It’s okay, you assure them. Go on.

Okay. So, yeah, it was one of my favourite memes. I thought it was funny, and it made me happy. Until at some point the internet collectively decided it wasn’t funny anymore, and everyone stopped making them. I was really miserable – and of course I just felt even worse, because how stupid is it to be so invested in some pointless internet joke? It made me realise just how pathetic my life was, that I’d seriously been forced to build a big part of my identity on something so… so trivial, because every other part of my life sucked so bad. They laugh hollowly. And now it turns out that there was this whole second wave of these memes that I missed because I was too busy being dead – which was all my fault, by the way – and now I’m a hundred years in the future, so all the people who made them are dead as well, and I never even got a chance to enjoy the things they made when they were alive, and… More tears leak from your eyes, and Chara doesn’t bother to wipe them away . …And I had… not friends, exactly, but... people I talked to online from time to time. People who would’ve noticed when I disappeared. They’ll all be long gone by now, and they probably never found out what happened to me.

There’s a long silence, during which Chara continues crying steadily. Once you’re sure they’re finished talking , you venture a response.

Well, Chara, that seems like a fairly good reason to cry. Pretty much as good a reason as anyone could ask for, in fact.

You think so? they ask.

Yeah! I can’t imagine what it must be like to die and come back to life a hundred years after your time. You shake your head. I never even considered it before now. I’m sorry, Chara.

Hey, it’s not so bad, they say defensively. I care way more about the Dreemurrs than any of the humans I used to know, and they’re all still around. And if I hadn’t died, they might never have gotten to the surface – at least not in my lifetime. So it could be a lot worse.

Maybe so, you admit. Still, it’s definitely not stupid to shed a few tears over it.

You’re right, you’re right, Chara groans. I just… I hate crying, and getting upset like this. It makes me feel so… weak, and useless. I wish there was something I could fight, or yell at, to make it all go away.

Yeah, I feel you. You go to wipe your eyes on your sleeve, then stop yourself with a grimace. Come on, let’s get some tissues and then go to sleep.

Ugh, Chara grunts as you stand up. I don’t want Toriel to see me like this.

Well, I don’t want to use my pyjamas as a handkerchief, you quip. If she asks, I’ll say I’m the one who got upset. She already thinks I’m a crybaby.

Thanks, Chara says, with a hint of a laugh in their voice .

Fortunately you manage to complete your mission without attracting Toriel’s attention. You dry Chara’s tears, blow your nose and return to bed, where you resettle yourself under the covers.

Okay, says Chara. Now that that’s dealt with… goodnight for real, Frisk.

Goodnight for real, you reply. See you tomorrow.

Chapter Text

You wake up early the next morning – earlier than even Toriel, judging by the silence of the house. You glance at your alarm clock and sure enough, it’s only 06:49. Is this a side effect of having two people living in your brain?

Hey, Chara.

Good morning, Frisk.

Is this a normal time for you to wake up? you ask. I’m hardly ever up before seven. Especially not during Spring break.

I… did have unusual sleep patterns, Chara says guardedly. Is it a problem?

I guess not; I don’t feel underslept, you admit. Just wondering.

You make yourself a breakfast of granola and yogurt (which Chara tolerates) and check your phone. No new messages on Undernet since you finished talking to Asriel last night. You go back and watch those Doge music videos he pointed out – the humour is lost on you, but they get a laugh from Chara.

Toriel enters the dining room as you finish eating. “Ah, good morning, children. Have you been up long?”

“Only a few minutes,” you say. “Not sure why we woke up so early.”

“I was a bit surprised to see you already at breakfast,” Toriel admits. “Still, it’s important not to sleep away one’s vacation.”

Oh my gosh, Chara giggles. She really hasn’t changed, has she?

“Speaking of which,” Toriel continues, “I was wondering if there’s anything you’d like to do while you’re on break? Any projects to pursue, or attractions you might like to visit?”

“Umm…”

“There’s no rush, of course,” she adds. “I just wanted to raise the question before our whole vacation flies by.”

“Yup. I’ll think about it.”

You scrape the last few crumbs out of your bowl and carry it over to the dishwasher. What with the dramatic upheavals of the past few days, you haven’t had much time to think about the future. Rehabilitating Asriel was meant to be your ongoing project, but he’s out of your hands now. And in light of your truce with Chara, there’s no longer an immediate crisis to deal with. You suppose it’s time to just get on with living life – unless the universe wants to throw you another curveball, of course.

You return to your room and boot up your laptop. It’s too early for anyone else to be online, so you and Chara decide to continue investigating the fates of various cultural artefacts from their time, starting with food. There’s a lot of brands that haven’t survived into the twenty-second century; Twinkies (you laugh when you hear the name) were discontinued in the 2030s, while Chara’s favourite ice cream lasted through to 2059 before the company making it went bankrupt. Their favourite chips and soda are still around, though, albeit under different names.

After you’ve exhausted all the food brands they can think of, you turn to games and movies. All the big film franchises they remember concluded long ago, either from the copyright expiring or just due to audiences losing interest in the story. But quite a few still have active fan communities, made up of retro media enthusiasts and the descendants of die-hard fans. There’s a lot of buzz right now about the upcoming hundredth anniversary of the release of Star Wars Episode 8 – a controversial title, judging by the heated debate currently unfolding in the forums.

As for games, you quickly find an archive that has just about every old-school title Chara can think of, all free to download. You let Chara take control and they comb through the list, picking out ones they recognise. Unfortunately all the big multiplayer games of that era have long since been abandoned… with the exception of Minecraft, a primitive-looking building-exploration-survival-type-thing that seems to be undergoing a renaissance at the moment, with a small but dedicated playerbase running servers.

Okay, this is pretty cool, Chara says after initiating a dozen or so downloads. Do you know how much all this would have cost back in 2015? And now it’s all free! Who needs an allowance when you can just die and come back after all the games you want are out of copyright? It’s the perfect crime.

Don’t tell Toriel, or she’ll lock us back in the greenhouse, you joke.

As soon as the first download – a 2D point-and-click adventure game – finishes, Chara starts it up. Judging by the speed with which they solve the puzzles they’ve clearly played it a few times before. You take a back seat for a while, following along with the story but letting Chara do the playing.

Most of the morning has passed by the time you’re interrupted by an Undernet notification. Chara pauses the game and opens the message.

Chara’s already in the driver’s seat, so you let them reply.

Don’t be mean, you chide as Chara types.

Relax, they reply. He knows I’m only teasing.

See? says Chara. All in good fun.

It’s then that Alphys arrives on the scene, coming to Asriel’s defence before you can.

What are they talking about? Chara asks.

No idea. You take control and send another message.

Chara takes over again for the next message.

Before you can offer more reassurance, you’re interrupted but Toriel calling from the hallway.

“Frisk? And Kris, too… I’m just heading out to do some grocery shopping. Is there anything in particular you would like me to buy?”

“Oh, um… can you get some pop-tarts?”

“Pop-tarts…?” Toriel asks, the name clearly unfamiliar to her.

“Yeah. They’re–” you get up and walk into the hall so that you don’t have to shout. “They’re, like, flat pastry things that you put in the toaster.” Chara uses your hands to draw a rectangular outline in the air.

“Oh, yes, I think I have seen those before,” Toriel nods. “Of course I can get some; I did not know you liked them!”

“I, uh… just realised I haven’t had them in a while.”

Toriel smiles and reaches into her purse for her notepad and pen. “Pop… tarts…” She says, as she updates her list. “There we go. Is there any particular flavour you would like?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Chara gets there first. “No thanks. Any’s fine.”

“Wonderful. In that case… goodbye for now. I shall be back in time to make lunch.”

“See you then,” you say.

Hey, Chara, what was up with that? you ask once Toriel is out the door. I thought you wanted the chocolate ones.

I do, but I’m meant to be incognito.

Oh, yeah, you say. I guess it’s kind of a giveaway.

I’m starting to regret making chocolate my Thing back in the day. But the Dreemurrs weren’t so hot on knives. I needed something less violent to base my personality on.

Hey, at least it proves you have taste, you console them. Imagine if you’d chosen liquorice.

Ew.

Ew, you agree, returning to your laptop. Alphys and Asriel have continued chatting in you absence.

You hesitate. I thought we weren’t meant to be seeing Asriel in person? You ask Chara.

Asgore and Toriel might allow it, if we’re supervised. It’s worth a shot, right?

I guess…

FriskTheHuman03: I thought it was the soul science brigade? Chara fires back.

Asriel doesn’t answer for a moment. Then a new alert appears in the chat.

* * *

“I had an email from school this morning,” Toriel says as you sit down for lunch. “They’re organising a field trip for your class next term, to the Maple Peak observatory. Do you think you’d like to attend?”

“Sure! It sounds like it’ll be fun.”

She nods. “They have some impressive equipment up there. And the reviews say the staff are very good at teaching their subject. I’ll reply and ask the school to put your name down.”

“Speaking of field trips,” you say in what you hope is a smooth segue, “we were talking to Asriel online, and he mentioned he’s planning to go to Alphys’s lab so she can give him something to help him move around.”

“Ah, some kind of mobility aid? That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Yeah. And I was wondering if we could go along and maybe, um, help him pick something out?”

“Oh! Well…” says Toriel. “I don’t see why not, in theory. The only question is if you’re sure it will be safe for all of you. It’s only been a couple of days since your… altercation.”

“Kris has promised not to cause any more trouble,” you say. “And we’d make sure you or Asgore are there the whole time in case something goes wrong.”

“Well...” she considers. “If one of us is around to keep an eye on things, I suppose it should be safe. And I must admit, I’m curious to see what a human college is like...”

You put on your best expression of innocent hopefulness, and she smiles. “Very well. If you and Asriel arrange a date, I’ll be happy to take you along.”

As it turns out, you don’t have to wait long at all. Asriel reports back that same afternoon to say that Asgore is already planning to be in town tomorrow to visit the Newer Home construction site (official name pending) and is happy to bring Asriel along with him. You message Alphys again and agree to meet mid-morning.

You manage to wake up at a more normal hour the next day – though fortunately not so late that you have to rush to get ready. It seems only fair to let Chara choose your breakfast this time, and you’re not surprised when they insist on the freshly-purchased strawberry pop-tarts. They were taunting me all of yesterday afternoon, Frisk. They must be devoured.

Sure. As long as we clean our teeth right after. There’s a lot of sugar in those things.

With Chara’s sugar craving satisfied and your dental hygiene standards met, you and Toriel head out. You stop by the station first – Asgore is bringing Asriel there, but no further.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be prudent for me to join you,” he explains as he hands Asriel over. “I find if I so much as walk into a tea shop here on the surface, it prompts a dozen tabloid articles speculating on my kingdom’s plans to break into the global caffeine market. Who knows what they’d make of me strolling onto a college campus unannounced? It’s better for everyone if I stay at a safe distance.”

Toriel nods. “Of course, I understand. We’ll drop him off at Newer Home once we’re finished at the lab.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

You take Asriel’s trough back to the car, and go on to Alphys and Undyne’s place with him riding on your lap in the front passenger seat. You message Alphys when you arrive, and she emerges a minute later clutching a college-branded tote bag. She jumps in the back seat and you set off for the campus.

“So, I told Undyne about your secret identity yesterday,” she says to Asriel as the car pulls away.

“Oh? How’d she react?”

“She didn’t believe me for about thirty seconds. Then she was super mad for about a minute. Now she just thinks it’s funny.” Alphys chuckles. “She said Asgore should promote her to royal babysitter.”

“That’s a point,” Asriel says. “She does know she’s not in charge of greenhouse security any more, right?”

“Yeah, she gathered as much. I think the king is going to officially relieve her of guard duty today.”

“I feel kinda bad,” Asriel admits. “You guys went to all the trouble of building the darn thing, and it only got, like, a week of use.”

“Yeah, well,” shrugs Alphys. “Who knows? Maybe having a bulletproof bunker in your backyard will come in handy some day. Oh! Take a left here.”

“We can always just grow plants in it,” says Toriel as she makes the turn. “I’ve heard home-grown tomatoes are especially nice. And they’ll be safe from predators in there, too.”

“Predators?” asks Asriel.

“Oh yes. Cougars, bears, birds of prey. There are all sorts of dangerous creatures out there that’ll gladly feast on a helpless baby tomato if it’s left unprotected.”

You snort, and Asriel whines in annoyance. “Mooom! Quit messing with us!”

“I’m sorry, my child,” Toriel says with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m afraid you’re in a family of comedians. It can’t be helped.”

After a couple more turns the college campus comes into view – its tall, modernist buildings and imposing blocks of student accommodation contrast sharply with the modest houses in your neighbourhood.

“It’s Spring break, right?” Asriel asks. “There won’t be too many humans about, will there?”

“Not in the labs, no,” says Alphys. “Maybe one or two? I hope that’s okay.”

Asriel grunts. “Should be fine, 's long as I’ve got you guys with me and it’s not a big crowd.”

Alphys directs Toriel to the parking lot. Sure enough almost all the spaces are empty, meaning you can claim a spot just a few yards away from the robotics building.

Toriel lifts Asriel’s trough with ease and together you head for the door, Alphys swiping a keycard to let you in. From there you get into the elevator – Toriel has to stoop down to fit inside – and ride it up to the second floor. You knit your fingers together nervously; this is the first time you’ve been out of the house with Chara sharing your body, and you’re anxious to appear normal to any strangers you should meet.

The elevator door slides open; Alphys leads you down a corridor and, finally, through a set of double doors into the robotics lab. It’s brighter and cleaner than you’d expected; less cluttered than Alphys’s combination lab-and-living-quarters, and certainly more welcoming than the True Lab concealed underneath. There’s a couple of rows of desks with computer terminals, but the rest of the space is empty. The floor is covered in black tiles that render your footsteps much louder than the carpet in the corridor.

Here, at last, you encounter another human. He’s taller than average but looks quite young – certainly no older than Miss Baxter – and is dressed in a nondescript hoodie and jeans, his narrow face rounded out by shoulder-length brown hair and chunky square-framed glasses. He stands in the middle of the room and is occupied in a game of catch, throwing a tennis ball back and forth with – you stop and blink – with a disembodied metal arm attached to a desk.

“Hi, Doctor Alphys,” he says, catching the ball and turning to face your party. “Say, who’s this?”

His eyes pass over each of you in turn, and you feel your jaw tighten. Inexplicably, something about his gaze puts you on edge, makes him feel immediately untrustworthy. What it is you can’t tell, but there’s no ignoring the feeling.

“H-hi, Jon,” says Alphys. “Uh, these are the, some people I, some f – some friends of mine.” She wrings her hands and then gestures back to you. “Toriel, Frisk, and A-a-a-, F-fl-, um...”

Asriel jumps in. “I’m Flowey. Flowey the flower.” He waves a vine in greeting.

Jon starts when he hears Asriel speak, but his face quickly spreads into a grin that you’re fairly sure is good-natured. “Hi, Toriel Frisk and Flowey.” He throws the ball back to the metal arm, which fumbles the catch and sends it bouncing into the corner of the room. You flinch a little as it thuds against the wall.

Jon gives the arm a long-suffering look. “Really? You’re gonna show me up in front of my supervisor?”

Alphys laughs and relaxes a little. “I’m glad you’re here actually.” She turns to you and explains, “Jon is doing a master’s on robotic prosthetics, which is basically exactly what we’re here for, so he can p-probably help, I – I guess?” She looks back at him, uncertain.

“Sure.” He gestures to the arm. “This thing needs another round of self-training anyway. I’ll just kick it off, and then I can come help, if that’s okay?” He walks over to the nearest computer, which is connected to the arm by several trailing cables. Its screen displays several windows of densely-packed text and diagrams that you would probably need at least a couple of degrees to make sense of.

“That’s great,” nods Alphys. She leads you across the room to a door that she opens with another swipe of her card, then holds for you and Toriel. “We have a bunch of different parts back here, so there ought to be something you can work with.”

You go in and flick on the light to reveal a storeroom jam-packed with complicated-looking machinery. There are a few levels of shelving, but clearly not enough – gadgets are strewn across the floor such that there’s barely enough room for you and Toriel to stand.

“Goodness,” Toriel says, taking in the scene. Her eyes settle on a shelf that has just enough free space for the trough. “How about I put you down here, Asriel, and then you can direct us while we hunt for things. With your permission, of course, Doctor Alphys.”

“Sure!” Alphys squeaks from outside. “I’ll need to get authorisation from the faculty before you can take anything away, but everything here is free for you to test.”

“By the way,” Asriel mutters as Toriel puts him down, “I think I’d better be ‘Flowey’ for as long as we’re here. I don’t want word getting around that I’m, y’know... back. At least not yet.”

“Oh,” says Toriel. “Yes, of course. I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Thanks.”

You hear Jon’s footsteps, surprisingly loud on the tile floor, approaching the storeroom door. “So, who are we doing prosthetics for today?” he calls, his echoing voice making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Me,” Asriel answers. “We’re looking for something to help me get around the house, mainly, so that I don’t have to be carried everywhere.”

“Cool,” says Jon. “Legs and wheels are mostly on the bottom right-hand side, in that case.”

Toriel turns around and immediately bumps her horns against one of the contraptions on the top shelf. “Oh dear! I think perhaps I’d better let one of you come in here instead. It’s a bit cramped for me.”

“Sure thing,” Jon says. He lets her duck through the door, then comes in and stands next to you – you tense up as he approaches. “Let’s see what we can find, shall we, Frisk?”

He claps his hands together decisively. You jump at the noise and have to resist the urge to dash past him out of the cupboard. The walls suddenly feel closer than they did a moment ago; the machinery surrounding you on all sides jagged and threatening. A bead of sweat forms on your brow, and your heart rate begins to climb.

What’s going on? You tend to be wary of strangers, but it’s never been this bad before. And Alphys knows this guy – there’s no way he’s a threat!

Chara? you think, reaching out to them for support. Are you there? What’s happening?

You can still feel their presence, and sense their agitation, but they don’t seem to be able to give you a coherent response. Whatever this reaction is, it’s affecting them even worse.

Jon, meanwhile, has busied himself with the shelves; you take the opportunity to quietly slip out of the storeroom. Your body doesn’t want to listen to reason right now – you need to put some distance between yourself and him before you do something stupid. You try to slink back to Toriel’s side without attracting too much attention, but she notices something is off immediately.

“Is everything alright, my child?” she asks quietly, putting a careful hand on your shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I…” You don’t bother lying. “I’m not feeling too good.” You look to Alphys. “Is there a bathroom I can use?”

“Sure!” She points to the same door through which you entered. “Just go out into the corridor and turn right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” You set off at a brisk walk.

“Is everything cool out there?” you hear Asriel call.

“Y-yep! All good,” says Alphys. “Frisk just needs the bathroom.”

You march down the corridor, thanking the stars that the building is otherwise deserted. Once inside the bathroom you lock yourself in a cubicle and lean against the door, trying to slow your breathing. More sweat trickles down your brow, and you feel your clammy shirt clinging to your back – a sensation you wish you could un-notice.

You try reaching out to Chara again. What the heck’s going on? Why am I reacting like this?

I… They pause, still struggling to find words. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise there’d be a stranger.

So it is something to do with Jon?

Yeah. Give me a minute.

Sure. You take a moment to get your breath back under control and steady your trembling hands. You can hear a tap dripping outside the cubicle; you focus on the sound, counting the drips to keep yourself grounded. The panic is slowly subsiding now that you’re alone, but you’re still a long way from fine.

Okay, says Chara after a short while. Better.

You nod. So… strangers are a problem, huh?

Yes. I don’t really want to get into the details, but… I don’t have a good track record with unfamiliar people. Especially human adults. They pause. Sorry I didn’t warn you. I assumed it would just be Alphys here today.

I understand. Don’t worry, I’m not mad.

Thanks. Their voice is still brittle, but you can tell they mean it.

So… you say after a few seconds. I guess we can’t really go back, can we?

Definitely not yet, Chara answers sullenly. I’d just go to pieces again.

Just then, a message arrives from Toriel.

TeacherBossToriel: Hello Frisk and Kris. Are you alright? Toriel.

You quickly type a reply.

FriskTheHuman03: Feeling nauseous. Gonna stay here a while to be on the safe side.

It’s far from the whole truth, but you really don’t have the mental energy to explain everything over text right now. You can always fill her in later.

TeacherBossToriel: Oh dear ]:(. I hope it passes soon. Let me know if there’s anything I can get you. Toriel.

FriskTheHuman03: Yep. Thx.

You sigh and sit down on the lid of the toilet. So, are we going to just stay here until it’s time to leave? you ask Chara.

I can’t think of anything else to do, they say bitterly. How long do you think it’ll take Asriel to pick out a device?

No idea. Guess we’d better be prepared to hang out here for a while.

Fortunately you have a couple of games on your phone, so there’s at least something to distract from you and Chara’s whirling thoughts. You play through a few levels of a block-sliding puzzle game – your go-to when you need something slow and meditative to calm you down. After a while you no longer have to focus on keeping your breathing steady, and your head feels much clearer than it did when you left the lab, but you’re still nagged by the awareness that everyone else is busy helping Asriel in your absence, and that the longer you spend here, the less time you’re spending with him.

Frisk? Chara says after about twenty minutes.

Yeah?

I think… I might be able to handle going back now. If we just stay close to Toriel, and don’t have to talk too much…

Are you sure? I don’t want you to force yourself if it’ll just make us both miserable.

Yes, they say firmly. I don’t want to just sit here feeling useless all morning. I have to at least try to be there for Asriel. We can always bail again if it gets too much.

Alright then. You put your phone away and stand up, putting your shoulders back to try and bolster your confidence. Take two. Let’s go.

You leave the bathroom and head back up the corridor, steeling yourself as the group’s voices come into earshot. It’ll be fine. Toriel’s there. Nothing can go wrong.

You take a deep breath and push open the lab door to reveal a very different scene to the one you left. Several mobility aids have been removed from the storeroom and placed against the wall opposite you – there’s a couple of wheelchairs, a chassis with caterpillar treads, and a few different sets of mechanical legs. The device Asriel’s testing at the moment is a quadrupedal robot the size of a dog – his trough sits on top of its body, held in place by several long strips of duct tape, and he’s directing it by moving a joystick with one of his vines.

The most drastic change, however, is in the floor – the space that was empty when you left is now occupied by an elaborate test course featuring slopes, platforms, miniature flights of stairs, and patches of bumpy terrain. Looking closer, you realise that all the obstacles are formed out of the black material of the lab floor – the tiles aren’t tiles at all, but narrow columns that evidently can each be raised or lowered independently, enabling the floor can serve as a testing ground for robots or just a regular flat surface at a moment’s notice.

“Ah, Frisk. Are you feeling better?” Toriel asks.

“A little,” you reply, quickly making your way back to her side. Jon is a safe distance away at the storeroom door, but even being in the same room as him puts you back on your guard. Still, you’re not panicking. You can handle this.

“Hey, Frisk, check it out!” says Asriel, turning the dog-robot to face you. “This thing can go anywhere. It even does stairs.” He makes a quarter-circle turn and then pushes the joystick forward – its motors whirring, dog-bot begins trotting across the test course. Sure enough, it barely slows down when it reaches the stairs, simply adjusting its gait for the ascent. You’d almost think it was alive from how natural the movement looks.

Asriel looks back at you, grinning, and you give him a thumbs-up. He directs dog-bot back down the stairs in cautious steps, then sets his sights on a pair of elevated platforms spaced a couple of feet apart at the far end of the course. “Say, can this thing jump?”

“A little ways, yeah,” says Jon. “But it’ll use a lot of power, especially under its current load.” He watches with trepidation as Asriel directs dog-bot towards the ramp leading up to one of the platforms.

“What’s the button?” Asriel asks, undeterred.

“Um… the one to the left of the joystick should prime it for a jump,” says Alphys, going over to point out the button. “And then you j-just push forward when you’re ready. But! It might not be able to stick the landing under all this weight. So don’t–”

“Nah, I’m doing it,” says Asriel. He jabs the button with his vine and dog-bot lowers its haunches, ready to spring forward. Then he grabs the joystick and, before Jon or Alphys can do anything but call out a warning, pushes it as far forward as it’ll go. “Yah!”

Your heart stops as dog-bot, visibly straining under the weight of the trough, leaps from the platform. Both front legs make it across the gap, but one of the back ones stabs down into empty air and it lurches sideways, the other three limbs skittering on the black tiles as they compensate for the botched landing. It skids frighteningly, travelling almost over the edge of the platform before swinging back the other way...

...and then it stabilises, and slowly – almost judgementally – brings all four of its legs back into their default standing position. Asriel turns around and whoops, showing no regard for your shocked expressions. “Yes! That was awesome! Man, I haven’t jumped anywhere in years.”

Toriel’s disapproving expression softens into one of affection as she watches him celebrate. Even she is willing to let a bit of reckless behaviour slide on an occasion like this.

“I’m, uh, g-glad that worked,” Alphys says with a nervous grin. “But, um, please don’t do it again. I don’t want us to b-break any faculty equipment.”

“Fiiine,” sighs Asriel. “No more jumping.” He makes his way down the platform by the designated ramp. “But yeah, anyway... I could get used to this! It’s definitely the best one so far. Though I could maybe do with something a little taller.”

Alphys nods. You and she are about the same height, and Asriel is noticeably shorter than either of you in this form, even with the added height of dog-bot. It must be pretty different to what he was used to back when he had his monster body.

“Shall we t-try the bipedal ones, then?” Alphys asks, gesturing to a pair of humanoid legs standing by the wall. “They should put you about level with me and Frisk.”

“If they’ll hold my trough, then sure,” says Asriel.

Jon grabs the legs and carries them to the centre of the test floor – you try not to cower too visibly as he sets them down with a heavy clunk. “Okay then. Let’s see if we can get these on you.”

He unsticks Asriel from dog-bot and lifts the trough up, perching it on top of the metal hips connecting the two legs. “Hmm. Might be difficult to find a good angle for this one.”

You see what he means. The trough is much longer than the legs are wide, and there’s no flat surface for it to rest on. The hips are bristling with metallic protrusions and weirdly-shaped joints obviously designed to accommodate other robotic parts, not household objects. Alphys and Jon experiment for a while, her holding everything steady while he tries to pile on enough duct tape to stabilise Asriel. But the trough is just too big and heavy, and the legs too awkwardly-constructed, for any of it to work. A couple of times they think they have him secure, but he starts to slip as soon as they let go.

“Might a different container help?” Toriel suggests after a minute or two. “A strawberry planter, for example.”

“What’s that?” Asriel asks.

“I may be misremembering the name, but it’s a kind of vase-shaped flowerpot with several small openings. It would hold about the same volume as your trough, but with more height and less width. It might be easier to balance on two legs.”

Jon nods. “That sounds closer to the kind of shape these are designed for; if you find one and bring it along we can try it out.” He lifts Asriel off the robot legs and carries him over to a desk to put him down.

“Dad probably has something like that,” says Asriel. “I’d need to make sure it’s big enough for me to use my vines, though.”

“Uh-huh. And we may still need to modify these legs slightly to hold it. It’ll probably have to happen another day.”

“Of course,” says Toriel. “You’ve already given us a lot of time at short notice.”

“S-so, I think that means we’ve tested everything?” Alphys asks, looking to the group for confirmation.

“Oh,” you say quietly. You didn’t realise they were so close to finishing; you’ve only been back in the room for about five minutes.

Asriel looks at you apologetically. “Yeah. We already tried the wheelchairs and treads while you were gone. Um… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you mumble. “Not your fault I had to leave. Were they any good?”

“The treads were okay. The wheelchairs weren’t really wide enough for this thing, though.” He taps the side of his trough.

“I’d offer to let you take something home today, but I don’t think the college would like us just handing out equipment without permission,” Alphys says apologetically. “And they probably won’t answer any requests now until after Spring break.”

“’Hey, it’s alright,” shrugs Asriel. “I can wait a while. Not like I’ve got tons of places to go at the moment, anyway. But yeah – I’ll ask Dad if he has any of those planter things, and bring one along next time.”

“Good!” says Toriel. “In that case, I think we’re all finished for today.” She smiles and picks up the trough. “Thank you very much for your help, Jon.”

“No problem. I’ll look at getting those legs adjusted for next time.”

“Thank you!” Toriel pauses, then looks down. “Flowey…?”

“Oh! Um, thank you,” Asriel says. “This was a lot of fun.”

“Any time.” Jon returns to his computer (you shrink behind Toriel as he draws near) and clicks a couple of buttons. The columns making up the test course retract, turning it back into a regular floor.

“There we go! Although…” he looks at the machinery strewn across the room. “We should probably get this stuff back in the storeroom before you all leave.”

“Oh, of course! Where are my manners?” Toriel puts Asriel back down on the desk and sets about gathering up the equipment along with Jon and Alphys.

Once they’re all a safe distance away, Asriel beckons you over with a vine. “Psst. Frisk. Chara.”

“Yeah?” you murmur, walking over.

“Are you alright? You were gone for ages.”

“Nnh… Kinda,” Chara says with a grimace. “It was mainly me – Chara, I mean. Jon really freaked me out.”

“Wait, what? What did he do?”

“I’ll explain later,” they mutter, casting a sidelong glance at the others.

“Sure,” says Asriel. “I’ll message you when I get home.”

Toriel, Alphys and Jon finish clearing everything away, and after another round of goodbyes you leave the lab and head back down to the parking lot. A wave of exhaustion hits you as you step out of the elevator – you didn’t realise how hard you were working to suppress your fight-or-flight reflex while you were in Jon’s presence, but now that the ordeal is over you can practically feel yourself deflating with each step you take. You make it to the car and almost collapse into your seat.

You’re pretty much useless for conversation on the ride home. Asriel wants to go over everything you missed, giving you the blow-by-blow of each device he tested and its various pros and cons, and lamenting the fact that you weren’t there to see most of them. But you can only muster brief, monosyllabic responses – just enough to show you’re not completely ignoring him. It’s ironic that, after his concern about encountering unfamiliar humans, you should be the one rendered barely-functional from having to share a room with a stranger. Truth be told, you’re relieved when you arrive at Newer Home and can hand him back to his Dad. It’s a guilty relief – you know he was excited to see you both again – but you can’t help it. You just need to be alone for a while. At least, as alone as you can be.

Well, thank God that’s over, says Chara, once the car is finally empty except for you and Toriel. Then, after a few seconds, they sigh. I’m sorry, Frisk. This was supposed to be fun. I didn’t mean to ruin it.

It’s not your fault, you say. And hey, at least it’s done now.

Toriel glances at you from the driver’s seat, doubtless concerned – she’s far too perceptive to have missed your sudden energy crash. Fortunately she’s also tactful enough not to interrogate you when you’re so clearly exhausted, so the rest of the ride home passes in silence. And right now, silence suits you just fine.