Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Colors.

That was all they could remember.

A cataclysmic spectrum swirling and tearing nightmares apart. 

Nightmares; the dark versions of dreams. Had it all been a dream? Everything they saw; everything went through… had it even happened at all?

Fingers grazed over the heavy fabric covering their arm. Their fingers. At least, they thought so. Parts of their body lacked any sensation, as if they belonged to a different era. The fingers they assumed to be theirs gripped their arm, clenching hard enough to push sensation through the invisible layers of fabric. Was this even their body anymore? Parts of it felt like them, but just as many were frozen over or veiled with layers of static. Any touch that grazed them registered with delay, as if time itself hesitated to acknowledge their presence.

Were they still dreaming? 

"I can assure you, you're awake," a voice said.

Frisk sat up in a flash, their body fractaling in time, shoulders hitching as they scanned their surroundings for the voice.

"Over here."

Frisk looked over to the voice, nearly jumping out of their skin upon seeing where it came from. 

Before Frisk floated a grayed-out specter of a person with a striped sweater that shimmered like moonlight reflecting off a dingy pool, blurring the world behind them. A red soul—much like their own—dimly illuminated their form, giving the ghost a red tint. Something about them danced on the edges of familiarity. 

The ghost claimed they were awake, yet haze washed over everything until they couldn't discern dreams from the truth. As they concentrated on particular directions, curtains of static bombarded their senses. However, as they shifted their focus in other directions, a sense of clarity emerged, revealing the focused element of reality that should have been present everywhere. Amid this strange experience, the prickling of static washed over every inch of their body, leaving them with a strange and unsettling feeling that they couldn't shake. 

This had to be a dream

Reality didn't feel like this.

"He messed you up good, didn't he?" the ghost asked.

Frisk glanced at the ghost, having to exert a lot of willpower just to get their muscles to listen. 

The ghost grimaced. “Yeah, you're all sorts of messed up. Here." The ghost held out their hand. "Let me see if I can get you all back where you should be. I'm Chara, for the record—we've met before."

Frisk eyed Chara's hand hesitantly. They had met this ghost before? Frisk narrowed their eyes, tilting their head as they analyzed the specter, trying to remember—

They flopped face-first onto the red comforter, groaning into the mattress. Frisk had been running all over Snowdin, doing puzzles, dodging fights, and other nonsense all damn day. They had spent the entire day on their feet, and their feet weren't happy with all of the work they'd been put through today. Dull knives stabbed into every part of their feet and dragged up their legs. Frisk wanted to sleep for the next hundred years.

Just as they started to get comfortable, someone next to them snickered.

"Yeah," they said. "Me too."

Frisk nearly sprung off the bed like an Olympian, pressing their back against the blonde wall as they glared at the source of the laugh with barred teeth. 

Before Frisk stood a grayed-out specter of a person, lit from within by a dim, but determined soul. And, for an instant, Frisk stared directly into those faded red eyes and knew, with an instinctive mammalian certainty, that they knew this person. But that was impossible, right? Frisk didn't know anyone with dark hair that turned pale at the roots; they'd never met anyone with snow-white eyelashes and skin; they'd never spoken with anyone who wore stripes like they did. And yet they couldn't shake the feeling.

"Can..." The ghost looked around the room for anything else Frisk could be looking at, finding nothing. They returned their gaze to Frisk, pointing at themself. "Can you see me?"

"Yeah, very clearly. Who are you?" Frisk asked.

The ghost stared at them for a long while, as if they were the abnormality here. Their shoulders hiked up as the smile tugging their lips broke into a grin. And they began to laugh. Softly at first, the ghost quickly dropped any sense of composure, crashing into a fit of borderline maniacal laughter. Their laugh resembled the cackle of a hyena during a dark African night or the howling of a wolf at the full moon. 

The whispers of a chuckle wafted from Frisk's mouth as they crossed their arms over their stomach, wincing from the sudden onset of breathlessness and pain that came from a mad fit of laughter. But it wasn't funny. There was nothing funny and yet the ghosts of a laughing fit visited Frisk's body.

The ghost wiped tears of mirth from their eyes. "So I'm actually back." They barked a final, humorless laugh. "That's hilarious."

"I don't see the humor in that but to each their own, I guess," Frisk gritted, catching their breath. "But again, who are you?"

"Me? Oh, right, it's been such a long time." The ghost placed their palm over their soul, bowing to Frisk. "I am Chara Dreemurr, and I'm dead."

The dream receded but left a residue. Frisk looked up, meeting Chara in the eyes as the ghost held out their hand. 

A smile stretched onto their pale face, crinkling their red eyes. "Good, you remember me. Progress is progress!"

"How could I forget an entire person?" Frisk asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm not too sure, but if I had to throw out a guess, I reckon daisy-doodle has something to do with it."

"Who?" Frisk asked, tilting their head to the side.

"Flowey." 

Frisk tensed up at the mention of that name without knowing why. Chills ran down their spine, yelling at them to book it or grab the nearest weapon. But why? Why did something as simple as a name threaten to send them into a panic? Parts of their memory had eroded and tumbled into bottomless chasms. Chucks were gone. Pieces were missing. Why couldn't they remember?

Hands as light as flowers grabbed Frisk by the shoulders. "Frisk!"

They looked up, meeting their ghostly friend's gaze. Chara's red eyes were lined with concern as they stared at Frisk. They carefully held Frisk by the shoulders, their touch nothing more than a summer breeze to strangers.

"It's okay," Chara said. "Just let me help and it'll start to make sense."

Frisk nodded and held out their hands, palms up, tawny fingers lightly spread, and with a tender firmness, Chara laced their fingers together as if it was all they were made to do. They could only feel some of their touch, for the rest glitched and lagged or didn't register at all. 

At that moment, Chara's soul erupted with an intense scarlet glow, radiating with an unwavering determination that burned away any hint of doubt or hesitation from their being. As the fiery display engulfed the cavern around them, Frisk's soul, too, illuminated with a bright burst of energy. Tiny flickers of magical sparks danced around the edges of their vision until they could only see varying shades of red.

"Hold on," Chara said without opening their mouth. 

Frisk nodded, closing their eyes as they lowered their guard. They could trust Chara.

In the blood-lit dark behind their eyes, colorful, luminous stars, zigzags, swirls, and spirals boiled in from the edge of space, dreamlike images jerking past like a film compiled of random frames. Symbols, figures, faces; a blurred, fragmented mosaic of information. Goat-faced monsters with clawed hands, skeletons short and tall, scaled monsters with blue fins and yellow tails, monsters with fur, feathers, or nothing at all. Ghosts, spiders, metal, flowers. The crunch of snow, the taste of cinnamon. Rushing water, unending heat, whirring machinery, vines, and flowers. It always led back to flowers. Golden flowers. Flowers and vines. Everywhere flowers and vines. Everywhere—

Chara retracted their hands and the visions around them faded, slotting back into the proper places in Frisk's mind. Able to control their movements again, Frisk brushed a hand through their hair, grasping a handful of dark strands as they caught their breath. They tugged at their hair, trying to ground themselves with the pain that lingered so far away. The scarlet glow of their soul dimmed as it tucked away between their ribs once again. 

They felt more… together now. They didn't feel like they were fractured across time anymore, which they figured was progress. 

Their body returned to them, cemented itself as part of their reality, but... nothing else did. Everything else was an elaborate set piece to a movie. The petals were fake. The buildings and landscapes were fake. None of it was real. Artificial, all of it. The objects in their memory were just shapes, not items with names and uses. But it had to be real. They remembered it so clearly! But what if it wasn't? They had no way to know. It could all be fake. It could—

Their phone rang, the cheery tune yanking them from their mantra. Frisk pulled their phone out of their pocket, struggling to answer the call with their trembling fingers. They managed to answer the call, pressing the phone to their ear.

"H-hello?" Frisk said, cringing at the tremor in their voice.

"Human!" Papyrus's sunny voice broke through the storm in Frisk's mind. "There's your lovely voice! I've been trying to get a hold of you for the past 15 minutes, but it was nothing but static each time. But! No broken cellular device can keep The Great Papyrus separated from his human friend for long!" Papyrus cackled, a sound so bright it almost made Frisk forget their troubles. Almost.

"Good thing you finally picked up kiddo, you had my bro rattled to his core with worry." Sans chuckled.

"I wasn't worried at all! I had full faith that the human would be just fine."

"It's all right to say you were worried, bro," Sans said. "We're not in the hall right now—no judgment here."

Papyrus huffed out a loud sigh. "Alright, fine! I'm not afraid to admit I was a tad concerned for your well-being, human!" Papyrus accented each word with confidence, making Sans chuckle. "But now that you've answered your phone, my worries have been soothed.

"Now where the heckie are you?"

"Papyrus…" Frisk murmured.

"Yes, human Frisk?" Papyrus softened his voice.

"Is this real? Are you real?"

All talking ceased. The silence stretched between them as Frisk awaited an answer, leaving a window for the static to creep in. As if on cue, Papyrus's voice cracked through the speakers, cutting the silence like a knife.

"Of course I am, human Frisk. You see, I am the Great Papyrus!" Papyrus said before growing serious again. "Whatever would make you think otherwise?"

"Are you though? You could be real, but you could also not be real," Frisk said, their voice becoming a suffocated whisper. "How do I know if any of this is real?"

"Well, Frisk," Papyrus cleared his throat, injecting cheer back into his voice. "I assure you that I am real and I believe in you, wherever you are!"

Frisk curled. "But how do I know that?"

The call fell silent, empty chambers ringing with quietude as gray, root-coated walls loomed above, closing in and squeezing every drop of air from the grotto. Nothing but hollow wind curled through the silent cave, brushing against Frisk's body. On the other end of the call, Sans whispered something to his brother, too quiet for Frisk to make out the words. Something, something... Undyne? Maybe. The silence crept in, squeezing Frisk until they faded from the world. Static came too, buzzing in their ears like a swarm of angry bees.

"Kid, can you hear me?"

Sans. Sans was talking to them. Sans was good. He helped them several times. Sans made sure they had food to eat on their journey that was actually edible, he kept their spirits up by cracking a joke just when they needed one, and he was always there to talk and remind them that someone really cared about them.

"Yeah," Frisk replied. "Where's Papyrus?"

"He's fine—he's just going to get Undyne," Sans said. "Is that okay?" 

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Okay. Now, Frisk, I need you to follow along with me, alright?"

Frisk nodded, quickly realizing Sans couldn't see the gesture. "Okay," they said.

"I need you to tell me five things you can see."

"Okay." Frisk looked up, admiring the velvety sky above them. "I can see stars, I can see stone all around me." They squinted their eyes, spotting scraggly roots jutting from the roof that crept across the stone like spider webs. "I can see roots hanging from the ceiling." Frisk looked down, facing forwards. Ahead of them stood a doorway carved into the mountain, framed by an ornate arch. In the center of the arch, right above the door, was the Delta Rune. "There's a doorway carved out of the stone with the delta rune on it, and behind me is…" Frisk twisted their body to see what was behind them. Their shoulders wilted at the sight.

Looming behind them, radiating power so immense it threatened to crush them, stood The Barrier; a force so unbreakable that kept an entire civilization of monsters trapped underground. The wind wasn't coming from outside, it was coming from The Barrier. A hollow breeze sailed from The Barrier and curled around Frisk. If they didn't know any better, Frisk would have assumed it was breathing.

"The Barrier," Frisk said finally.

"Stars? The Barrier?" Sans muttered. "Whatever– Okay, now tell me four things you can touch or feel."

Frisk closed their eyes, focusing on what they could feel. "I can feel my sweater against my skin." Frisk clenched their fist, letting dirt and gravel sift through their fingers and wedge under their nails. "I can feel dirt...gravel too." Frisk recognized a calming pressure hugging their body; the weight of a blue jacket several sizes too big for them. "And I feel the weight of the jacket you gave me."

"Alright, you're doing great, Frisk," Sans said, sounding less anxious. "Now tell me three things you can hear."

That one was easy. "I can hear the wind, I can hear crickets chirping, and I can hear you."

"Now name two things you can smell."

Frisk sniffed the air, the faint scent of ketchup hitting their nose. "I kind of smell ketchup probably from your jacket, and..." Frisk sniffed again. The sweet scent of flowers attacked them. Most would enjoy such a scent, but it left Frisk wondering if their lunch would make a reappearance. "Flowers."

"Okay. Now tell me one thing you can taste."

"I taste..." Frisk smacked their lips, the taste of copper and iron settling on their tongue. "Metal."

The call fell silent again. What happened? Did they say something wrong? They just answered the question. Frisk curled in on themself, balling their fist against their thigh. Maybe they should change their answer. That should fix it. Frisk opened their mouth to speak—

"Metal?" Sans asked, voice edged with concern.

Loud, boisterous yelling cut through the quiet as footsteps rapidly approached. "I heard the punk is in danger! Who's ass do I have to kick?" Undyne demanded.

"No asses need kickin' Dyne. The kiddo's fine, they're just a bit shaken up from something. I think I reeled 'em back in though—you with us Frisk?"

"Yeah...I think so." Thank god. Sans kept them from drifting into their mind, and their mind wasn't a very kind place. "Thanks, Sans."

"Not a problem kiddo," Sans said. "Think you can tell us where you are now?"

"Nah," Undyne cut in. "Save your breath, punk, we know exactly where you are!"

"We do?" Sans and Papyrus said at the same time. 

"Yeah, we do ya doofuses!" Undyne exclaimed. "They're obviously with Asgore!"

"I mean," Sans said. "Yeah, that checks out. Last I saw them was in the Judgment Hall."

"The judgment what now?" Undyne asked.

"The final corridor? Lined with pillars and fancy windows? So much light the whole place may as well be glowing gold?" 

"You didn't have to be an ass about it, but I know what you're talking about now," Undyne said. "When did you see them last?"

"About an h–" Sans cut himself off. "About 30 minutes ago."

"Alright! That settles it! They're with Asgore or near him." Undyne guffawed. "The punk probably talked him down and he adopted them right there and then!" Undyne's voice grew distant as she walked away. "Come on you dorks, let's go get the dweeb."

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Undyne, we should probably clarify with the human about their whereabouts before jumping into action!" Papyrus said.

"Where else could they have gone in that time, Paps?" 

"I don't know! That's why we should ask!"

"Ugh, fine." Undyne's voice approached. "Punk, where are you?"

Frisk craned their neck to look behind them, staring at the looming barrier. Bygone magic swirled through its surface and wafted away in hollow gusts of wind. For a moment, ancient heartbeats tapped in unison, as if the wizards who created The Barrier still lived within it.

"Hey, punk, you there?"

"Human Frisk, my worry is growing again!"

They needed to know. They deserved to know that no matter how determined they were at this point, no one could reach them. 

Frisk faced forward, took in a breath, and closed their eyes. "I'm on the other side of The Barrier—I'm outside." 

A vast, unnatural silence covered everything. Moments of stunned silence had quickly become a statement of this call; even The Barrier seemed to hold its breath.

"So you did get out," Sans said.

"Yeah." Frisk let out the breath they were holding. "I did."

"How did you even...?" Undyne trailed off. "You didn't take Asgore's s—"

"I don't know how I got out, I don't remember anything that happened before this except…"

A gold-colored something caught Frisk's eye. Distracted, they narrowed their eyes, focussing on whatever it was they were seeing.

As their eyes focused, the deranged flower came into view. Flowey.

Something unfamiliar flooded Frisk's veins, coursing through their aching body like acid. Frisk clenched their hand into a fist, their nails digging into their palms as they glared at the still flower, suffocating with fury. They stood.

"Human Frisk? Are you there?" Papyrus asked.

"Say something punk!" Undyne demanded.

Frisk hung up.

Chara gaped at Frisk in disbelief. "What was that for? Why would you—"

Chara's voice blended with the hollow wind until every word fell into incomprehensible garbage. Frisk took a step forward, and then another. Slowly but surely, they closed the gap between themself and the flower, their rage building with each step.

Flowey was slumped over to the side with his petals in tatters, completely obscuring his face. Deep lacerations cut through his stem and poured with a cherry red substance too bright to be blood. Burns and tears painted the flower until his original colors were barely visible.

This was the weakest Frisk had ever seen him.

Frisk glared at the injured flower, their heart thudding against their chest. They clenched their fists until their knuckles turned white. Flowey had hurt them. He had killed them. He put them through a circle of hell they didn't think was real. 

Frisk reached into their pocket, unsheathing a worn dagger they had stolen from Chara's bedroom.

Flowey deserved to understand a fraction of what he put them through. He deserved to get a taste of his fucking medicine!

Frisk raised their hand into the air, the dagger gleaming with purpose.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him! Give him what he fucking deserves! 

Frisk tightened their grip on the dagger, gritted their teeth and—

Something glimmered in Flowey's shadow. Frisk focused past their rage and peeked at the shimmering thing. It was a smile. A bloody, crooked one at that.
The human's vision narrowed to pinpoint the tiny monster. He smiled at them like it was his fucking birthday or something, and Frisk wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze his stem until he stopped smiling for good. That would be enough to get him out of their head for a while, right? But he just kept smiling at them— challenging them. Daring Frisk to take their dagger and slice him into little bloody pieces. To kill him. To destroy him. His death didn't symbolize defeat, it symbolized victory; because with his final breath, he'd die and tell the stars he'd won.

In this world, it's kill or be killed.

Frisk tightened their grip on the dagger, reeled it back, and hurled it into the distance. The weapon spun and turned through the air before clattering to the ground a good fifteen feet away from where they stood. Frisk let out a huff of frustration like a kettle venting steam.

"What are you doing?"

Frisk's shoulders hiked up as they took a half step back. Flowey lifted his head just enough to look at them, staring at them with an unreadable expression. Frisk stared at the flower, ready to book it if he tried to attack them. 

Flowey didn't move. 

He couldn't hurt them, he was too injured to do anything. So why were they so afraid? 

"Do you honestly think I’ve learned anything from this?" Flowey's head drooped back down the ground, obscuring his face once again. "No."

Flowey couldn't do anything now, even someone like him had a sense of self-preservation. Frisk closed their eyes and took a deep breath in. You're okay. You're safe. They breathed out. He's not going to do anything while he's like this.

Frisk opened their eyes. "Maybe you haven't, but I have," Frisk said. "I've learned that despite everything, the golden rule still applies: treat others how you want to be treated…and that's hard sometimes, really hard. But I want to be everyone's friend, I want to be shown mercy, so I'll show you mercy too."

Flowey said nothing for a while, glaring at Frisk from the corner of his eye. "Showing mercy to me won’t change anything," Flowey rasped, sharpness in his tone. "Killing me is the only way to end this."

"That's where you're wrong, Flowey."

Flowey blinked at them.

"Killing you isn't the only way to end anything because this is already over. Look around!" Frisk swept their arms across the room. "Your power is gone, you got backhanded by the souls so hard I'm still seeing dark spots, and I have control of the timeline again," Frisk said. "Face it, Flowey The Flower, you lost."

A terrible, low giggle filled the room. "You know...If you let me live," Flowey huffed. He lolled his head to the side and straightened out his posture, gazing unblinkingly at Frisk with a psychotic smile spread on his face. "I'll come back."

Frisk raised their eyebrows. "And?"

"I'll kill you," Flowey spoke with a low, saccharine voice, like a parent comforting a frightened child.

Frisk was aware of their superpower—a little too aware if you asked them. Anytime they died, they returned to their previous save point as if the death never happened. Each reload left their body completely undamaged; even the slightest bruises on their arms were healed. But it did happen. The events lingered in Frisk's mind. They remembered the culmination of their being tearing itself apart until the darkness swallowed them whole. 

In simple terms, dying fucking sucked, but it would never last long. If Frisk just closed their eyes and thought of something else, it wasn't so bad.

"You and I both know that won't get you very far," Frisk said.

"I'll kill everyone." Flowey’s manic grin stretched out farther across his injured face, splitting cuts open from the strain. 

Frisk clenched their fists at the thought, glaring at the flower as their blood simmered. Flowey could do whatever he wanted to them, but the moment he touched their friends, all bets were off. 

Flowey's grin widened at Frisk's reaction, showing more of his teeth. Had he always had that many teeth? "I'll kill everyone you love!"

Frisk wanted to pound Flowey to a pulp, but that would be giving him what he wanted. Flowey didn't deserve the satisfaction. Frisk closed their eyes, imagining themself sitting on a bench in Waterfall. Quiet water flowed through gentle streams running through the midnight grass. Water dripped from the cavern ceilings like a light rain. Echo flowers whispered age-old conversations on mixed topics. There were no threats here. No past, no future. Nothing but tranquility and an infinite present.

Frisk opened their eyes again, flashing Flowey a smile of their own. "No, I don't think you will," Frisk said. "Do you want to know why I think that?"

Flowey had nothing to say, for once. He maintained eye contact with Frisk, trying to hide his wavering smile.

"Because you may say you haven't learned anything from this, but no one, not even soulless flowers like you, come out of an experience like that learning nothing."

Flowey's smile dropped.

"You probably didn't learn the lesson I wanted you to learn, but you learned something." Frisk took a step closer to Flowey. "You learned that you're not invincible, that you can't win every fight, and that not everything goes your way."

Flowey's posture wilted. He tilted his head back as Frisk drew closer to avoid breaking eye contact.

"And you know, for someone like you, that's a big step forward."

The pinpricks in Flowey's eyes glowed a tad brighter, and for a brief moment, vulnerability flickered across the flower's face. Flowey gritted his teeth, snuffing out that vulnerability before Frisk could think about it. 

"Why?" Flowey snarled, eyes fixated on Frisk.

"Why what?" Frisk asked with a smile.

"Why are you being–" Flowey's scowl melted away as he curled in on himself, his petals closing inward slightly– "so nice to me?"

Frisk's eyes widened at the break in the flower's voice. Flowey had three modes, manic glee, unbridled rage, and just downright creepy. To see him vulnerable, at least the closest thing he had to vulnerability, was unexpected. Knowing Flowey though, once he was healed, it'd be back to placid smiles and awful giggles.

Frisk's expression sagged with exhaustion. "Because I've given everyone else a second chance, even if they didn't deserve it. You especially don't deserve a second chance, but I'm giving it to you anyway.

"And you know, maybe having some mercy in your life will help you understand that it's not just kill be killed. There are other options, Flowey."

Flowey's gaze fell to the floor. "I don't understand."

Frisk shrugged. "That's fine."

"I don't understand," Flowey said, shaking his head.

"That's completely okay." Frisk knelt before Flowey, putting them on equal playing fields. "You don't have to understand, you just have to take the opportunity before you miss it."

"I just..." Flowey faltered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can't understand!"

Flowey sunk into the ground, leaving nothing but a small crack of parted earth. The injured flower tunneled away, the scratching below the soil slowly inching farther and farther away until it was too faint to hear over The Barrier's breathing.

"Flowey ran away," Chara stated.

Frisk's phone rang, filling the grotto with its cheery tune.

"You should probably get that."

Frisk nodded, pulling out their phone and answering it without checking the caller ID. They knew who it was.

"Papyrus?" Frisk asked.

"Human, there you are! We all got very concerned when you abruptly hung up on us."

"Yeah, you better not do that again, punk, or I'll come over there and kick your ass!" Undyne paused, letting what she said absorb for a moment. "Affectionately."

"We will not be kicking any butts, Undyne!" Papyrus said.

"Yeah, we won't be, so long as the punk doesn't do something like that again!"

"No butt-kicking in general!" Papyrus declared. "But I do partially agree with Undyne, human, don't scare us like that again!"

"Yeah," Frisk said. "Sorry."

"It is quite alright, human. I, The Great Papyrus, shall forgive you!" 

"We're about halfway through Hotland at this point. Once we get to my sentry station, I'll be able to shortcut us to the Judgment Hall without risk of miscalculation," Sans explained. "I can't promise the landing will be exactly sound teleporting the three of us at once." 

"I'm sure it'll be fine, brother, as long as we can get to the human quickly!"

'Get to the human quickly?' Were they trying to get to them still? Why? Frisk already explained they were outside. No matter how hard anyone tried, as long as The Barrier stood, no one was getting out.

"Why are you guys trying to get to me?" Frisk asked, voice lowering. "You can't cross through The Barrier."

"Yes," Papyrus confessed. "But we can still see you, meaning we can still say goodbye."

Frisk's eyes glistened with tears yet to fall. No one had gone through so much just to see them before. Something about them always drove people away or made them view them as less than a person. Frisk always had their parents to turn to, of course, but papá already did so much for them! And mamá's energy was better spent on recovery than little things like Frisk feeling a bit lonelier than usual. So, it didn't make sense: why did people they barely knew show such kindness to them? What did they see that others couldn't? And how was that something worth swimming through the jet black bog that was Frisk's mental health?
This unconditional kindness wrapped around and squeezed Frisk's soul and some guilty, selfish part of them wanted to stay and indulge in it. But they had a family to get back to. Even if they wanted to stay, The Barrier stood between them and monsterkind. Unfortunately, Frisk had to choose one.

A noise bubbled up in Frisk's throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Part of me wants to stay with all of you. I care about all of you a lot and you've all been really good to me, but…" Frisk wiped their tears away. After everything they'd been through, they just wanted to sleep in their own bed and see their parents and what few friends they had. They just wanted to go home. "I went through hell and back so I could get out and go home. I can't turn back now."

"We completely understand, human, we just want to say goodbye before you return to your life on the surface."

"Yeah, The Underground isn't going to be the same without you, punk. We're going to miss you a whole lot."

"Guess I got to find a new audience for my jokes." Sans chuckled. "In all seriousness, we're going to miss you, kid."

"Frisk…" Papyrus trailed off. "Let's save the farewells for when we get there—we'll see you in a few minutes, human!"

Papyrus ended the call leaving Frisk alone with their thoughts. Only once they were alone did Frisk let a shudder wrack their shoulders. They ran their fingers through their hair as they sat down, hugging their knees to their chest.

"Well, all's well that ends well, ay partner?" Chara asked.

Frisk silently caved in on themself, burying their face into their knees.

"Woah, hey, come on, don't be like that." Chara tentatively draped an arm over Frisk's back. "You've got some of your closest friends crossing the entire underground just to say goodbye to you. I honestly don't get what's so good about the surface that you want to leave; you've got everything you need down there! Friends, food, things to do… Sure you'll miss out on the sun and the stars, but The Underground has some natural beauty too, you know? You just need to know where to look. Maybe—"

Frisk's mind grew so loud that it drowned Chara out. There was nothing but their thoughts, each one yelling at them for attention. One thought muttered in the back of their mind, lost and small amid the noise, image fading down corridors of black. It scratched Frisk's psyche, uncovering feelings Frisk couldn't grasp. They followed the thought as it took them on a walk through their brain, trying to remember...

Fine, shimmering dust coated the ground and drifted into powdery piles. White puffs of dust drifted through the chamber and dusted every surface with shimmering powder. It was on their sleeves, their hands, their chest. It wormed its way down their throat and they convulsed. They couldn't breathe. They wanted to throw up. Get it off get it off get it off—

Frisk clawed and scratched at their skin, but the dust was a part of them. No amount of soap, alcohol, or bleach could ever make that feeling go away. They choked back the urge to scream as Flowey laughed at their misery.

"I can't stay," Frisk said in a choked whisper. They scrambled to their feet. "I have to go!"

"Woah, hey!" Chara drifted between Frisk and the exit, holding their hands up. "What's with the rush all of a sudden, Frisk?"

"Asgore's dust. First thing they see. Dust." Frisk struggled to get the sentence out, the words fitting together awkwardly.

"Oh…" Chara's expression drooped, getting the gist of what Frisk meant. "Right. Well, that's okay!" Chara forced a smile. "You just need to explain the situation; they'll listen!"

"Where do I even start?" Frisk replied, speaking in an overly casual voice. "'Hey, so um, sorry, I totally killed your king.' How the hell do I tell them I basically assassinated their leader?"

"You weren't the one to deal the killing blow, Frisk; you were defending yourself. Once Asgore stopped attacking you, you stopped attacking him."

"Yes, but how am I supposed to explain that to them?" Frisk asked. "How am I supposed to explain that I helped Flowey kill The King?" Frisk's shoulders sank. "They're not going to want to see me once they find out, so maybe it's better if I just go."

It got so quiet the ever-present ring in their ears faded into their awareness.

"I'm sorry," Chara said. "But have you been sneaking drinks from Sans's caches?"

Frisk knitted their eyebrows together. "What?"

"It's just–" Chara barked a single-syllabled laugh– "You're thinking about this like they're human!" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"These are monsters Frisk, not humans! Monsters live on love and compassion; it's half of their culture! Why do you think I fell in love with these weirdos?" 

"I don't know, they're—" 

"Compassionate and understanding." Chara emphasized the words far more than they needed to, speaking with that tone they got any time someone said something dumb. 

Chara's angry smile struck deeper than any other. This irate grin shared traits with the face Chara got whenever they discovered a new way to mess with people or whenever Frisk accidentally flirted with the enemy, but Chara's angry smile elicited a different kind of "uh oh." Their eyebrows raised and they eyeballed the offender as if they were a running candidate for the world's dumbest person.
This look had never been directed at Frisk before, and they swear they died for a moment.

"But is it fair to them if I try to defend my actions? I killed their king, Chara. I killed the beloved King of Monsters who wanted nothing more than to bring hope to his people after he lost so much himself." Frisk declared, hugging themself. "If I had just tried harder; if I hadn't frozen when Flowey showed up..."

Chara's expression softened as their vexation steamed away. "Frisk, there's nothing more you could have done in that situation—Asgore stripped your will to show mercy, and trying to stop Flowey would've just inspired him to move quicker." Chara sharply gestures at the mention of the plant.

Frisk looked up at Chara, eyes filled with desperation and pain. "So you're saying this is the best outcome?"

"As awful as it is, yeah," Chara said. "I'm sorry, Frisk."

Frisk's phone rang again. They cringed at the overly cheery ringtone, pulling out their phone and staring at the screen. Papyrus's number smiled up at them, patiently waiting for them to pick up. They didn't. Frisk watched the phone as it rang, rang, rang. After an eternity, the call timed out and the screen flickered off.

Frisk returned their phone to their pocket, turning towards the exit. With a heavy heart, Frisk stepped towards the doorway leading out of The Underground. 

"Where are you going?" Chara asked.

Frisk stopped, and without turning around said, "home."

"So you're just going to leave all of them hanging?"

Frisk faced Chara again. "They're already going to have to deal with their king's death. They don't need–" Frisk gestured at themself– "This on top of all of that. They don't need me."

Their phone rang again.

"Well, they want you," Chara said.

Frisk pulled out their phone, staring at the caller ID with longing. Their finger hovered over the screen, awaiting their choice. Frisk gritted their teeth, closed their eyes, and declined the call.

Chara stared in disbelief.

Frisk sighed, facing the exit once again. Gravity increased around them with each step they took away from The Underground. Their sins crawled along their back.

A deeply rooted thread unraveled, slowly loosening the further Frisk walked. With each step, Frisk grew colder and colder. They stopped. They recognized this feeling. More accurately, the lack of feeling.

Frisk turned around, noticing Chara hadn't moved an inch. "Aren't you coming?"

"I can't," Chara said, furrowing their brow. "I want to, but I physically can't move past this point. I..." Their eyes widen in a moment of clarity. "My body."

"What?" Frisk asked.

"My body buried back in the ruins—I'm still anchored to it. Angel be damned..." Chara dragged their palms down their face. "Of course, I'm still stuck to it."

"So," Frisk said, voice growing sullen, "does that mean..?"

"I think..." Chara stared into the distance for a moment, sighing as they focused on Frisk again. "You're on your own from here on, partner."

"Oh," Frisk said, their gaze downcast. "That's just it then? It's over? Just like that?"

"Yeah." Chara smiled, but the curve didn't reach their eyes. "It was fun while it lasted, Frisk."

"It was something."

"Yeah," Chara said, their voice breaking. Their eyes shimmered and their shoulders hiked up the slightest notch as their mouth tightened into a thin line. But then they closed their eyes and flashed Frisk the brightest smile they'd worn all day, yet their shoulders only inched higher and their eyebrows only knitted closer. "I guess we'll be seeing each other around, then?" 

Frisk's gaze fell to the floor. "No," Frisk said. "You probably won't."

Chara's smile dropped and Frisk wanted to shrivel up and die.

Frisk looked up again, swallowing the lump in their throat. "Bye."

"Bye," Chara said with a furrowed gaze.

Silence hung in the aftermath of their farewell. Neither of them had anything more to say. Frisk sighed as they took a step back and walked out of The Underground for the last time, their footsteps echoing in their ears like death knell. If they looked at Chara for any longer they'd surely break down into a tearful mess—they weren't about to let Chara see them cry. 

Stars winked at Frisk from the endless arch of void-black above them. Some shone blue and bright, glowing with the might of a beacon meant to guide souls through this life even in the darkest hours. Others dimmed and fell away into the backdrop, almost outside the span of human comprehension. Those flashed like pinpricks in a veil of darkness, tinted ever so slightly silver. A belt of diamond dust streaked across the sky behind the brightest stars, highlighting the faint blue of the sky. 

Frisk was privileged to see such beauty.

Frisk stretched a hand to the sky, palm up and fingers splayed to catch a star as they drifted aimlessly past. It wasn't fair. Here they were,walking under the stars whilst there was a whole civilization of monsters underground who would kill to see the them. There were monsters born in The Underground that had never seen the stars. Not even once.

"What's a star?" A young monster had asked. "Can you touch it? Can you eat it? Can you kill it? Are you a star?"

Now here they were, on the surface, admiring the visage so many monsters would kill to see. Worse yet, some had never seen it at all.

Every step they took fed the growing void within their soul. A growing ache, one that would only get worse with time. As Frisk trekked further down the mountain, the thread that bound them and Chara together frayed and split until it finally fell apart with a soft, muted sigh. The pain in Frisk's soul intensified and tears streamed down their face in a torrent of raw emotion. Someone may as well have torn their heart out, clumsily stitching it back together again while leaving all the seams raw and exposed.

Despite the overwhelming urge to turn back and run into Chara's warm embrace, Frisk pushed forward, placing one foot in front of the other. They could never go back to the way things were, and their relationship with Chara--with everyone--would be forever altered by their decisions. The thought of leaving everyone behind shredded them, but the pain of facing everyone again would destroy them. Frisk could only keep walking; keep walking as the mountain kept a part of their soul with them.

As Frisk distanced themselves from The Underground, it became increasingly difficult to accept its existence as a reality. It all appeared to be just another story, the kind that one would encounter during a school trip or in a summer class. A world filled with magical beings and monsters, living in a mountain, forgotten by the societies sprawling above. To be honest, a part of Frisk refused to accept it, but what other explanation could there be?

Frisk kept their eyes downcast as they walked, wishing nothing more than to go home and forget everything that had transpired during their time underground for a while. Their only solace would be if they could unite both of their families; those bound by blood and the other by choice. Frisk wasn't stupid—they knew such a thing was impossible.

They longed for a better ending, but this was it. They were free and walking under the stars they'd taken for granted their whole life. They'd won. 

It sure as hell didn't feel like it. 

Chapter Text

Frisk strode through the ancient forest, dragging their feet through the carpets of moss and fallen leaves. It reeked of age. The forest's woody incense was from centuries of snapping branches crashing to the forest's floor and rotting silently. The composting, organic smell rose in waves like a thick fog. 

Frisk couldn't see far. The veil of night sheathed the woods in blackness, blending the woods into a muddled mass of umber brown. Most would be scared or at least made anxious by such a prospect, but not Frisk. Maybe it's because they were trapped underground for over a month where darkness was unavoidable. Maybe it's because they saw so much shit that darkness couldn't compare. Who knew at that point?

Frisk kept walking, the ground crackling beneath their feet as they strode over clumps of pine needles and fallen leaves. Leafy spires rose ever upwards, as far as their head could lift. An orchestra of crickets and frogs filled the forest with blissful background noise as Frisk wandered through the darkness. The faint contrast provided by the distant lights of Ebottsford allowed Frisk to see well enough to avoid tripping or running into anything. The evening stars peeped down at them like far-away diamonds, glinting and shimmering.

Frisk was too tired to appreciate any of it.

The world was stranger than they remembered it. Everything around them had lost its vibrancy. The stars above weren't distant gleams of light but were instead plastic rhinestones and sequins. Nothing was real, the trees and rocks just one false step from dissolving into mist.

Despite the hum of crickets, it was far too quiet for Ebott Woods. The rational part of Frisk's mind assured them that the world was quiet because of how late it was, but in the grip of their guilt, it was like the forest was staring at them accusingly, disgusted by such a vile person walking through its peaceful grounds.

That wasn't the reality, though. Frisk knew this was real. Nothing around them was fabricated by their broken mind. Everything they saw, did, and went through was real. They did fall underground into a whole new world. They were trapped down there for over a month. And they did help assassinate the king of an entire civilization of monsters. Some angel they were.

How could they possibly explain any of this to their parents? 

What would mamá and papá say? What would they think after finding out that their precious child was an accomplice to murder? Would they be angry with them? Disappointed? Maybe they'd be afraid of them—so afraid they'd call the police to arrest them or have them locked in a psych ward. What if they were kicked out of the house and had to live the rest of their teenage years on the streets? What if their friends were disappointed in them? What if—

What if they didn't tell anyone?

They didn't have to say anything, right? No one was forcing them. There wasn't anyone on the surface who could hold them accountable for it, because how would they know? If Frisk refused to confess their sins, then nothing bad would happen. Yeah, it would suck ass that they couldn't discuss it with anyone, but that was how it had always been. Frisk had always been on their own when it came to stuff like that. They didn't want to burden their family with their dumb mental health junk, they already did so much for them! They could just keep all of their problems locked up, and then one day, they'd die. 

And besides, it was only fair. They got King Asgore killed. It wouldn't be fair to all the monsters trapped underground without a king if Frisk recovered. 

They deserved to suffer for their actions. 

So from that moment until their death, Frisk would bear the burden that they shared responsibility for King Asgore Dreemurr's death.

A chain link fence peeked through the darkness.

Huh. This was the exact path Frisk took walking to the mountain, and this fence wasn't there before. It made sense though, Mt. Ebott didn't exactly have a good track record.
Anyone who braved its slopes was said to never be seen again. Including themself, eight people who climbed Mt. Ebott disappeared without a trace. Many believed the mountain to be haunted by spirits and other supernatural beings (turned out they were right), but the analytical reasoned that Ebott was just a dangerous hill to climb. This fence should've gone up years ago. 

Regardless, Frisk stepped up to the fence. Frisk grabbed hold of the chains and began climbing, the fence creaking under their weight as they scaled it. Frisk gripped the top rail and heaved their body on top of the fence. Dangling from the top rail, Frisk looked down. The fence was pretty tall, about seven feet or so. Perfectly jumpable; they just had to watch the landing. Without further ado, Frisk pushed themselves off the edge, kicking away from the fence in the same motion. They landed hard on their feet, twisting their ankle as they crumpled to the ground. 

Frisk tried to stand, eliciting a sharp twinge from their ankle. They fell to the ground again, clutching at their ankle with a sharp hiss. They could've avoided that. That was stupid. They're stupid. What's wrong with them? 

Frisk held their ankle still so the pain would die down enough for them to walk, praying to whatever deity was out there that it would. Thankfully, the pain ebbed away after a few minutes. Frisk stood, and with a slight limp, continued to walk towards Ebottsford.

The crunching leaves and pine needles came to be a thing of the past as the ground below Frisk's feet grew solid and unmoving. Their shoes scuffed against the pavement as they meandered down the sidewalk. Warm lamplight illuminated the sidewalk, cars hustled down the exhausted road, and the scent of freshly cut grass permeated the air. Their home away from hometown: Ebottsford.

They'd be home soon.

Soon they could sleep on their springy mattress, talk to their mom about their day, and eat their dad's Asado. Their parents would be so relieved to see them after months of absence and give them the biggest hug in the world. They'd enjoy tía Camila's churros and hang out with cousin Antonio again. Even the idea of going back to school was a relief. Everyone would welcome them home without ever knowing what a vile human being they were.

Frisk stopped in front of a fair-sized, Prussian blue house with a sleek, solar-panelled roof, a quaint porch and a vertical garden adorning one side of the house. All of the downstairs lights were on as a smart screen played some old show in the living room. Tía Camilla's house.

Frisk was right there and the lights were still on, maybe they could crash at her place until tomorrow. They could have their tía's famous breakfast and hang out with cousin Antonio for a few hours. As nice as that sounded, seeing their parents sounded even nicer. They just wanted to go home, even if their home wasn't as nice as tía Camilla's. After a moment of contemplation, Frisk turned away and continued walking down the sidewalk.

If they kept walking and didn't take any breaks, they could make it back to Marquette before the sun rose. To Frisk from a few months ago, that would have been a fun challenge. Due to being from a poor household, Frisk had to walk to a lot of places or catch the bus. They never minded. Frisk loved walking everywhere; they loved the pleasant birdsong, the breeze playing with their umber hair, and the sun shining on their tawny skin like a smile. Even walking during the evening was pleasant whenever their parents would allow it. Now as they strode down the pavement, the joy that usually followed Frisk during their walks didn't show. Soothing background noise filled the space, the soft breeze tossed their hair around, and the moon illuminated what the street lamps couldn't touch with silver light. All of the ingredients were there, but no matter how Frisk stirred them, they refused to combine into happiness batter. Not to mention, their ankle was not happy being put to work while injured, making it Frisk's problem by throbbing with pain every time they moved it wrong. They just wanted to go home.

Maybe they could catch a bus headed to Marquette and let their ankle rest for a few miles. Before they had a chance to get excited, a thought crossed Frisk's mind: how would they pay for it? A bus ride costed three dollars and Frisk doubted that anyone on the surface would accept The Underground's form of currency as payment. So taking the bus was out unless they could get their hands on three dollars.

Maybe they could find a vending machine and check to see if any coins got left behind or if someone dropped a dollar. The only vending machines Frisk knew off the top of their head were behind the school near the picnic tables. Bonus, the school is right next to a bus stop. If Frisk could get there, scrounge up three dollars, and get to the bus stop, they'd have an easy ticket home. With a semi-cohesive plan in mind, Frisk set off toward the school.

After a good ten minutes of walking, Frisk arrived at Haywood County Middle School. They meandered to the back of the building and made their way over to the vending machines. Frisk checked the coin return of both machines and got themself a few quarters. After that, Frisk took to scouring the ground for the chance someone dropped a dollar or two. It didn't take Frisk long to find one. They picked up the dollar and were surprised to see a five boldly printed on the bill. Great. You're already a murderer and you're stealing on top of it? How low you've fallen, Frisk. To make up for their crime, Frisk put the quarters back in the return slots for some other lucky kid to find. With more than enough money to pay for a bus ride, Frisk headed over to the nearest bus stop.

As Frisk arrived, they quickly read over the schedule tacked on the signpost, hoping there would still be buses moving at this hour. A quick skim eased their concerns as there was one ride left before the day was done. Frisk took a seat on the nearest bench, propping their injured leg out to ease the pressure on their ankle. They watched the road carefully as they waited for the bus. It didn't take long for it to arrive.

As the bus pulled up, Frisk ignored the twinge in their ankle as they hobbled inside. Frisk pulled out their stolen five-dollar bill and handed it to the driver.

The driver held his palm up, shaking his head. "Oh, don't worry about that lad, you can keep that—folks 13 and under ride for free."

"Really?" Frisk asked. "When did that get implemented?" 

"Couple of weeks ago, but it's no biggie, the governor covers the costs." 

"Oh." So they stole this money for nothing? Awesome. "Alright."

The bus was mostly empty. There was only one other person boarded zonked out in the very back. Frisk took a seat up front so they wouldn't strain their ankle as much—it would also get them off the bus quicker. Once they'd taken their seat, the driver took off. 

"So, what's a lad like you doing out after dark?"

A flare of irritation rose in Frisk's chest, causing their response to sound a bit snappy. "I'm just trying to get home."

Frisk wanted to grab their own shoulders and shake some sense into themself. What was that for? Why are you getting angry with him? He's just trying to be nice and he's giving you a free ride! You should be thankful. 

The driver chortled. "I can't argue with that," he said. "Where you heading?"

"Marquette," Frisk said. "I'm heading to Marquette."

"Well, what do you know! That works out well—that's where I'm heading next. What part of Marquette are you heading to?

"Um…" He was just trying to be nice, but they can't just give out the street they lived on to strangers. They have to say something though or they'll be rude for not answering his question. C'mon, open your mouth! "Where does your standard route take you?"

"Well, we're going to be driving down Chauvé in a second here, and then once we get into Marquette, I'll be heading down Martin Avenue."

"Oh," Frisk said. "That's perfect! That's really close to my road—I can walk the rest of the way there."

"Well, this just went swimmingly for both of us, didn't it?" The driver said with a laugh.

"Yeah." Frisk nodded. "Thank you."

"Just doing my job, lad."

Frisk scooched up to the window, leaning their head against the glass. The rumble of the engine and the tires rolling down the road shook the glass, buzzing against Frisk's skull. It was oddly comforting, watching the world zip by through the glass as it vibrated against their head. Nothing but the hum of the engine and the world flying past. After several miles of road, the driver pulled onto a familiar street. 

Frisk perked up as they recognized the eggshell-white house Mrs. Davidson called home. Before the bus pulled to a stop, Frisk scootched to the edge of their seat.

The driver put on the brakes. "All righty, here we are."

Frisk stood from their seat and limped down the aisle, trying to be as subtle as possible. They walked down the steps but stopped halfway through. 

Frisk craned their neck to look at the driver. "Thanks again for the drive, sir."

"And again, I'm just doing my job." He glanced down at Frisk's ankle for a split second before meeting Frisk's eyes again, his expression softer than before. "You have a safe trip home, lad. Maybe put some ice on that ankle of yours when you get home."

So much for subtly. " Yeah, I will," Frisk said. "You have a safe rest of your shift."

"Will do, buckaroo." The driver said with a smile.

With that, Frisk stepped off the bus, waving to the driver as he closed the door and puttered off. Frisk sighed, starting down the final stretch before they made it home.

Marquette wasn't nearly as nice a town as Ebottsford. The sidewalks were banged up and chipped with plants sprouting from the cracks, a few of the street lamps flickered on and off, and there weren't any benches to sit on. Still, it was home. 

Frisk turned onto their street and tottered down the beat-up pavement, the pain in their ankle growing worse with each step. They were almost home, just a little further. They could make it. Stay determined. Their ankle throbbed with agony that nearly sent them to the floor. Frisk gripped the nearest fence to keep themself from falling as they took a minute to catch their breath. Tears pricked their eyes from the pain and they had to choke back a sob. Why did they jump off that stupid fence? Frisk took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and breathed it out. They could do this. Putting as little pressure on their ankle as possible, Frisk began walking again.

After an agonizing hike down Jersey Lane, Frisk arrived at a house they could never forget. The walls might have been yellow once upon a time, but after countless summers, the sun had bleached the once vibrant walls into a pale off-white. Some of the brown shingles had warped from time as weeds plagued the lawn. A sad, equally bleached lawn flamingo sat out front. It was a mess...and it was the best damn mess Frisk had ever seen. If their ankle wasn't screaming at them, they would have run up to the doorstep like a kid on Christmas morning. Instead, they slowly hobbled up to the front door.

Frisk tipped up a pot of pansies that had been dying for the past five years, grabbing the spare key hidden underneath. It took an eon trying to get the door unlocked with the amount their hands were shaking, but they managed to get it open. 

Frisk pushed the door open and shambled into the dusty house, kicking their shoes off. They immediately flopped onto the couch being used as a dresser, the springs creaking from the weight. Once they were comfortable, Frisk heaved the largest sigh of relief in their life. They made it. After going through all nine circles of hell, they made it back home. Never in their life had poorly painted brown walls filled them with such peace. 

Now that they were safe in their home, Frisk realized how heavy their eyes were and how sore their body was. The couch held them in place with its comfort, turning moving into a useless endeavor. Even with the springs digging into them, Frisk was too comfortable to move. They decided to give themself to their pursuer, to exhaustion, letting their eyes drift closed as they fell into solacing darkness.

Frisk cracked their eyes open as the light of early dawn shone through the window. The last of the morning's stars glinted like silver pin pricks, luminous and bright. At least that gave them an idea of how long they slept; not nearly enough, that much was certain. 

Frisk stood up to stretch the stiffness from their muscles, their injured ankle harshly correcting them for putting weight on it again. They collapsed back to the couch with a hiss, waiting for the pain to die down. Frisk really needed to get ice on that soon before it got worse. One issue though, Frisk couldn't stand very well at the moment. Maybe they could hop over to the freezer and get an ice pack. 

Wait, it wasmorning, that meant their papá would be waking up for work soon. Once he woke up, they could ask him for help. What a way to re enter their lives. "Hi, I'm back! Take care of me!" Spoiled brat. On second thought, they didn't want to make him late for work. They could handle themself. Frisk glanced at the improvised kitchenette off to one side, their ankle throbbing in pain at the thought of moving again. In a few minutes though. Until then, Frisk leaned their head against the couch and enjoyed the peace.

A few hours went by. Or had it only been a few minutes? Frisk couldn't tell. There was no shuffling coming from their parents' room to suggest their dad had woken up, no usual sounds coming from the bathroom as their dad got ready for work; there was nothing. Frisk hadn't noticed until now how quiet the house was. There wasn't a sound in the house, not even the sounds that houses made: air-conditioning, furnace, the floors creaking, or the fridge cycling on; nothing. There was nothing but a silence that seemed to have been thickening since Frisk got home. Were their parents even here?

Frisk's curiosity overtook their desire to rest as they slowly pried themself off the couch, being extra careful to not jostle their ankle. They slowly limped through the living room and down the hall to their parents' room. Frisk pressed their ear against the door, straining to hear any sounds. Their mamá usually snored loud enough to be heard throughout the house, but there wasn't even the faint huffing of their parents' breathing. 

Frisk knocked on the door. "Mamá, papá, I'm home."

No response.

Frisk tried the doorknob, and to their surprise, it was unlocked. They entered the dark, cramped room dominated by a queen-sized bed and old dresser passed down through the years. Fastened over the window was an old, scratchy blanket that no one liked so it got turned into a shabby curtain. 

The room was void of life. 

"¿Mamá? ¿Papá?" 

Where were they? Why weren't they here? Why wasn't mamá here? She was always there! Maybe they were out looking for them. That had to be it, right? Or maybe they were with tía Camilla. Either way, they had to come home soon. They had to. All Frisk had to do was wait until they did. 

Frisk sat on their parents' bed, sinking into the soft mattress. They took a deep breath in through the nose...and out through the mouth. It's okay. You're okay. They're okay. Don't freak out like some baby.  

The front door opened.

Frisk breathed a massive sigh of relief. See? There they are! Nothing to have an episode over. 

"I swear this door was locked last time I left. Oh Lord hear my prayer, I'm losing my mind."

Frisk's brow furrowed as they looked toward the door. They knew that voice, and it wasn't either of their parents. What was tía Camilla doing here? 

Frisk slowly stood to avoid eliciting a flare-up and shambled toward the door. They poked their head out into the hallway to see what all of this was about. 

Tía Camilla stood over the couch, folding the clothes that had been there when Frisk left over a month ago. Her hair, umber like Frisk's, was tied back into a messy bun as she worked away at the month-old pile. She wore dark clothes with white accents, which was unusual for her. Tía Camilla's wardrobe was packed with bright, cheery colors with the occasional white for more formal occasions. Black looked odd on her, meshing oddly with her hazel fay skin. Frisk's heart skipped a beat. What happened while they were gone? Frisk leaned further out the door, trying to get a closer look without revealing themself—

They bumped the door. The following creak shattered the silence.

Tía Camilla stopped mid-fold to glare in the direction of the sound. Frisk ducked back into their parents' room, ignoring the pain in their ankle from the sudden movement. Tía Camilla muttered a stream of Spanish that overwhelmed translation, a long and liquid curse as she marched to the other side of the room. A few pans clamored to the floor with a loud crash as the purposeful steps of their tía approached the hallway.

Frisk's instincts took control and drove them into the smallest corner, dismissing their screaming ankle as they drew their legs tight to their chest and waited.

"Oh, you picked the wrong house tú hijo de perra!" Camilla kicked the door open, banging it against the wall. She wielded a frying pan like a bat, reeling it over her shoulder. "I took martial arts in grade school!"

Frisk pressed themself as far back against the wall as they could, holding their hands up to show they were unarmed. "¡Tía! ¡Tía! ¡Tía! It's me! It's Frisk!" 

Tía Camilla's shoulders relaxed as they heard that name and voice. "Frisk?" 

She lowered the frying pan and patted the wall looking for the light switch. Camilla flicked the lights on and got the first good look at Frisk she had gotten in months. Her eyes welled up with tears.

"Frisk!" Tía Camilla cried, discarding the frying pan on the floor. She rushed up to Frisk, enveloping them in a tight hug as though they'd disappear again. "Oh, Frisk! We've been looking all over for you!

She combed a hand through Frisk's hair. "Your father saw your note on the door, and then he told your mother, and she told me, and then I told everybody else. The police couldn't find anything, none of us could find anything but—" Tía Camilla pulled back, brushing Frisk's bangs out of their face. "I'm just so glad you're home."

"Yeah, I'm glad to be home too," Frisk said. "But where is mamá?"

Sadness flitted across tía Camilla's face. "Your mamá is in the hospital, hun."

"What?" Frisk exclaimed. "Why is she—"

"Without anyone to take care of her, her illness got worse. I came over at a good time and got her to the hospital before she could get any worse."

Frisk opened their mouth to speak—

"Don't worry, she's in good hands. I brought her to an actual hospital in Ebottsford and not that crappy local clinic. I visited her earlier today. She's tired, but she's doing all right.

Tía Camilla smiled at Frisk. "She'll be so relieved to hear that you're home."

"No one to take care of her," Frisk faltered. "What do you mean? Papá always took care of her."

Her face contorted as though she was struggling not to cry. "Oh, hun…"

Frisk's heart sank. "What happened to my dad?"

Tía Camilla didn't say anything for a while, as though she was figuring out how to answer Frisk's question. "When your father saw your note, he assumed the worst and started freaking out about it. Once he told your mom, he rushed out of the house and started speeding towards the mountain. He was so focused on trying to find you, that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. He ran a red light and got T-boned by oncoming traffic.

Darkness gathered in her eyes. "By the time the paramedics got there, there was nothing they could do."

Frisk stared at their tía. They stared and stared, unable to believe what she had just told them. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be real. Their father couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He had to be fine. He just had to be fine. If he wasn't fine then... Frisk looked down. 

Tía Camilla hugged them tightly. "It'll be alright, Frisk. "You'll just have to stay with me for a while. You can hang out with cousin Antonio every day, you'll be a lot closer to school, and you get to have my famous breakfast every morning, how does that sound?

"How about we hop in my car and head back to my place? I'll prepare lunch for you and we can—"

Everything around Frisk ceased to matter. Everything around them was consumed by an infinite emptiness. They braved the horrors of The Underground and died over a hundred times just so they could make it back home. Frisk went through hell on earth just so they could return to their simple life on the surface. They never had much, but that made things better. Frisk appreciated the little things and was wowed by stuff many took for granted. It was hard sometimes, but Frisk had never known anything else. Their parents loved them dearly and did whatever they could to give them a good life. Frisk wanted to hear their mom's voice, eat their dad's dinner, and live the simple life they always lived. They were only gone for a few months, why did everything have to change?

Frisk wrapped their arms around their tía, tears gathering in their eyes. They squeezed her as if their life depended on it, a sob rising in their throat. Frisk tried to choke it down, to keep themself composed, but then there were fingers combing oh so gently through their hair.

"It’s fine. Everything's going to be alright. You can cry, it’s okay," Tía Camilla whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow. 

Frisk wanted to hold themself together, to stay strong, but they were so god damn tired and tía Camilla was being so gentle with them. Frisk broke. They buried their head against their tía's shoulder and just sobbed. Loud and broken, Frisk poured over a month of pent-up emotions in one singular instance, crumbling like a cookie in water. 

They just wanted everything back the way it was!