Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The drive was familiar if not a bit daunting. Tim hadn’t been in this part of Alabama for a long time – he hasn’t had reason to, not since he started college. 

It was east of Tuscaloosa, near Cheaha Mountain, the second tallest mountain in Alabama, its rival just to the north. In between the two mountains is a small town that seems to have been growing since Tim left – there are more apartment buildings, hotels, houses, and schools than before. 

This town was the closest he got to feeling like a home as a kid when he was transferred to a psych ward there after the fire. It still wasn’t the best – hell, he never really stopped trying to go back to Rosswood in a trance – but all things considered, it was better. At least back then, he lived in some sort of normalcy and ignorance that made it all more bearable.

Clenching his jaw, Tim takes a deep breath as he follows a well-known path. His hands grasp tight at the wheel as familiar and unfamiliar sights pass by.

Eventually, he's driving past an Elementary School, one he saw as a teen time and time again on bus rides to his own school. Children run around the playground, playing various games and activities – tetherball, four square, tag, pretend, all that stuff. With his windows down, Tim can hear their laughter and shouts of glee. 

What catches his eye however is a trio of children all playing some form of pattycake, singing a familiar tune.

“Every good rhyme starts with ‘Once Upon A Time’”

It was a local nursery rhyme passed around for decades, based on an old folktale centered around the tall mount the town both revered and feared.

Tim continued to drive past the school, recounting the song in his head.

Long ago, far away, centuries before our day…

Humans lived, monsters roamed. Both shared earth and sky as home

Yet this peace came undone. War was waged and humans won

Forced below, monsters fell. Humans trapped them with a spell

The folktale's origins have long been lost to time, but locals have come up with all kinds of possibilities, ranging from a long-dead society's mythology to claiming it was based on an actual battle told from the victors' perspective. It was a frequently debated topic in the town.

The town started dissipating as he drove, giving way to lush grass and trees with dense leaves, the asphalt turning to gravel then dirt further in.

Listen, children to my words: Ebott will eat you, beware the curse!

Monsters' teeth go clack, clack, clack...

 If you climb the mountain, you won't come back!

But one thing the townsfolk could all agree on, with or without the tale, is that Mount Ebott is a mountain of unmarked graves. Legends say that those who climb the mountain never return. So far, that part of the legend has been proven true countless times. Tim has seen many people come and go in his life, and in this town, the best way to do that was a good hike toward the peak. It was the go-to method for several other kids in the hospital and he understood the appeal.

It’s why he’s here, after all.

Eventually, he gets to the end of the dirt road, driving into a small clearing like many before him, parking in front of a tree.

Now's the start of his hike.

Human child, human child, won't turn around.

It's been over a year since Tim uploaded that last entry. He's been trying to move on from it all, even going as far as leaving the state for a bit. He tried all kinds of coping mechanisms, healthy or not. He's tried to work, only to be (very gently) fired due to his bad temper and frequent nervous breakdowns, which additionally is not good for his resume. With his erratic behavior came the pity and questioning of strangers, which did not help his attitude. 

With the camera in his passenger seat, he's decided he's had enough pity to last him a couple of lifetimes. He's decided he's had enough.

He can't do this anymore. Not alone.

Despite all of the stories he heard about this place, it's not the worst place he's been to: that position is reserved for Rosswood and Benedict Hall. It feels tranquil here, even if he is essentially marching to his death.

Or maybe that's why he feels so calm. This is the first time his imminent demise felt in his control. He supposed that made it a little less scary. 

The further up the mountain he gets however, he can't help but grow apprehensive. He's made up his mind, he can't keep doing this anymore, not if he's constantly scared of his own shadow or getting too close to anyone. But even then, the words of one of the nurses who was assigned to him echo in his mind. 

“Suicide is the coward's way out, Tim. Surely you're better than that, right?”

When he shook his head to answer, he felt they both knew that wasn't true. Tim wasn't below a coward's escape. And he never liked that nurse anyway.

When he readjusts the strap of his bag, he can feel his meager belongings shuffle around. He resists the urge to pull out the worn camera to record. It hasn't been recording right since that last entry, and even if it did still work, there wouldn't be much of a point, would there? On the slim chance he'd survive here, he wouldn't have any reason to post it on the channel – he was trying to get away from it after all.

But it still helped to just have it on him. The extra weight it added to his bag was comforting.

It's the only physical thing he had left of Jay. After everything, he didn't want to lose any more of him than he already had.

Tim continued to hike until he got to more level ground. By now, the sun was starting to set, orange light shining on the mountain. It's one of the warmer days of fall, leaves crunching under his feet and billowing in the breeze around him. It's a good evening to die.

The sound of a branch snapping, and leaves rustling along with it, alerts Tim to movement on his left. 

Logically, he knows that it probably was just someone else trying to disappear, someone who has no idea who Tim is and could care less. However, that doesn't stop his heart from racing and his mind jumping to (mostly) nonsensical conclusions. Careful so as to not alert anyone, he flips open his pocket knife, its blade dull but effective, and creeps toward the sound.

A small form dashes out of a bush, sprinting away from Tim. Out of pure instinct, he runs after it, eventually getting a slightly better look at them, although it is difficult with both of them running. 

From what he could tell, this person – likely a kid, from their height and the pitch of their pants and wheezes – was wearing a blue and purple striped sweater with a worn pair of denim overall shorts and bright yellow boots. Their hair, a cloud of dark, frizzy curls, had some leaves and twigs stuck in it, and in their hand was a frayed branch.

Well, shit. He can't just leave an actual child alone on a supposed death mountain. It didn't settle right in his stomach.

“Kid!” Tim panted as they reached a cavern. “You- you don't know what's in there! Just- just stop for one second!”

The only indication the kid gave was a glance at him as they kept running. He couldn't catch their eyes, but he could see the stubborn scowl they wore, along with a worn bandaid on their cheek.

Suddenly, their boot caught on a root in the ground and-

Human child, human child, oops they fell down!

Tim skidded to a stop to look at where the kid had been in shock. Slowly he edges toward the chasm they fell into.

A thud echoes through the hall as the static in his mind quiets. Tim looks over the railing, seeing the hooded figure at the bottom, unmoving, dead.

The memory flows over reality. When he closes his eyes to escape it, Brian’s eyes, unfocused and devoid of life, flash in the darkness. Tim pulls at his hair, frantically trying to shake away the vision, as he takes a step backward.

He doesn’t notice the ground beneath him crumbling until it’s too late.

Human child, human child, look out below!

Down underground where the monsters go.

The air whizzing past him as he plummets brings him back to the moment. And this is the moment he came here for. He should be calm, he should be happy, content even. He’s finally going to be free. This is what he wanted.

But that was when he was alone. 

Now, there’s a child just below him, and god isn’t it pathetic how quickly his mind has latched onto that? Because now he’s hoping the kid survives this fall. Now he’s praying to whoever will listen that he’ll survive too. He doesn’t want the kid to see his corpse beside them.

Well, that’s assuming he doesn’t land on top of them, probably killing them instantly if their own fall doesn’t. Fuck , Tim does not want to think about that.

Oops, dropped your heart...

Be careful in the dark.

Someone might take it, break it apart.

Trouble on the left... trouble on the right…

Will you spare them, run, or fight?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tim prepared for impact.

Everything goes dark instead.

On a bed of golden flowers, Frisk wakes. Beside them is a grown man, dressed in a gray shirt and red flannel, a duffel bag spilling its contents on the flowerbed that must have softened their fall. The man is still unconscious but otherwise seems uninjured. Standing, the child looks up to where they fell from –  a large chasm adorned in vines now above them, letting the orange glow of sunset shine in. Even with the natural light, it’s still very dark down here, only barely illuminating the ground and revealing weathered pillars. Seems the flowers are the best-kept thing here.

A sound further in the dark – it sounded like someone was digging into the dirt – caught their attention. In the shadows, they can just about see a doorway, structured similarly to the pillars.

Nodding to themself, now with a vague goal in mind, Frisk stands up and gripping their branch tight in their hand, proceeds to the end of the room.

Another child, with rosy cheeks and a curious smile, watches them until they leave their line of sight.

Then, tilting their head at the adult, they began to softly sing, voice cracking from lack of use.

“Oops, dropped your heart...

Be careful in the dark.

Someone might take it, break it apart.

Trouble on the left... trouble on the right…

Will you spare them, run, or fight?”

Chapter Text

“Alright, this is taking too long,” A raspy, childish voice stirs the man awake. “C’mon! Rise ‘n shine, sleeping beauty!”

Tim groans, pushing himself up from the ground, the feeling of flowers under his hands strange. Opening his eyes, he spots his belongings scattered across the golden blossoms. Due to grogginess and a dull headache behind his eyes, he’s slow to gather his things back into his bag, but he gets it done. He lingered on the camera, checking for any further damages – nothing new, just the same scrapes and cracks. 

Someone claps their hands behind him. “Hey! I know you can hear me, Old Man!” Sighing, Tim turns his head to see the source.

It’s a kid, maybe around twelve years old, in a green sweater with only one yellow stripe and beige pants with dirt stains on the knees and hems. The same yellow flowers on the ground adorn their head, bright in neat brown curls. Their dark eyes, rosy cheeks, and sweet smile were patronizing while they tilted their head, arms behind their back, polite in appearance despite their remarks.

It isn’t the same kid he saw before, but if they aren't here…

“Where’d the other kid go?”

“Ah, good, straight to the point.” Their smile changes to smug as they lean on their toes. “You’re not as brain-dead as I thought you might be.” Rocking back onto their heels, they point to their right, Tim’s left, down a dark pathway and towards an entryway. “They went that way.”

Tim, never one for conversation or condescending preteens, merely nodded, mumbled something along the lines of, “Cool, thanks,” and got up to leave.

But the annoying kid wasn’t done talking yet, it seems. “You should hurry. You wanna know why?”

“Not really,” the man sighed, knowing they were gonna tell him anyway.

The kid’s smile morphed into something twisted and eerie, it could hardly be called any sort of grin anymore. “I heard there were monsters down here. And you know what they say about monsters: they love to eat children’s hearts.” Looking into their eyes, Tim could see something dark welling up in their irises, and it seemed to seep into his soul.

Anyone else might’ve freaked out about the face this kid was making. Maybe most people would run and call them a creepy freak or even a witch or something. It’s what humans usually do.

Tim isn’t like most people.

“Nice trick, kid, but scare tactics aren’t gonna work on me.” Not right now, at least, but he wasn’t going to tell Flower Kid that, not when they’d let down their creepy face, leaving a confused pout in its place. Finally, an expression without some sort of smirk. He can see them shake it off and, like a mask, throw on another smile as he turns into the next room.

The first thing he notices is the kid from before standing beside the center of the room, which seemed to be under some sort of spotlight – if Tim bothered to check, he’d have found another hole in the ceiling allowing more natural light into the room. They looked to be in good condition, if not dirtied from the fall.

The second thing he noticed was the white bullets in the air, aimed straight at the kid. And they were not moving out of the way. 

“Alex?”

Tim rushes in front of the kid without another thought, not hearing Flower Kid’s protests.

He sees the heart-shaped object, bright red and gleaming in the light, before he feels the pain.

Wincing, Tim stumbles on his feet. Pain surges through his body upon impact. It felt as if the damage was pulsing through his very blood. Barely keeping his ground, he worried he might faint from it. However, after a couple of seconds, the pain somewhat subsided, still there but now it was just an exhausting ache. It felt… really weird.

Now’s not the time to dwell on that, though – he turns to the kid he fell with, the one currently looking up at him in a mixture of awe and worry. “You alright?”

They blink a few times – their eyes are a deep red – before giving a resolute nod, stepping just a bit closer to Tim.

A shrill, deranged peal of laughter rang out through the darkness.

“Oh boy! Things just got a lot more interesting!” Tim turned back to the center of the room and…

“What the hell am I looking at?” Was this another hallucination? Does he need to take his pills again?

In the center of the room, on a lone patch of grass, is another golden flower. It’s larger than the ones in the flowerbed, but still the same kind of flower – its six dainty-looking petals seemed to shine in the light. Its size wasn’t the weirdest thing about it though.

This flower had a face.

On that face was a sickly sweet smile. “Gee, you’re more confused than the kid!” It winked – a goddamn flower winked at him. “I don’t have a lotta time on my leaves, so I’ll just give you the footnotes!”

Its smile changed, seeming to tear at the flower’s face to create this sinister grin. “In this world, it’s kill or BE killed. And now I get to kill two birds with a lot of bullets!”

Several more bullets surround Tim and the kid, who grappled onto his arm like it was a teddy bear. With what little strength he had left, he pulled the child closer to them in an attempt to shield them as the bullets got closer and the flower from hell cackled. There was no way out of this.

Can't even protect a child from a flower. Pitiful.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, pulling the kid just a bit closer, and prepares for the bullets’ sting. 

Instead, a warm, refreshing sensation spread throughout his very being.

“What?”

When his eyes open, the bullets are gone and the flower's evil grin has been replaced with a perplexed scowl. Some ways to the right, a small flame flickers to life, before beelining for the plant. It yelped as it flew through the air, seemingly uprooted by the fire.

“Good riddance,” Tim mutters to himself mostly, but the kid in his arms nods anyway. He gently maneuvers them out of his embrace to look them over. The same scrapes and dirt stains on their sweater and overalls, the bandaid is falling off their cheek, and petals and leaves still decorate their hair. Other than that, they thankfully look to be unharmed. Giving their shoulders a quick squeeze before letting go, Tim sighs, “Alright, you look okay, how’re you feeling?”

Before the kid could give any sort of response, a woman’s sweet voice caught both of their attention. 

“What a terrible creature, torturing such poor, innocent youth…” A tall form walks to the center of the room. Tim, on instinct, puts himself between it and the kid, which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Ah, do not be afraid, human.” The figure came closer to the light.

She gradually comes into view with large fuzzy paws that take sure and confident steps, a long robe-like dress, purple with white accents, and some sort of emblem on her chest, soft hands clasped palm to palm. Her eyes are kind and the smile on her muzzle is genuine, dull fangs peaking from the corners of her mouth. On the top of her head are short horns beside the start of long, floppy ears that frame the woman’s gentle face.

A goat lady. There’s a goat lady talking to him.

“Maybe I do need to take my meds…” The kid snickers at Tim and Goat Lady chuckles into her hand.

“I assure you, what you’re seeing is real,” She bows her head in greeting. “I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins, and I am indeed a goat monster.”

Images of that thing flash through his mind as Tim feels his face go pale and his chest feels short of breath. He fully blocks the kid from Toriel, solidifying himself as a shield. “Monster?” 

Something curious flashes in the woman’s maroon eyes for a second before giving way to concern and care. “Yes, however, I mean no harm to you or your child.”

“Oh, uh, no,” Tim stutters. “They’re uh… The kid’s not,” clearing his throat, he glances at the child in question, who tilts their head at him, “I just met them.”

“Oh! I apologize. I assumed since you seem so protective of the child-”

Tim looks straight into her eyes to get the point across. “I just don’t want to see a kid getting hurt. Not if I can help it.”

Toriel stares back for a long moment as if searching his eyes for something, then smiles, and dips her head down. “That’s very honorable of you…”

“Tim, and not really. It’s what anyone should do, really.”

Toriel nods. “Yes, you’re quite right. However, as you have seen already, some creatures don’t see it the same as we do,” She turns on her heel and looks over her shoulder at the two. “We should get going, now. I will guide you through the catacombs. Just this way.” And she walks ahead, the kid scrambling to catch up to her. Tim sighs before following suit.

“So,” Tim drawled out, leaning on the ivory pillar, “you got a name to go with those compliments of yours?”

The kid looks up from the blocky cell phone they were fiddling with – Toriel gave it to them to keep in touch while she runs some errands. They open their mouth to say something, but nothing comes out so they clamp it shut. Their eyebrows are furrowed, seemingly frustrated with themself.

“Not much of a talker?” Sighing, the child nods, looking defeated. 

“Do you know sign language?” Curling into themself, they shake their head. Tim hums to himself, before reaching into a side pocket on his duffel bag, and pulling out a worn notepad with a pen in its ring binding. He opens it to an empty page and hands it over. Their eyes dart between him and the pad. 

“What, do you not know how to write either?” It’s a lighthearted jab, and the kid snorts at him indignantly before carefully taking the notepad from the man and writing. After a few moments, they hand it back to Tim.

“i’m Frisk” is written in a childish scrawl, the i’s dotted with hollow circles.

“Frisk, huh? Haven’t heard that one before. I like it, it suits you,” Tim smiles at Frisk, to which they duck their head and their cheeks darken at the compliment. Then they make grabby hands at the notepad and he hands it back to them.

“thank you, i chose it myself!” He reads over their shoulder, “Granny says i’m a frisky kid and i like that more than my real name =) ” Frisk taps their yellow boots back and forth against the ground while they write with a smile on their face. 

“Huh,” Tim nods, “Yeah, that-”

Suddenly a head phases through the pillar, spinning unnaturally on its shoulders and howling out. Instinctively, Tim grabs Frisk, who yelps, and darts away from the column. 

Then Flower Kid starts to cackle, phasing the rest of the way through the off-white post and curling up into a ball midair.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the looks on your faces! Hahahah! Priceless! ” They unfold themself to point and laugh, still floating and kicking their feet.

Frisk scrunches up their face and huffs indignantly at the preteen, crossing their arms in a silent scolding action. 

When they straightened to a standing position – feet still not touching the ground – their smile was crooked and genuine. “Oh, come on, that was funny! Wasn’t it, Old Man?”

But Tim wasn’t paying attention to whatever Flower Kid was saying. 

He was more caught up on the fact that not only was this kid hovering in the air, but that he could see through them.

Noticing his shock, they feigned concern. “What’s the matter, Tim?”

And suddenly they were right up in his face, causing him to take another step back. Their grin twisted to something unnatural, with something dark trickling out of the corners of their eyes and mouth.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dread lands in the pit of his stomach, and he feels his focus falter. Not now.  

The two of them stare at each other for a long while, the liquid darkness dripping from this thing’s face and Tim’s back pressed on the cold bricks before Flower Kid’s expression twists again. They flip around backward, cackling once again.

“Hahahahahahaha!” They snort. “Oh my God! That was amazing! I knew I could scare you!” Eyes bright with pride and clear of that inky substance, their face is back to that lopsided grin from before. “I just needed to find the right moment! Oh, I got you so good !”

Frisk, scowling, started throwing small rocks at them, which only made Flower Kid giggle more.

“That won’t work, dummy.” Crossing their legs, they drift into a lounging position, “I’m dead. You can’t hurt me in any way that counts.”

This information didn’t seem to deter Frisk at all. In fact, it seemed their assault had more fervor knowing it wouldn’t harm the spirit.

And it started to get on the preteen’s nerves. “Okay, okay, stop it!”

The pebbles stopped flying, but in return, Frisk’s glare intensified as they pointed at Tim.

“Tim’s a grown-up, Frisk,” Flower Kid rolls their eyes, “he can handle a little prank.”

Hearing his name, Tim finally snapped back into reality.

“I need a smoke.”

Flower Kid snorts. “Smoking kills.”

Chapter Text

After begrudgingly learning Chara’s name, the three of them decide to move on without Toriel – Tim’s an adult, as long as they don’t run into that flower again, he can take care of the both of them just fine. Not to mention those lights they keep running into healing the both of them when they do get hurt. He really should be more wary of them, but for some reason, he can’t help but feel safe around them. Much safer than anywhere else, at least.

And as cheeky as they can be, Chara’s input is very useful, as both informative and entertaining. At least Frisk is having a good time complimenting Froggits, consoling Whimsun, wiggling with Moldsmal, and dancing with Migosp. Despite the attacks, which Tim made sure to take the brunt of, they seem to be having a lot of fun interacting with monsters.

Something Tim learned very quickly about Frisk is how friendly they are. They aren’t very conversational, only answering with short sentences at most, but that didn't matter. The kid was very good at communicating their intentions nonverbally and the monsters were incredibly understanding. They even made friends with spiders, who turn out to be very good bakers if you ask Tim. Even if the main ingredient is spiders, he's eaten worse.

And the puzzles aren’t that bad either, they're better than the god-awful riddles and codes he's used to. The falling is less than ideal, but the ground below the false paths was soft like cushions. 

So overall, it’s one of the better walks he's had over the years.

Eventually, of course, their perusing came to an end.

The next room they entered was a larger one, with some sort of building at the end. Directly in front of them is a barren tree surrounded by a pile of red leaves, circling it like a crimson halo. 

“Oh dear, that took longer than I thought it would.” Toriel rounds the tree, dialing on a phone, similar to the one she gave Frisk. Right as the phone starts ringing, she looks up and sees the two humans and with a jolt, puts her phone away and hurries over.

“How did you get here, you two? Are you hurt?” She fussed over both of them, hands hovering, searching for injury. While Frisk currently had only one or two scratches and aches, Tim was worse off with bruises forming on his face and arms, scratches, and a stinging pain surging through his body. 

“There, there, I will heal you,” Although this was directed more at the kid, Tim could feel that warm soothing feeling from before, washing the pain away, mending skin, and healing discolored flesh. Before Tim could thank her, Toriel continued to worry. “I should not have left you two alone for so long. It was irresponsible to try to surprise you like this.”

Frisk perks up at this, eyes shining with excitement.

“Err…” Toriel chuckles at her fumble. “Well, I suppose I cannot hide it any longer,” With a fond smile, she turns to walk around the old tree once more. “Come, small one! You too, Timothy!”

Filled with newfound energy, Frisk dashes to the goat monster to hold her hand while Tim follows close behind as they approach the building, now visible as a quaint house built into a wall. As they get closer. Tim notices another twinkling light.

“Seeing such a cute, tidy house in the ruins," Chara whispers with a sort of longing, "gives you determination.”

Inside the house, Tim can instantly feel the pure comfort of a home wash over him. The first room is full of cozy shades of warm beige, a vast contrast to the cool purple of the ruins but not an unwelcome one. There’s a doorway on either end of the room, one leading to what looks to be a living room and the other stretching out into a bright yellow hallway. Directly ahead is a set of stairs leading downwards, safely guarded by rails. Both humans take a deep breath, noting the warm smell of baked pastries wafting through the air.

Toriel seems to take notice of this. “Do you smell that?” Frisk nods eagerly. “Surprise! It is a butterscotch-cinnamon pie.” She claps her paws together, her fanged smile giddy. “I thought we might celebrate your arrival. I want you both to have a nice time living here, so I will hold off on snail pie tonight.”

Tim barely holds back a snort at the grimace Frisk involuntarily makes – he’s not too surprised by the monster’s diet. She is a goat, after all.

“Here, I have another surprise for you,” He, Frisk, and Chara all follow Toriel into the yellow hallway in a single file line, with Frisk holding the woman’s hand.

They stop in front of the first room. “Here it is!” Toriel presents with a cheery flourish of her hands. “A room of your own. I hope you like it!” She pets Frisk’s head with great affection, much to their delight as they are practically bouncing with joy. 

Toriel’s demeanor changes as she smells the air. “Is something burning? Um, Timothy, your room is just at the end of the hall. It’s still a work in progress, but I do hope you can still make yourselves at home!” Then she dashes away, probably to the kitchen. 

“Huh,” Tim stares at where their host ran off to, “well, this is better than most places I’ve stayed.” The kid nods.

“C’mon, let’s check out your room!” Chara phases through the door, prompting Frisk to follow after them.

They’re about to open the door when they look up at Tim, those red eyes holding an unspoken question.

“Hey, it’s your room kid,” He shrugs. “You don’t need my permission to go in,” Turning, he starts to walk down the hall, hands in his pockets. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything, though; maybe there’s some spare clothes I can wear because I feel gross .” A shiver crawls up his spine as he becomes much more aware of the filth now that he’s pointed it out. Frisk has a similar reaction as they finally go into their own, bright red room.

Tugging a hand out of his pocket, Tim lets down his merry act as he sighs. This truly has been a long day, but at least it’s still one of his better ones.

But god, that doesn’t make him any less exhausted.

Reaching the last door in the hall, he notices the mirror beside it. Looking into it, he sees, of course, his own reflection; his hair is longer than he used to wear it, grown into more of a mullet than anything, and his sideburns bleed into a scruffy beard. The bags under his eyes are very prominent as a result of lifelong insomnia. And his scars, from scratches, scrapes, and burns litter his skin. 

It’s us .

He groans, looking away from the mirror to see go into his bedroom. “Not now.”

The room, different shades of a limey green, isn’t the tidiest room he’s had. But it isn’t the messiest either, with packed boxes stacked in one corner and nothing cluttering the floor or dresser. Searching through the closet, full of clothes in many different sizes and colors, he finds a clean shirt and sweatpants to change into, placing his dirty clothes on the plush bed in a pile. Once he’s done changing he all but drops onto the the large mattress, hunching over to rub his face.

You are tired, Timothy.

“Then I can just… take a nap or something.” They both know that’s incredibly wishful thinking. “You can’t come out right now.”

Why not?

“ Because , this is a new, weird place and I don’t want to… freak anyone out.”

… If you need me to, I can stay in this room until we both fall asleep.

“What if someone comes in here to talk to me?”

I will deal with that when the moment comes.

Tim’s still getting used to it being helpful and calm. He’s so used to its anger, it’s weird when he’s kind or thoughtful. No matter how suspect he is, it refuses to elaborate on it’s change of heart.

Rest, Tim. I will take care of us.

Already feeling his control slip, feeling it pick up what he drops, he sighs, resigned. He feels himself tilting back and forth subconsciously as he dissociates and stares past the scraggly green rug on the lighter green wood floor.

When the fog clears, it blinks, adjusting to his new, green surroundings.

Chapter Text

“What’s his deal?” Chara mumbles, floating above Frisk as they peek in through the door, to which they just shrug and continue to stare at the man in question.

They’ve been watching Tim since he started to space out on his new bed. Now he’s rummaging through his bag, tossing its contents around haphazardly and making a general mess.

Having gotten dressed in a pair of pajamas they found in the closet – all of the shirts and jammies in there were striped, “‘Cause they're for kids,” Chara had said. Frisk didn’t get it, but the clothes are nice, soft, and warm, so they aren’t complaining.

He pulls out a camera and stares at it for a moment, eyes vacant, before placing it on the dresser with care and resuming his search for… something.

“Huh. Well,” the spirit shrugs, turning away from the door, “not our problem! Whatever weird stuff Tim does on his own time isn’t any of our business.”

“Not Tim,” Softspoken Frisk whispers, gently closing the door and tip-toeing to their room.

It takes a moment for Chara to process that the kid even said anything; they don’t talk all too often, least of all to the ghost. “What do you mean ‘not Tim’?”

Their feet pattering across red wood, Frisk walks to the dresser where they'd put the notepad Tim gave them, right next to the empty picture frame, and shoves it in their pocket. Then they tuck one of the plush toys by the bed under their arm. “It's not him.”

“Listen, kid. I don't know if you've noticed, but you and the Old Man are the only humans down here. So if that's not Tim, who the hell is he?”

In the yellow hallway, Frisk shrugs again, now grabbing a handful of broken crayons from one of the console tables.

“Great, okay, yeah, let's just walk into the room with the possible imposter with only a notepad, crayons, and a teddy . A wonderful idea .” Chara snarks, hating the idea of some Tim doppelganger being in the next room. Frisk simply rolls their eyes before opening the door to the green room.

All of the lights are off except a small lamp on the dresser beside the bed. Crouching on said bed with his knees bunched up to his chest, Not-Tim stares at the door as it creaks, his shoulders raised and tense. He looks ready to spring away at a moment's notice. Tim’s things are still scattered around the room, save for the camera which Not-Tim is holding tight in one hand. The flannel Tim wore before has been replaced with a tan jacket zipped up to the collar.

The strangest thing about Not-Tim is the mask, a cheap, white face with its lips and eyes painted black. Its paint is chipped and cracked from wear and the string holding it onto his face is frayed. In the lamplight, Frisk can just barely see through the eye holes, his eyes underneath were wide and staring straight at them. 

Frisk offers a small smile and waves at the masked man, who blinks a few times before slowly waving back, muscles relaxing just the tiniest bit.

“Alright, I think I can see the whole ‘Not-Tim’ thing now,” Chara mutters to Frisk, earning them a deadpan look. “What? You can’t blame me for being a lil’ skeptical!” The human child rolled their eyes and opened the notepad, writing in it with the stub of a red crayon.

“ i’m Frisk !” They show the masked man. “ Whats your name ?” Their other hand holds out the rest of the crayons they nabbed. 

He stares at the items momentarily before slowly taking the notepad and a brown crayon from their stubby hands. As if hesitant and unsure, it brings crayon to paper and applies a bit too much pressure to write, leaving little grains behind. 

“ BRUTUS. ” His handwriting is large and scratchy.

Chara grimaces. “You mean like that guy that stabbed Julius Caesar?”

Brutus shrugs and starts writing again. “ I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY. ”

Snorting, Chara’s grimace changes to a grin. “You’re a weirdo, aren’t you?” It isn’t said with any malice or venom, just playful teasing and it seems the masked man understands that, shrugging again and shaking his hand as if to say “kind of”.

“So, like,” the specter leans back in the air, lounging and crossing their legs, “what’s your deal? Are you a demon possessing the Old Man or something?”

Narrowing his eyes, Brutus grunts at Chara and scribbles, " NOT A DEMON, A PROTECTOR ."

The ghost kid’s eyebrows furrow again. “What does Tim need a protector for? He’s a grown-up, he can take care of himself just fine!”

Brutus shakes its head. “ EVEN ADULTS NEED HELP SOMETIMES. ”

This gives Chara pause for a second. They collected themself quickly, huffing something along the lines of, “Yeah, I knew that.”

Frisk tugs at the notepad in Brutus’s hands, who relents easily as they scribble quickly and hand it back.

“ what about you? who helps you? ”

He stares at the page for a long moment, then looks at Frisk, patiently waiting for its answer. Under the mask, they can see its brows furrow when he looks back at their words trying to think of his own.

Those words never come.

“Timothy,” Toriel’s voice echoes through the hall, sounding on edge, “have you seen the child? They aren’t in their-” She stops as she opens the door with one hand. “Oh! There you are, my child! What are you doing here?” 

Frisk snatches the notepad from the man on the bed and hops to the kind woman, holding the colorful page up to her. Setting something down on one of the tables in the hallway, she pulls a pair of glasses from her pocket and reads their previous conversation.

She looks up and gazes through the mask’s eyeholes, right into his eyes, making him tense. “Brutus?” Her voice is kind and her eyes are wise. “Is that your name?” He stares at her, scrutinizing her before nodding once. “And you are Timothy’s guardian?” Another nod. “Well, I’m not quite sure I understand. However, I want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible. So just let me know when it is Brutus and when it is Tim, alright?”

Brutus is dumbfounded, gawking at Toriel like he can’t believe what she’s saying. Disbelieving, it continues to search past her glasses for any sort of deception or lie. But he only finds compassion in her eyes, her fanged smile unbelievably sincere. Slowly, he nods again, unable to do much else.

Toriel nods as well, putting her frames back in her pocket. “Thank you. Now,” she reaches over in the hall, bringing back two plates with steaming food, “I've brought some pie for you both now that it's cooled down.”

The sweet butterscotch and cinnamon wafts through the air, prompting Frisk to make grabby hands at the plates, having placed their goods on the bed and dresser to free their arms. Toriel gives them the slightly smaller of the two. When she hands the larger one to Brutus, he politely declines, holding up a hand and shaking his head.

“Oh? Are you not hungry?” She pulls the slice away from him. “Very well, do let me know when you change your mind.”

Frisk furrows their brows, examining the masked man, who simply stares back, before tugging on Toriel's dress.

“Yes, my child? What is it?” They gesture at her to come closer, so she leans down, causing the second slice to come into reach. Frisk places the fork from their plate onto it and then, carefully, trades pieces with Toriel. Holding the dish carefully with both hands, they walk to the bed, place the plate in Brutus's lap, and clamber beside him. Picking up their fork, they glare at Brutus, occasionally glancing down at the pie he is now holding, leaving the man noticeably confused.

Toriel chuckles. “I believe they’re trying to get you to eat by sharing the pie with you. And it seems they won’t eat it until you do.” Crossing their arms, Frisk nods, resolute in their cause.

Brutus gawks at the dish in his lap for a few moments, then glances at the stubborn child beside him. As it continues to eye the pie he’s been given, it seems it’s at a loss for words despite never speaking.

Then he snorts, a silent chuckle causing his shoulders to shake, and picks up the second fork to eat with. Adjusting its mask, he hesitates. 

For Brutus, eating was a struggle for everyone involved. It never liked the feeling of anything foreign in its mouth, especially not the mushy texture of chewed-up food. If needed, it will sustain its host, but Tim usually takes care of it himself. When he has to, he usually sticks to liquids or foods he doesn’t necessarily need to chew too much to consume. Pie is definitely not one of those foods.

However, it can’t help but admire the child’s resolve, so he finds it difficult to deny them. Not wishing to disappoint them, he takes the first bite.

As he starts chewing he hums, pleasantly surprised. Instead of mashing, the food seems to dissolve in his mouth, leaving only its essence behind. It's a strange sensation that spreads warmth through its skin, but it isn't unwelcome. It's better than mush. And it didn't put any weight in his middle like normal food but it still relieves any hunger he had.

Maybe it should have paid a bit more attention to Tim's journey so far.

By the time it opens its eyes to return to the moment, Frisk is already shoveling the pie in their mouth, seemingly forgetting about their sharing deal entirely. Chara giggles and teases them, but they’re much too engrossed in their meal to care. Toriel is watching them both with fondness in her eyes.

“I’m glad you both enjoy it. Now,” she begins to leave the room, taking the extra slice with her. “I’m sure it’s been a long day for both of you, so I’ll leave you two to rest. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Both child and man nod in near unison. Her smile grows, tender and warm as she shuts the bedroom door.

“I like her,” Frisk says through their fork, still stuffing their mouth.

Brutus squints. “ DON’T SPEAK WITH YOUR MOUTH FULL. IT IS GROSS. ” It scrawls. “ BUT YES, SHE IS VERY KIND. ”

“Of course she is! She isn’t the-” Chara stops themself with a clack of their spectral teeth, “the, uh, Caretaker of the Ruins for nothing! Yeah!”

Beneath his mask, Brutus rolls its eyes, “ GOOD SAVE. ”

“Shove it, Masky,” The spirit points at it and scowls, “I speak the most out of the three of us, and no one else can even hear me! I’m allowed to slip up as much as I want!”

As entertaining as this bickering could be, Frisk had just about finished with the pie leaving a bit more for Brutus, and their eyes are getting heavy. Hands over their mouth they let out a large yawn, catching the other’s attention.

Brutus hums. “ YOU’RE TIRED. YOU SHOULD GO TO BED SOON. ” The kid nods, hands the plate to him, and stares. Taking this as a sign, it eats the rest of the food as fast as it can for the kid’s sake. 

They nod, satisfied, and pull the plush they brought close to their chest and scooches over to the head of the bed. Brutus places the plate on the dresser, along with Jay’s camera, the notepad, and crayons.

“Uh, Frisk,” Chara speaks up. “You have your own room. Don’t you wanna sleep there?”

“No,” is all they give, already snug in the blanket, head on the pillow, and back to the wall.

“Well,” the specter gestures at Brutus, “you heard the kid! Time for bed.”

Brutus looks between Chara and Frisk – at least, Chara thinks it is, but they could swear he was looking somewhere behind them for a second – seemingly conflicted. After a while of back and forth, its dark gaze lands on the door.

Chara sighs, “Geez, you really are paranoid.” They float over to a spot on the dresser to sit down. “I’ll keep an eye on everything while you sleep. If anything happens, I’ll be as annoying as an alarm or something, ‘kay?”

It thinks about this for a moment, before nodding and carefully moving under the sheets without disturbing the already sleeping child beside him. An impressive feet if Chara was honest.

“Goodnight,” Brutus whispers, so softly Chara almost missed it.

They snort, “Yeah, yeah, just get some sleep old man.”

Chapter Text

"Ugh…" Jay groans, the chair he’s sat on creaking under a shift in weight.

Tim looks up from the book he's reading – one of the cheap ones he bought some time ago to keep himself busy – and sees Jay leaning back in his seat, rubbing his eyes while the laptop's screen glares. That's the third time he's done this in the past hour after staring at the screen all day. While Tim so far has been minding his own business, it's hard to ignore his traveling companion when he's like this.

He dog-ears the page he's on and closes the book, sighing as he stands up. "Alright, Jay, it's time for a break."

Jay, ever so stubborn, slumps over the laptop again, waving Tim off. "I'm almost done, gimme a minute."

Tim leans over to look Jay in the eyes. "Dude, everytime you say that, it takes you another two hours to finish."

With a scowl, Jay rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well I mean it this time, okay? Once this is done, I'll take a break."

"Uh-huh? Well, if you're really so close," he shut the laptop shut, causing Jay to yelp indignantly, "you can finish it later. It's about time we grab a bite to eat. I think there's a fairly cheap place down the street."

As Tim walks away, Jay stands up – a bit too quickly as he almost stumbles back into the seat. "Tim! What the hell, I could've lost all of that work!"

"But you didn't, you always save incessantly when you get like this," While Jay sputters, Tim starts searching through his bag.

“Wha- get like what!?”

“Like this,” He turns and shoves a jacket at Jay, one that they've both worn so much they don't remember who it really belongs to, “Cranky and miserable from straining your eyes and brain with bright lights and puzzles all day, and I can’t imagine starving yourself is helping much. So,” stepping away he slips on his own coat, “do you need anything else before we go? Like, Ibuprofen or something?”

Tim turns back to Jay with what he hopes conveys something welcoming, to maybe nudge the headstrong man in his direction, to convince him to take care of himself and be taken care of.

It seems to mostly work when Jay begrudgingly sighs, hoists the dark jacket (the one he took with him before he-) over his shoulders, and shoves his arms clumsily through the sleeves. “No, I can live with a little headache.” 

“A little headache can easily turn into a migraine, man,” The shorter of the two moves to the door, keys in hand.

“I can deal with that later, let’s just go, okay?”

Tim shrugs, unlocking the door. “Alright, come on. We’ll take my car, it’s got more gas.” He opens the door as Jay starts to say something he doesn’t quite catch and-

He wakes up with a gasp.

Looking around, his surroundings are unfamiliar, bright, and definitely not a hotel room, instilling him with a panic that jolts him fully awake. Jay. Where's Jay? He was just…

As he sits up, something shifts and grunts beside him.

Right . Memories return, the fear draining and replaced with both relief and disappointment. He rubs his face. Well, at least it wasn't another nightmare.

Frisk, still sound asleep, shifts further towards Tim. Unfortunately, now that he’s awake he isn’t going back to sleep anytime soon, making staying still in bed a difficult task. Slowly, he shifts away, getting up from the bed, and replacing himself with that weird stuffed toy that had fallen off the bed. He watched them for a moment as they grappled a small arm around the plushie before taking off Brutus's jacket and draping it over the sleeping child.

"So, who was that other guy?"

Tim nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around to find the source of the whisper. Only to see the resident poltergeist, swinging their feet against the dresser they were perched on – no through , he corrects himself as he sees the heels of their shoes disappear upon contact with a drawer.

"What?"

"Ya know, that string bean of a man in your dream," Crossing their legs and clasping their hands, they give him their best shit-eating grin. "Is he your boyfriend~ ?"

"No, he wasn't," Tim immediately corrects, before pausing, "Wait, you were watching my dream?"

Chara rolls their eyes like it's somehow the dumbest question they've been asked in their afterlife. " Yes , I was watching your dream. I got bored just watching you guys sleep. Now, I wanna hear more about this guy."

Tim, ignoring the wave of betrayal coming from his headmate – they're, like, twelve, Brutus, what did you expect? – figured that trying to lecture this ghost brat about the invasion of privacy would be a waste of time, so he took to gathering his things off the floor. He needs to talk to Brutus about cleaning its messes. "That sucks because I don't wanna tell you anything."

Floating up to him they groan, too loudly if you ask Tim. "Oh, come on! I can tell he means something to you – I can feel it in your soul! " Swooping around him, they're grinning from ear to ear. "You called him Jay, right? Is that his name? Wait, don’t answer that one, it's stupid, of course that's his name. What were you two doing together? Where-" 

They stop abruptly and their smile drops. "Are… are you crying?"

Is he? Tim wipes his face, smearing the tear that had managed to fall. He hasn't cried for a long time and now that he's aware of it he wants to sob in earnest. But he shouldn't cry in front of a child, no matter how bratty they are. Instead, he turns away from the ghost, blinking the wetness from his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Like I said," he makes his way to the dresser, lingering on the camera before placing it and the mask carefully in the duffel bag and he sighs, "I don't want to talk about it."

Chara hovers there for a moment before they lower their feet to the ground, at a loss for words. They've never been good at comfort or emotions, that was always his thing.

Why do they even wanna comfort this guy, this human ? They only just met a day ago. He might be nice now, but that's how they all are at first – they act nice until you aren't useful anymore, or until you just aren't worth the effort. It's not worth the pain to get attached.

But Tim… Tim's different somehow – Chara doesn't know how else to put it, he's just different. He's kinder, more empathetic than the humans they remember. As grouchy as he can be, he can be sincere. When he says something nice or encouraging, it isn't to help his appearance (Chara really doesn't think he cares much about his looks at this point) but because he believes what he's saying.

"I just don’t want to see a kid getting hurt. Not if I can help it."

"It’s what anyone should do, really."

Humans can be very convincing in their lies, though. Chara knows first hand how cruel the surface dwellers can be with trust.

The man has been staring at a pocketknife, its dull blade shining with the little light in the room. He doesn't look completely there, his eyes unfocused as he tilts the knife.

He looks tired.

…

Well it's not like they can do anything, anyway, being completely incorporeal. But they can't just stand around doing nothing. They made the man upset, so they've gotta suck it up and fix it.

"EVEN ADULTS NEED HELP SOMETIMES."

They awkwardly sidle toward Tim and just lean their shoulder against him. Surprisingly it makes contact… somewhat. It’s phasing through his side slightly but there’s resistance. That’s better than nothing. It’d be pretty embarrassing if they just fell through him entirely.

Being so close to the man, they can feel his living warmth flow through their whole being like a breeze. Being dead is a naturally cold experience, but the living are always filled with a heat they can't quite feel. Feeling it now is like discovering fire for the first time; a radiating comfort with an underlying unknown danger. They feel like Icarus, only just barely staying far enough away from the sun as to not burn.

On the receiving end, Tim nearly shivers at the sudden chill that racks his body upon contact. He has to resist the urge to move away from the source – Chara may be a dead brat but they're still a kid, and kids have weird ways of saying things. And looking down at their translucent face, he sees this is their way of saying sorry.

In lieu of a response, Tim settles a hand on their head, rustling their hair. Golden petals swirl around their face as they turn it up at him.

"So…" they side-eye the floor, "we're good?"

Tim snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, and pats their head again. “Yeah, yeah we’re good.”

“Cool,” They nod, sidestepping away and folding their arms around themself. "We should probably wake Frisk up. I'm sure there's a lot more they wanna see, and there's a lot Toriel wants to show."

"Hm," Tim hums, looking back at the sleeping child. They look so peaceful like this… "Nah, let's let them wake up on their own. I doubt Miss Toriel'll mind."

" Ugh , alright. But if you two start talking about old people stuff then I'm waking them up." The spirit crosses their arms, pouting and glaring, any guilt from before gone.

Tim smiles as he gently places his bag on the floor. "And what exactly constitutes as 'old people stuff'?" Carefully and quietly, he leaves the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

"Ya know, like… taxes and politics and books and stuff."

He rolls his eyes as he walks down the hall to the entrance, Chara floating behind him. Looking around for a moment, eyes lingering on the downward stairs, he moves on to the next room.

It's a living room with a small dining table near the far left corner and a fireplace and bookcase to his right. Intrigued, Tim skims over the small selection and, to the chagrin of Chara, pulls out an especially old and worn looking book and opens to a random page.

* Trapped behind the barrier and fearful of further human attacks, we retreated.

* Far, far into the earth we walked, until we reached the cavern's end.

* This was our new home, which we named...

* "Home."

* As great as our king is, he is pretty lousy at names. 

Tim snorts at the final remark and gently puts the book back. As much as he'd like to read more about Monster history, now wasn't the time, because at this moment, Toriel walks in from a second entryway holding a slice of pie… what flavor was it again? 

Butterscotch-cinnamon , Brutus provides, dissolves in the mouth. Very good . Note to self, monster food is very good for his alter.

"Ah! Good morning," Toriel smiled, walking by with the pie, presumably to Frisk. "Did you sleep well?"

Still looking around – not touching anything else though, it isn't his house after all – Tim nods. "Yeah, it was alright. Thank you, ma'am."

The older woman giggles. "Oh please, Timothy, just call me Toriel!"

Tim smirks. "Only if you call me Tim, ma'am."

She chuckles on her way out of the room. "Alright, Tim."

Tim listens to her paws tap against the floor down the hallway, before turning to the fireplace. It wasn't hot like normal fire should be, rather it was just pleasantly warm.

"You could stick your hand in there and be just fine!" Chara supplies, which Tim will very much not be doing.

Unlike a normal fire, it also doesn't seem to be dying down at all. Even though she has it, Tim doesn't think she really needs those tools on the rack, especially since they've been dulled down. Childproofed, probably .

Just as Tim decided to sit down at the table with the history book from before (Chara groans at this and floats back to Frisk), Toriel walks back in, now without the pie.

"What're you reading there, Tim?"

Tim reads the cover, "The History of Monsterkind. Just thought I should read up on it a bit, since all I really know about this place is just… some nursery rhyme kids sang back topside."

Toriel hums, walking to the Toriel-sized chair by the fireplace. "Yes, I can't say I'm surprised by the lack of monsters in human education. However, I'm glad you are willing to learn!" She sits on the armchair and pulls out a pair of reading glasses and a book from her robe. "Do let me know if you have any questions. I'll be sure to answer them to the best of my ability."

Tim nods, opening the book to read. Ugh, I'm gonna need glasses soon. "Sure thing. Thanks, Toriel."

The goat monster nods back with a smile, opening her own book – something about snails… not entirely surprising.

For a while they read in silence. That is until Tim got to the part in his book about the Barrier keeping monsters down here.

* If a huge power, equivalent to seven human SOULs, attacks the barrier… 

* It will be destroyed.

"Seven…" Tim mutters under his breath, confused.

Toriel looks up from her book. "Sorry, what was that?"

"It says here monsters need seven human souls to break this… Barrier that keeps you all trapped down here but…" he looks Toriel in the eyes, "So many people have gone missing climbing this mountain, a hell of a lot more than seven . I mean, maybe some of them died in the woods or just… ran off somewhere else but… surely more than seven people have fallen down here?"

Toriel's face falls into a look of dread, grief and guilt. Tim wants to pry at that moment because she's hiding something and damn it he really rubbed off on me more than I thought . It just doesn't make sense for monsters not to have seven souls by now. He wants to ask why but-

A questioning hum pulls his and Toriel's attention to Frisk, now dressed standing in the doorway – their clothes are clean, so Toriel must have cleaned them.

Toriel simply smiles at the kid kindly, opening her book again as if nothing had happened. "Ah, hello my child. How did you sleep?"

They just nod as they look around the room, poking the tools and even sticking their hand in the fire, which Tim nearly has a heart attack about despite knowing the fire wasn't hot.

"Um, I want you both to know how glad I am to have someone here," She gestures to the bookcase. "There are so many old books I want to share. I want to show you both my favorite bug-hunting spot!"

How long has she been here alone? The other monsters in the Ruins – or "Home", Tim supposes – don't seem to like Toriel very much. Hell, they even seem scared of her…

Looking at Frisk, she nods. "I've also prepared a curriculum for your education. This may come as a surprise to you…" she turns a page, "but I have always wanted to be a teacher!"

Tim snorts involuntarily. "… Alright, perhaps that isn't very surprising."

Toriel glares at Tim. "STILL."

Alright, I see it now… There's nothing quite as terrifying as a mother's wrath.

The woman sighs with a fond smile. "I am glad to have you both living here."

Tim blinks at this in surprise. Living here? Not just staying? She… wants them to live here? Well, that would explain the rooms… but can he really stay here? Sure, things are good now but… how long will it last? Who's to say that thing won't come after him? He can't do that to Toriel… 

He can't do that to Frisk either… maybe they can stay. Toriel did say she's planned a whole curriculum for them. It could work…

Frisk walks up to Toriel with a serious look on their face and notepad in hand.

"Oh, did you want something?" Toriel closes her book. "What is it?" 

The kid writes their response and shows it to Toriel. Tim can't see it, but he can guess what it says from the way Toriel's face drops.

"What? This… this is your home now," She fidgets with the book before opening it again. "Um… would you like to hear about this book I'm reading? It is called "72 Uses For Snails". How about it?"

Frisk shakes their head, writing again and showing the page. Tim wants to interfere but the look in their eyes tells him otherwise. This is what Frisk wants…

Toriel only gets more nervous.

"Um… how about an interesting snail fact?" She turns to a random page. "Did you know that snails… have a chainsaw-like tongue called a radula? Interesting."

Frisk, with a fire in their eyes, writes one more time, emphasising whatever they wrote but tapping on it with the pen – the same one he gave them back at the pillar.

Toriel looks at them for a moment and glances at Tim. Then she stands up. "… I have to do something. Stay here." She walks out of the room and, from where he was sitting, Tim could see her walking down the stairs.

The two humans were silent for a while before Chara spoke up.

"… I think you're gonna wanna get dressed for this."

Chapter Text

"TIIIIIIIIMMMMMM," A ghastly voice echoes through the door. "HURRY UUUUUUUUP!!!!"

Impatient much? Tim breathes in and out and opens the door, now fully dressed with his bag packed and over his shoulder. He packed an extra pair of clothes from the closet, including a warm looking coat, and told Frisk to do the same with a backpack they found. Now they don't have to keep whatever they find in their pockets.

"Calm down a bit, would ya, kid?" He strolls past Chara to walk side-by-side with Frisk. "I'm sure everything'll be fine. We've just gotta talk to Toriel, and we'll be out of here in no time. There's no rush."

You don't really believe that, do you Tim?

Of course he doesn't. He saw that look in Toriel's eyes. That glint in the light he'd become so familiar with in the past couple of years. A look both remorseful yet resolute. The look of someone who would do anything to keep the worst from happening…

Tim can only pray it doesn't come to that. He fears he doesn't have it in him to hurt anyone anymore.

He's still deep in thought as he and Frisk walk down the stairs, he only barely notices them grabbing his sleeve.

He zones back in when he notices Toriel standing in the dark hallway now in front of them.

"You wish to know how to return 'home', do you not?" Her tone now is different, empty, a far cry from her usual warmth. "Ahead of us lies the end of the Ruins, a one-way exit to the rest of the Underground."

"I am going to destroy it."

Frisk tugs on his flannel as their shoulders jerk up.

"No one will ever be able to leave again."

Tim takes a deep breath and sets his jaw.

"Now, be good and go upstairs." She walks further down the hall.

Tim and Frisk follow.

She stops again, probably realizing she is still being followed. "Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again."

"They come."

"They leave."

"They die."

Frisk grabs Tim's hand now. He can feel them trembling but when he looks down at their face, they're resolute.

"You naive children… If you leave the Ruins… They… Asgore… will kill you."

Tim scowls and squeezes Frisk's hand.

"I am only protecting you both, don't you understand?"

Understand?

Understand!?

Of course he understands! Of course he understands wanting to keep someone safe by keeping them where you know they're safe, by keeping them where you can see them, by keeping them in place, keeping them at home !

Of. Course. He does.

… But that never works, does it? No matter how hard you try, you're just keeping them trapped.

And a bird in a cage will only crave freedom.

He can't bring himself to say any of this. The air is tense and his bag feels heavy as he moves forward, holding Frisk's hand tight.

"Do not try to stop me," Finally, she glances at them, but Tim can't see her face. "This is your final warning."

They both keep. Pushing forward.

Finally, the three of them reach the door, the exit. Toriel is facing it, a hand settled on it.

"You both want to leave so badly?" She removes her hand from the door. "Hmph. You are just like the others."

She steps back once, still not turning around.

"There is only one solution to this." She starts to turn. "Prove yourselves."

When she finally faces the two humans, her expression is grim. She raises her hands.

"Prove to me you are strong enough to survive."

With a swish of her hands, she begins battle.

The array of options spans out in front of the humans once again, a familiar sight now daunting. Frisk selects ACT and Check's Toriel's stats.

* TORIEL - ATK 80 DEF 80

"Knows best for you."

Chara, as usual in battle, provides flavor text for their opponent, but this time they're solemn, conflicted. The ghost looks away as Toriel begins her attack.

The goat monster waves her paw in an arc, flames emerging in its path, and when she lowers it, the flames fly at the humans. Running to the walls, they try to dodge the attack, but, with a surge of burning pain, Tim is hit in the side. It was jarring knowing this pain was from the same woman who had healed his wounds just yesterday. It was also… familiar in a way he didn't like thinking about.

Toriel's attack ended and it was their turn again. Frisk opened their mouth, maybe to try and talk her down… but nothing came out. Guess they couldn't think of any conversation topics.

Toriel attacks again, flames spiralling around the room. Tim had managed to dodge most of the blazing bullets on his side of the room, when suddenly Frisk cried out in pain. He ran to their side and shielded them, ignoring the seering agony hitting him from all ends.

Tim looks Toriel in the eye – he sees nothing but heartache – and as Frisk chooses the Talk option again, he's trying to think of something to say, to will himself to just try and convince her this isn't how to go about this, maybe even to force himself to take out his pocket knife and-

But he can't.

Frisk doesn't seem to have anything to say either, so their turn ends once again.

The room heats up as more fire fills the room in waves. Frisk and Tim try to dodge as much as they can, but the tides of flame are too fast, draining their HP. Thankfully, Tim takes the brunt of the hits, but it leaves him weak.

TIM, LV 3, 2/32 HP

Frisk, panicked, stares at Tim, hovering their hands in front of them, unsure of what to do. Tim just stands up, and stares Toriel down. The child tries to Talk again, but they can't bring themself to say anything, essentially giving up their turn again.

Tim and Frisk brace themselves for the burning flames…

But nothing came.

The flames are circling around them, away from them. When they open their eyes to look at their opponent, Toriel just… looks through them. But they can see it; the way she's standing, exposing any possible weak points, the way her unshed tears glint in the light, the way her eyes close at the start of their turn.

She wants them to attack her. And she won't stop the fight until they either run back upstairs or…

Can you show mercy without fighting or running away…?

Frisk's eyes widen as they have an idea. They reach for the MERCY button…

And chose to Spare.

Toriel remained strong, firing embers all around the humans, never hitting, but Tim was confused.

"Kid, what're you doing?"

As their turn begins anew, Frisk doesn't respond. They simply walked forward, putting themself between Tim and their mom the enemy, and Spared Toriel again.

".........."

"Kid, get back here. I don't know what you're doing, but please-"

Toriel sweeps her paw again, fire sweeping forward once again…

And Frisk takes it head on.

"Frisk!"

Tim tries to walk to them, to protect them, but instead crumples to his knees. He's too weak to move anymore. He's too weak to do anything. All he can do is watch the kid stare Toriel down with their arms spread out, in a show of mercy.

".....?"

Toriel's disposition changes to confusion as she charges another attack. The room is ablaze with the magic, swirling around, all but consuming Frisk and avoiding Tim.

They wince as the burns scorch them, but Spares Toriel again nonetheless.

Toriel is clearly unnerved by this. "... What are you doing? Attack or run away!"

Everything feels much too bright and hot as the attacks fly around the room. Toriel is getting progressively more upset, but with both her former guests so injured, her magic doesn't hit them. Tim all but crawls to the kid, desperate to protect them. He lays a hand on their shoulder.

"I don't know what you're doing," He whispers despite the way it scratches at his throat, like smoke in a house fire, "but it seems to be working. Keep- keep it up, kid."

Frisk nods. They spare again.

"What are you proving this way?"

Toriel's face screws up in a fanged scowl, as a tear runs along her cheek. Flames surround her, brightening the room and roaring, filling both humans with dread.

"Fight me or run away!"

She attacks, crackling sounds all around the child and man. Tim can feel them graze his face, leaving a trail of heat but never touching him or Frisk. The goat monster is panting from the exertion.

The kid, despite the shaking in their hand, spares Toriel again.

"Stop it. Stop… looking at me that way!"

The monster looks away as her attacks weaken, the blazes sputtering into just a flicker. Toriel sways on her feet for a moment, before falling to her knees, tears now falling to the ground.

"Go away!" She shouts, sending one last attack, weak and disheartened.

Frisk staggers closer to her, Tim following close behind.

"I know you want to go home but…" she looks up at the humans before her, her sorrow clear on her face, "but please… go upstairs now," She smiles despite the tears flowing from her eyes. "I promise I will take good care of you both here."

Tim doesn't know what to say… 

The humans Spare Toriel.

"I know we don't have much but… We can have a good life here."

They Spare her again.

She frowns again, distraught. "Why are you both making this so difficult?" Toriel looks away, seemingly unable to look them in the eye anymore. Tim doesn't blame her when he looks over and sees the fire in Frisk's eyes that rivals the woman's attacks. "Please, go upstairs."

Toriel jumps when Tim rests a hand on her shoulder. When she looks him in the eye, he regards her with empathy and understanding. She looks at him and sees guilt and grief mirrored back.

Two poor souls who have lost so much and are saddled with the heartache and regret smile at each other and see their own reflections.

"Ha ha…" she looks away, chuckling joylessly to herself and wiping her face with her sleeve, "Pathetic, is it not? I cannot save even a single child…"

She rests a hand on Tim's and solemnly nods. "No, I understand. You would both just be unhappy trapped down here."

Toriel shifts Tim's hand in her own as she stands up. He can feel her healing magic start to do its work, sighing quietly in relief. "The Ruins are very small once you get used to them," Frisk walks closer and clutches Tim's flannel with one hand and grabs Toriel's robe with the other, looking up at them both. 

"It would not be right for you to grow up and stay in a place like this."

The goat woman rests a hand on the kid's head, healing them as well. 

"My expectations… My loneliness… My fear…" she ruffles Frisk's hair and squeezes Tim's hand, "For you both… I will put them aside."

She steps away from them both, turning to the door and unlocking it. "If you truly wish to leave the Ruins… I will not stop you." She sighs and slouches against the door wearily. "However, when you leave… Please do not come back."

She turns back to the humans, with a small smile and tears forming in her eyes once again. "I hope you understand."

Walking up to the humans she once wished to house, she envelops Tim and Frisk in a hug. The kid returns it without hesitation, tears pricking the corners of their own eyes. Chara floats beside them, hovering their hand over Toriel's shoulder… before pulling it away from her, and just moving closer to Frisk.

Tim, however, is taken by surprise with this gesture. Or rather, he's surprised it's being extended to him. Toriel seemed to like the kid more and, frankly, he can't blame her. Frisk is friendly, raising the spirits of those around them. They've got a playful and mischievous nature, and are just a general delight to be around. They're a good kid.

But Tim… he knows he's not the greatest person to be around. He's grouchy, self-destructive, and just has a terrible attitude. Not to mention he constantly reeks of cigarette smoke and forest dirt. It's a wonder he ever had friends in college with how offputting he can be – hell, Brian was the first friend he'd had since… god, he doesn't even remember. Those years in college were the best in his life, and that's saying something.

He isn't a good person… and yet here Toriel is, extending the same kindness she's giving Frisk to him.

He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he can't help but hug back, wrapping his arms as best he can around both child and monster… it's a little awkward, but the recipients seem to appreciate it from the squeeze he receives in turn.

When she pulls away from the two humans, standing up and wiping her face, she gives them a bittersweet smile. "Goodbye, my child… Goodbye, Tim."

She walks around and away from the two as they now stare at the door, looking back at them once before rushing down the long hall.

"… We should probably get going," Chara speaks up. They sound… empty. When Tim glances at the spirit, he sees the tears in their eyes, but before he can say anything, they look away. Wiping their eyes, they feign their usual childishness. "We, uh… still have the whole Underground to see!"

Frisk nods and lifts their hand to the door.

… But Tim isn't moving. He's just staring at where they came from, at where Toriel made her exit.

"Hey, old man?" Chara waves their hand in front of Tim's face, "You good?"

"Yeah, I…" Tim only glances at Chara before returning his sights to the dark hallway. His mind's still turning with questions, fluttering in his mind with a voice oh so painfully familiar. He wants answers to the information pecking away in his head. Subconsciously, he takes a step away from the door.

He turns to Frisk, who looks up at him with a curious tilt of their head, and he thinks back to the stubborn spark they had asking Toriel to go home, their unfaltering approach in battle. All that pure determination… is stored in a small child. A kid who despite their courage had still clutched his flannel in their pudgy hands, who had trembled in fear walking down that hall. A kid who was so quick to forgive, a kid who so clearly craves and seeks out affection. 

They're just a kid trying to go home.

There's no reason to delay.

Tim walks to Frisk's side and ruffles their hair. "Let's get outta here, yeah?"

With a big smile, they push the door open…

And find a flower.

"Oh, not this guy again," Chara mutters as Tim immediately puts himself between the plant and child.

"Clever. Verrrryyy clever," Flowey the Flower mocks the humans before him. "You both think you're really smart, don't you? In this world, it's kill or be killed."

Tim rolls his eyes as the golden flower goes on and on, ignoring Brutus's request to kick the thing.

"So you were able to play by your own rules," the face of the flower splits into a jagged grin, "You spared the life of a single person."

Tim, tempted to correct the weed on the number of people he's spared, bites his tongue as Frisk squeezes his hand.

Flowey giggles at them. "I bet you feel really great. Neither of you killed anybody this time."

Tim's blood runs cold. "This time"?

Tilting his head in exagerated curiousity, Flowey muses, "But what will you do when you meet a relentless killer? You'll both die and you'll die and you'll die," He tilts his head back and forth and back and forth, "Until you tire of trying.

"What will you do then?" His grin widens, showing teeth a flower shouldn't have, too many teeth under blank eyes. "Will you kill out of frustration? Or will you give up entirely on this world… and let me inherit the power to control it?I  am the prince of this world's future!"

Frisk cowers behind Tim as the damn thing in front of him just keeps spouting nonsense. What the hell is he even talking about?

"Don't worry, my little monarchs, my plan isn't regicide," He leans forward. "This is SO much more interesting!"

As the flower's face contorts and it begins to laugh, Tim has had enough and rears his foot back and aims a hearty kick at Flowey…

Only for the abomination to yelp and duck into the dirt just in time, causing Tim to fall flat on his rear.

Chara starts laughing, kicking their feet in the air as they clutch their stomach, while Frisk takes pity and tries to help their friend up.

"… I hate that psycho weed. So much."