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It's starting to feel okay for once.
Frisk is doing fine at school. They've got all A's— an A+ in Toriel's class. The monsters and the children are getting along like they once did. The world seems happy when the school bell rings, and Frisk yells goodbye to a band kid and a Temmie as they leave.
They're skipping along on the sunny pavement, halfway home when they see a lone flower growing out of the sidewalk.
It's looking at them.
It isn't the right shade of yellow, and the middle is more of a green than a white. Nothing but pollen in the middle. Nothing but pollen.
They stop and their heart beats so hard it aches, it twists and reels in their chest, their hands start to shake a little. It tastes like poison to look at that little flower, feels like they've swallowed acid. It hurts to breathe for a moment.
Sure, he apologized, and they forgave him, but they just can't forget it. Can't forget being all alone in the dark, watching the disgusting form approach, seeing the red and green eyes split open—
Frisk can still hear the laugh.
They crush the flower beneath their little black sneaker, twisting their foot to really squish it, and they keep walking.
Five months on the surface.
Sans waits at home. He waits, and waits. Sometimes he distracts himself with trivial things— the Internet up here's got some crazy stuff— but it all just feels like waiting.
He can't decide what it's for. He tells himself he's waiting for Frisk to come home, for Tori to come home, for the dessert he'd been practicing to be done cooking, but he can't help that tugging at the back of his spine.
He's waiting for everything to go black again. For everything to be ripped away from him, like it had been, again and again.
Waiting to wake up to cold snow and a dark, dark sky.
There's a jangle of keys and a click of the doorknob, and a little kid, a happy little kid bounces through the doorway, into their little suburban house that smells like cinnamon and saffron. Frisk calls his name and gives him a warm hug. He hugs back.
He hasn't cared this much about anything in ages like he cares about this kid, or the goat who told him jokes through the door, the one he can see in his mind right now, grading papers with her cute little reading glasses and eating snails out of a candy dish.
He'd almost forgotten what it was like to care.
Remembering kind of hurts.
It feels like it was always supposed to be like this.
Toriel kisses Sans as he greets her at the door, embraces Frisk as they run from their bedroom. She swears that that child gets taller every day. She smiles at the thought— she's going to get to watch them grow up.
Frisk really seems happy this way. Toriel feels like she's doing what she's meant to, she's giving them the life that they deserve. She's indescribably proud.
They look a little more like Chara nowadays.
The thought makes her tense up a little bit, tightening her grip around them. Her briefcase slips out of her hand onto the floor.
"Mom?" Frisk asks. "Are you okay?"
"Just fine, my child," she smiles, picking it back up, "Now, go help Sans set the table. We're having shepherd's pie for dinner tonight."
Frisk nods, skipping over to the silverware.
Why does she shiver when she sees them open the knife drawer?
Frisk holds up a little white dog to Papyrus, kissing the top of its head.
"We found him in our backyard. I think he came from the underground. He really likes me." The dog cuts them off by wriggling around and licking Frisk's face. Frisk beams.
"Ah, an excellent choice in friend-making, little dog!" Papyrus gives the dog a few firm pats on the head with the palm of his glove. He seems pleased. "Tell me, what have you named him?"
"We haven't decided yet."
"Name him Adam Sandler," Sans says from the couch. Frisk giggles, and Papyrus growls.
"Don't name him that."
"Name him Shrek."
"Don't!"
"His name is Toby," Frisk states. Sans nods, content.
Toby seems delighted with this, hopping around the room before settling and chewing on Papyrus's shoe.
Papyrus picks up the dog and comments on how he used to steal bones from him back in their old house. He hesitates for a second and says he misses their old house. He says it's lonely living by himself. He says it hurts to think about it for too long. Sans seems uneasy.
Papyrus stares at the little white dog for a second more before handing him back to Frisk.
Toriel sits at a table by herself in the teacher's lounge. Snail pie doesn't taste as good when it's a day old, she's just discovered, picking at the crust with a plastic fork.
She's the only teacher who isn't human. She can tell that none of them even want to talk to her. Humans keep staring, staring, staring at her. Human students, human staff, everyone. It makes her feel so out of place that she can hardly eat anything while on campus.
Her phone buzzes. One unread message from "❤️THE SANSIEST❤️". He set his contact in her phone like that when they'd first met face to face. She's never changed it.
"why was the teacher crosseyed"
Oh, it's a joke. She smiles a little and types back, "I don't know; why?"
"she couldn't control her pupils"
Toriel immediately busts out laughing, covering her mouth, nearly dropping her phone.
She doesn't even care if anyone is looking.
It's been so long— eight? Nine months? Sans has lost track. It's incredible.
Him and Papyrus are going across a bridge over the sea in his convertible— how he managed to afford this thing, he won't say.
But Sans doesn't care about anything right now. For once, he's carefree in a good way, in a way he's completely forgotten. The sun shines down from a clear sky, salty sea air whips past his face, and he's glad he duct taped these sunglasses onto the sides of his head because they're going so fast that they would've flown right off.
Papyrus doesn't take his eyes off of the road. He worked too hard for his driver's license to get distracted by anything. He's staring ahead, grinning, hands at ten and two.
He looks determined, to say the least.
Sans looks around and feels like tens of thousands of pounds have been lifted off of his shoulders.
"And what are you grinning about?" Papyrus yells over the wind, still looking ahead.
"Nothing," he replies quick.
"The correct answer is 'everything', my brother. The world is wonderful, Sans— and we're living in it!"
And he turns up the radio. The song is some catchy, unoriginal pop love song. It reminds him of Tori.
Undyne has one arm around Alphys, the other around a huge bowl of popcorn. "C'mon, this Fullmetal Alchemist marathon isn't gonna start itself!"
"Why do you like it so much?" Alphys whines, "It's mediocre, by any standards. Doesn't follow the manga at all. Brotherhood is leagues better."
"Two words: Winry Rockbell."
"True," Alphys nods in agreement, and they chuckle before Undyne kisses her cheek and presses play.
Right as the opening starts, Alphys's phone rings. Undyne pauses it again.
"Hold on, I'll get it," Alphys groans, answering it. "Hello? Yes? ..... No. No, you've got the wrong number. Sorry, sir. No, this isn't her... Sir, please. I'm hanging up now. Have a nice day."
She hangs up with a soft chuckle. "God, some weirdo thought I was his mother in law. Unpause?"
Undyne doesn't respond. She's staring, wide eyed.
"What?"
"You.. that's the first time you ever.." she grabs her hand. "During that call... you didn't stutter. At all."
Alphys's jaw drops. "Oh... oh my god..... I really... I did it."
She hugs her so hard that it hurts her ribs, and she hugs back, laughing hysterically. "I did it! I did it! I... I..."
"Alphy, I'm so proud of you!"
And Alphys is crying, now. From relief. From anxiety. From joy. And Undyne holds her harder.
"I was an orphan," Frisk states, staring up at the ceiling, laid back on the chaise longue. "My parents abandoned me as a baby. Left me on a park bench. To die, probably. That's what everyone wants, right? For me to die? Yeah, that's what it's felt like so far. I've got... let's see... I've got symptoms of depression, anxiety, ADHD, PTSD, and I'm transgender, so. Yeah. At least I'm not too dysphoric, huh?"
The therapist nods, scribbling something on a clipboard.
"So, back to, like, the abandoned part. First I got taken in by some orphanage. Got kicked out, God knows why. That happened around, oh, four or five times before I decided, 'hey, might as well just fucking die'. Sorry for cursing. But, yeah. I sort of have a fear of abandonment now."
They shift a little bit, clasping their hands on their chest. "So, um, climbed up the mountain. Tried to off myself. Didn't work. Landed in flowers or some shit. Went on an.. adventure. I died a lot down there, don't even get me started on how weird that feels. And sometimes, I have dreams that I.. killed everyone while I was down there...."
They look down at their hands— for a split second, it looks like they're covered in dust. "..... Everyone."
They brush the thought away. "And then I found out about, like, that first human that tried to kill themselves that same way— apparently, the fucker looked a lot like me. 'Cept their eyebrows probably weren't as good."
They point at their eyebrows, which are very defined and thick.
"Yeah. I.. love my eyebrows. So the first one— Chara— killed themselves by, like.... eating buttercups? I guess? A-and for some reason, I've...." they sigh. "Lately, I've been wanting to eat these yellow flowers that grow outside my window. But I love my family. And my friends, too. I couldn't do that to them. I won't do it. I promise I won't hurt myself."
And they mean it.
"Thank you for letting me talk to you." Frisk sits up.
Temmie puts down the clipboard. She's been eating the paper. "nOOOOO PROBLEM!!!!!!! tem got cool leg degree in Psycology. tem see u when u next need a THERAPIE!!!!!"
"Thanks, Temmie." They throw a few colored scraps of cardboard onto the counter, which she happily licks up.
Frisk actually kind of feels better when they leave the shop. They'd never told anyone about that "climbing Mt. Ebott was a suicide attempt" thing before.
Asgore works as a specialist in the mall's tea shop nowadays. It may sound sad at first— a king, falling to such a low occupation— but it's really quite lovely.
He's very popular at the store, and many buy things just to see him. His kindness and expertise has brought in so many customers that he's been promoted, again and again, until he's right up with the owner of the chain.
So many people, humans and monsters of all ages, all of them coming in just to ask him things:
"What do you recommend?"
"What do you think of the Jasmine Dragon Pearl?"
"Which is your favorite?"
"Why do you like the Golden Flower one so much?"
"Do you miss the underground?"
"How's your day going?"
"Are you single?"
Many come in just to make conversation with him. It makes him happy, so happy just to brighten their day with a free sample or a talk about the latest episode of a reality TV show.
There are so many people who like him— why does he feel so alone?
He's polishing a china teacup when a woman walks in, holding the hand of an adorable toddler, around two or three.
"Hello! Are you.. you're Asgore, aren't you? All my friends kept talking about how great you are."
"Have they, now?" He smiles. "How kind."
The child interrupts. "Baaaaa," they say, pointing at him, and Asgore chuckles.
"What a lovely child. What's your name, young one?"
"Asr... Astin."
"He means Austin, don't you, sweetheart?" The mother squeezes his hand.
The child beams. "Aser!"
"Well, Austin and I were looking for caffeine free iced teas that would be good before bed. Do you have anything like that?"
"Of course," he says, shuffling through the bins of leaves.
The child giggles, and the mother smiles at him lovingly. The exchange seems so terribly familiar. Asgore's heart aches for the rest of the day.
Tomorrow, it'll be a full year.
Toriel looks in the mirror. The new dress for tomorrow gives her a sense of deja vu. The shape and the cut of it, how it's longer than most of her other dresses— she made sure that it doesn't look like the one she had before. It still reminds her of when she was much younger— except now, she feels happier. Stronger. She can't help thinking that it looks beautiful.
What will Sans think? Oh, he'll love it, of course— she'd better get out of it, he'll probably be home from work soon. Maybe she'll wear it just a little bit longer.
"Mom, have you seen my—"
Frisk walks in and stops dead in their tracks. Toriel turns around. "What do you think, my child?"
"Oh man," they say, breathing a laugh, "Sans is gonna flip."
Toriel giggles and embraces them, heart racing with excitement.
Papyrus has to call Undyne. He's just discovered that he has no idea how to tie a bowtie.
It's a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, birds are singing.
Light filters in through oak trees. Monsters are sitting in rows and rows of folding chairs across a clearing in the garden. The roses' scent is overpowering, soft breezes pushing the lovely smell through Frisk's hair. A Shyren plucks a tune on the harp that they've never heard before, but the monsters seem to know it by heart, humming along in anticipation.
Sans is waiting excitedly at the other side— he looks so odd in formal clothes. He gives Frisk a short nod; the signal.
They walk bouncily down the white pathway, between the chairs, scattering flower petals from a wicker basket. They're honestly elated— everything looks so beautiful, everyone's so happy. All of their friends are waiting near the front, even some kids from school, since Toriel's such a beloved teacher that her students arrived to support her. Frisk throws the last petal at the end, then quickly joins Monster Kid to the right of the ivy arch trellis. Monster Kid is an honorary flower child— they don't have arms to hold the basket.
Everything goes quiet except for the harp as Toriel turns a corner and walks in, glides in, like a calm, fluffy cloud. The white dress has white flowers embroidered on the neckline, the rest simple and floaty, the back trailing behind her on the ground. Her face looks giddy, like she's so happy that she can barely contain it, tapping her fingers around the golden flower bouquet.
Papyrus clears his throat once she's under the arch with Sans, starting to read from an old book about monster marriages, and the couple looks different to Frisk as they gaze lovingly at each other. They seem younger, and awestruck, like they're seeing each other for the first time in ages. Especially Sans. Sans looks like he's about to combust, like he's caught in a dream.
"Have the betrothed prepared anything they wish to say before the cords are exchanged?"
"Yeah, yeah," Sans says, pulling out a piece of paper with the word "wedding" scrawled on it, nothing else on either side. "Um, let's see here... So. Tori. Toriel. Tori my gal. My dream goat. My hoofed honey. My—"
He stops, looking at the piece of paper again. "Sorry, there are, like, seven more of those. Let me cut to the chase."
He clears his throat, putting the paper back in his chest pocket. "Toriel, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. You're so kind to everyone you meet, and you— you find something lovable in everything, in everyone. And you make me so happy, Tori, every moment I spend with you is one that I want to last forever. You're beautiful, and not just on the outside— you've got the most gorgeous soul of anyone I've ever known. I love you."
Toriel is crying. So is Papyrus. "I-I forgot mine," she bubbles a laugh, "but there was a lot of skeleton puns in it. I love you, Sans." Laughs and "awww"s sound from the guests.
"Now... exchange the cords, you two," Papyrus manages, dabbing at his tears with a handkerchief. Sans nods and grins, drawing a brilliant cord of silver chain from inside his coat. He fastens it around Toriel's left wrist; in return, she takes the gold cord keeping her bouquet together and fastens it around his right wrist.
"And you swear to keep each other?"
"For eternity," they say in unison, just like at the rehearsal.
"Then, by the power vested in me, I-I now pronounce you goat and skeleton. You may kiss."
And they do. Toriel leans down and kisses Sans, and the crowd goes absolutely nuts, clapping and cheering— someone pops a bottle of champagne. Papyrus crushes both of them in a hug, which Undyne proceeds to join, lifting all three of them off of the ground.
Frisk hugs Toriel once they're back on the ground, laughing giddily.
"What next?" They ask.
"The rest of our lives," Toriel responds, breathless.
"First the reception, actually, buddo. Then the rest of our lives."
"Right," Toriel laughs, picking up Frisk, holding then in her soft, warm arms. The flowers scatter out of Toriel's hands, across the grass behind them. "Shall we go, then? Everyone is waiting for us!"
Frisk nods. She carries them back down the aisle, Sans following close behind with a dazed grin.
They've never felt so loved in their life.