Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

                You always grabbed the same knife from the cutlery draw beneath the piping-hot butterscotch and cinnamon pie. It was small – the length of your middle finger, and the handle was silver with a little orange etched out at the end, giving it a nice weight in your hand. It would tuck neatly away in the back of your waistband, between your jeans and underwear, hidden by the bulky sweater Toriel never convinced you to change out of. There it would stay, until you needed it.

                Chara didn’t like it. She claimed it was too short to be of any use. The first time she accompanied you, the sight of the blade had surprised – and excited – her. Of course she’d just been a passenger then – awoken by your landing on her grave, and following along with thinly-veiled interest as the new human ventured into the Underground. The knife was too small to do any real damage – well no, that was a lie, most monsters could easily be beaten by the blade if you put a bit of muscle into her swings. Chara simply preferred larger knives. The larger the blade, the more drama in a fight.

                The first time you used the blade, Chara was confused. By the second, third, fourth, fifth time, she began to understand. And every time after that she simply sat beside you, a silent presence on the lookout for other monsters who might come by and see. Even before you knew she was there, that she even existed, she kept an eye out for your secret.

                The No-Mercy runs, as you called them, were the worst. What few times you had control of your body were spent in a dark corner, using the knife (not her knife, not the long toy knife or the true knife) to help calm your shaking hands. Sometimes Chara forgot to grab the knife – the neat little knife with the orange inscribed on the handle – so you used your nails. You never used her knife – the knife that was covered with dust from blade tip to handle, the knife that had taken the lives of your friends more times than you could count.

                It was the same every time, ever run through, every timeline, every iteration. Monster food never healed your arms and legs and stomach and hips, but you could easily hide the marks. Yet every reset left you with only the scars from before your fall. You hated that. Every scar, every scab, every mark – gone. Like it never happened. Just like your relationships and actions in the previous timeline. Poof. Gone.

                So you made new ones. Every timeline. Every first night, while Toriel was fast asleep in the next room, you snuck out and took the knife and put new strokes on your nearly-blank canvas of skin. Even when Chara was in charge she would grab the knife, (usually; sometimes she fell asleep and forgot), simply used to the feel of the weighted blade against the small of your back. She never used it like you did – she wasn’t broken like that.

                Nobody saw.

                Nobody knew.

                It was your dirty little secret.

                And yours alone.

                When you were in third grade, you learned about the human body in science class. The teacher talked about the heart and lungs and liver, naming them as organs. She asked what organs people could see – everybody said eyes. When she asked what else, nobody answered, and she had to tell you all. “Skin,” she had said, rubbing her hand down her arm, pressing fingers against flesh. “Your skin is one big organ.”

                “But it doesn’t have any piano keys!” Todd – lovable, laughable, class-clown Todd – had said loudly from his desk in the back row, making everybody giggle, including the teacher.

                “No, not that kind of organ,” she’d chided gently, as though she hadn’t heard the joke every year. “Your skin is all in one piece. The skin on your fingers,” she held up her messily-manicured nails (done by her four-year-old daughter, which you thought was precious) “is connected to the skin on your toes, and your head. It’s all one big piece.”

                Julie, who was wearing a tank-top with spaghetti straps (technically against the school dress code, but it was nearly a hundred degrees out and the teachers weren’t calling anybody on anything today) jumped up and held her arm out. “Look! My arm skin is the same as my body skin!”

                The teacher had waved her back to her seat with a comment about her insightfulness, then had asked the class what purpose skin had. “Every organ has a purpose; each one has a job to do. So, what does the skin do?”

                Some kids guessed – looks good, keeps your guts in, keeps your kitty from scratching you, hey my kitty scratched me once, it left a mark, see? Oh cool, hey Miss, look’it Benny’s arm! – but none hit the nail on the head.

                “Your skin,” the teacher had said, after appropriately oohing at the scar on Benny’s elbow, “Protects your whole body. It keeps bad things from going in, and keeps good things from going out. It’s a barrier.”

                “Bad things out,” you pressed the knife to the freshly-reset skin along the inside of your elbow, “good things in.” The skin, taunt and white, broke beneath the slim blade, and a line of crimson began to well against the silver. You pulled the knife back with a grim smile of satisfaction and watched with interest as the blood drops sank into the snow, melting and spreading into splatters. It was cold enough, and the cut shallow enough, that the wound immediately began to clot, but it was enough for now.

                Chara was there in the back of your mind as you wiped down your arm with some snow, which melted quickly, taking the traces of blood with it. Sleeves rolled down, knife tucked away, and it was like you’d never hidden away from the main path to fulfill your little secret. The presence didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything – they were always oddly quiet when you were cutting.

                The new cut stung as it rubbed against the itchy wool of the purple and blue sweater you always wore. It was a few sizes too big, with sleeves that hung over your fingers and a collar that hung a bit low, but not shamefully so. The bottom of it reached your knees, making it more of a dress than anything. You were thankful for the oversized garment as you trudged through the snow and trees, back to the narrow path that led to Snowdin. Papyrus and Sans were waiting ahead with the next puzzle – you had to wrack your brain to remember which. Chara had been in charge for so long, you’d forgotten many of the small details from your runs.

                Snow poffs.

                You could hear Chara groan in the back of your head as you followed your routine, poking every poff as you passed by.

                This is a snow poff, the ghost – well, you supposed she was a ghost, hanging around like she was – and this is a snow poff. What is this? A snow poff! She hated your tendency to waste time inspecting things. You made sure to touch every poff before reaching the one with the wagging tail, delighting in her groans of annoyance. You didn’t hate Chara, not anymore at least, but it was always nice to nudge her a bit towards expressing human emotions.

                Greater Dog was no real challenge – you threw your stick, had him bring it back, pet him until capacity was at 100%, then made sure to give him a tight hug around his furry neck before he kissed your cheek and hurried off in his mechanical armor. Beyond his home was the long suspension bridge that lead to Snowdin proper.

                Papyrus and Sans were standing at the far end, arguing about something it seemed like. Without pausing to look down at the chasm like you had the first few times, you stepped confidently across the planks, knowing that the bridge was sturdier than it looked and wouldn’t give.

                “HUMAN!” Ah, Papyrus had spotted you half-way across the bridge. You stopped, knowing what was coming. “THIS IS YOUR FINAL AND MOST DANGEROUS CHALLENGE!” He was bellowing, as usual. The only time you ever heard him speak below a bullhorn was when Chara ended his life with a quick stroke of her knife.

                No. Stop. Not here, not now. Focus.

                “BEHOLD!” He flourished his hand, holding out a remote and hitting the big button on the end, “THE GUANTLET OF DEADLY TERROR!”

                Spears, a cannon, a flamethrower, a spiked mace, and a little fluffy white dog on a rope popped out of the snow, surrounding the far end of the bridge.

                “WHEN I SAY THE WORD, IT WILL FULLY ACTIVATE! CANNONS WILL FIRE! SPIKES WILL SWING! BLADES WILL SLICE! EACH PART WILL SWING VIOLENTLY UP AND DOWN!”

                You tuned him out – you’d heard this particular speech, and the ensuing argument between brothers, enough times that you could quote it word for word (even if you were a bit foggy still from Chara’s dozen or so runs). The odd fake light monsters used for a sun glinted off the edge of the nearest spear, and you found your eyes drawn to the sharp steel. It was the same as your knife – thin, sharp as a razor blade, waiting well within distance for you to use. You’d only created that one new cut so far this run – just one teensy little cut along the inside of your elbow. It hadn’t even hurt.

                But this. These. Canons, spikes, spears, flamethrowers, dogs…? These looked like they would hurt a lot.

                “HUMAN, DO NOT MOVE UNTIL I HAVE FINISHED SPEAKING!”

                Had you moved? You had – you’d taken a shaky step closer, interrupting the brothers’ back-and-forth. Carefully, you took a step back and put your feet together, standing there without moving, eyes riveted on the spear hanging so, so close.

                It abruptly jerked and was drawn back into the snow as Papyrus declared himself the victor and hurried away, farther into town. Feeling oddly disappointed, you finished crossing the bridge. Sans was waiting there as usual, but his grin seemed more taunt than before.

                “Hey kid,” he didn’t wink, and his voice was a bit deeper and heavier than normal, “If you’re thinking of fighting my brother,” he blinked, and when he opened his eyes again they were black pits that drew in your gaze like a black hole, ”d o n t.”

                You blinked and pulled your gaze away. When you looked back, he was gone. Sans had never said that to you before – he’d said it to Chara, but never you. Was he…remembering something from the other timelines? From Chara’s timelines?

                Without noticing, you reached up and scratched at the fresh cut on your arm through the sweater, and wondered if there was anywhere in Snowdin where you could slip away for a quiet moment.

Chapter Text

                Was it normal to hate yourself so much? Did other people feel this way – like they were a mistake, an imperfection on an otherwise immaculately made planet? Was it acceptable to feel that you didn’t want to exist – to not just die, but to be erased completely, no more thoughts, feelings, ideas – like you’d never existed in the first place? To become nothing but a scattered speck in the universe, no longer anywhere or anywhen, just…gone?

                The very thought of eternity – the concept of existing forever without a rest – made your stomach twist. You pinched the skin along your wrist, hard, an inelegant solution to the roiling in your gut. But it works, the sudden pain pulling your minds eye from one unpleasant sensation to another. As you watched the skin on your wrist turn red, burst capillaries blossoming into a young bruise, you began to wonder what would happen if you pulled your blade across it. Would the blood drain, leaving just a cut? Or would more blood simply flood the space, repainting the skin in dark purples and blues?

                A familiar, though not entirely unpleasant itch began to grow beneath the pinched skin, and you reached back to finger the knife at the small of your back. Your thumb ran over the familiar engraved handle, and you began to picture how the cuts would look against your oddly-smooth arm.

                Frisk?

                Chara, after nearly two dozen no mercy runs, seemed to have run out of steam. She’d been insistent on trying every path possible, and eventually you’d just…given up trying to stop her. The fifth time Papyrus had fallen to the snow, only his head remaining, no fear or grief had blossomed in your chest – just a dull numbness at the knowledge that a simple reset would have him right as rain. After that you’d retreated to the back of your mind, coming out only when Chara granted you the chance, and even then the most you did was cry among the dust of your friends and damage yourself. It wasn’t until after she had tried killing everyone in every way, every order, possible, that she’d given up. After the last reset, in that black void that cradled you while time rewound before dumping you carelessly into the flowers, she’d handed back control, admitting that, perhaps, just maybe, murder wasn’t the way to get out of the Underground.

                She’d been silent as death throughout the Ruins, and it wasn’t until Flowey accused you of being Chara and playing a sick, twisted game, that she finally spoke up.

                I don’t want to anymore.

                To your surprise, she’d sounded small, weak, defeated. You’d never heard Chara without her boisterous attitude, her insistence that she was right. Yes, to the monsters, she was a silent and dangerous entity, existing only for the pleasure of sifting their dust between her fingers. But here in your head, she was young and human, with a tendency towards inane stream-of-conscious thought when she was bored. Before tuning her out during that fifth run, you’d gotten to know her – first from begging her to stop, and trying to seize back control, then from simply listening as she rushed through the Underground, cutting down everything in her path. You weren’t fond of her actions, or her attitude towards death and humans, but you were fond of her.

                It sounded a bit like Stockholm Syndrome, though you couldn’t figure out which one of you was the prisoner.

                Chara’s soft, hesitant declaration had stunned you. You stepped over Flowey, ignoring his shriek of indignity, and pushed open the door to Snowdin. Flowey hated Snowdin with a passion – it was too cold for him to burrow effectively, and when he tagged along with Chara he always complained that his leaves were freezing and his petals were going to shatter. The door to the Ruins swung shut behind you, cutting of Flowey’s angry name-calling and leaving you alone with your mind.

                It felt like something needed to be said – some long, complex conversation that covered everything Chara and you had done with the Toy Knife (which was still in its place on the balcony in Home). But it was snowing, and you were cold, and there was that itching feeling in your mind that had been growing since you’d grabbed the blade last night.

                “No more killing?” You’d asked, voice quiet.

                No more killing. Chara had agreed.

                You’d taken her at her word and started off, Chara a comforting narrator in the back of your mind.

                Frisk, are you listening to me?

                There was a gentle tap to your thoughts, yanking you from reminiscing about the odd day. That’s right – you were at the inn (it had taken all of your money), sitting on the comfortable bed with a new bruise blossoming along the back of one wrist, contemplating how many new marks you wanted along the inside of your left forearm. You pulled your hand away from the knife and used it to brush back your hair instead.

                “Yeah, Chara?”

                What Sans said before – does it bother you?

                “A little,” you admit, “but it’s the same thing he’s said to you, right? And we know he can remember some of the timelines – ‘I am the legendary fartmaster’ and all.” Chara let out a stifled snort and you had to giggle yourself at the sound. “Maybe he’s tired of pretending the other timelines didn’t happen.”

                Maybe…

                You stretch and flop back on the bed, curling up on your side with the large, fluffy pillow cuddled half beneath your head, half in your arms. “We can worry about it tomorrow. Goodnight, Chara.”

                Night, Frisk.

                You wait until her conscious has drifted, until she’s fallen asleep, to add three more marks to your arm.

                Whatever magic creates the illusion of night and day in the Underground wakes you. There is no perky greeting from Chara (who is the epitome of a ‘morning person’ most days), leaving you free to clean off your arm in peace. You’d woken from a nightmare and added another mark, leaving you with four fresh lines neatly spaced inside your arm. There’s an old-fashioned wash basin in the room – the kind with a pitcher of water and a bowl set beneath a mirror. You wipe off your arm, making sure to dab carefully around the tender scabs, and make sure there’s no blood on your hands or face before pulling your sweater on over your t-shirt.

                The wool is a dark enough blue that any blood stains look like strands that were accidently dyed darker than the rest. What’s most important is that it covers your t-shirt, which had several large smears of blood on it from falling asleep with cuts still bleeding. There are a few spots of blood on the bedsheet, as well, but you know the Bun that runs the inn will merely think it to be food or something like monster slime left over from the night’s stay.

                Chara wakes as you leave the room, but stays quiet as you hand over your room key and bit the Bun a good morning. She knows you don’t like her talking too much in front of others – it distracts you, and you’re certain the monsters think you’re crazy when they see you gesticulating and lecturing thin air.

                The morning in Snowdin is brisk, as it always is. The air is clear of snowflakes, but a gathering of dark clouds to the North of the cavernous ceiling (so high that sometimes you ever forget you’re beneath ground) send warning of more snow to come. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you turn to the left and begin marching through the knee-high snow towards the East of town.

                Papyrus is waiting for you.

                “I know.” You hunch your shoulders around your ears a bit, and whisper in the quietest voice you can muster. You could just talk back in your mind, but that’s always felt…strange. Off. You don’t like doing it.

                Do you think he remembers anything?

                “Probably not,” you huffed, sidestepping Monster Kid as they ran past, chasing another child in a game of tag.

                Oh. That’s good. Good.

                Chara retreated a bit, and you left her to her thoughts.

                Papyrus was, true to form, waiting at the eastern outskirts of Snowdin. You hoped he hadn’t been waiting there all night, but figured Sans wouldn’t let his little bro do something like that and decided it wasn’t worth worrying about. The tall skeleton delighted at seeing you again, and you couldn’t help but return his bright smile. He immediately went off on his normal rant, making sure to list his fine qualities in detail before balking at the idea of friendship with a human.

                “But Papyrus,” you allowed your smile to soften, become caring and genuine. Even after a hundred or so runs, his honest sincerity melted your heart. “I don’t want to fight you. Can’t we just be friends?”

                The lanky skeleton paused, and had he a lip you were sure he’d be gnawing on it in indecision. “Ah, I am – I AM SORRY HUMAN, BUT RULES ARE RULES!” He bellowed, and your heart sank a bit at the declaration. You’d been hoping, after two dozen times of seeing his head land in the snow, only to mournfully encourage you to a better path, that a fight could be avoided.

                It was not to be – a flick of his boney wrist had your firetruck-red heart floating in front of your chest, shining brightly after a semi-good night’s sleep. Without missing a beat, Papyrus sent a slow line of bones your way. With practiced ease you leapt over them, and the battle commenced.

                Wave after wave of bones were easily beaten, despite the little white dog named Toby popping up from the snow to steal one every now and then. Even with your heart weighed down, you were able to bypass them, twisting and turning to tug your floating soul out of the way. Chara was silent in your head, not wanting to distract you and cause you to be hit.

                Papyrus threatened to use his special attack, only to be thwarted by Toby. You stopped, panting, and watched alongside the skeleton as the little dog dragged the bone – which was at least three times as big as him – out of the battlefield, where he happily plopped down to munch on it. Your opponent gave a dramatic sigh, head rolling back on his neck as he looked at the clouds with a ‘why, me?’ expression etched on his bones.

                “FINE!” He snapped, stomping his foot and turning to face you, “HERE IS AN ABOSLUTELY NORMAL BORING ATTACK!” A flick of his wrist, and a parade of bones headed your way.

                You slipped between the bones as best you could, noting absently that he was speeding up his attacks and trying to time your jumps and ducks to the new tempo. You leapt over a line of tibias and fibulas spelling out ‘COOL’ and ‘DUDE’. You nearly caught your foot on the end of the ‘E’ and stumbled when you landed.

                “HUMAN, LOOK OUT!”

                You’d lost focus, lost the tempo, and at Papyrus’s worried cry your head snapped up to face him, just in time to take a thick femur to the forehead. Everything immediately slowed down. The bone, which had hit your skull with a thick, sickening thud, bounced back and tumbled gracelessly to the snow. A burning numbness was spreading where you had been hit, but it was quickly consumed by a fiery pain that made you wince, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something began to drip down your cheeks and nose, and when it slipped into your mouth you could taste copper and something else. Something familiar.

                Slowly – slowly to you, at least; later you would realize the sudden shock of being hit had sent your perception into slow-motion – you began to crumple, knees bending against your will. Like a puppet with its strings cut you slumped forward, fully expecting to get a face full of snow. Looking forward to it, in fact – anything to quell the awful burning pain on your forehead.

                Long arms caught you just before you hit the snow, and your soul – which had been pulsing brightly the whole time, only slightly worn from the physical exertion and single hit – slid back into your chest. Someone said your name over and over again, but your brain wasn’t able to make your mouth move. It was as though someone had cut off your brainstem, leaving you unable to move your own body, except to blink your eyes and cough weakly as more blood soaked your tongue.

                You were lifted, brought up to a strong, white chest adorned with a waving red flag. No, cape. Papyrus’s cape. Papyrus’s chest. You turned your head instinctually, pressing it against his breastplate, noting hazily that you were going to leave bloody marks on it. The skeleton didn’t seem to mind – he simply patted your hair and reassured you that some of his famous spaghetti would fix you right up.

                Just before you pass out, you wonder if you remembered to tell him about your deadly glitter allergy.

Chapter Text

You woke up on a surprisingly comfortable dog bed, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, with a wad of gauze taped to your forehead. A plate of slightly-burnt spaghetti was sitting near your head, not yet frozen in the chilly shed. Chara is in your mind, alongside a heavy pounding radiating from beneath the bandaging.

                You’ve been out for a few hours.

                Chara has always been good at judging the time, and the early afternoon light streaming through the window agrees with her. You sit up and pull the spaghetti onto your lap, noting absently that Papyrus forgot to supply a fork. Ignoring the slight sound of disgust from your mental roommate, you use your fingers to pop a water sausage meatball into your mouth. It’s almost cold, but not bad.

                There’s a note beneath the plate, penned in familiar, elegant papyrus script. Once all the meatballs have been taken care of, you set down the plate, licking sauce off your fingers, and read it.

“Sorry, I have to lock you in the guest bedroom until Undyne arrives. Feel free to make yourself at home!!! Refreshments and accommodations have been provided. – Nyehfully Yours, PAPYRUS.”

                The meatballs, being made of water sausage and thus, monster food, waste no time in healing your forehead. The familiar itching on your forehead makes you want to sneeze. As soon as it’s stopped, you peel off the bandage and run a hand over where the cut had been. The skin is smooth and new beneath your fingers, and the leftover dried blood flecks off as you rub at it. Feeling a hundred percent better you get up, still clutching the blanket around your shoulder, and head out of the shed.

                A light dusting of new snow has turned your footprints from earlier into shallow dimples in the snow. You trace them to the East, and just as every other time you’ve ever come this way, a thick mist begins to roll in, turning Papyrus into a shadow. He’s walking easily through the snow, his long legs allowing him to easily cross the deep drifts. His back is to you, and he’s heading for Waterfall.

                “Papyrus!”

                Your call makes him jump, his boots clearing the snow as he turns about awkwardly in midair, landing with his back to Waterfall.

                “HUMAN!” He looks honestly shocked at seeing you there, running forward to stand before you. “Are you alright?” The skeleton squints at your forehead, brushing your bangs away to examine the healed injuries.

                “I’m fine, Paps!” You beam at him, touched at his concern. “Your spaghetti healed me right up.”

                “It did? Oh, of course it did!” He puffs out his chest and strikes his fist against the badges sewn there. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MAKE ONLY THE FINEST SPAGHETTI FOR THE FINEST OF-“ He cuts himself off. “Wait.” He takes a step back, holding you at arm’s length and looking quite stunned. “HOW DID YOU ESCAPE?!?!?!”

                You open your mouth to make an excuse he’ll accept, one that won’t hurt his feelings, but can’t come up with anything.

                “IT’S VERY IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO ESCAPE THAT ROOM! AMAZING! YOU MUST HAVE REALLY WANTED TO SEE ME AGAIN!” His cheeks begin to glow orange, stars dancing in his eye sockets. “HUMAN, I FEEL A SINCERE-“

                He goes silent for a beat, and you can feel your SOUL begin to thrum nervously.

                “WAAAAAAAIT A SECOND,” he drawls out the first word, releasing your shoulder and taking a step back. “I STILL HAVE TO CAPTURE YOU!” He thrusts his finger in your face. “PREPARE YOURSELF HUMAN, FOR I WILL NOT GO EASY ON YOU – AGAIN!”

                You’re beginning to suspect that Papyrus must remember a bit of the last twenty-four runs, because he’s fighting with a lot more…vigor than normal. Within a dozen moves you’re swaying on your feet, vision blurring. Chara, who had been almost completely silent during the fight, quietly directs you when the edges of your vision begin to blacken.

                Left. Left. Jump! Right. NO! My right! Wait, we have the same right – JUST JUMP!

                The last bone in a long line catches your ankle and you hit the ground, SOUL aching as it lowers to one HP. Chara is swearing like a sailor, feeling the faint echoes of the pain thrum through her own soul. Just like before, a pair of skinny bone arms pick you out of the snow. Your soul sinks back into your chest, nestling into place and aching like a sore muscle.

                By the time you awake – half an hour later this time, according to Chara, with only a few more points of your HP restored through the short nap – you’re back in the shed, the slightly-damp blanket tucked around the dog bed, which is becoming more and more comfortable the more often you wake up in it.

                Are you alright?

                “Yeah,” you check your HP – it’s at 5, slowly ticking over to 6 as you remain curled up in the bed. Careful not to get out from beneath the soft blanket, you slip a cinnabun from your pocket and nibble on it. Both watched quietly as the bar grew.

                You’ve never been caught TWICE before. Chara sounds a bit amused. I wonder if this will change anything…

                “Who knows?” You regretfully get out of the large dog bed, giving it a bit of a pat as you stand. “At least the accommodations are nice.” You joke, leaving the warm shed. Instead of going left towards Waterfall, you turn right and head back into town.

                Where are we going?

                “I want to stop by the shop before we try again.” You pat your pockets. “I’m a bit short on Cinnabuns and biscicles, and with the way we’ve been going…”

                You know…

                Chara trailed off, and you prompted her curiously. “Yes…?”

                We don’t HAVE to leave Snowdin…

                “Uh, what?” You let out a little disbelieving laugh. “Chara, what about the capital? What about getting a good ending?”

                There’s no reason we have to do it right away.

                You snort. “This coming from the girl who was all gung-ho about getting to the surface?”

                I – it doesn’t matter anymore. Not to me. What do you have up there?

                “My parents-“

                They hate you.

                “My friends-“

                What friends?

                “My…fish?”

                …seriously?

                You slump, scratching at the hidden cuts along your arms. “Chara – we can’t stay here. We have nowhere to stay, nowhere to go, and everybody is counting on us!”

                It’s not really fair, is it? They’re all counting on you, but they don’t care what happens along the way, do they? They’ don’t’ care if you’re happy or safe, do they? There was a note of bitterness in her voice.

                “Chara! Don’t talk about my friends like that! They care about me.” You push open the door to the shop and smile at the bun behind the counter. The shopkeeper smiles back easily and you spend the last few gold you have on a box of cinnabuns.

                If they’re your friends, they’ll let you stay. Why don’t you ask Papyrus?

                “Hah!” You can’t help but snort. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? People don’t just go up and ask people they just met if they can crash on their couch.”

                He would let you – so would Sans. If you asked.

                “No.” You shove the box in your pocket and head towards Waterfall. “And Sans – I don’t know about Sans this run. He’s acting…off.”

                Hmm. I still think he’d say yes if you asked-

                “We’re going to the capitol, and we’re going to find a way to free everybody.” You say firmly. Something dark and sick begins to twist in your gut. ‘They wouldn’t want me, anyway,’ you tell her, not able to bring yourself to say it aloud.

                They would-

                “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you declare, earning an odd glance from MK as you pass him. The feeling in your stomach begins to rise, itching at the base of your skull as the weight of the stolen knife presses against your back.

                Before finding Papyrus again, you make a quick detour behind his house to take care of the feeling.

                “HUMAN!”

                Papyrus was pacing back and forth at the end of the path, blocking the way to Waterfall. For a moment, you think he looks worried, but that expression (if it ever existed) is quickly swept away as a façade of bravado takes over.

                “BACK AGAIN, EH?” He hollers, posing dramatically. “I SUPPOSE IT’S MY FAULT…I TOLD YOU BEFORE I WOULD MAKE YOU SPAGHETTI!”

                “But you did make me spaghetti, Paps!” You beam at him, hands clasped in front of you. Your sweater sleeve pulls at the new cuts along your arm, which are just starting to clot. “Remember? When I wasn’t feeling well you gave me some, and it was delicious!”

                “THEN I DON’T UNDERSTAND? WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

                Aw, poor, sweet Papyrus. “I just wanted to see you, Papyrus.” You tell him, delighting in the familiar orange blush. "Can't we be friends?"

                “FRIENDS?” He frowns, scratching the back of his head. “HUMAN, WE CANNOT BE FRIENDS! I MUST CAPTURE YOU! IT IS THE ONLY WAY I WILL BECOME A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD!” With barely at thought, he pull a large bone out of thin air and pointed it at you. “NOW HUMAN, PREPARE TO BE CAPTURED!”

                I’m beginning to get the feeling that you’re not trying.

                You’re in the dog bed, head faintly pounding behind your eyes.

                Three times in a row. That’s a new record.

                You groan and pull the blanket over your head, squeezing your eyes shut against the late afternoon light slanting through the grimy window.

                You don’t have to fight, y’know. I still think that if you ask-

                “Chara,” your voice is flat, betraying the sick feeling that’s returned in your stomach – the same feeling that comes every time you begin to think of things like ‘home’ or ‘family’ or ‘safety.’

                I’m just saying…

                “Chara,” you drag yourself out of the blankets, groaning as bruises from missteps and falls making themselves known. “They don’t want me. Nobody wants me.”

                If they’re really your friends-

                “Being friends doesn’t mean asking them for stuff.” You growl, drawing your knees to your chest and pushing up your sleeve, eyeing the cuts on your arm. All of them have scabbed over, and none have the odd green-ish tint that heralds infection. “Good friends don’t demand things.”

                Asking for help isn’t DEMANDING anything!

                “It’s demanding attention,” you parrot the long-rote words. “It’s demanding that they take time and – and resources away from themselves. That’s unacceptable.” The words leave a sour taste on your tongue, but you don’t take them back.

                That’s bullshit!

                You frown at the language and decide to ignore Chara for the time being. There’s a hot plate of spaghetti beside the comfortable dog bed, steam sill rising from the sauce, a fork sticking out of the top. Deciding that drowning out Chara with food will be your best bet, you grab the plate and begin shoveling the (thankfully glitterless) pasta into your mouth.

                I’m not dropping this!

                You ignore her, savoring the palatable noodles. You didn’t know how it was possible, but it seemed that every reset Papyrus got a little better at cooking. Maybe you were just getting used to the slightly-burnt taste. Chara pouted in the back of your mind as you ate, relishing the meatballs, which tasted so much better when they were warm.

                Look! He left a note!

                There are two notes, actually. But the first was right beneath the spaghetti and had been ruined. The second had been set beside it and, aside from a few sauce flecks, was fine. Slurping at the last of the noodles, you put down the plate and pick up the note.

                “If you’re just looking for a place to stay…just ask!!! You don’t need to fight me!!! -Your Host, PAPYRUS!”

                That ugly sick feeling was back, and you dropped the note as though it’d burnt you.

                I told you! I told you so! Papyrus wants you to stay, can’t you see that?

                “Shut up, Chara.” You spoke more harshly than was warranted, but that sick feeling was making the spaghetti in your stomach do the chimichanga and there was a limited area in which to puke in the shed. “He doesn’t mean this. He can’t.”

                Why not? He likes you!

                “People don’t just do this!” You scramble to explain.

                Monsters do. Didn’t you see that book in the librarby? Monsters are made of love, hope, and compassion. When you don’t argue that point, a thrum of triumph rolls through your shared soul. Give it a chance, Frisk! Please!

                You snorted. “When did you become such a softie?”

                I’m not a softie, Chara snapped, I just…know what it’s like to feel alone. I don’t want you to go find another cliff to jump off of…

                “Once was enough for me, and that obviously didn’t work out.” You snap, picking the letter back up and re-reading it. A moment of uncomfortable silence stretches between you, a slightly guilty feeling coming from Chara’s side of the SOUL. “Do you really think he means it?”

                I’m sure of it.

                “Love, hope, and compassion,” you repeat to yourself as you stand, and leave the shed to find Papyrus.

Chapter Text

                “YOU’RE BACK AGAIN!”

                Papyrus ceased his pacing in front of the pathway to Waterfall, turning to look at you with his hands folded behind his back. The expression on his face was serious – oddly so, in fact. Nervously, you slid your hand into your pocket and felt the corner of the note you had folded up and tucked away.

                “I FINALLY UNDERSTAND THE REASON WHY!” The skeleton bellowed, “YOU MISS SEEING MY FACE SO MUCH, YOU ARE DRIVEN TO ESCAPE AND SEE IT ONCE MORE!” You open your mouth to reply, but almost immediately shut it, unable to think of a proper response. Chara, who doesn’t have to worry about being overheard, giggles at the confident skeletons proclamation. “I AM NOT SURE I CAN FIGHT SOMEONE WHO FEELS THIS WAY…”

                You see the opening and seize it. “We don’t have to fight, Papyrus!” You take a step forward, holding your hands out, palms up, in front of you. “We can just be friends!”

                “Friends?” His voice wavers a bit in surprise.

                You drop your gaze a bit, and give him a shy smile. “I know you already have lots and lots of friends, but maybe you still have room to be friends with me?” In the back of your mind, Chara applauds the sneaky move.

                “Of – OF COURSE, DEAR HUMAN! THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM ON MY FRIEND ROSTER FOR YOU!” You’ve moved close enough that he can reach out and pull you into a boney hug, lifting you clear off the ground.

                “I-I’m glad, Papyrus.” You manage to get an arm free and pat his shoulder. He sets you back in the snow, looking happy despite losing the chance to capture you. You shove your hands into the pocket, and the edge of the folded paper digs into your palm, reminding you of why you left the comfy dog bed in the first place. “Um, Papyrus, I wanted to ask…”

                “Yesssssssss, human?” He’d dropped his powerhouse voice, returning to a slightly-lower (though still louder than normal) tone. When you still hesitate, he jumps in, “Oh, I KNOW! You want to know how to reach the surface, right?” He steamrolls right over your attempt to correct him. “You just head east,” he pointed towards Waterfall, “until you reach the end of the cavern! Then, when you reach the capital, cross the barrier! It’s as simple as that!” He beamed, looking very proud of himself for providing such detailed instructions.

                You gripped the note tightly inadvertently crumpling it in your fist, identical to the confidence crumbling in your heart. “That’s…very helpful, Papyrus, thank you.”

                “Of course, dearest new friend!” He wrapped his long arms around you in another hug. “Oh, but in order to reach the barrier, you will have to go through the King’s castle. King Asgore, well,” Papyrus tapped his chin thoughtfully, “He’s a big fuzzy pushover! Everybody just loves him – I’m certain he will help you go home!”

                You manage a weak laugh, remembering all the times that big, fuzzy pushover rammed a blood-red trident into your soul. You were certain the damn thing was made of pure determination.

                “I will be rooting for you all the way!” Papyrus, who seemed to run on physical contact, ruffled your hair, and you whined at the thought of the bird’s nest that surely rested on your head now. “Farewell, human!” With a dramatic ‘nyeh-heh-heh’ he leapt clear over your head, landing lightly in the snow on the other side and sprinting off towards Snowdin.

                As soon as he was out of sight, you turned your back on the small, snowy town and began trekking through the snowdrifts towards Waterfall.

                Why didn’t you ask him?

                “He doesn’t want me to stay anymore,” you shrug, voice listless as you contemplate the crushed note in your pocket.

                What the hell are you talking about? He didn’t say that!

                “He gave me instructions on how to leave. He didn’t even mention the note he left.” You hunch your shoulders up around your ears as the air begins to go from freezing to damp.

                That doesn’t mean anything. You’re reading too much into this. Just turn around and ASK and I’m certain-

                “Chara, please. Drop it.”

                She doesn’t respond, and you trek on to Waterfall.

                You really are an idiot.

                The familiar words, though spoken in a different cadence then Flowey, still manage to send a shudder down your spine. You stop walking and cross your arms, knowing Chara wants to have her say.

                You’ve got to stop thinking that everybody you meet is out to get you! Just because your parents ditched you doesn’t mean you’re unlovable or unlikable or whatever the hell you’re thinking! Papyrus left that note because he’s WORRIED about you, and he CARES about you! Running away because of a dumb miscommunication isn’t going to solve anything, it’ll just make you feel worse!

                “When did you become a psychologist?” You demand quietly, knowing that the room holding Sans’ sentry station is just around the corner a few yards away. The fact that she’s speaking the truth – and that you know she’s speaking the truth – is digging at you, making you feel itchy and angry.

                Being alone, then being an observer – it gives you a lot of time to think and learn about people. There’s a feel of cold, gentle hands on your shoulders, a facsimile of comfort by an incorporeal ghost. You’re terrified of being abandoned. Of being left alone again and again and again.

                “I’m not.” You deny, arms shifting from an angry crossed position to hugging yourself tightly. “I just don’t want to bother them-“

                You’re not a bother to them! God, how can you be so thick? There was the snarky, insulting Chara you knew and kinda-sorta-liked. They LIKE you! Hell, Toriel LOV-

                “Do not talk about HER!” Your voice is much darker and serious than any twelve-year-olds should be. There’s sudden silence and shock from the other side of your soul. That is quickly displaced by worried curiosity.

                What-

                “Not here.” You mumble it into your chest, shoulders hunched around your ears defensively. When had you gotten so tense? You force your shoulders to drop, your spine to uncurl some so you can continue forward. You let your arms swing at your side, over-large sleeves almost obscuring your fingers.

                The first small cavern is just as you always remembered it. Monster Kid (though he liked to be called MK) was bouncing in place near the entrance, casting nervous looks over his shoulders to make sure his parents weren’t coming to drag him back home. The orange goldfish monster was standing by the echo flower, muttering softly to himself. Past him was the Waterfall sentry station, and sitting behind it, feet propped up on the desk, chair tilted back, snoring like a steam engine, was Sans.

                You didn’t pause to speak to MK or Goldfish. Striding as confidently (and quietly) as possible, you bypassed them both and, carefully, hurried past the sentry station and sleeping Sans. Had it been any other time – had the run been going as normal, had you not nearly died three times already at his brothers hand, had he not threatened you so seriously earlier, you may have stopped and poked fun at him for falling asleep on the job. You might have told him a bad joke, then joined him on his break, following him through one of his weird shortcuts to visit Grillby’s.

                The sleeping skeleton didn’t stir as you quietly passed, feet surprisingly silent on the stone floors. As soon as you’d entered the next tunnel, you took off at a sprint, heading for one place you knew was safe from prying eyes.

                The first waterfall – the one with the forever falling boulders perched precariously on the edge – was the same as ever. You slow as you reach the water, toeing off your sneakers and socks and holding them before wading into the knee-high stream. The rocks slide past, effortlessly avoided by hundreds of resets worth of muscle memory. Within moments you duck beneath the falling water, soaking your hair and shoulders in the process but not caring at the moment.

                The little hidden cavern is the same as well – patches of glowing mushrooms dot the room, lighting it up just enough to peer into the corners. Against the far wall is the abandoned tutu – normal a sight for sore eyes, something you would immediately snatch up and wear. At the moment you can’t bring yourself to care.

                “Don’t you ever talk to me about her again!” You snarl, hands curling into fists as you begin to pace up and down the small room. Eight steps to the left, eight steps to the right, and repeat.

                You mean Toriel? Why not? Chara sounds shocked – a novel experience, you’re sure.

                “Why do you think?” You reach the wall and turn, nearly crushing a cluster of the glowing mushrooms. The itching at the back of your skull is becoming unbearable. You grab the knife from the back of your pants, and the itch lessens for the time being. “She left me!”

                Uh – no, I’m pretty sure YOU left HER.

                You slash the air in front of you with the knife, feeling unusually delighted at the feeling of steel whistling easily through the air. “No! No, she attacked me! She told me that if I left, I couldn’t come back! She gave me an ultimatum!” Another stab with the knife. “I couldn’t just stay there – you know I can’t, that’s not the way this works! But – but she controls the door. She could have let me back in!” Chara is silent as you flail at the air with the blade. Rage is bubbling just beneath the surface, all your more rational emotions melting in the face of irrational anger and fear.

                When she doesn’t say anything, you shrug off your soaking-wet sweater and bring the knife to your arm. The cuts aren’t nice and neat, like the ones lines against the inside of your elbow. These are messy and ragged at the edge, cutting deeper into your skin than you normally would. More blood – a lot more blood – soaks the side of your t-shirt when, seven cuts later, you stop. It’s not enough to be dangerous – you’ve seen worse, done worse to yourself in the past – but they sting and burn when you flex your wrist, pulling at the newly rent skin. The knife is wiped off on your shirt, which is quickly turning from a nice, clean white to a mess of browns and washed out pinks and reds.

                Done?

                Chara’s voice isn’t judging, belittling, or accusatory. It just – is. You stick the knife back in its spot at the small of your back and grab your sweater from the ground. It’s still wet, and stained with dirt, but you shrug it on. The wet fabric clings to your arm, the blood cementing it there and turning the navy even darker.

                “Yeah.” You reach up and rub at your eyes. Despite having several…impromptu naps during the day, you still feel exhausted and spent from everything that had transpired the past few hours.

                You really did a number on yourself this time. Chara makes a noise like an impressed whistle. Maybe you should sit down and wrap up your arm? We still have that bandage in your pockets.

                “It’s dirty,” you wrinkle your nose, “and wet.” The idea of an infection blossoming into gangrene and losing your whole arm makes you shudder. “It’s not that bad. I’ll survive.”

                You do sit, however, at the back of the cave beside the wet tutu. Your arm throbs painfully, and you wonder if the scars will survive the reset this time. Hell, you wonder if you will survive the reset –

                Wait.

                Wait.

                Wait.

                “Chara.” Your voice is distant, even to your own ears. “Chara, that might be it.”

                What might be it?

                “Chara,” you repeat, “every time I’ve died in the Underground, it’s been because of something – or somebody – else. What if that’s the answer?”

                What the hell are you saying?

                “I think – I think, if I kill myself, the resets will stop!” Your hands tremble as you stand, reaching automatically for the knife.

                WHAT?

                “Listen Chara, it makes sense-“

                WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?!

                You laugh. It’s not a happy laugh.

                “I’m broken, Chara. Everybody knows it. Nobody wants me. Nobody cares about me.”

                That’s not TRUE you stu-

                “BUT! But, if I make myself leave, make myself die, take my own life, then maybe it won’t reset. Maybe I’ll finally be able to disappear!”

                You know, on some level, that what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. The resets happen when you die – just because it was at your own hands instead of Sans or Undyne’s wouldn’t make a difference. But the giddy, desperate part of you – the part of you scared of being abandoned, turned away, thrown aside, forgotten and ignored once again – saw only a solution to a desperately painful problem.

                The knife is in your hand now, and you look down at it through eyes blurring with tears and sweat. How had the day fallen so far so fast? This morning had been dark, but there had been a light at the edge – and a hopeful beam in Papyrus, which had fallen through.

                FRISK! FRISK, STOP IT!

                You wonder if it will hurt. You wonder if it will work. You wonder if it will be okay. You wonder if your mom or dad will miss you. You wonder if your mom or dad even remember that you existed.

                DAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!

                The movies always had people dramatically slicing their throats or stabbing their stomachs. What would be quicker? What would be less painful?

                A pain – an unfamiliar pain that didn’t come from your body, but your soul – hit you like a train. Without preamble, you were thrown from control of your body. Your consciousness ricocheted to the back of your mind. You were able to see and hear, but couldn’t move your own limbs.

                “I’m sorry.” Chara muttered in your voice, gripping the knife tightly.

                Wha – why? You promised!

                “I’m not going to hurt anybody,” Chara muttered, fingers running along the smooth silver handle. “I just had to get you to stop.”

                WHY? I was going to fix everything!

                The girl snorted. “No, you were going to ruin everything.” She allowed her borrowed body to slump. “I’m sorry, I should of said something earlier. I should have stopped you when I saw what you were doing that first run.” Chara hugged herself, and a wave of guilt rolled over both SOULs.

                “Frisk,” when the displaced soul didn’t say anything, Chara broke the silence, “Why do you do it? Why do you do that to yourself?”

                You stay silent, the rage from before fading, leaving you feeling empty but heavy. You’d had thoughts like that before, but not while in the Underground. After falling into Mt. Ebott, the idea of suicide had eluded you – you were dying enough that it didn’t matter, anyway.

                Chara sighs in frustration when you stay silent. “We’re leaving the knife.” She whispers, getting to her feet. A practiced flick of the wrist has it falling in a soft arc to the far side of the room, beside the doorway. You both wait, but don’t hear it hit the ground.

                “Kid.”

                Both of you jump in shock, and Chara immediately hands over control of your body to you, retreating to the very back of your mind. Every muscle tense, you turn.

                Sans is standing in the mouth of the cave, bone-dry (thanks to one of his shortcuts, you’re sure). Hovering mere inches from his face, caught in the familiar blue glow of his magic, is your knife. His glowing eye shifts from the knife point to your face. One of his boney brows raises in sardonic amusement.

                “I think we need to have a little chat.”

Chapter Text

You don’t say anything – you don’t think you can. You flex your hands, making sure you have complete control again. Chara rocks anxiously in the back of your mind, all of her attention on the short skeleton blocking off the only exit in the room. He isn’t the relaxed, punny skeleton you’ve come to appreciate during your runs.

Sans is rocking back on his heels, head lifted, shoulders stiff as he examines the knife he had barely stopped from soaring into his right eye socket. There’s an expression of bored curiosity on his face, but boiling just beneath it is a familiar flicker – one that you’ve seen countless times the past two dozen runs.

“So,” he plucks the knife from where it’s floating and flips it through his fingers, examining it critically. He runs this thumb over the etched orange along the handle, eying it curiously. “Just water you doing?”

…a pun? Did he REALLY just make a fucking pun?

You don’t call out Chara on her swearing – you’re too busy eyeing the knife and the skeleton beyond it.

“Temmie got your tongue, kid?” Sans focused on you, absently flipping the knife between his fingers. “C’mon, I can sea right through you.” He tilted his head back slightly, the magic in his eye casting odd shadows along his skull. Chara shifts anxiously in the back of your mind, and the nervous fluttering is bleeding over to your side of the soul, making you feel twitchy.

“I’m not talking to my-shell-f here.” Sans is scowling slightly now – an odd look on the normally cheerful skeleton, but one you’ve both grown familiar with after all the time spent in the Judgement Hall. “What’s your game this time, demon?” He points the knife at you, arm still and strong.

Oooooh oh no, no no no, he thinks you’re ME!

“Sans, I-“

“Clam up.” His magic has vanished, leaving two dark holes staring at you. Both you and Chara have to feel a bit of admiration at his ability to pull off a pun, even when boiling mad. “I don’t know what you’re planning, getting all chummy with everyone. You gonna try and befriend us first, then slice us when our backs are turned?” He wiggles the knife.

“NO!” You’re disgusted by the very thought. “Sans, it’s me! Frisk!”

“You really think I’m that stupid?” He wiggles the knife back and forth like a scolding finger, clicking his jaw bones together to make a 'tsk' kind of sound. “Frisk would never carry a knife!”

You open your mouth, then have to close it. Nobody other than Chara ever saw the knife – you went to extreme lengths to make sure of it. The only reason you’d made it this far without your arms being found out was because you’d learned every nook and cranny of the path through the Underground, providing you with plenty of hidey holes to take care of the itch.

Chara pokes your mind, and fear crosses your bond, but it’s too late. You’d been looking at the floor for too long, made too many odd expressions, and Sans had moved to close the eight-step distance between you. His pupils are back, and while his expression is still wary and distrusting, there’s a smidge of concern in the eye lights.

Of course you don’t notice that – Chara does, but as soon as you see the larger skeleton coming towards you (he was only taller by a few inches, but what he lacked in height he made up for in being three times as wide as you), your heart speeds up, panic flooding your system and kick starting your adrenaline.

Sans is close enough to touch you now – with the hand not holding the knife, he reaches out to touch your shoulder, his brows drawing together in worry. “Frisk, are you-“

“Papyrus!” You peer over his shoulder and fake a gasp. Sans whirls around in surprise, and Chara’s curiosity scratches at the back of your mind. It’s immediately quelled when you use the fact that both you and Sans have similar centers of gravity to barrel into the skeleton, catching him off guard and sending him face-first into the dirt. Ignoring the guilt, you leap over him and escape.

The waterfall soaks you once more, the cold sending shivers along your spine as it runs down your sleeve. Pale pink water leaks down your palm, the blood washing out of both your skin and sweater. Had you more time to examine it, you were sure you’d wax poetic, but sloughing through the thigh-high water is slow, and you don’t have time. Not if you want to escape what you’re sure is a furious skeleton.

You scramble onto the far shore and take off down the path, using the light of the magical crystals embedded in the walls to navigate around the stones that poked out of the ground, just waiting to trip you up. There’s a patch of grass – a familiar patch of grass – up ahead. You dive into it, scrambling along on hands and knees until you’re certain there’s no chance of Sans seeing you from the edge of the patch. You curl up on your side, clutching your bleeding arm to your chest, pressing your sleeve against the cuts to stem the bleeding.

There was something about this spot that was bugging you.

Are you alright?

Something bad – maybe? Something important…

Frisk?

God, what was it?

“H-hi, Undyne! I’m here with my daily report!”

Oh, son of a bitch.

“Uhh, regarding that human I called you about earlier…”

There’s a deep-voiced response, but you can’t understand what the captain is saying.

“Did I fight them? Yes! Of course I did! I fought them valiantly!”

Another grumble.

“Did I capture them? No, I – I tried very hard, Undyne, but in the end…I failed.”

The deep voice, speaking longer this time.

“W-what? You’re going to take the humans soul yourself?” More of the captain’s words. “But Undyne, you don’t have to destroy them! They’re nice!”

Another grumble.

“Undyne, please, you don’t understand. There’s something about this human – they’re so tiny…”

Well, this was off script. Apparently Undyne wasn’t impressed either – there was some angry hissing, followed by a clanking of armor.

“Ah, I – I see. I will help you in any way I can.”

You wait until the clanking of armor heads east before getting back to your hands and knees, crawling out of the grass. There’s no sign of Undyne or Sans up ahead. Slowly, you stand, and eye the flood of grass behind you. No sign of the skeleton that way either. With a relieved sigh, you turn and walk straight into a solid wall of blue.

Boney fingers grip your shoulders, keeping you form bolting. They tighten when you jerk beneath his grip, head snapping back to meet his eyes. Despite the few inches of difference, Sans looms over you like a giant, his bulky stature and puffy blue jacket completely blocking you in. It’s like you’ve fallen into a water-well made out of nothing but angry, puffy skeleton.

Said skeleton still has dirt clinging to his cheekbones from his assisted face-plant earlier. He’s scowling, magic thrumming through his entire frame. His left eye is flickering erratically above a tight grimace.

“Care to explain what that was all about, kid?” His voice is deep, thrumming through your limbs like an earthquake. You try and bring your arms up, pressing your hands against his chest, struggling weakly against his steel grip. “Uh-uh, none of that,” he snaps, digging his phalanges into your shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. “What are you up too?!” He gives you a little shake.

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat and you stutter out a jumble of nonsense. Sans raises a brow, smirking, his teeth appearing slightly sharper than normal. Maybe that was just your imagination – it had been running a bit wild today.

Frisk, Chara sounds frantic in the back of your mind, breathe! You need to breathe!

When had you stopped breathing? Now that you think about it, your lungs are burning. You suck in a deep breath, shoulders shaking as you try and press your lungs to inflate. A panic attack is really not going to help you right now.

Sans, normally nothing but patient, is obviously not in the mood to deal with your hesitation. He slides his hands down from your shoulders to your wrists, gripping them tightly and dragging them away from his chest. You wince, cuts burning as the scratchy wool from your sweater was scraped against them. He hunches his shoulders (making him even taller!) leaning forward, increasing his looming to exponential levels. The heat from his magic radiates from his eye, and you can feel it against your cheeks. You lean back, shrinking into yourself, knees trembling. Chara could face this monster down without a sweat when he was angry, but you weren’t nearly as brave as her.

The hand around your injured arm disappears, and Sans jerks backward, staring at his bones in shock. Red is smeared across his white phalanges and fused palm, and when he folds his fingers the blood slips between his joints and leaks down his arm to stain the sleeve of his jacket.

“…kid…” The moniker isn’t said so much as breathed. He releases you, only to seize your injured arm with both hands and slide up your sleeve. There’s a sharp intake of breath at the sight of the ragged slashes along your arm. “…the knife…” He sounds sick, and when you risk a quick glance through your lashes at the skeleton, his skull appears almost paler than normal.

You try and yank your arm away, but he tightens his grip ever-so-slightly, fingers circling your wrist in a dainty hold to keep from accidentally brushing against your wounds. His other arm throws itself around your back, and you’re pulled against his chest.

There’s a moment of vertigo that makes your already weak knees shake. Sans keeps his arm around your shoulders, one hand pressing the back of your head against his chest. You take a deep breath, the smell of ketchup and old paper and something like chemicals filling your nose. He’s saying something, but you can’t hear him – just faint mumblings beyond the ringing in your ears.

“SANS!”

Well, you heard that.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME? ARE YOU BOON DOGGLING AGAIN?”

“Nah, bro,” ah, there’s his voice, his normal voice.

“THEN WHAT ARE YO – OH! LITTLE HUMAN!”

A gloved hand touches your head, and you reluctantly lift your head away from Sans’ jacket. You’re no longer in Waterfall – the vertigo must have been from one of Sans ‘shortcuts.’ All three of you are in the skelebro’s house, in the living room to be exact. Papyrus, wearing a pretty lace apron with a picture of Mettaton embroidered on it above the looping words ‘Cooking With A Killer Robot’, is smiling down at you, though he looks slightly confused.

"Hello again, human!” You thank whatever deity looks over the Underground that he’s not using his thundering voice to ‘intimidate’ you into being captured. “What are you doing back here?” His voice is happy and curious. “I thought you were going to the capital!”

“They weren’t feeling well,” Sans saves you from answering, still holding you, though you’d gotten your bearings back. Sans gently shifts his grasp and guides you towards the couch. “Hey bro, could you grab the first aid kit?”

“Of course!” The skeleton rushed into the kitchen without a question. Sans grinned at his brother’s easy acquiescence as he forced you to sit down on the lumpy couch. Holding your wrist once more, he rolled up your sleeve. The smile vanished as quickly as it had come.

“Jeeze, kid,” he rubbed at the spot between his brow with his clean hand, “Why?”

You’re saved from having to answer by Papyrus bouncing back into the room, a white box clutched in his hands. “Here it is, Sa – HUMAN! What has HAPPENED to you?”

Sans was nearly bowled over by the anxious skeleton, who immediately took over the role of nurse. He dropped the first aid box beside you on the couch before disappearing back into the kitchen, babbling something about water and rags. A moment later he was back with both items, and this time he physically shoved his brother out of the way. Sans, used to his brothers over-reacting and need to be useful, decided to sink into the cushion beside you instead of contesting his role as doctor.

Papyrus proved to be quite a capable healer. The water was cold but clean, and he used the rag to clean off the layers of blood on your arm. The bowl of water quickly turned a dark shade of pink, and the fresh scabs ached at being run over by the rough towel. The tall skeleton didn’t interrogate you as he popped open the first aid kit and rummaged around it. Below several bottles of calcium and a few jars of sparkling gels was a thick roll of gauze bandages.

“Human,” he grabbed a bottle of sparkly green gel and unscrewed the top, “this may sting a bit. It will prevent infection from setting in.” His voice was soft and gentle, just like his touch. He whipped off one of his gloves and used his long, elegant fingers to wipe the goop over the cuts. It was freezing cold – colder than the water! – and you flinched away from him out of instinct. He paused, and an unsettling feeling wriggled in the pit of your stomach. The look – it was knowing. He knew, or at least had an inkling, about what had happened.

“Sorry, human.” He slowly pressed his fingers against your arm, and when you didn’t move quickly finished covering the cuts with the cold gel. Within a minute the aching sting that had been scratching at the edge of your mind since you’d had your little temper-tantrum – gosh, was it only half an hour ago? – faded. Papyrus wiped his hand off on the wet rag and tugged his glove back on before grabbing the gauze. He efficiently wrapped it around your arm, layering it all along your forearm but leaving enough room that you could bend your elbow. A metal clip pulled from the messy depths of the first aid kit held the bandage in place.

Papyrus moved the bowl of water, rag, and first aid kit over to the table, then sat himself down on your other side, trapping you in a worried-skeleton-sandwich. He reached out to take your hand in both of his own, a sad smile on his face. His older brother, meanwhile, kept his hands to himself.

“Alright, kid,” Sans finally spoke up, his voice back to its even tone that meant he was serious, but not angry. “Let’s chat.”

Chapter Text

                “What do you want to chat about?” You ask after several moments of thick silence, absently staring into your lap, where Papyrus’s hands have one of your own held tight.

                “The weather.” Sans deadpans, giving you a flat look.

                Papyrus gave your hands a squeeze. “Brother, while I too wish to examine the snow, I believe we have more pressing matters to discuss.” He slides up the sleeve of your sweater, which had fallen back over the bandage. He’s frowning, and a wave of guilt washes over you – the idea of upsetting someone as sweet as Papyrus is terrible.

                “It was just an accident, Papyrus,” you try and calm him, using you free hand to pat his shoulder. “I fell in Waterfall and landed on some rocks.” The tall skeleton looks a bit torn – like he wants to believe what you’re saying is true, but deep down he knows you’re lying.

                “Kid,” Sans growls from beside you, “you’re telling a fibula.” He pulls a hand from his jacket pocket, revealing the silver knife clutched in his hands.

                The fingers of your free hand twitch against your jeans, and you have to focus on keeping yourself from reaching out and snatching the blade from his hand. Seeing it held by anyone else just feels – wrong. It belongs tucked away against the small of your back, a comforting weight reminding you that you can vanish the itch whenever it comes.

                Papyrus – sweet, cinnamon-roll, incredibly observant Papyrus – saw your twitch. He tugged you against his side, keeping a grip on both of your hands and preventing you from lunging for your knife. He was oddly warm for a being with no skin.

                “So,” Sans examined the knife, running his thumb over the engraving the same way you did, “Frisk. Why are ya’ carrying around a knife?”

                You wonder if there’s a lie you can tell that will satisfy him, then immediately dismiss the thought. He caught you in the act. What could you say convince him otherwise?

                Nothing, Chara finally chimes in. Just tell them the truth. That’s all you can do – unless you want to Reset. That’s the only other way you’re getting out of this conversation.

                You mentally scowl at her, though you make sure your outer face stays smooth. Both skeletons are still watching you, waiting for an answer, which you’re still trying to formulate. You scramble to think of something to distract them with.

                “Papyrus,” you tug one of your hands free and reach into your pocket, pulling out the crumpled note, “Were you serious when you wrote this?” You hold the folded paper out to him.

                The skeleton’s gaze brightens when he recognizes the paper. “Oh, my note!” He takes it from you and unfolds it, revealing the slightly-damp paper with his written in impeccable papyrus-font script. “Of course I meant it, human!” He said cheerfully. “You are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you want! You can’t stay on the couch, though.” He frowns, scratching at his chin. “Hmmm – AHA! We will fix up the shed for you!” He leapt up, eyes blazing with enthusiasm. “We can get you a soft bed with lots of blankets, and make a closet for your clothes, and get you more clothes to put in your new closet, and-“ He began striding towards the front door, practically vibrating with energy.

                “Papyrus,” Sans blue magic enveloped the doorknob, keeping the taller skeleton from bouncing out of the house. “We’re not done talking yet, remember?”

                “Oh, you are correct, brother!” Papyrus plopped back down on the couch beside you, resting a hand on your back. “Human, if you saw my note, why did you leave?” He asked, rubbing a circle between your clavicles.

                “Nobody’s ever wanted me to stay with them before…”

                Well, that popped out without your consent. You snap your mouth shut, and wish (not for the first time) that you had a better brain-to-mouth filter.

                Papyrus made a sad noise in his throat, and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. He shifted until you were sitting in his lap, held against his chest. It was like earlier, only instead of being surrounded by puffy angry skeleton, you were wrapped in warm, soft kindness.

                “What do you mean, kid?” Sans piped up. You nibble your lower lip, trying to figure out how best to explain. “Kid?” Sans scooted over on the couch and rested a hand on your knee.

                “My parents…” Oh god you couldn’t do this; you couldn’t tell them – why did they have to care? Why did Papyrus have to hold you so close, his body emanating warmth and concern for some stupid human he barely knew? Why did Sans – who’d known you through reset after reset – have to peer at you with his odd eye sockets, brows drawn in worry, his phalanges tapping the knife as he waited.

                “Your parents…?” Sans asked, his voice soft but prodding.

                “My parents – they were…they are good people.” Speaking in the past tense wouldn’t make them disappear, though it was a pleasant thought. “My dad’s a lawyer for some Congressmen in Washington, DC.” At the skeletons blank looks, you remember they’ve been trapped underground for centuries. “Uh, congressmen are important political people – they work with the President, which is like a king, to make laws and improve the country.”

                “That sounds like a very important job!” Papyrus says, clearly impressed.

                You give a weak chuckle. “It is,” you agree. “It’s really, really important. He gets on TV a lot, and talks to the press when he’s working on some high-profile cases. He’s never really home, and even when he is, he’s too busy to spend any time with me.”

                “What about your mother?”

                “Oh, her.” You snort. “She’s a socialite.”

                “A what?” Sans asks this time, looking concerned at your obvious distaste.

                “A socialite. Both my parents came from wealthy families. When they got married, my mom decided not to work, because she wanted to be a mom. Boy, was she disappointed when she had me!” You let out a bitter laugh, and Sans squeezes your knee.

                “I do not understand,” Papyrus hugs you tighter, his chin scratching against your hair as he speaks. “Why would any parent not delight in having a child?”

                “Because,” you fight to keep the bitter note out of your voice and fail, “I’m not smart or athletic or brave or clever. I get B’s and C’s in school, and I’m the slowest on the swim team, and I can’t watch scary movies or squish spiders by myself!”

                Sans begins to say something, but you steamroll right over him, caught up in your rant.

                “Oh, but then they had my brother and he’s just perfect! He’s in all the gifted programs and is the star of the private school’s football team and he doesn’t ever cry or get frightened! He’s perfect and flawless and just like his parents! I had a nanny most of my life, because mom and dad were busy, but as soon as they saw how brilliant he is, how clever, they couldn’t spend enough time with him!”

                “Kid-“

                “They went to Paris, and Greece, and Disney World, and Kenya, and left me alone at home! Once I was eight they fired my nanny – booted her right out the door! – because apparently that’s old enough to be all alone for weeks on end, with only the gardener checking in on you!”

                “And then they change the locks – the front door broke and they had to put all new doors in so they all match, because you can’t have a manor without matching doors, and they didn’t give me a key!” Tears are gathering along the bottom of your eyes, but you’re too angry to let them fall. “They locked me out! I asked for a key and they said they’d give me one but they never did, and I ended up sleeping on the porch or in the garage because they couldn’t bother to hand me a fifty-cent hunk of metal!”

                “I doubt they even know I’m gone.” You whisper, drooping.

                Neither of the skeletons say anything. Papyrus shifts beneath you, and his hands move to your waist. He carefully picks you up off his lap and sets you on the couch beside Sans, then stands and goes into the kitchen.

                Your heart begins to crumble at the action – you knew you shouldn’t have told them! You knew this would happen – nobody above ground would listen to you, would believe that your charity-hosting, world-traveling, field trip chaperoning parents would abandon you. Why would anybody in the Underground believe you? Why would they care? Papyrus probably thought you were some stupid, worthless kid now, not clever enough to enjoy his puzzles or japes. God, Sans probably thought you were an idiot too – not intelligent enough to get his jokes or make your own.

                A crash from the kitchen knocked your sour thoughts out of your mind, making you jolt in your seat. Sans wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you from leaping off the couch. You noted absently that while you were wallowing in self-deprecating thoughts, he had magicked the knife away once again. There was another crash from the kitchen, accompanied by a flash of bright blue light. A third crash, and a bone punched through the wall, leaving a hole in its wake.

                “Wha-?” You gasp, jerking back. Two more bones hit the wall, one punching through, the other bouncing off the doorframe and rolling into the living room.

                Sans winces at what sounds like something wooden – most likely the small, round table where the brothers ate their spaghetti – breaks. There’s a few more unintelligible shouts, then the blue light fades from the kitchen. Papyrus reappears, orange sweat dotting his brow. He adjusts his scarf, so it’s laying over his shoulder properly once more.

                “BROTHER,” he booms, “HUMAN. I AM DEPARTING TO FIND LUMBER IN ORDER TO TURN THE SHED INTO A HABITABLE ROOM!” He stops to ruffle your hair before departing, slamming the door loudly behind him.

                “Heh,” Sans sinks back into the couch, having bolted upright when Papyrus began wrecking the kitchen, “haven’t seen Paps that mad in a while.” He threw his hands behind his head and gave you a wink. “I think you got under his skin a bit.” A twist of his wrist, and the knife has reappeared. “So, you still haven’t answered my question. Why?”

                This wasn’t fair, him attacking you when you were already emotionally drained. You fell back against the couch, mimicking the skeletons position, and stared at your lap.

                “It helps.” You finally mutter, not meeting his eyes.

                “Helps what?” He didn’t try and make you look at him, or even touch you.

                You tried to figure out the best way to answer. “The itch,” you finally admitted.

                When you didn’t elaborate, he made a ‘hmm’ sound and stood, stretching with his hands at the small of his back. His spine cracks, and he lets out a huff of pleasure. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer, kid. Why don’t you go take a shower?” He motions to the bathroom tucked away beneath the stairs. It didn’t have a toilet, but there was a nice sink and a large shower – it was wider than normal to accommodate Sans’ bulk and Papyrus’ height. “There’s some towels under the sink, and I think Undyne left some shampoo here from the last anime sleep over.”

                You climb off the couch, a bit excited at the prospect of a shower. When was the last time you took a shower? Fifty resets ago? Sixty? God, you wanted a shower. Showers were good for thinking, and you had a lot to think about.

                “I’ll get you some clean clothes while you shower,” Sans winked at you. “Take your time, as long as you want. We’ve got plenty of hot water to spare.” He turned to head into the kitchen and examine the damage Papyrus had done. Before he got more than a few feet, however, you grabbed the back of his hoodie and gave it a tug. “Hm?”

                “Uh, thanks,” you whisper, staring at the ground. “If you hadn’t come, I – I was – I thought about-“

                Large arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a broad chest and hugging you tightly. He didn’t say anything, just held you for several minutes. “Alright, kiddo,” his voice sounded a bit strained, and when you looked up he was blinking. There was still a big smile on his face, though it was strained around the edges. “Go take a shower, or a bath – you’ll feel better afterwards, I promise.”

                “Okay,” you mutter, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the hug to jump into the warmth of the shower.

                True to Sans word, there is plenty of hot water. While you’re standing beneath the warmth, you do your best to ignore the sound of him rummaging in the kitchen, gathering all the knives and scissors, no doubt to put them out of your reach.

Chapter Text

                The shower turned into a bath, and you nearly an hour soaking away the chill of both Snowdin and your emotions. Chara made a few comments on how nice it was to feel clean again, but mostly left you to your thoughts.

                You honestly hadn’t meant to say half the things you had. Being around Sans and Papyrus made you feel oddly…safe. Much safer than you’d ever felt Aboveground in your own home. Mentioning your parents and little brother – he was eight, and just as arrogant as your parents – had brought back unpleasant memories, but sharing them had made you feel a bit lighter. It was odd.

                Sharing the burden makes it lighter, Chara remarked sagely from the back of your mind.

                “Thank you Miss Fortune Cookie,” you quipped, climbing out of the lukewarm water and wrapping yourself in one of the over-large fluffy towels from beneath the sink. Your sweater, undershirt, jeans, and socks were gone – most likely snatched up by Sans while you were drowning in the bubble-bath. A folded stack of clothing had taken their place on the edge of the sink (which, thankfully, Papyrus had never gotten around to extending).

                The sweat pants were obviously from Sans – you came up to Papyrus’ waist, there was no way any of his pants would EVER fit you. The shirt, however, had to of been his. It was short sleeved and had the words ‘WORLD’S BEST BROTHER’ printed in white on the green fabric. The word ‘BROTHER’ had been crossed out with black Sharpie, and beneath it is scribbled ‘HUMAN!’. It still has the sharp, alcohol-like smell of permanent marker on it.

                You laugh to yourself and get dressed, having to roll up the legs of the sweatpants a few times to keep from tripping. You wish you had a brush, but the skeleton bros – lacking hair – don’t have any you can use. Using the fluffy towel, you dry your brown locks as well as you can, then carefully hang it up to dry on the rack by the sink.

                The bandages Papyrus had wrapped around your arm were gone along with your clothes. You run a hand down your arm, fingers bumping over the seven cuts. Whatever that sparkly gel was, it had helped the cuts scab over completely before you got into the shower.

                A quick search revealed nothing useful beneath the sink, or in the counter drawers. Papyrus had left the first aid kit out by the pet rock – maybe there were more in there?

                Nobody was in the living room, but the deafening melody of pots and pans clanging together came from the kitchen, along with humming. There were still a few holes in the wall, through which you could see Papyrus dancing about the oven, whipping up some of his famous spaghetti. Sans was sitting at the table, the center of which had a few bits of duct tape holding it together. He had the first aid box in front of him, and a bag from the shop at his elbow.

                “Sans,” Papyrus squished a tomato in his hand (his gloves were tucked safely in the apron pocket, where they couldn’t be stained) and watched as the acidic juices leaked down his phalanges to fall into the sauce pan.

                “Yeah bro?” Sans pulled a box of brightly-colored Band-Aids out of the shopping bag and fit them into the white and red box.

                “Where are the knives?” The taller skeleton dropped the rest of the squished tomato into the pan and set it on the stove. He wiped his hand off on the towel hanging off the oven handle, then reached for the spices lined up above the nearest counter.

                Sans sighed heavily. “I threw them all out, Paps.” He focused on trying to fit things into the first aid box. “I thought it would be better not to…not to tempt fate.”

                “I thought their name was Frisk?”

                Sans snorted, expression lightening. Papyrus’s eyes seemed to gleam in satisfaction at the small laugh he got out of his brother.

                “Just use your magic, Paps. That way there’s no knives to wash.”

                “Ugh! You’re always trying to find new ways to be lazy, brother!”

                Sans winked, his grin more genuine now. “Ya caught me, bro.”

                Papyrus grunted in satisfaction and summoned several bones, each of which was razor sharp at one end. He used them to slice through the green peppers, onions, and remaining tomatoes on the counter. Huh, that was a neat trick.  You didn’t know they could use their magical bones outside of battle. You’d seen Undyne do it, once, when you’d gotten close to a good ending and cooked with her (before both of you were trapped in the burning house with no way out except to Reset – not one of your favorite memories). That was Undyne, though. She’d summon a spear to play golf!

                “Sans?”

                “Still here, bro.”

                “Do you truly think we will be able to fix the human?” Papyrus lit the stove and gave the sauce a good stir before getting a clean pot for the spaghetti.

                Interest peaked, you slid closer to the wall so you could hear them better, but stay out of sight. Chara said nothing about your eavesdropping – you’d found through your time together that she could be a huge gossip at times.

                “We’re not going to ‘fix’ them, Pap.” Sans voice was disapproving, but not in an unkind way – almost like a teacher correcting a young child. “They’re not broken. They just need help getting through a rough patch.” He shut the first aid box and shoved it away, folding his arms on the cracked table in front of him. The hand on top absently began to scratch the arm beneath. “We just gotta remind them that we care, bro. Then Frisk’ll be right as ran in no time.”

                Papyrus, who had filled a pot with water and poured in an entire box of spaghetti (thankfully leaving the cardboard box OUT of it this time), set it to boil and sat across from his brother. “Sans,” his voice was nearly a whisper, and you slid closer to the doorway so you could hear better. “How are your arms?”

                Sans snorted but rolled up his sleeves and laid his bare forearms on the table, underside up. Papyrus gently ran a finger over each ulna and radius, eyeing them carefully. You couldn’t see much from where you were spying, but it would take a blind person to miss the dark gray cracks and nicks that covered the skeletons arms.

                “Nuthin’ new, Paps. Not for a long time.”

                “I’m proud of you, brother.”

                Sans pulled his arms back, shaking out the sleeves and shoving his hands into the hoodie pockets as he leaned the chair back. “Thanks, Paps.”

                “I love you, Sans. You know that, right?”

                “Aww, Paps, you’re making me blush!” The tone was teasing, but there was a very real dusting of blue along Sans’ face. “I love you too, bro.”

                The larger skeleton’s smile grew slightly-sappy as he stood up and turned back to the stove, stirring both pots with renewed vigor. You tiptoed back to the bathroom, feeling like you’d seen something that was supposed to stay private. A heavy feeling of unease from Chara’s side of the soul weighed on your own, bringing it down. Using all your ninja skills, you opened the bathroom door, then shut it loudly, making sure the two in the kitchen heard.

                Papyrus poked his head into the living room and beamed at you. “Human! You have completed you scrubbing!”

                “Uh, yeah.” You’d never put it quite that way before. Hugging yourself, you crossed the room and stood by the doorway. The cloth of the borrowed shirt was soft beneath your fingers – much nicer than the itchy sweater you’d had on for who-knows-how-long now. “Thanks for the shirt,” you added, smiling down at the words and running a finger over the crossed-out word. You hadn’t thought of it before, but it must have meant a lot to Papyrus, being labeled the world’s best brother on a shirt. What did you mean to him, then? What did it say that he was willing to give up what was surely a treasured shirt to make you smile?

                You’re overthinking it, Chara warned, not that you’d have time to think on it much longer.

                “Oh human, I am so happy you approve!” Papyrus grabbed you up in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground. “Come, I am making spaghetti!” He didn’t set you down. Instead, he carried you straight into the kitchen and plopped you down on the chair closest to Sans.

                Said skeleton gave you a wide grin and a lazy wink. “Hey kiddo, you leave any water for the fishes?” He teased, pulling the first aid kit back in front of him.

                “I ended up taking a bath,” you admitted, scooting the chair up to the table.

                “Mm, baths are the best. Like showers, but less effort.” He pulled out a roll of bandages and the same tin of sparkly green goop Papyrus had used earlier. “Lemme see your arm.”

                You obliged, thinking absently of Sans own arms, covered with scars similar to yours. You wished for a moment that you could push his sleeve up and look at them, compare them to your own, but you really didn’t want to let on that you’d eavesdropped earlier. Sans spread the cold green gel over your arm, making you shiver at the chill. By the time Sans had rewrapped your arm, dinner was ready. Papyrus dished out three plates of spaghetti while Sans packed up the kit before using his magic to set it on top of the fridge without having to get up.

                “Lazy bones.” You accused through a grin as Papyrus set a plate in front of you.

                “Always.” Sans accepted his own plate. “Thanks, Pap.”

                “Oh yeah, thanks Papyrus.”

                “It is my pleasure, brother and human! As an excellent spaghettore, it is my duty to share my spaghetti with those I care about!” The chef plopped into his own seat and dug into his food without preamble. You shrugged and followed suit, wondering absently where the food went, since you couldn’t see it once it vanished in Paps mouth.

                Monster food turns right into magic when it’s eaten, Chara explained. Monsters are made mostly of magic – and love – so most of them don’t have any kinds of organs, like stomachs or lungs or hearts. Neat, huh?

                “Weird.” You muttered, hidden by a mouthful of the noodles. True to trend, it was better than the last run you’d gotten to try it. Heck, it was even better than the batch he had given you – god, was it only earlier today? What time was it, anyway?

                “What’s weird?” Sans, who had finished half his plate despite never opening his mouth, gave you a curious look. Papyrus paused mid-bite to join the inquisitive staring.

                You flushed and gave them a lopsided smile. “Oh, er, the – the food! The food is weird.” Paps face bean to fall, and you leapt to rescue his smile, “I mean, it’s weird that it can taste even better than what you gave me, uh, earlier!”

                The grin snapped into place, wider than before, and Papyrus reached out to tousle your hair. “Of course it does, human! As a great spaghettore, each time I cook, the dish will turn out even tastier than before!”

                Sans didn’t look convinced by what you said, but was too lazy to pursue it. Papyrus ended up being the only one talking, chatting about a snowball fight he’d been drawn into with some of the towns children when he was getting a few bits of lumber from the woods before rushing home to cook dinner. Apparently he’d nearly been defeated, but in the end had triumphed against the ‘tiny warriors.’ As he went into the details of his defensive strategy, you pushed your plate away and rested your head on your arms, listening and watching him gesticulate.

                Between the hot shower and the warm food in your belly, you were ready to burrow into a bed and sleep for a few years. That odd feeling of safety that came from being around the skelebros weighed on your shoulders like a blanket, making you feel all warm and fuzzy. You wondered absently if the brothers would lend you a pillow and blanket for the couch – it was lumpy and comfortable, but Snowdin was naturally chilly and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to sleep without a cover.

                You wanted to lift your head and ask for a blanket, but your arms were soooooo comfortable at the moment, even with the gauze bandage. Sans said something, interrupting Papyrus, and a hand poked your shoulder. You grumbled something to a question, not an answer, more of a ‘ghuuuun…’ Familiar arms scooped you out of your seat, and you leaned against the tall skelebros chest plate. He had you in his arms bridal-style, most likely to take you to the couch.

                Fuzzy confusion followed that thought when the arms jostled you as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. You opened your lead-lined eyelids to peek at your destination. Sans (most likely through abusing one of his shortcuts) was already at the top of the stairs and was holding Papyrus’s door open. You grumbled and tangled your fingers in Paps scarf, tugging on it.

                “Nooo,” you whined, brain half-gone to dreamland. “I dun wanna take yer bed.” God, were you slurring now? You couldn’t be that tired, could you? You’d forgotten how exhausting breakdowns could be.

                “Fret not, human!” Papyrus did his best not to boom, careful of your hearing (which was close enough that, were he to yell, you would most certainly go deaf). “I do not mind resting on the couch tonight. I do not take all-night naps the way my lazy brother does.” Said lazy brother had pulled back the covers on the neatly-made racecar bed. You wrinkled your nose but didn’t argue – the sight of a bed, a real bed, was too tempting to ignore.

                Papyrus laid you down and carefully detangled one of your hands from his scarf. You made a pleased sound and rolled over on your side, facing the wall. Sans – at least you think it was Sans, your eyes were shut tight and buried in the pillow now – tucked the heavy blankets around you, creating a warm cocoon to block out the chilly air. The brothers spoke quietly to each other as the ceiling light was flicked off. Before they left, one of them pressed their teeth to your forehead with a whispered, ‘Good night.’ Then the door shut and they were gone.

                You were almost completely asleep before it hit you. They’d tucked you in – Papyrus had even given you a goodnight kiss! Your own parents had never done that – not that you could remember, anyway. Twelve was a bit too old to be tucked in like a little kid, part of your mind argued. The rest of your brain told it to shut the hell up before basking in the warmth left over from the actions.

                The actions of people who cared about you.

                When Sans checks on you a few hours later, he finds you still curled on your side, facing the wall, fast asleep with a small, content smile on your face.  

Chapter Text

                The igloo was moved, and the shed expanded so it met the side of the house. Papyrus carefully installed a door to the shed in the kitchen before declaring it finished. Sans disappeared for a few house while the tall skeleton taught you to make spaghetti, and when he returned for dinner he looked a bit smug. You didn’t question it, just handed him a plate of ‘Friendship Spaghetti’ before helping yourself.

                After dinner, his expression was explained. He opened the door to the shed and revealed what looked like an actual bedroom. The concrete floor was covered with a thick green rug. A good-sized bed had been put in the far corner under one of the windows. There wasn’t a bedframe so it was on the ground, but there were plenty of fluffy pillows and blankets. Across from it, beside the door leading outside, was a worn desk and a computer chair that had been patched up in a few places. Beside the door to the kitchen was a long, low dresser and a hanging mirror. All the furniture was used and scuffed, though it had been scrubbed until it looked new.

                “Oh my god…”

                Papyrus and Sans watched as you wandered into the room, bare feet sinking into the plush rug. You ran a hand over the dresser and pulled open a few drawers. To your astonishment, there were a few articles of clothing in each – some jeans, some shirts, a new jacket and gloves, a pair of pajamas. You ran your hands over the soft blue cotton of the pajama shirt, too stunned for words.

                “Do you – do you like it?” Papyrus nervously tugged at his gloves, waiting for your reaction. Beside him Sans rocked back and forth on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. He was obviously trying to exude an air of calm, but his grin seemed hesitant. You set the pajamas back in the drawer and walked back over to where they were standing in the door.

                “I – I love it! Thank you, thank you so much!” You threw your arms around Papyrus’s waist, hugging him tightly. “This is just too much!”

                Papyrus laughed and hugged you back, lifting you from the ground and spinning in a circle. “Nyeh heh heh! You are very welcome dear human!” He pressed his teeth to your forehead before putting you down.

                “You deserve it, kid,” Sans said softly as he patted your back. You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and snuggling your head against his hoodie.

                “I haven’t done anything to deserve this,” you muttered into the fabric.

                He patted the back of your head. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve a safe place to live,” Sans corrected gently, hugging you just a bit tighter. “This room is yours for as long as you want it.” He stepped back and reached into his pants pocket (you hadn’t even realized his baggy basketball shorts HAD pockets – he only ever used his hoodie ones!) and pulled out something small and silver. He pressed it into your hands with a reassuring grin. Beside him, Papyrus wiggled in place, smiling widely.

                It was…a key. A house key. Actually, there were two keys on a little ring – one silver, one copper.

                “The copper one is for the front door,” Papyrus explained, “the silver one is for that door.” He pointed to the shed – no, bedroom – door that led outside. “Now you’ll never be locked out!” He beamed, practically vibrating with happiness.

                “Oh my god,” you repeated, certain that the grin on your face was permanently attached. You wrapped your fingers tightly around the keys, then threw yourself at the two skeletons, wrapping each one with an arm. “Thank you so much!”

                They hugged you back just as tightly, and for several minutes all three of you were one big mass of happy. Then Papyrus, still giddy as a child, detangled himself and began detailing how he’d found each and every piece of furniture – some from stores in the capital, a few from the garbage dump in Waterfall. You stood beside Sans (who slung an arm over your shoulder and kept you by his side), watching with a grin as Papyrus dramatically reenacted his journey through the dump to find your new dresser.

                For two weeks, life was perfect. Sans spent most of his time at home, popping out for a few minutes at a time to check his sentry stations before returning to keep an eye on you. If he had to be gone for longer, then Papyrus was home, entertaining you with puzzles, movies, and stories. Every evening you all ate dinner together – most of the time whatever variation of pasta the taller skeleton made, but occasionally Sans smuggled in some take-out from Grillby’s.

                You knew what they were doing – Sans could be elusive, but Papyrus was as subtle as a brick wall most of the time. Whenever you were in your bedroom, you made sure to keep the door to the kitchen open so they could peek in without having to knock. All the new shirts they’d gotten you were short-sleeved – again, not subtle, but you found you didn’t mind. Papyrus cleaned your sweater and tucked it away in the bottom of your dresser, so you could wear it if you wanted.

                Chara was just as happy as you – she made it clear that she was glad the smiley-trash-bag and his brother were looking after you. You’d chided her gently for the nickname, but was just as happy. Now that you had your own room, you were able to chat with her at night without the fear of being overheard by either skelebro. There was no itch – you saw your scars and thought about it, but the need to do it wasn’t there.

                Something had to break sooner or later, though – it was simply the way your luck went in the Underground. After a rather rousing snowball fight free-for-all between you, Papyrus, Monster Kid, and some of the local bunny kids, you were soaked to the bone and freezing cold. Despite a warm bath and stealing one of Papyrus’s sweaters to sleep in, you woke the next morning with a stuffed up nose and a splitting headache.

                Sans offered to stay home from work and look after you, but Papyrus beat him too it, calling Undyne first and claiming he was sick (with a not-at-all convincing fake cough) and would not be able to patrol today. As soon as the captain gave him permission to stay home, he hung up and turned all his motherly attention to you.

                In no time at all you were bundled up on the couch, wrapped in only the fluffiest blankets in the house, with a cup of hot tea cradled in your hands. You declined his offer of ‘healing spaghetti,’ insisting that it was just a cold and that you would be okay with a day or two of rest. He did give you some little pink pills to take care of the pain in your head, but there wasn’t anything monster medicine could do about the stuffiness in your nose.

                “Papyrus?” you shifted to lean against his side, half-watching the Mettaton game show on the TV.

                “Yes, human?”

                “Why didn’t all the monster food heal up my arm?” You held out said arm, now free of a bandage, displaying the seven lines of shiny, red scars. They were a bit ragged, but were completely healed.

                “Ah, there is a simple explanation!” Papyrus muted the TV and gave you his entire attention. “Monster food turns into magic as soon as it is eaten,” he explained, “and that magic goes to where you’re wounded to heal it. But,” he sobered, “when your wounds are self-inflicted, or purposely made, your body doesn’t let the magic go where it needs to, because you don’t want it healed.” He clicked his teeth together, trying to figure out how to word his explanation. “You see, magic is sentient, to a degree. It follows your wishes – that’s how my brother and I are able to control our weapons.” He flicked his fingers thoughtlessly, summoning a small bone that danced around his glove like a moth. “If you’re hurt, but you did it to yourself, then the magic is confused – you made the cuts on purpose, so why would you wish it to be healed? So the magic from the food spreads itself to the rest of your hurts, or turns into energy, instead of healing yourself. Does that make sense?”

                “Yeah.” You rubbed at the scars on your arm, then wrapped yourself back up in the blankets. Wordlessly, Papyrus unmuted the TV and you both zoned out to Mettaton’s melodious voice. Two episodes later you drowsed against him, wondering If your snoring would interrupt the show if you fell asleep.

                “HEY PUNK!”

                Papyrus shot upright, and had you not done the same he would have doubtlessly knocked you out with his failing arms. Before either of you could say anything, or even move, the front door was kicked in, revealing the captain of the guard in all her glory.

                “I BROUGHT YOU…” The blue-scaled fish monster stood in the doorway, legs akimbo, a Tupperware box balanced in one hand. She had a wide grin on her face, though it had rapidly dropped into a startled gape when her eyes landed on you. “PAPYRUS!”

                “Undyne!” The skeleton leapt to his feet as she summoned a spear, the Tupperware tumbling to the floor. The lid popped off and what looked like chicken noodle soup began soaking into the carpet. “What are you doing here?” Papyrus moved to stand between Undyne and the couch, trying to block you from view. You scrambled to get out of your blankets, leg becoming twisted and one point and nearly sending you crashing to the floor.

                “PAPYRUS, THAT’S A HUMAN!” Undyne boomed, trying to aim her spear past his skinny form. “GET AWAY FROM IT!”

                “NO!” Papyrus bellowed right back, shocking the fish woman. Behind him, you ended up overbalancing and rolling off the couch, landing painfully on the rug. At least you were finally free of the blankets. Papyrus quickly glanced over his shoulder to see if you were alright, and that was all Undyne needed.

                She wasn’t captain of the guard for nothing – the fish wasted no time in darting forward, swinging Papyrus around to stand behind her, where he would be ‘safe’ from you. Without a threat – or even an attempt to detail the history of monsters, as she normally did when you encountered her at the end of Waterfall – she lifted the spear above her head and aimed it for you.

                A wall of bones erupted from the floor, destroying the carpet and knocking Undyne back. Papyrus vaulted over the sudden bone wall (no wonder the skelebros had a loft-style house – if he’d try to do that in a house with a normal ceiling, he’d have gone straight through to the second floor!) and landed in a crouch beside you. His eye flashed orange, and a second, taller wall of bones ripped another line in the carpet as they blocked Undyne from sight.

                “Human,” he hissed, grabbing a dingy gold key from one of the pockets sewn into his shorts and pressing it into your hand, “go hide in Sans room! She will not be able to harm you there. I will speak with her and explain that we are friends!” He gave you a bright, though somewhat hesitant, smile and pointed to the stairs.

                You nodded and scrambled away up the steps, listening carefully as Undyne swore at Papyrus, who had lowered the bone walls in order to get her attention. A spear hit the stairs just as you reached the top, followed by Papyrus yelling and Chara swearing. A wall of bones shot up along the upper level, blocking you from sight. You mentally thanked the skeleton for his foresight and sprinted to the plain door with the pulsing lights beneath it.

                You’d never been in Sans room before – you’d seen him go in and out, but you never followed. He liked his privacy, you knew, and you weren’t going to impose on him. The key slid easily into the lock and a quick turn had the door swinging open. You rushed in and slammed it shut, locking it firmly behind you. Papyrus’s magic stopped permeating the hall, and you could hear the two yelling at each other. That in itself was a bit surprising – you’d never heard Papyrus yell as much in the other runs as in this one. At least not yell angrily – he practically always yelled his words. Pressing your back against the door, you sighed in relief and tried to gather your thoughts while examining Sans room.

                It was – well, him. A bed without sheets on the floor, a desk with a lamp covered with stacks of papers, and – surprisingly – a treadmill in the center, which was currently serving as a make-shift drying rack of his clothes. In the corner closest to you was a self-sustaining trash tornado, swirling with balled-up papers, socks, and several bones. The room was smaller than Papyrus’s, though that didn’t surprise you – Sans was the kind to give up everything to make his brother happy. He wouldn’t mind having the smaller room.

                Look, he has a closet! Chara forced herself to speak over your tumbling thoughts. We should hide in there, just in case…

                There was a closet, just like in Papyrus’ room. You ventured across the room, grateful when the yelling downstairs grew fainter. There was a flashlight taped to the lamp on the desk, which you paused long enough to pry it off, not wanting to be stuck in the dark for who-knows-how-long. It came away easily, and when you tried the button it flicked on. Satisfied that you would at least be able to see, you silently opened the door and peered into the closet.

                There were a few extra hoodies hanging up beside some shirts (most of which consisted of bone puns), as well as stacks of boxes along the back, full of more papers and what looked like electronic junk. There was just enough room for you to sit beside the door, which would also let you hold it closed (not that you thought you could match Undyne’s strength). You settled down and shut the door tightly, fiddling with the flashlight in your hands.

                “Now what?”

                We could play I Spy. Chara suggested, sounding only slightly-sarcastic.

                “No.”

                Twenty questions?

                “After last time? No.”

                You didn’t HAVE to tell me about the Goose Incident.

                “Yeah, never making that mistake again.”

                Huh. We could explore some of these boxes.

                “I don’t want to get into Sans stuff.”

                It’s nothing dangerous – he wouldn’t have it up here if it was – not where Papyrus could find it.

                “That’s a good point…” You mutter, eyeing a few of the boxes.

                It will probably take a while for Papyrus to calm the fish woman down-

                “Her name is Undyne.”

                Whatever! Let’s just take a look – I’m curious.

                “You’d be dead if you were a cat,” you mutter, picking up the flashlight and pointing it at the closest cardboard box.

                I’m already dead.

                You wince. “Shoot, sorry, I didn’t mean-“

                It’s fine! That was funny. Chara quickly reassured you, her focus already on the box. C’mon, take a look!

                The first few boxes were full of papers that were coated with complex mathematical equations and diagrams. You and Chara were equally bored, and were quick to fold them back up and dive into the next boxes. Some of them were cluttered with pieces of metal and wiring. A few had half-built machines and one or two smelled like soot.

                At the very back of the closet was a shoe box – you didn’t see it at first, but after shifting a few of the boxes out of the way, Chara caught sight of it.

                Hey look, there’s another box! She mentally shoved your attention in that direction. You reached past a heavy box of discarded batteries and dragged it forward, hearing metal clinking together.

                “Probably more screws or something,” you muttered, tugging off the lid that proudly boasted a Nike product inside.

                Shocked silence from Chara, and your own breath caught in your throat as you stared at the contents. It was certainly not shoes.

                Every single kitchen knife (including the butter variety), as well as kitchen and sewing scissors, stared back at you, glinting in the beam from the flashlight. Your own knife – small, silver, with the orange etched in the handle – seemed to hum when you saw it. Without thinking, you reached out and picked it up, a wave of relief washing over you at the familiar weight.

                You could take it and put the box back. As long as everything looked undisturbed, nobody would notice, right? Sans wouldn’t – he’d be too lazy to notice, really. You were sure he wasn’t taking inventory of the knives every night.

                Frisk, no. Put it back.

                “It’s – it’s just for self-defense, Chara.” She scoffed. “But – but you’re right.” Pleased surprise radiated from her soul as you gently placed the knife back in the box. “He would notice if that one is gone.” You examined the box with a critical eye. There were around twenty knives or so – big and small, thick and thin. One caught your attention – it was similar to yours, but plainer, with a black plastic handle. A cheap knife most likely from Walmart that had found its way to the Underground. Sans wouldn’t notice if that one went missing. You pluck it from the box and, ignoring Chara’s protests, tuck it into place at the small of your back. It doesn’t have the same kind of weight, but the cool metal pressing against the sliver of skin between your jeans and shirt is still comforting.

                You put the shoe box back exactly where you found it, then begin shifting the boxes of papers and metal mish-mash back into place. Chara continues to grumble about the knife and how it’s a bad idea, but corrects you when you almost put one of the boxes in the wrong place. In no time, it looks like you never touched a single piece of cardboard.

                Apparently you were just in time, as the closet door is thrown open not even a minute later, revealing a worried Papyrus. He sighs in relief at the sight of you, unharmed and squinting at the sudden influx of brighter light.

                “There you are, human.” He held out a hand and helped pull you to your feet. “Are you alright?”

                “I’m fine,” you reassure him, flicking off the flashlight and setting it on the desk. “What about you?”

                He puffed out his chest a bit. “Ah, fear not, I am well! Undyne did not harm me!” He pauses, and you notice a slight scuff mark on one of his radius bones. “…well, she did not harm me much.”

                “Oh jeeze, are you sure you’re okay?” You rest a hand over the scuff, though it doesn’t look like it’s cracked or dented.

                “Yes, human, I am fine.” He reassures you. “Come, let us go downstairs. I have a surprise for you!” He led you from the room, one of his hands wrapped tightly around your own. You made it down a few of the stairs before jerking to a stop, a distressed little noise escaping your lips. Papyrus stopped beside you, glancing between you and Undyne, who was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed, glaring. You met her gaze and swallowed, hard – that was not a happy fish.

                Papyrus gave a nervous little chuckle and squeezed your hand. “Nyeh heh heh, surprise!”

Chapter Text

                Papyrus was incapable of moving for two reasons. One was the glare Undyne had leveled at him – obviously she was no happy about being lied to, and the dark blue glow on the upside-down soul hovering above her chest was not adding any joy. Her soul was almost black – Papyrus must have put a lot of his magic into the move, for it to be actually holding her down.

The other reason was you. You had a death grip on his arm, using both of your own hands to hang onto his humerus and prevent him from going farther down the stairs. You actually moved back, so you were one stair above him, and positioned yourself so that he was between you and the furious fish.

                “Do not fear, human! Undyne is my friend,” he motioned to the glaring monster on the couch, “and she has promised not to harm you!”

                You raised a brow. You didn’t think Papyrus would lie to you, not outright, but…really? Undyne, promising not to hurt a human? You almost open your mouth to ask if he’s sure, then remember the temper tantrum he’d thrown in the kitchen a few weeks ago. Papyrus wouldn’t lie about something like your safety.

                “Okay.” You agree hesitantly, though you make no move to release him or continue down the stairs.

                When neither of you fell into paroxysms of friendship and joy, he sighed and turned to face you. In one swift move, he had his arm free, and had picked you up with one arm. You squeaked and wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling like a toddler. He used his free arm to grasp the stair railings as he descended into the living room, to keep from taking a header down the stairs.

                Undyne snorted and crossed her arms, an angry sneer on her face. “What a weenie,” she snarled, glaring at you both. “I thought humans were supposed to be tough.” She eyed you up and down with her single, bright-yellow eye. “And big.”

                “Undyne!” Papyrus put his free hand on his hip and leveled a – well, it couldn’t be called a glare, but it certainly wasn’t a happy expression. “You promised you’d be nice.”

                “I said I’d try.” Undyne reminded you of a petulant child, pouting at being beat at a game of tag. Papyrus rolled his eye-sockets (good grief, how’d he do that?) and waved his hand. The blue surrounding her soul disappeared, and the captain of the guard sat up straighter, the weight gone. She was still glaring though.

                “NOW!” Papyrus boomed, making your wince as your ear was right by his mouth. He walked over to the couch and, to your growing horror, set you down on the opposite side from Undyne. He had to pry your arms from around his neck. “I am going to go make my special FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI!” With that proclamation, he turned and strutted to the kitchen. A second later he turned around and stuck his head out of the doorway, leveling his serious gaze at Undyne. “NO SPEARS!” With that last warning he disappeared and began clanging about.

                Neither of you said anything. Undyne was grinding her teeth and glaring straight ahead, trying to melt the TV with her steely gaze. You curled up where you had been set down, pressing into the corner where the back of the couch met the arm. The silence – while normally a pleasant oddity in the skelebro house that gave you a chance to breath before the whirlwind of chaos that was Papyrus bounced in – was steely and cold. Despite that, you could feel sweat dotting your brow, and the tickle of a cough at the back of your throat. Still not looking at fish, you shoved up the sleeves of Papyrus’s borrowed sweatshirt and wrapped your arms around your knees.

                “Nice scars.” Undyne’s voice made you jump. She was looking at you, eye fixed on the shiny, pink lines on your arm, something akin to curiosity and admiration in her eyes. Blushing, you yanked the sleeves back down and hunched in on yourself, not meeting her gaze. Had you been looking, you would have seen her expression harden with something akin to determination.

                Lightning fast, she grabbed your arm and yanked you out of your little safe ball. She shoved up your sleeve, revealing the scars once again, then shoved her finger in your face. “Don’t you ever be ashamed of your scars!” She snapped, glaring at your stunned expression.

                “Wha-?”

                “Scars are nothing to ever be ashamed or embarrassed of!” She released your arm and flexed her own, showing off rippling biceps. The scaly skin had several oddly-healed stripes you’d never noticed in any of the other runs. Noticing your gaze, she dropped her arms and casually flipped up her eyepatch.

                Where there should have been a matching golden eye, there was a long, thick scar cutting through the skin, sealing her eyelids shut and puckering the skin around it. Your own eyes widened at the sight.

                “Scars show where you’ve been,” Undyne poked you in the chest with her long, thin finger, still with that stern, serious expression. “They show what you’ve survived, what you’ve lived through. You should never be embarrassed of that.” When you didn’t say anything (you were too stunned to form a coherent answer, honestly) she sat back, arms crossed once again, though she kept her eyes on you instead of the TV.

                “FRIENDS!” Oh thank god for Papyrus and his unflappably bright personality. He burst in from the kitchen, balancing three plates of spaghetti – one in each hand, the third balanced on his head. “I HAVE MADE US THE GREATEST OF SPAGHETTI!” Two of the plates were liberally sprinkled with heart-shaped glitter. The third was, thankfully, glitter-free. You’d mentioned that humans couldn’t eat glitter (unless it was a special edible kind) and he’d made sure to keep your meals sparkle-free since.

                “Papyrus, you forgot the glitter!” Undyne pointed at the plate he shoved into your hand. There was a wide, genuine grin on her face now as she accepted her own plate of pasta.

                “I have not!” The skeleton declared, plopping down on her other side. “Humans are allergic to glitter!”

                “Oh.” Undyne (who had flipped her eyepatch back down) had to turn her head to look at you. Her mouth stretched into a wide grin, showing off her sharp teeth. “Hah! What a buncha weenies!” With that affectionate comment on your digestive system, she dug into the pasta.

                You followed suit, knowing that she wasn’t trying to be mean. It was just how Undyne was – loud, brash, and with no filter between her brain and her mouth. The spaghetti was, as usual, good. Not Olive Garden level good, not yet, but getting there. He’d added an extra bit of garlic and onion in the sauce, which was actually helping to clear up your nose a bit.

                About half-way through the impromptu spaghetti lunch, the front door popped open and Sans slumped (for lack of a better adjective) in, laid back with a lazy grin on his face as usual.

                “’ey Paps, kiddo, I wanted t’ check-“ He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze finally falling on the couch.

                “Hello, brother!” Papyrus greeted once he’d swallowed his noodles. “Look who came to visit!”

                Sans, despite the lazy grin still plastered across his face, was as tense as a startled cat. His eyes flicked between you and Undyne, brows still relaxed but pupils snapping dangerous in his eye socket. After a moment, he nodded to the fish. “Undyne.”

                “Sans.” Undyne returned, meeting his gaze evenly.

                Once sure she wasn’t going to lunge and rip out your SOUL, he turned to you. “Hey kiddo, how’re you feeling?” His smile grew more easy-going.

                You sniffled a bit but smiled back. “Better,” you answered honestly. “Paps has been taking really good care of me.”

                “Of course I have!” Papyrus thumped his chest with his fist. “The Great Papyrus is the best of friends, and friends take care of each other!” He declared proudly, then threw his arm around Undyne. “And now, human, you have three awesome friends to look after you!”

                The guard captain opened her mouth to argue, but a quick glance at Sans (who had returned to not-glaring dangerously at her), she swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, nerd.” She flashed you a grin. “You don’t seem so bad.”

                “So,” Sans drew out the word a bit, tilting his head to the side, “You’re not going to keep trying to get Frisk’s SOUL, right?”

                “Of course she’s not!” Papyrus crowed before she could answer. “Friends do not take friends SOULs!” Undyne, surprisingly, didn’t put up a fight at having words put in her mouth.

                “Nah,” she glanced at you, a considering look in her eyes. “You seem like a pretty cool kid. I won’t hurt ya.” She reached out to ruffle your hair. You flinched a bit at the sudden movement, but that didn’t stop her. “Even if you are a total weenie!” She laughed, messing up your hair.

                “But,” her hand fell heavier on your head, her gaze going from playful to serious, “I can’t do anything if Asgore finds out there’s a human here.” Sans nodded, seeming to accept that.

                “Eh, he won’t find out.” Sans shrugged, his entire frame relaxed, his eyes softening a bit.

                Papyrus beamed, jumping to his feet and gathering your now-empty plates. “And even if he does,” the tall skeleton said cheerfully, “we simply need to tell him that Frisk is a good human! He will simply have to wait for a bad human to fall down and take their soul.” He bounced into the kitchen.

                Undyne stood as well, ruffling your hair once more before getting to her feet. “Right, I need to get back to the capital.” She grabbed her coat – a cute green pea coat that didn’t really seem like her style, and was most likely a gift from Alphys or Mettaton – and nodded to both you and Sans. “Later nerds!”

                Papyrus rushed back into the living room. “Are you leaving already, Undyne?” He asked, sounding a bit sad. “I was hoping you could stay and join in mine and the humans Mettaton-movie marathon!”

                “I’ve gotta get back to work.” Undyne grabbed him as he came over and noogied him mercilessly.

                 “GAH! PLEASE DO NOT NOOGIE THE SKELETON!” Papyrus wiggled in her grip, trying half-heartedly to pry off her arms. Undyne laughed and let him go, punching him affectionately in the shoulder.

                “I’ll see you losers later!” She strode confidently out into the cold, leaving the three of you in a room that suddenly felt a lot less…boisterous.

                Sans quietly let out a breath he must have been holding since he came in (how? He didn’t even have lungs!). He slumped over to the couch and raised a brow at you. “Budge up, kiddo, that’s my side of the couch.”

                You pouted, grabbing the blanket you’d been curled up in earlier and wrapping it around yourself. “No,” you declared. He snorted at your defiance, and his left eye snapped with magic. A slight blue glow surrounded you, and you were scooted to the middle of the couch.

                “Hey!”

                Sans flumped down on ‘his’ side of the couch. “Heh, sofa so good.”

                Papyrus busied himself with putting in a new Mettaton movie to watch and making sure you had enough blankets to keep warm. He flipped off the lights and plopped down on your other side as the film began. You settled happily between them, glad that, for the moment, everything was going your way.

                Two days later you woke from a nightmare, sick to your stomach and wishing that you hadn’t agreed to teach Papyrus how to make tomato soup for dinner that night. The acidity burned the back of your throat, and you sat up quickly, fighting it back. You rubbed your fingers against your palms, reassuring yourself that Toriel’s dust was not coating your skin.

                I’m sorry.

                “Not your fault,” you reassured Chara, throwing off your blankets, which suddenly felt unbearably hot and itchy.

                Itch.

                Yes it is. I – I fucked EVERYTHING up.

                Well, you couldn’t exactly argue that point.

                “It’s okay,” you tried to reassure her, “What’s important now is that you’re trying to do better.” Your eyes flickered to the door, which was shut firmly itch as it was every night. Papyrus was an early riser and if you didn’t close your door, the ruckus he created in the kitchen at four AM would wake you up.

                Chara didn’t answer, but you could feel shame from her soul bleeding into yours. Absently you began itch to scratch at your arm. The pajamas the skelebros had gotten you were blue with a snowflake pattern, fitting for Snowdin. The pants were long and made of a light fleece, the same with the shirt, which had short sleeves.

                The scars on your arm stood out, even in the dim light flooding in from the windows. Papyrus had helped you make some curtains out of some gauzy blue material from the shop, which kept people from seeing you clearly but allowed light to shift in. In the faint light the scars itch looked darker against your skin, like black lines.

                Undyne had said to be proud of your scars – to not be ashamed of them. She’d seemed…appreciative of them, forcing you to show them. By that itch logic, then more scars would make her like you even more, right? The knife itch was hidden beneath your mattress, and it took only a moment to dig it out.

                You couldn’t itch itch cut your arms, though – all the short sleeves would tip off the skelebros immediately. But…you didn’t have any shorts. A quick itch itch itch wiggle of your hips and a push of your hands had the fleecy pajama bottoms down to your knees, revealing the smooth itch unblemished itch expanse of your thighs.

                Itchitchitchitchtich

                Ignoring Chara’s protests, you made a few quick, straight lines along the top of your right thigh, creating a nice row of cuts. You cut just deep enough to hurt and draw a thin line of blood. It wouldn’t leave scars, but for the moment the itch was satisfied. You slid the knife back beneath the bed and, after dabbing at the cuts with a tissue from the box on your desk, pulled up your pajama bottoms and flopped back on your bed. The tissue was shoved between the bed and the wall – you’d have to find a way to throw it out without Sans seeing it.

                The itch was gone, and the nightmare was nothing but a lingering feeling in the back of your mind. Chara was rambling about Sans and Papyrus being disappointed, and you elected to ignore them. An overwhelming feeling of exhaustion swept over you, and with a pleased murmur you snuggled your head deep into the fluffy pillow, the blankets wrapped around you again. Sleep was quick to come that night, the itch finally satisfied and leaving you to rest.

Chapter Text

                “No.”

                “But Sans-“

                “No.”

                “Oh come on, let me-“

                “No.”

                “-finish a sentence!”

                “No. Period.’

                You groan, stomping your foot in irritation, a great show of how mature you are. “Sans, please!”

                “No.”

                “AGH! Will you at least listen to me?”

                “No.”

                You want to strangle the punny skeleton, even if he is bigger than you. You could always reset afterwards – and he totally had this coming. You’d been arguing for the past twenty minutes, and he’d finally decided to simply say ‘no’ to everything you said.

                “Look, I just don’t want to feel like a – a mooch!” You wave your arms, stomping around the living room as you try and figure out how to get him to listen to reason. He’s slumped on the couch, on his side (which was currently contested territory – you sat there every chance you could, and he usually had to use his magic to make you move), watching with half-lidded eyes.

                “You’re not a mooch,” he finally says something other than no. “Papyrus and I are happy to have you living here – you know that.”

                “Yeah, but you work, like, a billion jobs!” You point at him. “And then you give me an allowance! I don’t’ deserve it!”

                “Kid-“ You cut him off before he can begin to lecture you about ‘deserving’ stuff. He’d already given you that when you argued about this last night.

                “Papyrus won’t even let me clean! I have to sneak behind his back to do my dishes.” You motion to the kitchen, which is currently spotless, like the rest of the house. You were beginning to suspect Papyrus had some kind of mild OCD, with the way he had to constantly keep the house spotless. The only spot of mess was the sock on the floor with the humorous string of sticky notes. Papyrus constantly complained about it, but you suspected that he had actually grown attached to the odd little fixture, as he never just cleaned it up himself.

                Sans sighed. “Frisk-“

                You didn’t let him say whatever he wanted. “Just because I’m all fucked up in the head,” you motioned to your face with your scarred arm, then steamrolled over Sans when he tried to argue, “doesn’t mean I can’t work!”

                “You shouldn’t have to work.” He’s sitting up now, watching as you pace back and forth. “You’re a kid. Paps and I are adults – we’re supposed to take care of you. And you’re not-”

                “I’m twelve! In a few weeks I’ll be thirteen! I’ll be a teenager.” You put your hands on your hips and glare at him. “Lots of human teenagers have jobs – why can’t I have one?”

                “Because I said so.” Well, if that wasn’t a parental thing to say, you didn’t know what was. Sans is frowning at you – actually frowning. It’s very…off putting, after growing so used to his soft grin. “We’re done arguing about this. You’re not going to work as a sentry or at my hot dog stand. It’s too dangerous.”

                “But-“

                “Because. I. Said. So.” Sans slumps back in his seat, looking spent.

                You frown, but there’s no use arguing anymore today – he’ll just get angry if you push it, and an angry Sans is not something you’re mentally prepared to handle at the moment. So, in another display of maturity, you turn on your heel and stomp off to your room, making sure to slam the door behind you.

                It’s not that big a deal, Chara chides you gently as you throw yourself face-down on your mattress.

                “Yes it is.” You grunt, dragging your pillow beneath you. The itch has begun again, clawing at the back of your mind. You want to add to the lines along your thigh, but you’re not stupid enough to do it during the day when Sans is home. You can get away with it at night, after waking up from a nightmare – the past few weeks, you’ve been able to add more non-scaring lines, without the skelebros being any the wiser. Sans still checked your arms when you wore your sweater or stole one of Papyrus’ hoodies, but he never thought to look at your legs.

                Frisk, Chara has her sage-voice going on, and for some reason it’s annoying you, making the itch worse, They really do care about you. They want you to be safe and happy. I don’t’ think Sans considers ‘working’ to be a happy thing. Maybe, if you approach Papyrus about it, he can help you bring Sans around.

                You snorted. “Oh please, Papyrus would be on Sans side. He doesn’t want me mucking up a job either. They’re probably worried I’d embarrass them.”

                What the hell are you talking about? The sage-voice has been replaced by concerned annoyance.

                “I’m all kinds of messed up,” you sit up and run your hand over your thighs, both of which now bear several thin, shallow lines. “Or, as you’d say, I’m a ‘fucking mess.’ Heh, maybe I’ll start swearing. I wonder what Sans would do if I called him a lazy bastard?”

                Ground you, probably.

                You laugh, though there’s no humor in it, and slide off the bed to sit on the cool floor. Without thinking, you slide the knife out from beneath the mattress. The itch in the back of your mind begins to fade – just the sight of the blade helps. Without thinking, you stick it in the back of your jeans and scoot over to the door, where your snow boots are sitting. You pull on the slightly-damp wool socks beside them (you were as bad as Sans about leaving your socks lying around), then slide on the waterproof boots.

                What are you doing?

                “I’m going for a walk,” you stand up and grab one of Papyrus’ hoodies off the desk – it’s the one you took most often, a soft orange color, and he’d stopped trying to get it back from you. Mismatched gloves – one black, one pink with gold stars stitched into the back – and a purple scarf finish the clashing ensemble.

                You leave through the shed door, locking it firmly behind you, and walk around the house, avoiding passing by the front windows. Sans and Papyrus had let up on their constant vigilance lately, but that didn’t mean they wanted you wandering Snowdin by yourself. Especially this late at night. The spell that encased the entire ceiling of the Underground that mimicked the sun had grown dark – it was past eleven, you estimated, maybe midnight. Papyrus was sleeping over at Undyne’s, so you and Sans had ordered a pizza and stayed up late, marathoning bad movies until the argument started.

                The streets of Snowdin are quiet and peaceful, a light dusting of snow smoothing out the road and showing only a handful of footprints. You step in them, meshing your own prints, and wander absently down the road. The itch is back with a vengeance, not satisfied by merely having the knife at the small of your back. Without consciously thinking, you head for the nearest building, rounding It so you’re at the back, out of sight of the road and anybody passing by. There’s a backdoor with a light above it, and a few trash bins. You slump between the tin cans and the stoop by the door, snow soaking into your jeans as you lean against the wood paneled wall.

                You yank off one of your gloves with your teeth and shove it in the hoodie pocket, then grab the knife from the small of your back. It’s warm in your grip, and the metal grabs the light from above the doorway, reflecting it and casting bright beams across the snow. Your jeans aren’t very flexible, but you’re able to roll one leg up above your knee. Between your boots and kneecap there’s a few inches of clean, smooth skin, and you press the warm blade against it, not cutting, just letting it rest there.

                Frisk, don’t!

                This has become the normal back-and-froth between you and Chara whenever the knife makes an appearance. She tries to talk you out of it, you argue that it’s your body, nobody will notice, it helps the itch, it’s not the bad, or just ignore her and continue anyways.

                “Nobody is going to know.” You grouse, pressing the knife against your shin and creating a neat line, which immediately wells up with crimson.

                They’re going to figure it out! Chara argues. Papyrus and Sans, they’re going to be so disappointed in you…

                Your heartstrings twinge viciously, but you ignore it and make another cut. “Nobody is going to figure out what I’m doing.” You tell her coldly.

                “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

                Had it not been so firmly attached, you would have jumped clear out of your skin. The knife slips, creating a third, uneven cut that’s a bit deeper than the other two, and blood begins to soak into your sock. You don’t notice – you’ve whipped your head around to look up – and up – and up – at the speaker.

                Grillby had never intimidated you before. Then again, you’d never been on the ground, staring up at him from quite this angle before. He was quite tall - around Papyrus’ height, not counting the flickering flames that formed his ‘hair.’ He was slim, but not like a toothpick. More like a lead pipe that you underestimated until it smacked you upside the head.

                He was looking down at you through his thin glasses, mouth turned down at the corners. Thanks to the time you’d spent with Sans at the bar, cracking jokes and generally driving the bartender up the wall, you’d learned to read his expressions. Subtle flickers in the colors of the flame became much easier to identify, and you were able to pick out the ridge of his brow, his nose, the thin line of his mouth. At the moment, he was not happy – his brows were drawn down, adding to the displeased curve of his mouth.

                Without saying a word, his gaze shifted to the knife, and he held out his hand. When you didn’t move, he wiggled his fingers impatiently. Slowly, with some prompting from Chara, you hand over the bloody knife. He grasps it by the hilt, gazing down at it in distaste. Then, without shifting his expression, the flames around his hand flare bright blue.

                The plastic handle bubbles and cracks beneath the sudden heat, and the metal blade droops as it’s weakened by the heat. Now pliable, Grillby wastes no time in clenching his fist, turning it into a mess of plastic and metal. The flames died down, returning to their normal orange-red. A flick of his wrist, and the ball fell in a graceful arc, hitting the snow with a hiss as it was rapidly cooled, solidifying in its new form.

                You stared at it, feeling sick as the itch began to claw at your mind. Chara was talking to you, but you couldn’t hear her. You felt an overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment at being caught, not to mention the mortification of having another monster know just how completely screwed up in the head you were.

                A large, warm hand closed around your bicep, jerking you out of the spiraling thoughts that had taken over your mind. Chara, who had been yelling at you to ‘snap of out it’, goes quiet. Grillby, his expression now more concerned than angry, slowly helps you to stand. He doesn’t say anything – he rarely spoke. It was often loud and rowdy in the bar, and his soft, crackling voice was easily lost, so he used gestures to convey what he needed to about the bar.

                You must have surprised him earlier, when he found you talking to yourself while cutting up your shin.

                The hand remains on your arm as he guides you through the backdoor of what you now realize is Grillby’s bar. The backdoor leads straight to the kitchen, which has two ovens and a large fridge alongside a multitude of counters that have a variety of cooking tools on them. He guides you to the swinging door on the other side of the room and holds it open for you, revealing the back of the bar.

                Without preamble his hands moved to your hips and he lifted you to sit on the long counter. He motioned for you to put your bleeding leg on the bar. You obey, folding your uninjured leg beneath you. Grillby motions for you to stay before ducking to shuffle through the shelves beneath the bar. A moment later he reemerged, his flames the only light in the room. He had a white box with a red cross on the front clutched in his hands, similar to the one Sans and Papyrus had.

                You stayed silent as Grillby cleaned up the blood and put a large bandage over the three cuts. The deeper one you’d made by accident was still bleeding sluggishly, but it would stop soon. Once everything was mended, he tugged your pant leg into place and busied himself putting away the box.

                You were surprised he hadn’t been asking about what you’d just done. As far as you could tell, self-harm was incredible rare among monsters. You’d lucked out, getting discovered by Sans and Papyrus, who knew about it.

                “Come.” Grillby’s voice was soft and had an odd crackling tone to it, like a campfire devouring green branches. “I will walk you home.” He walked around the bar and held his hand out to help you down.

                You didn’t take it – you didn’t even move. A sudden horrifying realization had swept over you, curdling your gut and tearing at your heart. Without realizing it, your gaze had gone from blank to horrified, and as you met Grillby’s eyes, your hands began to tremble.

                “You can’t tell them.” It wasn’t said so much as gasped through lungs lined with lead. You swung around so you were sitting on the edge of the bar, legs dangling over the edge. “Please, please, you can’t.” You drop to the floor and have to grab the edge of the bar to keep from landing on your knees. For some reason your legs are shaky.

                Frisk, calm down! You’re panicking. Everything is okay – you’re okay. Your safe!

                Chara’s voice sounds very far away. “Please,” you beg the bartender, “you can’t tell them what I did! They – they’d never forgive me!”

                Grillby reached for you, resting a hand on your shoulder. You grabbed it, using it to stay upright, afraid that he would pull away and leave you. It was irrational, some small part of you knew – this was his bar, after all.

                “Please,” you continue to beg, even as Grillby motions for you to be quiet, “pleasepleaseplease, don’t – don’t tell them. I’ll do anything. Just please-“

                Before you could fall into another round of pleading, your face was smushed against a broad expanse of expensive tailored black brocade. You’d never noticed it before, but the silky vest had designs woven into it, all in black so it couldn’t be seen, only felt. Warm arms surrounded your back, holding you in place against what you deduced to be Grillby himself.

                Your fingers twitched, before you managed to raise your arms and wrap them around the bartender. You came up just past where his bellybutton would be (did monsters HAVE bellybuttons?), so you weren’t able to reach very high. You did your best to return the hug anyway.

                “I will not tell Sans or Papyrus.” Grillby’s voice was soothing to your mind, and the itch (which had been steadily growing as you panicked) retreated as the bartender’s warm magic seemed to soak into your mind, banishing all your worries. “On one condition.”

                You lean back to look up at him, though he doesn’t let you go. When you don’t ask what the condition is, he continues speaking. “You will come work for me part time so that I can keep an eye on you.”

                “You – what?”

                Grillby released you and straightened his vest absently, though the action wasn’t off putting or snooty like it would be on some others. “I require help around the bar – it is getting busier with more monsters moving to Waterfall and Snowdin from the capital. You will help serve tables and clean up after customers. It’s simple work, and I will pay you what I can. And,” he hesitated, tapping his chin as though trying to figure out how best to say what he wanted to. “It seems that you could use a break from Sans and Papyrus every once in a while.”

                You couldn’t help but snort at that. You didn’t know if you needed a break from the font brothers, but Grillby was offering you the very thing you’d been stressing about: a job. You weren’t going to correct him and lose the chance to make your own gold and help out a friend as well.

                “Okay,” you nod quickly, and his thin lips quirk in a smile.

                “Come,” he rests his hand back on your shoulder and steers you towards the front door. “It is late, and you should be at home.”

                The two of you walk in silence to the skelebros house. The downstairs window is lit with the flickering blue-gray light of the television. You peek through as you walk past, and can see what looks like on of Sans pink fuzzy slippers poking over the edge of the couch. He must have fallen asleep waiting for you to finish your temper tantrum.

                Grillby stops you from going straight to the shed door. He squeezes your shoulder and guides you up the steps to the front porch. “I wish to explain the job to Sans,” he explains, then rushes to continue when you pale, “but I will not mention anything else, unless you wish me too.” You shake your head vehemently, short hair flying, and he nods. “I am always here if you wish to talk.” He turns before you can respond and knocks sharply on the front door.

                It takes a minute before you both hear Sans shuffling across the carpet inside, too tired to bother lifting his feet. The porch light flicks on before the door swings open, revealing a half-asleep Sans leaning against the door jam. He snaps awake when he sees you standing beside Grillby.

                “Frisk? What are you doing, I thought you were asleep!” He took a step forward, looking between you and Grillby with worry.

                The bartender held his hand out, stopping the short skeleton from grabbing you. When he spoke, his voice seemed to absorb all the cold in the air, replacing it with warmth. “I have hired Frisk to work at my bar part-time.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze.

                Sans leveled his gaze on you, the grin on his face tight and fake. “I see.” Grillby’s flames flickered a bit, but the calm expression on his face never wavered.

                “Yes.” He turned to smile at you. “I will see you tomorrow. Please come around ten, and I will go over your duties with you.”

                You returned the smile, and nod. “I’ll be there.”

                Grillby bade you both goodnight and stepped off the porch, swiftly returning to the bar. There was a small apartment above it, where he lived. Once he was out of sight, Sans stepped out of the door and motioned for you to come inside. There was no fake smile on his face, replaced by a grimace of annoyance. You chewed on your lip as you passed him, the houses warmth flooding every inch of you.

                Sans shut the door and locked it, then turned to you. “Are you alright?” His gaze flickered to your covered arms, and you absently tugged at one sleeve.

                “Yeah,” you mutter, deciding to bite the bullet and shoving the sleeves up so they gathered at your elbow. You held your uninjured arms out in front of you. “I just went for a walk,” you lied. “I bumped into Grillby while he was closing up, and he offered me part-time work as a server.”

                The skeleton eyed you up and down, trying to catch any hints that you might be lying. It seemed you hadn’t given anything away, because he relaxed and leaned against the door.

                “So,” he drawled, mischief sparking in his eye sockets, “does this mean I get free burgers?”

Chapter Text

                “’scuse me, kiddo, I’m gettin’ a little low on the sauce here.”

                You rolled your eyes and ignored Sans, who still had half a bottle of ketchup left. He never ordered anything alcoholic when you were working, just downed bottle after bottle of the red condiment. He was half-slumped over the bar in his normal, lazy way, watching you clean up some glasses through half-lidded eyes.

                Beside him, Papyrus sipped his milkshake, though he rolled his eyes in tandem with you. He’d been visiting more often since you’d started working there (though not every single day, like Sans). At first he’d just order a glass of milk to sip on while you all chatted, but you’d convinced him to try a milkshake one day. Now, he ordered nothing else.

                “Bartender,” Sans said in a sing-song voice, after emptying the rest of the ketchup into his mouth. He wiggled the condiment bottle at you, brow popping up and down.

                “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, sir?” You stacked the now-clean glasses in their spot behind the bar.

                “Never.” He gave you a broad wink. “C’mon kiddo, we need to ketch-up!”

                “Sans,” you groaned, crossing your arms and frowning at him, “You use that joke every single day.”

                “Aww, what’s the matter?” He leaned farther across the bar, “are you laugh-tose intolerant?”

                You snort inelegantly, and put a hand over your mouth to hide your smirk. Behind you, a sharp crackling and sudden warmth announce the reappearance of your boss. He set down a plate of burgers and fries in front of a customer farther down the bar before moving to give Sans an unamused look. The skeleton just grinned back innocently.

                “Frisk,” Grillby set a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “Your shift is over. I will see you tomorrow.”

                “But it’s only seven o’clock!” You looked at the clock by the door to the bar. “You don’t close ‘til midnight.”

                “You have been working far too hard,” the bartender chided softly. You were glad he was standing so close, otherwise it would have been impossible to hear him. “Go home and spend some time with your skeletons,” he motioned to Sans and Papyrus, the latter of whom was counting out his gold.

                “Oh, so they’re my skeletons now?” You raised a brow but smiled. “I’m not picking up their tab.”

                Grillby chuckled and waved you off. “I will see you tomorrow.”

                A bit reluctantly, you took off your apron and folded it up before tucking it under the bar. Sans gave Grillby a cheesy goodbye, making Papyrus groan, while you rounded the bar and joined them. All three of you left, and as the patrons called goodbye to you, specifically, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest like it did every night.

                A few Mettaton movies later and you were tucked nice and snug into bed, half-asleep thanks to Papyrus reading you “Peek-a-Boo With Fluffy Bunny.” It was a goofy book, but his voice was surprisingly soothing when he wasn’t hollering in excitement, and it never failed to bring you to the brink of sleep.

                You didn’t eat tonight.

                And there went those happy, sleepy thoughts.

                “I wasn’t hungry,” you lied blithely, pulling the fluffy comforter up over your ears, so only your eyes peeked out.

                You know I can feel what you feel, Chara chastised, and you’re still hungry.

                “I’m fine,” you grumbled, tucking your knees up to your chest.

                You’re working too much, she snapped unhappily, and you never stop to eat. Your stomach ALWAYS hurts! And you’re losing weight – Sans and Papyrus are going to notice.

                “They won’t.” Your eyes travel over the room to the desk, where Papyrus’s red-orange hoodie was bundled up.

                It’s not healthy! You’re gonna get sick.

                “It’s helping,” you muttered, absently scratching at the scars on your arm. “I haven’t cut once since I started working.”

                You haven’t had TIME to! All you do is work and sleep now – Sans and Papyrus are worried about you. I can’t believe you don’t see it.

                You curled up tighter, wishing that pulling more of the blankets over your ears would block out Chara’s words. Sleep began biting at you again, and you gave into it, ignoring the ghost’s insistence that this discussion wasn’t done.

                “I WON!”

                As soon as you walked into the house, Papyrus had you in his arms, spinning around and dancing excitedly. You let out a surprised shriek, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep from flopping around like a ragdoll.

                “I WON I WON I WON!” He cheered happily, stopping his spinning in favor of jumping up and down. You giggled happily, despite having no idea what he was talking about.

                “What did you win?” You asked as soon as he stopped his cheering. He swept towards the kitchen, still carrying you.

                “Mettaton’s cooking contest!” He cheered, sitting you down at the table, where several plates of sparkly spaghetti were waiting, still steaming. Each plate of noodles had a rendition of Mettaton painstakingly created in glitter and sauce, in both his calculator form and his more human form.

                Papyrus grabbed a flyer off the fridge you hadn’t really paid any attention to the past week. He shoved it in your face. “See?!?!” It had a picture of Mettaton in his Ex form, and you wondered why it was such a big deal when you realized…it had been two months, and you hadn’t see him yet. You hadn’t battled, so he hadn’t revealed his Ex form after you flipped his switch and fought in the room at the end of the Core.

                The flyer advertised a show that had been on last week, where Mettaton had revealed his new form and announced a contest for his show, Cooking with a Killer Robot. The winner would get a date with Mettaton in his new form, where the winning dish would be eaten and romance would abound (according to the flashy bright-pink text).

                “Wow, Papyrus, that’s great! When are you and Mettaton going on your date?” You wiggled your eyebrows teasingly at him.

                “Tonight, my dear human!” Papyrus was vibrating and gyrating in place, his enthusiasm unbridled and leaking from every joint. “He will arrive, and we will date!”

                “He’s coming here?” The contagious feeling of joy Papyrus was radiating soured a bit. You were sure that, despite having screwed with the normal timeline and staying two months in Snowdin, Mettaton’s goals would not have changed.

                “Yes, and we will eat my fabulous (and now FAMOUS!) Glitterific Spaghetti in the Shape of Mettaton’s Face!”

                That was a mouthful of a meal. “Oh,” you swallowed hard, and wondered if Grillby would let you work until close tonight. There was no way you were going to come home with a most-likely-murderous robot waiting.

                “Ah, human, it is nearing time for you to depart for work! Would you like some breakfast?” Papyrus was already moving towards the toaster, even as you leapt out of your chair and shook your head.

                “Oh no, thanks. I’ll get something to eat at work,” you said hastily, already heading towards the door. “I’ll see you tonight Paps, have fun on your date!” With one last wave you bounced out into the snow, thinking over just how to word your pleas to your boss for overtime tonight.

                It was surprisingly easy to convince Grillby to let you stay past five. In fact, you managed to talk him into letting you work until midnight. He insisted you take a longer-than-normal meal break after the dinner rush, and shooed you into the backroom for the hour. The back room was a small storage area lined with shelves packed with food and alcohol. There was also a refurbished couch beside a lamp and behind a coffee table. Grillby used the small room on his extra-slow days – he would prop open the door, which let him listen for customers, and read a book or two while waiting for business.

                You ended up drowsing on the couch for most of the hour, eating only half of your burger and a handful of fries. Grillby didn’t say anything about the half-eaten meal; you don’t think he understood how much food a human was supposed to eat, so when you ate less he didn’t notice or worry.

                The talk about the bar was all about Mettaton. The star had apparently gone on a walk about the town with Papyrus before returning to the skelebros home to eat, stopping to chat with each and every fan that approached them. From what you heard, Papyrus was completely smitten. It sounded adorable, and you half-hoped they would peek into the bar. Then again, you were rather attached to your life, and despite knowing that death wasn’t exactly permanent for you, this run through had lasted longer and given you more than any other.

                Midnight eventually arrived, and Grillby shooed you out of the bar, insisting he could finish cleaning the tables on his own. So you headed out, a scarf pulled up over your nose and a hat low on your head, leaving only your eyes exposed to the wind. The town was empty this late at night, and you strolled home slowly, enjoying the quiet.

                The lights at the skelebros house were out, except for the flashing blue-gray of the television through the downstairs window. Sans was most likely awake, watching some stupid late-night show. You hummed, planning to milk the smaller skeleton for every scrap of information about Papyrus’s date as possible.

                “Hellooooo!” You burst into the house, “So how did Papyrus’s date go, San-“ You cut off as soon as you saw the couple on the couch. Papyrus was lounging against one of the couch arms, while a slim, sexy robot stretched across the rest of the sofa, leaning quite happily against his chest. “Oh, uh, you’re not Sans.” You muttered intelligently.

                “Frisk, you have returned from work!” Papyrus sat up straighter, wrapping an arm around the robot’s shoulder to steady him. Said robot was eyeing you curiously, a smile on his lips.

                “Uh, yeah,” you blushed beneath your scarf, shutting the door behind you and cutting out the cool air. Not sure what to say, you shuffled your boots against the carpet, embarrassed at bursting in on the two cuddling monsters.

                One of said monsters elegantly unfolded himself from the couch, standing just as tall as Papyrus. You came up to his waist, eye-level with the floating pink soul in his stomach. “Hello, darling,” the robot greeted, flipping his hair back into place as he looked you up and down, a sincere smile curling his lips. You were surprised – in every other run through, the smile had always been stretched and fake, too big for his face but perfect for television. This softer, smaller smile was nice. It made you feel warm.

                “Did you have a good night at work, hu-er, Frisk?” Papyrus also stood, moving to stand beside his date. Mettaton beamed and wrapped his arm around the skeletons waist, resting a hand on his hip bones. Said skeleton blushed bright orange but didn’t say anything about it.

                “Yeah,” you grinned at the two, and even Chara had to agree that they made a cute couple. “Everyone was really excited about meeting you, sir,” you nodded to Mettaton. “It was all they could talk about tonight.”

                “Sir? Oh darling, you are adorable!” Mettaton laughed, his free hand fluttering over his chest. “Please, call me Mettaton.” He held out his hand.

                You carefully took his metal fingers in your gloved ones and gave him a gentle shake. “Oh, uh, hi. I’m Frisk.”

                “I know, darling! Papyrus has been talking about you all night!” The skeleton blushed even brighter, his face burning. “He’s quite fond of you, you know.” The robot eyed you up and down. “Why don’t you take off that extra clothing, dear. I need to get a good look at my new boyfriends little sibling!”

                Papyrus squawked “boyfriend?!” at the same time you asked “sibling?” Mettaton plucked your hat from your head, smiling at the identical flabbergasted expressions on both your faces. You yanked your scarf down and stared at Papyrus, blushing just as hard as he was.

                “Do you…did you really call me your sibling?” You asked, gob smacked. Mettaton looked like he wanted to say something, but stayed quiet in favor of hearing Papyrus’s answer.

                “Of course, little hu-Frisk!” He corrected himself quickly, eyes flickering to Mettaton before refocusing on you. “You are a part of our family now,” he detangled himself from his apparent boyfriend and wrapped you up in a warm hug. “I am happy to have you living here with us! You do not mind me thinking of you like that, do you?” He sounded worried at the end, and your heart melted.

                “Of course I don’t mind!” You gave him a tight squeeze. “I’ve always wanted a big brother!”

                “Nyeh-heh-heh! Now you have two!” He pressed his teeth to your forehead.

                “Careful, Pappy-dear, you’re making me jealous,” Mettaton teased gently, and the skeleton’s blush came back once more. He detangled himself from you and stepped back, beaming twice as much as usual.

                “Nobody has my heart but you, Mettaton!” He declared loudly, then froze in shock when the robot pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Wowie!”

                “You’ve stolen my heart too, Pappy-dear.” Mettaton ran a hand along Papyrus’s cheekbone. “Alas, it is late, and I must depart for the capital. I have a show to film in the morning!” Papyrus drooped a bit at this. “Worry not, dear, you have my number now. You can call or text me anytime.” He pressed another kiss, this time to Papyrus’s teeth.

                “Goodnight, Mettaton,” Papyrus gasped when the robot finally released him. You stepped to the side as the robot squeezed the skeletal fingers, out of the way of the door.

                “Frisk, darling,” Mettaton gave you that small, soft smile, “could you please show me the way to the Riverperson? I am worried I might get lost in the dark, and you are already equipped for the cold.”

                “Oh, uh, sure.” You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “It’s not too far from here.”

                “I will wait until you return, hu-Frisk! I have found a new book for us to read! It is called, “Hide and Seek with Fluffy-Bunny!”

                “Sounds great, Pap! I’ll be back in a few.” You tugged your hat back on and held the door open for Mettaton. He strutted out, bright-pink heels slicing effortlessly through the snow. You followed, turning right and heading towards the center of town.

                “Thank you, Frisk dear.” Mettaton walked alongside you, keeping his stride short so you wouldn’t have to worry about keeping up with him.

                “No problem,” you shrugged, hand shoved in your orange hoodie (well, Paps orange hoodie, but he wasn’t getting it back anytime soon). After a few minutes of silence, you passed the librarby and turned along the path to the north. “Papyrus is your biggest fan, you know,” you mentioned casually, watching the robot from the corner of your eye. A pink blush spread beneath his eyes, but a pleased smile was on his lips. “He owns every movie and TV show you’ve ever made,” you couldn’t help but grin, “and all your action figures.”

                “Mm, he is rather enthusiastic about me, isn’t he?” Mettaton began to strut a bit, but his smile softened. “He is such a sweetheart.”

                “He is,” you passed through the last neighborhood and headed through the thick woods to the clearing beside the river, where the Riverperson made periodic stops.

                Mettaton began to slow as the last of the houses disappeared from sight. “You know, darling, I have a dream.” He looked up at the arching branches that draped over the path, each dripping with freshly fallen snow.

                “Oh?” You prompted, stopping and turning to look at him.

                “Yes,” he was staring past the branches, eyes locked on the cavern ceiling miles above. “I wish to be a star to the humans,” he explained, voice wistful, “They have such a fascinating, vibrant culture, and I wish to be a part of it. I have thousands of fans down here,” he gave a wave of his hand, encompassing all the Underground with the motion. “But above, among the humans, I could have billions.” His pupils shifted, forming literal stars. “But, in order to become a star Aboveground,” his eyes dimmed ever so slightly, brow pulling down over his visible eye, “I need to pass the barrier. And to do that – I need your soul.” He gave you a sad, insincere smile that sent chills racing down your spine.

                Chara had just enough time to swear before Mettaton attacked.

Chapter Text

                Your SOUL gave an unpleasant throb as it was ripped from your chest, sending you mentally and physically reeling. The world outside the impromptu battle field grew fuzzy, leaving you to focus on the lithe form across from you. Mettaton was true to form, smirking and posing as he gyrated his hips to a beat only he could hear. There was no stage, no cameras, no lights, no audience this time – just you two, in the forest, apparently about to duke it out.

                Don’t get hit, Chara sounded deadly serious in your head.

                Gee, thanks! You responded mentally for once, not wanting Mettaton to think you were sassing him. He’s a dangerous enough enemy already. It makes your brain twinge in a weird, unfamiliar way, reminding you why you spoke aloud to the not-always-helpful ghost.

                I’m serious! You don’t have on any defensive clothes – not even your ribbon! Chara snapped, sounding oddly worried.

                You’d forgotten about that – since befriending Undyne, you hadn’t needed to wear any of your defensive clothing, since none of the monsters around would ever think of hurting you. You’d befriended pretty much everybody in Snowdin and the closer parts of Waterfall, and had simply fallen out of the habit of tucking away your ribbon or bandana when you went out.

                A long, stretchy metal limb swung out of nowhere, catching you in the side and sending you flying back into the snow. You rolled several times, teeth rattling in your skull. Chara swore while you tried to regain your breath at the hit.

                Your HP!

                Your eyes flashed to the floating command screen that always popped up when you entered a battle. You’d asked Sans about it once, but he’d just said it was what always happened, and not to worry about it. Hovering beneath the dialogue box was your information.

                FRISK      LV 1        HP 12/20

                You gaped openly at the numbers. That one hit had taken out almost half of your health! From what you could remember, even with only light defense, Mettaton’s attacks never did more than four or five damage.

                “Wh-what?” You squawked, eyes darting between the awaiting robot and the half-red HP bar. “How?”

                No time to explain! Duck!

                You dropped to the ground, Mettaton’s leg whistling by overhead by a bare inch. Unlike in past runs, he wasn’t giving you a chance to strike back – or even strike a pose. Without an audience to pander to, he wasn’t drawing out the rounds or encouraging you to pose.

                LEFT!

                You rolled to the right, barely dodging a metal fist the size of your face. You scrambled upright, swaying unsteadily on your feet. Mettaton was eyeing you critically from the other side of the field, metal limbs tense and preparing for the next strike.

                “Welllll?” He asked, drawing out the ‘L’ as he raised a brow, perfect lips pouting.

                You pressed a hand to your side, already feeling the heat of the bruise that was surely beginning to blossom along your skin. “I don’t want to fight,” you told him, taking a step back.

                “Oh, well, that makes this so much easier!” Mettaton crowed happily, striding across the field, hands clutched in front of him. It looked like he was strutting down a catwalk instead of approaching an enemy. “Don’t worry, darling, your soul is going to help me make the world a much better place!”

                Don’t just stand there! RUN!

                You spun on your heel, nearly overbalanced, and took off towards Snowdin.

                “Oh no, darling, we’re not done here yet!” A stretchy arm wrapped several times around your waist, yanking you back and sending you crashing against a broad, oddly-textured chest, arms pinned to your side. The arms squeezed you gently, and Mettaton’s hair brushed against the back of your neck as he rested his chin on your right shoulder. You twisted your head and met his monocular gaze, stomach curdling. To your surprise, he wasn’t smirking or grinning in triumph. His arm squeezed your waistline, which had shrunk considerably over the past month, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a frown twisting his lips.

                “Let me go!” You struggled against his hold, trying to pry your arms from his grasp in order to give you better leverage. You tried slamming your elbow against his chest, but that did nothing but send an ache jolting down your arm.

                “I don’t think so,” Mettaton was frowning sternly, “I’m not going to pass up this opportunity. Now hold still, and I’ll make it quick.”

                A hand touched your throat, and you gasped in fear as the fingers curled around your windpipe. “No!” You jerked your head back, skull smashing against his face. There was an odd, synthetic sounding crunch, followed by a gasp of pain. The arms around your waist loosened, dropping you to the snow.

                “My NOSE! You broke my NOSE!”

                You scrambled away from the screeching, getting to your feet and grabbing onto the nearest tree to stay upright. Mettaton was cradling his face, hunched over in pain. A quicksilver like liquid was dropping past his fingers, mixing with oil from his split lip. After a moment of whimpering, he pulled his hand away, revealing a flattened and crooked nose. Without wasting a moment, Mettaton pulled a compact from a compartment in his hip and held it up to his face.

                “Oh my god! My perfect face!” He gasped, prodding at his nose and wincing in pain. He snapped the compact shut and shifted his gaze to you. A flick of his head knocked his bangs back, revealing the right side of his face. There was a black metal plate surrounding a sharp, glowing pink eye, which was glaring at you with renewed vigor.

                “I was going to go easy on you,” he growled, eyes flashing as he took a step forward, “but I think I’d better finish this up before you break something else.” His pink soul flashed, and several mini-Mettatons appeared, composed of magic. They flew towards you, shooting small yellow bolts of energy.

                Movemovemovemovemove!!!

                You dodged, missing most of the bolts (which burnt the bark away), but caught one in the shoulder.

                FRISK      LV 1        HP 7/20

                You ran, listening to Chara, who told you which way to duck and turn to avoid the stinging bullets. The dark forest seemed to be closing in around you two as you ran, the lights of Snowdin dimmed and barely visible this late at night.

                “AGH!”

                FRISK      LV 1        HP 4/20

                Shit shit shit!

                You dashed past the fence that separated the forest from a neighborhood of Moldsmals. You dashed past the small, rounded houses and into another small section of forest that blocked the residential areas from Snowdin proper.

                DUCK!

                The warning came too late – a sharp bolt of pain struck you right in the center of your back, sending you stumbling. You fell, hitting the snow with a muffled thud.

                FRISK      LV 1        HP 1/20

                “Hmph. You’re giving me quite a workout tonight.” You struggled to turn over, body thrumming with pain from that last shot. Mettaton was standing several feet down the path, sneering at you. His nose and lip had stopped bleeding. “Ah well, funs over.” He shrugged casually, brushing his hair back and smiling down at you with wide, sharp teeth. “Goodbye, darling!”

                All the fight bled out of you – it was over. You were exhausted and dizzy, and every limb ached from all the unexpected tumbles and attacks. Expression screaming defeat, you slumped back in the snow and looked away, waiting.

                And waiting.

                And waiting.

                Okay, dramatic pauses were a habit of his, but this was ridiculous.

                You looked up, and wondered if you should be surprised or simply relieved at the familiar sight of blue and orange standing between you and raging pink.

                Sans looked as cool as always, one hand shoved casually in his hoodie pockets, rocking back on his slippers. The only indication that he was angry was the bright, flickering iris of his left eye and the slight twitch of his grin. Mettaton’s pink soul had turned a dark purple, and he had been dragged down to his knees in the snow. You could barely see this, though – Papyrus had raised a wall of bones between you and Mettaton, blocking his attacks. The younger skeleton had a look of utter betrayal on his face, though as you watched it hardened and his eye sockets narrowed.

                A twitch of Sans free hand had the remaining mini-Mettaton’s disintegrating into bursts of blue magic. His other hand kept holding Mettaton down, ignoring the robots groan of discomfort at the snow leaking into his joints. As soon as Papyrus was sure his boyfriend was no longer a threat, he dropped his bone wall and fell to his knees beside you. Without a word, he helped you sit up and pulled you onto his lap.

                “Here, human, eat this.” He pulled a cinnamon bun from his scarf and pressed it into your hands. You lifted it to your mouth without consciously thinking about it, nibbling one of the ears and feeling magic sweep through your body, heading to all your injuries. Papyrus didn’t let you go as you ate, watching the bruises and burns on your face and hands disappear as the magic worked.

                “How you holding up, kiddo?” Sans glanced over his shoulder at you both, tightening his fingers ever-so-slightly when Mettaton shifted, sending the robot face-first into the snow.

                “I’m okay,” you mumbled around the last of the cinnamon bun. Papyrus picked you up in his arms, bridal style, and stood carefully so he didn’t jolt you too much. Your arms automatically went around his neck, and you shifted so you were sitting up more against his battle-body chest, able to look past Sans at Mettaton.

                Said robot still had his face shoved in the snow, and was yelling into it angrily. What words you could make out were mostly swears and threats. Papyrus moved to stand beside Sans, and both skeletons looked down at the flailing robot with varied expressions.

                Sans was sneering, eye blazing and casting his brows in shadow, making him appear absolutely demonic. On the other hand, Papyrus seemed almost…sad, as well as worried. He squeezed you gently, brows arched sadly above his sockets as he peered down at Mettaton. After a moment, he gave Sans a nearly imperceptible nod. A flick of the smaller skeletons wrist, and his hold over Mettaton’s soul vanished.

                The robot sputtered as he was finally able to push himself up out of the snow. “How. Dare. You!” He snarled angrily, getting to his feet. “Sans, you – Pappy?” He seemed honestly surprised to see the taller skeleton there.

                Papyrus refused to look at him. Instead, he focused on the snow at Mettaton’s feet, absent mindedly rubbing his thumb in circles against your shoulder.

                “Pappy-dear, I-“

                “Don’t.”

                Skeletal fingers tightened around your shoulder, trembling with restrained rage. Papyrus’s right eye was glowing brightly, orange light casting his lantern jaw in fire-like shadows. “Do not call me that,” he hissed. “Do not call me anything.” He turned his back on the robot in one fluid motion. You peeked nervously over his shoulder, not about to let the murderous monster out of your sight. Mettaton looked stunned, and had his hand half-lifted, reaching for the taller skeleton. Sans had moved (silently, of course, and without anybody else noticing) to stand in front of him, stopping him from moving after you both. “We are returning home, brother,” he stated, voice a bit stiff, trying not to display too many emotions.

                “I’ll see you there, bro.” Sans nodded, keeping his brightly burning eye on Mettaton. “Just need to take out the trash first.”

                Mettaton huffed, insulted. “I am not-“ A blue glow snapped his mouth shut and held it there.

                Papyrus strode towards town, his long strides eating up the distance. You watched as Sans used his magic to lift Mettaton into the air and drag him towards the Riverperson, making sure the robot hit every single branch possible.

                The farther you both got from Mettaton, the more you both relaxed. You rested your head against his battle body and tangled one of your hands into his scarf, holding it tightly to ground yourself. Papyrus’ shoulders drooped as the tension bled out of them. In no time at all the skelebros house came into sight. The door was wide open, allowing snow to drift in and melt into the carpet.

                “Why is the door open?” You asked curiously as Papyrus climbed onto the porch and ducked through the doorway.

                Papyrus set you down on the couch and pulled one of the many lap blankets from the back, draping it over you. “We neglected to shut it when rushing out the door after you. Sans heard you yell when he was coming home from Hotland. He grabbed me and we both rushed to your aid.” The skeleton shut the door and slowly slumped onto the couch, as far away from you as possible.

                “I am so sorry, human,” his voice had dropped dramatically, and could even be called a whisper. “This is all my fault.”

                “What?” Your jaw dropped, and you scrambled across the couch to sit on your knees beside him. “Papyrus, no, this isn’t your fault!” You threw your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “It’s mine – I shouldn’t have let him see I was a human! You and Sans both warned me about other monsters attacking me.”

                “No, human,” he shook his head and returned your hug, squeezing you gently. “I am your older brother,” he declared, “and I should have looked after you.”

                “But I was the one who-“

                “It’s Mettaton’s fault,” Sans popped into the room by the front door and shook off his blue outside-slippers in order to pull on his pink indoor ones. “And nobody else can take the blame.” He shuffled over to the couch and plopped down on your other side.

                “And Mettaton is…where?” You asked hesitantly, not liking the gleam in his eyes. You didn’t think Sans would outright kill anybody in a pacifist timeline, but Mettaton had attacked you…

                “He should be back in Hotland by now.” Sans smirked. “I gave the Riverperson strict instructions to get him out of here as quickly as possible.”

                You snorted and snuggled down in the couch, the warmth of the skelebros magic thrumming. Papyrus shifted so you were sitting beside him, his arm draped around your shoulder and tucking you against his side, like a mama bird with a baby in the rain.

                “Human,” he asked softly, “Why did Mettaton attack you?”

                Oh, his voice was so, so sad. You looked down at your lap and played with your fingers, not wanting to see the sorrowful look on his face. “He said he wanted to go Aboveground and be a movie star for the humans,” one of your hands curled over your chest, feeling the steady thrum of your healed soul beneath it. “To do that, he needs my SOUL.”

                Papyrus whimpered and hugged you tightly to his side. “Don’t worry, human! I will protect you from anyone who wants to harm you or take your SOUL!” He pressed his teeth to your forehead. “That is what big brothers do!”

                “Did you adopt Frisk without telling me?” Sans asked, poking your ribs and getting a giggle out of you. Papyrus gave him a guilty grin over your head, the mood beginning to pick up.

                “Maybe,” the bigger skeleton grinned mischievously, tugging you closer to his side. Sans simply scooted over, completing the skelebro-sandwich.

                “Nice, I’ve always wanted another little sibling.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and settled back in the couch, pose relaxed.

                “Hmm,” Papyrus peered at his brother, then at you. “I believe we need a familial sleepover!” He snatched you and Sans off the couch, one over each shoulder, and charged up the stairs. You squeaked in surprise, while Sans merely began snoring, used to the treatment.

                In no time at all, he had you and Sans tucked into his large bed (it was a two-seater sports car, after all, with a full-sized mattress), you in the middle, Sans by the wall, Papyrus on the outside. He had his new book in hand, and as soon as he’d tucked both of you in he began to read.

                “Hide and Seek with Fluffy Bunny,” his smooth voice rolled over you, and you snuggled into the big, fluffy pillows he had pulled out of his closet just for the occasion. “One morning in the meadow, Fluffy Bunny asked his friends if they wanted to play hide and seek…”

                You drifted off to his voice, pushing away all the worrying, conflicting thoughts of Mettaton’s attack, your sudden initiation into the skelebro clan, and the gnawing, persistent hunger in your stomach.

Chapter Text

                The week only went downhill from there.

                Papyrus moped around the house, defeat in ever line of his body. Overnight, everything branded MTT or featuring Mettaton’s face was gone. You suspected everything was shoved in the back of Sans closet, beside the shoebox full of knives and the boxes of odd equipment. Sans did his best to cheer up his brother, even picking his sock up out of the living room and taking his pet rock for a walk. It took a day for him to notice but he thanked his brother and cheered up a bit. Things had almost returned to normal…then you fainted.

                It was Friday, a week from when Mettaton had visited and screwed everything up, and the lunch rush was drawing to an end. The dog guards had left, tails wagging as you made sure to give each one a pet before they went through the door. You’d bussed their table, sweeping the licked-clean plates into a plastic tub and wiping the table off with a damp rag. With the tub resting on your hip, you turned and headed for the bar. You made it three steps before everything seemed to lurch to one side. The tub slipped from suddenly numb fingers and tumbled to the floor, sending the dishes clattering across the hardwood floor.

                You were not far behind the plates, vision going fuzzy as you collapsed. You were only unconscious for a few seconds – when your eyes cleared, the floor was still kissing your cheek, and the bar was silent in surprise. You’d barely blinked and gotten your bearings before warm hands were helping you sit up. Grillby had jumped clear over the bar, startling the other patrons.

                “Are you alright?” The normally soft, crackly voice carried oddly loud in the silent bar.

                You shoved your bangs out of your eyes and gave him a shaky grin. “Sorry,” you apologized immediately. “I must have stood up too fast after grabbing the dishes.” You glanced at said dishes, and felt your heart drop. “Oh, shit! I’m so, so sorry!” The plates had shattered, leaving a big mess of ceramic and left-over wet food. “I’ll get it cleaned up!”

                “Nonsense,” Grillby said sternly, helping you stand up and guiding you past the broken mess. He led you around the bar and into the back room, making you sit down on the couch. “Stay here until you feel better, unless you want to go home early?”

                “No, no, I’ll be fine!” You reassured him. He nodded, grabbed the broom from the corner, and left to take care of your mess. As soon as the door swung shut, you dropped your head in your hands with a groan.

                I warned you, Chara muttered from the back of your mind.

                “Warned me about what?” You leaned back on the couch, closing your eyes as the world tilted ever-so-slightly once more.

                You’re working too hard, and you haven’t been eating enough. You’re making yourself sick!

                “I’m fine,” you groaned.

                I’m not sure why I bother anymore – you’re not going to listen, are you? You didn’t say anything, and Chara huffed. Thought not. Fine. Take care of yourself.

                The pressure in the back of your mind vanished, leaving you alone for the first time in a while. You ignore the sudden emptiness, dragging yourself back to work.

                The rest of your shift went off without a hitch – several of the patrons asked if you were okay, and you reassured them that you were fine. Grillby made you drink some water and eat a piece of toast before letting you get back to work. By eight o’clock, you had more tips rattling in your pocket than normal and were planning to drop by the shop tomorrow and see if there was anything for sale that could cheer up Papyrus.

                The bar was empty by this point – there was a large storm coming in from Hotlands, and everyone had left early to bunker down at home before it hit. Grillby waved you off when you offered to help him shut down – he was closing early as well, seeing no point in keeping the bar open when nobody was coming.

                “DARLING!”

                The door banged open and bounced off the wall, making both you and Grillby jump. The fire monster leapt over the bar (again) and grabbed the back of your collar, dragging you behind him as Mettaton strutted in, shining from head to toe.

                “Frisk, dear, I’ve been looking all over town for you!” The robot cooed as he shut the door with a sweep of his heel. His arms were full of boxes, bags, and a large bouquet of flowers. “What are you still doing in this dingy bar, love? There’s a storm moving in, you know!”

                Grillby bristled a bit at the ‘dingy bar’ comment, his flames licking a few inches higher than normal. He threw his arms out wide, blocking you from the dramatic monster. “We are closed.” He growled, voice sounding less like a campfire and more like a raging inferno destroying a building.

                “Terribly sorry, dear,” Mettaton simpered, trying to look apologetic. “I simply had to have a word with my dear friend Frisk!” He took a step to the side, trying to peer at you around the bartender’s side. Grillby shifted to right, keeping you shielded from sight.

                “You need to leave,” he growled, voice firm and dangerous.

                “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Mettaton dropped the bags and boxes on the table the dog guards always sat at. “I simply can’t wait any longer to apologize!” He draped himself artfully across the table, batting his eye lashes and clutching the bouquet to his chest.

                Grillby began to burn hotter, though the flames that licked your hands and arms didn’t hurt. You peeked around the infuriated fire monster at the flamboyant robot. He was gazing at Grillby, but as soon as you appeared his eyes flickered to you. The pout on his face changed into that same, sincere smile he’d had a week ago, when he’d first greeted you at home.

                “You really want to apologize?” You kept a frown on your face, not looking away from his piercing pink gaze. Grillby twitched but didn’t say anything, simply staying between you both in order to act as a shield.

                “Why of course, darling!” Mettaton seemed wounded at the thought of being disingenuous about such a thing. He righted himself, sitting on the edge of the table and crossing one elegant leg over the other. “I simply feel terrible about what I did last week – I haven’t been able to get any beauty sleep since then!” When this comment garnered no sympathy from either of you, he pouted a bit before rearranging his face into a more apologetic mask. “I rushed over here as quickly as I could (once I was done filming for the week) in order to tell you how incredibly sorry I am!”

                “What, exactly, are you sorry for?” Grillby raised a fiery eyebrow, moving so his arms were crossed over his chest instead of spread out wide.

                The robot nibbled on his bottom lip for a moment, before biting the bullet. “Why, for attacking dear Frisk, of course!”

                “You. Did. What?” Grillby didn’t shout – instead his voice became deadly quiet, despite his flames flickering blue and white around the edges. You hadn’t mentioned the attack to him – nobody aside from you, the skelebros and Mettaton knew what had happened.

                The bartender shifted to move towards the robot, and you threw your arms around his waist, digging your heels against the hardwood floor to try and slow him down. “Wait, wait, don’t kill him!” You gasped into the back of his vest. Grillby wasn’t just the bartender; he was the bars bouncer, as well. You’d seen him pick Undyne up and throw her out into the snow when she’d gotten too rowdy one night. There was no doubt in your mind that he could melt Mettaton with barely a thought.

                Grillby stopped, but when Mettaton smirked at him, he forced his flames to flare dangerous. “Only because you ask, Frisk.” His grin widened when Mettaton began to pout.

                “Frisk,” he decided not to pick a fight with the fully grown monster, “I have thought long and hard over my actions last week, and I must say that I am truly, completely sorry.” You peeked out from behind Grillby, still not able to believe that the pompous (if good-natured) robot was apologizing. The distrust must have shown on your face. “Oh please, darling, I had plenty of time to think of my actions when I was untangling myself! I’m being one-hundred percent sincere!”

                “…untangling yourself?” Grillby asked.

                The robot flushed bright pink. “Ah, well, Sans was rather displeased with me…”

                Grillby had the good grace to cover his laughter by coughing into his fist several times, while you merely buried your head in his back and muffled your giggles in his back. “ANY-way,” Mettaton had a perfect little purse to his lips, but his brow jerked in an annoyed tick. “I truly, truly am sorry, darling. What must I do to prove it?”

                He sounded like he meant it. You dropped your arms (which had been hugging Grillby) and moved to stand beside him instead of behind him. “I’ll accept your apology,” you said slowly, and his face lit up, “IF,” his face froze, “you apologize to the other person you hurt.”

                “Darling, I didn’t touch anybody else!” Mettaton protested immediately, looking hurt. You didn’t say anything – just frowned hard at him. “Who do you-“ His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Oh my! Papyrus! I have to apologize to my dear Papyrus!” He gasped, dropping the bouquet he’d managed to strangle half-to-death. “I must go to him right away!” He turned to rush out of the building.

                “Wait!” You darted past Grillby to the dog guards table and gathered up the boxes and package of chocolates he had brought. You pressed them into his arm. “Here, he’ll want these more than I do.”

                Mettaton blinked in surprise, then nodded and beamed at you. “Oh thank you darling! I’ll go see him right now!” He turned and rushed away once more, the door slamming loudly behind him. You and Grillby stood in the sudden, calm silence for a few moments, trying to process what had just happened.

                “Well,” Grillby finally straightened and adjusted his vest and dress shirt. “Would you like to stay a few more hours? The storm should not hit ‘til midnight; you are welcome to stay until then.”

                “I thought you were closing?” You pointed out curiously.

                “I am,” he turned back to the bar, “but I assume you would rather stay here and indulge me in a game of cribbage, than go home and listen to Mettaton attempt to apologize again?”

                That gave you pause. “Uh, yeah. Cribbage sounds good.” You followed him to the bar, perching on a stool while he pulled out the board and a deck of fire-proof cards.

                You even managed to eat some of pretzels he brought out for the two of you to share.

                The house was quiet when you arrived home, but you didn’t burst in like last time. Instead, you opened the front door as slowly as possible and peeked inside. There was a one-of-a-kind sight waiting you in the living room.

                Papyrus and Mettaton were completely entangled together, laying across the couch. The skeleton was fast asleep, snoring softly, while Mettaton pressed his ear against said skeletons chest, his own (newly repaired) nose wrinkling as he slumbered. On the coffee table before the couch (a new addition from the dump) all the presents had been unwrapped, revealing several Mettaton-shaped gifts and a Mettaton-shaped box of chocolates (which were also shaped like Mettaton). On the other side of the table stood Sans, who looked torn between tearing the two apart, and letting his brother sleep peacefully for the first time in a week.

                He nodded to you as you snuck inside, kicking off your boots by the door and hanging up your coat. You nodded back, glanced at the couch, and grinned widely at the eldest brother. With a wink, you grabbed a handful of chocolates and dodged his noogie to get to your room.

                A quick costume change into your pajamas, and you were flopping into your bed, nibbling on one of the chocolates and waiting patiently.

                Is that…chocolate?

                Ah, it only took two raspberry-crème bonbons to pull her out of hiding.

                “Maybe.”

                You picked out a coconut filled one and bit it in half.

                …can I have a taste?

                “Maybe,” you repeated, popping the rest in your mouth. “Promise to stop harassing me about eating?”

                …no. But, well…I can try?

                “Close enough.” You handed over control of your body, and Chara managed to mutter a ‘thank you’ before stuffing herself with the rest of the chocolate.

Chapter Text

“Come now, Pappy-dear, you’ve barely touched your ravioli!”

                “C’mon bro, it’s just like spaghetti, only  in – pillow form.”

                “If you say so brother…”

                “C’mon, big bro! You have to set a good example for me, don’t you?”

                “Mmm…”

                “See, darling? It’s not so bad!”

                “Wowie! This is – there’s so much cheese! And sauce! This is very good, despite its lack of noodles!”

                You pushed your own ravioli around on your plate, grinning as Papyrus finally began demolishing his own helping. Mettaton, upon learning that Papyrus loved spaghetti more than life itself, had decided to introduce a variety of Italian dishes to the skeleton household. You and Sans were enjoying the break from the long, messy noodles. Papyrus seemed unsure, but though he hesitated with both new dish, he invariable declared them to be perfectly acceptable substitutes.

                The movie/tv/music/magazine/novel/everything star had become a semi-permanent fixture around the small house in Snowdin. He took the ferry down from Hotland several times a week in order to spend his evenings with Papyrus (and, by extension, you and (grudgingly) Sans). Every Sunday, when he didn’t have any movies or shows to record, he swept Papyrus away to Hotland, the Core, and New Home on extravagant dates. The skeleton always returned with a souvenir or gift for you and Sans, as though he’d gone to another country instead of a few hours away.

                You were fairly sure Sans had lost a few centimeters of his smile thanks to grinding his teeth while Papyrus and Mettaton snuggled on the couch. The older skeleton didn’t approve of their relationship – he’d developed a tick that started over his right eye whenever the two made any kind of physical contact. You did your best to distract him but, well, it was funnier to just sit back and watch.

                Fooooooood!

                Chara’s prodding brought you back to the present, and you speared one of the cheese raviolis and popped it in your mouth. You had been eating more, what with Mettaton popping by with delicious food every other night. Chara had, true to word, tried to back off her nagging. Though when there was food in front of you, she urged you to eat until you were full.      

                You hadn’t put on any weight, despite eating more at the ghosts urging. All your pants were now being held up by a make-shift unseen belt made of some extra material from Papyrus’s sewing basket, and if you removed your shirt you could see the curve of your ribs pressing against your skin. Chara made disapproving noises whenever you were in front of the mirror, but never said anything specific about how you looked.

                A bottle of nail polish hid your nails, which had started to turn yellow at the edges and were splitting whenever they caught on something – even a loose thread managed to leave you with a ragged edge in need of a manicure. The skin on your hands and arms began to crack, growing dry despite herbal lotions and long baths. All along the inside of your elbows, knees, and the backs of your hands ached as the skin dried and cracked, leaking blood and leaving deep cuts behind. A piece of monster candy healed the skin up in no time, but the ailment simply returned. At Chara’s urging you began carrying a bottle of water with you everywhere, and tried to drink whenever you began feeling hungry or dizzy. It worked for a while, even your hands started looking better.

                To Papyrus’ disappointment, you didn’t join him outside on his rounds anymore. You claimed you were tired from work, or that you had things to do around the house. He would sigh, you’d promise to come tomorrow, and he’d bound away with a ‘Nyeh-heh-heh!” You never followed through, though – it was simply far too cold outside. You didn’t know why the cold suddenly bothered you so much. A month before, and in all the other runs, it had never gotten to you in such a manner. You’d enjoyed playing in the snow when you had a chance, building forts and engaging in snowball fights with the skelebros. Even layering on as many shirts and socks as possible didn’t help – it felt like you were walking out stark naked, the way the cold ate at you.

                So you avoided it, only leaving the warmth of the house to go to and return from work.

                Work wasn’t going that great either. You’d started getting orders mixed up and delivering the wrong meals to the wrong people (except the canine guard – nobody else ordered kibble). You hadn’t had another fainting spell, but sometimes your hands shook and you had to hurry to put your serving tray down before spilling everything. You’d gotten lucky so far – it was a small bar, and a steady surface was always only a few steps away.

                Grillby – who somehow managed to have eagle-eyes despite lacking the actual organs – had noticed, and cornered you one night to interrogate you about your health. You bluffed your way out of it, insisting that you were simply tired thanks to Mettaton’s constant visits and late-night movie marathons. He frowned and insisted that you take better care of yourself, threatening to speak with Sans about it. You rushed to reassure him that you were fine, and promised to get more sleep.

                Another bite, please?

                Your wandering mind was snapped back to the present, and you obliged Chara and shoved more ravioli in your mouth. Papyrus had cleaned his plate, as had Mettaton (who was popping his last bite in his mouth while giving Papyrus a rather teasing, sensual smile). Sans was almost done, but was still nibbling at his pasta. He’d soaked his plate in ketchup instead of sauce, and was trying to use his ravioli to gather up as much as he could. Waste not, want not, after all.

                You still had half your serving left, and your stomach felt like a swollen balloon. It was more than you’d eaten in a while, and you hoped both Chara and Sans would be satisfied with that.

                “Darling, you’ve barely touched your meal!” Mettaton gasped dramatically as he dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief he kept in one of his hip-compartments.

                “I’m sorry, Mettaton.” You set your fork down on the edge of the plate and ignored Sans glance, giving him your Sweet, Sincere Smile (patent pending). “It’s really good, I’m just not very hungry. Is it alright if I stick it in the fridge and finish it later?”

                “Oh of course, darling!” Mettaton cooed, fluttering his lashes. The robot was still incredibly apologetic about the whole ‘attack you and steal your soul to rule the aboveground through Hollywood’, and you’d found that if you used your smile and tilted your head just so, he would melt like putty in your hands.

                “Fret not, human!” Papyrus quickly popped up from the table, and only a twitch of Sans magic kept his chair from crashing to the floor behind him. “I will store your food properly so that you may enjoy it later!” He swept up his and Mettaton’s empty plates in one hand, and your half-done meal in the other. The robot had gotten his boyfriend a full set of Pyrex dishes (both round and square), and Papyrus used them every chance he got. Now, he carefully scrapped the leftovers into one of the bowls, popped the lid on, and set it in the fridge among the copious stacks of leftover spaghetti.

                The rest of the evening was spent watching one of Mettaton’s newer movies, with a voice-over provided by said robot. Sans grumbled about it a few times, but seeing Papyrus’ enraptured face at learning behind-the-scenes facts about one of his favorite movies forced his mouth shut. As soon as the film was done, you bid everybody goodnight, using the excuse that you had work in the morning to keep from being drawn into another movie.

                You flopped onto your bed after several hugs and goodnight wishes. Despite not doing anything stressful, or even moving around that much, you felt exhausted. You dragged every spare blanket in the house over you, creating a seven-layer cocoon of warmth. Part of your pay had gone to several new, fluffy pillows, which lined the bed against the wall, creating a nest to snuggle down into.

                You ate more today. I’m proud of you!

                A smile wormed across your lips at the praise. Encouraging words, while not rare among the monsters, were still novel enough that they made you warm and cozy when they were directed your way. “Thanks,” you muttered into a fuzzy bright-green pillows. Warm affection flooded over from Chara’s soul, and chased away some of the cold from the night.

                Grillby was not a happy boss.

                He watched as you nearly tripped, despite nothing being in the way of your feet. You barely kept the tray of drinks straight, swinging your hips slightly in order to rebalance yourself. Luckily, you were at your table. You quickly put the tray down and passed out the drinks, sharing pleasantries with the customers. The trip back to the bar was successful, nothing tripping you up.

                The rest of the lunch rush went the same way. You stumbled a few times, but never fell or dropped anything. As soon as the rush was over and the canine guard had departed, he made you sit down on one of the stools.

                “But what about the dishes?” You protested, pointing to the stack of dirty plates in the bussing tub. He shook his head, crossing his arms and moving so he was facing you across the bar.

                “You are exhausted,” he accused in his soft, crackly voice. You’d found that the more you listened, the easier it was to hear and understand him.

                You shrugged, leaning against the bar. “Mettaton visited with his newest movie last night, that’s all.” You insisted. “I’m just a little tired.”

                “You can barely stand!” His flames flared in annoyance. The few bar patrons left – the regulars who spent all day there – glanced over at his slightly-raised voice, but quickly looked away at the sight of his lashing flames. They knew better than to interrupt or eavesdrop when the bartender looked that serious.

                “I’m fine.” You insisted, dropping your voice so nobody else could hear. Grillby looked ready to argue more, when the bell above the door dinged.

                “’ey Sans!”

                “Sansy~!”

                “Where you been, Sans-Man?!”

                “Ah, good. Sans.”

                You cringed at the satisfaction in Grillby’s voice. The skeleton greeted everyone and hauled himself onto the bar stool beside you and gave the bartender a wide grin.

                “’sup, Grillbs?” He asked, slumping half-over the bar in his normal manner, fingers tapping as he waited for a ketchup. When none was forthcoming, he glanced up at the bartender curiously. The look of annoyance on the flame monsters face made him jerk upright. “Whoa, what did I do?” He asked, caught between concerned and confused.

                “Frisk is not feeling well,” Grillby said, keeping his voice even. “Would you please make sure they go home and rests?”

                Sans shot a concerned look between you and Grillby, nodding slowly. “Yeah, sure thing.” He swung off his stool and touched your arm. “C’mon, kiddo, lets head home.” You didn’t get a chance to protest – his fingers, despite being made of bone, were as firm as steel. Scowling, you followed him out of the small bar.

                The skeleton didn’t say anything as you walked towards home. The streets of Snowdin were quiet – it was early afternoon now. The monster children were in school. While the grown-ups were either at work in town or away in the Core or New Home. Sans did keep a hand around your arm, not in a painful grip but in a ‘we have something to talk about when we get home and you’re not dodging me’ way.

                “SANS!”

                Apparently both you had been drifting in thought, because Papyrus’ yell had you both jumping. You turned as the younger skeleton ran up, looking excited about something. So excited, in fact, he forgot how to stop.

                You barely had time to squeak before he crashed right into you, sending you both head-over-heels in the snow. You could hear Sans swearing and panicking, but a distracting feeling derailed you from learning some interesting new words.

                Papyrus had, completely accidentally, triggered a battle. He scrambled off you, looking panicked at his blunder. “Human, I am so, so sorry!” He boomed, scrambling upright. You stayed laying in the snow, the world swooping dizzily about you. Your SOUL hovered over your chest, a dim red color that had both skeletons looking worried.

                “Kid,” Sans was leaning over you now, looking almost panicked.

                You blinked, trying to refocus your vision, and noted that Papyrus was also bending over you, looking just as panicked as his brother.

                “Human,” his voice was uncharacteristically soft, “what has happened to your HP?”

                You sat up and glanced at the command screen, and immediately understood their concern.

                FRISK      LV 1        HP 4/4

Chapter Text

                “What. The. Hell. Kid.”

                It wasn’t a question – more an exclamation of disbelief. You didn’t answer – you didn’t have an answer. You stared numbly at the dim heart floating in your hands, and the numbers displayed beyond it.

                FRISK      LV 1        HP 4/4

                Oh god – when had you lost stamina? Or – or health? That’s what it stood for, right? Health points? That’s what all the video games Aboveground called it. This didn’t make any sense – in all your runs, you’d never gone below having twenty HP as a base stat.

                “Human,” a glove-covered hand touched your cheek, lifting your gaze away from the shocking battle display. Papyrus’ fingers were warm through the fabric, and you automatically leaned into them as he tilted your face, his fingers shaking. It wasn’t until Papyrus had both his hands cupping your face that you realized he was perfectly still – you were the one shaking. He rubbed one thumb in soothing circles along your cheek, just below your eye, trying to drag your attention from the panicked fugue that had taken over.

                “It’s alright, Frisk,” he murmured, and you jolted a bit at hearing your name fall from his teeth instead of his normal ‘human!’ “You will be alright.”

                Papyrus is sparing you.

                It took you a moment to drag your hand from your lap to hit the ‘MERCY’ button, and then select ‘SPARE.’ The world became a bit clearer as the command screen blipped out of view. The second it was gone, Papyrus gathered you into his arms, hugging you against his chest.

                “C’mon Paps, let’s get them home.”

                Sans strode ahead of you both, moving faster than you’d ever seen. Papyrus’ long strides easily kept up with his brother, though the smaller skeleton still got there first. His entire frame was taunt like a bow string, drawn and ready to fire. He held the door open, and as Papyrus passed him you got a glimpse of his face. His normal smile was absent, teeth dragged into a tight grimace. The normally bright lights of his eyes had darkened until they were barely visible.

                Papyrus set you on the couch, right in the middle where you normally sat. His own smile was drooping a bit. He fidgeted, not sitting but apparently not willing to leave your side, either.

                “Paps,” Sans was still standing by the door, though now he had his cellphone out and was tapping on the screen. “I need you to go to Hotland and get Alphys. She knows you’re coming.” His phone vibrated against his boney palm, creating an odd cacophony of noise. “Tell the Riverperson it’s an emergency – they’ll get you there in no time.”

                Papyrus looked much less anxious now that he’d been given a task. He nodded to his brother, turning to dash out the door. Mid-step he stopped, turned back to you, and began unwrapping the scarf from his neck.

                “HUMAN!” he boomed, and you were oddly elated to hear the nickname in his thunderous voice. “I will not need my scarf in Hotland! I am tasking you with the very important mission of looking after it while I am gone!” He leaned forward and carefully tucked the fabric around your neck and shoulders. He tugged it gently so it hung just right, long end dangling over your left shoulder. Before he straightened, his teeth brushed your forehead in a skelekiss. “I will return soon with the good doctor!” Without further ado, he rushed out the door.

                As soon as his footfalls faded, the front door slammed shut hard enough to make the bone painting on the second floor shudder and fall off the wall. Your head snapped to the side, but Sans wasn’t by the door anymore. You swung your gaze back to the front, and was met with a very, very unhappy Sans.

                His eyes were black – no pupils, not even a glimmer of light. Your mind flickered back to the countless encounters in the Judgement Hall, of his dark eyes and unwavering grin as he proceeded to beat the shit out of Chara and you. You shuddered and sank back in the couch cushions, swallowing audibly. In the back of your mind, Chara shrank and shook, her own memories consuming her attention. His eye flared blue, and in a flash your orange hoodie was gone, leaving you in just your white button-down shirt you used for work. It was a gift from Mettaton – short sleeved, made of a light cotton with pearl-capped buttons.

                “Arms,” he growled, voice deep and flat. You complied automatically, not wanting him to turn threatening. His boney fingers encircled your wrists as he leaned closer, examining the pale-white skin of your arms. There were no new marks – none that he could see on your arms, at least. The only blemishes were the seven pink-red scars left over from your freak out nearly – god, three months ago.

                Sans growled, but his eyes weren’t on your scars or arms – they were on your wrists. Several months ago there had been a lot more chub around the bones. Now, he could most likely wrap his fingers around each wrist twice. He dropped one wrist, and used the other to pull you upright. Another snap of his fingers, and your nice work shirt was gone, crumpled on the floor, and sure to be wrinkled by tomorrow.

                If anybody other than Sans had tried this, you were fairly sure you would have slapped them and run for the nearest shirt. Instead you just stood there, one arm hanging at your side, the other still within the skeletons grasp. Said skeleton was staring at your stomach and chest, and his eyes seemed to darken even more.

                His free hand reached up and brushed against your ribs, which stood out starkly against your skin. You weren’t nearly as thin as some of the pictures you’d seen in health class, when your teacher talked about eating disorders. Still, your ribs and hipbones were far too visible for anyone healthy.

                “Kid,” Sans voice sounded more strained than dead now. “When did you start losing HOPE?”

                That – that made no sense. You hadn’t lost any hope. At least, you didn’t think you had. Was hope a quantifiable resource in the Underground? You’d – you’d lost your health, but did that have anything to do with hope? Your confusion must have shown on your face.

                “You – you do know that’s what HP stands for, right?” Sans actually sounded surprised. “HP stands for HOPE.” At your blank expression. “HOPE is – it’s sort of like your will, if that makes sense. Your will to keep going, to keep surviving, to complete whatever you need to. Kiddo, once it drops like that…” His voice trailed off, and you could easily see his 1 HP stat flashing in your mind’s eye. “You might never get it back up.”

                Sans grabbed your arms as your knees went weak, catching you before you could collapse on the floor. He lowered you onto the couch, and with a snap of his fingers your orange hoodie was back. He carefully tucked Papyrus’ scarf back into place around your neck and shoulders. His hands trembled ever-so-slightly – no wait, that was you again.

                “Stay here,” Sans ordered, his voice uncommonly serious and firm. “I’m going to get you something to eat.” He walked – actually walked, no shortcut – into the kitchen. You listened, slumping back in the fluffy pillows listlessly.

                So HP stood for HOPE, not HEALTH like you originally thought. You didn’t – you didn’t think you’d been losing HOPE. You were safe and happy and healthy – well, not really the last one but still. It was better than aboveground, where you were simply ignored or pushed to the side. Since you’d sliced up your arm, you hadn’t thought of killing yourself. Not directly – not in those words, exactly. You’d thought of death plenty of times, but not of taking your life.

                So you hadn’t really lost hope, had you? You hadn’t thought of giving up – of giving in. So then why – why was your HOPE going down? Perhaps forever? If…if you ran out of HOPE, would you just drop dead?

                No.

                Ah, Chara had reappeared. Her voice was wobbly and strained.

                I won’t let you.

                “Aren’t you supposed to be saying ‘I told you so?’” You asked her quietly, keeping one eye on the kitchen doorway.

                I didn’t tell you so, Chara corrected, and she sounded – guilty? I should have noticed your HP dropping earlier. I – I knew not eating would make you feel bad, but I didn’t think it would affect your HP like that…

                “It’s fine,” you whispered, looking down at his lap.

                No it’s not. I said I’d look after you, remember?

                “We’re the same age,” you pointed out, pulling your knees against your chest. “It’s – it’s okay, we both learned from this.”

                …I’m glad you’re staying with Sans. He’ll take care of you.

                “Cheh. Sans is going to hate me.”

                “Well that’s a bit of a leap, kiddo.”

                You nearly jumped out of your skin as the cushion beside you dipped, Sans settling into his regular spot. His eyes were lit, shining brightly in his sockets once more. They dimmed when you looked at him, though. He still wasn’t smiling, teeth fixed in a straight line that didn’t portray much of his emotions. There was a green mug in his hands, and as soon as he had your attention he pushed it into yours. The warmth curled through your fingers and up your arms, seeming to seep straight into your soul.

                You rested the mug on top of your knees, not taking a sip of whatever he’d given you. It smelled good, though – slightly salty, maybe some kind of broth? You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the scent.

                When you didn’t move for several minutes, Sans let out a weak chuckle. “You’ve gotta eat it, kid.” He nudged your side, gentle enough that he didn’t upset the mug. You sighed but pressed your lips to the rim, sipping on the warm chicken broth. Your stomach, which you hadn’t even noticed was aching, rumbled in appreciation, and you obliged and took a bigger gulp.

                “Let’s get something straight, kid.” Sans shifted so he was facing you, his back resting against the arm of the couch. You kept facing forward refusing to make eye contact, until his magic grabbed you, lifted you a foot off the couch, and twisted you around to face him. You squeaked a bit, but stayed still to avoid sloshing the delicious broth from the mug. He set you down, but didn’t let up his magic. You didn’t mind – it felt warm and protective, like a blanket made of happy thoughts. It also kept your head facing forward, unable to look away from the skeleton.

                “Frisk,” his eyes were bright again, though his voice was deadly-serious. “I will never hate you. It would be impossible for me to hate you.” He leaned forward ever-so-slightly, the intensity in his gaze and posture cementing the truth to his words. “You’re just as much a sibling to me as Papyrus is. In the past few months, he’s been happier than I’ve ever seen him before. He loves having you around, and taking care of you – cooking for you, reading to you, talking to you. He’s having so much fun being a big brother.

                “And Undyne – I never thought anybody could make her act as wimpy as she does around you! She adores you kid – always asks how you are when I see her at my station or at Grillby’s. She rambles on about how your cooking lessons are going, or how wimpy your attacks are,” he chuckled a bit at the last part, and you had to crack a smile too.

“Going to Grillby’s has gotten better too, because I know you’re going to be there, smiling and serving everybody. They all love you, you know – they think you’re amazing and smart and kind, and you always have a smile, and never get angry, even when Tooth spilled those drinks all over you by accident. And Grillby – well, he’s actually had time to relax a bit. His flame isn’t as high anymore – he’s able to talk to his customers and spend more time being a host instead of running himself to embers trying to serve everybody. I actually got him to laugh at one of my puns the other day! It’s been ages since he found me funny.”

                You didn’t say anything – you didn’t think you could. He didn’t seem bothered by your silence, though. “You’ve been making my life better too. I’ve actually been putting effort into my jobs.” This pulled a slight smile out of you. “I’ve had to check more joke books out of the librarby, just to make sure I have new ones to make you smile. You make it worth getting up in the morning so I eat breakfast with you and Papyrus. Kid, you make every day so much better.”

                When had you started crying? Sans took the mug from your hands and set it on the floor. He then cupped your face between his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t you understand how much we all love you?” He paused, eyeing you closely before leaning back, dropping his hands. A bright white glow began beneath his hoodie, and a moment later his SOUL popped out, hovering between his hands.

                SANS      LV 0        HP 2/2

                Your jaw dropped, and you couldn’t do more than stare at the line of text beneath his soul. In all the runs, in all the timelines, in every iteration of yours and Sans relationship, his HP had never gotten beyond one. 1/1. One. Single. Point.

                “Don’t you see it, kid?” His soul dissipated and he cupped your face in his warm, tingling hands. “You’ve given Papyrus, Grillby, Undyne, me, hope. Hope for a better life. Hope for a better world. You’ve given us all so much HOPE – please, trust us to give you some back.”

                Your tears were falling more quickly now, and you had to blink several times to keep your vision from going completely blurry. He released his magic and pulled you forward into his arms, hugging you tightly.

                “We love you, kid. I love you.”

                He was so, so warm and soft. You wrapped your arms around his back, clinging to him as tightly as possible.

                “Please, Frisk, don’t give up hope.”

Chapter Text

                Sans hadn’t moved. He hadn’t let you go either. The two of you spent a comfortable half-an-hour slumped against each other on the couch, clinging to one another. The skeleton had, with a twitch of magic, moved you so you were lying on your side, head cradled on his lap, your favorite fuzzy blanket tucked around you. It was very tranquil and relaxing, until Papyrus arrived.

                The front door was kicked in, killing the quiet mood in half a second. Papyrus galloped in, carrying a large duffel bag and several thick books.

                “BROTHER, WE’VE RETURNED!” He trumpeted, carefully setting the bag and books on the long table by the door. You (reluctantly) sat up as Sans straightened up and gave his brother an odd look.

                “Where’s Alphys?” He asked. The answer immediately came in the form of Undyne, who was carrying the small, blushing, stuttering scientist in her buff arms. She stomped in, boots tracing slush along the carpet.

                “Here’s your nerd!” The captain chimed happily as she set the scientist down, though her hand lingered on the scientist’s shoulder for a few seconds longer than necessary.

                “And your fabulous boyfriend-in-law!” Mettaton was right behind them, dressed like a snow bunny (the human skiing kind, not the Snowdin village kind). He swung shut the door and took off his bright-pink hat, scarf, and gloves, which Papyrus eagerly took. “Now, where is my sweet little Frisk?” He demanded, glancing around the room (and ignoring Sans steel-melting glare). It took only a moment for him to spot you, and quicker than Sans could teleport he was there, sweeping you up off the couch in at tight hug.

                “Oh darling, you’re much too light!” The robot whined, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close. “And too thin! Just what have Sans and Pappy been feeding you!” To be fair, the robot was oblivious to your less-than-stellar eating habits. That didn’t make the furious expression on Sans face any less scary.

                “Uh, M-M-Mettaton,” Alphys was set down beside the table by Undyne, and both women began to strip off their snow wear. The scientist eyed the skeleton on the couch warily, chewing on her bottom lip as Undyne helped her with her jacket. “I think you should put Frisk down…”

                The robot gave his creator/friend a clueless look. “Why, darling? We’re just saying hello!” He relented and set you down, though. Sans skull smoothed back into casual indifference, though his eyes sparked dangerously when Mettaton pressed a kiss against your forehead. “Mwah! So, darling, what is all this I hear about you being sick?”

                “Oh, it’s nothi-“

                “The humans HP has dropped to four!”

                “WHAT?”

                “Oh my!”

                You were immediately re-smothered by Mettaton, who hugged you even tighter than before. “Darling, darling, no! What has happened, dear?” He smoothed your bangs back from forehead.

                “Yo, twerp! What’s going on?” Undyne pushed past her not-quite-girlfriend to get in your face. “Has someone been bothering you? Just let me know, I’ll make sure they never bug you again!” She barred her teeth like a starving piranha beneath a dangling (and probably quite panicked) cow.

                “Right, that’s enough.” A snap of Sans fingers had you sitting beside him on the couch. “Papyrus, why don’t you and Undyne go make some get-well spaghetti for Frisk? You should probably supervise, Mettaton.”

                Even a blind and deaf man could pick up on the hint Sans was dropping. Undyne jumped on the idea, grabbing Mettaton and Papyrus around the waists and dragging them into the kitchen. “Right! Food for the twerp, we’re on it!” She yelled over her shoulder. Alphys slumped a bit in relief as the boundless energy was sent to another room.

                “Thanks,” Alphys muttered, grabbing her bag off the table. She gave the pair of you a nervous smile. “Um, hello. I’m Dr. Alphys.”

                She was still just as sweet and shy as always. You raised your hand in a small wave, giving her a slight smile. Sans grabbed your hand as you waved and used it to pull you upright alongside him as he stood. “Let’s move up to Papyrus’ room. We don’t want to distract the chefs.” He winked at the both of you.

                In a blink, all three of you were standing in Papyrus’ room, two of you reeling. You sat down heavily on the bed, while Alphys dropped her bag and bent double, spikes trembling as she attempted to quell her queasy stomach.

                “I-I-I hate w-when you d-d-do that, S-Sans!” She whined, shooting him an annoyed look. The skeleton shrugged.

                “What can I say?” He rocked back on his heels cheerfully, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. “I love shocking you.” He winked.

                The monster rolled her eyes as she got her bearings. With a huff, she hauled the bag on top of the bed beside you and unzipped it. Inside were a plethora of odd tools, several electrical components and quite a few syringes in a plastic case.

                “Now, F-Frisk, Sans asked me to g-g-give you a ch-check-up.” She pulled out a stethoscope that was a bit curvier than a human one and hung it around her neck. “I-i-is that alright?”

                You nodded, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The mattress dipped beside you as Sans sat, resting a hand on your back. “Do you want me to stay up here with you? I remember doctor visits being pretty scary when I was a babybones.”

                “Are you calling me a babybones?” You accused, grinning at him.

                “Nah, you’re much braver than that.” He stood, patting your back. “I’m going to go make sure our chefs don’t burn down the house.” With a blink he was gone.

                Alphys fiddled with the stethoscope, eyeing you nervously. “A-a-are you, uh, read-d-d-y to start?”

                You sighed but pulled off your shirt, baring your ribs and hip bones to her. “Yeah,” you grunted, looking away as Alphys gasped at the sight of your bones pressing against your skin. “I’m ready.”

                An hour later, a very apologetic Alphys was putting away her tools, including two vials of your blood and a chart full of your waist, hip, chest, and shoulder measurements, weight, and temperature. You shrugged on a t-shirt Sans had brought up for you, wincing when the sleeve brushed against the growing bruise along the inside of your arm.

                “I’m s-s-sorry,” the lizard said again, fishing a MTT-shaped Band-Aid from the bag and handing it to you.

                “It’s okay,” you reassured her, pressing the sparkly, silver Band-Aid over the needle mark. “I always bruise when people take blood.”

                “S-still,” Alphys zipped up the bag. “A-a-re you ready f-f-for dinner?” You snorted, and she frowned, her eyes darting to your stomach. “I-I-I know you pr-pr-probably don’t want to e-e-eat, but you n-n-need to.”

                Reluctantly, you followed her out of the quiet room and into the chaos that was the first floor. Papyrus and Undyne were sitting on the couch, both splattered with sauce and pouting fiercely. Sans was sitting on the floor beside the couch, leaning against Papyrus’ leg with his hands behind his head, a smirk on his teeth. The TV was on, showing some kind of Mettaton TV special.

                All three looked up when you and the doctor emerged, making you feel like royalty descending the grand staircase at a gala. The sweatpants and t-shirt you had changed into quickly dashed that illusion.

                “HUMAN!” Papyrus stopped sulking immediately, flashing you a bright smile and leaping to his feet, nearly kicking Sans like a smiling soccer ball. “Are you feeling better?” He asked, meeting you at the bottom of the stairs and resting his hand on your head. You’d found that the tall skeleton craved physical contact almost constantly, and you were more than happy to receive his head pats and hugs.

                “Yeah, Paps,” you smiled up at him. “Alphys made me feel a lot better. Um, I thought you and Undyne were making dinner?” You poked at a sauce stain on his chest plate.

                “Mettaton kicked us out,” the skeleton pouted, pulling you over to the couch and sitting you down beside Undyne, who threw her arm around your shoulders and ruffled your hair, turning it into a rat’s nest.

                “Yeah, the dweeb said we weren’t cooking right!” She growled angrily, slamming her other fist down on the arm of the couch, making it creak ominously. She immediately let go of you and scooted closer to the arm as Alphys walked over. “Here, Alph, plenty of room!”

                You moved so the scientist could sit beside her body-building love, wondering if you would need to fix them up in this timeline too. Alphys, blushing, joined you both on the couch. With a ‘Nyeh heh!” Papyrus plopped back down in his spot, pulling you against his side. Sans leaned back against his leg with a lazy sigh, making himself comfy.

                “So, doc, what’s the diagnosis?” Undyne asked loudly.

                Alphys glanced at you, shifting uncomfortably. “Er, Undyne, t-t-that’s not-t allowed,” she pointed out. “D-d-doctor-Pat-tient confidentiality.”

                You sighed, recognizing the hungry gleam in the fish-monster’s eyes. You doubted she would be able to keep her fingers out of your business for long. Not to mention Sans and Papyrus would want to know, since you were living with them. “You can tell them, Alphys,” you muttered, already having heard her diagnosis upstairs. You pushed yourself off the couch, ignoring Papyrus’ soft whine at the loss of contact, and made your way to the kitchen.

                Mettaton was standing at the oven, stirring several pots and keeping an eye on a simmering pan of meat and vegetables. “Frisk, darling!” He cried when he saw you. “I took over the dinner, darling, I hope you don’t mind.” As soon as you reached him he grabbed you around the waist and lifted you to sit on the only clear counter, away from the stovetop. “So, dear, was Dr. Alphys able to help you? She’s the best doctor in the Underground, you know, and my best friend! I’m certain she can fix whatever is ailing you!”

                You snorted. “I just need to eat more, Mettaton, that’s all. Eat more, work less.” You didn’t want to put a name to it, like Alphys had. There was enough wrong with you, you didn’t need another word to add to the list.

                “Mmhmm,” Mettaton paused, head cocked to the side, and it took you a moment to realize that he was eavesdropping on Alphys past the TV and clanging of pots and pans. “Anorexia doesn’t sound like such a simple problem, darling.”

                “I don’t have – ugh. Look, I don’t feel like eating a lot, that’s all. I’m not trying to be skinny or pretty.” You defended, annoyed.

                “That doesn’t matter,” Mettaton said sagely, going back to flipping the meat so it didn’t burn. “People stop eating for lots of reasons.” He tasted the pasta sauce in one of the pots, then added a few more spices to it. “Sometimes it’s because people want to be skinny and pretty, like you said. Other times, it’s because think they need to be punished for some reason, or that they don’t deserve to eat.”  

                Bingo! Chara chimed in the back of your mind, relief sweeping over her soul and into yours. Finally, someone figured it out!

                While Mettaton was distracted getting plates, you tucked your head down. “I swear to god if you say ‘I told you so’ I’m never eating chocolate again.” The relief became more of a pout in response.

                “How do you know so much about, uh, this?” You gestured to yourself, as well as the food cooking on the stove.

                “Alphys, darling. I wasn’t lying when I said she’s the best doctor in the Underground. She’s done extensive research into both physical and mental diseases.” He turned off the stove and pressed the pile of plates into your hands. “Be a doll and set the table, would you?” You slid off the counter and took the plates, quickly setting six places, frowning when you noted there were only four chairs.

                “Despite being made of love and hope and kindness, monsters can get sick just like humans do. Depression, anxiety, eating disorders – we’re vulnerable to them just like humans are. Alphys has studied all of these so that she can help sick monsters feel better. Sometimes, she’s had to deal with monsters who won’t eat.” He poured noodles, vegetables, and the other dishes into serving bowls, which joined the table. “I’ve been called to help when that happens. I remember this one monster – a lovely lion – who stopped eating because he wanted to be able to rock this lacy blue dress I used once in one of my plays. He said he wasn’t skinny enough to be pretty and wear the dress like I did in my show.” The robot shook his head, flipping his hair back from his face. “Darling, everybody looks good in silk and chiffon, even if they don’t know it!”

                You couldn’t help but smile at the obvious affection in Mettaton’s voice – he really did love and cherish his fans. “So Alphys called me, and I had a stern talk with him. I made him promise to start eating, and in exchange I gave him the dress. He’s not the only one, either. Once I helped her speak with a salamander who wasn’t eating because she blamed herself for her parents divorcing.” Mettaton stuck serving spoons in all the dishes and set out drinking glasses. You got up and grabbed a bottle of ketchup from the fridge, setting it beside the last plate.

                “People stop eating for all sorts of reasons, dear, but no matter the why, it’s dangerous.” He turned, giving you his full attention. “Your body needs the energy provided by food in order to function. When you stop eating, you don’t just lose weight. You get dizzy, light headed, become dehydrated and unable to sleep, your nails and hair get brittle, you can’t stand being really cold – and darling, you live in Snowdin, that’s a big problem!” Mettaton pulled you into a tight hug.

                “So,” you sat at the table and looked at him over the steaming bowls of freshly cooked food, “how does this affect my HP? Or – or my HOPE apparently?”

                Mettaton folded himself elegantly into the seat beside you. “Your HOPE, or Hearts Overall Persistent Emotions, is connected not only to your will, but to your health. When you’re happy and healthy, you’re SOUL and HP reflect that. When you’re sad, hurt, and something is negatively affecting your physical health, it’s reflected as well. Physically, you’re skinnier, and pale, and your hair is a little stringy,” he ran his fingers through your hair down to cup your cheek. “Magically, your soul has weakened, and because you’ve been feeling mostly negative thoughts, your HOPE has gone down.” He patted your cheek and stood up.

                “Now, I’m not going to nag you about eating more, because I’m certain my dear Papyrus and his nosey – I mean, Sans, will help you remember to eat. Nag you about it, most likely.” He chuckled softly. “Alphys and Undyne will be sure to remind you and ask you if you’re eating right every time they see you as well. So, if you ever need a break from their well-meaning nagging, you are more than welcome to come visit me at my hotel in the Core.”

                You gave him a real smile – small but honest, crinkling your eyes at the edges. “Thanks, Mettaton. You’re a good friend.”

                “Oh darling, of course I am!” He squeezed your face between his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s eat!”

                A quick shout to the living room had the other four monsters barging in, looking for food. Undyne, Sans, Papyrus and Alphys all quickly grabbed seats, leaving you and Mettaton standing by the table.

                “Come, human!” Papyrus grabbed you around the waist, pulling you to sit on his lap. “You can share a seat with me!” He moved so there were two plates in front of you, and began dishing some of the noodles and pasta sauce Mettaton had made onto both. Said robot apparently didn’t mind standing while he ate, acting like a proper host and refreshing drinks as he nibbled on his own food.

                Nobody mentioned the word ‘anorexia’ again, though you did notice them all glancing at your plate as you ate. They kept the conversation on lighter topics – Undyne and Papyrus discussed their shift rotations for the week, Alphys asked Mettaton how his frame was holding up, and Sans sipped his ketchup and watched them all chat. You quietly shuffled noodles in your mouth and listened in on the conflicting conversations, heart growing warm as your odd little family ate dinner together.

Chapter Text

                For a while, life got better. Sans and Papyrus were a bit unbearable for the first few days, constantly hovering and offering you food, blankets, anything you wanted. The third day, you snapped at Sans that you did not want one of his hot cats, and told him where he could shove it. The startled skeleton had immediately backed off, and when you tried to apologize twenty minutes later, he waved his arm and said he was sorry for pushing you. He and Papyrus backed off a bit, though you found snacks and sweets appearing at your side whenever you stayed in one place for more than five minutes.

                The next day Sans told Grillby what was going on, and the flame monster had immediately come over to the skelebros house and given you a rather lengthy lecture on how dangerous it was to ignore your body and it’s needs, and how disappointed he was, and how you were now allowed to order anything at his bar, free of charge, for as long as it stood. He then told you that you were on vacation until Dr. Alphys gave you the all clear, gave you a kiss on the forehead (why did everybody keep doing that? Was your forehead marked with a sign saying ‘kiss me?’), and returned to his bar, which he’d left in Sans dubiously-capable hands.

                Sans took you to the pub every few days, and each time you were both greeted with a cheer. Grillby had spread the story that you were too sick to work for a few weeks, and while the citizens of Snowdin were not nosey, they were a tight-knit group of worry warts. Each time you were badgered with well wishes and questions about your health. Luckily, an unseen-by-you glare from Sans got them to back off and you were able to enjoy your fries in peace.

                Sans sat you down the day after your ‘diagnosis,’ and threw all hints of subtlety out the window. Papyrus stood nervously beside his brother, fiddling with his gloves, both of them dwarfing you. You sat on the edge of the couch cushion, kicking your feet against it and watching with wary eyes as they spoke.

                The older skeleton outlined the new rules of the house. You were to be within hearing range at all times, you weren’t allowed to leave the house by yourself, you would be eating three meals a day (supervised by one of your friends – usually Papyrus, sometime your other friends when they visited), you had to hand over the money you’d made and saved from working at Grillby’s to be put away for safe keeping, and you were to talk with either Papyrus or Sans each night about how you were feeling.

                Begrudgingly, you agreed, and for a while life was good.

                Then you started noticing the little things.

                Papyrus’s orange hoodie (which he had officially bequeathed to you) disappeared. You fell asleep with your door shut, and woke up with it thrown wide open. You noticed that even when the brothers were busy, they made extra time to check on you. If you got hurt, they were on top of you immediately, checking to make sure you were okay and that it wasn’t something self-inflicted or dangerous. Sans had gone through your room, though luckily you’d thrown away the bloody tissues and stained sock from where you’d been cutting your legs a few days before. That would have been a headache-and-a-half to explain to him. Alphys sent you a scale – the kind you stand on that measures your weight. She tasked Sans with measuring your weight every night before bed. It was annoying, but not nearly as much as the talks.

                You almost always went to Papyrus for your nightly ‘discussions’ about your feelings. The cheerful skeleton would always listen patiently as you discussed your day and how you felt about yourself and your body and your place in the Underground and in the little skelefamily. Every time, he would ask about the itchy feeling, having been told about it by Sans. Every time you would blithely lie, saying it wasn’t bothering you, or hadn’t come around that day. The sweet, happy skeleton would hug you tightly, tell you how proud he was of you, then tuck you into bed and read you a story.

                Sans was a lot harder to lie to. When you had your daily discussions with him, you carefully worded your answer to his questions about the itch. You would admit that it was there, but that you were fighting it. You claimed it was less and less intrusive, less and less bothersome. You explained that you simply got your mind on other things when it emerged – Papyrus had brought it upon himself to teach you how to crochet and knit (you could do the former, but the skills of the latter eluded you), so you said that when the itch began, you buried yourself in yarn. He teased you about yarn being just as itchy, but stopped pushing you to talk about the itch as often.

                Chara was furious with you. The itch hadn’t abated – in fact, it had gotten worse. You’d lost your last outlet, and the skelebros were watching you too closely to go back to cutting. You poked yourself with your crochet hook when Papyrus wasn’t looking, and bit your tongue and the inside of your cheeks when it became too much. When you were in bed at night, you scratched at your scalp, hair hiding the shallow scratches.

                You hated it – you thought that as soon as somebody knew what had happened, what you had been feeling and doing, the itch would have fled, and you would have gone back to being 100% okay. You were certain the need to harm yourself, to be alone, to wallow in your self-hatred, would have gone with the discovery. Instead, it had simply burrowed deeper in your mind, destined to make you miserable.

                Chara’s smug attitude and constant ‘I told you so!’ chants weren’t helping. You’d stopped eating any of the chocolate Mettaton sent you, stashing it in the kitchen as punishment for the annoying ghost. She didn’t stop, though – her soul constantly brushed against your own, sharing her delight in you having help and becoming healthier. At first you appreciated the sentiment and care she showed you, but by the third week you were doing your best to shut her out of your mind.

                By the beginning of your fourth month living with the skelebros, things were done getting better. The constant attention from everyone was making your emotions tumble between appreciation and flat-out annoyance. You held the itch at bay as best you could, ignoring it when possible, obeying it when you could.

                The relief at being found out was gone. All that was left was a growing feeling of anxiety in the pit of your stomach, as you waited for the other shoe to drop.

                Papyrus was at work and Sans was napping in his room when you hit the wall. You’d sprawled across the couch, the television blaring one of Mettaton’s talk shows. You had a loosely-crocheted scarf half-finished on your lap, and were picking at it absent mindedly as you tuned in and out of the show. It was, all-in-all, a quiet, boring, routine day.

                The itch was back, clawing at your mind, digging its talons into the base of your brain and making your skin crawl as though it was swarming with ants. You tried to distract yourself, digging the end of the crochet hook under your thumbnail and enjoying the sharp bit of pain it brought.

                It – it wasn’t enough. You dug it under the next nail, drawing blood again and again, tearing at the skin just beneath the curves of your nails. You dropped the half-done scarf and the crochet hook. You’d stopped biting your nails, and they had grown over the past month. Without conscious thought you began dragging your nails down your arm, leaving white marks across the seven scars.

                Chara was yelling at you, but you blocked it out with ease, focusing only on making the marks on your arm deeper and deeper. They turned from white to pink to red, and blood began to press against the skin, beading along the lines like a string of morbid pearls. You scratched again, the blood beginning to gather in droplets, sliding down your arm and dripping to stain the scrappy bit of crochet work you had done. The white yarn gobbled up the blood, allowing it to stain the wool strands.

                You switched arms, digging fresh nails into fresh skin with even more vigor, quickly drawing blood. It did not bead elegantly, splashing against your skin as you fell into a vigorous pattern.

                The itch reacted violently, growing in intensity, gnawing at your thoughts and dragging up the worst of them as you dug nails into flesh. Stupid, it yelled, Worthless! Useless! Burden! You forced your nails deeper, going from wrist to elbow, reveling in the pain, hoping that if you kept at it, the itch would stop. Stop screaming, stop scratching, just stop.

                Ungrateful! Idiot! Worthless! Stupid! Burden! “Kid?” Worthless! Burden! Worthless burden! That’s all you “KID!” are and all you’ll ever be! A worthless burden on “KID, STOP!” your friends and family! That’s why you jumped, isn’t it?

                White bones seized your wrists, pulling your arms apart in a sharp movement that had blood splattering across the green cushions. Your finger kept clawing at the air for a moment, brain stuttering to catch up. The hands tightened, stilling your fingers. You were panting, and for some reason your eyes were watering. Sans worried face swam in front of you, and you had to blink several times to clear the moisture away. You really wish you hadn’t.

                Sans was furious.

                His eye pips were gone, and his smile had turned into a tight grimace. A pop and both of you were standing in the bathroom, Sans holding your arms over the sink. “Don’t. Move.” He growled, releasing your wrists and disappearing into the kitchen. He had returned within a moment, first aid kit clutched in his bloodied hands.

                The skeleton was silent as he washed off the ragged cuts you’d drawn along your arms before dabbing that sparkly green gel that Papyrus had used before on them. He wrapped them using the same white gauze (which his brother had restocked after you first came to live with them). The entire time, you didn’t move. As soon as you were all patched up, he pulled you through the living room and into the kitchen. His hands – now washed clean of blood – were rough on his shoulders as he forced you to sit in one of the kitchen chairs.

                “I can’t – “ he stopped, gripping at his skull as he stood before you. “I just can’t believe that you would – that you would do that! Not after everything we’ve talked about!” He snapped, begin to pace angrily around the small kitchen. “You said the itch was gone! You said it had stopped – that you were doing better! Why the hell would you lie?”

                You didn’t say anything – you kept your eyes in your lap, shoulders hunched, curling and uncurling your cleaned fingers. The itch had abated for the moment, leaving behind a deep, dark pit in your stomach. It made you feel sick and empty and wrong.

                Like a burden.

                “I can’t believe you did this.” Sans had stopped pacing, and was standing in front of you now, glaring down at you. The eye pips had returned, and he focused on you, brows drawn. You flinched, shoulders pulled tight around your ears, and you waited for the next blow.

                “I’m so disappointed.”

                The pit grew past your stomach, devouring all your internal organs, leaving you feeling empty and weak. Sans turned away from you, his eye flashing bright blue as he waved his hand at the new door to your bedroom. In a blink it was gone, making it easy to see your bed from the kitchen.

                “Go to your room,” Sans sighed, sounding less angry and more…defeated. “We’ll talk about this later.” He watched as you stood on pine straw legs, but before you could move away, he stopped you. “Wait,” he held out his hand, palm up, “keys.”

                “W-what?” You managed to finally get a word in edgewise, fingers automatically going to your jean pocket and curling around the pair of jingling silver-and-brass door keys.

                “You’re under house arrest until we can figure this all out,” Sans voice was as solid as stone – there was no soft, punny skeleton behind those words. “Without keys, you’ll be less likely to try and run.” He wiggled his fingers, waiting.

                Feeling like you were moving through sludge, you pulled the keys from your pocket. Mettaton had given you a cute little key-chain with a little plastic mini-Mettaton hanging off a pink and black strap to keep them on. You dropped it all into the skeletons awaiting palm. Without hesitating he pocketed them, then nodded to your bedroom door.

                As soon as you were through the doorway, a ripple of magic splashed against your back. When you turned, there was a bright-blue wall of magic blocking you from leaving. When you glanced over, the same blue glow was wrapped around the handle of the door that led outside. When you turned back, trying to formulate a plea in your mind that would satisfy the skeleton, he was gone.

                You refused dinner. As soon as your stomach had settled from the disaster of an afternoon, you tucked yourself into bed, curling up into as tight a ball as possible, blankets drawn over your head. Papyrus came in around dinner time, a sad tone to his voice as he spoke to you. He didn’t’ sound angry at all – he even sat beside you and rubbed your back for a few minutes through the heavy blankets, telling you it was all okay, and that you were fine, and that he loved you.

                He loves you.

                You don’t deserve it.

                Sans tried talking to you a few times, but you ignored him, merely tightening your ball of misery when he spoke. Every time he spoke, your insides clenched, and that same empty feeling hit you. The itch returned and dug out the worst of your mind, throwing it about and hollering in your ears.

                Worthless.

                A burden.

                A waste of space.

                A waste of love.

                A waste of a SOUL.

                Papyrus stayed up later than normal. He read you several books – all versions of Fluffy Bunny – while sitting beside your ball of self-misery. He didn’t force you to talk about what had happened, or tried to pry you out from under the blankets like Sans had. By the end of the fifth book, his voice had grown a bit drowsy.

                “Frisk,” he rubbed your back gently, phalanges firm against your shoulder blades – he must have taken off his gloves. “I’m sorry Sans yelled at you.” He felt you stiffen and leaned over, giving your misery-ball a side hug. “He was very, very scared when he saw you bleeding.” The skeleton gave a much put-upon sigh. “My – our brother can be stupid when he’s scared.”

                Your stomach twinged.

                Look at what you’ve done.

                You’re just a burden.

                “Papyrus,” you peeked out of your bundle, eyes heavy with thick, sick thoughts.

                “Ah! There is a human in there!” Papyrus chuckled, poking your nose with a bony finger.

                You managed to give him a weak smile. “My arms are kind of hurting,” you didn’t pull your arms out to show him. “Um, could I have some pain killers?”

                “Of course, human! I’ll be right back!” He leapt off the bed and rushed through the blue force field into the kitchen. The first aid kit was back above the fridge, and he wasted no time (or height) grabbing it and pulling out the bottle of little pink pain pills. A quick trip to the sink had a Mettaton-themed cup filled with water ready for you. The tall skeleton hurried back and set the bottle of pills and the cup on the stack of books by your bed that served as a nightstand. He shook out two of the pills for you, then set the bottle back on the books and held them out for you. With a weak smile, you took them and threw them back with the water.

                “There you are human! May I be of any more assistance tonight?” He asked gently, resting a hand on your shoulder once more.

                “I’m okay Paps,” You smiled, and he leaned over to press a skelekiss to your forehead. Before he could pull all the way back, you grabbed one of his arms, wincing as your cuts stung. “I love you, Papyrus.”

                “Nyeh heh heh! I love you too, Frisk!” He nuzzled you, saying nothing about your arm (although he did give it a sad look). A few quick moves had you firmly tucked into bed. “Goodnight, human! Have sweet spaghetti-filled dreams tonight!”

                “You too, Paps.” You settled down against the pillows and watched as Papyrus left, turning out the lights behind him. The blue force field illuminated your room, but not enough to keep you awake. A sour taste in your mouth and an empty feeling in your gut, you fell asleep.

                The words ‘worthless’ and ‘burden’ were still echoing in your mind when you woke up. Sans angry face flashed in your mind as you sat up, rubbing furiously at the tears streaming down your face that most certainly didn’t have permission to be there.

                Burden.

                God. The itch was still burying through your thoughts, and beneath the bandages your arms began to burn. You threw off your blankets, suddenly unbearably hot.

                So burdensome.

                You doubled over, hugging yourself.

                You are nothing but a bother to Sans and Papyrus. They don’t REALLY love you.

                You bit the inside of your cheek, drawing blood and reveling in the tangy, coppery taste.

                If Sans really loved you, would he have yelled at you?

                He hates you. You’re NOTHING.

It would be better if you didn’t exist. Maybe then the resets will stop. That would make Sans happy. Papyrus would be happy too.

                That’s right – before Sans had found you, you’d been trying to kill yourself. The fuzzy logic flooded your brain, the same feeling of certainty coming back to settle your stomach and nerves.

                You were out of knives, but that didn’t matter. You swung your legs off the bed and stared at your makeshift nightstand.

                Papyrus had left you a nearly-full bottle of pain pills.

                NO!

                Chara’s voice bellowed in your mind as you reached for the bottle. Your hand froze half-way, fingers twitching as the ghost tried to take control.

                You’re not doing this again!

                Worthlessworthlessworthlessworthlessworthless.

                You made another grab, forcing Chara to the back of your mind as the feelings of being useless and burdensome urged you on. Your fingers – still tingling – wrapped around the bottle, rattling it as you tugged it off the books. The cap wasn’t child proofed and popped off easily when you twisted it.

                NO! STOP!

                Your body stiffened as Chara forced her way in, shoving you harshly to the back of your mind. The ghost immediately dropped the bottle, the pills scattering across the plush green rug. Chara stood, stiffly moving as she took total control of your body. She approached the door, squinting at the light the blue magic crackled. You yelled for her to stop, feeling unsettled at hearing your voice echo back through your mind. She stepped through it without a problem, shuddering as the magic traced her stolen form.

                How did you do that? You asked, shocked that the spell didn’t stop her.

                “It’s an alarm, not a wall,” Chara explained as she rushed through the kitchen, into the living room, and started up the stairs.

                Wait wait wait where are you going? You demanded, but Chara ignored you. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Sans had thrown open his door and was preparing to charge out. He paused, foot raised, as Chara came up to him.

                “Kid?” He put his foot down and took a step back, motioning for Chara to come in. She did so, almost pushing him in her hurry. As soon as Sans had the door shut, she rounded on him, the movement feeling unfamiliar and awkward in your body.

                “What the hell is wrong with you?” Chara immediately yelled, taking both you and Sans aback. She shoved her stolen finger against his chest, poking him. “Do you have any idea what Frisk just tried to do?”

                Sans raised an eye brow (bone brow?), looking you and Chara up and down in worry. “Kid…?”

                “They just tried to kill them self!” Chara hissed, seething. “Do you have any idea how awful you made Frisk feel earlier?”

                “Woah, back up, you did what?” Sans grabbed the hand Chara was using to poke him.

                Chara yanked the hand from his grasp. “You’re a fucking idiot!” She sneered, the muscles of your face stretching uncomfortably in the unfamiliar expression. “Frisk is under enough stress, and you yelled at them! You’re a terrible big brother!”

                Sans had a very odd look in his sockets. He was scrutinizing you very closely, squinting his gaze. “I can’t recall Frisk ever speaking about themselves in third person.” His eyes sparked. “Or swearing.”

                Chara jerked and you cried out in alarm as Sans blue magic dragged at your soul, holding you in place. He leaned forward, a snarl on his lips.

                “So, just who the hell am I talking to?”

Chapter Text

                Sans was not a stupid skeleton, though his brother would contest that sometimes (depending on the amount of puns he had heard that day). He knew you weren’t okay – self-harming and nightmares aside, you were constantly muttering to yourself when you thought you were alone. Not old-crazy-cat-lady muttering, either – it sounded more like one side of a conversation. He never caught exactly what you were saying, no more than a few at a time. You normally sounded calm, sometimes annoyed when it happened.

                He’d thought it was a quirk, a habit, left over from years of being ignored by your family. He’d thought it was harmless. He’d never, in a million years, thought you were talking to the demon who’d killed his brother twenty times over.

                While his memories of the resets weren’t complete, his journal – a leather bound book kept in a box made of core remnants that existed out of space-time and lasted each reset – kept track of them. Good, bad, neutral, they all were recorded in detail. The last twenty-five had been bad runs, created by the actions of the time anomaly. He knew it wasn’t Frisk – the child could never keep themselves from laughing at his horrible puns, or resist playing along with Papyrus’ puzzle. The anomaly never played along, never laughed, never tried to express emotions or listen to others. Every entry noted that they’d try to rush through the entire Underground as quickly as possible, cutting down every monster in their path before being stopped.

                A few times they were killed by Toriel or Undyne long before they reached New Home. A few times they fell victim to the instability of infrastructure – crumbling paths by the lava, a rotted board on a bridge above a waterfall, a rock slide in the Ruins. Eighteen of the twenty-five, he was the reason the anomaly had to reset. The demon had only killed him once in all their attempts. He didn’t know what happened after that – he’d woken up at his sentry station, and had found Frisk – the real Frisk – wandering down the path, waiting to shake his hand and laugh at his puns.

                He’d thought it was a quirk of timelines that altered your personality, made you into a different person, a violent person who killed the monsters out of malice and fear. Never, in the hundred or so resets, had he entertained the idea of possession being the reason behind the bad resets.

                “So, just who am I talking you?”

                You were not happy about this, and you made sure Chara knew it. She didn’t exactly care at the moment, though, being far too busy to glaring at Sans to pay attention to your annoyance. The skeleton glared right back, waiting for an answer.

                “I’m not important right now,” Chara ground out. “Frisk is.”

                Sans squinted, his eye flickering dangerously. “You’re not Frisk.”

                “No shit, Sherlock.”

                Chara!

                “Heh,” Sans twitched his wrist, removing you from the ground. “Definitely not Frisk.” A flip of his fingers sent you flying back, and you hit the wall with a resounding bang. “Let’s try this again. Who. The hell. Are you?”

                “The ghost of ass-kicking’s past,” Chara snarled, fingers twitching. You could feel the annoyance she felt at being unable to gesticulate while being sassy.

                “Y O U.” The skeleton was seething now. “D I R T Y   B R O T H E R  K I L L E R.”

                The look on his face was absolutely terrifying. His eye sockets were wide, left one spitting flames that flickered between cyan and gold. The rest of his skull was smooth, brows and ridges drawn flat around his features. His teeth were fixed in a line, and if it weren’t for the odd stillness of his frame and the obvious flare of magic licking along the left side of his skull, one would think he was expressionless.

                Chara, stop baiting him! You snapped at the ghost, trying to push her away and regain control. She held fast, refusing to hand your body back over.

                Not until he calms down, she snapped in response, sending that weird, shuddery feeling through your brain.

                This is SANS! He’ll kill us before he calms down!

                You’re not giving him enough credit. Chara chided, before mentally pushing you aside and focusing once more on the seething skeleton.

                Said skeleton drew his arm back, pulling you away from the wall to dangle in front of him. His look of rage had morphed into something less stern, though no less dangerous: confusion. His eyes were locked on your dark-blue soul, which dangled in his grasp, keeping you a foot off the ground.

                “Your SOUL,” his voice had was reasonably calm now, and you weren’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, “has an echo.” His fingers twitched and you were pulled closer, SOUL nearly touching his face. Something he saw made him smirk, and his eyes flickered to meet Chara’s. “Heh. SOUL possession is a tricky business. You have to hope that you and your partner don’t split.”

                He had both hands hovering over your chest now, each glowing with cyan magic. Before you or Chara could register what he was doing, he threw his hands apart, toward opposite sides of the rooms.

                There was a sound like wet Velcro being ripped apart, followed by a fierce, searing pain in your SOUL. It was over in a flash, like a brush from a flame, but a lingering ache remained in the middle of your chest. Your body had been thrown towards the far corner of the room. Before you could hit the wall, Sans magic enveloped your whole body, stopping you cold. It dispersed and you landed on his bed with a soft bounce. You threw your hands out to catch yourself, only then realizing you had complete control of your body.

                “Chara…?” You asked weakly, prodding at the back of your mind.

                “Let go of me, you son of a bitch!”

                The familiar voice was definitely not coming from inside your head. Your vision snapped past Sans, to the opposite corner of the room.

                A figure, of a similar height and build, was pinned to the wall by a faint blue glow. They were pretty, with a brown bob of hair over pale skin and rosy cheeks. Her eyes were bright red, like a pair of embers, glaring through a curtain of bangs at Sans with a look that promised pain. She was dressed in a green and yellow sweater and old jeans that were dirty at the knees and ragged at the hems. Her dangling feet were shoed in red converse, and were hanging off the floor.

                Her soul was what took your breath away. You knew she had died – the tragic story of the royal siblings had been pieced together over the resets. Chara had eaten poisonous buttercups in order to kill herself, which allowed her brother Asriel to absorb her SOUL and head aboveground in an attempt to get seven human SOULS to shatter the barrier. He had failed, dying himself due to injuries caused by the humans in the middle of the Kings garden.

It was heart-shaped like your own, but the color was a deep slate gray. It had been shattered into small pieces, which were decaying around the outer edge. The entire thing was held together by what looked like red strings, which were tangled about it to form a cradle. It was like a stone held together by a spider web.

                “Chara!” You scrambled off the bed (noting absently that there were no sheets, just a ball of blankets), only to be stopped by a familiar blue glow that shoved you back to sit on the bare mattress and held you in place.

                “Chara?” Sans raised a brow, his grasp on the ghosts shattered SOUL wavering ever so slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Chara that was the Royal Child of Hope for Monsterkind, would you?”

                The ghost smirked, the expression downright dangerous on her face. “That’s me.” She tried to wiggle from his grasp, fingers scraping at the wall behind her. “Now that that’s cleared up, can we discuss Frisk trying to kill themselves for the second time this reset?”

                If possible, Sans went even stiller than before. His fingers twitched, before dropping. The blue light faded from around Chara, though she remained floating half-a-foot above the floor. The magic around you, however, stayed, keeping you seated on the bed. As soon as she was free, Chara swooped across the room to check on you.

                “Are you alright?” The ghost fretted over you for a moment.

                You looked her up and down, noting that she was slightly see through. Her SOUL was still visible, floating just behind her sternum, muted by the colors of her sweater. You lifted your hand, wanting to check on the shattered fragments hovering in her chest. “I’m fine.”

                “Now that is a bone-afied fibula.” Sans was standing beside Chara, arms crossed. The ghost groaned at the pun, but mimicked his pose. You cringed into yourself, the oddness of the past ten-minutes fading as you thought of the spilled pills and worthless worthless worthless bad thoughts.

                Papyrus was not a happy skeleton. He had spent most of the day worrying about how his sweet little sibling was feeling. Sans had called him during his shift, panicked and angry, and had explained that you had harmed yourself, badly scratching your arms. Even worse, he’d said that he yelled at you, and had taken your keys away. As soon as he’d gotten hold of Doggo to cover his shift, the worried brother had hurried home and spent the afternoon comforting the lump on your bed, reading his favorite books to you and trying to convince you to eat.

                Once you’d gone to sleep, he’d had it out with Sans, dragging the lazy bag of bones outside so they wouldn’t wake you. He’d then read his older brother the riot act, letting the already stressed skeleton know just how disappointed he was.

                “That’s not how you handle it!” He’d stomped about in the snow a bit, his arms waving about. “God, Sans, you don’t yell at people just because they had a relapse! Frisk already feels bad about everything! Don’t you see the way they cringe whenever they think they did something wrong? Or how they always make sure we have what we want or need before they do? Have they ever chosen the movie we watch? Or asked to have something special for dinner? Everything they’ve been given, from us and Mettaton and Undyne, they never asked for! Half the time they don’t even want to take the stuff; we make them take it!” He kicked angrily at a snow poff, destroying it in a cloud of puffy white.

                “Bro, I-“

                “Do not ‘bro’ me!” The tall skeleton spun on his heels, cape fluttering dramatically, and towered over his brother, hands on his hips. “You don’t get to ‘bro’ me right now!” He declared. “I never yelled at you when you had a relapse! I didn’t punish you for it! It just happens, you don’t get to be angry about it just because it annoys you!”

                “Paps-“

                A glove was shoved in his face, shutting him up. “No! You have to apologize! What you did isn’t going to help anybody, especially not Frisk!” The glove moved to poke at his chest. “As soon as Frisk is awake, you are going to apologize! And, more importantly, you’re going to return their keys. Then, you’re going to apologize again!”

                The smaller skeleton slumped a bit, as though the weight of the world had fallen on you. “I will Pap,” he promised softly. “As soon as they’re awake, I’ll apologize.”

                They’d gone to bed after that, Papyrus planning on waking up in the morning to make the child his super special Smiling-Papyrus-shaped pancakes. Maybe he’d try to make one in the shape of Frisk as well! That would surely make them smile.

                Now, however, Papyrus was not happy. A crash from Sans room had woken him, and he could hear two voices yelling. One was Frisk, the other vey obviously Sans. The tall skeleton groaned and rolled over, shoving his pillow over his head and wondering if he would be a bad brother for not rushing to stop the two fighting. They wouldn’t hurt each other, he knew. He’d only just fallen asleep. Despite his insistence that he didn’t need to sleep as much as Sans, he was not averse to catching the required six hours a night (unlike Sans 12-15 hour naps), and he had surely not reached the six-hour mark by now.

                “Y O U.   D I R T Y   B R O T H E R   K I L L E R.”

                Well fuck – no, fudge. Good brothers do not curse. Well, fudge. He couldn’t ignore a bellow like that, or the feeling of magic that washed over the whole house. Papyrus groaned loudly against his pillow but dragged himself out of the bed. His pirate-themed sleep shirt was tangled up in his ribs, and he took a moment to straighten it before hurrying to confront his siblings.

                “Brother, Frisk” he groaned, throwing open the door, “Stop thi-“ he paused to take in his brothers disaster of a bedroom. You were sitting on the bed, sinking into yourself and looking cowed. Sans was looking down at you, hands on his hips, obviously unimpressed by whatever had happened in the last few minutes. Beside him was a new face, though it was very similar to your own. All of you snapped your heads around to look at him, Sans in concern, you and the newcomer in surprise.

                Papyrus shoved the mystery of the newcomer to the back of his mind. He put his hands on his hips, legs akimbo, and gave his brother a stern look. “That did not sound like apologizing,” he chastised sternly.

                Sans looked a bit cowed himself, while you were just confused. The newcomer began to snicker behind her hand. Papyrus sighed, ran a hand down his face, and stepped into the hall, motioning to the stairs.

                “This is not a discussion to have in a dirty room,” he shot his brother a pointed look, reminding himself to chastise Sans about cleaning later, “and hot chocolate makes everything better.”

                “Papyrus does make the best hot chocolate,” Sans confirmed, dropping his magic and grabbing your arm, pulling you upright but not letting you go. “And it might help with what we need to talk about.”

                Chara swooped over to float on your other side, not touching you, just hovering as close as she could. They both escorted you out of Sans room, and followed Papyrus down the stairs to the kitchen. The blue glow over the door to your room had disappeared, though when Sans made you sit down in the seat nearest the doorway, you could see a wisp of magic still curled around the outside door.

                Sans sat across from you and folded his hands on the table, reminding you of the mob boss from the Godfather movies. Chara hovered beside you, arms crossed, her nose wrinkling as the smell of chocolate began to permeate the kitchen. Papyrus had whipped together milk, cocoa powder, and sugar in his spaghetti pot. In no time at all, there were four mugs of hot chocolate on the table.

                “Oh,” Chara looked surprised as Papyrus set the last mug in front of her. “Uh, thanks, but I can’t drink this.”

                “Why not?” The tall skeleton gave her a concerned look. “Are you lactose intolerant?”

                Chara raised a brow. “I’m dead. I can only eat ghost food.”

                “Oh! We do not have any of that here,” Papyrus poked at his chin. “I will have to ask Napstablook for some! By the way, who are you?”

                You snorted into the whip cream Papyrus had piled into your mug, getting some up your nose in the process. “Paps,” you wiped your nose off with the back of your hand, “this is my friend, Chara. She’s a human ghost.”

                “Oh! Wowie, I’ve never met a human ghost before.” Papyrus took his own seat and leaned forward a little. “You don’t look like Nastablook at all! Where do you live?”

                You both paused, human brains grinding to a halt. How did you explain that Chara had been possessing you – and killing him? – all this time?

                “Here and there,” Chara shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter.”

                Papyrus nodded in agreement. “Ah, I see. Well, you are welcome to stay here whenever you like!” Beside him, Sans twitched, nearly upending his mug. “Now, let’s get down to business! Sans, have you apologized?”

                “Not quite,” the skeleton grunted, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “But we sorta have something more important to talk about right now, bro.”

                “What could be more important than apologizing to your little sibling?” Papyrus asked, sounding as though he couldn’t imagine something more vital at the moment.

                “How about,” Sans leaned forward, his eyes flashing as they met your own, “we start with Frisk trying to kill them self again?”

Chapter Text

SO, I have this super awesome thing called Major Depressive Disorder (MDD, also known as Clinical Depression). Basically, an imbalance of seretonin (a chemical used to help create/convey messages of positive emotions between neurons and synapses) in my brain, in this case a LACK of seretonin, causes me to be depressed. I'm on medication for it and normally I have it under control. Occasionally, however, I get these delightful periods known as 'episodes' where basically my mood takes a nose dive and I get super depressed, with self harm and suicidal thoughts.

Don't panic, I would never act on these thoughts, and I have friend and family support set up to help. But working on a story literally about a character trying to kill themselves alongside self harming is probably not the best thing for my mental health right now. 

I'm not giving up on the story, I'm just taking a week off so I can get through this episode. As soon as I feel more mentally stable I'll be back to working on this! 

I'll probably write some fluff for my Bitty Reader shots, if anybody is interested in those!

tl;dr I'm sad and need a break for a week or so.

Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter, my lovely readers! I love you all to the end of the universe and back!

Cheers!

Rivethart

Chapter Text

                There was a moment of silence that practically dripped with tension. Your eyes fell to your lap, where your bandaged arms were neatly folded over crossed legs. Your fingers found each other and began to twist into a complicated, uncomfortable knot, until the joins began to strain. It hurt. Pain. Pain was good. Pain was a distraction. Pain was a take-away, a cure-all, an escape.

                “Papyrus,” to your surprise, it was Chara who broke the silence. Her voice was sickly-sweet, soaked in false sincerity. “Could you be a dear and smack your brother for me, please?” She asked, even as she settled one hand on your shoulder. It rested there, a cool weight that wasn’t solid, but wasn’t falling through either. It was like being touched by TV static.

                The only thing to surprise you more than Chara speaking was the sound of bone hitting bone. Your head snapped up so fast you whipped your hair through Chara’s head, making her wrinkle her nose in surprise, though you didn’t see it – all your focus was on the two skeletons across the table from you.

                Papyrus still had his hand partially raised from where he’d dope-smacked his brother upside the back of his head, a serious, no-nonsense all-business look on his face. Sans was the completely opposite – his head had snapped forward upon being smacked, and the expression on his face was nothing less than complete and utter shock. He slowly twisted his head to look up at his taller brother.

                “Bro, you-“

                “DO NOT ‘BRO’ ME, SANS!” Papyrus declared, face twisting into a scowling expression you’d never seen before. He wasn’t just upset – he was downright furious. “YOU ARE ACTING LIKE A PETULANT CHILD WHO HAS LOST A GAME OF CATCH-THE-BALL! YOU CONTINUE TO ATTACK FRISK WITHOUT STOPPING TO THINK!”

                “What?! I haven’t attacked Frisk once this timeline!”

                “I WILL IGNORE HOW THAT STATEMENT MAKES NO SENSE FOR NOW,” Papyrus shot his brother an odd look, one that promised probing questions later, “YOU HAVE BEEN UNFAIRLY HARSH IN YOUR DEALINGS WITH FRISK. INSTEAD OF SHOWING THE LOVE AND SUPPORT THEY NEED, YOU ACT AS THOUGH THEY ARE TO BLAME FOR FEELINGS THEY CAN’T HELP BUT HAVE! YOU HAVE DONE FAR MORE HARM THAN GOOD THE PAST COUPLE OF DAYS, AND I FOR ONE AM SEVERELY DISSAPOINTED IN YOU.”

                That remark seemed to hit home more than any other that Papyrus could have made. Sans eye sockets widened, and his teeth parted slightly as his jaw shifted in shock. You thought (with no small amount of petty, gleeful revenge) that he understood now how you’d felt before, when he’d said he was disappointed in you. Instead of withdrawing, however, he became something you very much hated to see.

                He became angry.

                “Wait,” he’d stood up on his chair to bring himself to eye-level with his brother, “What are you trying to say? Everything I’ve done has been to keep them,” he flung his arm in your direction, nearly upending his hot-cocoa as he did so, “safe! From that plant, from Undyne, from Mettaton, from them self! What the fuck are you disappointed in me for? I’m not the one hurting them!”

                You ignored Chara’s gleeful little gasp of ‘Swear word! Dollar in the jar!’ in favor of sinking farther into your seat. You’d never, in any timeline, heard the brothers fight like this – they were always happy when they were together. Even when Papyrus was pretending to be annoyed by Sans jokes, you could see in his eyes that he truly enjoyed them. But this – yelling and screaming at each other, glaring as though they were hoping the other would crumble to dust before them – it was new. It was novel. It was scary. It was your fault.

                “Sans,” Papyrus’ voice has dropped back down to ‘inside’ level, “Just because you are physically harming the human does not mean you are not hurting them! Words can hurt just as much as bones!” He ran a hand over his skull, phalanges creating a scraping noise against the smooth bone. “Don’t you remember anything from when I helped you?” He motioned to the smaller skeletons sleeved arms. “I never yelled at you for what you did!”

                “Well I was never cowardly enough to try and take my own life!”

                Papyrus took a step back in shock as his brother’s voice boomed about the room, blue magic licking at his fingers and sleeves. The younger brother didn’t say anything – just stared at his trembling sibling, an unreadable expression on his face. Across the table you dropped you slumped into your chair, eyes going blurry as the itch reared its ugly head.

                COWARD! Crowed the voice in your mind, delighted at having a new word to use against you. COWARD! DISSAPOINTMENT! WORTHLESS! The words rent the thick quiet that had taken over the room. You sunk into yourself as the itch bit at your mind, gnawing at your-worth and confidence. Look at what you’ve DONE to them! Look at them FIGHT! You spread HATE and TROUBLE wherever you go! Your hands snapped up to cover your ears as you scrunched your eyes shut, trying to block out the roaring voice.

                Warm hands draped a blanket around your shoulders, tucking it firmly around you. Your head snapped up and you found yourself looking up at a worried Papyrus. As soon as he had your attention, he scooped you up in his arms and held you tightly against his chest.

                “Paps, what are you doing?” Sans had gotten off the chair and now stood beside it, fidgeting as he watched you from across the table.

                “We are going to stay with a friend,” Papyrus declared as he settled you comfortably against his boney chest. “When you are done being angry and are prepared to apologize, give me a call.” Without waiting for an answer, Papyrus left the kitchen in as few steps as possible – his long, lanky legs carried you both away from Sans before he could argue.

                You wound your arms around Papyrus’ neck, shifting so your head was resting against his shoulder. The itch had quieted now, the mere presence of kindness and love that was Papyrus sending it scurrying. He adjusted his grip and made sure the blanket was tucked about you snugly before venturing into Snowdin, heading straight for the Riverperson.

                “You really are an idiot.” Chara sighed, crossing her arms as she stared at Sans, who was looking after the front door with a shell shocked expression. He snapped his head back to her and glared, growling through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you would be so harsh to someone who loves you so much.” She shook her head, arms crossed over her chest.

                Sans sneered. “What do you know about love, demon?”

                “Not as much as you,” Chara admitted with a shrug, “But Frisk has been teaching me, and they love you. They look up to you. They respect you.” She shook her head in disappointment, “And you’ve just thrown it back in their face. You’re handling this all wrong.”

                “Then how am I supposed to handle it?” Sans snarled. “Tell them it’s ‘all right’ when they hurt themselves?”

                “Yes!” Chara hissed, “That’s exactly what you do! You tell them it’s okay and tell them that you still love them!” She threw her arms up. “God, Sans, you’re hopeless! You can hate me as much as you want – I deserve it! But Frisk needs your support, needs to know you still love them, even when they make a mistake!”

                Chara ran her hands over her face and huffed. “The only reason they even tried to kill themselves is because they think they’re a burden, they think you don’t want them here, they think they’re worthless, and the way you reacted yesterday just proved it to them!”

                She turned away from him, her form beginning to fade from sight. “I’d suggest you think hard on what you’re going to say to apologize, Sans. Despite your intentions, you’ve done more harm than good.” Before he could respond, the ghost was gone, leaving Sans all alone in the empty house.

                The Riverperson went straight to Hotland, bypassing the other stops, which were empty this late at night. Papyrus held you the entire time, a steely look in his eyes whenever he wasn’t looking at you. The Riverperson hummed, the only sound aside from the rushing water in the dark night.

                Papyrus still refused to put you down when the boat came to a stop and he stepped onto dry land. He marched past the looming Lab and straight up the steps to Mettaton’s resort. Oh. Well it didn’t take a genius to figure out where you were going. Through the sliding double doors, past the fountain, and into the elevator. Nobody was in the lobby – everyone was home, fast asleep or preparing for the day ahead.

                Once in the elevator, Papyrus tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth (his other arm shifting to hold you up) and pressed his bony thumb against a fingerprint reader at the bottom of the button panel. There was a soft beep, then the elevator shot upwards, heading to the penthouse floor.

                The door slide aside to show a large, elegant, overly-decorated sitting room, complete with a giant television and soft, comfortable sofas, and a life-sized statue of Mettaton. That view was quickly blocked by the flamboyant robot himself, who wasted no time in snatching you out of Papyrus’ arms and hugging you tightly.

                “Oh darling, Papy-dear called and told me all about the little tiff you had with Sans! You are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like!” Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode through the extravagant suite. You rested your head against his chest, feeling emotionally drained. Papyrus followed as Mettaton used his hip to open a vibrant pink door to a large, over-the-top guest room, all done in blacks, silvers, and pinks. “Here we are, you can use this room whenever and for however you’d like!”

                Papyrus rushed ahead and pulled back the blankets on the king-sized bed, fluffing the pillows to perfection. Mettaton made a noise of approval before settling you into the ridiculously-soft mattress.

                “Oof, you’ve put on some weight, darling!” Mettaton praised as Papyrus, being the good big brother he was, pulled the blankets up around you and tucked you in snugly. “I’m so proud of you!”

                “Nyeh heh, Frisk has been working hard to eat more!” Papyrus ran his ungloved hand through your hair several times as you rolled onto your side, facing them both. You gave them a weak smile.

                “Thanks Pap,” you reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly before glancing at Mettaton, “Thanks, Mettaton.”

                “Of course, darling!” Mettaton leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You just rest! I’m sure some a good night’s sleep will help you feel a hundred percent better!”

                “Do you want me to stay?” Papyrus asked, still untangling your hair with his fingers.

                You shook your head, a smirk drawing your lips back. “No, go cuddle with your boyfriend.” You pushed his hand away, eyes sliding to Mettaton and back. To your delight, both of them were flushing their respective magic colors – orange and pink.

                “If, ahem, if you are sure,” Papyrus stuttered a bit. “But if you need me, just yell.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled the blankets up around you tightly, tucking them beneath your chin and making sure both your arms were covered. “Goodnight, little sibling. I love you.”

                “Love you too, Pap,” you muttered, shutting your eyes and shoving your head deeper into the pillow. Mettaton made a soft ‘awww’ noise, which was followed by the overhead lights flicking off and two sets of footsteps leaving the room.

                The itch didn’t have time to start whispering to you again – Chara interrupted it. She faded into sight with a slight static-y sound, sitting on the edge of the bed where the monsters had just been.

                “Hey,” she greeted tiredly, flopping beside you. “How are you feeling?”

                You shrugged, wanting to say ‘cowardly’ but knowing she would get angry at that. The ghost didn’t need to hear you say it, though – she could obviously see it written all over your face.

                “Don’t you listen to what Sans said – he was just being an idiot.” Chara made herself comfortable, body phasing through the blankets to rest on the mattress beneath. Ghost physics were weird. “He won’t bother you – not while we’re all protecting you, okay?” She reached out and, to your shock, ran a hand over your cheek.

                “You can touch me?” You reached up and rested a hand over her own. It was solid, still with the feel of touching static, only…solid. There was no other way to describe it. Chara laughed softly and wrapped her whole arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly.

                “This is much better than just being a voice in your head,” she confided, moving so she was laying comfortably beside you. After a moment, you reached out and returned the hug, moving to press yourself against her. “I think you’re the only one I can touch – everybody else went straight through me. That’s why I asked Papyrus to smack Sans for me.”

                You snorted. “I can’t believe he did that.”

                “I can,” Chara shut her eyes, content to lie here with you. “But don’t worry about him right now, okay? Go to sleep, get some rest. We’ll beat up Sans tomorrow.”

                You snorted but obeyed, shutting your eyes. The itch remained quiet for now, scared off by Chara’s compassion and tight grip on you. It was hard to believe it had only been a few hours since everything had gone to hell. It could keep going to hell tomorrow – you were tired, Chara’s arms were warm, and you were in desperate need of a good dream or two.

Chapter Text

                The second you woke, you rolled to the edge of the bed, leaned over, and heaved, sharp stomach acid staining your lips, as well as the most-likely-expensive rug. Sick splattered across the comforter as you vomited over and over again, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to you and worming deeply into your mind. One thing stood out beyond all else.

                Dust.

                Your dust.

                It was red, the same deep, warm red as your SOUL. As the pills destroyed your body, you began to dissolve, skin, muscles, and bone falling to pieces, pulled to the floor by gravity, piling around your feet as you fell apart.

                You saw it all, as though you were a bystander, not the one falling apart. Papyrus fell to his knees in front of you, sobbing as he knelt in your dust, the red grains slipping through his gloves as tears stained his face.

                Behind him, Sans looked away from the scene, eyes void of any light. His hands were trembling as they flexed open and closed, blue magic hovering about his fingers. As you watched, he stepped forward and knelt beside his brother, wrapping him in a tight hug and pulling his hands away from your dust.

                Your dust.

                Your dust.

                That’s what had woken you, sickened you – you would never be dust. Once dead, you would be a corpse, a human waste of space. Like you should have been when you’d first fallen. You reached up to push your sweaty bangs out of your face, only to find a soft, metal hand already doing so.

                “Shh, darling, it’s alright, no need to cry. You’re okay. Just take a deeeeeeeeep breath, okay?” Mettaton had your hair pinned back with one hand, and was using the other to rub your back. “Come on love, deeeeeep breath.”

                You obeyed as best as you could, sucking in a gasp of air, despite your stomachs rebelling. Your racing heart began to slow as you took another, your sprinting thoughts not far behind them. The lip of a cup was pressed against your mouth, and you obligingly opened and took a sip of the cool water inside it.

                Papyrus pulled the cup away and set it on the nearest nightstand, though he quickly picked it up and put a coaster under it when Mettaton clicked his tongue. Once sure his furniture was safe from water stains, the robot turned all his attention to you. He whipped a small, soft towel out of nowhere and began to wipe the sweat off your forehead and the acidic sick from your mouth and chin.

                “Shh, darling, shh. Papyrus, could you be a dear and grab a new comforter from the closet, please?”

                “Of course, Ton!” Your tired gaze followed the skeleton as he rushed to the far side of the room where a walk-in closet was set in the wall. He threw open the slatted doors, revealing a closet bursting with extra clothing, towels, blankets, pillows, and suitcases. There was even a duplicate of Papyrus’ battle body tucked away. The tall skeleton pulled a clean comforter from the top shelf and swung the doors shut once more, then rushed back to the bed.

                “Thank you, love.” Mettaton pulled back from you and dropped the towel to the floor, beside the puddle of sick that was soaking into the carpet. He quickly tugged off the comforter and began using it to wipe up the stain, while Papyrus tucked the new blanket firmly into place around you.

                “There we are, human!” He beamed and patted your head, then pressed the cup of water into your hands. “Here, sip this slowly, okay? It will make you feel better.” He bent down and helped Mettaton wipe up the rest of your mess. He whisked the dirty blanket and towel out of the room, leaving the robot to sit on the edge of the bed.

                “Do you feel better, dear?” Mettaton moved some of the pillows so you could sit against them, staying upright but still resting. You gave a small nod and sipped on your water.

                “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice rough and burning when you spoke. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

                “Oh don’t be sorry about that, dear!” Mettaton tucked the blankets around your legs, making sure they were safely ensconced in warmth. “You didn’t wake us – your friend did.”

                “Friend…?”

                “Yes, and I must say I’m a bit miffed that you didn’t introduce her earlier! She has quite a lovely face – wonderful cheekbones, and great hair. I would love to have her on my show sometime!”

                Papyrus chose that moment to return, Chara floating behind him. They both headed straight for the bed, and the ghost climbed on to sit beside you, opposite Mettaton. She leaned against the pillows and for a moment you wanted to wonder about ghost physics, before reminding yourself that the fact she was a ghost in the first place seemed impossible, and it didn’t really matter in the long run.

                “Are you feeling alright now, human? Are you ill?” Papyrus asked, turning to his fretting mother-hen tendencies as he hovered beside Mettaton. “Is it the ‘bug’ you told me about? Should we get some bug-spray?”

                You snorted. “No, Papyrus, it’s not a stomach bug.” You reassured him. “I just had a scary dream.”

                “It must have been some dream, to make you sick like that,” Mettaton chided, pushing your hair behind your ears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

                You shrugged and glanced at Chara, who gave you an understanding look. “Not really.”

                “That’s fine, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Mettaton pressed a kiss to your forehead, “But we will always be here to listen, right Papy?”

                “Right, Ton!” Papyrus struck a bit of a pose. “I will always have an ear available for you, dear human!”

                You smiled, a bit misty-eyed, but Chara snorted. “You don’t have ears, Papyrus.” She pointed out with a mischievous grin.

                He paused, no witty come back jumping to his lips, and you rolled your eyes and gently nudged the ghost in the side. “Thank you, Papyrus,” you gave him a small smile, the most you could muster for the time being, “I appreciate it.”

                “Of course, human!” He ‘booped’ your nose with his finger. “I, the most-appreciated Papyrus, will always be here for you! Now,” he moved the pillow Mettaton had propped up behind you and gently pushed you down, taking the cup from your hands, “you obviously need more rest.” You obediently laid back, head sinking into the deep, comfortable pillow. “Close your eyes, and I will tell you a tale of mystery and intrigue to lull you to sleep!”

                Mettaton rubbed circles on your leg through the comforter, while Chara made herself comfortable leaning against the headboard. Once everyone was settled, Papyrus launched into a stirring rendition of ‘Fluffy Bunny Plays Hide and Seek.’

                “You should go, Ton – you’ve been talking about this trip for weeks!”

                “I don’t know, Papy. Frisk needs us to be here for them.”

                “It’s only at the castle – less than an hour away. You’ll be able to come straight back afterwards; it won’t take long.”

                “But-“

                “How often do the midnight flowers bloom? I can watch after Frisk while you’re away.”

                “I wanted to share the moment with you, dear! It won’t be nearly as amazing or romantic without you.”

                “Oh, Mettaton…”

                You opened one eye, looking up at the couple sharing a cute kiss while sitting on the edge of the bed. While asleep you’d rolled onto your side, and the blankets had been tightly tucked around you to keep you warm.

                “You should go,” you muttered against the pillow.

                “Oh goodness, darling, I hope we didn’t wake you!” Mettaton pulled back from his lover, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

                You shrugged, sleepily pulling one of the extra pillows into your arms and cuddling it like a stuffed animal. “No biggy. You should go see the flowers.”

                “Oh no, darling, I couldn’t leave you two here-“

                “I mean both of you,” your gaze flickered to Papyrus as well.

                “We can’t leave you alone, human! That wouldn’t be very brotherly of us.” Papyrus declared, thumping his ribcage with a closed fist.

                Behind you, Chara made a tired, grumpy sound. “You both need to go. I’ll keep an eye on Frisk.” She declared, sitting up before slumping over, putting all her weight on you. How did the ghost even HAVE weight? There had to be something going on with determination or SOUL magic here…

                Both monsters were frowning, and the ghost rolled her eyes. “Look, if you don’t go, Frisk is just gonna feel guilty, and that won’t help any of us.”

                “Chara!” You hissed, mortified as a blush crawled along your cheeks.

                “Is that true, Frisk?” Papyrus sounded sad as he ran a hand through your hair. You shrunk into yourself, but managed to answer.

                “I’d feel bad if you missed something special because of me.”

                “See?” Chara cut off any arguments the two would have made. “You two go on your date tonight, and us humans will have a chill night watching movies and being lazy.”

                “Hmm. Well,” the robot hesitated, glancing at his wrist and examining the little embedded digital watch face, “I suppose, as long as you promise to look after each other, I would be alright with that.” Papyrus shifted uncomfortably in his seat but nodded in agreement.

                “But!” Mettaton leapt to his feet, nearly knocking his lover off the bed, and clapped his hands. “It’s only nine in the morning, which means I have almost ten hours to spend with my favorite little star!” He pointed at you, posing dramatically. “You and I are going,” he leaned forward slightly, mischief dancing in his optics, “SHOPPING!”

                New Home was huge. You knew there were thousands of monsters trapped beneath the mountain, but that number had never really hit you until you followed Mettaton through the largest shopping mall in the Underground. He was constantly stopped by fans, who he sweetly shared some words with before shooing them away and continuing on. The third time you lost sight of him, Papyrus (who had been convinced to tag along and get some new clothes) swept you up to sit on his shoulders. You felt a bit too old to be doing this, but you were small for your age, and Papyrus’ large frame made you look more like a six-year-old than a twelve-year-old.

                Wait – were you twelve? Your birthday was around this time of year – you’d have to find a calendar and check. Well, either way, Papyrus made you feel small and safe, though it wasn’t a bad feeling.

                It’s not, Chara agreed.

                You nearly fell off Papyrus’ shoulder at the voice. Reaching out with your SOUL, you probed the back of your mind. Chara was there, her consciousness sitting comfortably where it normally was.

                “How…?” You whispered, voice soft enough that the general din of the mall covered it.

                Sans didn’t separate us permanently, Chara answered, sounding a bit smug, He just made it easier for me to manifest myself. I’m still linked to you through your SOUL.

                “So we’re still connected…?”

                Yes. I’m still with you. Always.

                You smiled, fist leaving Papyrus’s head to curl over your chest.

                “I’m glad.”

                Mettaton was in a very generous mood that day. After an exquisite lunch at a large outdoor cafe run by Muffet and her spiders, the robot led the way to each and every store, purchasing something for you in each, despite your protests. Every time you said ‘No, thank you’ and ‘I don’t need that,’ Mettaton tutted and bought it anyway. After a few hours, you sighed and gave up, resting your chin on Papyrus’ head as he was given the same make-over treatment.

                There was only one thing you actually wanted – a stuffed ferret. It was for sale at a craft booth in the large bazaar, which was set up in the large courtyard that took up the center of New Home. The toy was made of soft, fuzzy cloth and stuffed with what looked like beans and cotton. It was a very limp toy, the long body draping over the stack of books it had been set on. As another monster shoved it to the side to look at the books, it’s big, black eyes met yours, and you felt the sudden urge to hug it.

                Papyrus, despite having to twist his head a bit, noted your fascination with the brown and cream colored toy. He plucked it off the table and, after examining it with a close eye, plopped it on his head in front of you.

                You couldn’t help but laugh at the movement as you picked up the toy, fingers delighting at the feel of the soft fur. You immediately hugged it against your chest, feeling the plastic beads that gave it weight shift beneath your hold. A little tag on the ear showed the price – 600 gold.

                “Oh,” you pulled it away from your chest, startled at the number. That was a lot of gold. Almost a whole two weeks’ worth of your salary, which you no longer had – the money you’d saved from work was safely tucked away in a jar on top of the fridge at home.

                The tag was neatly yanked off the ferret’s ear by a pair of silver fingers. Mettaton glanced at the number, raised a brow, then dug out the required gold. The old ewe running the table took it with a ‘thank you’ and shot you a smile.

                “Take good care of him,” she waved at you as Papyrus began to walk away from the table.

                Despite all the protests you’d made that afternoon while Mettaton bought you an entire new wardrobe, you didn’t say anything to him now. You simply held the toy close and leaned against Papyrus’ head as the pilgrimage to the Nice Cream stand across the courtyard resumed.

                “Are you gonna name it?” Chara, true to her word, was easily able to manifest her ghost form now. She said she could have done it before, but that it took a lot of energy and wouldn’t be very solid. Sans physically separating you two had apparently woken some of the girl’s latent determination, which allowed her to appear solid and move away from you without causing pain to your SOUL.

                “I dunno,” you had the stuffed ferret in your lap, it’s front paws in your hands. You wiggled them up and down. “What do you name a ferret?”

                “Whatever you want, I would think.” Chara was lying on the bed, hands behind her head, one leg folded over bended knee. The large television on the wall facing the bed was playing one of Mettaton’s many movies, which the two of you had long tuned out. The robot superstar had flipped it on before he and Papyrus headed for the royal gardens to see the once-a-year blooming of the midnight flowers. Apparently some of the cavern ceiling around the castle had been carved out, allowing sunlight and moonlight to shine through. The full-moon was just what the dark-blue flowers needed to bloom, and Asgore had had invited any who wanted to come see it. Mettaton’s channel was going to televise the blooming, but it wouldn’t happen for several hours yet, leaving you and Chara to watch this cheesy rom-com.

                You stared deeply into the large, shiny black eyes of the plushy, who stared back with seemingly equal vigor. No name leapt to mind, and you shrugged and pulled it to your chest, hugging it. Flopping back beside Chara you stared at the ceiling, squinting at the extravagant chandelier that hung above.

                “Feeling okay?” Chara turned her head to look at you, slight worry in her red eyes. “You’re not gonna start yakking again, are you?”

                “Lovely imagery there, Chara, real poetic stuff.” You snorted, rolling on your side to face her. “I’m just tired.”

                “I’m not surprised. The past few days have been pretty screwed up, huh?”

                “Yeah.” You sighed and shut your eyes, “Can you wake me up when the flowers start blooming?”

                Chara glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Yeah, you’ve got about four or five hours ‘til midnight. Snore away.”

                “I don’t snore,” you argued as the ghost rolled off the bed so she could pull the blankets up over you.

                “Yes you do,” Chara sat on top of the blankets beside you, squinting at the TV. “Like a little tug boat. A squeaky one. It’s actually kind of cute.” A pillow smacked her in the face, and you were certain that had you not looked as tired as you felt, she would have initiated an all-out pillow fight in retribution.

                Instead, she just shoved the pillow under your head and promised to get you back later.

                Swearing woke you up, which in and of itself was not that odd. Chara enjoyed using bad words when she could, especially since adults normally couldn’t hear her and get her in trouble over it. The swearing was not hers, however – the voice was deep and male, slightly muffled from the direction of the closet.

                You shot upright, and beside you Chara stirred, wiping drool from her chin as she looked up at you. “Frisk, wha-?”

                “Shh!” You put a finger over the ghosts’ mouth and motioned to the closet, where a second crash sounded, followed by more swears. The overhead light had been flipped off, and the television was muted.

                “What the – GAH!” The door to the closet slid aside as Sans tumbled out, landing on his face, tangled in coat hangers and several of Mettaton’s long, silky gowns. “Fuck, why does he even have this?” He pulled a diamond-studded bra off his head, throwing it to the side in disgust.

                “Oh my god,” Chara hid her mouth behind her hands, giggling as you hushed her. Sans’ head snapped up and he stared at the two of you in surprise and shock.

                “Uh…hey.” He unwrapped a lovely ball gown from his feet and stood, hands instinctively going to his hoodie pockets. “Sorry, I think my short cut was a bit, uh, off.”

                Chara fell onto her back, hooting with laughter, but you had no urge to join her.

                Coward. Worthless. Nothing.

                Your fingers found the ferret plushy, and you pulled it against your chest, hugging it as you watched Sans blush in embarrassment.

                He fought with his brother because of you. He’s here to tell you to leave. He doesn’t want you. You’re trouble. You’re a problem. You’re nothing.

                “Oh god, okay, I’m okay. That was great. Best wakeup call ever. Get it, ‘cause we’re in a hotel? Frisk?”

                A coward like you has to go. You’re not welcome or wanted.

                “Kiddo? You there? Hey, c’mon, you’re freaking me out here, kid.”

                Nobody wants you. The resort is tall. You’re on the top floor. You could jump…it didn’t work the first time, but there’s no flowers to break your fall now…

                A sharp, stinging pain rocked your head to the side, sending the itch fleeing to the far recesses of your mind. Sans had moved to stand beside the bed, his hand still raised from where he’d smacked your cheek.
                “Sorry, kiddo. You weren’t responding to either of us.” He apologized, taking a step back. You rubbed at your cheek but nodded.

                Chara moved to sit beside you, giving you a worried once-over before smacking you on the back of the head. “Don’t do that!” She snarled at your shocked expression. “Don’t listen to that stupid voice – it doesn’t know shit! That itch thing is just – just an annoyance! Ignore it!”

                “It’s not that easy.” Sans cut the ghost off. “You ever hear of the repetition principle?” You both gave him a blank look, and he chuckled. “The principle states that when you hear something over and over again, even if you know it’s false, you’ll begin to believe it.”

                That made an odd amount of sense. You squeezed the plush against your chest as he watched you, his eyes soft and concerned. When you lifted your head and met his gaze, he glanced away and rubbed at the back of his head.

                “Look, kid, I owe you an apology.” He began slowly, the words sounding pained. “I’ve been a complete ass about all of this. Papyrus is right – I’m a terrible big brother.” You wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words or motivation to do so. “I just – do you have any idea how scared I’ve been?” He finally lifted his head, and you were stunned to see tears clinging to the edges of his eye sockets.

                “Sans…”

                “You’re terrifying me, kid. Every time you get hurt I wonder if this is it, if this is the time you’ll die and have to reset. And if you reset…you’ll lose everything.” He had to stop and take a deep breath, and you were shocked to see his hands trembling. One hand reached up to scratch at the opposite arm, then paused in thought. “Frisk…I…I was wrong to call you a coward.” In a quick move, Sans shed his jacket, revealing a plain white t-shirt beneath. He held his cracked and scarred arms out in front of him for you to see.

                “I thought of it. God, I must have thought about it a hundred or more times. How easy it would be to just walk off a cliff, or fall into the lava, or just hit myself with a knife. Heh, one HP makes it easy to think of death.”

                “How did you hurt yourself if you only have one HP?” Chara was sitting behind you, supportive but not interrupting until now.

                “Heh,” Sans gaze flickered to her, then away. “My HP can go into the decimals,” he explained, flexing a wrist and gazing at the slash there. “As long as I had some healing food nearby, I could hurt myself without worry.” He winced when his fingers brushed across a particularly deep scar.

                “I’ve never been on this side of it, Frisk. I’ve never been so scared for a friend – not even Grillby when he tripped and landed in a puddle in Waterfall. Whenever I see that you’ve hurt yourself, even if you didn’t mean too – anytime I see that you’re hurting, it reminds me of these,” he nodded to his scars before allowing his arms to drop to his side. “It reminds me how scared and sad and alone I felt, and how I wanted to – to disappear.”

                “The idea of you feeling those same things, that same fear and hopelessness – it terrifies me. I know how terrible and draining those thoughts can be, how they warp what you see and feel and know. It’s driving me nuts not being able to help you,” his shoulders tensed. “Frisk, if you die, if you have to reset, you lose everything. All the relationships you’ve built, the steps you’ve taken, the progress you’ve made – gone. Your room, your possessions, your job – all of it will vanish. All the support you have now, it’ll be gone. You can’t lose that, Frisk. That’s why I’ve been so hard on you – you can’t lose what you have now.”

                “Still, that was no reason to treat you the way I did,” he thrust one hand in his hoodie pocket and pulled out a familiar Mettaton keychain. He held it out to you, not meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry, Frisk. I’m so, so sorry.”

                You held your hand out and accepted the keys, gripping them tightly, feeling the teeth on the edges dig into your palm. A nagging worry of losing your home, your safe space, that you had been doing your best not to acknowledge since Sans had taken your keys vanished. Just having the metal in your hands made you feel a hundred times lighter.

                Sans watched as you carefully set the keys down on the side table, making no move to approach or touch you. You wanted to be angry at him – you wanted to hiss and yell and tell him he was a complete asshole and a terrible brother, but you couldn’t. While the tears in his eyes had dried, the memory of them clinging to his sockets was more than enough to quell your anger.

                “Frisk, are you alright?” Chara’s hand brushed your cheek, and you belatedly realized there were tears dripping from your own eyes now. You looked up at Sans, who immediately went into big brother mode and sat on the edge of the bed, arms open.

                There was no hesitation – you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your own around his ribs, clinging to him tightly. He clutched you to his chest, shifting so you were sitting in his lap. You cried against his t-shirt, not entirely sure why, but it felt good and you couldn’t stop. Sans stroked your hair, phalanges tangling through the messy strands. Chara sat back on the bed, watching with hesitant happiness. She was loathe to trust the skeleton, he’d screwed up far too many times this reset, but you obviously needed him. So she’d put up with him, but only for you.

                “Oh my, that is cute, isn’t it?”

                “Yes, it is! I am happy my brother and little sibling have made up!”

                “And that Chara is a dear too, isn’t she? Look at them, all cuddled together! It’s just as precious as the midnight flowers.”

                “It is even better than them!”

                “I do have a question though, Papy-dear…”

                “Yes?”

                “Just how did Sans get into my top-of-the-line secured penthouse?”

Chapter Text

                “I miss chocolate.”

                You did your best to ignore Chara, who had taken to hovering a few feet above the floor in a reclining position that she claimed to be quite comfortable. You flipped through the Beginning Puzzle Makers Guide to Traps and Tricks, completely lost but not wanting to bother Papyrus for help.

                “I miss choooooooocolate.”

                Dear god, could the ghost whine when she was bored! You flipped back to the first chapter and re-read the adjective-heavy introductory paragraph.

                “Are you ignoring me?”

                “Is it that obvious?” You rolled onto your side and looked at the ghost, who was floating in the middle of your bedroom, looking less than pleased. “Do you miss anything besides chocolate?”

                “Well, yeah!” She scoffed at you, sounding insulted. “I miss peppermint too! Actually, mint chocolate was my favorite flavor, the kind with chili pepper extract was good too – I tricked dad into eating some once, his reaction was fantastic!”

                You paused in thought and scratched at the scars on your arm. “You mean Asgore, right? Do you – do you miss him?”

                “What kind of question is that?” Chara demanded, sounding angry but unsure. She flipped around so she was upright, feet touching the plush green rug. “Of course I don’t! I’m an evil demon without emotions, remember?” Her face shifted, eyes burning brightly as a creepy smile crossed her lips, cheeks burning with a bright pink blush.

                “…you really miss him, huh?”

                The expression faltered and she huffed, looking away and crossing her arms. “So what if I do? Da – Asgore has probably forgotten about me by now.”

                You rolled your eyes. “No, he hasn’t. You know he hasn’t. He wouldn’t keep the buttercups alive if he wanted to forget about you. They were your favorite flower, right?”

                “Mine and Asriel’s…”

                “There, see? He keeps them alive for you, hoping you can see them from wherever you are in the afterlife. He probably doesn’t think you’re hovering in the skelebros shed annoying a human…” You rolled your shoulders in a shrug. “You could go see him…”

                “No! No.” Chara looked at you with huge eyes. “No. It doesn’t matter how much I miss him, I – we can’t bother him.”

                You gave her a patient smile, accepting the ‘we’ as her cop out. “You’re right, we can’t.” Sitting up, you tossed the book to the end of the bed with an annoyed huff. You still weren’t cleared for work, and Papyrus’ library had proven to be less interesting and varied than you first thought. “Wanna go see if Mettaton’s on?”

                “Mettaton’s always on. There’s nobody else.”

                “Fair point.”

                You rolled off the bed and stretched, then shuffled through your still-doorless doorway into the kitchen. Sans had offered to return it but, after a bit of heavy thought, you’d refused. Not until you could be sure you could squish the itch without help. The itch had returned on and off over the past week, biting at your ego and id, but you were doing better at fighting it off than before.

                The biggest reason for that was Sans. He’d stopped getting upset and trying to control how you were feeling in order to help you. Instead, he just sat and listened and, most of the time, hugged you. Papyrus took over the ‘big-brother’ role, gently scolding you when you scratched a bit too hard at your still-healing arms, or tutting over your refusal of food. Sans was, slowly, picking up on the appropriate reactions to your slip-ups. He was also realizing that, while you loved his puns, there was a time and place for them. Finding you puking in the kitchen after having another dust-themed nightmare was not a time to make a joke about tossing your cookies while biting into an MTT-Brand Oreo knock-off.

                You still felt a bit bad about spewing all over his slippers, but not enough to apologize.

                Papyrus was sitting at the kitchen table, making a grocery list. You’d spoken with him a few weeks after moving in, pointing out that humans had to eat more than just spaghetti. Eager to please, he’d listened when you listed off the need for fruits, vegetables, protein, and calcium (the last of which the brothers were well-stocked with). The skeleton had to go to New Home to get everything, but when you’d tried to apologize and backtrack, he’d simply ‘nyeh’d’ and told you it was no problem – it was only once every few weeks, after all, and it was worth it to make sure you were happy and healthy.

                “Hey Papyrus,” you noted the skeleton looked a bit flushed, and silently thought that today’s grocery trip would be joined with a certain celebrity’s own shopping.

                “HELLO, HUMAN! I DID NOT KNOW YOU WERE HOME! NYEH HEH HEH…”

                He was lying – he’d poked his head in and said hello not twenty minutes ago. Orange crawled across his cheeks as he focused on his list, fingers twitching around the pen. You gave him an odd look, before it clicked – he was embarrassed about something.

                “So,” you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and slid into the seat across from him, “any exciting plans today?”

                “YES. MANY PLANS. VERY EXCITING.” He rushed to say, scribbling something down on his list.

                “Well, don’t leave us in the dark.” Chara floated into the chair beside you. The two of you had found that the closer Chara was to you, physically, the more solid she was, and the more she could interact with items more easily. She was always slightly-see-through and still able to float wherever she went, but the farther you were apart, the less she could interact with the solid world.

                “THE LIGHTS ARE ON,” Papyrus pointed out, jabbing the end of his pen at the overhead kitchen light.

                “That is very enlightening, Paps.” You sipped your water and enjoyed his badly-hidden snort of laughter. He shot a frown your way and scribbled something new down on the list. “Do you think you could try and find some ghost chocolate for Chara?” You leaned forward to watch as he scribbled down your request on his list.

                “OF COURSE, HUMAN!” He boomed, before shooting upright, ripping the paper off the magnet-backed list (the kind that attached to the fridge so it was always easy to find), and slapping the list back on the fridge. “I WILL RETURN IN A FEW HOURS!”

                You watched as he adjusted his scarf before shooting towards the front door. You leaned so you could see the front door and, just before he was able to shut it, you called out, “Say hi to Mettaton for me!”

                His face was nearly as bright as the sun as he slammed the door shut and raced past the front window, heading for the ferry.

                “They must have a special date planned for him to be that hue of orange.”

                “They’re probably gonna sit in front of a mirror and smooch.” Chara scoffed, getting out of the chair. “C’mon, let’s see if there’s anything non-Mettaton-y on.”

                “Alphys lent me some of her Disney movies…”

                “…is there Mulan?”

                “Yes.”

                You were grabbed and dragged to the living room as the ghost began to happily hum the catchy ‘Be A Man’ song from the middle of the movie. You sighed and flopped down on the couch, resigned to having the tune stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

                You’d been back at work for a week and you still couldn’t get that stupid ‘I’ll Make A Man Out Of You’ song from Mulan out of your head. It didn’t help that anytime it began to fade, Chara would pop up bellowing the chorus and marching around, mimicking the movements in the movie. It was hard to forget she was a fellow twelve/thirteen-year-old when that happened.

                …as swift as a coursing river…

                “Chara, I swear to god if you don’t shut up…”

                …with all the force of a great typhoon…

                “Dammit, Chara, I’m trying to do the dishes here!”

                …with all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the –

                CRUNCH

                You’d slammed your hand down on the counter beside the sink, frustration bleeding through your movements, completely forgetting you were holding a glass. It had shattered on impact, and now sharp points of pain were lancing along your palm as the shards dug into your skin.

                “FUCK!”

                There was an odd, faint feel of Velcro ripping away from your SOUL as Chara appeared beside you, looking panicked.

                “Oh my god,” she stared at you with wide eyes, “you swore!”

                “Oh my god,” you snapped, “priorities!” You held your hand up, which was dripping with blood. You moved it so it was over the sink, which was thankfully almost empty – you were nearly done with the dishes, and your shift. The ghost leaned over your hand, smirk fleeing in favor of concern. Before she could offer to fetch the first aid kit, the swinging door to the bar burst open and Grillby, looking alarmed, rushed in.

                “Frisk, I heard you ye…ll…”

                White eyes widened in shock as they took in the sight of the ghost hovering beside you. Chara, conversely, looked oddly uncomfortable. Before you could offer an awkward introduction, Grillby fell to one knee, one hand placed to his chest, head bowed.

                “Princess Chara,” he breathed reverently.

                “…what?”

                You stared at the ghost, who was actually – was that a blush? She rubbed at her shoulder, awkwardly looking away from the fire monster.

                “General Grillby,” she returned the greeting in a low voice. You looked between the two, easily able to feel the tension in the air. You didn’t dare interrupt until your hand gave an unpleasant twinge.

                “Human Frisk,” you said to both of them, “who is currently bleeding. A little help, please?”

                Whatever tense respect the two had been showing was broken, and Grillby gracefully got to his feet and hurried over. Chara moved to hover behind you as he gently took your hand and inspected the cuts. There were a few pieces of glass in the deeper cuts, which the fire elemental frowned at. “Hmph. Hold on, I need – oh, thank you, your majesty.”

                Chara had grabbed the first-aid kit from its spot across the room and held it out to him, the lid thrown back so he could reach whatever he needed. He plucked the tweezers from it and gave you a stern look.

                “This may hurt,” he warned, before beginning to pluck the pieces from your palm. You hissed and winced as the glass was removed, allowing fresh blood to spill over your palm. Whenever your blood touched the bartender’s hands, it immediately burned up with a sharp hissing sound and a rather unpleasant smell. You both did your best to ignore it.

                When all the shards were gone, Grillby dropped the tweezers into the sink and dug a wrapped piece of monster candy from the kit. He twisted off the cellophane and held it out to you. You immediately popped the watermelon-flavored candy in your mouth and hummed when it dissolved pleasantly. Your hand tingled as the cuts healed over in a matter of seconds. Grillby examined your palm with a critical eye before nodding in satisfaction and releasing it.

                “So,” you said slowly when the others didn’t speak, “General Grillby? Princess Chara?”

                The flame crackled a bit, a blue blush crossing his cheeks, while Chara shrugged and crossed her arms.

                “You know the royal family adopted me. That makes me a princess. Duh.” She had her own blush tinging her see-through face.

                “Yeah, I just never thought about it. You’re just, y’know, Chara.”

                She nodded. “And this is my babysitter, General Grillby.”

                The bartender blustered a bit at the word ‘babysitter,’ scowling at the ghost. “You are still as much of a brat as you were before.” He suddenly went rigid. “Chara, how are you here?” He demanded, attitude doing a complete 360. “You – you died centuries ago.”

                You stayed quiet, leaning against the sink and rubbing the blood off your palm with a clean rag. The ghost shifted uncomfortably where she was hovering, searching for the right words.

                “I’m still dead,” she finally pointed out, motioning to her see-through form and the shattered SOUL barely visible in her chest. Red strings of determination – your determination, tangled with her own – were still holding it together. “Just…not as dead as I was.”

                “You don’t say.” Grillby crossed his arms and gave her a flat, unamused look. “And you are less dead because…?”

                Chara, being twelve, immediately pinned the blame on someone else. “It’s Frisk’s fault,” they said, casually waving at you. “They landed on my grave and woke me up. Really rude, y’know. You never apologized for that.”

                You gave her a flat look. “Really? You possess me and I’m supposed to apologize to you?”

                “Possess?” Grillby looked slightly worried, and you sighed and ran your now-clean and healed hand down your face.

                “Ugh. It’s…it’s human-determination-stuff. We share determination, and that woke her up when I fell, and it linked us.” You tried to explain. “So her SOUL is tied to mine. It’s – it’s like having a really annoying puppy you can’t get rid of.”

                “HEY!”

                Grillby snorted, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up to his forehead to do so, sighing heavily. “I believe Frisk’s evaluation of your attitude is correct,” he agreed, “You are very much like an annoying puppy that a person cannot help but love.”

                You quashed the thought of LOVE, focusing on the lower-case meaning of the word. It did make you wonder – Grillby was obvious fond of Chara, beyond the loyalty of a soldier for his royalty. Was this Chara – the sweet, funny, kind girl you had been getting to know better over the past few months – the real Chara? The one from before the disaster with the buttercups, from before her death alongside Asriel? The one who had lived happily with the royal family for several years, serving as a daughter and sister with a kind heart and a small, shy smile hidden behind a bouquet of flowers?

                “Have you seen Asgore or Toriel?” Grillby asked, and when both you and Chara went ramrod straight he came to his own conclusion. “Ah, I see…”

                “Don’t tell them, please.” Chara muttered, oddly submissive in her body language. “I don’t…I’m not ready to see them. Not…not yet.”

                You wrapped an arm around Chara’s shoulder and pulled her against your side. Grillby looked like he wanted to hug her as well, but hung back.

                “I will not tell them,” Grillby promised, “It is not my place. I do hope you will speak to them one day, though. They would be overjoyed to see and speak with you again.”

                Chara rubbed at one arm, not meeting his eyes. “One day,” she promised, and he nodded.

                “Well, your shift is over. Sans is here to walk you home.” Grillby motioned to the bar door.

                “But the dishes – “

                “I will finish them,” Grillby waved you off and cleaned up the first aid kit, which Chara had sat beside the sink. “I will see you tomorrow, Frisk, Chara.” He nodded to you both.

                “Tomorrow’s my day off,” you reminded him, a bit confused. His hands twitched over the kit.

                “Ah, my mistake. Then I will see you the next time you work.” He paused, and glanced at the ghost. “Chara, would you be interested in a job here as well?”

                The ghost snorted. “Nah,” she waved her hand, “a princess like me doesn’t do the dishes.” You elbowed her in the side, even as Grillby chuckled.

                “Well, feel free to visit anytime, Princess.”

                Chara wrinkled her nose at the title before vanishing, resettling back in your mind. Grillby didn’t say anything about the disappearing act, merely waved you out of the kitchen so he could finish up the dishes for the night. You were once again amazed at the way Grillby let everything roll off his back – he was one of the most chill monsters you’d ever met.

                You snorted as you left the kitchen, reminding yourself to tell Sans about the unintentional pun. He was waiting in the empty bar – closing had come and gone while you cut up your hand. He held out his arm to you and, with a quick shortcut you were home.

                You were bored. Sans and Papyrus had sent you to Gerson’s store in Waterfall to pick up some crabapples for a recipe Papyrus wanted to try. Crabapple turnover cake. It sounded delicious – you were looking forward to it, but still, why couldn’t Sans have just teleported? You complained, loudly, to Chara as you mucked through the puddles and approached the deep cave that housed Gerson’s store.

                To your frustration (and Chara’s amusement), there was a sign hanging by the entrance to the cave reading ‘Closed for the Day.’ You could see the crabapples through the entrance, and feel the coins rattling in your pocket. You could just take them and leave the money, but it felt wrong to enter the cavern without the old proprietor there.

                “Well this was a gigantic waste of time,” you muttered sourly as you turned and headed back towards Snowdin. Chara hissed at you and motioned to the path heading South.

                Take the ferry – it’ll be faster. Maybe not dryer, but faster.

                “Good point. Why didn’t I think of that?”

                You were drooling over the thought of cake.

                “Oh shut up, so were you.” You shoved your hands in your jacket pocket and shuffled towards the ferry stop. The Riverperson drew up only a few moments after you arrived – you figured they had some kind of magical alarm that told them when people were waiting.

                “Good day,” they greeted softly as you climbed on.

                “Afternoon,” you returned, a quick glance at the MTT-brand watch on your wrist showing it was nearly two. “Snowdin, please.”

                “Of course.” They gave a short bow and the boat set off, drifting gently down the river towards the snowy village. Neither of you spoke as the river rocked the boat back and forth. You sat by the bow, enjoying the movement and the humming of the monster behind you.

                “Here we are.” The Riverperson didn’t disperse any odd wisdom today, remaining mostly silent as the boat pulled up to the Snowdin dock. You left a few gold as a tip (they refused pay, but it was rude to refuse a tip, and monsters were nothing it not unfailing polite in business matters). A short wave and they off, heading for the next stop.

                You stomped through the snow, a bit put off at failing your errand, and equally annoyed at Gerson for disappearing in the first place, even though you knew it wasn’t fair. Over the past few months you’d gotten to know the funny old turtle. He was a mentor to Undyne, and a close friend of both Papyrus and Sans. He didn’t visit Snowdin much – the cold was bad for his blood, he claimed – but you had accompanied the brothers plenty of times when they trekked to the store, perusing his oddities and antiques and getting sucked into discussions about the history of the Underground. He knew you were human – he was actually a retired army general, having once been Gerson “The Hammer of Justice” and had fought in the war against humans. It had made you nervous the first time you met him, but his weird, loud laugh and kind demeanor had quickly squashed any worry. Despite the war, Gerson was more than happy to be your friend.

                The skelebro house was dark and quiet – Papyrus was at work, while Sans was probably pretending to be at work while sleeping at one of his various stands. You climbed the porch steps and stomped the snow off your rubber boots. They weren’t as great for the snow as they were for water, but they worked. Chara pulled away from you and looked around, a bit of a nervous expression on her face.

                “What’s up?” You asked as you fetched your keys. The ghost rarely came out unless she knew it was safe and she would be out of sight of new people.

                “Nothing,” she shrugged and frowned at the snow. “Hurry up, it’s freezing.”

                You snorted and deliberately slowed your movements, making sure to exaggerate each gesture. “I thought you couldn’t feel the cold?”

                “I can, it just doesn’t bother me like it does you.”

                “So, it goes right through you?”

                “I swear to god, Frisk…”

                You laughed as you swung the door to the dark living room open, stepping in and slipping off your boots. Chara followed and, with a bit of determination, flipped the switch for the lights.

                “SURPRISE!”

                You jumped out of your boots (literally – they were a bit big on you and finished slipping off as you leapt a foot in the air) as all of your friends – many you considered family now – leapt out from the kitchen, stairs, upstairs hall, and behind the furniture to yell the word at you.

                Gasping, you leaned on the couch arm, one hand fisted over your chest as you tried to calm your heart down. You took a quick inventory of the monsters – Sans and Papyrus, of course, alongside Mettaton, Napstablook,  Undyne, and Alphys. Grillby was poking his head out from the kitchen alongside Gerson, who had a wicked smirk on his face (which he had obviously taught to Undyne – the expression was nearly identical). Burgerpants was less hiding and more slouching against the wall by the TV, though there was a slight smile to his face as well. You’d gotten to know him and his boyfriend, Nice (the blue bunny Nice Cream vendor you’d run across several times) when visiting Mettaton at the resort. Speaking of the bunny, he was there too, hand tangled with his feline lovers, a huge smile on his face.

                “Surprise,” Chara chirped happily beside you. Mettaton had insisted on introducing her to Alphys and Undyne, the former of which recognized her, the latter of which had no clue but was stoked at the thought of you having your own personal body guard. Gerson looked stunned, and you were reminded that he had served alongside Grillby and most likely recognized the ghost. The bartender gave his shoulder a slight tap and mouthed the word ‘later’ as you watched. The turtle shrugged and nodded in return.

                BP (as he preferred to be called) and Nice hadn’t met her either, but neither thought anything strange. There were plenty of ghost monsters, after all. They simply smiled when you glanced over at them.

                “Uh…what?” You finally managed to say, looking at all the balloons, streamers, the stack of presents on the table beside Rocky the pet rock, who was wearing a cone-shaped hat, and the similar cone-shaped hat on Papyrus’ head.

                “HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRISK!” Papyrus boomed, rushing forward and sweeping you up into a tight hug, spinning around several times.

                “Uh…what?” You repeated.

                Sans moved to stand beside you when Paps set you down, grabbing your shoulder when you wavered dizzily. “A little ghost mentioned we missed your birthday.” He winked. “Thirteen is a big deal, after all – you’re a teenager now.”

                “Yeah, punk!” Undyne dragged you into a noogie and ruffled your hair as everybody gathered around. “You’re like, almost an adult now!” She reached out to grab Chara and give her the same treatment, but her arm went straight through the ghost. You were the only one who could only touch Chara, the two of you had discovered after Papyrus had tried hugging her goodnight one evening. It was a weird phenomenon but both of you chalked it up to determination and left it at that.

                “Nice try, sushi,” the ghost laughed, floating out of reach.

                The fish growled, even though it was a common insult they used whenever in the same room. “Well then, DOUBLE NOOGIES FOR THE BIRTHDAY KID!”

                “Hey!” You fought your way out of Undyne’s arms and ducked behind Papyrus, who nyeh’d and flexed, ‘protecting’ you. “No attacking me at my own party!”

                “Yes, Undyne! Respect the rules of birthday parties!” He declared, blocking her when she made a grab at you. “Now, let us commence the celebrations!”

                And commence you all did – you got hugs and congratulations from them all, well wishes and kind words. Nice had brought you an ice cream cake, which Sans had to insist didn’t need glitter, citing your allergy. It was delicious, and each plate Nice handed out had a sweet saying written around the edge. Yours was scribbled with ‘You are a sweetheart and a treasure to all who love you.’ Chara couldn’t have a piece, of course, but Papyrus whipped out a bar of ghost chocolate he’d gotten from Napstablook and handed it over to the completely giddy ghost.

                “That’s definitely Chara,” Gerson muttered into his cake, nodding to Grillby, who smirked and sipped a hot tea – his cake had melted as soon as it got close, so he’d made himself a warm drink instead. You reminded yourself to corner the turtle with Chara in tow later and explain yourselves.

                After cake, they all hustled you into the middle of the living room, and Mettaton piled the presents around you. “Now, darling, it is time for gifts!” He declared as everyone settled in, piling on the couch or standing around the room. Before you could rip into the brightly wrapped pink-and-black package Mettaton had not-so-subtly pressed into your hands, a heavy knock sounded at the door.

                “Oh!” Papyrus leapt off of Mettaton’s lap (much to the robot’s displeasure) and rushed to the door. “My gift first!”

                You exchanged a glance with Chara, who was hovering behind you, and for some reason dread began to pool in your stomach. Before you could as Papyrus to wait, the excitable skeleton threw open the door and bowed to the monster waiting there.

                Your heart froze, your SOUL dropped, and behind you Chara let out a near inaudible whimper as the large monster ducked beneath the doorframe and entered the small living room, a bright smile on his face.

                “How…dy…?”

Chapter Text

Asriel dragging you before a large monster – you barely came up his waist! – and introducing you to his dad, before saying you were hurt. The large monster kneeling down and greeting you gently, large hands coming to touch your shoulders as he looked at your bruised and bleeding frame, concern in his eyes.

I so badly want to say, would you like a cup of tea? You so badly want to say yes – yes, yes, a million times, YES, let’s have tea, let’s talk, because you’ve killed me a dozen times and I’m TERRIFIED of you and please, I don’t want to hurt anymore, you’re scaring me, scarring me.

He is gentle as he plays with Asriel, showing the young prince how to best tie flowers together to make a daisy chain. When he is done he drops it on your head, and it slips over your eyes. He laughs, a deep, booming sound that rolls all the way from the top of your head to your toes, and you can feel the emotions in it – joy, happiness, contentment, love. Not the Level of Violence, but real love, the kind you never felt above.

Broad, cloaked shoulders in front of you, the purple cloth falling to the floor, dragging before you against the stone, creating an echoing ‘whoosh’ sound. How tense… Just think of it like…a visit to the dentist. You follow and the barrier hums and you want so badly to turn and run but you can’t because this is the only way home. Do you even want to go home? Why? They don’t love you, don’t care for you. But you have nowhere else to go – Toriel has turned you away, and the other monsters are expecting you to disappear through the barrier and never return. You don’t want to leave, but it’s too late to turn back. Now that the seventh soul is in his grasp you doubt the king will let you leave.

“Dad, no!” You cry as the goat monster tickles you, and everything in the room freezes. Asriel, sitting on his mother’s lap, looks at you with wide, delighted eyes. The queen’s expression softens imperceptibly as she watches her husband right you, so you are hanging from his hands in front of him. His eyes are misty and he holds you tightly in a bone-crushing hug. “Of course, my daughter,” his chest rumbles and his beard tickles your cheek as he speaks. “No more tickles today. Though I do not think Asriel has had all he needs…” And as you both lunge at the prince, pinching his toes and tickling his ribs, you feel a sense of peace settle in your SOUL. You’ve found a place here, among these monsters, and a family more kind and caring than you could ever imagine. You would do anything for them.

A red trident piercing your chest, breaking your ribs open like they were no more than sticks of pretzel, blood dribbling from your lips as a giant hand reaches out to cup your fragile soul in thick fingers, sad eyes beginning to tear as your world goes dark and you awake back at the save point in the throne room to the scent of buttercups and steel and blood. You scream and scream and scream as the feel of the tridents refuse to leave you, and you can hear him in the next room, rushing down the hallway, and you panic because you can’t see him again he’ll kill you kill you kill you and you pull up the command screen and you RESET.

You’re dead. You know you’re dead. You’ve been dead for centuries, your body feeding the buttercup flowers mother grows in the Ruins. Your SOUL never completely dissipated, however – it persevered after death, though shattered and without a body. Then they fell – Frisk – and you were woken and taken through the Underground alongside them, a faint voice in their head guiding them, steering them. You see what has become of the land in your absence, you see your father – the kind, caring man who raised you for years after you untimely fall into their world – kill Frisk repeatedly, all for their SOUL, and you grow angry. Then Frisk – young, hurt, terrified Frisk – Resets, not for the first time, and you feel their hold on their body slipping as they retreat into their mind, terrified and sick and you slip in and take control and decide that you will find a way out – find a way that doesn’t including fighting your once-kind father, find a way that will give you the monster souls and power you need to escape without facing him. You take control and for two-dozen runs you cut down everything in your path, but you never make it. Never get there. Are never strong enough.

                And now he’s here, standing by the doorway, looking shocked and pained and surprised and oh so sad all at once. You’re falling backwards – you jerked, the chair tipped, and you fall but if it hurt you didn’t notice – you’re scrambling back, crawling like a crab, until you hit the TV stand. You were faintly aware of BP grabbing the flat screen, keeping it from falling on your head, but that image was swept away by a red trident made of pure determination piercing your chest over and over and over again.

                You have eyes only for him and he is large, so very, very large that he takes up all your vision, which swam around the edges and began sparkling with dark spots because you can’t breathe and it’s important to be able to breathe but the technique, the skill, is escaping you and you can only pant as you stare up at your murderer.

                And then Chara was there, standing in front of you, staring down the goat monster, face swamped with so many emotions you cannot pick out a single one. She had her arms thrown out, protecting you, and through the smoky make up of her body you could see Asgore step back, pain and loss warring on his face.

The air in the room is thick, smothering in its intensity. Everyone had frozen the moment you fell, stunned at the sudden panic and tears streaming down your face.

                “I think we have overstayed our welcome.” Thank all that is good in the world for the unflappable showmanship side of Mettaton. His limbs wrapped around Undyne, Alphys, BP, and Nice, dragging them after him while bidding the skeletons a hasty goodbye. Grillby and Gerson pulled back into the kitchen, watching their king through the doorway, both looking tense and worried. Napstablook simply vanished, as he normally did when things became overwhelming. By the time everyone had hurried through the door, Mettaton promising them dinner, his treat, you were left with the two old generals, the skelebros, Chara, and King Asgore.

                Some far away faint part of you noticed that, but the rest of you, the core of you, is…still. Your breathing was stiff and automatic, your gaze far and becoming more unfocused by the second. The determination-red trident flashed in your eyes again and again, striking your chest, your shoulder, your arm, your head, cutting down your HP again and again before the world went dark and he clasped your SOUL in his hands, cradling it like a precious treasure as you died before him.

                Asgore takes a step through you.

“I’m sorry!” You tried to scream but the thick, tense air is strangling your vocal chords and it comes out as a whimper. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you repeat, throwing your arms above your head and cringing against the TV stand. “I don’t want to fight I’m sorry I didn’t hurt anyone I’m sorry please don’t hurt me I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” By the end you’ve regained your breath and you were screaming, hysteria lacing your words, “Please, please, I don’t want to die again!”

The world tilts sickeningly on its axis, startling you out of the fog you didn’t remember falling into. Sans kneeled in front of you, his eyes large and worried, sweat beading his forehead. Your face was cradled in his hands, and as soon as he was sure you’d snapped out of it, he used his thumb to wipe tears from your eyes.

                “Take a deep breath with me, kiddo.” His hands moved to cradle your own and he pressed them against your chest, so you can feel it expand as he pulls in a deep breath. You do your best to follow, choking a bit as you try, but he nodded. “Good, good, now out,” the skeleton encouraged, blowing air between his teeth. You followed once again, and he continued to coach you until the darkness around your eyes receded.

                Sans leaned back, and you took stock of your surroundings. You were in Sans room, sitting on his bed (which was actually made for once, not just a bundle of sheets on a mattress). The skeleton was kneeling in front of you, looking much calmer now that you weren’t on the cusp of fainting.

                “There’s my little sib,” he let out a huff of relief and reached out to ruffle your hair. “You stay here and rest, okay? I’ll make sure Asgore leaves.” At the name your breath hitched, and he rushed to reassure you. “It’s okay, it’s okay, he won’t touch you, I promise.” He pressed his teeth to your forehead. “Just rest, okay?” He gently pushed you down, so your head was resting on the pillow (which did smell clean, if not a bit ketchup-y). The skeleton stood, but before he could leave you grabbed his sleeve.

                “Wait,” you breathed the word, “the – the knives in your closet,” you released him and pulled your arm back, curling fingers into fists and holding them against your chest. “I don’t know if I can…if the itch comes back…”

                Sans blinked in surprise, before his eye flashed with magic. Something in the closet fell over, and he nodded in satisfaction. “They’re gone,” he promised. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but there was a crash downstairs followed by an angry yell. “I’d better go mediate,” he muttered. “Stay here, rest.” He reminded you for the third time. You nodded into the pillow and he vanished.

                “Chara?”

                The ghost winced and looked away, shoulders hunched about her ears as she tried not to meet the monster’s eyes. Now that Frisk was out of danger, she dropped her arms and wrapped them about herself. Gerson and Grillby had emerged from the kitchen, hovering by the table that housed Rocky. Papyrus was standing beside Asgore, a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving closer. Sans had vanished with Frisk, though the ghost could sense the other human’s SOUL above them, in his bedroom.

                Sans popped back into sight behind her, looking far too stressed out for a birthday party. He huffed a sigh and gave his brother a hard look. “Papyrus,” his voice wasn’t disappointed or sad, just tired, “I thought we agreed to only invite Frisk’s friends to their party.”

                “Ah, yes,” Papyrus released Asgore and nervously tapped his fingers together. “I know we spoke of that, but I did not want Chara to feel left out of our festivities! She has not had her birthday celebrated in many years, correct? I heard her speaking of how she missed Asgore, and I thought it would be a wonderful gift to invite him and surprise her.”

                Sans sighed again (he was doing that a lot today) but didn’t argue – his brother had simply been trying to make Chara happy, and make her feel like a part of their odd little family. As much as Sans disliked her, Papyrus had grown close to the ghost, who enjoyed listening to his stories and watching him cook. It didn’t surprise him that Papyrus would want to do something nice for the ghost, especially since she was essentially a part of Frisk.

                “You’re too nice, Pap,” the older skeleton finally said, and his brother seemed to deflate a bit in relief at not being yelled at. “Chara,” he turned to the ghost, “are you alright?”

                The ghost wasn’t looking at any of them – her bright-red eyes were firmly trained on the ground in front of her feet, tracing the zig-zag pattern of the carpet over and over again. When Asgore took an unsteady step towards her, she vanished without a trace.

                “Chara…?” The kings voice was completely broken, the sorrow within it heavy enough to tear him apart.

                “She’ll come back!” Papyrus patted his shoulder and steered the large monster to the couch, putting some pressure on his shoulder to get the goat sitting down. Asgore took up almost all of the couch, and it sunk dramatically beneath his weight. “You just sit here, sire. I’ll make you some tea!” Ever helpful and hopeful, Papyrus rushed to the kitchen, followed by the sound of clanging pots and running water.

                After a moment Asgore lifted his head and looked at the present skeleton. “Sans,” he had to stop and swallow after the name, “What…?”

                Sans shifted a bit uncomfortably beneath the king’s sad gaze. “It’s…it’s a bit complicated,” he finally sighed, moving to stand closer to the king. The two were not friends, certainly not besties, but Sans was the Judge, and served the king, and to do that they had to trust each other to some extent.

                “Tell me. Please.” Asgore was not demanding answer, was not requesting the story as a king to a servant. No, he was begging for an answer as a devastated father who had lost his children so many years ago, who still had a hole in his SOUL in the shape of two young ones who had once been his entire world.

                Sans glanced at Gerson and Grillby, neither of whom seemed to be even breathing. When Asgore rose no objection to their listening, he began the story. At least, what he knew of it.

                You had only been laying on Sans rather comfortable bed (no wonder he liked to sleep so much!) for a few minutes when Chara’s familiar weight settled in the back of your mind. She felt completely rattled – no coherent thoughts or feelings crossed your bond, nothing that you could distinguish and use to comfort her. So instead you just focused on sending as much love as you could through the stranger determination bond that tied you two together. You flooded her with the feeling, and slowly she began to calm down, growing quiet and still in her space.

                “It’s okay,” you muttered aloud. “We’re going to be okay. As long as we have each other, and our friends, we’ll be alright.” When she still didn’t speak, you began to hum, snuggling deeper into the blankets Sans had tucked about you. You hummed until Chara’s thoughts had stilled, and your own began to drift.

                When Sans returned an hour later, having sent Asgore off with his former generals in order to get him home safely, he found Chara rematerialized and hugging you desperately, a frown twisted across her lips. You, at least, seemed to be resting peacefully, your arms thrown around Chara’s lithe form, holding her tightly.

                The skeleton sat on the edge of his bed and simply watched you two for a few moments. He had promised to speak with both of you, and try to convince you to at least speak with him for a few minutes. After seeing the way all your friends had jumped to your defense, he had promised not to harm you, despite you being human.

                Chara whimpered a bit and curled herself closer to you. Without thinking about it, Sans reached out and ran his hand down her back. To his absolute shock, his fingers did not simply sink through the slightly-smoky form. Instead, they brushed soft sweater-like material and, beneath it, squishy human skin. The ghost relaxed ever-so-slightly, leaning into the touch. Sans, being the good scientist he is, decided he needed more data and ran his hand over her back again.

                Yep. Still solid.

                The skeleton had no idea how it was possible to be touching the ghost, but as he watched her shoulders and neck relax, he decided not to think too much about it. Her sudden solidness wasn’t hurting anybody, lest of all his brother or himself.

                It was a mystery for another day.

Chapter Text

                Asgore was not a happy king. He sat in his throne, posture slumped, one fist curled beneath his chin, the other tapping the armrest, leaving claw marks in the gilded wood. His advisor had spoken to him for a few minutes early that morning, but the king had sent him away with a tired sigh and the excuse of a ‘headache.’ Gerson was somewhere in the castle, harassing the new generation of guards, using his walking stick (made from the stock of his famous hammer) to intimidate them and gesticulate as he recounted war stories. The king was glad his old friend was distracted – he and Grillby had spent nearly the entire night fretting over him, and as much as the goat appreciated the kindness, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

                Sans had managed to give him a rough idea of what was going on. He’d explained about Frisk having strong determination. Thanks to the determination experiments run by…by…the last royal scientist, he couldn’t recall their name, Asgore knew all about it. Grillby and Gerson had seen enough humans on the battlefield to get the gist of it as they listened. Sans said that because of the human – Frisk’s – determination, they had awoken Chara’s SOUL when they fell into the Underground and defeated death. Chara, being a human, hadn’t completely let go of this world when she died. Instead, her SOUL had gone into some kind of stasis as her body decomposed beneath the buttercups Toriel had buried her beneath at the far end of the Ruins. When Frisk fell, her spike of determination called to Chara’s SOUL, and she had been bound to Frisk, possessing the living human.

                It had made an odd amount of sense – possession was not a foreign concept, and though it was unexpected and quite upsetting, he was easily able to believe what Sans had told him. What he couldn’t understand was what had happened with Frisk and Chara when they had seen him.

                I don’t want to die again!

                Asgore’s gut twisted as the humans frightened face floated through his memory. They had looked beyond terrified – tears spilling over cheeks, lips trembling, face pale even as sweat beaded along their forehead, beneath the fringe of bangs that swung as they fell back. He did not know what they meant – again – but the first part of the plea had sent him reeling through the six other humans that had fallen into the Underground. Not all of them had begged, but he’d been able to see it in their eyes – don’t kill me please, I’m only a child, please, please, I want to live…

                And Chara. His daughter. She had thrown herself between him and the human, blocking him, arms out, face firm and scowling, as though she’d been told it was bedtime, and no, she couldn’t have a third cup of hot chocolate, it did not count as a vegetable (even if it did come from a bean). But then, after Sans had removed the human, he’d reached for his daughter, his daughter, and several expressions had crossed her face. He’d seen fear, guilt, sadness, regret, and more, before she’d simply vanished. Sans said she would speak with him eventually, but…

                God, he couldn’t do this by himself.

                “AJAX!” He hollered, and his adviser scurried in, having been waiting in the hall as his sire moped.

                “Yes, sire?”

                “Fetch Lady Muffet. I need to make use of her telegraph service to the Ruins.”

                “Yes, sire.”

                Asgore slumped back in his throne as the servant disappeared. He knew she didn’t want to hear from him – in fact, he was half-sure that she would incinerate the message before reading it, but he had to try. It was only fair. A child needed their mother, after all.

                Two days after your disastrous birthday bash (and after two days of trying very, very hard not to think about Asgore in any capacity) Mettaton burst into the cabin, hauling Undyne, Alphys, Gerson, Nice, and BP behind her, Napstablook floating along, and declared it to be the sequel to your birthday party. The gifts, which you hadn’t opened yet, were piled around you, and Mettaton produced a thirteen-tier cake from…somewhere. The digital phone space Alphys had invented, maybe? You were once again smothered in good wishes, as well as concern over what had happened. A few reassuring words and a glare from Sans (unnoticed by you) had everyone quickly dropping the subject in favor of digging into the cake and urging you to open your presents.

                This party went much better than the previous one. Sans even managed to get Grillby to close a few hours early so he could come enjoy the tail end of it. He was even able to enjoy a piece of cake this time. You tore into the presents and found a full set of Mettaton’s movies on DVD (all signed by him, naturally – Papyrus, who currently had the robot perched on his lap, had all but drooled over them), some Glamburger and Nicecream vouchers from the two food vendors, a new CD of remixed music from Napstablook, a brand new updated phone from Alphys (with everybody’s numbers already programmed in), a t-shirt that had ‘Tough as Scales’ printed on the front from Undyne, a book on monster and SOUL history courtesy of Gerson, and more little trinkets and such from everybody. And, of course, several new outfits hand-made by the flamboyant robot eyeing your t-shirt and jeans from across the room.

                You thanked everyone fervently, repeatedly, before Papyrus declared it to be time to play in the snow and challenged you to a snowball fight. You almost refused, not wanting to make Gerson or Grillby uncomfortable. That changed in seconds when the old turtle pegged you in the face with a perfectly-packed snowball. It. Was. On.

                Nobody won. Nobody lost. You all ended up cold and soaked (save for Grillby and Chara, who stood on the porch and watched you all go at each other with snow, speaking softly and emotionally with each other). By the end the skelebros front yard was a completely mess, the snow flattened and looking as though it had been trampled by a herd of wooly mammoths. Everyone said their goodbyes, gave you hugs, and straggled home, cold and wet but happy. You followed their example, going into the house to find a nice hot bath waiting for you, courtesy of Sans. As you sunk beneath the bubbles and watched your slightly-blue toes began to regain their flush, you thought of how wonderful it was to be here, Underground, with Chara and the brot-

                No. Here, Underground, with your family.

                “I’m not touching you.”

                “Cut it out!”

                “What? I’m not doing anything!”
                “Yes you are, you’re poking me!”

                “What, no I’m not. Frisk, am I poking her?”

                “I wasn’t watching.”

                “He was!”

                “Oh c’mon, I’m not touching you!”

                “Sans, stop harassing the ghost-human and pick up your sock!”

                “Sorry bro, can’t. I’m studying this phenomenon.”

                “STOP POKING ME!”
                You focused on the word jumble Papyrus had handed you, doing your best to block out the bickering between Sans and Chara. The two had been going at it all morning – Sans could now touch Chara, for some reason, and was excusing his annoying ‘I’m not touching you’ routine as scientific study to figure out why Chara was growing more and more solid every day. Papyrus had been disappointed at learning the news – he’d immediately tried to sweep up Chara in a hug, but had gone straight through her instead. A few comforting words and a ‘make-up’ hug from you had comforted him, though he still seemed a bit put out.

                Like any smart teen, you stayed out of it. They were sitting on the couch, you were on the floor, leaning against the outer arm couch and balancing the puzzle on a book on your knees. You couldn’t see them, but you could hear them, and feel the couch shake when Sans was shoved back by the irate ghost.

                “I’m not touching y-“

                “AGH!”

                The scream was loud but not unexpected. The following thump as Chara full-on tackled Sans and ended up taking them both to the floor was. You leaned around the end of the couch to check on the two. At the kitchen doorway, Papyrus did the same. In only a moment Sans had Chara pinned on the floor, his eye flaring blue.

                “Heh. Still can’t beat me.” Any more bragging was stopped by Chara pressing a hand against his jaw, the other grabbing at his shirt as she tried to push him back, grunting with the effort. A moment later, she shrieked and pulled both hands away.

                “Ewwwww!”

                Sans was now bearing a smug grin and a see-through blue tongue between open teeth (you hadn’t even known his teeth could open!). “Heh. Got ta’ get my licks in, kiddo.”

                You giggled, Papyrus groaned, and Chara disappeared from beneath Sans, resettling back in your mind in full-on pout mode. You heard Sans mutter ‘sore loser’ amusedly under his breath as he got up and returned to the couch.

                “Glad to see you’re getting along,” You muttered quietly to the ghost.

                He’s an asshole.

                “Yes, he is. Deal with it.”

                “What’s she saying about me?” Sans was peering down at you over the arm of the couch, still looking far too pleased with himself. At least his tongue had disappeared for the time being.

                “She thinks you’re cute.”

                “What?”

                WHAT? In less than a second Chara had popped back out of your mind to float in front of you. “I did not say that!”

                Above you, Sans made an insulted noise. “What? You don’t think I’m cute?”

                You happily listened to the two descend into useless, unneeded bickering over what qualified as ‘cute’, continuing on your jumble and grinning even wider when Papyrus jumped into the verbal fray, declaring himself to be the cutest. Despite Asgore, despite the itch, despite everything, you’d found love, and it had found you. This odd little messed up family was everything you had ever hope for up above, and as you finished up your puzzle, you couldn’t help but feel hope in your SOUL.

                “Um, Sans?”

                “Yeah bro?”

                “There is a clone of Asgore here to see you.”

                The hand carding through your hair froze, the joints between phalanges tangling with the long strands. You had been talking to Sans about your feelings, the itch, and other stuff, as you did every few days. He’d sat on your bed and had you lay down with your head in his lap, giving you physical comfort as you spoke about the lingering need to hurt yourself (which was growing smaller and smaller by the day). Chara had gone…somewhere, you think she left to visit Napstablook and nab some of his chocolate. She got along rather well with the quiet ghost – they both enjoyed ghost food and lying on the floor feeling like garbage. Papyrus stood in the doorway to your room (still no door), fingers worrying each other through his red gloves.

                “What do you mean, a ‘clone’ of Asgore?” Sans asked slowly as he carefully detangled his hand from your hair. Your breathing had begun to speed up at the thought of having to face Asgore again, and the older brother began to rub small circles along your back, trying to calm you.

                “Well, they look like Asgore, but their horns are smaller and they have no beard.” Papyrus seemed equally worried and confused. “I can tell them to leave, if you want. “

                That was a bit of a shock – Papyrus never turned away company, and never skipped the chance to make friends. You slowly pushed yourself up, scooting closer to Sans as soon as you were upright.

                “It’s Toriel,” you whispered, fingers grasping the fabric of your pajama pants.

                “The queen?” Papyrus gasped, stars appearing in his eyes.

                “The lady behind the door?” Sans asked quietly. That’s right, he hadn’t met her - all he knew about her was that she lived in the Ruins and liked knock-knock jokes.

                “Yeah,” you affirmed, all your focus on your pajamas.

                Sans kept running his hand over your shoulder blades. “Should we ask her to leave?” He squeezed your shoulder.

                “I – I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to see her.” You admitted, thinking of her tearful face as she hugged you, before telling you to never return. You thought of all the unanswered phone calls and unheard jokes and babbling. During your first few runs, when dealing with the itch on your own, you’d called and called and called her, babbling to silence when she never picked up. Eventually you’d given up, given in to the itch instead, and had replaced unanswered calls with lines on your arm.

                “You don’t have to see her. You don’t have to see anyone you don’t want to.” Sans pulled you against him as Papyrus sat on your other side, looking concerned.

                You leaned your whole weight into him, slumping. “I don’t – I can’t. She…she abandoned me. When – when I left, she said not to come back. Ever. I – I tried to call her a few times, when the itch got bad, but she never picked up…” Without noticing, you began to drag your nails along your arm. Papyrus took your hands in his own, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of one, not saying anything. “I trusted her, and she left me…”

                “Oh, my child.”

                You and the skelebros jumped out of your skins (well, one of you did, at least). Toriel was standing in the doorway, one paw clasped over her muzzle, tears clinging to her lashes. Her other paw fisted the fabric of her tunic, nearly tearing a hole in it. Her eyes darted to the lines of scars along your arm, and the tears began to stain the fur on her cheeks as they fell. You sat rigidly between the brothers, like a deer caught in headlights.

                “I – I am so sorry. I never meant for you to…I did not think that you would…” She dragged a paw beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears, though they were quickly replaced. You’d never seen the normally-composed queen at a loss for words – even when asking to leave the Ruins, even when facing her down across a battle field, she’d been calm and collected. She took a step into your bedroom, having to duck a bit to avoid hitting her head on the doorframe. “My child…”

                “No!” Your voice surprised the two skeletons – Sans squeezed you closer to his side, and Papyrus held your hands tightly, hoping to keep you from scratching. Having them there, on either side, supporting you, gave you the strength you needed to speak, the sting of her constant rejection fueling your anger. “I’m not your child. You abandoned me.” Your fingers strained against Papyrus’ grip, and he squeezed your hands supportively. “I just wanted to – to see if there was a way home. I didn’t want to leave you forever! But – but you told me to never come back. You let me call you mom, but then – then you turned me away. You locked me out.”

                “Child…”

                You turned and buried your face in Papyrus’ battle body, hiding your torn expression from sight. He released your hands in order to wrap his arms around you, tugging you closer and resting his chin on your forehead. There was too much sorrow, too much regret, too much love in Toriel’s voice and expression. You couldn’t stand it – not now, not when you wanted to be mad at her.

                On your other side Sans got up and, after a quick hair ruffle, quietly escorted Toriel from the doorway. You could hear them speaking in the living room, before the front door opened. When Sans didn’t immediately return, you figured they had carried their discussion outside. Papyrus kept holding you, despite the ‘threat’ being gone.

                “I know your voice,” Toriel and Sans had moved to stand on the porch in front of the skelebros house, neither looking at each other, focusing instead of the falling snow.

                “Heh. I know yours too.” The skeleton had his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, watching her through quick glances from the corner of his sockets. “Knock knock.”

                “Who’s there?”

                “Sans.”

                “Sans who?”

                “Sans the Skeleton.”

                Toriel hummed in thought. “If you are Sans, then the tall skeleton that opened the door must be Papyrus, correct?”

                “Yeah, that’s my bro.”

                “Knock knock.’

                “Who’s there?”

                “Toriel.”

                “Toriel who?”

                When she didn’t answer, Sans turned his head all the way to look at her. The goat had a look of misery on her face, and more tears had gathered in her eyes. “Toriel the fool,” she muttered angrily to herself.

                The skeleton didn’t correct her – as much as he appreciated her jokes and friendship, he couldn’t deny that shutting Frisk out had done nothing to help the child fight their demons. Instead, he looked back at the snow. “It happens to the best of us,” he said casually instead.

                Toriel worried her hands together, before sighing and pulling up the hood of her habit. “I – it was nice to meet you Sans. I am terribly sorry for intruding on you like this.” She took a few steps off the porch, though she paused at the bottom. “Please, could you tell Frisk that I am sorry? And – and that if they were to call, then I will answer?”

                Sans nodded, then realized she hadn’t turned around and said aloud, “Yeah, I’ll tell ‘em.”

                The goat’s shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly. “Thank you.” She turned to the right and began trudging through the snow, back to the Ruins. The skeleton waited until she had vanished to return to his home, feeling rather conflicted. He’d always thought that his first meeting with the mysterious woman behind the door would have been more…amiable. Maybe even romantic. Certainly not tense and full of self-doubt and sorry like that. Still, as he poked his head into Frisk’s room and saw them curled up on Papyrus, who had stretched out on the bed and was reading them a book, the conflicted feelings faded. Sure, it would have been nice to have a better first meeting with Toriel, but he was beginning to realize that his priorities had shifted. Six months ago, it had been him and Papyrus against the world, him trying to protect his brother through the resets. Now, it was him and Papyrus against the world in order to protect their new little sibling, who had (quite literally) dropped into their lives. As he looked at the little hodgepodge of a family lying on the bed (sans Chara, heh) he felt determination and hope flood his SOUL. He sincerely hoped you were feeling it, too.

Chapter Text

            “HUMAN! HUMANHUMANHUMAN!”

            Six months ago, Papyrus yelling ‘human’ while running towards you would have sent you into a panic attack, followed by several minutes of fighting to breathe while reassuring him that you’re alright. Now, it was simply another quirk of life, not a rare occurrence but not an overly-common one. Just something that happened every few days.

            What did not happen was Chara dangling from his hands like a rag doll, looking torn between annoyance and joy as she was very clearly held up by the ecstatic skeleton. He came to a stop in front of you, doing a little jig in place, wiggling his hips like an excited puppy without a tail.

            “Look! I can now touch the ghost human!” He pulled Chara back against his chest, squeezing her tight. The ghost winced a bit at the strength of his hold, but didn’t protest. She didn’t need to breathe, after all, and the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant. In fact, it was kind of…nice.

            You grinned at the look of supposedly-grudging acceptance on Chara’s face. You had no doubt that Papyrus would be sweeping her up for ‘make-up hugs’ over the next few weeks every time they crossed paths. You also had no doubts that Chara would pretend to protest the action, before giving in and clinging to the tall skeleton. You’d found that she was rather clingy with the people she liked.

            “That’s great,” you beam at the two of them. “I’m glad you two can have a more solid friendship now!”

            Both froze, then Papyrus groaned and turned, still holding Chara like a puppy, and returned to the kitchen, complaining bitterly about how his brother had corrupted you. You resigned yourself to spending tonight listening to more ‘I’m not poking you’ and ‘Sans, stop it!’ and ‘DO NOT POKE THE GREAT PAPYRUS!’ – all for scientific study, of course. It couldn’t be that Sans was warming up to the ghost. That was impossible.

            Sans sentry station in Snowdin (try saying that ten times fast!) was no longer a dusty empty room with only a few used ketchup bottles and a miniature trash tornado in the corner. Ever since you had stopped resetting, he had taken the time to turn it into more of a ‘clubhouse’ than a ‘station.’ A pair of beanbag chairs from the dump (scrubbed clean and patched up) were set in the back corner beside a little portable heater that ran on magic. A MTT-brand miniature grill kept hot-cats coming, and there was a fully stocked mini-fridge of ketchup and soda tucked beneath the counter. For entertainment there were two Gameboy colors; one had a cracked screen and the other was missing the battery case, but both had been fixed up by Alphys and ran without a problem, or batteries. Over the years Sans had collected several Pokémon cartridges, as well as Mario and Kirby games, and as many puzzle games as he could find for Papyrus.

            So when Sans ‘kidnapped’ you on your day off to help him at his station, you didn’t protest. Sans claimed he wanted some one-on-one big bro time with you, and dragged you out the door. You shrugged at Papyrus and gave him a little wave. He waved back and thanked you for keeping Sans on task today before heading off for his own patrol route.

            Chara waited until you reached the booth to come out and settle on one of the bean bags. Sans pouted – she had taken the blue one, his, but before he could try to move her you snatched up one of the Gameboys and hopped up on the counter, leaving the orange beanbag for him. He still didn’t look completely happy, but it was his loss.

            “You know there’s over six hundred Pokémon now,” you said conversationally, peeking over the top of the Pokémon Gold cartridge.

            Sans, who was tapping away at a Mario game and ignoring Chara’s advice, raised a brow and looked at you (letting Mario run straight into a Goomba). Chara snatched the game console from his hands and started the level over, declaring it to be her turn. He let her, focusing on you instead. “Six hundred, huh?”

            “Yep. There’s even one that kinda looks like you.”

            “Oh?”
            “Yeah. It’s called ‘Duskull.’ Has a skull-head and wears a cloak. It’s pretty cool.”

            “Huh. Are there any that resemble Papyrus?”

            You paused, rubbing the ‘A’ button beneath your thumb in thought. “Well, honestly – he kind of reminds me of some of the fighting Pokémon. Like Hitmonchan or Sawk.”

            “Sawk?”

            “Ah, another new one. He’s blue and tall, and wears a karate gi.” You nearly slammed the Gameboy down. “Oh wait, no! He’s totally a Lucario!” You grinned. “Lucario requires friendship to level up! That’s totally Papyrus!”

            Sans chuckled and plucked the Mario game back from Chara when she ran off a cliff and dropped into the endless pit in the desert level. She pouted but let him have it, leaning over to watch over his shoulder as he set up a two-player game (just to make it fair, of course – not because he wanted to play with the murderous little twerp).

            Pleasant conversation turned to hilarious trash-talk as Sans and Chara became more and more competitive over the original Super Mario World game. After half-an-hour of Chara swearing that Sans was cheating, you handed over your Gameboy so she could play Super Mario World II. This evolved into a whole new competition: who could play their game longer. You rolled your eyes at the competitive pair and turned on the counter, dropping tot eh snowy ground outside. Your boots made a satisfying crunch in the newly fallen snow.

            “I’m going for a walk,” you announced, stretching your arms over your head.

            “Don’t go too far,” Sans gaze flicked to you for a moment, and you could see worry in his eyes. A month ago he would have hounded you, tracking your steps and accompanying you, whether you liked it or not. Now he trusted you to be okay, at least for the twenty minutes or so you needed to stretch out your cold limbs.

            “I’ll probably just go to the door and back,” you reassured him, motioning down the path towards the Ruins. Sans nodded, then jerked out of the way as Chara tried to bump the Gameboy from his hands in an attempt to cheat. You rolled your eyes and left them as they began to gleefully sling insults back and forth once again.

            The path to the Ruins was empty and quiet – nobody ever came this far, there was nothing of interest past Sans sentry station since the doors to the Ruins were always shut. You relished the silence – ever since Sans had split yours and Chara’s SOULS apart, they had been bickering. You appreciated the company, and that the two could stay in the same room without killing each other (in fact, you were beginning to suspect they actually enjoyed each other’s company!), but silence had become a rarity in your home. Undyne, Alphys, and Mettaton visited all the time, and at the bar there was never a moments peace. More and more monsters had begun moving west as New Home became overcrowded, and that meant more work at the bar.

            So you relished this quiet while you had it. Aside from the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the rustling of trees in a wind that honestly shouldn’t of existed, there was nothing – not even the rare bird singing as the afternoon ticked on. Ten minutes into your walk, you came up to the entrance to the Ruins. You almost turned around and left, but something felt…off.

            Frowning, you moved closer to the stone doors. They were…open.

            Open.

            Hesitantly, you moved towards the doors. Yep, there was definitely a crack there. Without truly thinking about it, you wedged your fingers between the stone slabs and pushed. The heavy doors swung farther apart, enough that if you wanted to, you could enter.

            But…did you want to enter? Toriel was in there, probably baking a pie or reading about snails or checking on the other monsters in the Ruins. Did you want to bother her? Because that’s what you’d be doing – bothering her. She didn’t really want you to stay with her – you were a burden, a bother, a worthless piece of-

            NOPE.

            Nope.

            You tensed and gripped the edges of the door tightly as you fought down the itch. Remembering what Chara and Sans had taught you, you began taking deep breaths, focusing completely on counting to seven, inhaling, counting to five, exhaling, counting to seven, inhaling, rinse and repeat.

            After a moment the itch had disappeared and you were able to focus on the door again. Did you want to go in?

            Freshly baked cinnamon-butterscotch pie…

            The scent grabbed your thoughts and you leaned further into the room. There was no harm in poking your head in, was there? No harm in going inside a bit, just out of curiosity. And if you were able to sneak a piece of pie when Toriel wasn’t looking, then that made it all worth it, right? After making sure the door wouldn’t close and lock you in, you ventured towards the source of the smell.

            Sans waited until he couldn’t hear your footsteps before slumping down so his shoulder brushed against Chara’s. The ghost immediately shifted away a bit – she wasn’t one for much physical contact, he’d found, unless it was Pap’s hugs or your cuddles.

            “So, kid,” he jumped over a piranha plant and was almost taken out by a flying shell. “Why’d you do it?”

            Chara stiffed beside him, fingers stilling over the buttons. Mario cried out in 8-bit pain as he was killed by one of the Hammer Bros. She didn’t hit ‘continue,’ despite having several lives left. “Do what?”

            An obvious bid for time. “You know what.” He jumped for the flag pole and nearly reached the top, getting a handful of extra points.

            Chara’s fingers twitched again, and she restarted her game, focusing completely on the little Italian man jumping over unrealistic obstacles. “I’ve done a lot,” she insisted.

            “You’re really gonna make me say it?” Sans sighed and paused his game, thumb nearly jabbing the ‘START’ button straight through the plastic casing. “Why’d you kill us?”

            Mario once more cried out as he died, Chara’s hands shaking much too hard to control him properly. The Gameboy fell to her lap. Sans didn’t push her – he’d been planning this conversation for several weeks now, and knew he couldn’t push her or it would go badly.

            “How much do you remember about the resets?” She finally asked.

            “Not a lot,” Sans admitted. “I know there’s been at least a hundred of ‘em, if my records are right. And I remember that the one before this was a bad one.”

            “That’s a nice way of putting it,” Chara muttered under her breath, before continuing. “There’s been 144 resets.” Sans flinched at the number, but didn’t interrupt. “123 of those were Frisk; they didn’t’ do it on purpose though. Whenever they died without a save point near, we had to reset. It took a while to get the hang of how things work down here, and we – we were killed a lot.”

            “Makes sense,” Sans agreed when she waited for a response. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

            “I’m getting there,” Chara huffed. “Every time Frisk reset, we got a little further. The last reset – the one hundredth and twenty-third time – we reached Asgore. There were – there were a lot of save points in the castle, so we could fight him and die without having to reset. But he – he – “ She trailed off, drawing her knees up to her chest and looking away. “Frisk fought him seven times, and each time he – he killed them. It was bad, Sans. Worse than fighting you.”

            “Whaddya mean?” Sans shut down his own Gameboy, focusing completely on the ghost.

            “He didn’t want to kill us, but no matter how much Frisk begged, he wouldn’t stop. They tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. He just…he used his stupid fork and he killed us over and over again. The last time Frisk was – something happened, and we came back to the save point, and they began screaming. Something in them…broke. They reset, and handed me complete control.”

            Chara refused to look at him, rubbing at one of her eyes as she continued. “I woke up in the Ruins, and Frisk wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t answer me no matter what I said or did. They were just…there. Quiet. Unmoving. So I – I decided that nobody would hurt Frisk again. To do that, I had to be strong. So I made myself stronger.”

            Sans was quiet as he processed this, leaning back in his beanbag and moving his gaze from her, focusing on the ceiling of his little booth instead. He asked after a long stretch of silence, “What made you stop?”

            Chara mimicked his move, finding it much easier to speak to the ceiling than to him. “I beat you.”

            “You – wait, what?!”

            “Heh. I beat you. Took about a hundred tries, but I did. Thank god that save point was in the judgement hall.” She shut her eyes and folded her hands behind her head.

            “You said you didn’t - “

            “I lied,” she snorted, “is that really such a surprise? Anyway, with you gone we could face Asgore. I tried to hand control back to Frisk, but they – they wouldn’t take it. Even with a LV at twenty, even with the best armor and weapon and everything, they just…couldn’t. They couldn’t face him.” She scoffed, though it sounded more sad than annoyed. “Even at our strongest, they were still reluctant to fight. They didn’t want to kill Asgore, despite what he did to us. So I reset and gave them control again. And now, here we are.”

            There was a stretch of deep, heavy silence, Sans quiet as he contemplated what Chara had told him.

            “You killed us – killed Papyrus and Undyne and Toriel and me – because you were trying to protect Frisk?” He sounded a bit doubtful, but mostly thoughtful. She shrugged, not answering, and he made a soft noise. “Well…there are worse reasons to commit mass genocide.”

            Chara snorted, but before she could retort with a snappy comeback, a scream rent the air – a familiar, terrified scream.

            “Frisk!”

            “Frisk!”

            In an instant the booth was empty, Chara having returned to her host, Sans close behind as he teleported to the Ruins.

Chapter Text

                It took Sans two short cuts and thirty seconds to reach you – having never been in the Ruins, he had to reorient himself after reaching the doors. Those thirty seconds were enough for Chara to arrive, read the situation, and react accordingly.

                She was rolling on the floor, laughing.

                You had, somehow, managed to climb on top of a broken pillar that was as tall as you were. At the base of the pillar was a giant cupcake-esque spider, who was circling the stone and snapping at you with his large jaws. In the opposite doorway stood Toriel, looking torn between helping you and rushing to hug Chara.

                “Uh…”

                “SANS! Thank god. HELP! It’s gonna EAT me!”

                At the bottom of the pillar, the spider scratched at the stone and snapped its jaws at you. In the blink of an eye, Sans teleported to stand beside Chara, who was far enough from the pillar to avoid getting the spiders attention, but close enough to catch you if you fell.

                “I dunno, kid. Looks like you got yourself into a sticky situation.”

                “Saaaaaans! It’s not the time for puns!”

                “Aw, c’mon Frisk, there’s muffin better than a well-baked joke!” The ghost chimed in.

                Sans snorted and Chara giggled even harder, the latter having to lean against the former to stay upright. Even Toriel had a smile on her muzzle now.

                “I HATE YOU ALL!” You hollered, nearly overbalancing as you shook your fist at them. The spider let out a weird (and oddly cute) trilling noise.

                “Goodness, what is all this noise about? Ahuhuhu…”

                A lovely spider-like monster strode into the room, walking calmly upside down on the ceiling, not a hair out of place. Several smaller spiders followed her in an obedient little line.

                “Oh, Lady Muffet!” Toriel tilted her head back and smiled at the spider. “I did not know you were visiting today. I would have put on some tea!”

                “Ahuhuhu; thank you, dearie, but I have no time to doddle today.” In that same calm manner, she walked down the wall and came to stand on the floor with the rest of you. “Muffin, darling, come along!” The monstrosity that had been circling you like a hungry shark for the past ten minutes let out a yip of excitement and rushed over to the spider, nuzzling against her, tongue lolling out happily. Muffet immediately showered him with praise and attention. “Who’s a good boy? You are, Muffin, yes you are!” She pressed a fangy kiss between the spider’s eyes. “Such a good boy.”

                You, very slowly, slid off the column, nearly landing on your face when your leg caught on a jutting bit of rubble. A cerulean glow grabbed you before you could flatten your nose.

                “Careful, kiddo. Don’t want ta’ lose your face.” Sans gently set you beside him and Chara, who was still giggling.

                “Oh my, Sans!” Muffet moved towards the skeleton, Muffin scrambling behind her on his eight legs. You ducked behind the skeleton, eying the cupcake with a wary eye. “How lovely to see you away from that hot dog stand of yours!”

                The skeleton gave her a casual nod. “Muffet. How’s the spiders?”

                “Just lovely, Sans! I’ve finally raised enough money to move my family from these cold, dark Ruins to Hotland. They’re packing up right now.” The spider clapped all six of her hands together, excitement bursting in her eyes.

                Sans reflected her excitement. “Hey, that’s great! Glad to hear it.”

                “We’re opening a new store in New Home – a real bakery! You and that tall, handsome brother of yours should drop by sometime…” She dropped half her eyes at him, trailing a hand down the front of his hoodie. Her eyes barely skimmed over you and Chara, immediately saw neither of you had any money, and promptly ignored you. “I’ll see you later, Sans! Ahuhuhu.”

                The spider, her pet, and her entourage swept out of the Ruins, leaving you to stare in confusion after her. You’d only made it far enough to face her a handful of times, and after the first time you’d made sure to always have a spider donut on you, no matter what. Still, you’d never gotten to know her aside from some back-and-forth, and you certainly hadn’t expected to be attacked by her pet cupcake while poking around the Ruins.

                “Oh my god you should have seen your face!” Chara crowed once the spider had disappeared. “It’s was fuckin’ hilarious!”

                “Chara! Language!”

                Levity immediately fled the ghost, and you felt a thrum of panic from her SOUL. Toriel had moved a bit closer but didn’t try to touch either of you. Instead, she merely put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

                “Honestly, such words are unbefitting a child such as yourself.” The look of annoyance fled in favor of one full of love and affection. “Well, I was not expecting company, but I just pulled a pie out of the oven. Would you all like to join me?”

                Sans immediately glanced at you, waiting for your answer. After a moment’s thought, you slowly – very slowly – shook your head. Despite her good intentions, you still didn’t want to be near her – not now, not when the itch wasn’t completely under control, not when Chara was just trembling at the thought of having to face one of her parents. She’d gone stock-still after being chastised, and though her face was a bit frozen in an awkward smile, you could feel the panic thrumming through her SOUL.

                “We’re gonna have to pass, majesty,” Sans tipped her a lazy wink. “These two are helping me slack off at work – can’t stay away from that for too long, y’know?”

                “Oh.” Toriel tried not to sound disappointed, though it seeped through. She glanced at you and Chara, then nodded briskly. “Well, no, work should come first. You’re absolutely right. Perhaps another time?”

                She sounded incredibly hopeful, and you gave her a small nod and smile when her eyes met yours. Floppy ears and shoulders immediately relaxed, and the queen stopped tugging at her tunic. 

                “Sure, we’ll take a raincheck.” Sans drew the attention back of himself, picking up on how uncomfortable Chara was growing. “We’ll bring Paps too, if that’s okay. He’s been talking about making friends with the queen. He’d be thrilled to bring you some of his spaghetti.”

                “And I would be thrilled to try some!” The queen returned, voice hopeful. “All of you have my number. Please, feel free to call at any time.” She gave a regal bow of her head. “I – that is, farewell. I hope to see you soon.” A quick about face and she hurried towards her home, though she wasn’t quick enough to block the sound of soft sobs as she ascended the stairs.

                Chara vanished and settled in the back of your head, a heavy weight of gloom and doom that brought your mood crashing alongside it. It didn’t take a genius to see that you’d grown depressed, and seeing as Sans was a genius, he picked up on it immediately. Without a word he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into a tight hug, and hopped through a shortcut to home, as far from the Ruins as he could get you for now.

                Chara’s downer mood persisted, and brought you down alongside it. Despite having more solidity than ever before, she remained a bodiless presence in your mind, speaking only when spoken too and sulking otherwise. You didn’t grow truly worried until she refused a bar of ghost chocolate.

                “This is bad, Sans,” You squinted at him from the foot of his bed, wishing you’d turned on the light when you’d walked into his room. The half-asleep skeleton stared back, eyes dim and deep in the late hour. Chara was deep asleep in the back of your mind, completely oblivious to the conversation. “She’s never refused chocolate before! I’m worried.”

                The skeleton rubbed at his face, still trying to wake himself up. You’d practically jumped on him when you rushed into the room, worriedly talking about something being wrong with Chara. He’d expected you to produce a pile of dust or a deflated ghost body, not gripe about picky eating habits.

                “Frisk,” he tried to sound a bit stern and adult-y, but it was ruined by a yawn forcing its way past his teeth. “Chara is grieving. Let her grieve in her own way, kiddo. If that means giving up chocolate for a while, then let her. One less hyperactive ghost to deal with.”

                “What do you mean, ‘grieve.’?” You asked, chewing on your thumbnail and jiggling one foot. You could never stay still when you were anxious – you were a pacer, but with Sans messy room being dark, aside from a thin stream of light through the window, you didn’t want to risk tripping and breaking your neck.

                Sans huffed a sigh, realizing he wouldn’t be getting back to his ketchup-river-with-hamburger-lily-pads-and-french-fry-reeds dream anytime soon. “Kid, they woke up when you landed on their grave, and were immediately swept up into this whole adventure with you, along with all the resetting nonsense, and multiple deaths, and so on,” he twitched his fingers in a circular ‘so on and so on’ motion. “She hasn’t had any time ‘til now to think about the fact that she died. She died and her family moved on without her. It’s been centuries since she fell, Frisk. It’s going to take time for Chara to wrap her mind around all of this, the emotions and her family and everything. Seeing Asgore and Toriel probably jump started it a bit for her.” He leaned back, lying on his pillow and folding his hands over his stomach, taking in your silence. “Just let ‘er grieve, and in a while she’ll be back to normal.” He shut his eyes, ending the explanation.

                You didn’t move; you just sat at the end of his bed, worrying your thumb nail and tapping one heel against the floor. After a moment, Sans opened one eye and rolled his pupil down to look at you across his ribs. “Did’ja need something else, kiddo?” He asked, not unkindly but with a dismissive air, exhaustion in his voice and expression.

                “…can I sleep in here tonight?”

                “A’course,” he immediately scooted over some and, with a flash of blue, summoned your pillow and favorite blanket from your bed. He set it down beside his own, between himself and the wall. “C’mere.”

                You immediately obliged, crawling across the bed and flopping down so your head was buried in the pillow, which smelled like shampoo and snow. Sans bundled the blanket around you, making sure you were nice and warm before making himself comfortable. He was snoring in no time, mouth slightly agape. His rhythmic (and totally unnecessary) breathing helped still your thoughts, and you wished Chara a quiet ‘sweet dreams’ before allowing yourself to drift off.

                The bar had been busy, and you were half-asleep on your feet when Grillby locked the front door after ushering out the last few barflies. The bartender didn’t let you stay and help – he sent you home right away, after making sure you were okay to walk. Chara reassured him, claiming she would ‘escort’ you home like a good friend. He nodded in thanks and waved you both off.

                Chara floated slowly beside you as you trudged through the snow, dreaming of your soft bed and comfy blankets. She was quiet and looked thoughtful, but didn’t say anything until you came up to the librarby.

                “Frisk,” she floated to a stop, and you did the same, turning to look at the quiet ghost and giving her all your attention. “I – I think I want to visit mo – er, Toriel.”

                You gave her a surprised look – it had been a week since you’d been attacked by Muffin the Cupcake Spider, and given an invitation for pie by Toriel. “It’s kind of late, don’t ya think?” You joked, too stunned by the question to statement to respond properly.

                “I don’t mean right now!” She snapped back petulantly, crossing her arms and looking away from her, a pout on her lips. “But…I don’t want to go alone.”

                You threw your arms around her, hugging the ghost tightly. “Of course you’re not going alone!” She reciprocated the hug, clinging to you tightly. “Sans, Papyrus and I will be with you!”

                “But – are you ready to see her?” Chara sounded worried, but she didn’t let go of you.

                “No,” you admitted, “But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. So why not do it together?”

                 You held your hand out to her and, without hesitation, she took it, squeezing your fingers tightly. “Together,” she muttered, a faraway look in her eyes, and you hoped she wasn’t remembering buttercups and failed plans. As she drifted in thought you led the way home, fighting down your apprehension and trying to replace it with excitement.

                After all, what could be more exciting than butterscotch pie?

                The very idea of being in the same room as the queen, as Toriel, the woman who had forbid you from returning, set every one of your nerves on edge. Chara wasn’t fairing much better, and as Sunday and the looming tea time approached the tension in the skeleton house grew exponentially. Chara and you must have paced a thousand miles between the two of you, making circles around the living room or walking from one end of the bar to the other. Sans claimed just watching the two of you worry made him exhausted, before promptly falling asleep on the couch. He’d called Toriel and set up the tea a few days before, and had relayed that she was very excited to see you all.

                Papyrus was over the moon. Between picking you and Chara up mid-pace and setting you on the couch with a MTT movie, he was practicing his spaghetti art. The fridge was overflowing with containers of noodles and sauce, and whatever didn’t fit went to Undyne, Alphys, and Mettaton. He was getting better, you had to admit – he didn’t put glitter in anymore, and Grillby had taught him how to properly measure and use spices and herbs in the sauce.

                Sunday at half an hour to tea, found you and Chara hovering around the save point just past Sans sentry station, both reluctant to move farther down the path. You’d saved at least a dozen times in the last hour, reaching out to touch the sparkling star (that apparently only Chara and you could see) every few minutes.

                Saving had become a habit. Every time you passed a sparkling star you touched it, grounding yourself to that point of the timeline. Even though nobody was currently after your blood, knowing that if worst came to worst you would be able to LOAD your life within a day or two settled some lingering fear deep in the back of your mind.

                Sans walked up wearing his best slippers and cleanest hoodie, hands shoved in the pockets. He appeared laid back and relaxed, despite being about to properly meet royalty (and the woman he’d been flirting with for the past year or so).

                “Hey kiddos,” he came to a stop beside you both, noting your twitching fingers and Chara’s bobbing as she floated. “Nervous?”

                “No,” Chara snapped, at the same time you said, “A little.”

                Sans eyed the two of you carefully, as though trying to figure out which puns would give him the best reaction.

                “Don’t,” Chara warned, knowing what he was thinking.

                Sans chuckled and sat on top of the storage box, kicking his feet against the wood. “Alright, I’ll give y’all a break.” He fished a bottle of ketchup from his hoodie and sipped on it. When no fountain of puns sprayed past his teeth, you and Chara resumed your worrying.

                You stopped by the save point and pressed a hand against it once more, shuddering as determination rolled down your spine. Chara made a few more laps around the little clearing, before stopping and tangling her hands in her hairs.

                “Agh! I take it back, I can’t do this!” She yelled, shuddering. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t face her, I can’t.” You were immediately at her side, hugging her tightly.

                “It’s okay,” you comforted, rocking the both of you back and forth in an attempt to calm her. “It’s okay, everything is okay, we’re right here with you.”

                “I can’t, I can’t,” she muttered into your chest, wrapping her arms around you, holding on to you like a drowning sailor, sobbing. The ghostly tears fell from her eyes and disappeared, leaving your jacket dry, even if your own eyes were a bit misty. “It was my fault, it was my fault, I can’t see her again, it’s my fault, she’ll hate me even more…”

                To your surprise, a third pair of arms entered the fray, wrapping around the both of you and holding you close to the ketchup-scented hoodie. Sans didn’t say anything or try to calm Chara down, he just held you both. Slowly, the ghosts shuddering began to calm, tears drying up as she was held between the two of you.

                “Better?” Sans asked when the ghost pushed away, using her sleeves to wipe at her eyes. She nodded and looked ready to say something, but was interrupted.

                “SANS! HUMAN! GHOST HUMAN!” Papyrus bounced up, holding a large pot of his special Royalty-Friendship-Spaghetti. Chara’s jaw snapped shut at his arrival, and she quickly scrubbed the rest of the tears from her face before he could see them.

                “Are we ready to depart?” The tall skeleton beamed at them all. “It would be terrible if we were late to tea with the queen!”

                “Bro’s right,” Sans agreed, throwing an arm around Chara’s shoulders and beginning to steer her down the path towards the RUINS. “C’mon, move oolong, there’s nothing to tea here! We should chai to be on time!”

                On cue, Chara cackled and Papyrus screeched in rage. “No! No punning!” He growled, stomping down the path behind them. “Come along, Frisk!”

                Grinning (despite the nerves making your heart flutter erratically), you followed your weird little family to the RUINS, Sans and Chara’s constant punning along with Papyrus’ yelling music to your ears.

                Toriel was waiting at the door to the RUINS, and from the rut in the snow before the stone doors, it appeared that she had been doing just as much pacing as the two of you. She brightened when your all approached, ears perking up and posture straightening.

                “Ah, I am so happy you have come!” She clapped her hands together, beaming brightly.

                “Yes, despite their lollygagging, we have arrived on time!” Papyrus boomed, bouncing forward and shifting the pot to sit in one hand. He held his hand out for the queen to take.

                “Well, you must be Papyrus!” Toriel laughed at his exuberance. “Sans has told me all about you!”

                Papyrus turned the handshake into a hand hold, and leaned over to press a kiss to the back of her paw. “It is an honor to meet you, your majesty!”

                The goat flushed and giggled a bit. “You can just call me Toriel,” she reassured the skeleton when he released her hand and stepped back, straightening to his full height. “I have not been a queen for many years.”

                “Alright, Miss Toriel! Thank you for inviting us to tea with you today!”

                “Thank you for accepting! You’ve made this old goat very happy.”

                Papyrus beamed at her words, magic sparkling around his face as he blushed. Toriel seemed pleased at making the tall skeleton happy, and turned to the shorter one.

                “Sans, it is so nice to tea you again,” she greeted, muzzle quirking into a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

                “Heh, it was high tea-time we got together, Toriel,” he agreed, his own smile widening as Papyrus puffed and huffed about the puns. He seemed reluctant to being yelling as he normally did before the queen, however.

                The goat finally turned to you and Chara, and her gaze softened, nearly melting into a mix between sorrow and love. “Ah, my children,” she greeted, and all the rage and fight from your first meeting at being called one of her children was absent, leaving you feeling hollow and unsure of yourself. A paw reached out, claws moving to sweep your hair out of your face like she’d done a million years ago when you’d lived with her, and out of habit you flinched away, clearly seeing the red-orange flames of desperation that had swirled about the paw as she attacked you.

                “Ah,” Toriel pulled her hands back, and when you looked you could see a bit of hurt in her eyes, mixed within the understanding and sorrow. The goat glanced at Chara, who was hovering slightly behind you, pointedly not making eye contact, and didn’t even try to reach out for her. “My, what a horrible host I’m being!” She took a step back, giving you plenty of room, and shifted her muzzle into a smile once more. “Please, come in, come in! The tea is ready and waiting.”

                “Thank you, your – I mean, thank you, Miss Toriel!” Papyrus boomed, though as he followed her into the Ruins he cast you a concerned smile. He then began to chatter with (well, more like at) the woman, explaining in great detail how he’d made his Best-Friend-Royal-Friendship-Spaghetti.

                Sans turned to watch the two of you, eyes softening just like Toriel had, though his white pips and sloped brows were full of understanding. “Still want to go through with this?”

                You hesitated, but over your shoulder Chara gave a firm nod. “Y-Yes.” She growled at the stutter, but strode past you, trying to show a fearless façade that neither Sans or you fell for.

                “If you get overwhelmed,” Sans was speaking to you, but his voice was loud enough that Chara could hear him, “just let me know and we can leave. Toriel won’t mind.”

                You gathered what courage you had left (you had long ago spent your reserves, and what you mustered together wasn’t enough to even tint your SOUL orange) and followed Chara into the Ruins, Sans bringing up the rear.
                Chara paused and waited until you drew even with her to reach and out take your hand, bobbing beside you down the tunnel. “I’ll protect you,” she muttered, voice sounding strained despite the tilt of her rosy cheeks as she smiled.

                “And I’ll protect you,” you returned with a solid nod, though you doubted there would be much to protect her from. Toriel would probably protect the lot of you if there was any threat. “But I don’t think we have any reason to worry – I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Papyrus burning down the Ruins?”

                Chara was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. You sat beside her, having been kicked out of Toriel’s house when the flames reached the ceiling, and watched as she snorted in laughter, taking far too much pleasure from the destruction of Toriel’s kitchen. Thank god the woman had talent with fire magic, otherwise there was a chance the whole house could have gone up. She was able to calm and harness the flames, however, and with the help of Sans was putting out the last embers and seeing what part of the spaghetti could be salvaged.

                On your other side was Papyrus, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. His posture was slumped, his sockets holding a staring contest with the half-dead tree down the path. Everything about him screamed guilt and dejection.

                “It’s okay, Paps.” You leaned over and rested your head against his pauldrons, also staring at the tree. “You didn’t mean to do it.”

                He sniffled a bit, before bursting into a waterfall of tears. “I set the QUEEN’S KITCHEN on FIRE!” He wailed, before burying his skull in his hands.

                “Yeah,” Chara leaned forward so she could see past you, “It was a royal disaster, all right!” You reached out and pushed at her, ignoring when she over-exaggerated and threw herself over to the floor, giggling like an idiot. While you were glad she wasn’t panicking like before, her attitude about the near-disaster was a bit too giddy for your liking. Not to mention it was upsetting the tall skeleton.

                Papyrus let out a little whine and stood, looking more distressed than before. “She is correct! I am a fool for thinking I could impress the queen with my cooking! Nyo-hoo-hoo!” Big orange tears dripped down his face. “I must hide my shame!” Before you could grab him, he dashed off, past the tree and into the Ruins proper.

                “Good job, Chara. He’s going to get lost.” You stood and nudged her hip with your foot. “Come on, Toriel and Sans will be out soon and will want all three of us here. We need to go find him.”

                “I guess we do owe him a thank you,” Chara agreed as she got up and began moseying towards the hall. “He did stop Toriel from trying to be all motherly and asking us questions. Still, it’s damn impressive that he set the kitchen on fire within thirty seconds…”

                You felt the same little flash of gratitude, but squashed it down. Toriel had been polite and hands off when she greeted you, and hadn’t pushed you when you. She’d led the over-excitable Papyrus ahead of you all into the kitchen so he could re-heat the Super Special Best Royal Friendship Spaghetti he’d made that morning (which, you noted, gained a longer name every time he repeated it). Chara, Sans, and you had barely made it to the dining table before the stove caught fire and began belching smoke into the small house.

                “Just c’mon,” you muttered to her, speeding up in hopes of catching up to Papyrus. “You know the Ruins better than I do. Let’s go.” You grabbed her hand and dragged her deeper into the ancient halls, to worried about your big skeletal brother to worry about that odd itchy feeling on the back of your neck that came from being watched.

                The traps in the Ruins hadn’t been re-set since your journey six months ago, which made backtracking much easier. It still took you forever to catch up to Papyrus – his legs were as long as you were tall, and at full speed the lanky skeleton could likely outrun a military jet. By the time you caught sight of the fleeing skeleton, he was passing the monster candy room, and heading towards the labeled-lever room.

                Chara faltered when you crossed the threshold to the room with the six pressure-plate levers. Down the hall, you could hear Papyrus whimpering – he must have reached the cave with the golden flowers and stopped, having nowhere else to go. Knowing he was pinned, you turned to the ghost.

                “Are you alright?”

                Chara looked far from alright – she was pale and sweaty, the trademark blush along her cheekbones faded. “I don’t – that’s where mom – it’s…” At your blank look, she swallowed hard and gathered herself. “That’s where mom buried me,” she pointed down the hall, “beneath the flowers.”

                “Oh, uh,” you weren’t sure what to say to that – what did you tell someone who were afraid of facing their own grave? “That’s okay. I’ll go grab Papyrus and we’ll all go back, okay?” You patted her shoulder.

                She looked like she wanted to argue, but after another quick glance down the hall she nodded and leaned against the doorway. You flashed her a reassuring smile, then raced down the hall, intent on grabbing the skeleton and getting you all out of the Ruins as quickly as possible.

                Through the door, down the steps, through the little ante-chamber where Flowey had first attacked you, and into the room you’d first fallen into. Papyrus was sitting in the flowers, looking miserable, his back to you.

                “Paps!” You threw your arms around his shoulders, catching him in a backwards hug, your chest pressed to his back. “Don’t run off like that, I was worried!” You pressed your cheek to his own, eyes shut tight as you held him close. Papyrus loved physical contact, especially when he was upset – it was the fastest way to calm him down.

                “Oh, human- “

                “It was an accident, Paps. Mo – Toriel isn’t mad. She and Sans have probably cleaned it all up by now.” You felt his hands come up and capture your hands, giving them a light squeeze. “We should head back – they need your help to make more spaghetti!”

                “Frisk, I- “

                “Golly, Papyrus, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

                Blood turned to ice in your veins at the voice. You slowly opened your eyes and saw Flowey bouncing happily on his stem before the both of you. Papyrus was blushing, but he didn’t let you go when you tried to jump back in shock. The skeleton’s smile widened a little at the flowers suggestion.

                “Of course, how rude of me! Flowey, this is my little sibling, Frisk! Frisk, this is my bestest flower friend, Flowey!” He introduced the two of you, beaming.

                You didn’t say anything, but the flower happily spoke up. “Hmm…Hey, I know you!” He grew ever-so-slightly, stem elongating so that you could see eye-to-eye. “You’re the one who killed me during the last dozen resets!” His eyes shifted, growing sharp as fangs lined his mouth and turned into a thick, angry sneer. You yanked your hands from the skeleton’s weakened grasp and took a step back, wondering how fast you and Papyrus would have to run in order to escape the insane flower.

                “Flowey…?” Papyrus gave the flower an odd, concerned look, ignoring the nonsense he’d spoken. “Your face looks funny – are you feeling alright?”

                God bless sweet, naïve, cinnamon-roll Papyrus. You grabbed one of his pauldrons and tugged at it, eyes locked on Flowey’s darkening face. “Papyrus,” you pitched your voice low, “We need to go. Now.”

                “No, human! My friend is in distress!” Papyrus shrugged off your hand and leaned forward, bringing his face closer to Flowey. “What is wrong, Flowey? I am quite certain if you had been killed you would not be here right now! Did you hit your head? Are you running a fever? What can I do to help?”

                “Well,” Flowey’s face had returned to chubby and cute, and he tilted it ever so slightly to the left, leaves folded like a pair of hands beneath his chin. “I sure would like to talk to your friend Frisk!”

                Papyrus grabbed the hand you’d put on his shoulder and tugged you forward. “Of course! Frisk is a very amazing human. Everyone enjoys talking to them!” He beamed, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you against his side. He was still kneeling, so you were almost at the same height.

                “Well golly, I’m sure glad their taking time out of their busy schedule to bother with me!” Flowey swayed a bit on his stem, eyes locked on your own. “So Frisky,” he leaned forward, until your faces were only inches away, “I was wondering – what are you waiting for?” He began swinging on his stalk like a snake, back and forth, back and forth. “It’s been six months,” his voice was lower, hissing, stress and irritation in every syllable, “What are you playing at? You left your toy,” a root climbed out of the dirt, grasping the Toy Knife tightly and waving it about a bit. “And your friend behind!”

                You were frozen in Papyrus’ grasp, eyes matching Flowey’s as he moved, flinching when the knife came close to clipping you. Your voice had failed you for the moment – you’d been completely unprepared to see the flower again. In fact, you’d barely thought of him for the past few months.

                “Oh, nothing to say?” He cooed, face softening into a facsimile of a comforting smile. “Heh, I should have known. You’ve gone soft,” he cackled, expression hardening and growing dark. “You’re become weak, just like all the other monsters!” His roots whipped out of the dirt, lashing against the ground and kicking up clumps of grass and flowers as they flailed about along with his cackling.

                Papyrus squeezed your shoulders and began to get up, finally seeing past his optimism to realize this was honestly not a conversation they needed to have it. He was only able to lift his knees a few inches off the ground – vines had wrapped around his lower legs, pinning him to the ground. “Wha – Flowey! Release me at once!” He declared in his best Royal Guard voice. The flower didn’t listen – didn’t even hear him apparently.

                “I’m so bored of this run, Frisk! When are you going to RESET?” Flowey adopted a more childish, whining tone as he ignored the skeleton.

                That was an easy answer – you didn’t even have to stop and think about it. “I’m not,” you snapped. “I’m not resetting, ever.”

                “Really?” Flowey was frowning now. He stretched his stem, growing taller so he could loom over you properly. He drew up several of his vines, each tipped with razor-sharp thorns. “Well, I’m betting I can make you RESET.”

                Papyrus, despite his complete confusion with the situation, shoved you hard to the side the second he realized what Flowey was planning to do. You went sprawling to the dirt, landing on your side with a pained cry, before hastily scrambling to turn and look at your brother.

                Four razor-sharp vines had impaled the skeleton, cracking the bones around his chest and SOUL, spearing straight through his chest plate to crush the ribs and spine within. As you watched, Papyrus painfully turned his head to give you a pained smile. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but before a word could escape he crumbled to dust.

                “PAPYRUS!”

                Your voice echoed through the Ruins as your big brother fell into a pile of dust among a blood red scarf and broken armor. Every cell of your body trembled as you scrambled to your knees and crawled to his side, hands hovering over his tattered scarf, afraid to actually touch the dust.

                “Oops!” Flowey had returned to his normal size, bouncing cheerfully on his stem as he watched you. “Oh dear, I wasn’t aiming for him, I was aiming for you!” He giggled happily, and one last long root appeared, still clutching the knife. “Goodness, what are you going to do now?” He asked, voice gaining a darker edge. He threw the knife at you, watching dispassionately as it slid to bump against your knee.

                “You have two options, y’know,” his voice grew more energized as he began to lay out his twisted plan. “You can run back home to Sans and tell him that it’s your fault his brother is dead – again.” He watched with glee as your expression fell to the very definition of horror.

                “No,” you barley managed to breath.

                “Yes,” Flowey screeched in delight. “Do you think he’ll kill you quickly this time? Or will he take his time and torture you as punishment?” His tone was nothing less than ecstatic. “Or,” one root reached forward and nudged at the hilt of his knife, “You could take your chance with a RESET, and we’ll start all over again.”

                You stared blankly down at the knife, heart dropping at the very thought of triggering a RESET. Sans words rang clearly in your head – if you RESET, you room, your job, your life would be gone. But – but if you didn’t, then Papyrus would be gone. Forever.

                How had this visit for tea turned into such a disaster?

                Your fingers curled around the knife, and Flowey bobbed his head happily, expression growing soft. “You’re making the right choice, Frisk,” he mimicked being comforting, but the underlying menace in his tone was impossible to miss. “After all, if you didn’t reset, you’d be responsible for Papyrus’ death!”

                You brought the familiar knife up, the weight feeling alien but comfortable in your hand. Eyes flicking down to the pile of dust at your knees, you took a deep breath and nodded.

                “You’re right,” you whispered, “It would be my fault. But I don’t need to RESET. It’s been so long – have you forgotten?” You smirked at the flower. “I can LOAD too.”

                “NO!”

                One quick flick of your hand had your SOUL hovering before you, and a single stab right into the middle was enough to bring down your 8 HP. Cracks spread along the red surface like a hatching egg, though nothing emerged – it simply broke into pieces. The world grew dark around you as you collapsed, Flowey’s screeching ringing in your ears.

                You and Chara tried to remember to save once a day. It was easy, with the save point in Snowdin right next door to work. It was more habit now than anything else – the itch had left you alone for a while now, and it wasn’t nearly as important to you to save every day on your way to work now. That habit had extended to Toriel’s house – as soon as you’d been kicked out of the house by Toriel, you’d touched the sparkling gold spot of determination and saved.

                Papyrus was there, sitting on the stairs beside Chara and looking incredibly confused. He glanced about, then eyed his chest and chest plate critically, running a hand over it and searching for holes.

                “Human, what – what just happened?” Papyrus looked up, worry in his eyes. “We – we were in the RUINS, and Flowey attacked you, but he hit me…I…”

                “You remember?” Chara gasped, leaping off the stairs.

                “I died.” Papyrus’s jaw shifted in his skull as he looked between the two of you. “I – I remember, I died, but now I am here…?”

                You fell forward, and the skeleton scrambled to catch you. He lifted you easily and held you like a toddler. Your arms went up to wrap around his neck out of habit, holding onto him tightly. Chara rested a hand on his elbow and tugged at his bones.

                “We need to go inside,” she began to hike up the stairs, tugging him along behind her. “Flowey can’t pop up through the floors in mo – in Miss Toriel’s house.”

                Papyrus obediently followed, shifting you to rest your head against his shoulder, nestling your head in his scarf. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of spaghetti sauce and oregano that followed him everywhere.

                Among the spices lingered a very faint smell, one that you immediately recognized.

                Dust.

Chapter Text

Rewritten Version

Chapter Text

I have been struggling to write this for months now, as I don’t want to disappoint anybody, but it needs to be said: I will not be continuing Paring.

This is for a good reason! A great reason, actually. When I wrote Paring, I was not in a good headspace. I was still struggling with grief from my brother's death, stressed from student teaching, and in a bad place mentally. I was depressed, anxious, and dealing with self-harm and suicidal ideation. I took these emotions and pinned them on Frisk, and wrote out what I believed would happen would Frisk, burdened with these same emotions, have to go through a neutral/pacifist run after a genocide run. I used Papyrus and Sans as therapists for both Frisk and myself, writing what I wanted to hear and what I knew I needed to hear at the time. I was surprised by how many people enjoyed it, and both sad and emboldened by how many people related to it. Knowing I wasn’t the only one experiencing these feelings was a great comfort, despite being sad that others are going through the same things.

I slowed down writing it when I finished college, then looking back I saw all the errors I made in my first version of the story. It was my first time writing a second-POV story, and I wasn’t pleased with how it turned out. I decided to re-write it, thus the rewrite began. But then something happened…

I got better. I saw a therapist for a while, I changed my depression/anxiety medication. I moved back home and money stress disappeared, allowing me to focus on other stressors in my life. I never found a teaching job (and honestly I began to hate teaching while subbing - turns out I want to be an educator, but not in a public school!). During COVID, despite my sky-rocketing anxiety about the plague, I applied to grad school and am now part way through my Masters Degree in Library Science. I’m working two jobs - during the week I’m at my local library, which I absolutely adore (and always sporting my Club Papyrus & Club Sans pins on my lanyard). On the weekend I close at a small gas station, which gives me time to relax and do homework (as long as nothing blows up, it’s a very slow job). Between that I read, I cross-stitch, and I play video games. I have not felt like writing lately, which I think is due to not having much time to focus on stories, but I am happy.

I am happy. And when I was writing Paring, I was not.

I am not in the head space to finish Paring. I do not remember everything I had outlined - I actually had it all planned out on a word doc, then my laptop died. I do know that Chara and Frisk would have a meeting with Asgore and make amends with him. I know that Asgore was going to host a picnic for them and all their friends, which was going to be interrupted by Flowey, who was going to mock Frisk about their self-harm. I know Frisk and Chara, with the help of their friends and family, were going to stand up to Flowey and save the day, similar to how it is done in the game. When finally at the surface, Frisk was going to accept the position of Ambassador for Monsterkind, as well as agree to live with the brothers for the foreseeable future. It was going to have a happy ending. There were faint hopes of a sequel - a custody battle between the monsters and Frisk’s “parents”, a redemption arc for the spoiled brother, attempts to return Flowey to Asriel headed by Alphys and Sans, possible appearance by Gaster…

I can’t finish this, and I am devastated that I am leaving my wonderful readers without a proper end, but I am not upset that I am better. I am also far too attached to the storyline to orphan it for someone else to finish. There is too much of me in Frisk to feel comfortable allowing someone else to write the ending.

To everyone who sent me love after reading this, to everyone who showed me that I was not alone when I was struggling, thank you. From the bottom of my anxious little SOUL, thank you so much for the care and love you showed me. I love you - each and every one of you who read this, I love you with all my heart, and I hope those that are having a rough time, those that can relate far too much to Frisk and Chara in this piece, know that there is hope, and there are better days ahead. You just have to believe in yourself, like I believe in you (and Papyrus, too!).

I love you all so much! I will be around the fandom forever, I’m fairly certain, and I hope to continue writing more in the future when I have the inspiration. For now I leave you with my love, and my thanks for your support, and the hope for a better future.

Love,
Rivethart