Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining again.

Asgore didn’t mind the rain. The steady drizzle over Hometown made everything a little quieter, a little slower. The way it tapped gently on his greenhouse roof was even sort of comforting, like someone whispering that it was okay to take your time.

He had just finished watering the roses when he saw him.

A small figure huddled near the edge of the greenhouse—barely visible, soaked to the bone, and clutching something like a paper bag. Asgore’s heart stalled. He opened the door slowly, the bell above it jingling as he stepped out into the gray afternoon.

"Hello there," he said gently, kneeling down to the child’s level. "Are you lost?"

The child looked up. He was maybe six or seven. Brown skin, messy black curls matted to his forehead, and eyes too tired for someone that young. He didn't answer, just gripped the bag tighter.

Asgore’s voice softened even more. "You’re soaked. Would you like to come inside? I’ve got a heater and some tea."

There was a long pause, then a slow nod. Which slightly worried Asgore, his parents never did teach him not to trust strangers? Of course Asgore would never do any bad towards a child, but... Shouldn't the boy at least hesitate more?

The boy didn’t say much at first. He sat in a blanket, feet barely touching the floor, holding a steaming mug of warm apple cider like it was something precious. He kept glancing toward the door, like he expected someone to come looking for him.

But no one came.

Asgore didn’t ask questions right away. He just let the boy rest, put on some soft music, and baked cinnamon scones while the rain tapped on the windows.

Later, he asked, "What’s your name, little one?"

The boy hesitated. "My name’s Lewis."

"That’s a strong name," Asgore said, setting a scone on a plate in front of him. "Do you like gardens, Lewis?"

The boy looked up. "...I used to have a little one. I like daisies."

Asgore smiled, heart aching a little. "I grow those too. Would you like to help me plant some tomorrow?"

Another pause. Then a small, shy nod.

—

Days passed after

Lewis didn’t have anywhere to go.

The police said there were no missing child reports that matched his description. His bag had a few clothes and a crumpled drawing of a house with too many windows. He didn’t talk about his parents, and Asgore didn’t push. He just... let Lewis be.

One night, as Asgore tucked him in on the pull-out couch, Lewis asked quietly, "Why are you nice to me?"

Asgore blinked. "Because you deserve kindness, Lewis."

"But... you don’t even know me."

"I don’t have to," he said. "Sometimes people just need a little light left on."

Lewis didn't answer. He just stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then, slowly, he reached out—and held Asgore’s hand.

Of course Asgore tried to search for his parents or some family to him, but it was failure after failure in the search. But maybe, Lewis didn't want to return... Judging by some reactions when Asgore tried to find even a small thing about his past.

—

Eventually, the couch became a bedroom.

The guest mug became Lewis' mug.

The daisy patch in the greenhouse was “his garden.”

And the silence that used to sit between them turned into humming, bedtime stories, shared jokes over breakfast, and tiny shoes next to muddy boots by the door.

Asgore started smiling more.

He still remembered the divorce, of course. He remembered how quiet the house had felt after Toriel left. How it echoed. How long he’d sat at the kitchen table, wondering what came next.

But now... there were drawings on the fridge. Dandelions in a cup. A tiny raincoat hanging by the door. A laugh from the garden that sounded like sunlight.

One evening, Lewis crawled into Asgore’s lap while he was reading.

"Are you my dad now?" he asked softly.

Asgore felt something bloom and break in his chest all at once. He put the book down and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"Only if you want me to be."

Lewis nodded into his sweater. "I do."

And that was that.

Chapter Text

The visit was Asgore's idea, a little against Toriel's will, but the children wanted to see their father altogether.

“I'm growing strawberries,” Asgore had said over the phone, “and I thought the kids might want to see how things are over here. If they’re willing, of course.”

Toriel had hesitated. "They still have... questions. But maybe it’s time."

So, on a quiet Saturday morning, Asgore stood nervously by the greenhouse while four sets of footsteps crunched up the gravel path.

First came Asriel—tall, composed, with a satchel slung over his shoulder and a cautious smile on his face. Frisk was close behind, waving warmly with a box of cookies in their arms. Chara and Kris came last—Chara with their arms crossed and a skeptical look, Kris unreadable as always, earbuds tucked in but not playing anything.

Lewis peeked from behind the greenhouse door.

He had been quiet all morning, clinging to his sketchbook like it could shield him.

"Do they hate me already?" he whispered.

Asgore knelt beside him. “No, sweetheart. They don’t even know you yet.”

Lewis didn’t look convinced.

—

Introductions were... tentative.

Asriel gave a polite smile and shook Lewis' hand. "Hey, bud. I’m Asriel. Looks like you’ve been helping a lot with the garden, huh?"

Frisk crouched down, offering the cookie box. [Dad’s talked a lot about you lately. I like your name.] They signed to you and you nodded as you understood slightly the signs.

Chara said nothing, but nodded once—grudgingly—and Kris gave a wave, their gaze flicking to Asgore like they were still deciding how to feel.

Lewis just nodded back, hiding behind Asgore’s coat.

—

They had lunch together on his garden nearby.

It wasn’t the same chaotic noise of years ago, but the rhythm was familiar. Asriel told college stories. Frisk made sure Lewis had enough juice. Chara poked at their food and made sarcastic comments that made Lewis giggle a little when they thought no one was watching.

It wasn't the chaos that used to be before, especially when there's a underlying tenseness between Toriel and Asgore.

Kris watched everything quietly, expression unreadable.

Afterward, while the others helped clean up, Kris wandered into the greenhouse and found Asgore trimming a lavender bush.

"You replaced us," they said, bluntly.

Asgore froze. Then sighed, putting his hand softly on his middle child head's.

"No," he said softly. "You were never replaceable. You’re my children. You always will be."

Kris looked at the seedlings growing by the windowsill. "He looks scared of us."

"He’s had a hard road," Asgore admitted. "But he’s trying. And I’m trying, too."

There was a long pause before Kris muttered, “He’s not like us.”

Asgore nodded. "Neither were any of you, really. You were all so different, and I loved each of you just as much. That hasn’t changed. But there was room for one more, Kris. That’s all."

Kris didn’t answer. But they sat down in the dirt beside him and started helping with the planting.

That evening, as everyone got ready to leave, Frisk bent down to Lewis’ level and signed, [Dad’s really good at making people feel safe. We just needed a little time. That’s all.]

Lewis blinked at them. "...Are you mad that I’m here?"

Frisk smiled gently. [No, Lew. Honestly... I think he needed you.]

Later, while waving goodbye, Asriel turned back and said, “Hey, if you like video games, I can bring my old console next time. We’ll play something together, yeah?”

Chara added, “Don’t get used to me being nice. But if you ever want to learn how to prank Dad, I’m your guy.”

Lewis actually laughed. It was small, but real.

As the car pulled away, Lewis stood beside Asgore on the porch, clutching his sketchbook and watching the taillights fade.

"...They’re kinda weird," he said.

Asgore chuckled. "They always have been."

Lewis looked up. “Are they really my siblings?”

Asgore’s voice was steady, full of something warm and unshakable.

"If you want them to be, then yes. They are."

Lewis smiled again—just a little—and leaned into his side.

The next day, it was decided that they would spent all the day with Lewis. Toriel left them and waved goodbye, saying she would pick them up later.

—

Lewis had barely touched his dinner.

He picked at the rice with his fork, lips pressed into a line. Asgore watched from across the table, trying not to hover.

"You feelin' alright, bud?" he asked gently.

Lewis shrugged. “Just tired.”

But it wasn’t just that. Asgore could tell.

Later that night, after dishes were done and the crickets started humming outside, Asriel knocked on the doorframe of the guest room.

Lewis was curled up in bed, hugging his pillow.

"Hey," Asriel said, stepping inside. "Mind if I sit?"

Lewis shrugged again, but scooted over a little. Asriel sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

"I was kind of like you, once," Asriel began. "Not the whole adoption part, but the feeling like... everyone had a place but me. Especially after Mom and Dad split."

Lewis' eyes flicked up.

"It sucked," Asriel said bluntly. "I didn’t know where to land. I felt like if I stayed too long with one parent, I was betraying the other. Or like I had to be perfect, just to keep the peace."

He glanced over.

"You ever feel like that?"

Lewis was quiet for a long time.

Then he whispered, “I don’t wanna ruin anything. It already feels like everything was broken before I got here.”

Asriel’s heart tugged.

"Kiddo," he said, "this family wasn’t broken because of you. And you’re not here to fix it, either. You’re just... part of it now. Whether you talk a lot or a little. Whether you’re scared or loud or shy or sad. You belong."

Lewis blinked rapidly. "But what if your mom doesn’t like me?"

"Mom takes time with people," Asriel said. "She’s careful. But she’ll see what I see. That you’re kind. And smart. And that you make Dad laugh again. She’ll come around."

He ruffled Lewis's hair gently.

"Want me to stay ‘til you fall asleep?"

"...Yeah," He whispered.

So Asriel stayed. Quiet, steady, and present.

—

Later that night, Toriel arrived to pick up the kids. The others had already loaded into the car, but she lingered by the porch.

Asgore stepped outside, drying his hands on a dish towel.

“It was good of them to come,” he said, voice low. “Means a lot.”

Toriel nodded, arms crossed. "They weren’t sure, at first. But I think they were curious. Concerned."

He didn’t flinch at her words.

"About him?" he asked softly.

"About you," she corrected. "And yes, him too. It’s not every day someone finds out their father adopted a child without saying a word."

Asgore exhaled. “I didn’t plan it. It just... happened. He needed someone. And I think, maybe, I needed someone too.”

Toriel looked down the path toward the garden beds, where strawberry plants had started to bud.

“He’s quiet,” she said.

“So was Frisk, once,” he replied.

There was a pause.

Then she said, “He seems gentle. Fragile, but thoughtful. Like you.”

Asgore smiled, eyes soft. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Toriel glanced at the window, where a small silhouette stood watching, barely visible behind the curtain.

“You love him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I do.”

Toriel nodded once. “Then make sure he knows. All the time. Even on the bad days.”

“I will.”

She stepped off the porch, but before heading to the car, she looked back.

“You’re still a good father, Asgore. Even if it’s to someone new.”

He swallowed. "You were always the better one."

“No,” she said softly. “We were just different. Still are.”

Then she was gone.

Asgore stood in the hush of the night, the porch light casting a warm glow on the wood. Behind him, he heard a quiet step.

Lewis, in socks too big for his feet, held out a blanket.

"You looked cold," he said.

Asgore took it and smiled. “Thanks, my child.”

And they stood there, together, wrapped in silence that didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Chapter Text

It was Asgore who suggested it, timidly over the phone. After they visit him and Lewis at the shop, Lewis didn't stop blabbering about his new siblings and how cool they were.

"Maybe... maybe he could spend the afternoon with you and the kids? He’s been asking about Frisk. Said they were kind."

Toriel paused. She hadn’t expected that.

“Do you think he’s ready?” she asked gently.

“I think,” Asgore said, “he wants to try. But only if you're okay with it.”

There was a long silence. Then, softly:

“All children deserve safety, Asgore. Bring him.”

—

Toriel’s home was quieter than Lewis expected.

He had imagined noise—siblings laughing, shouting, maybe even yelling. But instead, the living room was warm with soft classical music, the smell of cinnamon tea, and Frisk reading peacefully on the couch. A blanket was draped over their shoulders. A cat was asleep on the windowsill.

Lewis stood awkwardly near the door, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, not letting go of his sketchbook.

Toriel stepped into the room, apron dusted with flour.

"Would you like some tea, dear?" she asked, with the same voice she'd used for years in classrooms and bake sales and bedtime lullabies.

He nodded, barely.

Frisk smiled and patted the spot beside them on the couch while signing to Lewis.[C’mere. I’ll show you this book. It’s got the weirdest fantasy rules.]

Lewis sat, slowly. He didn’t really look at the book. But he sat. That was something.

Toriel returned with two mugs of tea—one chamomile with honey, and one with cinnamon and milk. She handed the second to Lewis.

“I made this one thinking you might like something sweeter,” she said.

Lewis blinked. Took the mug. "Thank you," he whispered, so quiet it barely registered.

She smiled at him and returned to the kitchen.

—

Later, after Frisk went upstairs to take a call, Lewis wandered toward the dining table. Toriel was kneading bread dough, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up, her hands methodical.

Lewis stood quietly nearby, watching. She glanced at him.

“Would you like to help?”

He hesitated. Then nodded, pulling his sleeves up.

Toriel gently guided him, showing him how to fold the dough just so, how to press it with his palms instead of squashing it.

“You’re very gentle with it,” she said.

“I don’t want to break it,” he murmured.

She tilted her head. “Some things are meant to bend. Not everything breaks so easily.”

He  looked down at his hands, covered in flour.

He didn’t speak.

—

The bread was set to rise. The sun was dipping lower. Frisk had gone out to walk the cat, and the house was still again.

Toriel sat with her tea. Lewis lingered by the hallway, unsure whether to sit or leave.

“You do not need to be nervous,” she said gently.

"I’m not," he lied.

She turned to look at him. “You are frightened of me.”

Lewis went still.

She stood slowly. Not fast, not looming, just enough to close the space between them with deliberate care.

“I will not raise my voice,” she said, “and I will never raise my hand.”

Lewis swallowed. His voice came out small, brittle: “Even if I mess up?”

Toriel’s chest ached. She knelt, slow, until they were eye level.

“Even if you spill milk on the floor. Even if you drop a plate. Even if you snap at me, or have a nightmare, or forget to do your chores. I will not hurt you.”

Lewis looked down, breath shallow. Toriel softened. “Who made you think that love came with fear, little one?”

He shook his head. She reached for him—not to grab, not to restrain, but to offer her hand, palm up.

He stared at it for a moment. Then, finally, he placed his smaller hand into hers. Cold. Trembling.

Toriel pulled him into a hug. Not tight, not engulfing—just present. Warm. Patient. Like time itself had paused to make room for him. Lewis's shoulders shook. His small hands clenched into the back of her cardigan.

“I didn’t mean to make anyone mad,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to come between everyone.”

“Oh, my sweet child,” Toriel whispered. “You didn’t come between anything. You simply arrived. And we’re all still learning how to grow around that. That’s not your fault.”

She felt it when his breathing hitched. When the fear started to drain out like a cracked dam.

“I don’t know where I belong,” he mumbled.

Toriel rested her cheek gently against his hair. “Then stay here for a while. And we’ll figure it out together.”

—

That night, when Asgore came to pick him up, he found Lewis asleep on the couch, curled under a soft blanket. A mug with a fox print sat beside him, half-drunk. The scent of baked bread filled the home.

Toriel stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“He cried,” she said plainly. “But he let me hold him.”

Asgore smiled softly. “He trusts you.”

Toriel’s voice gentled. “He’s just a child, Asgore. One with old bruises that haven’t healed yet.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m trying so hard.”

Toriel glanced at him. “You always tried, in your own way.”

And for a moment—just a breath—they were two people who once shared a life. Who still shared love, even if it was no longer romantic.

Not gone. Just changed.

“I packed him some of the bread,” she added. “And a few of Frisk’s old sweaters. They’ll be too big, but… soft things help.”

Asgore blinked away the sting in his eyes, Asgore is barely sustaining himself, so together with a child is even harder, even to buy him new things. “Thank you.”

Anything was good enough for him to give to his boy, and Toriel knows he's sacrificing himself for Lewis. She can see his old boots he said before he would buy a new pair, and how Lewis is with a new and beautiful pair of shoes when he got to Toriel's house.

Toriel watched him gently lift the sleeping boy into his arms, Lewis's head resting on his shoulder like he’d always belonged there. Lewis is well cared.

"Asgore." Toriel calls him out. The man turn instantly as she gets closer. "Take care of yourself, don't forget you're still the father of five children who loves you dearly."

If it's hope on Asgore's eyes or just sadness, Toriel can't comprehend, but he still nods. Toriel reaches for Lewis and touches the back of the boy’s hair once, before he left.

"Goodnight, my child."

And Lewis, half-dreaming, smiled.

Chapter Text

The chime above the door rang softly as it always did, delicate and light—like a whisper rather than a greeting.

Asgore glanced up from the tray of lavender cuttings he was trimming behind the counter.

“Hello there!” he said, cheerful and automatic.

Then he paused.

In the doorway stood a tall man in a long dark coat, scarf wrapped carefully around his neck despite the mild spring day. His posture was straight, too straight, like someone used to folding themselves into corners. Shadows clung gently to the edge of his figure—not literal ones, but a presence, a hush that entered before he did.

He raised one hand in greeting. Thin fingers. A few pale scars peeked from the edge of his sleeve.

Asgore had seen him around town the last couple weeks, mostly from a distance. Sometimes standing beside Sans at the grocery store, other times waiting silently outside the school while Papyrus chattered to teachers. Never alone—until now.

“Oh,” Asgore said, catching himself. “You must be… uh…”

He searched for the name.

The man didn’t speak, but stepped forward slowly, then reached into the satchel at his side. He produced a small white notepad with a pen clipped to the top. With practiced grace, he flipped it open and wrote:

[Dr. W. D. Gaster. Just Gaster is fine.] He held it up with a faint, tired smile.

Asgore blinked, then smiled back with a softness that came naturally to him.

“Well, Gaster, it’s good to finally meet you. Sans and Papyrus come by all the time. Papyrus loves the succulents.” Asgore said to the man.
Gaster nodded, pocketing the notepad.

“And Sans, well… he mostly just naps in the greenhouse,” Asgore added with a chuckle.

That earned the smallest huff of a breath from Gaster—laughter, maybe. Or something close to it.

“Can I help you find anything?” Asgore asked. “Something for your place, maybe? It’s nice to have a bit of green around. Especially when you’re new.”

Gaster glanced toward a cluster of potted herbs, then a quiet shelf of hanging ivy near the window. He approached, careful and slow.

Asgore followed, his hands loosely in his apron pockets.

“You’ve got a good eye,” he said when Gaster lingered over a modest spider plant. “Easy to care for. Keeps to itself. Just needs water and a little attention.”

Gaster tapped his pen on the notebook again. Wrote something. Flipped it.

[Like me.]

Asgore snorted before he could stop himself. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it.”

A pause passed between them—short but not uncomfortable.

Then: [It’s quiet in here,] Gaster wrote.

“I like it that way,” Asgore replied. “Hometown’s loud enough with Papyrus around.”

Gaster smirked. A real one, small but genuine.

Then Asgore looked at him, there was a certain fondness on his eyes as if he just remembered something. "They said you speak in sign language. You can speak with me! Because I had to learn to
my two youngest." Gaster nods at that, he's quite grateful inside, because there's not many people that knows sign language.

There was something pleasant in the silence that followed. Asgore didn’t feel the need to fill it—not out of awkwardness, anyway. Just… awareness.

He cleared his throat.

“Do you want me to wrap that up for you?”

Gaster nodded and handed the spider plant over, fingers brushing briefly.

Asgore took it gently, wrapping it in soft paper like a gift. When he handed it back, he added a little care tag with a hand-drawn sun on the corner. Just because.

Gaster tucked it carefully under one arm.

Before he turned to leave, he sign one last thing to Asgore.

[Thank you. For the quiet.]

Asgore smiled again—gentler now. More real.

“Anytime, Gaster.”

The bell chimed again as the door closed.

And for a while, Asgore just stood behind the counter, hands still, eyes on the empty doorway, thinking.

Chapter Text

Lewis wasn’t used to making friends easily. Not after everything. He had his quiet corners, the small spaces where he could just be. But when he arrived in Hometown, things felt different—still strange, still new, but somehow… warmer.

He had been walking through the park, the usual hesitant shuffle in his step, when he spotted a figure bouncing energetically ahead. A figure with a goofy smile, arms flailing in excitement as he shouted to no one in particular.

“Lewis! Over here! I’ve got something you’ve got to see!”

The voice belonged to Papyrus, and Lewis felt a small, reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t know how Papyrus managed it—his enthusiasm was almost… contagious. Before he could stop himself, he found his feet moving toward the larger-than-life skeleton.

He met him a little while ago. Despite him being a tall skeleton, he was just a few years older than Lewis—like he's 14 and Lewis was seven.

“Hey, hey! Check this out!” Papyrus grabbed his arm, nearly pulling him toward a nearby tree. “I’m gonna show you the best thing ever!”

Lewis blinked. He was used to the quieter types—the ones who didn’t expect much. But Papyrus? Papyrus was… well, Papyrus. He gestured grandly toward an oddly shaped rock that had a slight glow to it.

“You see this rock?” Papyrus asked with the intensity of a seasoned explorer. “It’s got the best view of the whole park! Come on, you have to sit on it!”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but sitting on a rock didn’t seem that adventurous. Still, the way Papyrus’ eyes sparkled with excitement was hard to resist.

Without thinking too much about it, Lewis carefully sat beside Papyrus, who immediately started regaling him with tales of his “great adventures” around town—none of which made much sense, but the sheer energy of it made him chuckle under his breath. For the first time in a while, he felt something other than loneliness.

Papyrus continued talking—a lot—but Lewis was glad for it. At least, until he noticed how quickly time passed. And how, slowly but surely, he found himself becoming interested in this bright, strangely exuberant person who never stopped moving or talking, even when it seemed like he should.

“You know,” Lewis started, unsure of why he was saying it, “I think you might be the weirdest and coolest person I’ve met at the same time." He gave Papyrus a big smile.

Papyrus beamed like it was the highest compliment.

“Well, thank you, of course The Great Papyrus is the coolest person you've ever met!” He threw his arms wide. “It’s my special gift, you know? Making the world more fun!”

Lewis laughed, a real laugh, one that surprised him. For the first time since arriving, he didn’t feel like the outsider.

—

Later that afternoon, Asgore stood by the door of his old house, staring at the streetlights outside. He was unsure of his next step.

He wasn’t used to feeling so uncertain, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But there was something about Gaster that had unsettled him, even if he didn’t quite understand it yet.

The man had spent almost an month weeks in Hometown by now, alongside with his sons, Sans and Papyrus, who were both as different from Gaster as night and day. Sans with his lazy charm and sarcastic smile, Papyrus with his wild, infectious energy. And then there was Gaster, whose silence filled the gaps left by his sons’ chaos.

It had been two weeks since their first meeting at the flower shop. It was strange—Asgore found himself thinking about it more than he should. Thinking about Gaster’s quiet presence, the subtle way he held himself. How his silence didn’t feel like something to be avoided, but something to be understood.

He turned away from the door and walked over to the kitchen. The house felt quieter these days. His children were growing, each finding their own place in the world, and Toriel… well, she had become more distant.

With a sigh, Asgore grabbed his jacket and headed out, walking down the familiar streets toward Toriel’s house. It had become a habit—asking her about things that lingered in his mind. And today, the question was simple but nagging.

(Do you know anything about the new guy? Gaster?)

As he arrived at her doorstep, he hesitated. He hadn’t been here in weeks, not since the divorce. The old house was still warm with the familiar scents of cinnamon and baked goods, but there was a coldness too, something neither of them could fully escape.

Toriel opened the door before he could knock, her warm smile greeting him.

“Asgore,” she said gently. “What brings you here today?”

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just wondering about… Gaster.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. Something that made Asgore pause. He wasn’t sure why he felt this knot in his stomach. The man had been a mystery to him—quiet, distant, and yet strangely… familiar.

Toriel didn’t answer immediately, instead stepping aside and letting him in. The house felt the same—cozy, inviting, yet there was a lingering sense of tension that neither of them could shake.

“You know,” she began, as they sat in the living room, “Gaster’s been through a lot. But he’s not someone to speak of lightly. He will tell you what happened over time, but he's not a weak man, Asgore."

Asgore nodded, trying to mask his nervousness. He didn’t want to ask too directly, but he couldn’t help it. Something about Gaster felt… important. But why?

Toriel watched him carefully, her expression softening as she took a deep breath.

“Why do you ask?” she finally said, her voice quiet but knowing.

Asgore swallowed, the words feeling heavier now. “I just... I don’t know. He’s different. Easy to talk?”

Toriel’s eyes softened. Then, with a knowing smile, she leaned back slightly. “You’ll figure it out.”

Asgore was about to speak again when Toriel’s lips twitched into something closer to a smirk.

“Oh,” she said with a sly tone, “I think Gaster has been a very interesting addition to this town.”

Asgore blinked. “What do you mean?”

Toriel’s smile widened ever so slightly. “Oh, nothing. Just that I think you’ll get along fine.”

Asgore stared at her, his heart racing in a way he couldn’t explain. Toriel’s smirk deepened, and Asgore knew she was far more aware than he realized.

He swallowed hard, the realization hitting him.

“Well, thanks, Toriel.”

She simply nodded, her smile still playing at the edges of her lips.

—

Later that evening, as Asgore returned to his house, something tugged at him. Something more than just curiosity. Maybe it was more than just meeting Gaster.

He tried to make himself believe that he was studying even harder sign language for his children not the man... He just met, and only in one brief moment.

But for now, all he could do was wonder.

Chapter Text

The evening was quiet in Toriel’s house, after they invited him to eat there that night, but for Lewis, it felt heavy with silence. He sat at the dining table, staring at his plate, pretending to focus on the meal before him. The others had already started talking—laughing, even—but it felt like there was an invisible barrier around him.

Kris, Chara, and Frisk sat next to each other, each of them speaking with enthusiasm, recounting their day. They had been close for years, and their bond was something Lewis had never quite understood. It wasn’t that he resented them—he could never do that—but the connection they shared seemed so… natural. So effortless.

[Lewis, you alright?] Frisk’s signed to him, when they're overstimulated they usually sign, great thing you know sign language.

Lewis blinked, looking up to meet their gaze. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at the table.

"Yeah, just tired," he muttered, pushing a small piece of his food around with his fork.

Frisk smiled gently, the warmth of it almost making Lewis feel a little less like an outsider. They had been kind to him since the day he arrived in Hometown, and that kindness was a soft but persistent reminder that he wasn’t completely alone.

"How was school today?" Kris asked, clearly trying to make conversation, despite their obvious awkwardness. "Did you get that book you were looking for?"

Lewis nodded, offering a thin smile. "Yeah. It’s… it’s interesting."

Chara, who had been unusually quiet, raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. "What’s the book about?"

"Quantum mechanics," Lewis replied, almost absently. He realized how that probably sounded—too smart, too distant, too much of his usual self.

But Chara didn’t seem to mind. "Sounds boring," they said with a mischievous grin. "But then again, you like it."

Lewis chuckled softly. The moment felt lighter, and for the briefest second, he thought maybe, just maybe, he was starting to fit in.

Then Toriel entered the room, her presence filling the space in an instant. She had a warm smile, but when her eyes landed on Lewis, there was something almost unreadable about her gaze. Her smile softened, but there was a weight in the way she looked at him that Lewis couldn't shake.

“Dinner’s almost ready, my dears,” Toriel said as she began serving the last of the food onto the table. “Lewis, I hope you’re hungry.”

He nodded, but his stomach felt tight, the gnawing sensation of something unsettled building in his chest. She was kind to him, of course—everyone was—but sometimes, it felt like there was a wall between him and Toriel. Like there was some invisible space he wasn’t allowed to cross, a place that was reserved only for her children.

It didn’t help that she seemed to have a natural connection with them, something that made him feel… distant. Unseen.

Toriel set the last plate down and smiled brightly at the children, but her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than usual. “Is everything to your liking, Lewis?”

He forced a smile, though it felt tight and unfamiliar. "Yeah. It’s great, thank you."

Toriel’s eyes softened as if sensing the unease he wasn’t quite ready to address. But she didn’t press. Instead, she moved back to the kitchen to put away the leftovers.

"Where's Asriel?" He asked. Lewis liked Asriel, the older boy always made him feel wanted.

[Ah, didn't dad tell? He's back at College. He had to go in a hurry. Chara will go next week.] Frisk signs to him, Chara is smiling maliciously behind them. Lewis only nods to that as he forces himself to eat.

The conversation around the table continued, but Lewis couldn’t shake the feeling of being a shadow in someone else’s family. The way Toriel always seemed to give her children just a little more attention, the way they spoke to each other with a shared history, one that he couldn’t touch. It all felt too easy for them. Too natural.

Kris, Chara, and Frisk went on chatting, and for a moment, Lewis felt the sting of being an outsider. He had no right to feel this way—they had all been kind, especially Toriel. But he couldn’t help it. It was a feeling that gnawed at him constantly, this sense that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be the adopted one, the one who didn’t belong.

Later that evening, Asgore sat in his quiet house, staring out the window into the growing night.

He had been thinking a lot about Lewis lately. About how he’d taken him in, yes, but also about how much Lewis still struggled with the feeling of being alone in the world. He hadn’t asked Asgore for much, never complained, but Asgore could see it—could hear it in the way his words sometimes wavered, or the way his silences stretched on too long.

There was something about him that reminded Asgore of himself. Perhaps it was the way Lewis carried the weight of his past on his shoulders, unwilling to let it slip away, even in the safety of his new life.

Asgore sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. He knew he had to do more for him, his son. He couldn’t let him stay on the edge forever, couldn’t let him slip away into the silence.

The next day, Asgore stood in Toriel’s doorway once again, this time with a question heavy on his heart.

He had come to ask her about Lewis—about her thoughts on him, on how he seemed to be struggling to fit in with their children. Asgore had seen the small looks, the pauses, the moments where Lewis seemed like he wanted to say something but held back, too scared or unsure.

Toriel opened the door with her usual warm smile, but there was something in her eyes that seemed to know exactly what was coming. She stepped aside to let Asgore in.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

Asgore nodded, but his eyes betrayed his uncertainty. He was always uncertain when it came to this—parenthood, especially of an adopted child. He didn’t want to push his son too hard, but he knew something had to change.

“Toriel,” he began, a little hesitant. “Have you noticed how Lewis seems… off?”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “You mean he feels like an outsider?”

Asgore’s heart sank. “Yes. It’s like he doesn’t feel like he belongs. He’s a good kid, but…”

Toriel’s expression softened, and she nodded knowingly. “It’s natural,” she said gently. “But don’t worry. We’ll help him. You are his father now.”

Asgore let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I just… I don’t want him to feel alone.”

Toriel smiled—a soft, knowing smile. “Neither do I.”

She paused for a moment before adding, “You know, sometimes we all feel like outsiders, even in a family. But we get through it together.”

Asgore looked at her, feeling a swell of gratitude for her wisdom. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe there was still hope for Lewis to find his place.

Toriel’s smile deepened, and as if reading his thoughts, she added with a hint of mischief, “You’ll figure it out, Asgore. Just like I knew you would.”