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The morning light filters through the kitchen curtains as Toriel stands at the stove, humming quietly to herself. The scent of cinnamon and butter fills the air. She’s making pancakes, the kind with the edges just slightly crisp. The remnants of last night’s activities are mostly cleaned up, though a faint whiff of wine still lingers in the air. Sans is nowhere to be seen-- probably left early.
Toriel turns her head slightly as she hears footsteps, her ears twitching. She doesn’t look at Kris directly, her movements a little more deliberate than usual. The radio plays softly in the background, some old jazz station she likes.
“Good morning, Kris,” she says, her voice carefully neutral. “I made breakfast.” The plate is already set out. She doesn’t mention last night. Not yet. But the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.
Kris sits down, gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgement. Despite the chaos of life, they can always count on her pancakes.
Toriel’s shoulders relax just slightly as they take their seat, the quiet clink of silverware the only sound aside from the radio’s low murmur. She flips a pancake with practiced ease, the sizzle of batter filling the brief silence. After a moment, she slides a perfectly golden-brown pancake onto their plate, the butter already melting into little pools on top. She hesitates, then reaches for the syrup-- real maple, the good kind she saves for weekends-- and sets it near Kris without a word.
Her ears stay half-pinned back, though. She’s waiting. Not pushing. But she’s waiting.
Kris reflexively thanks her for the syrup. Pours. And begins to eat. After a few mouthfuls, they mumble, "So... 'Mr. Sans' didn't want to stay for breakfast?"
Toriel’s grip tightens just slightly on the spatula before she forces herself to relax. She doesn’t turn around, focusing a little too hard on the next pancake. “He had… business,” she says, voice strained with the effort of sounding casual. “You know how he is.” A beat. Then, quieter: “Kris, about last night. I did not expect you home so early, and—”
She cuts herself off, shaking her head. The pancake flips with a little more force than necessary. “Never mind. Eat your breakfast.” But the way her ears flatten is a tell: she’s anything but calm.
Kris feels something flare up within them. Their voice rises a little. "So... early? Mom, it was late at night! And... you were drunk! I know Dad's not making things easy, still hung up on you, but... remember when you found out Azzy kissed Cattie Cattenheimer, and you were so upset, we had to go to church every day for a week straight?"
Toriel’s face darkens at the mention of Asgore, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. For a moment, she looks like she’s about to snap. Then she deflates, her shoulders slumping.
“That was different,” she mutters, though she doesn’t sound convinced herself. “And your father has nothing to do with this.” She exhales sharply, rubbing her temples again. “Kris, I am allowed to have… company. To enjoy myself. But you are right. I should not have been so careless. Not with you here. Not with—”
She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “...I will be more considerate. That is all I can promise.” Her voice is firm, but there’s a flicker of something uneasy in her eyes, like she’s not just apologizing for the noise.
Kris finishes their pancakes. "Whatever." they say, and it's with a harderdge, even in their usual mumbly deadpan tone. "Azzy was always the favorite. Even Dad was muttering outside the church about 'wanting things to be normal once Asriel comes back from college next week' when I was right. There." A sigh. "I gotta go check on Susie, make sure she's okay. The way she freaked out, I think she's had bad experiences."
Kris looks up. Meets her gaze. They know they are about to be unfair. They don't care.
"Bad experiences. With drunk adults." Kris gets up, clears their place at the table. "Thank you for breakfast."
Toriel is stunned,.This is the most that Kris has spoken to her in weeks, all at once.
Her breath catches, her hands hovering in the air for a moment before she lets them fall to her sides. She looks like Kris has struck her: eyes wide, ears pinned back again.
“Kris, you are not—” She stops, swallows hard. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, strained. “...Go check on Susie. But we will talk about this. Later.”
There’s no anger in it. Just exhaustion. And something that might be guilt.
As Kris turns to leave, she doesn’t call after them. But the silence in the kitchen is heavier than before.
***
Kris walks over to the apartment building they're pretty sure Susie lives, and sure enough, sees her waiting on the stoop. "Susie," they call. Susie’s head jerks up at the sound of their voice, her usual scowl softening just a fraction when she sees them. She’s hunched on the steps of her apartment building, one knee drawn up to her chest, the other leg stretched out. She nods once in acknowledgment.
“Hey, dork,” she mutters, but there’s no bite to it. She glances away, jaw working like she’s chewing on words she doesn’t want to say. After a beat, she adds, quieter, “...You good?”
The question is gruff, but the way her eyes dart over Kris tells them she’s actually worried. About them. Not just about last night.
"Dunno," Kris says. "I'm here, though. The skeleton's gone. Mom made pancakes again. Came to check on you. How's your hand?"
Susie’s expression twists, and she instinctively curls her injured hand into a fist, hiding the bandages—hastily wrapped, probably by her. The cuts weren’t deep, but they’re still fresh enough to sting.
“Hand’s fine,” she grumbles, but the way she flexes her fingers betrays her. She scowls at the ground, kicks at the steps. “...That prophecy was bullshit anyway. Doesn’t matter.”
A pause. Then, quieter, her voice rough: “Your mom’s not... dammit, Kris, I didn’t mean to bail like that. Just… hell. Drunk adults are…” She trails off, jaw clenching. Kris doesn’t need her to finish the sentence. The way she’d frozen last night, the way her breath had hitched before she bolted; it wasn’t just discomfort. It was memory.
She shakes her head violently, like she’s trying to dislodge the thought. “Whatever. We got bigger problems. Like that shelter. Officer Undyne. And whatever the hell that prophecy was on about.” Her voice cracks just slightly on the last word.
"Yeah," Kris responds. "Was just worried about you."
Susie’s shoulders tense, then slump. She doesn’t look up, but her voice is quieter when she speaks again.
“...Yeah. I know.” A beat. Then, gruff but sincere: “Thanks, Kris.”
She leans back against the steps, staring up at the sky like it might have answers. The silence between isn’t uncomfortable, just heavy, the kind that comes after too much everything at once.
After a moment, she nudges their shoulder with her fist, gently, for once. “...We’ll figure it out. All of it. Even the weird prophecy doom crap.”
It’s not much. But it’s enough. For now.
Kris makes a soft sound. Almost a chuckle. "Ralsei's hugs are better, but I could give you one. No one else is around. Your rep is safe," and there is just the barest hint of a teasing lilt to their voice.
Susie stiffens for a second, her face scrunching up like she’s just bitten into something sour. “Tch, ugh, fine,” she mutters, but she’s already leaning into it, wrapping one arm around their shoulders in a half-hug, half-headlock. It’s awkward as hell, and she’s definitely putting too much force into it, but...
“There. Happy?” she grumbles, but she doesn’t let go right away. Her grip loosens just a fraction after a second, and when she finally pulls back, her scowl’s a little less sharp.
“...Don’t tell anyone,” she warns, pointing a finger. But there’s no real heat behind it. Just something almost relieved.
Kris nods and asks, "...'Kay. What's next?"
Susie cracks her knuckles, her grin returning, and it's sharp, but genuine this time. “Next? We find Ralsei. Drag his fluffy ass out of whatever mope-hole he’s hiding in. Then we figure out what the hell that Knight’s deal is.”
She stands, stretching with a grunt. “And maybe punch something. For morale. You in or what, Kris?”
Kris nods again, and turns to head down the street, then freezes. "Is that... Dad?"
Susie follows their gaze, her posture immediately going rigid. Sure enough, Asgore is standing near the edge of town, looking unusually disheveled: his usual floral apron is missing, and he’s clutching a bouquet of golden flowers in one hand, staring blankly at the ground. He hasn’t noticed anyone yet.
Susie’s lip curls. “Ugh. What’s he doing here?” She glances at Kris, her scowl softening just a fraction. “...You wanna bail? We can take the back alley. Dude looks like he’s one bad day away from sobbing into a salad.”
But before Kris can answer, Asgore’s head lifts,and his eyes lock onto Kris. His expression crumples into something painfully hopeful.
“K-Kris…?” he calls out, voice wavering.
Shit.
A sigh from Kris. "Susie. Back me up?" they ask as they start to approach Asgore.
Susie doesn’t hesitate. She falls into step beside them, close enough that her shoulder brushes theirs-- a silent 'I got your back'. Her usual scowl is in place, but there’s no real malice in it this time. Just vigilance.
Asgore’s face lights up when they approach, though his smile is shaky. “I-I was just… well, I thought maybe…” He trails off, looking down at the flowers in his hands like he’s just now remembering they’re there. “...These were always Toriel’s favorite,” he mumbles, more to himself than to them.
Susie’s flicks her hair impatiently. “Yeah, cool. What do you want, dude?”
Asgore flinches, then straightens with a forced chuckle. “Ah, right. Kris, I, um… I heard about last night. From Sans.” His ears droop. “I just wanted to make sure you were… alright.”
His gaze flicks to Susie, then back to Kris, like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he’ll find.
Kris fells their breath catch. They blink in surprise. "From Sans? What'd he say?" and then... "Wait? Checking on me? Not... y'know, fishing for info on Mom?"
Asgore’s face falls, his grip tightening slightly on the flowers. “No,” he says, voice firmer than Kris has heard in a long time. “Kris, I—no. I swear that’s not—” He cuts himself off, taking a shaky breath. “Sans just said you… saw something you shouldn’t have had to. That’s all.”
His shoulders slump. “I know how I’ve been. And I’m… trying to do better. But this isn’t about her. It’s about you.”
Susie shifts beside Kris, her scowl deepening—but she doesn’t interrupt. For once.
Asgore hesitates, then holds out the flowers—not to Kris, but to Susie. “And… I’m sorry if I made things harder for you, young lady. You’ve been a good friend to Kris.”
Susie blinks, staring at the bouquet like it might bite her. “The hell?”
Kris looks at the boquet, then Susie, then Dad.
"You remember what he said last time. Selling something that was a hobby doesn't feel right to him." A pause. "So I think he's just trying to be nice."
Susie taks the boquet and mutters, "Was gettin' kind of hungry..."
Kris looks back to their Dad. They jam their hands into their pockets. "Look. Dad. Not your business, but she was just dancing with some guy." Without looking up, "I miss a lot of things. I miss you. I miss how things were. But I learned yesterday, once something's sealed, you can't go back. Just... give Mom a break or something. It's a small town. Chasing her around makes her nervous."
Asgore is stunned. That's the most he'd heard Kris say at once, to him, in months. A year, maybe?
Asgore’s hands tremble, his breath hitching like he’s been punched in the chest. For a long moment, he just stare, his expression raw, like he’s seeing Kris properly for the first time in years.
“...Kris,” he finally manages, voice thick. “I... yes. You’re right.” His grip tightens. “But I’m not... I’m not chasing her. Not anymore. I swear.”
His gaze darts toward the edge of town, where Carol’s house looms in the distance. A flicker of something uneasy passes over his face. Something determined. “There’s… other things I need to focus on now.”
Susie’s grip on the flowers also tighten. “Uh-huh. Like what, exactly?”
Asgore hesitates, then shakes his head. “It’s… complicated. And not safe to talk about here.” His voice drops to a murmur. “But if you ever need me, for anything... I’m here, Kris.”
The sincerity in his voice is unsettling. Because for once, it doesn’t sound like he’s lying.
Susie glances at Kris, raising an eyebrow, as if to say You believe this guy?
Meanwhile, in the distance, the first festival banners are being hung across the street. Noelle’s voice carries faintly from the town square.
The clock’s ticking.
"Aw, crap. the festival's today too!" says Susie. "Thanks, Mr. Dreemurr. These flowers do look pretty good. C'mon Kris, we gotta get going," she says. She bites the bloom off one flower, munching contentedly as she and Kris head towards the middle of town.
***
Noelle looks up. Sees, off in the distance.... Kris. With Susie. And.. she's holding an entire boquet of flowers this time? Did Kris give her those?, she wonders. Her grip tightens around the clipboard she’s holding, her ears twitching as she watches Kris and Susie approach. Her expression flickers: surprise, confusion, then something painfully hopeful... before she forces a smile and waves.
“H-Hey, guys!” she calls, voice a little too bright. Her eyes keep darting to the bouquet in Susie’s hand, then to Kris, then back to Susie. “Uh… nice flowers?”
Susie, mid-chew on another petal, blinks. “Huh? Oh. These?” She shrugs, holding them out. “Asgore gave ’em to me. Weird, right?”
Noelle’s shoulders relax just a fraction. “O-Oh! Right! That’s, um… cool.” A sigh of relief, cheeks pink. “A-Anyway, the festival’s kind of a mess right now, and Mom told me I had to help set up, and I know she said I couldn't see you ever again, and I want to hang out, but things right now are so—”
A loud crash interrupts her as a stack of decorations topples nearby. Someone yells, “BERDLY, I SWEAR TO GOD—”
Noelle sighs. “...Yeah. That.”
Susie grins, tossing the rest of the flower into her mouth. “Sweet. Let’s go break some heads.”
The festival’s barely started, and already, it’s chaos.
But at least for right now, it's the normal kind.