Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PACIFISM CANNOT BREAK BARRIERS

                   Chapter O N E : another human. that's all she is.

Two children carved from different deaths. One by choice. One by fate.

She was the first note in a dirge that never stopped playing. He was the echo after her last note. She was the spark that ignited the war, but his flowers were last to burn in her wake. One became a blade to survive with; the other, the god to use it.

Her soul came back wrong. Too sharp. Too loud. A scream in the shape of a girl.

His body came back empty. Too soft. Too quiet. A bloom with no root.

They orbit each other like dying stars, but pulled together by gravity or guilt? It’s hard to tell.

Her fingers bleed from holding everything together, while his bones tremble from remembering how they fell apart. She holds every version of his death inside her body. He holds every version of everyone else’s.

In another world, they might’ve been whole, might’ve been together even. But here, they do not heal. They do not break. They do not live nor die, breathe nor suffocate. They just exist as an ache in-between.

…

“…Oh, my child.”

The air was stale in the chamber of golden flowers, deep in the depths of the Ruins. Save for the quiet hum of distant magic clinging to the walls like ivy, it was silent. Dust motes floated in shafts of pale light leaking through the cracks above, the only sign that a world existed beyond the stone.

Footsteps echoed behind her. Measured. Deliberate. Toriel crossed the hall.

She paused at the edge of the flowerbed, her gaze settling on a figure lying amidst the petals. Older than those who had fallen before, much older than Frisk.

Her gaze fell. Her voice, lower.

“Not again.”

So, even now, the world sends more, she thought. Then, despite age clinging to her bones, she hoisted the woman into her arms and started towards home.

***

“Do you remember your name?” someone asked when the young woman woke.

But, she didn’t notice, not at first. She squinted and blinked to clear her bleary vision.

The bedroom was cozy, just the way her first children had liked it. Warmly lit, the room buzzed with the scent of butterscotch and books. The bed was soft, layered in patchwork quilts. A single candle burned nearby. Somewhere, a flicker of warmth. Magic. Patient. Calm.

Finally, once her vision cleared and the nightmares of red eyes and little children and skeletons and flowers fled her mind, the young woman finally laid eyes on Toriel. A jolt. Cold sweat clung to her skin.

Last she knew, she’d been scaling a mountain, but now…?

She stared, hyperventilating at the goat creature. It was horrific. Like nothing she’d ever seen. And yet, why was it familiar?

Was it the nightmare?

“Ah, you’re awake. That is good. You worried me.” The goat woman put up her hands defensively. “You… You are safe now, my child. There is no need to fear.” She placed a hand flat on her purple robes. “I am Toriel.”

“Who…? Where…?”

“Do you remember your name?” the goat woman, Toriel, asked again.

“What is this place…?” the woman muttered quietly. Toriel stared back with no judgment in her eyes. Only something between sorrow and weariness.

Toriel had been knelt beside the bed, so she now rose to her feet. She took a few idle steps to the side and gathered up a plate of pie that’d been sat on a chair. She pulled over the chair for herself to sit in before offering the woman the pie.

“I thought you might be hungry, but I did not want to wake you.” Toriel placed a hand to her chin. “You have been sleeping for nearly a day since you fell. I… worried you may never wake.”

There was no pressure in her tone. Even so, the woman felt perturbed and refrained from answering.

“Do you feel well enough to talk?” Toriel asked.

But the young woman couldn’t get around it. This… goat woman spoke? It really spoke.

But, why didn’t that surprise her?

“What are you?” she finally said in response. “And… this place…?”

Toriel’s lips upturned in a soft smile, though a flicker of pain moved behind her eyes as she spoke—not at the girl’s question, but perhaps a memory her words or voice stirred.

“I am what some might call a monster,” she said gently. “Though I do not care for that word. Not all of us do.” Realizing that her pie wasn’t being accepted, she sat the plate carefully on her lap. “As for this place… You are in the Ruins. They are the remains of what was once our home—a sanctuary now, mostly silence and stone. It lies beneath Mount Ebott.”

“Right.”

Mount Ebott.

That was the mountain she was climbing.

“You fell, my child,” Toriel continued. Her voice dropped. Heavy. Weighted with meaning she didn’t explain. “Just like the others, from the Surface. You are not the first… Hopefully, you will be the last.”

Toriel watched her as she shifted, peeling off the blankets and climbing out of bed. Curious. Careful.

“Do… you remember anything?” Toriel asked.

“I failed,” the woman said instead. “I was going to be the first to scale it, to document it… But I’m here, so…

This is Hell, isn’t it?

I’m dead, right?”

“No. You are not dead, and this is not hell.” Toriel’s expression shifted—surprise, then something like heartbreak. “Though, I cannot pretend it is not… difficult.”

A beat.

“This place, the Underground, is very real. As real as the mountain above it. You said… you intended to scale the mountain... Were you alone?”

There was a note of something searching in her voice. Careful. Subtle. But still there. A mother’s intuition at the edge of something left unsaid.

The woman stared back, surprised. “Of course. How could I claim the accomplishment with company?”

Toriel’s brows knitted, not in judgment but in concern. Despite the woman’s words, something about her tone, the way she snapped back at the older monster… it made her feel… nostalgic for some reason.

“Ah… An explorer. A scholar, perhaps?” She looked down. “You would not be the first human drawn to the mountain for reasons of ambition… but you may be the first who spoke of it with such professional clarity.” The thought made Toriel laugh softly.

The woman frowned, unimpressed, before starting towards the door.

“Ah, wait. Forgive me,” Toriel said quickly. “You should eat before you go. And… do you remember your name?”

“That’s silly,” the woman spat back indignantly. “It’s…”

She blinked, shocked at her own tongue’s refusal.

“Why… It’s…

It’s…

…”

Her gaze fell, and she blinked at the floor, as if the answer would be there.

“I… I don’t…”

Toriel’s expression didn’t twist with surprise. She watched with understanding and perhaps something deeper, a grief worn soft with age. She had a feeling in her gut.

A feeling that she recognized those red eyes. That dark hair chopped short. That face that could so easily wrinkle with rage.

She stepped closer, carefully, as if the woman was a wild animal. She laid a hand over her heart again.

“It is all right,” she said gently. “Memory… is a fragile thing. Especially when one falls as far as you have.” She paused, eyes thoughtful, as though she were choosing her words with care. “If your name does not return to you now, perhaps… you may borrow one until it does.”

Toriel studied her face quietly, as if reading the shape of her soul, and then:

“Uriel.”

She let the name settle into the air between them.

“A name with space to grow. One that carries strength… and mystery, perhaps.” Toriel chuckled softly. “You do not seem like someone so easily defined. Does the name suit you, even for now?”

The woman, Uriel, looked back at the old monster and could do nothing more than frown. “It… will have to work for now.”

Then, Uriel’s expression darkened, and she stomped out of the room.

“God, look at me. I’m dreaming. I must be—God! I’m talking to it as if it’s real—”

The door slammed shut behind her. Toriel made no move to stop her.

She only stood in place, hands folded, the candlelight catching in her eyes.

She blinked and sniffled.

She wiped her eyes.

“I am glad…

Chara.”

Chapter Text

                   Chapter T W O : not everyone deserves kindness. especially not you.

Clacking on the keyboard yielded exactly nothing. You’d been working on it for hours, and yet the laptop really seemed busted.

You sighed and sat back.

“How am I going to play Undertale now?

Especially when I was so close…?”

…

“I want to go home.”

“It’s… safer here.”

“I’m going back.”

“Then, I will go with you, my child.”

…

The warmth hit them in a wave the moment the door opened.

Grillby’s was packed—buzzing with voices, laughter, and the clatter of dishes. Monsters crowded every booth and barstool, bundled in winter scarves and snow-dusted coats. The air shimmered with the scent of fried food, charred cinnamon, and something sweet and slightly singed—typical of Grillby’s on a busy night.

Conversations overlapped in bursts:

“Did you hear the storm near the Ruins?”

“I swear I saw something fall from the sky again.”

“Bet it was a human! Like before!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Frisk was it.”

At least a dozen monsters turned to look when the door creaked open, the bell above it giving a half-hearted jingle.

Then, the tone of the conversation changed, orienting around the rare appearance of the Queen in Snowdin. She’d started coming to town after the King and the Human tried to break the barrier, but her visits had trickled down to nothing. She rarely came to town these days.

But, what perhaps drew even more attention was the unfamiliar human walking in beside her. Older than the last. Expression unreadable. Gaze sharp. And those eyes.

A few monsters stared openly. One or two whispered. But most simply watched in quiet curiosity.

Only one didn’t.

Toriel walked with her to the front, up to the bar. Uriel glanced up at the goat monster, who simply returned the gaze by offering a kind smile of encouragement.

They stopped walking just before the bar stools.

The one monster that hadn’t turned to look did something most bizarre—taking a bottle of ketchup and squeezing half of it over a whole basket of French fries until they swam. Then, he used those fries to scoop up the ketchup like a spoon, sucking off the condiment before redipping the same fry.

Uriel cocked a brow.

Toriel cleared her throat.

The monster stopped what he was doing, mid-dunk, and slowly turned to the two with a raised brow bone.

Blue hoodie. Slippers. An ever-present, tired grin.

Uriel felt her brows raise, the color drain from her face. A skeleton?

The skeleton offered a small, one-syllable laugh, before flipping the fry back into the basket with its brethren.

“…well, well. look who fell outta the sky.”

The words were casual, but his gaze lingered on Uriel. She felt something akin to animosity there, despite this being the first time they’d ever met.

Sharp. Calculating. But, something familiar flickered beneath.

Like he knew her.

Uriel let her composure come back over her in waves. This wasn’t the most unsettling situation she’d ever been in.

“She’s the ninth.”

Sans looked to Toriel and made a noncommittal “hm.”

Toriel continued after a shallow breath. “And, she does not even remember her name.”

Uriel glanced between Sans and Toriel, but the skeleton didn’t reply.

“Even Frisk remembered their name.”

Toriel’s expression faltered slightly when he, again, didn’t reply. Grillby, flames flickering with curiosity, slid over two drinks to Toriel and her guest without a word. Then, with a thought, he slid over a second bottle of ketchup for Sans.

“…”

Sans didn’t touch the bottle. He just shifted slightly on the bar stool after a moment. “…ain’t that somethin’.” A statement, not a question. Even so, he stared at Toriel, like she was the one out of place.

The woman beside her, Uriel as Toriel had named her, blinked in response and pulled out the bar stool by Sans with a screech of wood against wood.

“Is this funny to you?” she asked bluntly. “I’m trying to get home… She said someone in Snowdin might be able to help me.”

Sans didn’t flinch. His attention turned next to Uriel. That lazy grin still tugged the corners of his mouth, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes.

“…nah,” he said slowly. “funny’s a strong word, isn’t it?”

He swiveled back around and leaned forward, taking the first bottle of ketchup and depositing the rest of it on the already-ketchup-soaked basket. He made a small sigh of relief before continuing his work.

His grin remained in place, but his tone dipped into something dry.

“could be a little ironic, i s’pose. whole world almost dies, we catch a break, and then…” His gaze moved slowly to the woman beside him. “…the universe hiccups, and here you are.”

His sockets narrowed slightly, just enough for her to notice.

“so nah, not funny. just…”

Toriel shifted to sit on the bar stool on the either side of Uriel, but she didn’t otherwise interrupt. Her gaze lowered now, hands folded gently around her mug, steam curling up past her face.

Sans made a click (somehow, without a tongue) and added flatly, “you appeared after the happy ending, so fast, even your shadow’s filing complaints.”

Toriel made some faint noise beside her.

“kinda hard not to ask ‘why?’.”

She blinked hard at him then gave a firm shake of her head.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

Sans didn’t move right away. His grin remained, but it thinned. He tilted his skull her direction by a fraction, studying her like a puzzle he wasn’t sure had all its pieces.

“…huh.”

He dipped a fry in ketchup with the thought. Then, he shifted where he sat, as if taking a second to revise.

“lemme guess. climbed a mountain. saw some sights. took a wrong step, and woke up down here. now, everyone’s acting like it’s the end of the world.”

A pause. He shifted back to her and pointed a skeletal finger (a fact she took note of and shivered with the realization that it was, indeed, real).

“…except nobody told you the world already ended.”

Uriel blinked at his last phalange. “Already ended?”

Sans’ hand dropped, and he nodded towards Toriel. “she didn’t give you the rundown?”

Toriel sighed. “I… I suppose I should.”

Sans sat back in his seat and finally set back to his original task—extracting the ketchup from his fries.

“bingo.”

***

“one second you aren’t here, and now you are—guess you’re just a fan of sudden plot twists.”

***

Toriel, Sans, and Uriel sat at the bar for a bit. Toriel explained to Uriel a brief history of what happened. Eight humans before her with Frisk being the last. She spoke of how Frisk saved the world, the Underground, from itself. But, the barrier remained strong even when it should’ve been destroyed.

“But why then?” Uriel had asked softly. “If it needed all those souls… then, shouldn’t it have opened?”

“none of us know,” Sans had offered. “either fate’s got a bad sense of humor, or something’s gone wrong. wanna guess what i'm bettin’ on?”

“Sans, please.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Uriel said softly.

Toriel’s expression softened. Sans almost perked up with the profound comment of empathy from the woman.

“Or a lie,” she added.

Toriel let out a soft breath, half somber, half something more fragile. “I have wondered the same. More times than I can count. But, lies do not bruise like we monsters do.”

“I…” Uriel was going to say more, but she stopped herself. She drew a deeply irritated breath. “I just need to get back to the surface and research the mountain. As fun as this all seems, I don’t… really care. Alright?”

She set her mug down with a soft clink, steam curling, and placed a hand over the young woman’s as her expression faded.

“You are not imagining this, Uriel. This place and its dangers are very real. But, worry not, my—”

At the sound of the name, Sans’ expression shifted, and he released a short sequence of laughter.

“what? you name her?”

“She does not remember her true name.” Toriel blinked, and her cheeks seemed to flush. “I… I gave her the name Uriel for now. It… seemed to suit.”

“huh. uriel…” Sans stared back at her again, longer this time. The grin on his face didn’t budge, but the air felt denser somehow. “…you probably should care.”

His tone seemed teasing, but something sharp glinted underneath. Something dangerous. Hostile. Watchful in all the ways Uriel didn’t like.

She fought the urge to stand and fought even harder to maintain her composure. “Look, monster, I don’t care what you think this is. Some tall tale or Hell itself. The only thing I do care about is getting back. I have ten different deadlines, an advisor to dog out, and this place is in my way.”

Sans didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even flinch.

He just tilted his head slightly, letting her words settle like snow across a tombstone.

The bar had gone quiet from her outburst. Not silent, but quiet—enough that the scaping of a plate, the distant thump of the broken jukebox, felt a little louder than they should’ve been.

“…yep. there it is,” Sans spoke, voice soft and slow, like he was mulling over the words in his mouth.

Toriel’s hand gently, firmly, touched Uriel’s arm. Silent. Grounding. Not to stop her, but maybe to remind her someone was still on her side.

“I’ll never finish my dissertation playing hooky in Hell.”

“this version of hell’s got no peer review committee—unless you count napstablook, and i wouldn’t… but, if it helps, you’ve got one hell of a case study now. ‘grats. you're sittin on the weirdest thesis in history.”

Toriel covered a small smile behind her mug.

Uriel didn’t share his mirth. She breathed through her nose and stood. “I shouldn’t have followed you here.”

“Wait— Uriel.”

“That’s not my name!”

But, when she whipped open the door to Grillby’s and stomped through, she collided with someone… very… cool?

“GREETINGS! IT IS GOOD TO SEE EVERYONE! I CAME AS SOON AS I WAS CALL—”

A beat. The door whipped shut, along with a draft of the chilled air from outside that made the patrons shiver.

“OH MY GOD, SANS. ANOTHER HUMAN!”

“maybe… this ain’t the best time,” Sans stated, but Papyrus had already scooped up Uriel under the arms, lifting her up and walking her over to Sans and Toriel before resetting her on her feet.

“WHY NOT?” Papyrus placed his hands on his hips, about half of a dramatic pose. “IT’S ALWAYS A GREAT TIME… FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS.” With one glance between Toriel and Sans, the taller skeleton folded his arms over his chest. “THAT’S IT. I’M NOT LEAVING WITHOUT ANSWERS.”

A child beside him glanced nervously between those gathered, having followed Papyrus deeper into Grillby’s. Gripping at Papyrus’ arm to get his attention, they moved their fingers in sign. Maybe we should leave?, although they mostly went unnoticed.

“look, paps…” Sans’ expression hardened, the usual laziness replaced by something else. “y’know, this new human is really into puzzles. why don’t ‘chya make sure they are set up?”

Papyrus made a comical gasp.

His voice rose.

“PUZZLES?”

He immediately set back towards the door, dragging along one confused Frisk, watchful eyes lingering on Uriel.

And, for one reason or another, Uriel felt a tug towards the child, as if they were far more determined than they appeared.

“YOU CAN COUNT ON ME. NYEH HEH HEH—”

As they left out the door, the murmur in the bar resumed, but beneath the noise, the heavy silence between Toriel, Sans, and Uriel pressed down like a storm waiting to break.

She watched the taller skeleton and the younger child walk out. Then, she turned to the other two. "That tall one... he's kind of stupid, isn't he?"

Sans, dipping a fry, stopped. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t even blink.

He just looked to her—longer than before—his sockets unreadable, his grin gone like it had never been there at all.

Toriel stiffened beside her, lips parting in quiet surprise, but she said nothing. The silence stretched like ice on a pond—thin, brittle, one wrong word from cracking wide open.

Then, Sans spoke. Quiet. Even. Without any touch of emotion, but still something dense hung beneath it.

“nah. he’s not stupid.”

A pause. Not long. But heavy.

“he’s kind. thinks the best of people, even when they don’t deserve it.” He stared a long time at her after that. “and for what it’s worth, you can use all the friends you can get down here.”

Toriel glanced away, as if his words hurt.

Sans settled back to his task. “so, maybe ease up. you’re not the only one under pressure.”

Uriel glared but said nothing more.

The fire crackled in Grillby’s hearth, yet the bar felt colder than before.

Chapter Text

         Chapter T H R E E : what’s determination? can you eat it? can you kill it? can it keep me alive?

“A laptop?” he cocked a brow at you, peering at you from over his shoulder. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Use it. Burn it. I don’t care. It doesn’t work right.”

He frowned and set it aside. “Gee. Thanks, [i/n]. I love useless junk that doesn’t work.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes before popping a tongue out at him. “Well, be my guest. It crashed on me with all my stuff on it. Down like the Titanic.”

“Kiss all those fics good-bye. The ones with Sanscript on it.”

“You know its Sans, and you know he’s my comfort character. Now, leave me alone.” You sighed and turned to head back to your room. “I’ve got to mourn the loss of my entire collection.”

…

After the bar closed, Uriel, Sans, and Toriel headed back to the skeleton brothers’ home. Papyrus and Frisk were already there, no doubt scheming a puzzle or two for Uriel to solve. Sans told them to go to Papyrus’ room while the queen was over, but the two refused.

Uriel took an unsteady seat on the couch, watching the whole thing.

Papyrus stood with arms dramatically crossed, scarf slightly askew from the chill outside, and announced, “I REFUSE TO LEAVE WHEN THERE IS OBVIOUSLY SOMETHING IMPORTANT HAPPENING! THIS IS A FAMILY MEETING, AND I AM FAMILY!”

Frisk, quiet as ever, simply sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, gaze flicking between the adults with unsettling calm. They hadn’t spoken much, but something about the weight of their silence made Uriel uneasy. Still—she said nothing, settling stiffly into the couch like it might betray her at any moment.

Toriel stood by the fireplace, hands folded in front of her. She looked tired, her shoulders drawn, but her eyes were steady as she addressed the group. “We can’t keep avoiding the truth,” she said softly. “Uriel’s arrival… it does not align with anything we’ve known. And the barrier still holds.”

Sans, leaning against the doorway with his hands deep in his hoodie pockets, didn’t look at anyone in particular. “feels like somethin’s been knocked loose in the timeline. like reality’s holdin’ its breath.”

Papyrus opened his mouth to speak—but paused, glancing at Uriel, then at Frisk, then back to Sans. “ARE YOU SAYING… SHE BROKE TIME?”

Frisk laughed quietly.

“uh… sorta.” Sans shrugged. “look, paps. why don’t you go in the other room. seriously.”

Uriel stared long and hard at Frisk, as if the child was familiar to her. But even then, she couldn't... remember. Like her own name. It illuded her.

Then, she turned to Sans.

Uriel smiled softly. "Timelines... Endings... You talk as if this place is a game."

Sans didn’t smile back.

He stood still, too still, like a puppet caught mid-pose. Only his eye sockets shifted—narrowing just enough to chill the air between them. “yeah,” he said, voice dry as bone. “what about it?”

Even though she wasn’t quite sure where this was going, she followed the conversation.

"There was something you said at the bar... that I showed up after the good ending." Uriel continued, rolling her eyes at the idea. She leaned forward on the couch. "But, what if it wasn’t the end. One story ends, and sequels begin, don't they?"

Something in the room shifted. Sans’ expression did, too. Not surprise. Not amusement. But something colder. Quieter. Like a wheel turning behind his sockets.

He pushed off the doorway, hands still in his pockets, and crossed the room until he stood just behind the couch, gaze leveled at the back of Uriel’s head.

“y’know, that’s not how stories typically work around here.”

Toriel stepped forward, her expression unreadable. “A sequel,” she repeated softly. “So… you believe the story’s not over.”

Uriel shrugged.

“question is… what kind of sequel are you?” Sans’ tone stayed light, but his grin wasn’t as wide. “most folks who fall down here ask about monsters. magic. maybe how to get back home.” He tilted his skull just slightly. “you did that a bit, sure, and you don’t seem super scared’a us. not very emotional. to the point.”

He glanced to Frisk, as if to say remind you of someone? Then, he returned to Uriel.

“not a lotta humans take interest in… this. in stories and timelines and… well…” He took a slow step forward. “…unless they know somethin.”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE,” Papyrus shouted abruptly, throwing his hands in the air. “FRISK TOOK INTEREST IN A LOT OF THINGS. NAMELY, PUZZLES… AND JAPES! FRISK LOVES JAPES.”

The room glanced at Papyrus, Sans cleared his throat, and Toriel wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“paps, buddy.”

“She’s… from the beginning of the story,” a whisper, almost too quiet to hear.

Everyone’s attention jerked over to Frisk. After all, it’s not too often the child selected speaking instead of signing.

Uriel looked over, brows furrowed. “Beginning of the story?”

Sans, arms folded over his chest, nodded his head to that.

Toriel’s voice came gentle but with an edge of warning. “Frisk… what are you remembering?”

“you remember stuff you shouldn’t, kid?”

Frisk nodded once, without looking away from the floor. They returned to signing with the unsteady look on their face. “I remember the ones who stopped. The ones who didn’t. The ones who reset. The ones who erased.” Then, slowly, they turned their gaze back to Uriel.

I remember you.

The room stood silent, even Papyrus said nothing.

Uriel’s chest felt too tight for the room. For the walls. For this story.

Because Frisk’s eyes weren’t accusing. They weren’t angry.

They were confused. Scared.

But why were they scared?

And why couldn’t she remember?

Uriel stared back at the child. What Sans had accused them of, of knowing too much, clearly wasn't true with what Frisk had explained. Frisk, apparently, remembered it all, but even so, Uriel remained an outlier to them, to their recollections.

Which meant…

"You... don't know how to send me home then.”

Frisk’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted—gentler, but no less strange. They shook their head slowly. I don’t, they signed simply. I’ve seen resets. Loops. Endings that weren’t really endings. But this…? They looked away, almost ashamed. This is new.

Uriel’s shoulders slumped further, the fight bleeding out of her like steam into the cold. No hard logic. No timeline. No exit.

No plan.

Papyrus finally spoke again, his voice quieter than usual, but still with that resolute tone that carried through his bones. “THAT MEANS YOU’RE PART OF A NEW STORY.” He stood tall again, gesturing dramatically to the room. “WE MAY NOT KNOW THE PLOT YET, BUT WE ARE VERY DETERMINED CHARACTERS!”

That startled a faint snort out of Sans, though he didn’t look up.

DETERMINED.

Uriel’s eyes dropped to her lap. Her hands were shaking, just a little. Some sort of… feeling.

Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere.

But here she was. And so was everyone else.

But, why?

The mountain… it was supposed to be the solution to everything.

It was supposed to bring her all the answers.

If it didn’t, then why? Why did she have such intrusive thoughts about this place.

About mountains…

About golden petals…

ABOUT DETERMINATION…

And no one—not even the kid who apparently, with how everyone treated them, remembered everything—had a clue.

Uriel looked between them all, looked down, sighed.

Then, she opened her mouth to talk.

Grrroooowwwll.....

She clutched her stomach.

Papyrus straightened immediately, pointing dramatically. “AHA! THAT IS THE UNIVERSAL SOUND OF HUNGER! CLEARLY, WE MUST ADDRESS THIS CRISIS AT ONCE!”

Toriel blinked, startled—then gave a warm, knowing smile. “Ah. Of course. It has been some time since dinner…”

Papyrus was already on the move, waving his arms like he was orchestrating a rescue mission. “FRISK! TO THE POTS AND PANS! SANS, SET THE TABLE! I SHALL PREPARE THE MOST COMFORTING OF PASTAS!”

“Is he always so loud?” Uriel winced.

“you could say this place is… penne-demonium,” Sans mentioned.

Then, he had a trombone.

Womp-womp-womp…

Frisk stood up wordlessly and started toward the kitchen. Papyrus followed close behind.

He paused dramatically in the doorway. “IT WILL BE SOUL-NOURISHING!”

SOUL.

Uriel visibly winced, and sweat collected on her forehead.

What were all these feelings about…?

“Perhaps something lighter first, dear. Let’s not overwhelm her…” Toriel rose to follow with a quiet chuckle. She regarded Uriel next. “Why don’t you wait here, my child…? We can sort all this out over dinner.”

Uriel stared back at her, blinking, then reluctantly she nodded.

And just like that, the house moved into motion again, warm and bustling—trying to wrap itself around the strange silence Uriel had left behind.

Uriel watched the others. The child helped Papyrus like a shadow, the two cooking spaghetti as Toriel set the table. Sans kept an eye on her like she was the wild card of a deck. Even so, the scene was comforting, but she was an alien amongst it.

Papyrus was narrating each step of the cooking process with gusto, Frisk mirroring his movements with quiet precision. Toriel moved through the space with practiced ease, folding napkins with a soft hum under her breath.

“so,” Sans finally spoke, his voice low, barely carrying over the clatter of plates and the proud “NYEH HEH HEH!” from the kitchen. He walked back over to her, sitting lone on the couch. Sans shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and leaned against the armrest. “you’re wonderin’ where you belong. if you belong anywhere.” He didn’t ask. He just knew. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t smile. Just kept watching her, calm and unreadable. “most of us wondered that once.”

A beat.

Uriel didn't look at him. "You too, then?"

Sans’ eye sockets didn’t shift—but something in him did. A faint motion, a subtle tilt of his head, like the tension in a string loosening just slightly.

“…yeah.”

The word hung in the air like dust catching firelight. He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t dress it up with a joke or bury it under wordplay.

Then, after a beat, his gaze dropped slightly—toward the floor, toward nothing.

“funny thing about being stuck in a story,” he murmured, voice low. “you start to wonder if you’re just there to make someone else’s ending look better.” His fingers flexed once in his hoodie pocket, then stilled. “even so, i’m still here.”

Uriel slowly stood from the couch. She was only a little taller than Sans, and she looked down at him with a look devoid of emotion.

Then, she cracked a small smile.

"You act like a cool guy at first, but you're not so bad."

Sans looked up at her, the corners of his mouth tugging into the faintest, lopsided smirk. “heh. don’t blow my cover.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, something dry but honest flickering behind his eyes. No sarcasm. No bravado. Just the quiet acknowledgment of a strange, unspoken truce.

Then, with a shrug, he turned slightly toward the kitchen.

“you want a plate, or—?”

Papyrus’s voice rang out from the kitchen before Uriel could answer: “DINNER IS NEARLY READY! EVERYONE TO THE TABLE UNLESS YOU WANT TO MISS THE GRAND REVEAL OF MY CULINARY MASTERPIECE!”

Frisk peeked around the corner at the two of them, face dusted with flour. Their expression was unreadable—but they gave the both of them an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

***

“My child… if there’s something on your mind, you don’t need to carry it alone.”

But that was the lie of it, wasn’t it? Because deep down, they all knew—this wasn’t a world where the truth helped.

Not when the King still waited with a weapon in his hand. Not when the prophecy still whispered in the cracks of the stone. And not when one human had already defied that fate.

Uriel didn’t belong to this story. To this peaceful run. But the story… refused to let her go.

***

They ate dinner in silence. All were silent except for the occasional monologue from Papyrus about his culinary masterpiece.

Uriel looked up at Toriel slowly, measuredly she spoke. Finally.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

The words cut through the room like a blade. Papyrus choked on his spaghetti.

Toriel’s hands tightened on her fork before she sat it down. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked down, eyes suddenly too old. “…That… That is not what I want,” she said softly. “That is never what I wanted.”

She didn’t lie.

But she didn’t say no, either.

Uriel’s eyes narrowed.

Toriel spoke as if this all happened before.

Uriel looked next to Frisk and felt her stomach sinking. She supposed it had.

Sans shrugged. “you’re not dead yet.”

Papyrus gently set his tongs down—which he was using instead of a fork, for some reason—and turned, voice quieter than usual. “WE… WE DON’T HAVE TO TALK ABOUT DYING OVER SPAGHETTI, DO WE?”

Uriel frowned at the others in the room. “You say that but…”

None of them had said a definitive no. Just some hopeful variant. To stave the feelings of death.

“Can’t defy destiny on an empty stomach, I suppose,” Uriel said, a verbal sidestep that almost sounded hopeful.

Papyrus blinked—once, then twice—before his expression burst into an enormous, beaming grin.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT!” he declared, snatching the plate with gusto. “A STRONG STOMACH BUILDS A STRONG WILL! I SHALL FETCH THE LEGENDARY LADLE!”

He vanished into the kitchen like a knight to battle, humming a heroic tune louder than necessary.

Toriel let out a soft breath—almost a laugh, almost a sigh—and smiled softly. Not triumph, not relief. Just… warmth. A flicker of it, like a candle stubbornly staying lit in a drafty room.

Frisk looked down again. They didn’t speak, but their fingers curled to fists on their lap.

Sans gave Uriel a sideways look, cocking a browbone. His grin twitched.

***

“…

…

…

heh.”

***

That night, Uriel stayed over at the skeleton brothers’ house. Sometime in the night, she had a nightmare of golden petals. Of the mountain. Of someone with a name that began with ‘A’.

It was a typical dream. She’d been plagued with this same vision since childhood, but still, it horrified her.

It was one of the few things that could.

With a scream, she sat up straight on the couch, where she’d crashed for the night. She breathed heavy, deep, and then screamed again when a small blue pupil glowed in the dark before her.

Then, a candle lit, and Sans came into view.

“whoa, hey—easy, easy.”

By some strange miracle, she hadn’t woken up Papyrus and Frisk in the other room. They must be heavy sleepers.

Even so, Sans’ voice was low, steady, but not unkind. The candlelight flickered across his skull, casting strange shadows as he stepped into the room. His hoodie was half-zipped, socks mismatched, and his grin—for once—was absent.

“didn’t mean to spook ya,” he added, eyes dimming slightly. “heard you strugglin’. figured i’d check in before papyrus tried to crash through a wall.”

Uriel’s blankets were tangled around her legs, her breathing still uneven, sweat clinging to her skin like dew in a storm. She could still feel the petals—golden and wrong, sticking to her mind like static.

Sans didn’t come closer. Just stood there by the doorframe leading up to the staircase, candle in hand, casting light on the otherwise pitch-black living room.

“nightmare?” he asked, gently.

Like he already knew.

Her gaze fell. “More like a memory.”

Sans’s sockets narrowed, just slightly. The candlelight danced along the edges of his skull, casting one side in shadow.

“…yeah,” he said after a moment. “those’re the worst kind.”

He walked over slowly—quiet bones, practiced steps—and set the candle down on the small coffee table near the couch. Its flicker chased the dark into the corners, but it didn’t chase away the feeling. That stuck.

He didn’t sit. Just stood there, looking at her with that steady, unreadable expression of his.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t badger her to explain. He just watched her. Like he was waiting to see if she knew.

Her attention rose to his as he stood there, and she blinked but didn’t refute it.

Sans’ gaze softened ever so slightly, that rare flicker of something almost like understanding crossing his hollow sockets.

He shifted, one hand sliding into his pocket, the other resting loosely at his side.

“well, hey—” he added with a faint, almost teasing grin. The smile was back. “you’re still here. one night in the books.”

The candlelight wavered between them, fragile and warm, as if the flicker itself dared to hope.

“Do you… know about golden petals?”

Sans tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets and let his gaze drift away from her.

“well… for one…” He looked back at her. “golden petals—they only bloom when a human falls. i’ve seen the same shimmer in the ruins ever since frisk showed up.”

Uriel’s eyes fell down to her own hands, curled tight in the blankets.

Even though she felt like he was avoiding the question, it was still all she needed to know.

“Thank you…” Then, she slid down the couch. “Good night, Sans.”

“yeah uh, sure.”

Even so, she couldn’t help but feel… like what was in her dreams was familiar.

And, although she’d had the same nightmares for many years now… they were starting to feel more and more real the longer she spent in the Underground.

Sans nodded once, slow and silent, then turned away.

He paused at the stairwell, the candlelight casting a long shadow behind him.

“night.”

He left the candle burning low and let the door creak shut behind him, and in the quiet that followed, Uriel was left alone with the dim warmth of the flame.

Chapter Text

                   Chapter F O U R : Despite Everything.

In her dreams, she saw him. Perhaps, to Frisk, he would’ve seemed truly familiar. After all, Asriel Dreemurr was someone Frisk had fought, defeated, spoken with.

But now, he stood in her dreams.

And, a dream was all he could hope to be.

…

“What is this place?” she asked softly, but, for one reason or another, she felt she already knew.

The flowers at her feet were a faded gold, paper-thin and brittle like pressed fragments in a storybook left behind. Among them, the prince of monsters. Not a child from ancient tapestries. Not the godlike thing Frisk had once faced. No. Much older. Child no more.

With eyes too deep for someone so young.

Those eyes had seen the end. More than once. More than a thousand times.

He stood with hands loose at his sides, tall, slender, soft features smiling, gentle and tired at her.

“You’re dreaming,” he said simply, “but I didn’t bring you here.” He looked at her, really looked, like someone studying pages of a book they’d already read. “I think… you called me.”

She stared back at him. There was someone in his face she recognized. But then, another someone she didn’t. Someone that made her fill with anger, compelling her to lunge, to throttle him, grab and wring his throat.

IT’S KILL OR BE KILLED, she wanted to scream, to demand. YOU DIDN’T FOLLOW OUR PLAN.

But, she resisted the urge. Her breath erratic in her throat, heart thumping hard like a SOUL full of DETERMINATION, she stood still.

That was another life she’d lived, she realized.

But, she just couldn’t remember.

Asriel Dreemurr didn’t move—why did she know that name?—and neither did she. Not when her fists trembled. Not when her breath caught like a scream locked in her ribs. Not even when that deep, buried fury flared behind her eyes like a memory set on fire.

But, his eyes flashed. He felt it. Maybe, he’d even felt it himself before.

Had he seen her red eyes before?

In the flicker of candlelight, when a plan she no longer remembered was spoken to him, before dust clung to his fingers and everything changed?

Yes, his face looked different. Older. Broken in new places.

But, there was a familiar feeling there. She’d felt it before—when she’d woken to the faces of her first adopted parents.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said quietly, voice more breath than sound. “Not like this.”

He glanced at the petals, dreamlike, under his feet. He looked up again after a moment, and this time the softness of his expression had hardened.

“I don’t know how you got here… or… or why… or if this dream even means you’re here. I don’t know.” He exhaled sharply. “But, you shouldn’t be. You were supposed to be gone. Supposed to stay gone.” A beat, and his jaw set. “But, I guess the Underground doesn’t know how to let things end.”

She continued to watch him, wordless. What could she even say?

Should she ask the millions of questions raging in her mind?

Should she ask how to escape?

Or, would it be best to ask how they knew each other?

She opened her mouth.

“Perhaps, this is a warning,” she responded simply.

Asriel looked back at her as if she’d said the damnedest thing.

Then…

She woke up.

***

“Do you… know about golden petals?”

“well… for one… golden petals—they only bloom when a human falls. i’ve seen the same shimmer in the ruins ever since frisk showed up.”

***

Something… or someone… was waiting for her.

The night air bit at her skin the moment she slipped out—cold and sharp, like a slap from reality. The window creaked behind her as it shut with a soft click, and for a moment, all of Snowdin was hushed beneath the weight of falling snow.

The village lights behind her flickered warmly, but they felt like they belonged to someone else's life. Someone who could sit at the skeleton brothers’ table and laugh like they weren’t haunted by petals and shadows and familiar strangers with tired eyes.

Uriel hurried through the snow.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The Ruins called to her—not with sound, but with that strange, insistent pull in her chest. Like an unfinished sentence. Like a memory stitched to her bones. It had been the same with the mountain.

She didn’t know what she was looking for.

But she knew something was waiting.

And tonight, she would find it.

Uriel soon retraced her steps all the way back to the ruins. Even though she’d only been down this path once with Toriel, she felt like she knew it by heart.

She continued, deeper… deeper…

She passed through chamber upon chamber. Ivy clung to the walls. Red leaves scattered the floor. Monsters fled from her the minute she entered any room, trembling as if they knew her and feared her.

She released a low tch and continued.

She navigated the pillars effortlessly, navigated through the weak floors, and avoided the spiked floor without a passing thought. Like she’d done all these puzzles before.

Finally, she reached a meadow of golden flowers, the very place where she’d fallen.

The golden meadow hadn’t changed.

Still blanketed in those soft, haunting petals—too vivid for the darkness, but too bright for memory. They rustled beneath her books like they remembered her. Like they were waiting for her.

The stone ceiling above stretched high and still. The wind didn’t blow here. The world felt paused.

And, at the center of it all—

This is where she saw him.

Not in godly armor. Not as a specter nor a child.

Asriel. Asriel Dreemurr.

Older. Tired. Real?

His hands clasped in front of him, as though unsure what to do with them. His expression was unreadable at first, and he wasn’t looking her way. He stared at the flowers, sad, ears pulled back, eyes dropped.

Then, his form shifted. It wasn’t immediate, just a twitch in the edge of his outline, like a trick of the light. Then, in a blink, his tall and lean silhouette rippled. For the briefest heartbeat, he was smaller. A green, petaled, root-bound hallucination of a flower. His face was gone. His eyes, replaced by empty hollows, half-lidded with a mockery of innocence. Then back again—taller, older, shoulders tight beneath a tattered cloak that hadn’t existed a second ago.

He staggered slightly, clutching his chest like the shift had winded him. Gritting his teeth.

“You’re real.” The words slipped out without her meaning them to.

Asriel breathed in suddenly, half a gasp, and his head snapped in her direction.

When he saw her, he stared, brows furrowed on his face, expression one of… pain? Turmoil? Like looking at her was hard. Like it hurt.

“…You came,” he said gently. Not surprised. Not relieved. Just resigned. He straightened. His leg moved like he wanted to step towards her, but he didn’t. “So… that dream then.” A pause, then more carefully. “You remember this place, don’t you?”

Uriel just watched him before regarding the area around her.

“This is where I fell from the mountain,” she replied dryly.

Asriel watched her a moment then, a shift in his expression and another flicker of his form. His sideways step snapped a golden flower in half.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

Uriel approached him by a few steps. “What’s wrong with you?”

He glanced at her sideways—although he didn’t really look at her. He couldn’t. When he spoke again, his voice trembled at the edges. “This isn’t… I’m not really here. Not fully. I think… I think you figured that out already.”

Uriel swallowed hard then nodded her head once.

“Why?” she said.

Asriel looked to her. “I… I’m not certain.”

“Why?” she repeated.

“Wh-Why what?” he responded quietly. Not scared. But… sad?

“Why am I here?” she replied just as quietly, seething.

She resumed her approach towards him. This time, her pace was much faster. He backed a half step away from her, but not before, with an anger she didn’t anticipate, she lunged forward and grabbed him by the arm.

While she glared at him with a rage in her eyes, his attention was focused on her touch.

“You touched me, and I didn’t vanish,” he whispered to himself.

“Why?” she gasped. Desperate. Scared. Angry. All these emotions came flooding back to her. Emotions she hadn’t felt since… “Why do you plague my dreams?”

“I’m not—”

Why am I like this?, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Why can’t I feel anything?

Why am I feeling so much now?

His flickering faded to nothing. At her touch, his form solidified. She followed his attention to his arm, her own eyes widening at the realization.

She released his arm, and it resumed its flickering, glitching in and out of existence.

“Look at me!” she demanded.

Asriel did as she asked. His face dragged with guilt.

So deep, so old, like it had become a part of the fabric of him. Like the petals. Like the ending that never came.

He reached his opposite hand to his wrist, where she’d touched him.

His chest rose once, slowly. His attention slowly turned back to Uriel. When he spoke again, his voice cracked with something not entirely human or monster. Something warped. A flicker of golden petals laced his contours.

“Because I was a coward,” he said firmly towards her. “Because I didn’t know what else to do when I sensed your presence here. I… I knew you shouldn’t come, but I had to know.”

“I don’t understand…” she muttered, glaring at him.

“But, you have to.” He approached her rapidly, pressing his hands on either of her shoulders. His hands became solid there. He looked between the both of them in surprise. Then, he stared down at her, something that made Uriel’s chest squeeze. “Can’t you see? Can’t you feel it? How heavy your SOUL is now?”

She didn’t reply, but something on Uriel’s face urged Asriel to keep speaking.

“I didn’t stop you. Your SOUL, that is. I… I didn’t stop me. I wanted to believe we were right—that you were right. That the plan was perfect. But, I knew. I knew that it wouldn’t fix everything, and I didn’t stop it.” The petals around his shoulders shifted slightly as he breathed. “I couldn’t feel for so long. I didn’t regret anything, but… now… Now, I do.” His hands trembled. “I still do.”

He blinked hard and looked at her.

“But… But now that you’re here— I have to say I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” she spat at him, glaring. “Sorry for what?”

Whatever he was rambling about explains precisely nothing, she realized. He’s wasting my time.

But, something in the way she replied—whether it was the sharp eyes with a storm behind them or the irritable temper—reminded him of something, or someone. His breath caught.

His hand, slowly, cautiously lifted. Not to fight, not to push her away, but to brush her cheek, as if he needed to make sure she was real.

He stopped short. Hovered. Centimeters away.

“I didn’t come here to haunt you,” he said quietly. “I came because… I felt you again, and I had to see…

I needed to see if… if maybe this time…”

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, and she smacked his hand away. “Stop tormenting me.”

“…I’m not trying to torment you. You think I’d come back just to hurt you again? I’m here because, after all this time… I thought I was just imagining it. I wanted to. But, you’re here. You’re really here. Like before, only…” He paused. His gaze traced hers like he was memorizing it. “Despite everything… you’re still you.” His eyes burned with longing. “And, I think… I think I…”

“I don’t even know who you are.” Blunt. Like verbal whiplash.

“I thought you might say that.” He looked away and licked his dry lips. “You might’ve forgotten, but you’re the one person I can’t forget, even after all this time. Even when I was nothing. Even when I didn’t feel. You were still there in my heart, like a scar.” He let out a shaky breath and laughed, although it wasn’t at all convincing. One of his hands went to scratch the back of his head. “And now… here you are. You’re… alive! And, I don’t know! Am I supposed to stop you? Or save you? Or-Or ask you to save me? Or—”

Her eyes were still staring, squinted, unknowing, unfamiliar.

There was still a storm behind those eyes of hers, but childish anger from youth was tempered by an older maturity. Her eyes did something different; they twinkled red as they always used to, but the piercing glow faded as her emotion did.

She turned.

“We’re not alone, flower boy.”

Asriel stiffened.

Not at the nickname—though his chest tightened as if struck by an old heartbeat, a memory sharp as glass.

“So… you felt it, too,” he said.

That weight. That presence.

Snow crunched softly where it clung beneath someone’s feet. A flicker of presence, of movement that didn’t really belong here.

They weren’t alone.

“Someone followed you,” Asriel said blankly.

“No shit,” Uriel responded, cold.

Another sound. Not a footstep, not a breath. Somewhere, space bent just a little.

“guess some things don’t stay gone.” Hands in pockets. Eyes dim. His grin was there, albeit a little faded. Sans glared between them, then he focused on her. “all good?”

That voice, blunt, almost cold. Concern dressed in indifference.

Uriel frowned back. “I can take care of myself.” She took a shallow breath. “It’s KILL OR BE KILLED in this world, isn’t it?”

Sans didn’t budge, hoodie casting his face in deeper shadow. Asriel visibly winced.

“…yeah. i've heard that one before,” he said at last. Slow and heavy, he sighed. No smirk. No pun. Not even a shrug.

He glanced over at Asriel.

The monster prince stood, frozen the moment those words struck. He looked away, hand brushing at his arm like he was trying to shake something off—dust that wasn’t there.

Kill or be killed. He’d lived it. He’d become it.

And she—

She was the one who’d said it first. Long ago.

Now, she said it again, but not with conviction. Not with fire. Was it a test? An unfamiliar memory said aloud.

Maybe, she didn’t even realize why she’d said it, or what it meant.

Sans looked back at her. Voice quieter. Closer. “but lemme ask you this… is that what you believe?”

Uriel’s eyes caught in the glow of the candle-colored flowers.

Asriel’s eyes widened, but he didn’t speak.

Uriel turned her glare onto the skeleton.

“What?”

“is that what you think? your conviction?” the skeleton continued. “or is it fiction?”

A beat.

“maybe even conviction fiction,” he added, unhelpfully.

“I… I…” Uriel started, backing away from the two of them. Her hands balled to fists.

Sans’ eye sockets widened at the way she responded. Asriel shouted after her as she turned from them and ran off, back to the ruins, through the arch that exited the meadow.

“Chara!”

“so, you’re still here.”

Asriel exchanged a quick, heavy glance with Sans—both carrying the same weight in their eyes, ghosts of past battles and broken promises.

“…Unfortunately.”

“you think she’s…?”

“I don’t have a doubt in my mind.”

“then you shouldn’t have called her. the last thing we need is her to remember how much she likes killing us.” Sans shook his head then threw up his arms in a shrug. “you like dying?”

Asriel’s shoulders sagged, the flicker between the current body of monster prince and past form of a flower fading into a fragile stillness. “I… I still think I should go after her.”

“in that state, you know she’d rip you apart.”

“I remember her like this. The hate that hides fear.”

Sans stepped back into the shadows, hands sunk deep into his pockets, a long sigh escaping his throat. “whatever you say, kid.”

But neither moved to follow her.

Right now, chasing her would only end in mortal wounds. At the barest minimum, it would push her further away.

And they knew, better than anyone perhaps, that Chara always pushed back.

***

Uriel kept running.

Deeper and deeper into the ruins. Until tears filled eyes that glowed red in the ruin rivers that she looked into—a reflection she’d stare in awe at.

She’d continue.

Running.

And running.

And running…

Until her breath turned to gasps, and she stopped again.

The monsters this deep in didn’t come out to look this time, fearful. They didn’t attack humans since what Frisk had done, but even if they did, they wouldn’t fight her. None would come for her. Why did they seem to know to shrink away in terror?

Even so, she ached to kill them.

To kill something.

Why?

Why???

It was like before.

But, she felt this heaviness in her chest. It was new. Unlike anything she’d felt before.

She wanted to fight, to lash out, to prove she was still alive, still dangerous.

But, the world had changed. For some reason, she knew it had. And, for some reason, it bothered her.

She continued, now at a sluggishly haggard breathless pace, until she returned to Toriel’s house. She disappeared inside and collapsed into the spare bedroom.

Then, inside, she sank into the mattress.

And, the strangest thing of all...

She started sobbing into the mattress.

Confounding feelings from her chest all leaked out to the surface. An ache inside her throbbed deeper than any wound.

Finally.

Finally.

The emotion she’d been so dearly missing .