Archive of Our Own ^beta

     Boy had been excited when Aunt and Uncle had told him that they were taking him across the ocean for his sixth birthday after the nice lady from Number 3 had asked if Boy would be attending school this fall while he had been out trimming Aunt 'Tunia's prized rose bushes. Uncle Vernon hadn't been very happy when Aunt 'Tunia had dragged him inside, and Boy had been expecting to be beaten for talking with the nice normal people, but instead, Uncle had told him that he would be coming along on their trip to the Americas.

     Watching the large expanse of blue-blue water pass under them had been fun (and it was his first time seeing so much water in one place before and Boy was stunned and the beauty), and Aunt 'Tunia had even gone to get him his very own clothes from the church donation bin for the trip (sure, the jeans were a few sizes too big and the gray t-shirt had a hole under the arm, but they were his - Duddy had never even worn them once). He didn't even have to sit with the Dursleys, who were seated in the business class, instead he had been placed in the economy class beside a kind old woman with skin the colour of the chocolate cake Duddy liked so much, who had knitted him a pretty dark blue scarf over the nine hour plane ride. She had talked a lot about her daughter and daughter-in-law who lived in Canada with their son, her grandson, who was around Boy's age, she had even given him the small book she had been reading and had helped him stumble his way through the first chapter. When she fell asleep after finishing the simple but pretty scarf, Boy had stashed his new things away in the old messenger bag Aunt 'Tunia had given him to keep his measly belongings in, that with his new scarf and book, held two pairs of old socks, an extra pair of underwear, a leather-bound notebook that Boy had swiped from Duddy's rubbish bin, and a few brand-new pencils that he had found under the bed in Duddy's second bedroom.

Boy was surprisingly lucky this year.

     Things started going downhill, however, when the plane landed in the airport and the nice lady had shuffled away towards a pair of women, one of which had the same complexion as the older woman and must have been her daughter, and the other with pale hair, a smiling boy stood beside them who grinned brightly when the elderly lady approached. The woman waved as he pushed his way through the crowds and he smiled and waved back shyly before exiting the large building, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket as he did so unfolding it to study the mess of lines.

Aunt 'Tunia had given him the map before they got on the plane with the order to follow the highlighted route and meet them at the place she had circled.

     He glanced from the map to the streets, then back to the map.

     This was going to be a long walk.

。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。

     It was already dark by the time Boy reached the car lot that had been circled on the map, throat parched and feet throbbing in his ill-fitting trainers, his breath ripping from his lungs in ragged gasps. He doubled over in pain as he looked around, trying to find any sign of his relatives in the darkened lot.

But Boy was alone and feeling really confused.

"Yo!"

-and then he wasn't.

     Another kid was trotting towards him, one with golden-toned skin and neck-length chocolate hair. "You the kid the horse-woman was talking about?" Now that the (boy?girl?) was closer, Boy could see their half-lidded eyes were a dark brown that almost looked red in the dim street lighting.

Horse-woman? The older kid must've been talking about Aunt 'Tunia - Boy cringed slightly at the thought of how his Aunt would react to the title, wasn't this kid afraid of getting punished?

     "She gave me a lot of money to give this to you." The older kid was saying, handing him a small white plastic bag and a folded napkin, a small frown on their face.

Boy was confused, unfolding the napkin and struggled through reading the few words printed on it.

'Don't come back'

"I don't think they're coming back, kid."

Boy looked up, the situation not quite sinking in yet.

"You got anywhere else to go?"

     He shook his head.

     No, Boy had nowhere else to go, the Dursleys were the only family Boy had, and no one else would be willing to take in a freak like him.

。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。

     Frisk had been living on and off the streets for a few years now, they knew the signs of abuse like the back of their hand.

Their parents had died when they were a few years old, a result of drunk driving, and at a few months away from turning nine, they had been passed from multiple foster families over the years, and none of them had been kind to a young child who didn't conform to any gender. Their current family, the DuPonts, was probably the best Frisk had had in awhile, neglectful instead of abusive they couldn't care less about where Frisk was or what Frisk was doing, as long as Frisk was around when the social worker dropped by.

     The young striped-sweater-wearing human had been sitting behind a Tim Hortons across from the boarded-up car lot they had been sleeping in for the past week when the floral-dressed British woman with the expensive jewelry had approached them. She had shoved a wad of tens into their hands with the order to deliver a bag and letter to a boy with dark hair and green eyes, who would be arriving at the abandoned lot after dark.

     Frisk had agreed because, well, a kid had to eat, but they hadn't expected the kid to be so young. He was skinny, with bony arms and legs peeking out from his over-sized clothing, and he only looked four years old at the oldest. They could even see raised scars peeking out from the collar of his ratty gray shirt.

     Frisk knew the signs of abuse and neglect, and this kid could be a poster child for it.

     Big green eyes peered up at them sadly from under long dark lashes and a messy black fringe.

Cute kid.

     Frisk sighed and crouched down in front of the dark haired boy, fishing one of three water bottles from the plastic bag to hand to him. They watched with slight amusement as he guzzled it down greedily. "Woah there, Bright-eyes, you don't want to choke."

'Bright-eyes' slowed, a small pink blush dusting his cheeks, and Frisk smiled.

"You got a name, Cutie?"

His eyes shifted away from them in shame, "... Bad Boys and Freaks don't d'serve names..." He recited quietly, "Aunt and Uncle said so..."

Frisk sniffed in distaste, "Well you don't have to listen to them anymore. You're free, Bright-eyes."

'Bright-eyes' stared up at them in astonishment and clutched his old brown messenger bag to his thin chest. "Free?"

     Frisk watched as the boy repeated the word over and over to himself, and a small pang of protectiveness hit them. They knew from experience that it wasn't easy to be alone while living on the streets.

     They would make sure he wasn't left alone again.

     "My name's Frisk." They said, a small grin on their face. "I chose it for myself, and the mean words of the people tell me don't matter anymore."

"I'm free..." The kid whispered, a large grin working its way across his thin face.

"As a skylark." Frisk agreed.

'Bright-eyes' looked confused, "What's a skylark?"

"It's a songbird," They told him easily, "They're small, but they don't let that stop them from singing freely."

The kid's shoulders straightened, "C-can I choose my own name?" When Frisk nodded, a fire started to burn in his eyes. "I-I wanna be called Lark... 'Cause I'm free now."

They were filled with DETERMINATION.