#yeah to be clear i intend red soul to be frisk here

[friskibitz]

"Have fun and stay safe, honey!" Mom calls out. You give a quick nod back, slipping out the door. Your friends are at the lake already, and you rush to catch up to them... or at least you'd love to, but it seems like that little red heart in your chest has other plans.

"Hey, hold on!" their childlike voice pipes up in your head as they stop you in your tracks. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

You grumble both mentally and out loud, hoping Lil' Red gets the message. "What do you want? We're already late," you think in reply.

"Exactly," the SOUL replies, "so you know Susie's gonna noogie you when we get there."

"Wh- Ok, I don't care, let's go," you snap, trying to get yourself to run already, but your legs stay put.

"So you gotta do something cool! Something amazing! Something so good she'll forget about you being late!"

You sigh and facepalm. "Like what. Also, whose fault is it that we're late? Which one of us was stuck there playing Cat Petters RPG for an ungodly amount of time?"

"O-Ok, ok, I get you," Red chuckles. "But I wanna make up for that! And I have just the right thing!"

"What is it."

"Roller Skates."

"What the hell do y- NO!" You realize you shouted that last word out loud and quickly throw your hands over your mouth. What the hell is Red thinking, though?! "I know you're a weirdo, but we are NOT doing that! Those are Azzy's, and they're way too big!"

"But come onnnn, it'll be cool!" they whine. "You can roll up there all smooth and stuff! Susie's gonna go wild, Ralsei's probably - no, DEFINITELY - gonna clap for you, even Noelle's gonna be impressed!" They pause for a bit, letting their argument settle in. "And besides, you're a weirdo too."

"Shut up," you think back at them. But they almost have a point...

"Come on, just this once. I'll help you put them on too."

You sigh. It's no use at this point anyway, and hell, it might be cool. "Fine, you win," you think, letting Red walk you back inside. "But I don't even know how to skate."

"Leave that to me," they beam confidently.

---

Susie's roaring laughter. Ralsei's gentle concern. Noelle's attempt at concern, interspersed with poorly-suppressed giggling.

All of the wonderful sounds of fall, ringing like music in your ears as you let the little red heart in your chest pull your dumb ass out of the lake.

Red's chuckle rings through your mind as well. "Um... that went great!"

"You think?" you shoot back, taking control to clamber onto the shore and wring out your soaked jacket.

"I mean, Susie forgot we were late!"

You huff. When Red drags your dripping wet self home later, maybe Mom will believe you this time when you say it wasn't your fault.

[undertalethingems]

(about the bad ending) Are you going to be posting more bad endings in the future? Its just because you said it was bad ending 1, so does that mean there will be a bad ending 2?

I hadn’t written any additional bad endings at the time I’d posted the first, but, I have a tendency to start new ficlets as ideas come to me--and i knew that if i wrote one bad ending, there was a chance i’d write another... which was correct. Here it is, playing with what may have happened had Papyrus taken Undyne’s final attack instead.

Unexpected Guests: Bad Ending 2

1.5k; once again, warning for major character death.

In the hesitation between Undyne's spears falling and Sans taking action, someone else acted instead. Too many spears connected, but not with their intended target.

Papyrus let his brother down the last few inches to the ground roughly. Sans caught himself on his elbows and stared up, his eyes sharp and breathing fast. Papyrus drew back up to his full height, turning to hide the shredded state of the back of his shirt. His attack, staring with empty sockets, staggered a few steps before vanishing with a soft fizzle.

"Wowie! There's no doubt! You're very strong, Undyne!" he blustered, and Undyne pulled a nervous smile. "It was... even more than I expected, which is very impressive!"

Sans saw something drip from his ribs.

"I'm... going to... go do a thing now..." Papyrus continued, "but don't wait up! I'll be a while! See you guys later!"

He turned away, took a few faltering steps... and dissolved.

Undyne shrieked. Frisk felt like they were going to be sick and sat down hard; they briefly caught Sans' darkened expression, but the next time they looked up he was gone. It was a while before they felt like they could stand, but as soon as they did they staggered over to Undyne. She'd dug her claws into the soil, and was shaking with grief and rage. For a moment, Frisk hesitated--then carefully put their hand on her shoulder. She startled, and for a moment the two just looked at each other.

What could either of them say?

Frisk couldn't hold back their tears any longer, and lunged into Undyne's side to hug her. She went stiff, and didn't return it--the most she managed was placing a hand on Frisk's head as they sobbed into her shirt. And they stayed like that for a while.

"hey."

They looked up to see Sans standing a few yards away.

"Sans, I'm--" Undyne started, her voice rough, but he held up his hand.

"gonna stop you there. already have a pretty good idea of what you were gonna say... apologies aren't really your thing. and i don't wanna listen anyway, so i'm doing us both a favor."

"Sans..." Undyne said, but didn't seem to have any plans on what to follow with.

Sans looked to the spot Papyrus had last stood. "my brother... was really cool, huh? he always was looking out for me. he knew if i got hit by any of those spears... well... that'd be my dust on the ground."

Undyne grimaced.

"hey, it was an accident, right? you just got mad, and..." Sans trailed, his eyes blinking out briefly before he continued. "well. let me give you some advice. next time you're in a friendly battle... take a cue from my brother, and use some restraint. no matter how hard or easy the fight was... he'd always hold back. because he knew not everyone was as tough as he was."

Undyne grunted, but didn't seem to have anything to say for herself. Sans' words had struck just as deep as any of her spears.

"anyway. just something to think about."

Sans turned away, and there was a long span of quiet before he looked over his shoulder at them, eyes darkened.

"... you should leave, undyne. i, uh... can't say you're welcome here anymore."

"... I get it," Undyne replied tersely, standing. "You want me to take Frisk?"

Sans shrugged. "don't know why they'd wanna stay. but they can if they want."

Frisk frowned. "I'll stay. At least for a while."

"Okay. Uh... just call if anything comes up. Uh... see ya, I guess."

She gave Frisk one last look, then jogged off. A dense silence settled on the yard, and Frisk turned their attention to Sans, who was still standing some distance off. They got up and began to slowly walk over, but stopped as Sans glanced over his shoulder at them.

"... sorry this happened, bud. you really ok staying here?"

Frisk nodded. "I didn't want to leave you by yourself."

At this, Sans turned to face them properly, his gaze warm. "heh... thanks kid. that means a lot."

Frisk closed the remaining gap to hug him, and he ruffled their hair loosely. But he pulled away to shuffle to the fine pale gray powder that now dusted part of the lawn, and folded his legs under him to contemplate it. Frisk joined him, and waited awkwardly--wondering if he would speak, or if they should ask their question.

"never thought it'd be like this, y'know?" Sans started, his already muted voice even softer. "always thought he'd... well... i guess he's the kind of guy you can't picture dustin' 'cause he got old, y'know?"

Frisk managed a smile as they shook their head.

"nah... thought it'd... thought it'd be..." he trailed. Frisk caught his eyes vanishing. "To be honest, I thought it'd be you."

Frisk went still, breath catching in their throat.

"... was it?"

Frisk shook their head quickly. "He beat me way more times than I ever beat him. He was really strong."

Sans managed a short laugh. "yeah. he was... he was so cool..."

Frisk fidgeted with the end of their shirt. Now seemed like a good time... "Do you want me to reset?"

It was Sans' turn to go still. It was a while before he answered. "... that's up to you."

"But... it's not fair. I worked so hard to make sure everyone made it up here, so they could be happy and together. If Papyrus is gone... then that's not true anymore."

Sans made an odd sort of sighing sound, and Frisk realized the tenseness around his eyes was him trying not to cry. They leaned over, resting their head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm weakly around theirs. It took him a while to gather his thoughts.

"kid... you're... it's up to you. pa... papyrus had some good times up here, and, we'll... we'll get through this. i... it'll be ok, bud, if you decide not to." He paused to draw a shuddering breath. "but... knowing there's a way to undo it... don't think you can blame me for wanting him back more than anything right now."

Frisk shook their head. "I don't blame you, I miss him too. We all will, and Undyne... I don't think she'll ever forgive herself. They were such good friends... Like I said... It's not fair."

Sans sighed. "sounds like you've made your mind up, huh?"

They nodded again. "I don't want it to be like this."

"guess you better get on it, huh?" Sans joked mildly, and Frisk managed a smile.

"I'll do everything exactly the same, I promise," they said softly, then added with a bittersweet smile, "except for this."

"heh. that's real considerate of ya, kid."

They smiled at him, then closed their eyes and reached within.

They woke up in a bed of flowers.

They reached Snowdin, and noted the brothers had changed just a little from the runs they'd done before. They didn't say or do anything different, but it seemed like they were never far from one another, and Sans seemed to put just the slightest bit more enthusiasm into gushing about how cool and tough his brother was. They made it through the cozy town, battled--and then "dated"--like usual, and carried on to Waterfall.

Frustrated, Undyne roared. Frisk winced, and braced themself--they were almost to Hotland, if they could just last a few turns longer they'd be able to run. But they could only take a few more hits before they'd have to do all this again--oh, ow, one more hit. Even if they could reset, dying never felt good. They checked their pockets--yep, they were out of food. This was it.

Sensing she was close to victory, Undyne raised her hand aloft as she summoned a huge array of spears and spoke. "No escape this time. You're finished."

She dropped her hand, the spears fell, and Frisk whimpered as they closed their eyes.

Nothing happened. Frisk waited, then took a chance and opened their eyes. They winced--a spear hovered mere inches from their face, and the rest were only just behind it. But they looked past the glowing magic, and saw Undyne staring at them.

She looked... perplexed. Like even she didn't know why she'd stopped the attack. She grimaced, and flexed her hand to call the spears off. They shimmered out of existence, and Undyne assumed a rigid pose before summoning a spear back to her hand.

"... Sorry. I got... carried away. But you know I have to finish this."

Frisk realized their soul was back to being red, and they flashed Undyne a weak smile before taking the chance to run. They'd be friends again soon. For now, they needed to get away.

It was clear Undyne didn't remember what she'd done, but somehow, Sans' words had stuck with her anyway. Maybe what she'd done was something even a reset couldn't erase completely.

Frisk couldn't help but be a little grateful.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

As an Undertale fan, what are your thoughts on Chara?

(Rubbing hands together) I have. A lot to say about this.

Chara is such a fascinating and sympathetic figure in the story. In some ways, I even hesitate to call them a character (even though I know their name is a play on the word) because they are only ever alluded to in the story and have no spoken lines, barring a very psychedelic scene at the end of No-Mercy that may or may not have even been them, it was rather ambiguous. Their presence is definitely felt throughout the story, however. You can see them, just as you see Asriel, in the other characters. The haunted look in the eyes of their parents. Not to mention, the plot could not have happened in the way it did without Chara’s fall. I’ve said before that the story begins and ends with Asriel, and it does...but the same could be said of Chara. 

Good or Evil?

The main question people have when it comes to this character is how involved they are with the events that occur, and what was their true nature? Were they a disturbed, evil child? Hell bent on slaughtering humanity and later the monsters? Were they just using Asriel? Or...was Chara a victim? An innocent child who wanted to do the right thing and died to save the society that rescued them? There’s no arguing that Chara was a saint - Asriel himself admits by the end of Pacifist that they were not the greatest person. But there’s a difference between being a snarky, traumatized hero, and being a hateful, wicked villain. I would say from the start that I question the validity of calling any child “evil.” On the other hand, Asriel did some pretty messed up things as Flowey, and it’s universally accepted that whoever was driving the No-Mercy Route, be it Frisk or Chara, was making evil decisions. There are also those who would point to you, the player, for making those choices...but for the sake of the fourth wall, I’m not to discount those interpretations. I want to talk about the characters, not the “anomaly.” 

Here’s the thing. If Chara is responsible for the No-Mercy Route, if we follow the theory that they possessed Frisk, and that by the end they were in complete control - which is supported by a lot of the end-game red text - well, then to be entirely fair, we also have to credit them for the Pacifist Ending. If Chara was somehow reincarnated in Frisk, then that was true in every timeline, surely. We can’t condemn Chara and make them shoulder the blame for No-Mercy, while also declining to give them credit for the golden ending. Hell, Asriel has canonically taken the No-Mercy Route several times, by his own admission - I swear, everyone forgets that. If we don’t demonize Asriel for this, it seems wrong to do the same thing to Chara, even if No-Mercy was entirely their fault. 

“I should have laughed it off, like you did.” 

There is also some evidence that perhaps Chara wasn’t a very nice kid even before the Undertale story begins. People have suggested that they intentionally tried to kill Asgore, for example, with the Buttercup incident. However, I think people are forgetting that that was a joint effort. Asriel and Chara were both involved in making that pie, and we have no way of knowing which of them made the mistake. Yes, Chara did laugh about it later, but it’s not unheard of for people to laugh in horrifying situations, simply to cope with it. Sirius Black from Harry Potter was said to laugh when he was arrested for facilitating the murder of his best friends. Spoiler alert, he was innocent. Chara is a kid, and Asgore didn’t actually die. I don’t think we should assume that they intended to do this, or that they took pleasure from his pain. 

The day Asriel died.

Chara’s gambit, the one that ultimately got Asriel killed and reborn as Flowey, is pretty ambiguous. First and foremost, we cannot blame Chara for what happened to Asriel. They wanted to fight back against the humans. Asriel resisted doing this. It seems very clear that whatever else was going on, Chara did not plan for Asriel to die, and they tried to stop it from happening. Otherwise, there are hints that they wanted this confrontation to happen, and that maybe that was why they took their body with them to the surface. Here’s the thing - killing humans was already part of the plan. It wasn’t like they were tricking Asriel into that - both of them knew they’d have to claim some human souls to break the barrier. Chara may have calculated that the humans would assume Asriel killed them and attack as a result - but that would simply be triggering the altercation that they and Asriel had planned on creating anyway. 

The “Charrator” Theory

After this happened, Asriel was reborn as Flowey...and Chara is hinted to have became Frisk’s unseen companion. Perhaps Frisk’s fall disturbed their rest, since Frisk did land on top of the golden flowerbed that Chara is implied to have been buried under. There’s a major theory that the narrator of all the game’s text is actually Chara’s spirit. It would explain how the narration knows things that Frisk would have no way of knowing, like when you can “check” monsters in battle. Plus, the somewhat snarky sense of humor in the narration, yet still overall hopeful personality...well, it lines up a lot without how Chara was suggested to behave. There are other moments too, like how shocked the narrator seems when Asriel calls Frisk, addressing them as Chara. Or how the narrator falls silent when Asriel breaks down during the end of his fight. They also push Frisk to save him. Not to mention this is hinted far more in the No-Mercy path. It’s made blatant with lines like “The date I came here.” and “Still has that sweater.” and even “My bed.” So, yeah, I tend to subscribe to this theory a lot. 

What happened to Chara? 

My belief is that Chara was confused and traumatized and not at all sure what happened when they were first reborn in Frisk - either because they were haunting them, or because they were reincarnated. Hell, that might have been why Frisk climbed Mt. Ebbot. - In a way very similar to how Flowey was confused and scared when he first resurrected. I believe Frisk’s actions help Chara rediscover who they are. If Asriel can be forgiven for having to re-learn things like compassion after something as traumatizing as being murdered, can’t Chara be given the same patience? They died twice. Can’t it be assumed that they might need the same rehabilitation? I believe Chara learns from Frisk’s choices. One theory I’ve seen that I really like, is that they felt embittered toward Asriel for completely screwing the plan, by refusing to fight back. Hence Flowey asking “No hard feelings about back then, right?” Hence why Chara, after being on the No-Mercy Route for that long, might feel so much contempt for him that they slash him half a dozen times like we see. By completing Pacifist, Frisk teaches Chara what Asriel already knew - that any situation can be resolved peacefully, and thus refusing to fight back was the right choice. At which point, Chara is able to properly move on and rest. Having grown to the point of understanding that their hatred of humanity was not healthy. 

That’s another thing, we never find out why Chara hated humanity so strongly. The same way we never find out why Frisk climbed Mt. Ebbot. It’s left to mystery. There are plenty of reasons it could be true. It could be as simple as them being infuriated at what humanity did to the monsters. Or maybe it suggests something worse, like abuse or neglect. Chara tripped, so we know it wasn’t a suicide attempt, but...I mean, what were they planning? The actual fall was an accident, but were they going to jump anyway? That’s the thing. Chara is jaded. They recognize the evil in the world and it makes them pessimistic. They hate humanity and thus they hate them-self, most likely. Ever notice how Chara’s plan to break the barrier results in their human body dying, and them living on as a Monster instead? Maybe it was coincidental, but I can’t imagine they minded. Still, they were willing to die to bring freedom to the Monsters, and they seemed to live in harmony with them for...well, it had to be at least a couple of years. 

TL;DR: I’m a Chara fan. A major fan, actually. I find them fascinating and I don’t blame them at all for what happens in No-Mercy. I also love the Charrator Theory. Any head-canon is valid, but I really don’t vibe with the idea that Chara is a “demon” child. 

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 10, one month in!

Man, I might actually finish this. Link here and @lostmypotatoes remains great.

This one mostly features Frisk having enough of everyone’s shit.

When Sans had composed himself enough to leave the wallpaper behind, he found Dr. Serif double-checking the paperwork while Frisk rustled around in her dressing room. As soon as she emerged in her black dress, the doctor said, "I have a request, Sans. When you escort Snowdrake home, I'd like you to stay in human form. Two monsters going anywhere without an owner will attract too much attention, especially near the border, and we should see whether your disguise can fool another monster. Do you think you can masquerade as a human who is using Sans' magic?"

Sans didn't like the idea – in fact, he completely hated it – but he was in the mood to think before he spoke, and the more he did, the more it made sense. "Yeah, I guess. If I told 'im who I was, he'd probably think I'd been brainwashed or somethin'. Everyone would be weird about it when I got home."

"Exactly." The royal sorcerer rolled the papers back up and placed the scroll on the edge of the table. "Does Sans need to bring the deed to the house with him in case he's questioned, my lady?"

"No, I've written a note and put my seal on it. Here's a map with the house marked, and I also have an insignia he can carry." The priestess went to a little nook by the fireplace, glanced at herself in the mirror, and opened a drawer full of odds and ends. "Where is...ah." Frisk pulled out a leather armband. "This will identify you as the High Priestess' personal agent. I don't use it often, but anyone you speak to should recognize it."

Sans had retrieved his silver chain from the bedroom. He looped it around his neck, put the smaller items in his overcoat, and accepted the armband, admiring the patterns of tiny white and red crystals worked into the leather. "Spiffy. So, if anyone asks me who I am an' where I'm takin' Snowdrake, I can tell 'em to shove it?"

"You will not tell anyone to shove it." He winced at her tone—yep, she was still mad at him. "Furthermore, please remember your fortune. No matter what happens, unless it is absolutely the only way to keep yourself and Snowdrake safe, I don't want you to kill anyone." She swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear, voice softening. "Please, Sans."

The boss monster's SOUL fluttered. He looked down at the armband, which was more of a wristband at his human size. "Fine," he said, trying to sound careless. "I'll talk first, only kill 'em if they really, really bug me."

"Sans!" He'd forgotten that Frisk had the lungs to roar like a miniature hurricane. "Do you care about anything but yourself and what you want to do? If you kill anyone and you cannot come back here and look me in the eye to tell me why it was necessary, I don't want you to come back at all! Do you understand?!"

Sans was speechless. As her echoes bounced off the corners of the room, he not only couldn't think of what to say, it felt like the magic comprising his vocal cords had evaporated.

Into the silence fell the sound of someone rapping on the double doors. Frisk whipped on her veil and headdress, allowing the bemused Dr. Serif to get up and admit two armed guards.

Between the men drooped a birdlike, half-grown monster roughly four feet tall, ice forming on the chains around its neck and feet. Without preamble, the priestess snapped her fingers at the guards and said, "Remove his bonds. Now."

The shorter guard coughed as Snowdrake shrank further back. "He is secured with the commonest type of lock. Your Ladyship will doubtless possess the key already," the guard mumbled.

Though her features were obscured by the veil, the High Priestess' body language was so expressive of absolute wrath that the men swallowed and gripped their weapons tighter. Without turning her head, she said to Sans in measured, glacial tones, "Get rid of those chains."

"As milady wishes," Sans said cheerfully, raising his left hand. The guards didn't notice the red mist surrounding the collar or shackles, but they did see the metal burst into fragments; the men nearly wet themselves as the rest of the chains fell off the startled drake.

"Leave us," ordered Frisk, and they were happy to obey, one pausing to grab the scroll and the other nearly running out the doors ahead of him.

Snowdrake's beak fluttered open, but he shut it and cringed as Frisk reached for his neck. "That's Sans' magic," whispered the young monster. "How'd you get him?"

Frisk placed her hand on his head, feeling him tremble. "He's unharmed, and he's given us his magic in order to help return you to the Underground." She brushed the last few links off his feathery neck, trying to avoid the half-healed scabs where the collar had rubbed him raw. "I am not your new owner, Snowdrake. You're going to be free."

The ice monster's eyes darted between her and the two men. "Yes, my lady," he said woodenly.

The poor kid. Sans knew exactly what it was like to be at a human witch's mercy and having to hear that kind of crap. Only the knowledge that she wasn't lying and Snowdrake would be home soon kept Sans from dropping the disguise right then and there.

"My guard will escort you as close as he can to the entrance to the Underground," Frisk told Snowdrake, then looked at Sans. "You shouldn't have trouble, but if you run into poachers, I'm giving you full authority to protect yourselves through non-lethal means. Is that understood?"

Sans nodded. To his surprise, Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "I think you had better take this as well. Consider it repayment." He produced yet another brooch from his robe, this one large and faintly pink. Sans wondered irritably how many of them he still had. "If you use this to supplement the magic you already possess, you can make the journey in a few easy stages. Pace yourself, and do not hurry back." He sat down as Sans put the brooch away. "Several people in the plot against Her Eminence have already been detained. We will maintain a watch in case anyone else involved decides to strike before they're discovered, and I will personally check on her throughout the day."

"Indeed," said Frisk. "Please take your time."

Holy shit, that hurt. The boss monster plunged his hands into his pockets to avoid breaking anything. "Breakfast should be here in a moment," the priestess went on, "and as soon as you've—" Right on cue, there was another knock at the door. "—both eaten, we'll pack something for you to take with you."

Sans tried to catch her eye, but she went back to the office as the servant unloaded the trolley. Snowdrake made no move to eat until Sans put a plate down and told him, "Go for it," at which the ice monster almost literally dove in. There was no telling the last time he'd had enough to eat, so Sans didn't ask, letting Snowdrake devour nearly everything and gulp down all the milk.

Fortunately, there was a bundle of apples and sandwiches sitting on the bottom of the trolley, along with three flasks of water and one of cider. "I ordered extra provisions. You'll need to keep your strength up," said Dr. Serif, waving away Sans' muttered thanks. He checked that Snowdrake was done, then called, "They're leaving, my lady."

Frisk reemerged, still veiled. "The best of luck to you both," she said.

Sans picked up the bundle, tucking it under his arm. "Sure, boss. See you when I get back." He jerked his head at Snowdrake, who was peering up at him, eyes half closed. "C'mon." Sans shouldered the doors open for the smaller monster to trudge through; a second later, the guard outside made a squeaky sound that indicated Sans had teleported them away.

The priestess sank into a chair, shoulders slumping as she pulled off her headdress. Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "You look as though you need more rest, Your Eminence. Unless, of course, you'd like to talk about your—"

"No. Thank you," she said, loud and sharp. Frisk picked up a fresh stack of letters, sorting them into different piles according to the wax seals or lack thereof. "I have a great deal of correspondence to catch up on, and I'll be very dull company for the next several hours. I'm sure you also have a great deal of work to do—have you started drafting your proposed specifications for the first set of solar arrays?"

"Yes, my lady. In fact, I've scheduled a meeting later this morning with several of my colleagues to discuss the matter. I'll be back this afternoon, but if you need anything at all in the meantime..."

"Thank you," she said again, a little more calmly. "I also must thank you for your help earlier with Sans. Did you figure out why he was acting so strange? I can't believe he grabbed me like that! I don't know what he could have been thinking."

The doctor made a wry face at her back. "I'm not sure how it happened, my lady. I don't believe he intended to become inebriated, but that is certainly what he was." He paused. "I will also keep you apprised of developments in Fernand's interrogation. Your Eminence will be glad to know that Lord Owen has been cleared of suspicion, more than adequately."

Frisk  looked daggers at him. "Has he?"

"Indeed," he said gravely. "The moment his friend was arrested, Lord Owen volunteered to answer questions under hypnosis. He was tested beforehand for any magic with which he might have resisted or subverted the procedure, which ensured his answers were completely truthful. He is guiltless, and can offer no further information."

She nodded, returning to the next stack of letters. Why did she feel just the tiniest bit disappointed?

It was no use pretending. In her too-honest, very tired mind, she knew exactly why: it would've been the ideal excuse to reject him and find another suitor for her "adequate" future. It wasn't at all nice, but facts were facts. No matter how much she wanted to be married, having Luke  as a husband would be like sleeping with her brother!

So, that just left...who?

The doctor coughed theatrically. "Before I go, my lady..."

Something made Frisk look up at him. Dr. Serif gave her a brief smile, and said with unusual delicacy, "With no intrusion intended or opinion attached, I beg that you inform me if and when you wish to safely dispose of your box. Whatever may be inside it, I assume there is magic involved, and throwing it away without the proper precautions may have consequences."

Frisk picked up an envelope and hissed between her teeth as she felt the paper slice her thumb. "I understand, Doctor. Good day to you."

He half-smiled. "And to you, my lady." When she looked up a moment later, he was already gone.

~

If Frisk had ever had a more miserable day as High Priestess, she didn't want to remember when. She hadn't just been trying to get rid of the royal sorcerer; she really did have a pile of mail to get through. The only attention she paid to the proposals was to make a stack of rejects, maybes, and actual prospects. Then she threw the maybes into the reject pile. Then she had to literally grab her own wrist to keep from dumping the entire basket into the fireplace—if she was destined to either marry Lord Owen or hop right into bed with someone unmarriageable, why bother wading through any of these?

A small, flat package at the bottom of the stack puzzled her until she opened it and several bookmarks fell out. Right: she'd ordered them when Sans got after her one time too many for her uncouth reading habits. She could fold all the pages she wanted today, Frisk tried to tell herself, but it just made her wish he was here to tell her to leaf them alone or mark his words. When she got another paper cut, she started to ask him to heal it for her, only to realize she was speaking to an empty room. She had to make do by washing her hands and applying tiny bits of ointment that came right off when she picked up more envelopes.

Just before lunch, Frisk told herself she'd earned a break and went in to flop on the enormous bed. Would Sans be back tonight? If he wasn't back by evening, should she go ahead and sleep in here, knowing he could come back inexplicably drunk and try to cuddle her again?

...She couldn't shake the idea. Technically, she should be scared at the idea of a ten-foot monster with no inhibitions invading her space when she was most vulnerable, but...she wasn't. Not remotely. In fact, her imagination was running with it so fast that she couldn't catch up, much less stop it. Frisk actually had to remind herself that Sans was a skeleton, only for her self to remind her that there were approximately two hundred creative ways around that particular deficit. Ah, well. It was all stupid, harmless tired-brain fantasy about someone she was comfortable with, not as if she was going to marry him or anything...

This was ridiculous. It had only been a few hours, and she was still furious with him, but she missed Sans so much that she could barely function.

There was another knock, and the priestess scowled as she got up to put on her veil and answer the outside door. To her surprise, it was Luke, holding a tiny velvet jewelry pouch out to her. "Good morning, Your Eminence," he said as she pasted on a smile. "Forgive my intrusion, but I came to return this in person."

Frisk opened the drawstrings and pulled out her pearl bracelet, the one he'd removed so the parrot wouldn't destroy it. "Oh. Thank you," she said automatically. Luke waited for more, and she glanced behind her. "I am sorry, Lord Owen, but you've caught me in the middle of decanting. The fumes will be potentially harmful once the mixture has heated, so..."

"It's quite all right. I didn't intend a long visit," he assured her. "I wanted to ask if you've had a chance to look over the contact information I forwarded to you."

Thank God she had found his note in her mail, or else she wouldn't have remembered the farmland at all. "Yes, I have, thank you," she replied. "I'll send your broker an inquiry with the name of my banker. Shall I inform you when I hear back from her?"

"If it's quite convenient, yes, please." The young lord shuffled his feet, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable about something. "Fr—Your Eminence, may I ask if any of the rumors about the All Souls festival are accurate?"

The guard at her door had been doubled, and she couldn't help noticing how both of them were waiting to hear her answer. "Forgive my bluntness, Lord Owen, but I don't know what you're talking about. I have no time for ridiculous gossip," she almost snapped.

"Yes, of course, of course. I'm the one who must beg forgiveness. I'm sure you would never..." Her stare intensified, and he hastened to say, "The last reason I've trespassed on your time is that I am preparing to visit St. Brigid's. I'll be leaving early tomorrow. May I tell Mathilda that you've been well?"

"Absolutely!" Frisk knew this was where she was supposed to ask how his sister was doing in general, how her studies were going, etc. etc., and pass along all sorts of loving messages. But somehow, with her blood still humming and her potential husband right in front of her, and Sans not there to see, she had just one thought: "Could you give her something from me?"

"Yes, of course," he said pleasantly. "What is it?"

Frisk nodded, stepped forward and gave him a quick, decisive hug, careful to get her arms all the way around him before she stepped back. "Please excuse me," she said, "but I haven't seen Mathilda since Christmas, and I miss her very much. I hope you understand."

"Uh..." Luke blinked hard. "Yes, my lady. I'll see her and give her...that. Thank very much, and a good day to you." He bowed vigorously and turned on his heel, speed-walking down the hall in flustered elation.

Ignoring the guards' smirks, the High Priestess went back inside and slammed the doors, removing her veil again. She knew she should be embarrassed or at least care what they were going to say about her, but really, half the city was probably placing bets on who she'd be sleeping with in however many days or hours, so what was one brief embrace?

It was nothing. That was what she'd felt, anyway. Part of her was surprised at her own cold-heartedness, but Frisk knew what had happened when she hugged Sans, and she was certain that no matter how long she snuggled up to Luke, it wouldn't feel remotely similar; if he had put his arm around her, it would've just annoyed her. At least she had eliminated any remaining doubt: Luke could offer her pleasant company, and that was all. Not warmth, or real companionship, or gentleness, laughter, intellectual stimulation, literal attraction...

There went her imagination again. The workroom was still cold from however long Sans had had the windows open, but she had to pick up some papers to fan herself. It was quite a relief when lunch arrived and she could eat Sans' portion to make up for missing breakfast, then retire to the bedroom.

Having spent so much of her early life on her own, Frisk had been shocked when she came to St. Brigid's and discovered that even in a convent, the primary occupation of adolescent girls seemed to be talking about boys, or sex, or any combination thereof. She understood now that they had had very little else to talk or think about, and that being in a strict religious environment meant that there were no other outlets for their perfectly normal teenage curiosity, but those first few months had been eye-opening, to say the least.

To their credit, the sisters were aware of this and knew very well that after the lights went out in the dormitory, the girls would stuff their pillows under their covers to create a laughable illusion of being in bed, crawl to the center of the floor, and whisper to each other until they forgot themselves and laughed too loud at something, which was the cue for the proctor on duty to shout "BED" and send them flying back to their cots. It was probably also why everyone had to undergo a comprehensive sexual education course when they turned fourteen, and of course, the girls who could tell penis jokes for literal hours on end felt quite differently about the matter when an eighty-year-old priestess was passing out textbooks with full-color drawings and scientific labels.

In short, Frisk knew exactly what she was feeling and why. She'd never had the nerve to try anything when she was sleeping in an open room with dozens of other girls and young women, but once she moved into these chambers and found she had nearly unlimited privacy, she had finally availed herself of the opportunity to ignore the Church's teachings on self-exploration. Then she had availed herself of the opportunity a lot, figuring that it was harming no one whatsoever, and that she wouldn't have been given those parts if she wasn't meant to use them. But she hadn't done it since Sans arrived, especially not when they were in the same bed.

Sans was not here now, and she wasted no time, pausing only to throw a quilt over herself before she moved her skirt aside and worked her hand into place. She'd never done this in the middle of the day before, but that added a little excitement; what if she was to take down the barrier against teleportation, and he happened to get back right as she was in the middle of it? That would be just awful. Would he even recognize what she was doing, or would he just—

Another knock. Another fecking knock on the outside door as she was getting this close, and she wanted to burn down the entire castle. Frisk kicked the quilt off, pulled her clothes back into place, and stomped over to her veil and circlet before she threw the doors open. This had better be worth the interruption!

~

Over an hour later, she came back to her rooms with her cluster of guards and, given the general trajectory of the day thus far, was not surprised to find Dr. Serif waiting next to a stack of crates. "Good afternoon," he said. "It seems as if the items you've ordered for your apprenticeship have arrived. Would you like some assistance putting them away?"

Frisk looked at them, and at him, but she could barely speak. "I am overtired, Doctor," she mumbled. "I would appreciate your help, and then I need to rest."

"Of course." The royal scientist opened the double doors and directed the guards to bring the boxes inside while she went to the bathroom to remove her veil and compose herself for a few minutes. It didn't work, but it was long enough for the guards to put everything away and leave, so she only had to worry about the doctor when she emerged.

One look at her was enough. He didn't ask if she was all right, just moved aside a respectful distance as she sat down to check the inventory sheet. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked kindly.

"No, thank you," she said, voice cracking.

"I understand." The doctor removed the lid from a long box of seedlings and began filling a vial at the sink. "They've found the guard responsible for leaving your door unattended and allowing the assassin into your room. It seems he is affiliated with a local group pushing to decriminalize the retrieval of monsters from the no-man's-land. It should be a valuable link in uncovering more conspirators."

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it," Frisk said politely, mind still buzzing.

Dr. Serif tipped some water into each seed-bed. "If he avoids detours or anything else he is not supposed to do, Sans should be back late this evening. Don't be alarmed if he takes longer, though. I could easily see him deciding to rush back and overextending himself. He can sleep at your house tonight if need be."

The only sound was water running into the vial and being trickled onto the tiny plants. The doctor glanced at her over his shoulder. "If I may, High Priestess. Please don't go there to wait for him or try to meet him. He should—"

"Get out!"

When the doctor had obediently made himself scarce, Frisk threw her veil on the floor, stormed into the bedroom, and flung herself on the bed for a good, long cry, or at least a long one. It wasn't Dr. Serif's fault that he'd happened to visit right as she was returning from a talk with her father. She hadn't been so angry or humiliated in a long time—of all the people to drag her away from her private time to lecture her about maintaining a good reputation and not sleeping around, why the hell did he think he had the right to do it, especially based on a single stupid rumor? It'd been all she could do not to scream at him that he'd spent his youth screwing his way through most of the kingdom, left her to be neglected almost to death for ten years, and only taken an interest in any of his damn-near-orphans when his second wife died in childbirth and the midwives told him the baby might not survive! How dare he?!

The final nail in the coffin came a few hours later, when she'd finally pulled herself together enough to start writing replies to everything that needed replying to. After many more paper cuts, Frisk was almost done when she heard a knock that she hoped, for the other person's sake, was her dinner.

It was, but it was also another messenger. At least this one wasn't there to take her anywhere, merely to tell her that His Holiness had furnished the records she requested, handing over a folder roughly two inches thick.

Frisk probably should have been glad she could peruse the list of enslaved monsters without Sans hovering over her shoulder, and she was; it was just hard to be happy about much of anything when she was reading all the names and descriptions—she'd felt strongly enough about it when she wasn't remembering how completely beaten Snowdrake had looked, and wondering how many other monsters must be in similar or worse circumstances at that very moment. Her duty now was to go through the list of owners and judge which were probably the absolute worst, and organize inspections as quickly and stealthily as possible.

It all went back to her stupid fortunes. She'd half-purposely led Luke on, and her father had made it very clear that he expected her to make the respectable choice, the hypocritical old goat. The problem was that it was what everyone would expect of her; in the wee hours of the morning, it had felt daring and romantic to contemplate a future where she had a child with a not-husband, but the reality was that it would probably ruin her life, just like her mother's. Frisk was more confused than ever: how could she change the world and free monsters if she did something so socially unacceptable that no one would probably ever speak to her again? But she'd also have new parents and a huge family...how?!

Even if Sans had been a complete idiot at the fortune-teller's table, she wished more than ever that he was here to talk to. Damn Dr. Serif for reading her thoughts so easily. There was still the brooch he'd given her a couple nights ago, but she wanted to save it for a real emergency; besides, it wasn't as if she could do much to help Sans if he simply needed to rest before coming back to the castle...assuming he was coming back.

Frisk shook herself. There was no reason to believe that at all! She had to think more constructively. Wasn't there some way to communicate w—ah, yes, he was able to speak to Papyrus in dreams. She had joined him fairly easily the time she'd tried it. If she took down that barrier again...

...then the child could get in. But Sans wasn't here. Could it make her hurt him in a dream?

That was when Frisk officially gave up on thinking, or working, or doing anything else for the day. It was already after sunset, so she folded up the registry, instructed the guards not to let anyone disturb her unless something was actively on fire, and went to run a bath. Her mind didn't clear much, but it did help relax her, even if she was still too tense to pick up where she'd left off with herself. She put on her fuzziest nightgown, whisked the barrier away and built up a fire in the bedroom, then made a warm nest of blankets and settled herself to sleep, leaving her mind cautiously open.

~

She woke a little as the bed creaked beside her. She grumbled under her breath and turned away from him, pulling the covers up.

Undeterred, he ducked beneath the covers and draped himself over her side. His hard, smooth fingers caught on her hair as he pushed it out of the way to nuzzle her neck. It was a good start, but he must have been tipsy: she yelped as his nasal bone jabbed her. "sorry," he murmured.

That should've been that; she graciously permitted him to stroke her hair as an apology, and settled back down to sleep.

She should have known better when he started petting her back and down her side, and then rubbed her leg, knowing very well that she'd sleepily turn toward him so he could pet the other one, too. Then came a soft, warm touch on her neck, his hands sliding under her nightshirt, and her nightshirt creeping up as he eased his weight onto her.

"Really?" she tried to ask, but his mouth was in the way, and he easily caught the hand she brought up to push him off, spreading his fingers to interlace them with hers.

He would have stopped if she'd insisted. She didn't. She—

~

Someone was in her office.

Frisk was not afraid. She was done. She got out of bed with an ache in her groin and murderous resolve in her heart, moving silently through the bedroom and the dark workroom. There was no light showing under the office door, but she could feel ripples through the barrier over her safe as someone dug into the floor around it. With no restraint or remorse, she yanked open the doors and slammed a multi-layered barrier into the room, catching the would-be thief by surprise.

Whoever it was, they were unnaturally strong and agile, nearly catching the edge to squeeze through as it sealed itself off. But it was no use: fueled by angry determination, the barrier snapped shut into a golden sphere, trapping the person inside. The intruder struck at it several times with terrific force, but Frisk held firm until the figure staggered, then fell to its knees, wheezing.

Only then did Frisk click her tongue, dropping the layer that prevented air from getting in, and strengthening the layer that suppressed magic. "Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to explain yourself," she snarled.

A gulping breath. "Please, my lady—"

Frisk was so startled that her concentration wavered. The figure took the opportunity to hit the barrier again, and she promptly cut its air off, waiting several seconds before she allowed any back in. The priestess came forward and peered inside. "...Doctor?"

In the barrier's glow, she could see quite well, and though she knew she had him contained, Frisk felt a twinge of fear. It had sounded exactly like the royal sorcerer, but this was not Dr. Serif. It was a monster, a skeleton with a long, eerie face, much more smooth and hollow-looking than Sans or Papyrus. As it straightened, its arms stayed hidden in the folds of its long, ragged black coat, and several disembodied skeletal hands floated over its shoulders. "The man who speaks in hands," she said to herself. No wonder they were supposed to beware him!

The monster's brow creased. "The man who speaks in hands?" he repeated in Dr. Serif's whispery voice. "How very poetic." Cough. "May I ask where you—"

"You may not!" The barrier constricted, nearly brushing the top of his skull. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The skeleton visibly struggled to answer, and finally croaked, "My name is W.D. Gaster. I am a monster who has been posing as a human in order to maintain my post as the royal sorcerer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Young lady, what...what is this?"

Frisk sat down on the couch, which had been moved aside to expose the safe. "I assume you mean the fact that you can't lie to me while you're in there. I'm not much good at truth spells, but I figured out how to incorporate one into a barrier, which I am very good at. I just don't use it very often." On some level, she wasn't surprised that Dr. Serif had been hiding something like this, but she was still afraid—had any of his help or kindness been real, or was it all for some unknown, sinister purpose? Would he try to eliminate her now that she knew what he was?

Gaster was staring at her. Above him, both pairs of hands started a slow clap. "I am extremely impressed, Your Eminence. I am also very apprehensive. As a monster, I cannot match your determination, which means you have me at a complete disadvantage. I must commend you."

The priestess was gratified, but knew better than to drop her guard; she could feel him subtly testing the weave and span of the barrier with unseen hands. "Stop that," she snapped, and he did, tilting his head to concede defeat. "Were you trying to steal my box?"

"Of course," he said. "I infer that it contains your memories, and it is now common knowledge that the future of this world hinges on what you do with it."

Frisk controlled another stab of anger, though she couldn't stop the barrier from popping and snapping like a bonfire. "And you thought you would...what? Dispose of it without asking me?"

"I don't know exactly what I was thinking," Gaster confessed. "I succumbed to intellectual curiosity as to what distilled memories look like, and whether I could view them without disturbing the physical medium. What I would do with them would depend on their contents."

The barrier was now eye-wateringly bright. "You broke into my rooms when Sans wasn't here, damaged my property, and woke me up from a very good dream because you thought you knew better than me what I should do with my life?! How dare you! How dare all of you try to decide this for me?"

"You are completely correct, my lady, and I apologize wholeheartedly." The monster placed his hand on his chest and bowed from the waist. "I swear that I will not presume to meddle any further."

It sounded sincere, but the old priestess who'd helped her develop this technique had been very emphatic: if someone promised something while under a truth spell, there was nothing to stop them from breaking it once the spell ended. "Why are you here?" she asked. "What are your intentions?"

He managed a chuckle. "As I truthfully told your apprentice earlier today, that is a large question." The monster's hands folded into pairs. "I do not believe you will derive any benefit from my entire story, and that most of it will unnecessarily disturb you. May I tell you as much as I sincerely believe will benefit you, and omit that which is not necessary?"

Frisk bit her lip. "I'd prefer to be the judge of that. Answer me, please: what are your intentions towards me, and Sans, and this kingdom in general?"

Gaster didn't reply. Frisk felt him trying to use some kind of magic similar to Sans' to slip out of the barrier, and she gave one sharp whistle; the skeleton's hand went to his throat as his magic dissolved and the air started to thin again. "Please, stop!" he rasped.

The priestess did so, feeling a tiny bit guilty. That rush of anger was starting to fade, but she knew she couldn't let him manipulate her into letting him go before she was ready. The fact that he had been manipulating her up till now was more than enough to steady her resolve. She crossed her arms and stared him down in silence.

A hand came up to massage Gaster's temple. "All right. I...do not intend to harm anyone. I came here solely as an observer, and have only remained for this length of time in order to rectify my errors." He sighed. "As is so often the case, every attempt I make only compounds the problem, and yet I cannot seem to stop."

Frisk shook her head. "I don't want vagueness or lies by omission, Dr. Gaster. Where did you come from, and on whose behalf are you observing us?"

"I came from a place similar to this one. I lived inside Mt. Ebott, which contained the Underground, home to monsters such as Sans, Papyrus, King Asgore, Queen Toriel...to my knowledge, every living monster I knew currently resides here as well."

The priestess' mouth fell open. "How...?"

He made an impatient sound. "As I said, the majority of this information is not necessary to impart. You can do nothing with the knowledge of another Underground, except for the one or two details that are relevant to you and Sans, which I will tell you if you agree to trust me that you do not need the rest. Do we have a deal?"

She exhaled. "Fine. What are you doing here now? Are you gathering information to bring back to your Underground?"

"I dearly wish that this was the case, young lady, but no. I was expelled from my home in an accident, and I no longer exist there. I have been wandering ever since, looking for another place I might settle into." Another sigh. "I know now that it was not only a vain hope, but a dangerous one."

"Dangerous? How so?"

He grimaced. "I found out the hard way, of course. I thought I was doing the right thing when I transplanted a certain monster from a dangerous environment to a safer one where he was needed. I did not know that the danger would follow."

Frisk's skin prickled. "What do you mean? Please start making more sense."

"Very well. To start at the beginning, I must tell you I am not the first W.D. Gaster to have lived in this kingdom or its Underground. Many, many years ago, when I happened upon this place, I went looking for the first item on my checklist: myself. Unfortunately, when I found him, I discovered that your Gaster was easily one of the cruelest I have seen. He conducted horrific experiments on defenseless subjects, both humans and monsters, and he created new life purely to torment it."

The chill increased as Gaster's face darkened. "I was skilled enough to observe him unseen, and his actions disgusted me. I should have left, but when I saw him murder one of his 'sons,' I grew so angry that I could not stop myself. I killed this world's Gaster, and I tried to save his other creation, but it was too late. I broke my policy of noninterference without any real benefit to anyone." He sat down inside the barrier. "Imagine my surprise when I checked the rest of the laboratory and discovered one copy of the younger skeleton ready to awaken, hardly more than a baby. There was no sign that any other creations had survived. I now had a decision to make."

"The 'younger' skeleton? You don't mean—"

"Yes. He created Sans and Papyrus, and he killed them, knowing he could replace them at any time."

The priestess had to fight the urge to be sick all over the office floor. "Couldn't you have taken his place and tried to undo the damage he caused?"

"That was a definite option, and I was tempted. But this is not my home, and I did not want to stay for much longer. I believe I made the correct choice in that respect."

Now she understood why he hadn't wanted to tell her this. Too late; she had to hear the rest of the story.

"It was quite the dilemma. I could not leave Papyrus on his own, nor could I stay here to raise him, or take him with me. He was too young, and I did not know what might happen if I brought him into another place with another Papyrus. But there was no Sans here to care for him. So..." He closed his eyes, pulling the slashes taut. "I made another well-intentioned mistake."

There was a very long pause. "There are certain variations of time and place that I have seen more frequently than others," he said slowly. "The most tragic is where a very sorrowful and angry SOUL becomes warped into a force of absolute destruction, essentially a demon, and it finds a vessel to connect it to the physical world." His eyes opened. "It kills everything, Frisk. Every monster in the Underground, every human above, until there is nothing left. But the force itself does not die. It finds another place to destroy. And another. And another. The child you have seen in your nightmares is here because it cannot bear the fact that in one place, at one time, there was one monster it failed to exterminate. It has come here looking for him."

All the hairs on Frisk's body were standing straight up. "What exactly happened?"

"I found a place where a Sans stood ready to meet the child on its way to murder Asgore and leave the Underground. He had made a promise not to harm any fallen humans, and that promise bound him until it was too late. As always, he was still going to fight it, knowing that it was futile." Gaster looked at his hands, studying the holes in the palms. "I did not speak to him, or even let him see me. I approached him from behind, rendered him unconscious, and transported him here. I had checked Snowdin and saw that the house in which they usually reside was empty, so I brought them both there, left a supply of food and money, and allowed them to live as usual."

"...But...but doesn't he—"

"This world's practice of memory excision is not a good one, in my opinion, but it gave me the idea to try to...adjust him. I did not remove his memories to save for later if he chose to revisit them: I destroyed them entirely. As far as he or anyone else knows, he has always lived here with his little brother." Gaster looked back up at her. "I wanted to give him a second chance in a place where the demon did not exist, and where circumstances were not likely to replicate its creation. I knew that he might have nightmares as echoes of his past experiences, or even glimpses of other lives, but I had no conception that the child itself would stalk him all the way here."

The barrier wavered. Gaster did not move as Frisk shook herself and hummed it back to full strength. She'd have to process all of this information properly later. For now, next question... "Why did you become the royal sorcerer? Didn't you want to leave as soon as you knew they'd be safe?"

"I did, but I came back periodically to check on them. All seemed well until one visit where I discovered that a group of humans had just visited on a diplomatic mission that ended in violent catastrophe. Imagine my surprise when I examined Dr. Alphys' records and discovered that the Sans I rescued had become a boss monster through imperfectly understood means. It was one of the most anomalous variations in his growth that I have ever observed, and it absolutely fascinated me."

His tone was a little too rapturous for her tastes. "You disguised yourself as a human and became the royal sorcerer to keep a closer eye on Sans?" she asked warily.

"Oh, no, my dear young lady. I did so in order to keep a closer eye on you." Frisk started as the skeleton slowly got to his feet. "In order to affect physical matter, even something as tenuous as a monster's body, the demon must find a host. In the course of observing Sans and his brother, I became convinced that the child was trying to reach him, but it could not attach itself to any of the monsters. Through various means, I eventually tracked it to you, just as you were being considered as a replacement for the murdered High Priestess. Not only did I feel the need to protect Sans from a danger he no longer recalled, I became curious about you."

"In what way?" Frisk couldn't help rubbing her eyes. "Why did it choose me?"

Gaster smiled thinly. "At the risk of threatening you or, even worse, stating the obvious," he said in a different tone, "I would guess that a barrier of this strength and complexity requires a great deal of power, and you are not going to be able to maintain it much longer. I will only be at your mercy for another few minutes at most, after which I could make a serious attempt to break out and potentially injure one or both of us." He took a step forward. "I propose instead that I tell you more about Sans while you still know I am being truthful, and then you release me."

He was right. "If I release you, will you attack me or take any other malicious action against me, now or in the future?" Frisk asked carefully.

"I do not intend you or Sans any type of harm whatsoever, Frisk, now or in the future. I bear you no malice, though I admittedly find being caught in this fashion very irksome."

Frisk would have to be content with that. "Done. What do you want to tell me?"

"That you did not give Sans the opportunity to apologize for his conduct at the festival or the morning after, and you said something fairly cruel before he left. I thought I made it clear that he is not stable and you must be careful how you handle him."

It took a second to recall how she'd told Sans to take his time, and his expression after she did. "I'm not his mother," she argued. "I'm sorry I hurt his feelings, and I'll apologize when he gets back, but even you said I shouldn't be held responsible for his behavior. He's been fairly good at keeping his temper, all things considered."

"He's been good at keeping his temper around you," Gaster said severely. "Did you know that monsters can see the condition of a living monster or human SOUL? I have been monitoring Sans for a long time, as you now know, and soon after he became a boss monster, his SOUL began to darken at a remarkable rate. It was natural for him to accrue EXP as he fought humans to protect his kin, but it is extremely unusual for a single monster to develop such a taste for violence when the rest of the Underground remains unaffected."

Frisk didn't know what EXP was, but she could guess, and time was running short. "What are you saying, Doctor?" she snapped.

"I am saying that I do not know exactly why he is the way he is, and I don't only mean his metamorphosis into a boss monster. No matter what kind of magic he was subjected to, and however his LV grows, it cannot explain why Sans is so very angry. It's so ingrained that it feels deliberate, which I don't understand. Is it vestigial regret from his first life? A heretofore unknown side effect of the accident that spurred his transformation? All I know is that when he was listening to your song yesterday morning, I saw him let go of his accumulated rage for the very first time. When I took another look, it seemed as though several layers of that filth have been sloughed off his SOUL since he came here, though far more remains."

The priestess flushed. It was flattering to think she could affect him that much, but...

Gaster must have seen her skepticism. He sighed so mightily that his entire body settled to the floor, as if he simply couldn't keep himself upright. "You can't seriously—you can." He drew himself back up to his full height. "You may still be hurt by having been previously abandoned by those you cared for, young lady, but what do you need to hear before you understand the current situation? That Sans is deeply in love with you? That he behaved so stupidly at the fortune-teller because he was beside himself with jealousy? That any apprehensions you may have about him deciding not to come back here are laughable at best, and you are the only one who can make him want to return to a happier state of mind and avert the possibility of him hurting innocent people?"

Frisk had specifically been taught not to do what she did next: spring to her feet and bring her fist straight down on the barrier, shattering it like paper-thin glass. "However you got in here without alerting the guards, or waking them," she added darkly, "please see yourself out the same way. Good night, Dr. Gaster!"

In the sudden blackness, his eyes showed as two tiny pinpricks, one yellow and one blue. Frisk made herself meet his terrible gaze and point at the door, and he chuckled appreciatively. "Good night, High Priestess," he murmured. There was a rush of shadow, then an empty room.

The priestess could barely move or think. She felt her knees bend and her hand grope around the space where Gaster had been tunneling into the safe. She removed the barrier, picked up the box, put the barrier back up, got to her feet. Back to the bedroom, another barrier up on the door, and a collapse into bed, pulling the blankets around her. Too tired and too troubled to remember where she had left off...what would she see the next time she dreamed?

More importantly, where was Sans?

~

She was walking over an expanse of sand and scrubby trees that she had never seen before but somehow knew was the no-man's-land, closer to the Underground than to human territory. Her head turned at the sound of men screaming, far off to her left. In the fading light, she saw flickers of magic, a bigger flash, and a sound more awful than screams: silence.

Not total silence. As she approached, Frisk heard a familiar chuckle, but not in a familiar way. This was not a skeleton pleased with his own stupid puns or laughing at her rage when he beat her at chess five times in a row. This was someone standing amidst a pile of broken human corpses, surveying his handiwork and enjoying it.

For a terrified moment, Frisk thought Sans was doing this in the present, or had just done it, and she wanted to scream at him—but no, he was wearing the ragged canvas garments she'd first seen him in, not the wool and linen ones she had given him. If this had ever happened – which felt likely – then he was dreaming of a time more distant than the past twenty-four hours.

She was only about fifty yards away, but he didn't seem to notice her. She tried to call out to him, only for her voice to get stuck as she looked again at the human bodies he was stepping over like rocks in his path. Gaster had been right. Sans really was capable of this, wasn't he? He wasn't the gentle, protective, sometimes-somewhat-sweet-natured skeleton she'd grown fond of. He was a killer.

No. He was gentle and sometimes somewhat sweet, and he was a killer. Frisk couldn't fall into the trap of believing that only one side of him existed, or that only one was "real"; people didn't work that way. She had to talk to the one she knew—he was there, too!

Sans was trudging away. Remembering what Gaster had said, Frisk took a big breath and whistled at him over the empty expanse, using a few bars from this morning's song—she'd often seen him stop what he was doing to listen to it.

Sure enough, he paused. He turned, and his orange eyes focused on her. The flames dimmed just a little. "Frisk?" Sans came closer, skirting the pile of bodies. "'sat really you?"

The priestess held out her hands. Sans reached out to touch her fingers, then recoiled—his hand was spattered with blood. "What are you doin' here?" he asked, voice rougher than usual. "Ya don't wanna see this!"

"No, I don't. But I wanted to see you," she said.

Sans blinked at her. He jerked his head for her to follow him, moving until the grim scene was out of her line of sight. Then he sat down, plunging his hands into the sand to scrub the blood off. "Yer an idiot. Why'd you come after me? I thought ya wanted me t'take my time gettin' back."

Frisk winced. She really had hurt his feelings. "I'm so sorry I said that. I missed you today."

The boss monster swallowed hard. "Fine. Ya saw me." He shook sand off his metacarpals, aiming it away from her. "Look, 'm sorry, too. I embarrassed the crap outta ya at the stupid festival, and I..." He shrugged elaborately. "I dunno what the hell I was doin' yesterday mornin', but whatever happened, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sans." Frisk folded her hands behind her back. "Did Snowdrake arrive safely?"

"Yeah. I only saw one nosy neighbor lady at the house, an' I played nice 'n let 'er see the note. She left us alone after that. Didn't see anyone else till we got close enough to the Underground t'let 'im go. Poor little bastard kept thinkin' it was some kinda trick." The skeleton brushed more sand off his femur. "I ran inta some poachers on my way back t'the city, but they didn' have any monsters with 'em, an' they just told me to get lost, so I did."

Frisk smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Sans made his usual noises, which just made her smile wider. "How was yer first day off from babysittin' me?" he asked crossly. "Good?"

"It sucked," she said, deadpan, and he snorted. "Seriously, Sans, it was awful. Everyone's heard of my fortunes already, and my father, who has had at least fifteen children that we're aware of, gave me a talking-to about my sexual mores."

The skeleton's eyes were fully alight. "Yer kiddin'. Ya haven't even done anythin'!"

There was the tiniest pause, and lest he add "...Right?" and force her to kill him, Frisk said, "Right. It just reminded me that if I open the box and end up having a child on my own, I'll be an unwed mother. Among humans, that makes you a complete outcast. I wish we were more like monsters, I really do."

Sans was very quiet, in a way that put Frisk on edge. "But, of course," she said with forced optimism, "if I don't open it, I'll get married and be completely boring and respectable for another fifty or sixty years, and just have to live with the fact that I chose not to let monsters go free." Her throat was closing up yet again, and she shook her head. "Why do I have to decide this, Sans? I'm used to being under pressure, but not like this! What am I supposed to do?!"

The boss monster edged closer as she sniffled. "Ya know what you should do?" he asked.

"What?!" It came out nearly as a shriek. "What should I do, Sans? Tell me!"

Sans remained sitting, watching her quietly as she scrubbed her face on her sleeve. "I think you should make a decision an' go for it insteada tormentin' yerself like this. Whatever ya wanna do, it'll turn out t'be the right thing. An' fer what it's worth..." He fidgeted, scowling at the ground. "Whether ya pick the bird guy or...someone else, if ya ever need help, I'll do whatever I can. Heavy lifting, beatin' people up, dumb jokes, whatever. So...quit whinin' and pick somethin'. Flip a coin if ya need to. Just stop hurtin' yerself. Okay?"

Frisk's heart stood still. She looked at him in such a way that he sat back warily. "What? What'd I say?"

"Don't say anything," she said, advancing on him. "And don't get up yet."

"Hey, hey, lady, this's a dream, remember? Ya can't touch m—"

Sans lapsed into stunned silence as Frisk's arms went around his neck and her cheek rested on his clavicle. She leaned her full weight on him and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry to ambush you again," she said into the space between his ribs. "I just needed to see something." It was the same as before, a wonderfully tingly feeling in her chest that spread through her body until she wondered what'd happen if she moved away too fast. Frisk sighed again, trying to work up the willpower to let go. Somehow, he wasn't as uncomfortable as she would've thought, as if there was a very thin layer of something padding his bony exterior. It just made it harder to—

Sans' arms came up to hold her against him, as he had the previous morning, and neither of them cared that they were so big, they overlapped over her back. His cheekbone rested against her head, careful not to be too heavy. "Whaddya do with yer hair?" he muttered.

It was...not what she'd expected him to say. "Can you elaborate, please?" she muttered back.

"I dunno what smells are what. I think the longer I stay human, the more human-ish stuff I can do, like smell, 'n feel stuff I touch." His phalanges moved softly through her hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Yer not s'posed to be able t'interact with anyone in a dream 'less ya went ta sleep in the same room or somethin'."

"I don't know about you, Sans, but I'm sick of thinking." Frisk stared at a spot of drying blood on the ground behind him. "In fact, you're right. I'm done thinking about this." She squeezed him gently, though she knew she could use all her strength and he'd barely feel it. "Let me go, please. It's time for me to get some real sleep."

"...Nuh-uh."

Frisk laughed. "It's vanilla," she said over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Sans was absently petting her hair again. "Wha's vanilla?"

It was so nice that she wanted to fall asleep right there, somehow. When was the last time she'd felt this secure? "It's...my hair. I don't use a lot of expensive lotions, but I'll splurge on anything scented with vanilla. Do you like it?"

"Mm. 'snot as bad as most of the stuff I've smelled so far."

The priestess smiled, then reached up to touch his skull. He tensed as her fingertips encountered the wide, smooth expanse of bone. It was warmer than she'd expected, almost velvety—probably from magic, she figured. "I'm very tired, Sans, and I've used almost all of my magic already. Can you please let me go now?"

He wouldn't. The last shred of doubt in her mind disappeared, and in a surge of determination, Frisk ducked free of his arms, moving out of his reach. "I'll see you soon," she told him. "Tomorrow?"

"Uh." Sans had the oddest look on his face. It reminded her of when she'd cleaned the fork for him at their first face-to-face meeting in the bedroom. "I dunno. I might be drunk again when I wake up. It kinda feels like it."

Frisk gave a long, theatric sigh. "If you are, please sleep it off before you come back. We've gotten in the supplies I ordered, and I don't need you eating the plants or something ridiculous." She stepped back further. "Good night, Sans."

"Night," he said inaudibly, and she left.

~

The guards outside Frisk's doors admitted Dr. Serif after breakfast, then settled in to wait for the royal sorcerer to leave, after which they could properly nap. His morning visits were usually an hour or so, in their experience.

This time, after only five or so minutes, the doors banged open, and one guard dropped his halberd. "I wish to be very clear, Doctor," the High Priestess said, voice pitched to carry down the hall. "Do not open it, do not attempt or allow anyone to attempt to open it, and do not keep it for any reason. I want it destroyed. Will you please do so as soon as possible?"

"Of course,Your Eminence." To the guards' astonishment, the normally imperturbable doctor was frowning, and took the little rosewood box with obvious reluctance. "Good day to you."

The priestess shut the doors without another word. The guards stared at Dr. Serif, who was now scowling full-force at the box. With a glance at the doors and none at all at the two men, the doctor tried to pry the lid open, only to drop it as the box sizzled at him. "How did she put a barrier inside it?" he said to no one.

The guards could barely wait till he was gone to whisper to each other, "She threw it away! I knew she wouldn't—" "Oh, bull shit, you said she'd get knocked up by this time next w—" "No I didn't! I—"

Slam went the doors. Frisk glared at one, then the other, and waited the count of five before she slowly pulled them shut.

[kaimiiru-creations]

Pâro

Fandom: Undertale

Premise: After the True Pacifist Ending, Asriel/Flowey meet a strange yet familiar face that wants to offer him something. Asriel-centric, Frisk-centric, OC and Chara also deeply involved.

Warnings: Nothing so far, but the definition of pâro might give you an idea of what’s in store in the future...

Ch1: Laughter

Ch2: (Not done yet)

The silence was deafening.

I was reminded of those times where I killed almost everyone. There wasn’t any screaming after battles, no movement either, just eerie and utter silence. And it wasn’t like the Underground was all that windy, either.

No, the monsters didn’t send anyone after me when I went on a killing spree. They just ran. Because they were weak. Because they were kind. Because they were afraid.

Luckily, Sans was there to stop me. I’m grateful that he stopped me… and that I had the power to reset taken away from me forever.

A part of me hated to be in this abandoned Snowdin. A part of me felt righteous pleasure that everyone had left me behind. But even those feelings were ephemeral. The power everyone had left me was fading fast, but I grit my teeth and never wandered past where the barrier used to be.

“The world doesn’t need me… the world doesn’t need me anymore…” A tiresome chant was growled through my teeth, distorted terribly.

And that was when I felt a vibration in my roots. Heard crunching of snow. Looked up and saw a familiar form in the distance that took my breath away.

“Chara?” I called hopelessly, and the human lifted their head, “Chara, is that you?”

Chara was unsteady on their feet, and taller than what I remember. On their chest, swung a heart-shaped locket as their red eyes flashed and met mine.

/Don’t go to them! You don’t deserve it! You don’t want the suffering to happen all over, don’t you! Run!/ The Asriel within me cried.

/Chara! My best friend finally came! I want to meet them, talk to them-!/ Flowey called out soon after. I was stuck. Chara made their way over to me, their clothes covered in snow, as if they had been lying in it.

“You’re not Chara.” I said, shaking my head, “You’re not Chara!”

“You’re right.” Chara’s voice spoke, and I looked up to see their face smiling at me, tears in their eyes.

“D-don’t joke around with me, meanie!” I said, so emotional now that Asriel’s voice was coming out, my face surely forming into a goat’s by now.

“I’m not Chara.” Chara repeated, reaching out and wiping the tears so gently from my eyes, as if they were afraid of hurting me. I shut my eyes for a moment, and got a hold of myself.

“Then who are you?! Don’t play tricks on me, Chara!” I yelled, making Chara fall back as I grew in size and glared down at them, roots cracking the ice around us, twining around Chara’s wrists so they couldn’t leave- no, not /again/. I was much bigger now- probably large enough to swallow them whole-

“I am the final threat.” Chara spoke clearly, their red eyes unwavering and overly gentle in an expression that I /knew/ Chara’s never had, “Who do you think was left with the power to RESET after Frisk was gone?”

“You……” I felt cold certainty go through me. There had been someone /puppeteering/ Frisk throughout their adventures. It was obvious. What sane creature would willingly reload their save files just to relive the same thing over and over again? Frisk had gone back /five/ times just to talk to me again before leaving forever. I didn’t count in this equation, by the way. I knew my sanity was thin as it is. My voice distorted, my vines tightened painfully around Chara’s arms, “WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THIS NOW?!”

“To tease you?” Not-Chara smirked and grit their teeth and raised their head as my vines wrapped around their neck, “Yeah. Kill me, Flowey.”

I stopped. What was… I doing??? I was about to kill someone! I quickly calmed my magic, shrunk in size, and loosened my grip.

“Because you can just load your last save point.” I said tiredly, “Are you done? Is your sick pleasure satisfied? Who even are you? How are you doing this?”

Not-Chara rubbed their neck.

“I can’t tell you my name because Chara’s name will just change to that name.” They moved their arms, and I tightened my grip somewhat until I realized they were just sitting back up, cross-legged, “So call me Chara. I don’t want their name to be lost, too.”

“Call you Chara? I don’t get it...” I grumbled irritably. This person was the one who made Frisk beat me over and over until I had to force myself not to say anything new, just so this person-this /demon/- wouldn’t get bored!

“As for how I did this… Well, it’s simple, really. This is an alternate universe. I copied the original world and inserted myself in… but it’s easier to use already-existing assets in this game, and in the end Chara was the most compatible with my soul.” Not-Chara replied, waving their hands about to illustrate their words- circling their hands, touching their chest, bringing a shining red soul out. I quickly CHECKED their soul.

/CHARA. LV 1. ATK 0, DEF 10. A combination of a time-traveling empty body and a strange mixed soul./

“So your name really is Chara…” I muttered, not sure about the ‘mixed soul’ part, “So, I don’t really get the world-copying thing, but what do you want?”

“I want you to take my soul.” Chara replied simply, “And live on your own on the surface.”

And with that, my suspension of disbelief was shattered. This person HAD to be Chara! Maybe with different memories, but-

“ARGH! Chara is DEAD!” I screeched, didn’t Frisk fight beyond any limits a human could go to show me that very fact?! “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!” My voice was distorting again, I felt the world get smaller.

“Yeah. So kill me and take my soul.” Chara said calmly, lifting up their arms to their sides as they knelt, completely defenseless. They grit their teeth, “Quickly, I can feel pain-”

“NO! I promised I wouldn’t hurt ANYONE /EVER/ AGAIN!” I shouted angrily. Chara frowned, contemplative, and lowered their arms. Slowly, slowly, they lowered their eyes, then their head, slightly. What were they planning now?

“Then let’s go together.” Chara said, and everything seemed to still into silence again as I stared at them, “Come on. I came here fully intending for it to be a one-way trip. I can’t go back to my world… I want to stay with you. I can show you everything. We don’t have to see Frisk and the others… it’s a really big world out there.” They extended their wrapped hands towards me, flashing a big, pained grin, “Whaddya say, Asriel? Let’s go on an adventure. I could use your company.”

My willpower snapped. I let go of their arms and shrunk in size.

“Let me… think about it.” I grumbled.

“Coolio.” Chara said, and laid on the snow. They started laughing for some reason…

“... Weirdo.” I muttered. I didn’t feel like joining them.

“Says the talking flower.”

“Hypocrite, monsters come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Soulless flower.” Chara corrected themselves through their laughter, and sighed, “Man, I thought you were really gonna kill me. That was scary.”

“But you wanted to die…?”

“Doesn’t make it any less scary!”

“Ugh…” I grumbled, putting a leaf to my forehead, “I’m going somewhere else. It’s a headache to talk to you.”

“When you decide… I’ll be waiting in the bone brothers’ kitchen.” Chara spoke with that scary gentle-serious tone from earlier.

“Whatever…” I ducked underground to go somewhere to collect my thoughts.

------------

Frisk woke up with an odd ache and emptiness in their chest. However, they didn’t think much of it- going through puberty meant odd aches and pains everywhere, after all. Not to mention the mood swings...

They got out of bed and set out their clothes for school. A meaty smell drifted through the house-Toriel had finished cooking breakfast. Frisk went downstairs.

“Good morning Frisk!” Toriel greeted warmly.

“Good... morning, mom.” Frisk said, as a faint twinge of pain sparked through their chest again. They touched the center of their chest gently.

Toriel, with her mother intuition, quickly noticed.

“Are you feeling alright? Do you have a cold?” Toriel fussed over them, coming closer to put a hand on their forehead. A wave of healing magic eased the pain somewhat, before it ebbed back again.

“No… just… growing pains.” Frisk replied, and ducked under Toriel’s hand to eat breakfast. Sans, a regular guest, was sitting at the table, looking half-asleep and tapping away at a cell phone.

“Mornin’ Frisk.” Sans said without looking up. His eyes were smiling at the phone- no doubt he sent someone a bad joke- and he was slumped in his chair in a relaxed manner.

“Mornin’ Sans.” Frisk echoed, before shoveling the spinach-egg-bacon breakfast pie on their plate down their throat.

“Whoah there! I doubt you can /quiche/ all that down if you swallow it in one bite!” Toriel said slyly, and Frisk coughed and pounded on their chest and coughed. Toriel looked at them, a bit worried, but Frisk cleared their throat and gave her a thumbs up.

“Don’t /pie/ on us, kiddo!” Sans retorted, and pressed a button on his phone.

“HELLO? SANS? ARE YOU AT GOAT MOTHER’S HOUSE!” Papyrus’s voice came through Sans’s phone on speakerphone.

“No puns... while I eat!’ Frisk protested as the two chuckling monsters flashed each other a conspiring grin, “I... /crusted/ you to not let me choke on my breakfast!”

Toriel roared with laughter while Sans chuckled.

“UGH! IT’S TOO EARLY FOR PUNS!” Papyrus groaned, “FRISK? WILL YOU DO THE HONOR OF ASSISTING ME IN OUR AMBASSADOR DUTIES AFTER SCHOOL TODAY?”

“Of course.” Frisk replied seriously.

“ALRIGHT! IT’S NO BIGGIE! ALSO, I’VE GOT SO MANY FRIENDS IN MY HOUSE TODAY! WOWEE! THEY’RE HUMANS WEARING FANCY BLACK SUITS AND TELLING ME TO STAY IN MY HOUSE OR THEY’LL TAKE ME AWAY? I WOULDN’T REALLY MIND VISITING THEIR HOMES TOO, BUT I HAVE WORK TO DO- ”

There was silence in the kitchen.

“That… well, I’ll head over, Paps.” Sans said.

“Coming with.” Frisk said in a tone that left no room for argument, standing up.

“Cool. I know a shortcut.”

“THE MORE FRIENDS THE MERRIER.”

“Do you require my assistance as well?” Toriel asked.

“No. I can handle it on my own. Sans is just the bus.” Frisk said, making Sans narrow his eyes at them.

“Well, do be safe, you two.” Toriel said, worried, “Do you want me to pack you a lunch?”

“Nah. Sans will treat me.” Frisk said confidently.

“Hey, pal…” Sans said in a mock warning tone, “Well, come over here then. We’ll go to Grillby’s after.”

“Try to be back in time for school, Frisk! You stay safe too, Sans!” Toriel called as Frisk followed Sans. Frisk waved to her with a fearless smile as both they and Sans disappeared from sight.

[dragonasheswrites-blog]

The Heaven We Didn’t Choose, Chapter 15: In Which Sans is Hired

...But does it really count if he doesn’t have a choice?

First: Chapter 1: In Which a Child Makes a Friend

Previous: Chapter 14: In Which Much is Explained

Next: Chapter 16: In Which Monsters Celebrate

Click here for the story overview.

Sans followed the path from the Judgement Hall through the grey corridor to the king’s garden.  It had been years since he’d been there but the flowers looked the same as they ever did: bright green and yellow, providing comically cheerful contrast to the dilapidated and faded walls of the palace and the violence that took place within.

Like the hall, the throne room appeared to be undergoing renovations.  Parts of the crumbling walls had been torn down and cleared away, and there were a few pallets of stone brick waiting to be put in place.

“Frisk insisted on making our home a little more presentable, now that we have the resources,” the king said from somewhere behind Sans.

He jumped.  For such a big monster, Asgore sure was quiet when he wanted to be.  “Your majesty,” he mumbled with a sharp bow.

“Sans.”  Asgore passed him and continued on to the thrones in the center of the room, settling himself on the largest one.  Tori’s, which had been a mess of bent metal for as long as he could remember, had been either rebuilt or repaired and placed at Asgore’s right.  To his left was a smaller, simpler chair with the Delta Rune carefully painted across the top.

It took Sans a moment to realize that he was distracted by the scenery.  He jerked his attention back to his king.  “S-sorry.”

“Do pay attention.  I called you here to discuss you taking up a certain job you previously held.”  He held out one giant paw.  It took Sans a moment to register that a small, familiar badge was being offered to him.

It was...not unexpected; after Undyne’s unsubtle hints that morning, it was one of the outcomes he’d considered.  Still, he felt his knees shaking.  That badge - a small, black circle with an insignia heavily embroidered in red - was something he’d never hoped to see again.

He took it carefully, ensuring that his sharpened claws didn’t scratch the material.  “...Why?” he finally asked, not daring to glance up at the huge monster hovering over him.

“It is your position.  Just because you threw your badge away does not make you any less the Royal Judge.  You have been on hiatus, yes, but we have need of a Judge once again.”

Sans took a deep breath, trying to still himself and think.  “What...happened?  I thought we were getting along with humans?”

“Are you questioning your king?”  Asgore’s tone was one of idle curiosity, but the implied threat was clear.

“N-no, just trying to get the facts.”

The giant horned head tilted slightly in acknowledgement.  “That is...reasonable, considering your position.  Very well.

“About a month ago, my daughter - Ambassador Frisk Dreemurr - was attacked while recovering from a serious illness that nearly claimed her life.  I am told you were involved in that situation, correct?”

Sans nodded.

“The aggressor, a human woman who sought to weaken the Kingdom of Monsters, was apprehended by the Royal Guard soon after the fact.  She was passed into human custody in accordance with the agreements between our peoples, but the human courts did not...find enough evidence to punish her, or so we were told. The hospital's refusal to hand over certain documents did not help.

“The humans were persuaded to give us a say in the matter.  Since she attacked one of our citizens - a member of our royal family, no less - this woman has committed crimes against the Kingdom of Monsters directly.  We have agreed to judge her fairly in accordance with our laws.”

It made a sick, horrible kind of sense.  In the years since the fall of the Barrier, most monsters had moved to the surface.  Crime on the surface was dealt with by human cops and the Royal Guard, depending on jurisdiction.  Sans knew from living with the Vice Captain of the Guard that particularly serious or delicate cases were referred directly to Asgore or Tori, respectively.

Any incidents involving humans had, as far as he knew, been handled as diplomatic affairs and processed through the Embassy.  The humans hadn’t refused to punish one of their own who’d attacked a monster before; even before they were made citizens, humans had treated them fairly in that regard.

Then again, Frisk wasn’t biologically a monster.  In the eyes of humans, this was probably just a case of a human attacking another human. To monsters, this was a human attacking the most important monsters in the kingdom.

And there was one person in the Underground charged specifically - though not exclusively - with passing judgement upon humans who had wronged monsters.

“You will not be expected to take up all the duties of Judge right away,” Asgore said.  “You will focus on this singular case for the time being.  If another serious incident takes place between now and then, we shall adjust your duties accordingly.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Your conditions of employment are the same as they were previously.  That will change, given the circumstances, but for now you will be held to the terms you agreed to when you first took this position.  I still have your old contract if you wish to review it.  You may tell no one of your involvement and must keep to your normal schedule.  If we have need of you, either to judge a human or a monster, you shall be summoned and an appropriate excuse given.”

“‘kay.”

“What was that?”

“...Yes, your majesty.”

Asgore rose from his throne, looking out at the carpet of flowers.  “You have some time to prepare for the confrontation.  It has been delayed until after the holidays while we attempt to settle the diplomatic side.  Dr. Alphys has been ordered to give you access to any and all information you ask for without question; I recommend availing yourself of that.  Should the humans protest our judgement, we may need to give them evidence.”

“Yes, your majesty.  Uh...where will the judgement be held?”

“In the usual spot.  I am sure you saw the repairs in progress.  We have teams of monsters working to ensure that it will be ready for use by the appointed time.”

There was a long pause.  Sans tried to think of anything to say and came up short.  (He very deliberately did not laugh at that thought.)  The king was much more...stable than he’d been back in the old days, probably due to some serious therapy, but his temper was still unpredictable at best and explosive at worst.

“Very well,” Asgore said finally.  “You may go.  Either the queen or I will contact you in a few weeks to evaluate your progress and establish new parameters for you to operate under.”

“Thanks, your majesty.”

Sans ducked out of the throne room and leaned against a crumbling brick wall, trying to calm himself.  It felt like his soul was getting ready to pound out of his chest from the stress and anxiety.

He was alive, though.  That was good.

In his distraction, he forgot about Frisk’s weird barrier.  He wound up teleporting a little closer to it than he intended and instinctively braced himself against the harsh snap of her magic...only to be wrapped up in a big fuzzy blanket of happy curiosity and welcomeness that made his skull turn colors.

He wouldn’t have any trouble crossing that particular barrier for the time being, he thought wryly.

Of course, that could all change with his new job.  One of his claws worried at the edge of his badge.  Someone had cleaned it up a little; the familiar mustard stain and the ragged bit of cloth that should have been there from when he “retired” were both missing.

Did Frisk know Asgore had made him Judge once again?  Probably not, given her magic’s downright friendly reaction to him.  The one time he’d encountered Frisk as Judge, towards the end of her journey through the Underground, had been...well, unnecessarily harsh, to say the least.  It had been the catalyst for years of antagonism, and not without reason.  Despite what the law said he’d judged her unfairly, he knew; it was one of the reasons he’d tried to give it up.

(That, and the fall of the barrier made a glorious excuse for getting out of the job he hated the most.  He was a lazy asshole at heart, after all.)

To his surprise, Undyne was waiting at his sentry station.  She hid her flinch well, but he caught the tail end of it as he appeared and grounded himself back in reality.

“Uh, hey, Undyne?”

She grinned with all her teeth.  It looked like she still hadn’t gotten any rest.  “Hey, nerd.  Looks like you survived King Stabbybuns, huh.”

“Yeah…?  Why are you here…?”

“Figured I’d catch you on the way back.  Did he ask you?”

“Nope.”

There was a moment where Undyne tried to determine what he meant, and ultimately failed.  She settled for glaring at him with the dark hatred of one who hadn’t had nearly enough sleep to allow for higher brain functions.

He relented.  “When does he ever ask for anything?  Nope, he gave me my badge back and that was that.”

“Huh.  No arguments?  That doesn’t seem like you.”

“Hey, I’m stupid, not suicidal.  I’m not gonna piss ‘im off without a good reason.”

She hummed a little, lounging against his sentry station in a manner that fell just short of being casual.  “And...you’re gonna take the case?”

“...It’s part of the job?  I don’t think I have a choice?”

“Yeah, okay.”  She shifted a little.  “Listen.  So...Papyrus doesn’t have clearance to know about this.  Still.  We figured it would be better, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”

“The Judge of Monsters is a position of respect and authority.  D’you think he’d actually show proper respect if he knew you were the Judge?  I mean, that’s true for most people-”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“SHUT UP!   Anyways, most people’d probably laugh if we told them that you were the Judge, but Papyrus would flip and that would look bad.  So don’t leave your stuff lying around the house or anything.”  She tossed him a key.  “Locker 237, down at the old Pumped Gym.  Papyrus won’t go near the place, the elitist bastard.  Don’t mind the look of the building; the people who run it are real friendly and shit.  Your locker is in the private section so you won’t have to watch naked humans running around.”

“Thanks…?”

She grinned sharply.  “Unless you wanna look at naked humans running around.  ‘Course, they’d be naked human guys, but-”

“Nope, nope, nope, done with this conversation.”

He tried to escape back towards town.  She caught up to him within seconds, still laughing - his short legs were a curse - and slowed down beside him.

“She doesn’t know.”

Sans glanced up.  “Uh, who doesn’t know?”

“Y’know who I’m talking about.  Well, actually, it could be two someones, but... you know.”

“...Spell it out for me?”

“FRISK!” Undyne growled through gritted fangs.  “Frisk doesn’t know, okay?  She has no idea.  Not very many people do; just me, you, and the king and queen. I don't know what happened between you and her before she broke the barrier, but she hasn't made the connection between you and the Judge.”

His mind reeled with the implication.  Frisk...didn’t know?  How??  He pushed the thought aside, glancing back towards his station.  “And the Royal Scientist.”

“Huh?”

“You were talking about it real openly near my sentry post.  I know for a fact that she’s got my station - probably every station - bugged.”

Something hard hit him in the skull without warning and he flinched, but his HP didn’t drop.  He caught the small objects before they fell.  There in his hand was a tiny microphone and a few of the little cameras Alphys favored, all of which had been crudely ripped away from their wires.  “I know when a place is bugged,” was Undyne’s excuse.

“Gee, thanks.  She’s gonna be pissed, and I’ve gotta deal with her to get the info I need for my job.”

“Then you won’t mind returning her stuff to her, right?”

Sans was tempted to throw the equipment right back at her, just on principle, but he shrugged and stuck it in a pocket of his jacket.  If Alphys went looking through her recordings for the person who’d disabled her cameras, she was going to see Undyne.  Watching her try to connect him to Undyne was going to be fun, if potentially explosive, especially with that obsession she had for the captain.

He sighed dramatically.  “If she dusts me, you’re my pick for the next Judge.”

“What??  You can’t be Judge AND Captain of the Royal Guard!”

“Exactly.”

“Tryin’ to get your brother promoted?”

“It’d serve him right.  Heh.  I’ve seen you after a few days on the job.  He’d finally be busy enough that I could grab a drink in peace.  Hell, maybe he’d wear himself out long enough to sleep through the night.”

Undyne snorted.  “Whatever.  I was actually up here for a job; we’re all pulling weird shifts to cover for Dogamy and Dogaressa while they’re out on family leave.”

“You didn’t say anything to me about that…”

“You’re pulling double shifts half the time anyways.  Besides, I know you doze off up here; we need someone actually awake and watching for humans.”

He waved her off and continued on past the outer barrier alone.

The talk with Asgore had been shorter than he expected; he had a couple hours before what should have been his second shift started.  He had some time to process that strange meeting and try to make sense of it.  Asgore was doing much better, but he’d been called the Mad Tyrant for a reason.  Still, Sans felt a little silly for being so nervous leading up to the the talk.

Then again...being appointed Royal Judge was nothing to take lightly.

Few knew the identity of the Judge - it kept the revenge killings to a minimum - so no one knew how the previous Judge had...left the post.  It had happened when Sans was a young teenager, still trying to make ends meet for him and Papyrus, so digging further into the circumstances hadn’t been his top priority.  What everyone did know was that the Judge hadn’t left an heir or an apprentice, so there was no line of succession.

Sans heard about the ‘auditions’ for a new Judge and had gone on a whim, giving some bullshit excuse to his brother for his absence.  It had been brutal.  Half his scars and most of his EXP had come from that one day.  Monsters had been pitted against each other in battle royales, then in groups and one-on-one combat: it had been a bloodbath.

To his surprise, though, it hadn’t just been an outright fight to the death.  All competitors were given masks and numbers to hide their identities from each other, so no one knew if the monsters they were fighting were friends or strangers unless they had the somewhat rare ability to detect the differences between monsters’ magics, or they recognized bullet patterns.  Some had taken advantage of that to gain as much LV as possible; others, like Sans, had taken a more cautious approach.

He’d never been told why he, of all the survivors, had been selected as the Judge.  He’d put up a good showing, but he’d hardly been the strongest person there.  No one had questioned him on his motives or his past.  His number had been called and he’d stepped into a small room with the King of Monsters, sure he was about to be dusted.

Instead he’d been given his badge, a uniform, and a small guidebook that had apparently been passed down from Judge to Judge.

It wasn’t a bad job, most of the time.  His main duty - judging humans who had committed crimes against monsters - had been considered a bit obsolete in the old Underground, but he’d still been called in to preside over a few cases each year that the king didn’t want to deal with.  The traditional stipend wasn’t anything to scoff at; it had paid for the house in Snowdin, even though Boss had declared himself the head of their little household soon after the move.

The guilt that came with the thought of that money was old and easily pushed aside.  Over the years he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d essentially been paid in advance to kill Frisk.

And he had.

Many times.

He was never quite sure how much she remembered of their fights.  Did she forget when she turned back time?  He closed his eye sockets, brow crinkled in thought.  His own memory had been patchy at best during back then, shredded by overexposure to time magic, but he thought he remembered...hadn’t she changed her stance?  Hadn’t she dodged differently after dying?  All the loops ran together; it was hard to tell.

There was no reason she wouldn’t have remembered, since she was the one in charge of the timelines, but...even after eight years of antagonism she’d never brought it up.  She had never asked if he remembered the way her weak human bones had crunched beneath the weight of his magic, if he still knew the smell of her blood on the tile floor.

She’d never asked why, after so many loops, he’d eventually just stepped aside and let her pass without a fight.

Then again, Undyne was under the impression that Frisk didn’t know the Judge’s identity.  Could it be that...that she really didn’t know it was him who’d killed her?  Had she hated him for years just for being himself, not for what he’d done to her?

That train of thought was making his knees shake and his head feel funny, so he shoved it aside.  He had a rare few hours to himself; he decided to check out the locker, then figure out whether he wanted to brave that lair of horrors Alphys called a lab.

Searching for the gym Undyne mentioned took his mind off more unpleasant things.  There were two “Pumped Gym” locations, according to the mapping app on his phone; he picked the closer one and teleported over.

If by “the old Pumped Gym” Undyne had meant “the old run-down, abandoned building that was a gym at one point,” then Sans had wound up in the right place.  It was located in one of the more monster-heavy areas of town, but it looked like it had been empty longer than monsters had been on the surface.  There was some suspicious movement in one of the windows and rather confusing (and possibly obscene) graffiti on the walls; nothing useful.  He ducked back into the alleyway he’d appeared in and teleported again.

The other location was bigger and much more lively.  It was a little shabby, sure, but there was a steady trickle of humans and monsters coming and going.  No one would question one more monster arriving.

Or so he thought.

“Hullo, mister!  Welcome to Pumped Gym!  How may I help you?” asked a bubbly young human woman behind a desk in the lobby.

Sans carefully placed the key from Undyne on the counter.  “My, uh, friend set me up with a locker.  Think she’s trying to trick me into exercising or somethin’.”

The change in the young woman’s face was immediate.  She looked at the tag on they keyring - a plain white plastic oval with his locker number and the gym’s logo - and nodded seriously.  “I’ll get my father.  Please wait right here; I’ll just be a minute.”

Almost exactly a minute later, a tanned, graying man in a tank top and sweats came out of the back room.  He was taller than Papyrus and had muscles that rivalled Undyne’s, but there was a keen intelligence in his piercingly blue eyes that made Sans shift uncomfortably in his sneakers.  This was one guy he didn’t want to face in a real fight.

“So you’re with the Captain of the Royal Guard, hmm?”

“Undyne...set the locker up for me, yeah.”

He eyed Sans for a long moment, then laughed.  Loudly.  “Well!  Any friend of ol’ Gills is a friend of mine!  Name’s Bruce Volks; come back this way and I’ll show you where we have you set up.”

Sans found himself ushered back behind the front desk, through a door marked “PRIVATE,” and down a flight of stairs.  The basement appeared to be composed of a single hallway bent into an angle, lined with yellow lights and numbered doors.  Bruce led him around a corner to a door near the end of the hallway.

“Gills said you’d need some privacy, and that you have your own ways into and out of places.  ‘S that true…uh, mister?”

“Uh, yeah.  And the name’s Sans.  Sans the skeleton.”

“Nice to meet’cha, Sans.  So.  Locker.”  He deftly opened the door with the key and waved Sans inside.  “Most folks share these rooms based on scheduling or preference, but you’ve got this one all t’yourself.  That locker in the corner is yours; feel free to put your own lock on it, or magic it up however you want.  Just don’t do anything we can’t take off when you’re done with it.  Actually,” he scratched his scruffy chin, “If you wanna do something awesome just ask me first.  If it’s cool enough, I’ll let you go for it.”

“Good to know.”  Sans could see why Undyne liked this guy.  He made an effort not to resort to his default crankiness; he didn’t want the captain angry at him.

“Let’s see...what else.  Oh!  Feel free to come and go as you want; front desk opens at 6 AM and closes at 10.  You technically have a membership if you wanna use it.  Though...from what Gills said, we won’t be seeing much of you upstairs.”

“Probably not.  Don’t really have any body to work out with.”

“Hahaha!  Guess not!  Well, if you need to come in after hours...just don’t go wandering around, if you get my drift.  Security won’t alert us if you’re just in this room, but if they catch you outside here they’ll investigate.  As for magic, we only ward our main locker rooms upstairs; these private areas are left up to you to put up whatever protection you want.  That means you’ll have to work around what other folks already have here, so keep that in mind.  D’ya need someone to do any spellwork for you?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

“A’right.  Well, I won’t keep you.  Let me or Tanya know if you need anything, okay, Sans?”

“Okay.”  The man was out the door before Sans realized that it probably would have been proper etiquette to thank him.  Oh well.

He looked around at the room he’d been provided.  It was a simple concrete cube, nothing fancy but sturdy enough to hold up under some serious use.  Along one wall sat the actual lockers with a bench in front of it; along the other was a longer bench and a mirror.  A small curtain along the far wall offered access to a toilet and shower.  Ignoring that, he stepped up to the lockers.

Undyne had been down there at some point, he noticed.  A new combination lock sat on the shelf inside the first locker in the row, enthusiastically bright packaging letting him know how difficult it would be to crack and how he could go about setting a combination.  Sans snorted; it was a nice gesture, but he didn’t need it.  Plus, he’d been picking locks like this one since he was a babybones, fresh on the streets.

Neatly hung up on a bar below the shelf was his uniform.  It looked the same as he remembered it, if a bit cleaner.  The magic woven into the fabric snapped a little against his fingers like static; someone must have renewed the enchantments that kept his magic hidden.  It felt like Tori’s work, strong and possessive and a little like a bonfire just barely contained.

His helmet lay in the bottom of the locker.  It was polished, but someone had left fingerprints around the edge.  He grinned; Undyne must have been trying it on.  It looked a lot more comfy than the one she wore as Captain of the Royal Guard, so he didn’t blame her.  He made a mental note to tease her about it all the same.

As he moved to close the locker, his attention was caught by a note taped to the inside of the door:

NERD, Try this on and make sure it fits. ACTUALLY DO IT!!!!!!!!! The magic is new and needs to recognize you. IF YOU WAIT IT WON’T WORK RIGHT!!!!!

Sans sighed.  He could probably get away with draping the uniform over himself and taking a nap on the bench, but he was curious.  He carefully unhooked the hangers and separated the pieces of his uniform.

First he put on the undershirt and pants, both made of black cloth and padded to give his bones a little more...body.  He’d made both himself, but the little patches and tears had been mended with a steadier hand than his.  Over that went his leather gear.  It had been a while since he’d worn it, but someone must have kept it maintained; the dyed black leather was still soft, if a bit tighter than he remembered, and the protective plates - made of dark opaline shell from some kind of creature he didn’t recognize - were still attached firmly.  The soft rasp when he moved let him know that he would need to oil the gear before he did any stealth work, but overall it was in good repair.

He tugged on his gloves and boots next, wincing at the feel.  The gloves had shrunk and stiffened; he’d need to find replacements, or find a way to stretch them back out.  It wasn’t a big deal.  They had never fit him properly anyways; he might as well find some good human gloves and wrap his hands in something to make them fit.

The boots were another story.  Even with the shrinkage from time, they were still terribly large.  The bulky socks Sans wore under his sneakers didn’t do much to help in that regard.  He couldn’t remember how he’d ever gotten them to fit right, but made a mental note to pick up extra socks along with the gloves.

His sleeveless overcoat came next.  It, too, was made of leather, though it was much softer with stamped embellishments across the shoulders and embroidery down the front.  It was more ceremonial, designed to be decorative and easily discarded should the need arise, but it had its uses.  The Delta Rune on the back blazed with protective magic as he settled it over his shoulders, and he winced as the magic pressed against his own.  His hands shook a little as he did up the clasps in front.  He’d grown a little since the first time he put it on, but the coat still hung down to mid-calf on him.

Finally, the head coverings.  The mask that covered his face was made of a stiffer leather, formed to give the impression of a nose and ears where he had none.  There were no openings; instead, small enchantments over each eye socket allowed him to see without hampering his peripheral vision.  Something similar sat over his ear holes.  The design had a closure in the back that allowed him to wrap it around his head completely, protecting his identity should the helmet be dislodged and padding his skull as well.

The helmet itself was made of shiny black metal, similar to Undyne’s but far simpler in design: a smooth dome covered his cranium and lower face, with a narrow opening for his eye sockets.  He settled it over his skull, curious.  It still fit.  The smell of leather and metal brought back memories, though - most straight out of his nightmares - and he ripped it off a little too harshly when he realized he was close to tears.

Breathing deeply, he set it back in its place.  He didn’t have a choice in this.  Whether he wanted it or not, he was the Judge once again.  Unless he wanted to punt and move to the Arctic Circle, which - to be honest - was looking more and more appealing.

He was tempted to shuck the uniform off and leave it a pile, like he did for his own clothing, but old habits died hard.  He carefully removed each piece and hung it back up, slipping the gloves and boots into his inventory for reference.

With one last glance around, he teleported straight to his bedroom.

The messiness of his room clashed with the rigid formality he’d developed as Judge, and he felt the sudden, Papyrus-like urge to clean.  He took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed.  There was no danger.  There was no case.  He was Sans the skeleton, lazy asshole extraordinaire.  No more, no less.

Outside his door, the apartment was still quiet.  A quick check of his phone revealed that Undyne was calling him in early, and had roped Boss into helping out with those extra sentry shifts since there were so many sentries missing.  She probably thought she was helping.

Mostly, Sans just felt...tired.

When he thought back - really thought, the way he had back when such things mattered to him - he recognized how much he had changed.  People still remembered him the way he’d been in the Underground, angry and spiteful and cruel and clever, but he hadn’t felt that way in years.  He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d started to change.  Like a glacier in the winter sun, his facade had melted away.

He was still angry, but that had been eaten away by complacency.  He was still capable, but the relative ease of living on the surface had lulled him into apathy.  Maybe he’d always been that way.  Maybe all he ever wanted was to be needed, and in the absence of that he’d been dying slowly inside.

It was silly.  Boss didn’t need him.  Attie and Frisk didn’t need him.  Even Asgore, for all his overbearing condescension, didn’t need him.

But...it was nice to pretend for a while.

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Six

On AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five

day six: new to the family

prompt: “Each member of your OTP meeting the other’s family for the first time. Does each family approve of the one dating the other? What sorts of shenanigans do they get into?”

"So...finally meeting the family, huh? Seems like things are getting pretty serious between you guys, am I right?"

"...Kid." Sans couldn't help but be amused, if a little puzzled, by Frisk's 'so what exactly are your intentions with my mother' routine as they smirked across the sofa at him. "We've known each other for how long now? Unless I'm missing something here, I feel like maybe that ship's sailed."

"I'm not talking about me." They were definitely up to something, a worryingly familiar determined glint in their eye as they turned to Toriel, tugging on her sleeve as she sat with her hands folded in her lap. "There's someone else we thought should join us for a nice family dinner tonight. Right, Mom?"

"Ah...in a sense, I suppose, yes." Toriel seemed much more reluctant, only offering Sans an apologetic smile when he looked to her for an explanation. "Dear, are you quite sure this is a good idea? He does tend to be rather...how should I put this..."

"Mom, don't worry," Frisk assured her, patting her hand. "I feel like we've been making real progress on the whole, um...attitude problem. Anyway, he's got to find out about you guys sometime, right?"

"I suppose, but..."

"We'll be right down!"

Frisk scurried eagerly off upstairs before she could object any further, and Toriel sighed before turning back to Sans, placing a hand gently on his patella. "Sans, I...do apologise in advance for this evening. I did hope we might be able to enjoy a nice, peaceful dinner, but you know how Frisk can be..."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all, but he smiled back anyway to reassure her, linking their fingers together. "Tori, don't sweat it. How bad can it really –" 

"Hey, watch the stem!" A disturbingly familiar squeaky voice pierced the air, interrupting him as they both turned towards the stairs. "Why are we doing this? You know I don't actually need to eat – there's this thing called photosynthesis? That's pretty basic science, Frisk – golly, don't they teach you anything in school? Your mom must be so..."

The contents of the offending flower pot wisely fell silent as he met Toriel's steely gaze, a stark contrast with Frisk's determinedly cheerful smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs and placed the pot carefully on the coffee table.

"Sans, Flowey – you guys, um, remember each other, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Sans gritted his teeth, hoping his resting smile masked his instinctive unease as he met the flower's belligerently unimpressed stare – he could still feel the vines tightening around him, scratchy and suffocating, remember looking over at Papyrus, at everyone helplessly ensnared around him and only thinking, as the energy drained out of his soul, that he'd seriously screwed up this time..."Hey, buddy. Steal any good souls lately?"

Flowey ignored him entirely, turning his head indignantly back towards Frisk. "Is this some 'cruel and unusual punishment' kinda thing? 'Cause if so, I'm actually..." His eyes widened to comical proportions as the proverbial penny dropped, darting from Frisk to Sans to Toriel and back again. "Wait, is this a – no. No way. You're dating him?!" He dissolved into hysterical, high-pitched giggles, doubling over at the stem. "That's too rich! M – Toriel, I know you're getting a little over the hill, but gosh – even you must be able to find someone better than some...bag of bones?"

Frisk winced; Sans just smirked, because honestly it was kind of cute if Flowey thought that was going to get to him, like he didn't already know he was punching way above his weight with Toriel.

"Heh – little harsh, but you're not entirely –"

"Actually, I think you'll find you are very much mistaken," Toriel cut him off, her voice sharp and cool as a knife, but Sans could tell from the pink spots rising on her pristine white cheeks that she was pissed, unforgiving eyes trained on Flowey like a laser, "for there is, in fact, no one – nobody I would sooner be with, tonight or any other." 

Flowey gulped, wilting back against his pot despite himself, and it was probably one of the most satisfying moments of any timeline, especially when Sans caught Toriel's eye and her mouth twitched at their old corny joke. "Anyway," she continued pleasantly, the fire fizzling out almost as soon as it had appeared as she smoothed down her dress, "I had better get started on dinner. You three..." She narrowed her eyes, a watchful, teacher's gaze over Sans, Frisk and Flowey in turn. "Do try and play nicely, won't you?"

"He's not...always like this," Frisk spoke up after their mother had returned to the kitchen, shuffling their feet guiltily while shooting Flowey a reproachful look. "Sometimes he's nice. Well, kinda. To me, anyway."

"I tolerate you," Flowey corrected them, rolling his beady little eyes. "There's a difference."

Sans glanced longingly back at the closed door, tempted to make an excuse about helping Toriel with dinner, but Frisk was looking increasingly uncomfortable, fidgeting in the silence that followed, and he couldn't help feeling for the kid – they really wanted him and Flowey to be friends, and even if Sans had a pretty good idea of how that was going to work out, he figured he owed it to them to at least try and be nice to the little weed.

"Well, hey, that's progress, right?" he offered. "Good job, buddy. Sounds like you're really...turning over a new leaf."

At least that got a smile out of Frisk, who stifled a giggle behind their hand as Flowey let out a loud groan, drooping dramatically over the edge of his pot.

"Oh, sure, you're real funny bones. Never heard that one before. You know, if you insist on hanging around, the least you could've done is brought your brother along. Now he's much more fun."

Sans frowned, instantly not liking where this was going. "You know my brother?"

Flowey nodded, suddenly lighting up with a sunny smile Sans didn't trust one bit. "Oh boy, we go way back! We had some entertaining little chats back in the day – golly, that one was gullible. He believed anything any old flower told him. Hey, Sans, here's a fun puzzle – how many times do you think I could've killed him? Because, let me tell you, he sure couldn't have made it any easier for me. Seriously – what kind of Royal Guard member leaves himself open and vulnerable to a strange flower like that? When you think about it, I was doing you all a favour when I –"

"But all that was in the past!" Frisk interrupted, desperately lunging forward and clamping both hands across Flowey's mouth before he could finish. "And now you wouldn't ever...new leaf, remember? That whole murdery phase is over – that's what you told me, remember, Flowey? Right...?"

Sans saw their face twist in concern as it faded away, edges bleeding away to black before his eyes as he clenched his fist, struggling to block out the images – he'd tried his hardest to forget those timelines, but sometimes he still got flashes; dust scattering in the wind, bright red scarf garish as blood in the snow as it slipped through his fingers, grabbing for whatever was left; a retreating shadow, sometimes, but he never saw a face. He didn't want to give Flowey the satisfaction, but he could already feel it burning in his soul, white hot rage like nothing he'd felt in a long time, blazing through his bones and creeping up through his socket until Frisk and his surroundings all faded and there was only Flowey, illuminated in a cold blue glow as he took a step forward off the couch.

"Listen. You better stay away from Papyrus, or..."

"Oooh, or what? Let me guess – you're going to kill me?" Flowey's smile grew increasingly menacing, mouth stretching into a grotesque grimace as he wriggled free of Frisk's grip and leaned forward, stem stretching out until he was right up in Sans' space, eyes glittering with malice. "And what will your precious Toriel think of that, when she finds out you're just like all the others?" Suddenly, his face shifted, flickering like a TV set into an unsettlingly accurate imitation of Toriel's, her white fur and big, sorrowful eyes gazing out. "Oh, Sans, how could you? To think, I truly thought I could trust you – that I could love you – but now I see how foolish I was –"

"You guys, cut it out!" Suddenly, Frisk's voice cut through the darkness as they pushed their way between them, forcing them apart so that Sans stumbled and collapsed back onto the sofa, his vision fading back to normal in time to see Flowey shrinking back into his pot. "Just...stop with all the creepy face stuff, okay? Both of you," they added sternly, turning back towards Sans; he lifted a hand to his cheekbone and saw the magic still pulsating there, rising to the surface instinctively even though he wasn't intending to do anything with it. He shook his skull to let it settle, but as his vision cleared all he could see was the disappointment in Frisk's eyes. "You know, I really thought maybe we were..." They shook their head, silence hanging heavy in the atmosphere between the three of them as they turned away, back towards the door. "Forget it. I'm going to go help Mom with dinner."

"Kid, wait –"

But they were gone before Sans had a chance to defend himself, and he let out a sigh, glancing out of the corner of his socket at Flowey.

"That wasn't very nice, y'know."

"Your face isn't very nice," Flowey replied sulkily; Sans let out a quiet snort of laughter, tempted to come back with something even more childish, but then he remembered the look on Frisk's face, and yeah, that didn't feel too great. It looked like it was up to him to be the responsible one this time, which, welp – this was gonna be interesting.

"I don't care what you think about me," he continued, seriously, "but Frisk really wants us to be friends – yeah, I know, but would it kill you to at least try to pretend to play nice for a while? You know, it might not be so bad."

"Frisk wants everyone to be friends." Flowey laughed bitterly, the words dripping with derision. "That's their thing, right? That's why they had to drag me all the way up here, instead of killing me when they had the chance. I mean, gosh – I came so close to destroying everything in the Underground, and now they want to let me loose on the surface? They'd really risk your happy ending for some...idiotic hero complex, 'cause they just had to prove they could save everyone?" His squeaky voice rose with frustration as he cocked his head to one side, widening his eyes in fake concern. "Well, gee – when you put it like that, sounds pretty messed up. Don't you think, buddy?"

"Sure. I get that." Sans glanced back at the closed door to the kitchen before lowering his voice, leaning forward to rest his humerus on his patellas. "But what I'm wondering is, if you hate it here so much...why didn't you reset?"

In an instant, Flowey's theatrical shock shifted into the real deal, his stem stiffening in indignation. "You – how'd you know about –"

"Did some research," Sans replied with a shrug, as Flowey squinted suspiciously at him before breaking out into a smirk.

"Golly, isn't today just full of surprises! Alright, I admit it – that's a new one. I guess maybe I didn't explore every single possibility, after all." Flowey leaned forward again, vines creeping out of the bottom of his pot to anchor him in place as he sprouted two leaves and rested his head on them, mimicking Sans' pose. "Well...who says I'm not thinking about it, hmm?" His eyes grew bigger and blacker, voice becoming more distorted like he was speaking through static. "Maybe I'm just biding my time...waiting 'til you all think you're finally safe, free from the nightmares of the past. I could do it, you know. Anytime I wanted, I can turn it all back. Any...moment..."

Flowey kept inching forward, grinning into Sans' unblinking sockets like they were locked in a staring contest – until finally he couldn't hold it in any more and started to laugh, soft snickers turning to full-blown guffaws as Flowey jerked back in surprise.

"Whoa, dude, that's intense," he eventually managed to get out. "A+ for effort, gotta give you that, but – pfffft – you thought we were safe up here? Buddy, lemme tell you, I don't even remember being safe from all of this. You. Frisk. The others...heh, that's a good one.” Sans' laughter slowly petered out as he counted them off on his fingers. “There's a lot we didn't figure out, but we knew we were never safe – so hate to break it to ya, but you're really nothing new.”

"What...?" Flowey's nightmare face slowly faded away into something almost inadvertently adorable as he shook his petals, tilting his head in confusion. "And you're saying that doesn't...scare you? Hanging out with the kid who has the power to take everything from you – from Papyrus, from Toriel? Everything you've all worked so hard for and suffered so much, and knowing you could still end up right back where you started? Not even a little bit?"

"Nah," Sans shrugged, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the sofa. "Not any more. You wanna know why?"

"Why should I care about your idiotic –"

"I trust Frisk," he continued anyway. "They wouldn't do it, not now. I know it's not their first time – maybe they didn't always get it perfect, heh, who does? But they're a good kid, and I...believe in them." Sans felt a warmth growing deep in his chest – in his soul – and he never realised just how good it felt to be able to say that – to feel it. "Sure, they could reset any time – hell if there's anything I can do about it. All I know is, I spent a long time not trusting, not believing in anyone, and sometimes...sometimes you just gotta appreciate what you have, you know? If I didn't let myself trust Frisk, that they'd come through and do the right thing in the end – even for those who, some would say, really didn't deserve it – we wouldn't have any of this. And I wouldn't have Tori."

"Golly, isn't that just swell for you," Flowey retorted sarcastically, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Frisk sparing me didn't change anything. It doesn't matter what they want – we'll never be friends, not like they are with all of you. Not like it was with..." For a second, he almost looked sad, expression softening as he gazed somewhere into the distance, to timelines past, although it was gone in a flash when he caught Sans' sockets and glared defensively. "It's not like I haven't thought about resetting. I could still do it. I just...I'm just tired of it all." Flowey let out a bitter, world-weary chuckle, and yeah, Sans definitely recognised that feeling. "I'd seen everything down there. Nothing was fun any more, not when I already knew what everyone was going to do, right down to the pitch of their screams. I didn't have anything to stick around for – I just wanted Frisk to finish me off. But they were just too...too nice."

Sans had to laugh at the way Flowey screwed up his face in disgust at the word, nodding in solidarity. "Yup, sounds about right. Kid's pretty damn persistent."

"Gosh, it's sickening, really. I had to go along because they just wouldn't quit." Flowey rolled his eyes, but not with quite so much vitriol as before. "I still don't get it, but I guess this place is..." He lifted his head, looking around at Toriel's cute, cosy house. "At least it's new. I'll probably get bored of the surface soon, too, but for now – it's not the worst I've ever had it, I guess." He smirked again, but it looked more like a mischievous kid than a being of ultimate evil. "Although who knew there's a timeline where Toriel gets desperate enough to date you? Golly, even I almost feel sorry for her, and I literally have no soul!"

Sans just chuckled; he hated to admit it, but Flowey was trying so hard to be intimidating, he was almost starting to find it endearing. “Thanks, bud. I'm sure she'd be real touched to hear that.”

“Heh – you're, um...” Flowey's smile wavered, eyes darting around the room nervously like he suspected Toriel might have been hiding behind the couch all along , “not actually going to tell her I said that, are you?”

“Soup's on!” Frisk burst through the door before Sans even had a chance to consider all the ways he might be able to leverage this newly exposed weak spot. “Hey, you didn't kill each other,” they added brightly. “Good job! If you're lucky, Mom might even give you a sticker.”

Flowey groaned as Sans grinned, reaching out to tap the edge of his flowerpot as he slid off the sofa. “Now you're talking. You need a lift there, buddy?”

Flowey grimaced, but apparently even he wasn't immune to Frisk's hopeful smile at this indication that maybe they'd bonded, or something.

“You know I don't have to stay in the pot,” he grumbled, as Sans picked him up and followed Frisk through to the kitchen. “It's just easier, is all. You better not drop me.”

Tempting as it was, Sans thought, it had nothing on the way Toriel's face lit up as he walked in carrying Flowey, her smile simultaneously astonished, relieved and proud.

 “Oh my goodness – flowers, for me?” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in mock surprise. "Why, Sans, you shouldn't have!"

“Actually, Tori, I might just have to hang onto this one,” he replied, setting Flowey down on top of the pile of books Toriel had thoughtfully placed on his chair. “What can I say – this guy, he really grows on you.”

“Ugggghhhh.” Flowey buried his head in his petals as Toriel snorted with delight and Frisk giggled guiltily. “Are they always like this? How have you not – uhhh...” He faltered as his pot mysteriously wobbled, just as Sans' foot collided with his chair leg under the table. “I mean – how do you stand it?”

“Pretty much,” Frisk sighed sympathetically, reaching out to ruffle his petals. “You just kinda get used to it.”

“Well, don't get used to this, 'cause I'm not hanging around waiting for you losers,” Flowey muttered, flinching away from their hands, but his face immediately brightened when Frisk slid a perfectly sized, snail-patterned watering can across the table. Sans grinned, unable to resist winking as he caught his eye; Flowey stuck his tongue out in retaliation, but somehow he didn't seem quite as threatening.

Frisk beamed and shot Sans a double thumbs-up while Flowey was happily drenching himself; Toriel smiled indulgently, and, psychotic flower sort-of family and all, Sans was starting to feel like this was definitely something he could get used to.

"Your Majesty! Dinner...is served!"

"Papyrus, my dear, you know you do not have to call me that," Toriel answered as he knelt extravagantly at her feet, smiling as she took in the impressive spread laid out before her; granted, it was only spaghetti, but everything was beautifully arranged and garnished, the three places set impeccably and cutlery polished to perfection. “This is far from the first time I have had the pleasure of your company, is it not?”

“I know,” Papyrus rose to his feet, sockets shining as he met her eyes with a bright, hopeful smile, “but it's been my dream to cook for the queen ever since...Well, ever since I found out we had a queen! Plus...” He cupped a gloved hand to Toriel's ear in a stage whisper, “my brother, finally bringing home a date?! Now that hardly happens every day!"

“Goodness, is that so?” Toriel feigned shock, pressing a hand to her chest and biting back a giggle as she caught Sans' socket as he sat at the table, nonchalantly munching on a breadstick. “Why, I would have imagined the eligible young monsters of Snowdin would be lining up outside your door.”

Papyrus let out a cackling nyeh heh heh, clutching his ribs as though it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “For the Great Papyrus, naturally – but Sans?! I didn't think he could even find a pair in his sock collection.”

"Alright, bro, take it easy," Sans finally interjected, grinning along despite the hint of blue colouring his cheekbones as Toriel laughed guiltily, both of them turning to look at him. "Ever think maybe you're not the only skeleton around here with high standards?"

Toriel smiled back, bushing a little herself as she turned back to Papyrus with a conspiratorial wink. “Ah, but you see, he is a fast learner. Impressive, what one can achieve with the help of a good teacher, is it not?”

Papyrus nodded thoughtfully as though appraising Sans' performance, before clapping his hands together, positively glowing with pride. “Congratulations, brother – your dating power is way higher than I thought! If you keep it up, who knows – one day, maybe you'll even be as strong as Frisk!”

“Hmm, I am not sure I would go that far just yet; there is always room for improvement,” Toriel quipped, before deciding to follow her child's example and show Sans some mercy by changing the subject, as much as she enjoyed teasing him just a little. “But I digress – surely the greatest significance of this occasion is that I finally have the honour of sampling the Great Papyrus' world-famous spaghetti!”

Papyrus' chest puffed up with pride as he gestured excitedly for her to sit down. “Of course – sit, eat, enjoy! Cooked to perfection just for you, Your – Toriel, if I say so myself. Bone appetit!"

Toriel grinned as she took her place opposite Sans. "Do my ears deceive me, or was that a pun?"

“A pun?! Obviously not!” Papyrus wrinkled his nasal cavity as though it were the worst thing imaginable. “It was a...sophisticated play on words.” “Otherwise known as a pun.”

"Sans, would you just – just stop flapping your mandible for a moment and let the queen enjoy her dinner in peace."

Shaking her head fondly at their squabbling, Toriel lifted a forkful of spaghetti to her mouth. Having been extensively warned that Papyrus' cooking was something of an acquired taste, to put it mildly, she was pleasantly surprised – it was perhaps a little undercooked, but the sauce was thick and rich with a good, strong flavour.

Swallowing, she was just about to pay her compliments to the chef when it hit – a searing heat burning through her throat like nothing she had experienced before. Toriel heard her fork clatter to the floor as her mouth fell open of its own accord and she found herself unable to do anything but pant helplessly, as though her tongue was trying its best to escape the cavern of burning hellfire.

"Tori? Tori, you okay? Stay with me here." Sans' concerned face blurred into an indecipherable white blob as her eyes stung with hot tears and he turned accusingly to his brother. “Pap – what the hell did you put in there?”

"Well – I – you said it was too cold! So I just added some more chili before –"

"How much chili?"

"A few...um...cups?"

Sans hissed something under his breath Toriel would not have approved of under normal circumstances, but for now she could only gasp, thumping the table in a wordless plea for help. “Well, get her some water or something!”

“Water! Yes!” Toriel could just about make out Papyrus frantically searching the fridge, various food items flying through the air. “Oh my god, Sans, what if we've killed the queen?!”

“We?”

“Just hold on, Your Majesty! I'm coming to your aid!”

Before Toriel or Sans could respond, Papyrus hurled himself across the table, plates of spaghetti and salad splattering on the floor as he thrust an unidentified bottle in her face; Toriel was so desperate she seized upon it like a long lost lover, gasping with relief as cool, creamy milk hit her throat, soothing the burning sensation. She kept gulping straight from the bottle, draining every last drop until no more remained. Blinking the last of the tears from her sore eyes, she took in the scene of disarray surrounding her: food splattered everywhere, Papyrus still splayed out across the table like a trophy rug and Sans wearing half of his dinner across his skull like an unconvincing wig.

“Toriel! I'm so sorry!” Papyrus was the first to break the silence, sockets drooping as though he might be about to cry next; Toriel was about to reassure him, but he grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together inelegantly to prevent her from speaking. “Sssh, no – you must protect the royal tongue! I'm afraid the Great Papyrus has been foiled, once again, by his own lofty ambitions. I just wanted tonight to be...” He sighed, sliding surprisingly gracefully off the table and back onto his feet, only taking a few salad dressings with him, “special.”

“Pfff – Papyrus,” Toriel eventually managed to say, finally prising his hand from her jaw and setting it gently but firmly back on the table, “my dear, please do not worry yourself over this! I am quite all right – in my time, I have attended many more disastrous dinner parties, and none quite so entertaining.” She smiled at him, squeezing his hand in hers in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “In any case, I would even say you have succeeded – for this is certainly one of the most...memorable evenings I have spent, possibly ever. And I would not have it any other way.”

“She's right, bro.” Sans joined in, leaning over to pat his brother on the back. “Don't be upsetti over spicy spaghetti – that's how it goes, right?” Papyrus smiled and nodded, looking more like his usual self as Sans rolled up his tomato-splattered sleeves, uncharacteristically motivated. “Now throw me a bone here and let's get this place cleaned up for dessert.”

“Oh yes, of course – dessert!” Toriel clasped her hands together, trying to conceal her excitement as she caught the knowing glint in his sockets – she had almost forgotten it in all the commotion. Papyrus' brow bone shot up in suspicion, but he was soon smiling again as the three of them set to work, wiping spaghetti from the walls and plucking strands out of places they should not be – most frequently between bones – until the kitchen was once again in an acceptable state to reveal what Toriel hoped would still be the jewel in the crown of their evening.

“Now, this is just a little something I cooked up,” she announced, placing the covered pie down on the table, “in honour of the Great Papyrus' many, many wonderful achievements and services to our kingdom! Though, I confess – such a fitting tribute would not have been possible without the help of your brother here.”

“Pretty sure it would have,” Sans shrugged off the compliment, but slipped his arm around her waist with an affectionate squeeze as he grinned up at her, both barely able to restrain their glee. “Tori just likes to pretend I can be helpful sometimes.”

Despite his modesty, Toriel knew without a doubt as she lifted the cover that her own hands could never have so skilfully crafted the extra special decoration that adorned the top of her usual recipe – or, for that matter, have elicited quite such a perfect reaction, as Papyrus' sockets bulged almost right out of his skull, hands pressed to his cheekbones as a wonderful, seemingly contradictory yet uniquely beautiful symphony of utter rage and unbridled joy played out across his face.

“Oh my god, Sans! Toriel! It's...You...I...”

“What's the matter, bro,” Sans asked innocently as he took his seat, “don't you like our Papierus?”

"Like it?! I...I love it! It's awful! And yet perfect!" Papyrus clutched at his skull in anguish, but it was a broad smile, as warm and dazzling as the sun, that broke out across his face – an even more satisfying sight to behold than his pastry likeness on top of the pie, as he cut carefully around his own image. “Quite an ingenious ruse, Your Majesty,” he conceded, around a mouthful of butterscotch and cinnamon, “even the Great Papyrus must admit – sometimes puns can be palatable, when presented in pie form!”

“Really?” Sans' voice was casual, but Toriel already recognised the sparkle in his sockets at being handed such a golden opportunity. “Well, that's all I kneaded to dough.”

Toriel burst out laughing, unconcerned about the crumbs spraying her dress – it was already liberally stained with spaghetti, anyway, and there were far more important things, like the pride in Sans' smile as he dropped the punchline before joining in with her laughter, or for that matter Papyrus' strangled groan as he shook his skull in despair at the two of them before speaking up again.

“Actually, Toriel – there's one more thing I forgot to give you.”

“Oh?” Toriel inclined her head in curiosity as she set her fork down, praying that it would not be more food – she didn't know if her poor stomach could survive another round. “How sweet – but there is no need, you really do not have to give me anythi–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Papyrus had already produced a sturdy contraption of wood and metal seemingly out of nowhere, presenting it to her with a flourish as she blinked in surprise. “Oh! It's a...”

“A shovel!” he beamed, enthusiastically if a touch unnecessarily. “I read it on the internet – it's a surface tradition!” He cleared his throat, as if reciting from memory. “When someone starts dating your close friend or family member, you're supposed to give them a 'shovel talk'. Except I'm...not really sure what I'm supposed to talk about,” he admitted with a shrug. “But anyway – now you have a shovel, just in case dating Sans ever gets too stressful and you need to go away and plant some flowers!”

“Ah...of course.” Toriel smiled, suppressing her laughter as she glanced slyly over at Sans, whose expression was somewhere between amused, bemused and perhaps even a touch offended. “What a lovely tradition, and a thoughtful gift! I shall treasure it – thank you, my dear Papyrus. As the children say...I dig it.”

She was unable to help herself, a snort escaping as Sans chuckled and Papyrus, for once, did not voice his displeasure as his left socket twitched a few times. “It's...going to be like this all the time now, isn't it?”

“'Fraid so, bro,” Sans replied with a shrug, his grin becoming just a little more bashful as he caught Toriel's eye and added, “I, uh...really hope so, anyway. Sorry about that."

"No, you're not." But Papyrus was undeniably smiling, fondly exasperated, a sentiment Toriel was coming to recognise all too well. “But I forgive you, because the Great Papyrus is nothing if not selfless. And...” His voice became quieter, more serious, glancing between Sans and Toriel as the sharp lines of his skull appeared to soften for a moment, “it's a small price to pay, to have my brother back. Sans, I used to...worry about you, you know, back in the Underground. I knew something was wrong, but I just didn't know how to...”

“Pap,” Sans interrupted, his voice catching on the single syllable as he laid a hand on his brother's arm; Toriel bit her lip, an ache in her chest at the rare glimpse of raw emotion that  flashed across his face, just for a second, before he ducked his head, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don't you worry your great and powerful head about me, okay? I'm doing great.” Toriel knew he meant it, smile smaller but genuine when he glanced back up at her, then at Papyrus. “Never been better.”

“Thanks to her!” Papyrus reached out over his head and grabbed Toriel's hand, holding it in the air like a prize fighter. “Toriel! Despite your...equally questionable sense of humour, I'm honoured to pledge my loyalty to you both as former member of the Royal Guard and current mascot of monsterkind – but, mostly, as someone to share the considerable responsibility of looking out for my brother.”

"Oh!" Toriel found herself unexpectedly emotional at the sincerity of Papyrus' words, the warmth shining in his sockets – Sans was indeed lucky, as he had always said, to have such a cool guy looking out for him, and, as she squeezed his hand gratefully in return, Toriel knew that she was, too. “From the Great Papyrus himself, it is indeed an honour and a privilege. Rest assured, between the two of us, I trust we will not find the task so...punishing.”

“Okay, guys,” Sans interjected, evidently trying and failing to appear annoyed at this assessment of his character, “that's sweet and all, but seriously, what am I here? A skeledog?”

Toriel and Papyrus glanced at each other, a telepathic understanding passing between them, and without a word they reached out and grabbed him, each hooking an arm around his ribs to pull him up into a three-way hug. Sans let out a yelp of half surprise, half laughter as he was effortlessly lifted off the ground and firmly sandwiched between them, but Toriel knew he had no desire to escape even if they had any intention of letting him. Papyrus leaned in to bump his skull affectionately against his brother's as they clung together, and Toriel felt a surge of tenderness as she held onto both of them, at once familiar yet renewed – the need to nurture and protect, to preserve the love she felt so strongly in this moment, enveloping all three of them and warming her through to her soul.

“I know dinner didn't exactly go according to plan, guys, – but I gotta say, this has been really uplifting.”

“I could still drop you,” Papyrus threatened, but he was still smiling, as genuine as it was reluctant as Toriel giggled, leaning in to steal a quick nuzzle against Sans' cheekbone.

"I do not think he will.”

“I know,” Sans replied, running his fingers through the fur on the back of Toriel's neck while reaching out to pat Papyrus' skull with his other arm, somehow maintaining a perfect balance between the two – until he wobbled, almost bringing them all crashing down before they caught him, laughing, stronger together. "I think I got a pretty good thing going on here."

[haemokin]

Halloween, AMS family style. (DISCONTINUED, SHIPPING OUT)

It would appear that Chara and Amelia never actually went trick-o-treating, or remembers doing so anyway. Being raised by monsters then dying later on, along with being raised by a skeleton that should not exist can make either subject forget their past lives. And so, Frisk must take her family out to trick-or-treat, and keep them all under control. 

Now, how hard could that be?

Genre: humor

Characters: Frisk, Chara, Amelia, Azriel, Caroline and Take

Time set: 31st October.

Rating: K+

“Alright, people, meet up in the living room before we head out!” Frisk called out to all the house’s occupants. She was dressed up as an angel, using part of her Mercy cosplay (the glowing wings and halo), and a white dress. Outside, with the arrival of night, kids were walking in groups or alone, looking like various monsters of legend and recent times. Though the 7 year old in a Hans costume walking pass her window may be taking the idea too far. “What do you think?” a low voice asked from behind. Frisk turned and her eyes met Chara…. wearing her standard sweater and brown pants, but said clothing was stained with blood, as if she had taken a red paint brush and had gone wild with it. Her hair appeared to be matted with blood here and there as well. The look triggered a flashback in Frisk. First time she’d seen her, this was the look. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Frisk said “Wow…. where’d you get all that blood?” “Oh, I just took the red paint. Hope you don’t mind.” Something akin to a mirror getting smashed happened in her head. “….how much did you use?” Frisk asked quietly. Now it was Chara’s turn to swallow. “Just the 1 canister in the cupboard…” she began in an offhand voice, concealing the feeling that was labeled as “You done goofed.”. “Does this wor-….k?” Amelia’s voice faltered, walking into the living room and seeing a witch stomping towards Chara, fingers flexing and un flexing. Said witch was shaken out of whatever she was about to do and looked her sister up and down, and paled considerably, one eye bursting wide open. “You know…when I said “Something scary…”…” Frisk trailed off. Amelia was wearing her anti-monster cult mask and cloak, and a plastic serrated knife was held in her right hand. “Well…this IS scary, right?” the X leader said, shuffling her feet. “Yeah sweetie, I also look scary, right?” Chara asked her wife. The angel pinched her nose and sighed. “Technically yes, but I was thinking something like-” “Mommy, how do i look?” Azriel’s voice asked from the stairway. The three dorketeers moved out of the living room and into the landing. At the top of the stairs, Azriel had moved his bandana over his mouth, and was wearing a cowboy hat, brown shirt and pants, with a holster that’s belt slung over his shoulder and looked like cheap leather. The holster had a bright orange plastic gun inside. What gave the costume the identifying feature of not a terrorist, was a golden 6-pointed badge that was pinned to his brown shirt, just over his heart. “Te-Sheriff?” Chara caught herself at the look Frisk shot her. “Yep!” the boy exclaimed. “Where’s Caroline?” Amelia asked him. His green eyes turned to his left, and he exhaled. “Ah…” he stopped. “What?” all 3 adults asked at the same time. “Wait for it…” Azriel told them. Exactly a second later,a tiny comet of black and purple smashed into his side and he fell as what appeared to be a dragon squeezed the life out of him. “Caroline…stop…” the sheriff eventually made out as the adults stared at this display of affection. The dragon (essentially black and purple sponge squares and triangles taped to her like wings and red claw extensions) released him, and Caroline’s face was visible amongst the costume. “Are you a dragon?” Frisk asked what seemed to be an obvious question, but Caroline shook her head. “Ei-dolan.” she said. Everyone looked at each other. “I showed her Final Fantasy XIII. Liked Bahamut, so…” Azriel trailed off, looking at his sister, who was flapping her wings and roaring what was probably supposed to be menacingly, but in truth it made Frisk want to run up and hug her for being the purest thing ever. The mother turned away before losing herself. “L-lets go. All your costumes are amazing.” she told everyone. 

The family walked as a pack along the pavement of the neighborhood, children all around, running across streets and knocking on doors. Take trotted behind them, stuffed into a pumpkin costume that covered the majority if his grey body. “So basically….we can do…what they are doing.” Chara looked at herself and the adults. “Yes, there is no age limit. Mostly. It’s just adults usually are busy during Halloween.” Frisk answered, glancing back at Chara and Amelia, both in their totally different category of scary. “Ok dad, watch me and Caroline do that house!” Azriel told Chara, and with Frisk’s nod of approval, the two kids ran up the porch stairs and Caroline knocked on the door, their small Jack-o-lantern buckets hit behind their backs. The ladies moved a tad closer. The oak white door opened, and a tall blonde woman was framed in the doorway. “Trick or treat!” the two declared, and presented their little buckets above them, Azriel’s bucket barely reaching the woman’s chest. “Ok then, give me a moment…” the woman reached for a bowl on a nearby table and withdrew a generous amount of candy for each of them. As the candy began to hit the thin plastic bottom with “thick” and “thock” sounds, the children nodded their approval and said “Thanks!”, Caroline just making a low “roaaaar”. “You kids have fun now, run along.” The door closed, and Azriel and Caroline came back to the angel and demons. “See Dad? It’s that simple!” the boy looked up at Chara, who was scratching the back of her neck. “Uh….I’m not to sure…” she began. Frisk was about to say some nice, encouraging words when Amelia butted in with her encouraging words. “Come on, you can probably scare them half to death and get more candy than the children combine!” Wait. “Amelia, that’s not the point to-” “Is that a challenge?” the demon asked Frisk’s sister, her eyes suddenly glowing a deep shade of red, and a smirk cutting itself into a side of the pale face. 

*Ooooooh dear*

Sarah eased herself back into the chair in the living room, though she guessed she would be back on her feet in mere minutes, if not seconds. But she could use those precious moment to continue watching- 

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Never mind. Sarah suppressed a sigh that may be heard through the door as she walked towards it, hoping the child would at least be cute to make it worth it, like those 2 kids just now. She began to open the door and looked down, expecting a kid, who’s height barely reached her knee. So when she saw brown long pants that had some blood on them and black shoes, confusion struck the blonde for a second. She looked up, and came face to face with glowing red pupils, that stared straight into her soul. In a hellish voice, the person growled “Trick. Or. Treat.” Sarah looked down to see the mouth peeling open into a maniacal smile, and black liquid was oozing out of the eyes and pouring out the mouth, dirtying her slippers. Wait, why should she care about that, there was a ****in demon on her porch! Her right hand searched and patted the cabinet for the glass bowl that was up to the brim with candy of all sorts. “H-here, take it-j-just leave me ALONE!” she screamed the last word as the demon shot her face onward by an inch, and snarled, and red and black scribbles seemed to fill her peripheral vision. Her hand slipped, the sound of the bowl smashing onto the floor, the ceiling, and nothing.

“TRICK OR-oops.” Chara stopped the act when the woman fainted and hit the carpeted floor with a heavy “THUMP!”. Hurried footsteps came from behind, and her shoulders touched Frisk’s and Amelia’s, and her legs were held by the kids. “Uh….I can…explain….” the demon said slowly, after 5 solid seconds of awkward silence. The crumpling of plastic and glass shards being moved woke the adults out of their stun,and all looked down to see the source of the noise. Azriel and Caroline had taken another handful of candy and had shoved it into their buckets. Chara looked as if she was about to say something morally correcting, then stopped and bent down to take the lion’s share. “Sorry sis.” Amelia told Frisk before getting on her knees and taking a fistful while moving the glass shards out of harms way. Frisk let this happen for a second more before clearing her throat. 5 pairs of eyes looked straight at her-Take, who was watching from the porch, responded to the sound. “People, this isn’t right, let’s wake her up and Chara, you better apologize.” she eyed her wife, who muttered something that sounded like “Yeah,ok.” And so she did, to the blonde’s pale face and blank look of shock on her face. The facial expression didn’t change when the family left, Chara closing the door gently. 

“Well that was a disaster.” Frisk commented as they made their way through the neighbourhood, reaching yet another house. “I’ll try the next house, ok?” Amelia told her sis, who considered. “Ok, you try it solo and then the rest of us go.” she relented. Amelia jumped and practically skipped the last few feet to the house, smile only growing wider and wider as she hopped up the stairs and pulled down her old AMC mask, both welcoming and hating the old feeling that returned to her. The sudden difficulty to breathe, the vision that had a red tint, the warmth of her breath covering her mouth. But at the same time, the intended usage of this mask was gonna be glorious. Who wouldn’t want free candy, after all… She pushed the doorbell, and got her plastic pumpkin bucket behind her back. She’ll show Chara how to actually trick-or-treat… The door clicked, and the white oak door opened to reveal a man wearing a green shirt and white boxers, and his eyes widened at the sight of the cloaked figure, and more particularly, the red mask that replaced the face. “Trick Or Treat!” Amelia chimed, presenting the bucket. He had a similar reaction to Sarah, not that she Amelia knew that. Widening eyes, back stepping, arms scrambling for the sweets. “Just take it, don’t hurt me!” he said, the normally strong man reduced to Jello, tossing fistfuls of candy at the cloaked figure. Amelia, meanwhile, raised her bucket to receive the shotgun-blasts of candy. “Uh…mister, are you alright?” she asked after thinking she got enough, lowering her bucket. “ST-STAY THE **** AWAY!” he screamed, and rushed and kicked the door shut. Amelia stood on the porch for a second, then shrugged and went back to her family, somewhat proud of herself. “Got it!” she presented her bucket to Frisk, who glanced at the contents. “Hey Caroline look, Aunt Amelia has some toffee stuck in the folds of her cloak, let’s grab it!” Azriel notified his sister, and they began conducting a body search on her person. She ignored this successfully, and the children earned themselves 5 pieces of candy, stuck to her cloak because there was a tear in them, and it was leaking out a bit. Frisk looked at her suspiciously, but decided to now question and just go with it, going up with the rest of the family to trick-or-treat the house. Amelia examined a nearby tree for the 3 minutes they were gone. When they came back, Frisk didn’t look as happy as she was before. “What, the guy didn’t give you as much candy?” the sister asked. “No, he told me that a cult member had come and trick-o-treated him and told Chara to try and find the member and punch them in the face.” the ambassador answered through grit teeth, and a blue shine pierced through her brown hair. “Oh.”

The next hour and a half was under very strict supervision from Frisk, the entire family moving as a pack around the neighbourhood.

[friskibitz]

about player theory

ok i’m gonna get real here.

i just want to talk about my experiences and the unique way i relate to these stories, and why it’s the reason that player theory upsets me. i don’t intend to antagonize or push others around, i just want my voice out there. i just hope that people can relate to this if they feel the same way, or understand even if they don’t. also, i want to make it clear that what i say about the theory in this post are entirely my personal feelings on it.

so if you don’t know me, just know that, well, that “living embodiment of hyperempathy” thing in my bio isn’t that much of a joke. i experience really strong hyperempathy, especially towards fictional characters, which will be the point of this post.

in my experience, hyperempathy doesn’t just mean there’s an increase in the intensity of empathy i feel towards others (although that is true for me), but it’s an increase in the scope as well, like i feel this not only towards irl people but also stuff like toys or even characters. and honestly, for the intensity i feel, it’s pretty hard to get into a lot of new media for a lot of reasons relating to this.

so, Undertale is... pretty much a perfect game for me. i think it kinda inherently appeals to people with hyperempathy, because it inherently allows for a lot of kindness and understanding towards fictional characters, to the point where there really is some sort of positive connection between player and character. in fact, i feel like it even encourages this sort of emotional connection. so yeah this stuff basically makes UT perfect for me. i have the potential to be help and be kind to these characters, i can actually help do things for them, i can help get the best ending for them, and i can it take to the point where i really refuse to replay the game unless i buy a new copy of it. and because this feeling runs so deep, i really feel Real emotions towards these characters, almost like they’re people.

and this feeling... really carries on to the apparent follow-up game, Deltarune. my attachment for the characters really hasn’t dwindled here, if anything it’s grown more, both for Deltarune’s characters and Undertale’s as well.

and so... this is where i need to be honest, and i’m sorry that this may end up being controversial, but it really makes me worried and cautious around a lot of speculation and theorymaking surrounding Deltarune. it’s why i’m worried about the implications of Ralsei being a sort of construct from feelings, because i don’t know if he’ll eventually be handled by the narrative with the same level of respect in terms of how “real” he is compared to other characters. it’s why i even worry about ideas of Deltarune being a sort of “created” universe, an idea i helped create, because i don’t know if it’ll be eventually treated by the narrative as “real” as the Undertale universe is. and it’s especially why i’m averse to Deltarune’s commonly-named player theory.

player theory is the idea that the player is indeed that red SOUL controlling Kris. the problem with that for me starts with the fact that Kris doesn’t look like they like to be possessed. in fact it looks like they really dislike it, given their actions in the ending of Chapter 1. and of course, i don’t blame them, it’s like someone’s taking their place in life. but the problem for me is... what does that make me, then? if player theory comes true in the narrative, what have i done? i started out the game controlling Kris, taking their place in their life without even knowing it, and it’s just like. something like that, i don’t know how to take back.

and  i want to address something else. i have my own theories and such, and this isn’t the place for that, but i believe that alternatively, the red SOUL is Frisk. and i know that there’s a concern there that Frisk and Kris might be at odds, and i understand that, i don’t want that at all either. whether the SOUL is Frisk or any other character, i don’t want whoever they are and Kris to be at odds at all, but the difference is that they’re both characters. whoever the red SOUL is, they were probably placed in this situation beyond their control, and as a character then they and Kris have the opportunity and ability to work things out through the narrative in a way that i can’t with Kris. if player theory is true, and unless Toby somehow figures a way to do this, i can’t talk to them directly, i can’t explain myself the way i need to, i can’t actually resolve this properly, and i’m not gonna lie this guilt is kinda going to haunt me. i don’t want to feel like this, especially for something i didn’t have control over.

so... yeah, i really hope player theory isn’t true. ^^; Deltarune is really a mysterious thing to everyone, and who knows what might happen. but i want to speak out my feelings on this. with player theory being as popular as it is, and with me not knowing very many people who feel this way, i just want to help people either relate to or understand the way i feel.

to be clear again, i also don’t want to push people around, but pleeease tag it, as i intend to completely avoid it. and also... please don’t assume player theory is true? i know it’s prevalent, but that really doesn’t mean it’s true. like just say “the red soul”  or something instead of “the player” if you’re not talking about something related to player theory specifically. like seriously, i ran into it on a post about the utdr kids being nonbinary. i just wanna experience content without being affected.

thank you for reading!