A/N: This story main character, Joanie, is actually me. I had an idea that I haven't really ever done which was, "I wonder how it would play out if I replaced Frisk with myself in Undertale?" and then this was born from it. The backstory, characters description, and family are accurate to my own. I'm bearing a little bit of my heart and SOUL (see what I did there?) into this story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy working on it.

Prologue (Alternative title for this would be No Rest for the Wicked):

I woke up roughly and began having coughing fits. The coughing dissolved into wheezing before I felt my chest constrict as I understood the oncoming of an asthma attack; when I was a child growing up it was a regular occurrence. What I found strange was why I would be having one right now when I hadn't for years. I opened my eyes to try and find the glass of water I always kept in the room, but I saw only black, as far as my eyes could see. 'Maybe my eyes just need to adjust to the darkness.' I told myself dryly sitting for the longest time before panic set in. I felt a strange sense of vertigo, not being able to distinguish what was up and what was down as I bolted to stand, my asthma attack long forgotten as an anxiety attack reared its head.

"Chris," I screamed out my husbands' name, halfway expecting an echo in this void, when not even an echo answered me back I broke out into a sprint, "Chris! Please! Anyone?"

I felt my energy draining. It was considerably harder to breath now that I had ran all the air out of my lungs; my heart was hammering in my ears like a jackhammer. I sat my hands on my knees as I bent over, the dizziness was really setting in and the urge to vomit stayed hanging in the back of my throat, I forced myself to breath in through my mouth and out through my nose to keep whatever I had in my stomach. I felt a stinging sensation as my sweat dripped down into my eyes; wiping it away as it mixed with tears that streamed down my face.

Off in the distance I could barely see a figure. It was too hard to distinguish from the darkness, and I silently cursed to myself for my astigmatism, breaking out into another run to catch the figure before they could leave although where they would go I had no idea. Fear bounded me forward as quick as I could muster.

"Hey! Can you hear me? Please, help me!" I cried out with all of my might, a wheeze escaping my throat forcing me to slow as I closed in on the figure, "This is really making me regret all that fast food and not dieting." I remarked under my breath sarcastically.

I stopped short about five feet away; closing my eyes for a second to focus on the breathing techniques I had been taught over the years to calm the storm in my chest and the strain I was placing on my lungs. When I opened my eyes again to stride towards them I was filled with instantaneous alarm. The figure had their back to me, but I could see clear as day the figure was my mother, the resemblance was remarkable. I had always been told growing up we looked much alike which had always been a source of pride for me since she had been such a beautiful woman. Her short curled black hair was cut like I had last saw her, she was wearing the same checkered shirt I had seen her in last with what most people would call mom jeans now, her build was exactly the way I remembered her.

"M-Mom…" I was aware of the wind being knocked out of me in surprise. She was as beautiful as I remembered but something was not right, "I-Is that y-you?"

I tentatively reached out a shaking hand to touch her shoulder gently and turn her. 'No no no. This is all wrong. Something is wrong. She can't be here.' My brain seemed to cry out logic while my heart was hoping it was true and she was here. My breathing hitched when I sensed how cold she was on contact. Tears were streaming down my face now freely and I fought to choke back sobs.

"Y-You shouldn't be here Mom. Not really," She still seemed unaware I was even there. Upon closer inspection, the back of the shirt was stained with some kind of substance that looked almost like clam chowder soup had been spilt and dried on her from the mid-back leading up to her shoulder. I fought to remember where I had seen that. My whole body seemed to be rejecting me and refused to turn her around, "Y-You're not real. You c-can't be… You're dead Mom."

"You always were such a disappointment." The voice coming from my mother was cold and disjointed. My eyes widened in fear as I realized this couldn't be a dream because this voice was my mothers and she had been dead for so long now I couldn't remember it. A loud resounding cough rung out from her as her body shook beneath my hand (also the same cough I remembered. Her being a smoker those coughs along with coughing fits were a regular day to day basis ordeal); I opened my mouth and floundered at words to say that expressed what I was feeling but was interrupted as she began to speak again. This time her tone was barely above a whisper as she stated, "You know what I wanted out of life? I wanted to be with your father and I wanted to have children and be happy. I couldn't even get that. You ruined everything after you were born."

"M-Mom?" I whimpered the words out. I couldn't stop the shaking or the crying as I tried to process what my mother was saying. "Y-You can't m-mean t-that. Y-you're n-not real."

"I picked up drinking to ease the pain of having to live without him and deal with you after the divorce. You were never a good child. You were always refusing to do your homework to play those stupid video games, I had to pick up after you endlessly and clean up all your messes and worst of all, you couldn't even do what you were told!" Her voice rang out much louder now.

"T-That's not fair! I was a child! What was I supposed to do other than be a kid? It was your job to protect me and it was your job to take care of me!" I shouted it as loud as I could. I wanted to drop down and beg for forgiveness but I resisted the urge.

After she took a long moment to think about what I said she answered me, "It was your job to call the ambulance, wasn't it? But instead of doing what you were told, you stood there and watched me cling to life while your step brother did it, and watched me take my last breath that wasn't forced out by a machine. Whose fault is my death if it is not yours? If you had called like your step father had asked—"

"THAT IS NOT ON ME! I COULDN'T HELP IT! I WAS A CHILD AND I WAS SCARED AND—"

She turned to face me finally. I was screeching now, holding my hands in front of my eyes as the bright green orbs in my skull were squeezed tightly shut, in a feeble attempt to remember to breath. I opened them and felt my hands drop to my sides in clenched fists. I never got to finish my sentence. My mother was too pale in the face, her eyes which were the same shade of green were bloodshot and looked like the old cartoons I would watch as a child where their eyes would bug out of their head, and her whole appearance was unnatural. I could see her collar bones as she was far too skinny and yet with all of her skin seeming to stretch tight her belly bloated out suspiciously. The trail of the substance followed her shoulder; I could see it was dried on her face when it hit me what it was.

She had died of a massive heart attack years ago when I was eleven. I remember running into the living room of our trailer as I heard a loud banging noise, my naïve mind immediately assumed it had been a friend of mine that was supposed to be spending the night, but the reality of the situation panned out to be my mother convulsing on the floor. She had been unresponsive and was vomiting uncontrollably. The same fear that washed over me and kept me motionless all those years ago came flooding back, I could tell I was going to be sick, all the color faded from my face and I bit my tongue so hard it bled trying to keep a scream down.

I was seeing my mother again but in her last moments as she clung desperately to life on the kitchen floor that night.

"If you had called for help," Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as I watched frozen in terror, "Maybe I wouldn't have died all those years ago."

I sat up straight in the darkness, my breathing so hasty and short I was sure I was going to pass out, a cold sweat clinging to me like desperation as I fought for my eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room. With an inaudible sigh of relief as I recognized the room as one that my husband and I shared; I glanced beside me to check that he was there. He was indeed beside me, the room seemed to be filled with his quiet snoring, as his chest inched up and down softly to signal he was still in a deep sleep wrapped cozily in his favorite brown comforter with the pillow he slept with aptly thrown somewhere between our legs.

I tested the waters to see if I could stand on my shaking legs; which I found I could. Taking a few deep breaths, I forced myself to practice breathing normally to stop the panic attack, making sure to ground myself and quiet my mind in a sort of quickened meditation attempt like I had learned to do over the years. My mind decided it wasn't going to cooperate with me and seemed to be demanding that what I had experienced just now was my actual mother and how she felt. I kept forcing myself to understand it was a night terror, something that was beyond my control but something that didn't reflect properly how my mother had felt, it was my own mind playing tricks on me like they did during these night terror episodes. I repeated it over and over in my mind until I seemed to stop shaking; the lingering effects of my attack making my chest hurt from the weight that seemed to always drop onto it during these panic attacks.

My eyes had readjusted to the darkness perfectly now as I turned my gaze towards my sleeping partner. His black hair had grown out considerably in the last few months and I could tell it was ruffled from him moving so much when he slept. He always looked so peaceful when he was asleep and he always was the first to actually drop off into sleep; since I was always reluctant to do so. Chris was much taller than me and his feet just about hanging off the bed agreed with that statement, and the way he slept wasn't much different than I did myself, which made it difficult for both of us to sleep comfortable since we both loved to spread out and take as much as the foot of the bed as possible.

I apparently hadn't made too much noise during my night terror which I silently was thankful for. I hated waking him up to the sight of me thrashing or crying out; worrying him more than he needed to be already. I stepped gingerly out of the room and into the bathroom nearest our room to wash my face and assess if there was any damage I had inflicted upon myself while I was asleep. I always had a distaste for florescent lighting. I was reminded why as I flipped the switch to turn on the lights and was bathed in it. The sickly yellow glow illuminated the room, which was in serious need of an update as the wallpaper had started to peel in places along with the tiles that had sadly toppled over months ago from age, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror dully.

My long black hair was peppered with hair so light it was basically white, much to my dismay I found that I looked much older in this lighting with it in my hair, even though I had just turned twenty two this year. I had always been told (my mother included but I pushed that back before it entered my mind. Fully trying to push back the vivid nightmare I had saw) when I was younger that I was, nicely put, big-boned. As I grew older and filled outwards more than upwards I began to accept I was indeed not big-boned. I was just fat. I touched my chubby cheeks as I thought about this absentmindedly.

The bulk of my weight was in my stomach and thighs. Since I was only five feet tall, my body seemed to rectify this by placing the weight there, forcing myself not to look at myself anymore longer than I had to because I often struggled with body issues because of my size. My right knee popped in protest to me leaning over the sink as I turned it on to get some hot water running. Another silent reminder of my mother; and I winced at the memory.

She had been drunk and I could still see the porcelain angel she had thrown slamming into my knee. Thankfully, when she was drunk she had terrible aim, because she told me she was aiming for my head later on while she was still drunk before the police had been called. I, of course with the way I was as a child trying to protect my mother, lied and told them I had fallen trying to catch her from running after my step dad on the porch stairs so she didn't face any serious consequences for her actions. 'But I sure did…' I grumpily thought about my knee and the screaming it seemed to be doing under my weight from the arthritis I had developed from being broken or fractured and never healing properly or being dealt with from that night. I recalled how ballooned out it had been and a paramedic being called after my step father had broken her nose that night in anger telling me I might have serious damage. I could still hear myself tell the man that I would get my mother to take me to the doctor when she was sober, I could still see the look in the man's eyes that screamed pity, and I could still remember hating the way he looked at me with such sorrow.

After splashing my face with burning hot water I picked up the bar of soap to wash my face with and switched to cold water like I did every time I washed my face. I glanced down at the shirt I was wearing as pajamas noticing I had gotten a bit of water onto the collar as I wiped at it; not entirely caring about the feeling of how cold it was pressed against my skin. Once I had rounded the corner to my room again I shut the door as softly as I could so I wouldn't wake my grandmother in-law. She was asleep on the couch in the living room, and if she knew I was awake I wouldn't be left alone, and while I didn't think I would get back to sleep I didn't really feel up to dealing with her right now. I had been taking care of her for almost a whole year now after her husband died. He had been the embodiment of stubbornness and wrath; making Chris and I jobs taking care of them both exceedingly problematic. She's begun to show signs of dementia, between that and her eye sight progressively getting worse, I was sort of forced into a responsibility I wasn't sure I could handle in taking care of her but I try my best each day even with my own mental health issues rearing their ugly head from time to time.

Glancing over at my phone on the night stand after I had slipped back into bed, I saw I had a few emails and a Skype notification. I had picked it up with the intention of checking the time but checked Skype first just to make sure everything was okay. My two best friends, Nina and Raziel both in our group chat, had tried to message me about an hour ago.

Raziel: hey you up?

Nina: She's probably in bed boss. (I felt myself almost smiling at the affectionate term she always referred to him in. He had been our raid leader in an MMO that we all still currently played. I know I'm a nerd.)

Raziel: joanieeeeeeeeeee. hey. man why does she go to bed so early

Nina: She's got to take care of breakfast in the morning. She told us both night before she headed off though boss.

Raziel: sleep is for the weaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak.

I focused on typing out: 'Then I'm the weakest of weak. I'm up for now but trying to go back to sleep. Nina's spot on though. I gotta be up in the morning to make breakfast and do care-giver boring stuff. If I have time I'll jump on the game later tomorrow night. Love you both.' Pressing the send button. This time I remembered to set myself offline before closing out of Skype, noticing it was five in the morning, I heaved an audible sigh this time. There was no way I would be able to go back to sleep and even if I did I wouldn't have much time before I had to wake up to start the day.

Pulling up my covers to shield myself from how cold the room had gotten while I slept, I opened the app I had that people all over the world posted stories on for people to read, finding the story I had been reading from earlier that day. It was a mystery genre which I normally didn't care for too much, but the story had caught me up and I just had to 'find out who done it' as they say. Whenever I read I always seemed to lose all track of time because when I bothered to check the time again from curiosity it read out six thirty reminding me I had only two hours before I had to get up.

I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the door to our room opened with a squeak. I slammed my thumb over the lock button on the side of my phone as the screen blinked dark, turning over with as little movement as I could handle, trying to be as still as possible knowing it was Nannie at the door hoping in vain if no one answered her she would go back to sleep. I could hear her softly calling for Chris who hadn't stirred once and still snored. After a minute or so of her calling out to him, he finally stirred, his snores stopping as he sat up groggily with annoyance.

"What?" He almost seemed to whine it out tiredly and I instantly felt like a jerk for not answering her myself.

"Aren't you supposed to be up for work?" I could hear the clank of her cane on the floor as she inched closer to the bed and I mentally winced. I hated that noise so feverishly the only thing I could compare it to was nails on a chalkboard.

"What," He had her repeat herself. I wasn't sure if it was because he was still sleepy or if he was trying to understand why in the world she just woke him up an hour earlier than he had to actually be up. Once she repeated herself I could hear him getting increasingly more annoyed, "I don't have to be up for work yet no. You just woke me up for no reason, Nannie. I have my alarm set I don't need you to come in here and wake me up. Please let me go back to sleep."

I could hear her shuffling back to the living room as she shut the door, mumbling an apology, and could see him turn to grab his phone just like I had to check it. He seemed to confirm what time it was and laid back down to try and sleep. I didn't remember falling back asleep, but eventually I drifted off as well, the last thing I remember thinking about was how the two of us had taken after each other after three years of living together.