A mysterious feeling drags your twin Frisk towards Mount Ebott, with you not far behind.
You find yourself trapped beneath the mountain, and are faced with a race of people long-forgotten by Humanity. Monsters. But, despite the name of their race, they aren't monstrous like you'd think they'd be with a name like that. You soon feel a need to free all those who are trapped, regardless of the trials they have given you. On top of all of this, your twin sibling Frisk seems to be troubled and holding secrets from you. Will you find a way to free those trapped Underground? Will you be able to free Frisk, and Yourself? Will you ever have the happiness of a family that you, and your sibling Frisk lost so long ago?
Read, and find out where in this story you will go.
Check end notes for specific warnings regarding each chapter.
Set 10 years into the future of original canon, this story follows two teenagers who fall into the Underground, befriending monsters along the way. Tags will be added as characters and plot points are introduced to reduce spoilers and baiting as much as possible. Rating reflects future events and references to sensitive subjects and is also subject to change. Story also posted on AO3.
Once Upon a Time
"Frisk! Frisk where are you?"
Your voice echoes against the thick tree trunks surrounding you. Straining, you listen for the rustling of leaves or fall of footsteps that might give you a clue to their location, but all you hear is the chittering of insects and calls of nocturnal creatures.
"Frisk!" you call out. Creatures fall silent at the noise and the wind mocks you as it whistles through the treetops.
Your lungs are on fire. The burning dryness in your throat makes you wish you'd brought a water bottle from camp but those were locked away in the van so nothing could get to them in the night. You knew this trip was a terrible idea from the get-go, bringing a gaggle of teenagers who'd never left the city up into the foothills for "some fresh air and exercise", some kind of bonding experience to placate your foster parents and the agency. As you alternate walking and jogging through trees without a defined path your leg muscles cramp and protest to more hiking after a full day of it. Spring in the mountains could be deceptively warm during the day but at night the temperatures dropped past the point of safety. That winter had been wet and brutal after a long drought in the state, and piles of snow lingered here in the forest, impeding your search. Stones, roots, animal dens, and downed branches underfoot slow your progress. Breaks in the canopy show the winking brilliance of millions of stars framed in an inky sky. You can't tell if they're laughing at you or urging you forward
Fear rises hot and nauseating in your gut the longer it takes to find them. Even in full noon sunlight, Frisk can barely see a few feet in front of them, and their hearing is even worse. Did they bring their hearing aids? What about their glasses? They have a stubborn habit of purposefully losing both to the endless exasperation of your long string of caregivers. Since your parent's passing you had watched out for Frisk which means you usually take the brunt of punishment in their stead. They hate when others treat them like glass because of their sight and hearing impairments but were particularly bothered when you did. It didn't stop you from protecting them. Frisk is the only person you had left of your family, you would do anything for them.
Including getting hopelessly lost in the forest at night where there were probably at least a dozen bears ready to eat you.
A migraine that bloomed the moment the camping caravan was in sight of Mt. Ebott and since sunk it's claws firmly into your brain threatens to halt you, and you lean into the nearest trunk to bend over and dry heave. The smooth texture of the bark makes you lose your grip. You fall to your hands and knees into the sludgy mix of half-frozen mud and decayed leaves at the base. Gasping for breath against the surprise and pain, you count backwards from twenty to regain your focus. Tiny branches caught in your hair prick your scalp and burrs work their way deeper into your clothes along your arms, legs, and stomach. Somehow your hair is still in the ponytail you went to bed in. With the sharpness of pain in your head it feels like you can make out the individual thorns digging into your skin. Eyes squeezed shut to fight a rise of nausea, you can hear the rhythmic thudding of footsteps up ahead, the crunching of snow further up the mountain.
Instead of shouting like before, something the pounding of your migraine refused that you do, you push yourself to your feet, dark splotches on your jeans and sleeves where the cold muck underfoot seeped into them. The dirty sneakers on your feet couldn't get a grip at first but soon you were pushing through the underbrush and trees, following the sound of Frisk plodding through the dense forest.
The pain in your head forces you to slow again. You heave and your meager dinner rushes back up and out. You are glad for the shadowed darkness so you can't see what you'd just left on the forest floor. Panting for breath you force yourself to press on. Why hadn't you grabbed a flare gun? A coat? Or a flashlight? You'd barely made time to change from sleep pants to jeans. You had your phone in your pocket but up here you didn't get service and by now it was probably dead, anyway.
"Frisk, wait!"
Without warning, you surge through a tight gap between two fir trees and almost fall over again when there wasn't another line of trees to stop your momentum. A small clearing with dew-soaked grass and thick underbrush opens before you. Several yards away, Frisk stands with their back to you and their face skyward.
Wind rips through the clearing more violently than it could in the protection of the trunks and branches you'd fought through. Their hair whips around their head and the hem of the shirt they wore to bed billows everywhere, exposing their back and stomach to the cold night air. Frisk's arms are out at their sides like a tightrope walker as they slowly move through the tall grass and bushes. A backpack rests high on their shoulders and you pray there's something inside to help you get back to the others or even heavier sweaters than what you both had now in case you needed to weather out the night in the wilderness. You try to call their name again but it's all too much, your voice a whisper. Impossibly, over the rush of wind and their own diminished hearing, Frisk turns towards you at the attempt to call out.
Eyes wide and face slack, they stare in your direction unblinking and unmoving. You're reminded of the herd of deer your foster family witnessed grazing off the mountain path earlier that morning. With their ears pricked up and large black eyes wary, they'd watched your group for a breathless second. They darted away when one of the younger kids gasped in surprise, tumbling through the forest quicker than you could follow. Moving delicately from the fatigue in your limbs and the wariness of startling Frisk, you make your way through the overgrowth one step at a time, focused solely on reaching them then somehow finding your way back to camp.
"Can you hear me, Frisk?" you whisper. Despite their earlier reaction to the soft sound they stood unchanged. You continued speaking anyway in case they could make out the sound of your voice and move toward you. "We need to go back to camp. Look, it's freezing out here and...and you're shivering! Shit, do you have something in your backpack to put on?"
Your hand grabs the one they have outstretched closest to you. Expecting it to be easy to start pulling back the general direction you remembered coming from, when their hand twists and grabs your wrist you aren't ready.
"Okay, it's okay, Frisk, it's me! It's _." You're not sure if your whisper is powerful enough to go over the wind to reach them even at this proximity so you lift your other hand and move it close to their face to sign their name to try and get their attention.
The grip is starting to get painful but you're too relieved at finding them to notice. Slices of white hot pain are running through your head from the migraine as it is and smaller doses of pain are insignificant in comparison. There's no response from your attempt at ASL. As much as you hurt and as tired as you are, you know you need to find cover. The wind here is too strong to stay in the whole night and it would be safer to maybe find a tree to climb or at least some sort of shelter in the trees while you wait for dawn. You're prepared to stay up all night watch to protect Frisk.
Fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh of your wrist hard enough for you to cry out and close your eyes, tears pricking at the edges. There's no give when you try to wrench your arm out of their hold, their other hand flying down to grab the hand you'd used to sign in front of their face.
"Frisk! What the hell! What are you doing? Let go of me - what the fuck!"
As you struggle your shoes slip on a patch of ice beneath rotten leaves, dragging Frisk down with you when they refuse to let go, staring at you with unseeing eyes, pupils blown wide. The pain in your head makes you want to vomit again. It's never been this bad before. You try to regain your balance but without the use of your arms it's futile and makes the bottom drop out of your stomach as you fall backward...and keep falling...falling-
Stop.
…
. . .
. . . . . . . .
". . . Asriel. . ."