When you live with the headmistress of your school, who also happens to be the Minister of Education for all monsterkind, it's difficult to get away from lessons. Even your summer vacations are carefully planned to ensure you're fulfilling all the expectations outlined in your personalized education plan.

Except that when you live with monsters, lessons are actually fun.

These particular lessons, however, are a little different. You only ever get these in the summer, when Toriel, and sometimes Asgore, can get away from the Embassy long enough to take you to the little house up by the lake. Away from the crowds, and the throngs of people with their cameras, and the monsters looking to you for inspiration, you are free to make mistakes without fear of making anyone lose hope. Not to mention, for these particular lessons, you really want to be near the water. You wrap your arms tightly around your knees as you sit near the shore, watching the waves drift in and out. The light breeze teases your hair and sets the golden heads of the flowers bobbing across the meadow, as though they're hearing your thoughts and agreeing with you.

You wonder what he would think.

"Frisk."

Too lost in thought, you startle at the sound of your mother's voice. Toriel kneels in front of you, taking your trembling hands between hers. The warmth, and softness, and gentleness in that touch is normally all you need to banish your fears, but this is not exactly an ordinary day. Softly chafing some warmth back into your chilled fingers, Toriel touches her nose lightly to yours.

"My child, if you do not wish to do this, you need not."

"Your mom's right, Pumpkin." Behind you, Asgore sets aside the pruning shears and dusts himself off as he rises from the tangle of raspberry brambles he's attempting to wrestle into some semblance of submission. "Nobody's going to be upset if you change your mind."

"Indeed not," Toriel says. "We are happy to teach you, but you do remember your fundamentals, do you not?"

You nod solemnly. "Magic will only come if your will and your heart both want it." You glance over at the waves gently lapping at the strip of sand that serves the lake for a beach. "I do want this. I really do. It's just…"

"There is no shame in fear." Toriel is so very gentle as she brushes the hair from your face, her fuzzy fingers soft against your cheek. Sometimes, you think, there is a reason why your mother gets along so well with Sans. They are both a study in contradictions. Your mother is so gentle, so warm, so loving, you would never have guessed the core of iron and fire within her if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes.

You reach for her, and she draws you into the safety and security of her arms. You bury your face against the soft cotton of her lavender blouse, and though it doesn't smell quite as strongly of butterscotch and cinnamon as her vestments do, there's enough of the scent, and the clovery smell that is uniquely your mother, to wrap you in familiar comfort.

You let go, and square your shoulders as you rise to your feet. "Okay. I'm ready to try again."

"Good," Toriel says, and turns you to face the lake. "Now, just like we practiced."

You close your eyes, letting your breath come slow and steady, letting each breath fill you from your head to your toes. You open your eyes again, and reach for the magic within you. Your hands move, tracing a slow circle until they come to rest, one over the other, as though holding a ball between them. Your mother's hands are on your shoulders, her silent support lending you strength, and it's enough for you to break through that final barrier. Your breath leaves you in a long, slow rush, and you imagine your energy going with it, pouring into the hollow between your palms.

A soft, gentle flicker illuminates the shadows. It pulses, again and again, brighter each time, until a small flame hovers between your hands.

"I did it," you breathe, concentrating too hard to give voice to the shrieks of delight you'd rather be giving. "Mom, do you see?"

"I see," she says just as softly, her voice ringing with pride. "Well done, my child. Now, hold it steady. You are wavering."

There's nothing in her voice that even remotely hints at reproach or recrimination, but the power of suggestion is more than enough. The flame between your hands sputters, growing dim, and in a panic, you dump every remaining ounce of strength you have within you into the fire.

"No!" Toriel cries, but it's too late. The fire in your hands bursts outward, blazing against the nearby grass and trees, and you shriek as the flames lick across your skin. Instantly, her hands close over yours, and you cry out again in fear as fire flares around your hands anew, but these green flames bring no pain. "Asgore!" Toriel snaps over her shoulder, but he's already moving. The great trident appears in his hand as he bounds across the beach, and he drives it toward the water with a powerful swing. The resulting spray crashes over the grass and the brush, extinguishing the fire as quickly as you started it and preventing any errant sparks from igniting it again.

That done, Asgore drops down next to you, taking one of your hands from Toriel, and the green flame plays across his own fingers. Within moments, the pain in your hands begins to subside, and you blink up at your parents through your tears. "I'm sorry," you say, in between sniffles.

Toriel can't let go of your hand, but she leans over and nuzzles your hair. "Whatever for? You tried your best, did you not?"

"But I messed it up!" you protest.

"Yep, you did," Asgore says, still staring with great concentration at his hands as they hold yours, though your little hand is lost between his big ones. "And you did it with us nearby to keep it under control, instead of trying to figure it out in secret on your own." He coughs delicately. "Not that anyone in this family ever tried to do that."

"Indeed," Toriel says with a snort. "Why do you think we are doing this here and not at school?"

Shock pours cold and fast through your system, and you stare up at her in disbelief. "You mean you expected me to mess up?"

"That's the thing, Frisk," Asgore says gently. "Everyone makes mistakes when they're starting out."

"But I got hurt!"

"Yes. And you will remember now that magic is a powerful tool and not a toy to be trifled with, will you not?" Toriel raises an expectant brow, and you nod, however reluctantly. You're not likely to forget that feeling any time soon. Her face gentles, and she give a soft, fond laugh. "Besides which, we are here to tend your hurts. Tell me, do you still feel the pain?"

You blink down at your hands, but she's right. Your parents are still working, the green fire still flickering between their fingers, but your hands don't hurt any more. They haven't hurt for a while, actually. "No…"

The deep thunder of Asgore's laugh reverberates through you. "Be glad you don't have furry fingers, Pumpkin. Smells awful when you singe it off, and boy howdy, does it take forever to grow back."

That startles a giggle out of you, and you turn your attention to him. "You burned your fur off?"

He looks pained as he nods. "Way too many times."

"Did you?" you ask, turning to Toriel.

She sniffs delicately. "Certainly not."

Asgore leans in, his whiskers tickling as they brush your ear. "Your mom was always way better than me," he whispers, and chuckles as he settles back in place again. "I always found it easier to put fire on things. Flaming sword, flaming spear - Undyne was real fond of that one when she was a little fry, but she put her own twist on it when she grew up."

You smile at that, but a thought occurs to you, and there's a weight in your heart as you look down at the green magic that seems to come so effortlessly to your parents' call. "Maybe it's 'cause I'm human."

"Hey," Asgore says, with a light tug on your hand to make sure he has your attention. "What brought this on?"

"You have been reading those terrible things on the Internet again," Toriel growls, and your sheepish shrug confirms it.

You know she hates it when you Google yourself and your family, but you think it's important to know why the humans who don't want monsters on the surface think it's such a bad thing. Some of the latest and loudest insist that your parents shouldn't be raising you, because humans and monsters are too different. "Maybe humans aren't supposed to do magic," you say softly.

"Nonsense." Toriel lets go of your hand, and you wiggle your fingers, looking at the newly-healed skin on your palm, still shiny and pink from the magic. "Humans had enough magic to build an impenetrable barrier that lasted for millennia. Just because you have all forgotten how to practice magic does not mean that you cannot."

Toriel holds out her hands, giving an impatient snap, and Asgore carefully passes your unfinished hand to hers. He may be powerful but he's still not nearly as fast or as skilled at healing as Mom. In those few moments of transfer, pain flares in your palm again, though it's not nearly as awful or intense as before. Then, your mother's magic flares around you, and you let out a breath as a tide of relief washes through you.

"'Sides, you can clearly do it," Asgore adds, gesturing at the scorched grass. "You just need work at the whole control thing."

"Did…did Asriel ever mess up?" you ask.

They exchange a look over your head, and you bite your lip uncertainly. In the beginning, you never, ever talked about him. There was an Asriel-shaped hole in every conversation you had with your parents in the years after you Fell. But lately, although you still can't bring yourself to talk much about Katie, you've been asking more and more about your parents' first child. And though you know it was painful at first, it's been getting easier for them, too. When the pictures of him started to go back up in both your parents' houses, it seemed a lot safer to ask, and there's mostly joy in their voices when they talk about him now; only a hint of sadness tinges the ragged edges of the memories.

"Constantly," Asgore says at last, with a gentle snort. "Tori, remember his ears?"

"Ohh, his poor ears!" Toriel hides a giggle behind one hand. "He was so self conscious as the fur was growing back, but it was so very hard to keep from laughing. He just looked so funny."

You gasp. "He set his ears on fire?" Your gaze drifts to the long, silky fur on the ear that hangs over your mother's shoulder, and you can't imagine what on Earth she'd look like without it. It's just so...so fluffy.

"Just the fur," says Asgore. "But he never forgot that lesson."

"He was too much like you, my child." Toriel releases your hand, and as the healing fire fades from her fingertips, she runs her hand over your hair. "There was no anger in him, you see. That made it more difficult for him. It is much easier to control the fire without when you have a great deal of practice controlling the fire within."

You and your father are both staring at her, now. Slowly, very slowly, Asgore reaches out to lay his hand over Toriel's where it rests atop your head. It's a familiarity she would not have permitted even last year, but now she turns a smile upon him, one as fragile and fleeting as a snowdrop, but a smile nonetheless, before she pulls her hand out from beneath his. Asgore sighs softly, leaning toward her like a flower yearns for the sun. You look from one to the other, watching quietly, for you have learned something about your parents today, and it's a struggle to find a place for this new understanding, but before you can dwell too much upon it, Asgore taps you on the brow with a fingertip.

"Feeling better?" he asks, and you nod in answer. A smile breaks across his face. "Good!" He seizes you around the waist and tosses you into the air, and even though you're so much bigger now than the first time he did this, the shriek you always give as you soar has never once diminished in enthusiasm or in glee. Again and again, he throws you; over and over you land safely between his hands, laughing hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your mother watches, hiding her laughter behind a hand, and despite the angry snarl of hurt and history that still lies between your parents, in this moment, there is an amnesty. Here, in the (only slightly singed) flower-dappled meadow by the lake, they have given you the island of calm and peace you need to remember what it is to be a happy family, and you are not going to overlook that precious gift.

When you come to rest at last, breathless and light with laughter, you rest a hand against your father's shoulder while reaching for your mother with the other. She takes it, both of them watching you with amused curiosity, and the love and affection that wraps around you like an old, soft blanket fills you with determination.

"Okay. I'm ready to try again."