The idea for this story has been cooking for a while, and then tonight it all but started writing itself, so who am I to question fate? I wanted to do some exploration with Frisk's backstory without literally going backwards, and this just started happening as a result. I don't know how long it's going to be as of yet, or how regular updates will be. I will, however, say that I've taken to forcing myself to write drafts, even trashy ones, so that I have something to work with. As a result, there's a decent chance this may actually go somewhere. We'll see.

Anyway, some trigger warnings in advance, to be updated as I progress: Transphobia, Deadnaming, Mentions of Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Child Abuse (Physical, Verbal, and Mental), and violence.

The rating may change, but for now, it's rated T for content, themes, and future language.

Hope everyone enjoys the story and I'll try to get more out soon!

**For the record and clarity's sake, Francis is my take on Frisk's birth name, so yeah. I'm not just using them interchangeably and there isn't a random third character. They're the same person. :D

The sun is bright as it rises over the horizon, and as you lean forward to look down your line of friends, you smile.

The air is crisp and cool on your skin with the same early morning briskness that you remember well from the several days you spent camping up here before your food ran out and you made your decision for good, and you tug a bit on the sleeves of your sweater to pull them over your hands for warmth. Not that you especially notice the cold, of course, given the way that everybody is distracting you with their usual antics – Papyrus running off into the distance to make his mark as a mascot, Sans going to catch him by walking in the opposite direction, Undyne and Alphys both going the direction Papyrus actually went to do who knew what, followed shortly by Asgore trying to escape Toriel's inimitable wrath. You think he probably would have been fine staying, really, since you doubt Toriel would tear into him too badly with you around, but it's still kind of funny in a strange sort of way to see such a gentle giant try and subtly flee.

You grin at his departure as his cape disappears around the curve of the road with a flash of blue, and you wonder how long it will take him to find a good place to get tea for when his underground supply runs out. You know the moving process will take a while, never mind the politics, but you think that will still be a first priority for him. Asgore is a King, to be sure, but he is also a father, or had been, once. The instinct to care for and listen to people's problems over a nice cup of tea had clearly never left him.

You're distracted from that train of thought when Toriel clears her throat, and you look to her instead. Your smile returns in full, broadening even. Without her, you never would have gotten this far. You'd have died in the ruins a dozen times, or else fallen to Asgore's hands in your refusal to fight. You're glad she was around to save you, that you could return the favour.

"It seems that everyone is quite eager to set off," she notes with a smile, and she looks down to you. "Frisk…" she begins. "You came from this world, right…?" At your somewhat confused nod, she continues. "So you must have a place to return to, do you not?"

You hope you don't freeze at the question, but you're not entirely sure you want to think of the answer. Of course you have a place to return, since everyone comes from somewhere. But you also have a reason for why you came up to this mountain, why you fell into the Underground, and they both come from the same source.

You shift a bit, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater as you nod. Toriel's face is open as she continues. "What will you do now?"

The response that tries to escape your mouth is instant, a plea to just leave with her. You bite it back only barely, feeling somewhat bothered by how close it came to falling out without your permission. As soon as you bite it back, the thoughts start to rise from the dark of your mind with your alternative option, the option of going back to the beginning, to your real home.

You think of your father's face, the grey cast of his eyes. They always looked like storm clouds when they were focused on you, and you remember the way they held lightning when you weren't a good child, when you spoke too loudly, when you stepped out of line. You think of the striped sweaters hanging in your closet and the way some of their hems were soiled because they hung too low and you got your tears and snot stuck in them if you weren't careful about how you positioned yourself hiding under where they hung. You think of the harshness of the voices around there sometimes, and the memory makes you cringe.

You look at Toriel, see the question in her eyes, and you remember her words when you'd spoken to her in the Underground, once, before you'd all left. "You were very brave, my child," she'd said, "and I am very proud of you for being so. You've done a wonderful thing."

He would be proud too, right? You think he would. Maybe. He always said that you made him the way he was because you never did anything, but you'd done this.

He will be proud of you. He will be. You're sure of it. And even if he isn't, well. He's your father. There has to be rules about this sort of thing, rules about closure and coming back. You know what it feels like when people leave and don't come back. It doesn't feel right to make him go through that, no matter what he's done.

"My child?" Toriel's voice pulls you back to the present, to the question at hand.

You swallow, shaking your head slightly. "I'm sorry," you say. "I have…I have places to go."

"Ah." It's a quiet sound, really only a syllable, but you're sure you can hear the disappointment in it. Except Toriel would never be disappointed in you, right? She'd been mad with you, for a little while, at the start, but she'd never been disappointed. You weren't going to hurt her with this, you hoped. You didn't want to. "Well, I hope that I am not keeping you." She turns to leave.

You feel like there's something you should say, but you don't know what it is as she pads quietly away, then pauses. She turns to look at you, smiling again, and you try to force your face into a smile, not entirely sure when it had stopped being one. "Frisk," she says, and her voice is light again, full of a happiness that some little wisp of you notes as sounding forced before you push it away. "See you around," Toriel tells you cheerily, and then turns to go again.

You make the decision spontaneously as she starts to walk away. "Wait!" you call out, instantly regretting it. You don't want to give her false hope, but you don't want to be alone yet either.

She turns around, looking at you in concern. "What is it, my child?" she asks. "If you have second thoughts…."

You shake your head. "No," you assure her, perhaps a bit too quickly, and when you think you see a flash of hurt in her eyes, you wish you'd found better words, and you bite your lip a bit before speaking again and holding out a hand. It's a long way to the police station, almost an hour once you get off the mountain. You don't want to be alone yet. "Can you walk with me?" you ask.

Toriel smiles as she takes your hand in a great white paw. "Of course," she assures you. "You need only lead the way."

Somewhere around five hours later, you're sitting in the police station of your hometown, kicking your feet in the air because your legs aren't long enough to reach the ground. The chairs here are tall and ancient, even though the station itself is almost modern in comparison to the rest of the town, and they reek of dust and mold. You try to distract yourself from the smell as you push off the chair, heading to the board of missing posters.

They're all kids, really, or most of them are. There are some adults who haven't been found yet, but the oldest notices are the children, their posters still hanging even though it's been years and the paper is turning yellow and curling at the edges. You think maybe one of the pictures looks familiar for a second, but before you can investigate, you hear a door opening behind you.

Toriel comes out, side by side with a police officer who looks vaguely alarmed by her appearance but is nevertheless polite. Toriel beckons you to come stand by her side, and pain flashes momentarily across her face as she sees what you were looking at, but you don't think much of it.

The officer crouches down to your height and flashes his teeth at you. "Hey there, Francis," he says, and you wince a bit because you really, really hate that name and you've always been Frisk, but you don't say anything as you summon up a quick smile. He keeps smiling back. "We've got all the paperwork sorted out now, and the story straight as we can get it for the moment. Your daddy's been notified, and he'll be here real soon."

You nod your understanding. "Thanks," you say, and you hope it sounds grateful, because you really are, or that's what you tell yourself.

"No problem," the officer says. "We just like seeing kids get reunited with their folks, and you're the first in a long time to get that far." He smiles at you, and you smile back on instinct as he straightens up again. "I'll leave you folks to your farewells then," he announces, nodding politely to you and Toriel before making himself scarce again.

Toriel crouches down to your height to stare you in the eyes. "Would you like me to wait for your father, my child?" she asks, voice laced with concern. You pause for a moment, then shake your head. It's probably for the best right now if your father just knows that you came here with some friendly monsters rather than letting him meet them himself. Toriel doesn't look surprised by your answer, but there's still something sad in the way she smiles. "Very well." She leans forward, wrapping her furry arms around you. The sleeve of her shirt brushes your face and the fabric is smooth as you bury your nose into her neck for a moment and inhale the scent of her. She smells like fire and lavender with a hint of butterscotch thrown into all of it. It's a very distinct smell, and you think you'll remember it for a long time, that you'll know it anywhere.

Toriel pulls away and looks you in the eye again. "You will keep in touch, Frisk, will you not?" she asks.

You nod without hesitating. "Of course."

"Then I will look forward to hearing from you." She smiles again, looking totally nonthreatening despite the fangs. "Thank you for all your hard work, my child. I will speak to you soon."

And then she stands, and then she's gone.

You watch the doorway she disappears through for a long series of moments, and you swallow back the lump in your throat, feeling it make its way to your stomach where it ties into a knot. You tell yourself it's just because you've never been good at goodbyes.

As you sit back down to wait, you almost believe it.

It's nearly an hour and a half later before your father shows up, and you tell yourself that he was just cleaning up the house rather than ignoring you. Besides, he hurt his knee when he was a kid and he still limps a bit sometimes. It takes him a while to walk places, even if your house is only a mile or two away and you heard him parking the car outside.

When he comes into the station and steps into the waiting room, you push off the chair quickly and run to him. He's too tall for you to properly hug, and he doesn't bend over, so you settle for just hugging his leg instead until he twitches it irritably and you get the message to let go. "Hey, Daddy," you say, voice quiet.

He grunts and doesn't return the greeting. "Where's this Officer Williams I need to speak to?" he asks, and before you can respond, the officer from before comes through a door on the far wall behind the unmanned receptionist desk as if in answer, a clipboard in his hand.

"You must be Francis's father," Officer Williams says. Your father grunts out a greeting that passes as an affirmative, and Officer Williams smiles. "Francis is one of the most patient children I've ever seen," he notes, nodding toward you and sounding impressed. "Not so much as a peep all this time. Hard to remember the kiddo was out here."

Your father nods. "Yeah, she can be that way when she wants to be. Makes it hard to notice when she runs off."

You stiffen a bit at his phrasing and tone, but you don't think anybody notices because Officer Williams laughs. "I can see where that would be true. No blame here, of course. All's well that ends well, and all that." He laughs again, but your father does not, and after a moment, he clears his throat. "Anyway, the paperwork's all been cleared up. If you could just sign here…" He holds out a pen and his clipboard.

Your father takes both and scribbles out his signature, and Officer Williams takes it back. "Right then," he says, "that does it. You two have a nice day," he says, and then looks down at you with a wink, "and no more running away, Francis. You had everyone worried."

You barely manage a nod before your father is turning you away, taking your hand and gripping it so tightly it's almost painful. You smile back over your shoulder at the Officer, and he returns the gesture before you reach the door and you're dragged outside, into the sunlit blue sky and the air that's still cold.