Well, this chapter wound up being a lot longer than was expected... And oh, how it went. Some things got shifted around from the plans, but we're still right on schedule for the approaching apocalypse. You'll see what I mean.

This chapter, despite being intense, is fairly tame. There's some mild mentions of blood and injuries, but that's the worst of it. As for the next one though...

I'll see you all soon for chapter twelve. I apologise in advance for everything.

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undertale-junkie: Glad to make you sad, haha, as weird as that sounds! I hope the story continues to meet your standards, heh - thanks for dropping by!

The next day when you get out of school, you can tell immediately that something's wrong.

Every day when you leave, there's always a small, bustling crowd of parents waiting to take their children home. They stand scattered loosely around in little clumps, trading idle banter with each other and making small talk until their kids are released from school and come running into their arms, or the parents come toward them. You know that some of the parents are even closer friends than their children, that they'll sometimes talk for an hour after school lets out while their kids play on the playground.

Between your parents and yourself, you've never been part of that world, but you still know it's out there, and you notice immediately that today is different when you walk outside the classroom and find that there's mostly silence outside. All the parents who are usually chatting with each other in small groups across the lawn have all clumped together on one side of it, and they shift a bit in discomfort, trading quiet murmurs you can't quite make out. A few of them are casting strange looks in the direction of the tree where they usually wait, and you follow their eyes to the source of their interest and freeze.

As soon as he catches sight of you, Sans's typical boney grin broadens a bit, and his eyes are full of gentle light as he shuffles in your direction, hands stuffed in his pockets. "heya, kiddo," he greets as he closes the distance between you, "long time no talk. how have you been?"

For the second time in two days, you're too immersed in your own mixed emotions to know how to reply, and you can't quite tell if the feeling pulsing through your veins is relief at the familiar face or terror at the fact that he's here. When you finally open your mouth to speak, it's a question instead of a response that falls out of your mouth. "What are you doing here?"

Sans blinks in surprise, then raises a skeletal eyebrow. "that's an interesting way to be," he comments. "it, uh, doesn't really help me out though."

You shake your head, struggling to recollect yourself. "Sorry," you mumble, "I'm fine. I just didn't expect to see you."

Sans smiles a little. "that's kind of the point of a surprise visit, kiddo," he explains, and he reaches out to tousle your hair. After the events of the last month and the last few days in particular, any gesture made toward you is enough to make you flinch, and it's by sheer luck that you manage to repress your instincts enough to make the flinch seem more like a twitch of surprise rather than the brief flash of terror that it is. If Sans sees, he doesn't comment, instead moving on as if nothing's happened. "tibia honest, i was starting to feel like a bit of a lazybones, so i decided i'd walk around a bit and come visit you. haven't seen you in a while, buddy. papyrus is starting to feel kind of bonely."

You barely register the attempted humour. There's no accusation in his tone, but you feel a wave of guilt wash over you yet again, and you duck your head down, fighting to keep your shoulders from hunching. You'd be willing to bet that at least a third of the messages on your phone are probably from Papyrus, all of them wondering where you are or when you can come over or if you're still breathing at all. "Sorry," you mumble again, because it really seems to be the only thing you know how to say these days, "my phone is dead. The battery is empty and I couldn't really tell anybody, or I would have-"

Sans lays a hand on your shoulder with a considerate gentleness and gives a light squeeze. You bite back a wince, knowing that there's no way he can tell that you still have a bruise there, the same way you still have bruises just about everywhere. "it's fine, frisk," he assures you. "nobody's mad. besides, it's not like anyone could press charges for dead batteries."

You're not sure that you believe that, given recent experiences with people being able to find a way to blame you for just about everything you've done, but you try to nod and look like you're convinced. It doesn't feel like it's working very well, but you keep it up anyway, forcing a smile.

Just like he did at the hospital, Sans sees right through you, and you watch the corners of his ever-present grin slide fractionally closer to a frown, and you can't help feeling responsible for it. You keep your eyes on the ground as, very abruptly, you become aware of all the stares fixed on you and Sans, and you too frown, biting your lip and wrapping your arms around yourself the way you always do when you feel the most exposed.

Sans tugs lightly on one of your fingers. "hey, kiddo," he begins, "what do you say we drop by and pay the others a visit?" His tone is as hopeful as it is concerned.

You shake your head. "I can't," you murmur. "My daddy is expecting me to get back, and so is Emily. I don't want to make him…" You pause, stopping yourself before you can say the truth. "I don't want to make them worry."

You almost miss the way Sans's jaw tightens, almost, but through the thin veil of hair hanging in front of your face, you see it just barely. You don't know what it means, but his voice remains unchanged when he replies. "c'mon, frisk, please," he murmurs. "we'll get you home in one piece. everyone just wants to see you. you don't have to stay long if you don't want to, but pap and the others, they'd really like to know if you're okay."

The grip of your fingers on your sides tightens. They'd really like to know if you're okay. You could tell them right now that you're not, and you're pretty sure that Sans could too. You're the antonym of okay and everything hurts and you really don't think you can face all these people who care about you so much when you know that you don't deserve it after how much you've hurt them, but after several seconds of hesitation, you nod anyway because really, what have you got to lose? You can't come up with a good excuse not to without revealing everything, and besides, if you're going to avoid talking to all of them on the phone, you have to give them a chance to talk to you in person. It's the least you can do.

Sans smiles. "thanks, frisk," he says, and he offers you his hand. "c'mon, follow me. I know a shortcut."

A short walk and a brief tingling sensation later, you find yourself shifting very abruptly from walking down the street to standing in the living room of a house you don't immediately recognise, and you stumble a few steps, disoriented. Sans catches you by the arm to stabilise you before you can fall, and his grip is reassuringly firm. "easy there, buddy," he tells you.

From a few rooms over, you can smell something burning and hear hushed voices, and then something bangs loudly and it sounds like a pot dropping on the stove, but you're not entirely sure. Someone mutters something, and there's a nervous chuckle you instantly recognise as belonging to Papyrus before he even speaks. "SANS?" he calls out, "IS THAT YOU?"

His voice is as loud as you remember but even though you're still disoriented, it's not enough to make you flinch, and you nudge off Sans's hand gently just as he replies. "sure is, pap," he assures his brother with a light hearted tone. "i'm the bona-fide, real deal."

"NGHHHHHHHHH!" Papyrus yells from the other room. "SANS, THAT WAS HORRIBLE! AND YOU'VE USED IT BEFORE!"

"it may be old, but it's always humerus," Sans replies, winking at you, and you smile a bit as you wrap your arms back around your sides and look around a bit, turning in place. The more you look around, the more you realise that this is Sans and Papyrus's old house, and you wonder how on earth that could have be.

Papyrus groans again and interrupts your train of thought, but this time, someone else beats him to the reprimand. "I honestly have no idea where you get all these horrible jokes, Sans, but I would not object if you put them back where you found them. They're painful," Mettaton declares, and your smile broadens a bit more.

Sans winks at you. "well, if it makes you feel better, i found something you won't want me to put back while i was out," he says, and you hug yourself a bit tighter at the look he gives you.

You hear Mettaton's surprised gasp as Papyrus drops whatever it is he's holding and something splatters. "REALLY?" he yells, and you hear the clanking of his boots on the floor of the kitchen. "WOWIE, I LOVE SURPRISES! WHAT DID YOU-? FRISK!" As soon as Papyrus comes through the door, he sees you, and then he's running toward you and picking you up, swinging you around. From the kitchen, Mettaton makes another surprised noise, but you can't pay attention because you're too busy focusing on Papyrus and the grin across his face as he spins with you in his arms. After several moments, he abruptly stops spinning and presses you against him in a tight hug which, though it's comforting, makes you glad that your face is buried in his battle body so nobody can see the brief wince that flashes across your face. Eventually, he pulls away to look at your face, though he makes no move to put you down. "I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE COMING OVER, MY TINY HUMAN FRIEND, OR I WOULD HAVE MADE SPAGHETTI EARLIER FOR YOU!"

"Did I hear you right?" Mettaton asks as he enters the room, as though it's possible to have misinterpreted Papyrus's yelling. His eyes light up as soon as he sees you in Papyrus's arms, and then he too is hurrying over to hug you, taking you from Papyrus and squishing you against himself. "Frisk, darling, it's been ages!"

You smile as much as you can and try to make sure your voice matches your facial expression. "I know," you say quietly, and for the first time today your words are almost clear. "It feels like forever for me too."

Mettaton's grip loosens as he pulls away, but he keeps you held up in his arms. He's beaming. "Well, darling, since I'm assuming you haven't gotten any of our messages or you would have replied, I believe it's time that we catch up. Papyrus and I were just making some spaghetti, the proper way. Would you care to join us?" You nod once, deciding that maybe you can afford to spend a little bit of time here if you walk fast on the way home, and Mettaton seems to brighten even more before he turns his attention to Sans, who's still standing in the middle of the room, his typical smile looking vividly genuine for the moment. "You're invited too, Sans," he comments, "and since you brought Frisk, I'll even excuse your...unique sense of humour... for the night." He looks a bit pained as he says it, and you can't help but giggle.

Sans grins. "thanks, mettaton," he says, "you're a real class-act. i'd love to join you."

You can tell Mettaton's biting back a groan, but he smiles anyway, and as you look around, you notice that all the monsters are smiling. You notice distantly that, despite all your reservations and the fact that it hurts a little to do so, you are too, and Mettaton grins. "Then I think we have a plan. Let's get cooking, darling," he says, and he whisks you away.

Two hours later, you have no idea how you lost track of the time, but you're smiling hard and laughing despite yourself and almost all tension has finally slipped away from your body as you pad around the kitchen and carefully avoid the small stains on the floor from where things have been splattered or otherwise spilled in the creative mayhem.

Cooking with Mettaton is a considerably safer and more methodical process than cooking with Undyne, but since both Papyrus and Sans are involved too, the whole attempt has had more than one diversion into less than professional territory. You've been careful to avoid getting anything on your clothes, but at one point you'd wound up with sauce sprayed all over you when Sans had accidentally knocked Mettaton off balance and forced him to catch himself on the counter near you, which had been covered in tomatoes at the time and had led to your face temporarily becoming a ketchup-y splatterpaint until you'd had a chance to clean it off.

As it turns out, Mettaton's good at coming up with excuses to keep cooking and to keep talking long after you finish with the spaghetti, which is why you're still going strong on an attempt to make a cherry pie for Toriel, which Sans notes as being a berry worthy cause. Mettaton barely resists groaning at that one. Papyrus doesn't. Sans just winds up laughing.

"Now then," Mettaton says, ignoring the skeleton's wheezing as he picks up a pie tin and reaches for some of the dough you've made, "we need to put this crust in here carefully so that the cherries can go in next- Papyrus, would you mind mixing these cherries together with the flour so we can put them in here? And please don't worry about not stirring passionately enough, the more intact they are, the better."

"OF COURSE!" Papyrus accepts cheerfully as he takes the bowl full of flour you measured earlier and reaches for the cherries. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM THE MASTER OF MIXING CHERRIES, THOUGH I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHY CHERRIES ARE BEING MIXED WITH FLOUR!"

"don't worry about it, bro," Sans encourages him, "just do it. i'm sure it's easy as pie." Papyrus yells loudly. You laugh a bit.

Mettaton winces and looks like he deeply regrets giving Sans permission to make any sort of puns for any sort of reason, but through some superhuman feat of will, he manages to not comment on it again, instead looking at you and your grinning face with a smile. "Frisk, darling, will you be alright to cut the lattice strips?" he asks, eyeing the knife by your hand as you roll out some dough. "If you'd rather I do it, that's perfectly fine-"

"I'm okay," you assure him. "I've done a little bit of cooking before, so I'll be fine."

Mettaton nods his understanding. "Alright, darling, if you're sure. You can change your mind at any time."

You shoot him a thumbs up, and he smiles. You set aside your rolling pin, then pick up your knife and carefully eye the tin that Mettaton is so carefully putting crust into, trying to estimate how long you should cut the strips while down the counter, Papyrus mixes berries and Sans gives him 'moral support', or claims to. As you decide on a length, you nod to yourself, and start to slice. You make the first cut in careful silence, then speak up once you decide that you really are comfortable enough with the knife to multitask. "So where is everyone else?" you ask, noting that the sun outside the window is starting to sink and welcome in the sunset. You're not about to complain about the current company, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit surprised that you hadn't seen any sign of Alphys or Undyne, or even Toriel and Asgore.

"Well," Mettaton explains, "as of now, the only ones who live here are the skeleton brothers, since it is their home from the underground, though I have no idea how it got up here from Snowdin." He gives a wry smile. "I imagine that Toriel and Asgore might still be investigating on the behalf of the new school they're opening. As for Alphys and Undyne, I'm sure they have their own things to keep the two of them occupied." You don't entirely understand it, but you don't miss the humour that lights up his eyes.

"What kind of things?" you ask as you peel away an extra piece of dough and start a pile to be rolled out again.

Mettaton snorts. "Never mind that, darling. Focus more on the other half. Are you excited about the school?"

You nod, since that at least is true. You're thrilled that Toriel has this opportunity. You just don't know that you'll have a chance to be a part of it. "I think it will be nice, really," you admit. "It'll be good to start young with kids getting used to each other."

Mettaton nods. "I think you're right," he agrees. He pauses to shift the pie tin so he can have a better angle to press the crust to the pan. "Toriel actually asked me to be a teacher there, for music or something of that like. She thought it might be something I'd enjoy," he notes.

You look over to him briefly. "Did you accept?"

He smiles at you as he shakes his head. "I couldn't, darling. I appreciate it, of course, but my role in life is as a star. Once we get everything settled out here, I'm going to take off and see what I can find. I'm hoping to convince Blooky and Shyren to join me when I go- they both have extraordinary talent." He sees the expression on your face and his eyes instantly widen. "Don't look like that, darling," he tells you, "we'll be back on a regular basis. Even stars visit their families." There's something in his tone that you don't quite recognise, but you think there's something more to his thoughts on the subject. You don't push it, though.

"That'll be good," you say. "I think the three of you would make a great team. I think humans would really like you too."

Mettaton's eyes are shining. "Thank you darling," he says, "you're too kind."

You smile, and you're just about to respond when Papyrus cuts you off. "METTATON, I HAVE FINISHED MIXING THE BERRIES!" he yells. "ARE YOU READY WITH THE CRUST?"

His voice is no louder than usual, but you weren't expecting it and so you wind up jumping about three feet into the air, the hand holding the knife jerking sharply, and you hiss in pain as you feel it slice into the soft skin of your opposite palm and drop the blade immediately. Mettaton looks to you in concern as you move your hand away from the dough, blood already welling up around the cut, and he sets down his tin instantly. "Frisk, darling, are you alright?" he asks.

You nod, wincing a bit. "I'm fine," you say, "it's just a little cut."

Mettaton shakes his head. "It may not be lethal, but that's more than a little cut, sweetie," he says. He takes your hand and reaches for your arm. "Here, let's pull this back so you don't bleed on it-"

Too late, you realise what's happening, and fear flashes across your face as he starts to roll up the sleeve of your sweater. "No!" you yell sharply, and you jerk your hand away with far more force than he's expecting, breaking free easily and knocking yourself off balance so that you stumble backward and fall down hard on the kitchen floor, sending pain shooting through your arms and a wince flashing across your face.

Mettaton gapes at you in shock, and for a moment, you think that maybe it's just because you had such a strong reaction, think that maybe you have a chance of explaining this away somehow if you're creative enough, and then you realise that he's not staring at you, or at least not all of you. Just like the skeleton brothers, he's staring at the several inches of skin on your left forearm that are now revealed and covered in ugly, mottled purple.

Very suddenly, the kitchen is dead silent. Sans is staring at you, and Papyrus is still holding his bowl full of cherries. Mettaton looks winded. "Frisk?" he asks.

Your words cut off in your mouth, and you have no idea what to say so you reach for the first thing that comes to mind as you desperately tug the sleeve down, not caring about the resulting pain that flashes cross your face. "It's nothing," you say, "I just- I fell down some stairs, and I hit my arms-"

"I DIDN'T KNOW THEY MADE STAIRS THAT LOOKED LIKE HANDS," Papyrus comments, and his voice, despite being as loud and innocent as ever, sounds uncertain. "DO THOSE EXIST IN A LOT OF PLACES?"

You shake your head, then stop yourself and nod, then stop yourself again, not sure of how to respond. Sans's eyes are locked on you. "yeah, frisk," he starts, and his tone is deceptively calm, even though you can see the intensity in his eyes, "are those stairs easy to find? or are they exclusive to your place?"

Your heart pounds against your ribs, and you tighten your hands into painful, bloody fists. "I...I don't know," you say, "they might be other places, I don't know. I only tend to- I don't usually- I mean-"

"hey papyrus," Sans says, cutting you off, eyes still locked on your face, "do you remember what happened to the recipe book i used that time i made the weird quiche?"

Papyrus looks confused, eyes twitching between you and his brother. "YES, SANS, OF COURSE I REMEMBER. IT'S ON MY BOOKSHELF. BUT IS NOW REALLY THE TIME TO-?"

"it's always the time to go find new recipes to experiment with, pap," Sans tells him. "take mettaton with you and find the book, would you? i think we need a couple new recipes."

Mettaton shoots Sans a look which he ignores, or rather returns with an undertone you can make out clearly: get Papyrus away from here. Mettaton looks uncertain for a moment, but then his jaw tightens and he nods. "Yes, Papyrus, darling, I think Sans is right. Lead the way, will you?"

After a moment of hesitation, Papyrus nods. "O-OF COURSE," he stutters, for perhaps the first time since you've met him. "FOLLOW ME AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL FIND US SOME SPECTACULAR RECIPES TO MAKE, WITH YOUR HELP, OF COURSE."

Mettaton only nods, and he shoots you a final concerned glance and follows it up with a heavy look in Sans's direction as he crosses the room to Papyrus's side and ushers him quietly away from where you and Sans remain standing perfectly still, gazes locked. Papyrus keeps looking back all the way up the stairs, but he doesn't speak, and it's not until you hear the upstairs door open and shut that Sans finally moves, crossing the room towards you with a speed you would never have expected from him while you're still frozen.

He takes your hands gently, and instinctively, you try to struggle out of his grasp. Much to your shock though, his grip is a lot tighter than you would have expected as he pulls your sleeve up all the way and sees the carnage, the ugly blues and purples that make up your arm, the still healing scratches from the shards of ceramic that cover the skin. A long moment passes, and when Sans speaks, he doesn't look at you. "who did this?" he asks quietly.

You shake your head, desperate. "Nobody," you insist, "nobody did it. It was an accident. I just, I fell-"

Sans cuts you off with a shake of his head, and his eyes shut like he's in pain. "no," he says, tone flat, "no, kid, don't lie to me. i know what it looks like when humans fall off a bike, when they fall down steps or out of a tree. they don't look like this. who did it?"

You don't respond.

After several moments of silence, Sans laughs quietly, and it doesn't sound at all amused. "y'know, frisk," he says, "i thought something was off when you were in the hospital a couple weeks ago. papyrus said he found you being carried out of a house, and i thought it sounded off, so i looked, and i was right. it was nowhere near that park, which means you were walking alone in the cold for i don't even know how long, and you told us you were fine. then you couldn't have visitors. then that secretary caused a mess, and then you stopped answering messages." He pauses a moment, letting the weight of all his evidence set in. "and so i did some looking, and as it turns out, that mountain we were under, that you went on? everyone says that nobody who climbs it comes back down. do you see the dots i'm connecting here, kiddo?"

You shake your head. "It was an accident," you whisper.

Sans sighs, grip tightening briefly only to loosen again in an instant. "please, frisk," he murmurs, "stop trying to tell me that." You shut your mouth. Silence returns for several seconds, looming threatening between you. "who did this, buddy?"

You pause. You have no idea what to say. "I can't tell you," you manage eventually, and against your own will, your voice is hoarse.

Sans still isn't looking at you. His eyes are still on your arm. "and why is that?"

You clamp your eyes shut. "Because it's not just about me. I'm not the only one who can get hurt."

Sans laughs that humourless laugh again. "buddy, only one or not, this thing you've got going on here isn't really working for me."

"Then I'm sorry," you say, and you pull your arm away from Sans. "But I can't change it." You tug your sleeve down and stand up.

Sans grabs your hand. "oh no," he says planly, "frisk, you aren't going back there."

You shake your head and try to free yourself. "I have to," you say, "I don't have a choice-"

"you do have a choice, kid," Sans insists, "you have the choice to save yourself for once, or maybe let someone else save you instead of doing-whatever this is you're doing." He doesn't let go of your hand. "frisk, you saved all of us. you have to let us help-"

Instinct overcomes you, and this time, you pull harder than ever before, and you can see that Sans is startled the moment you break away from his grip and stumble toward the door. "You can't," you insist, and your heart thumps a tattoo onto the inside of your chest with the truth of it. This time, you see Sans's face, and the confusion on it breaks something in you to pieces. This isn't his fault, this isn't anyone's fault but yours, and you will not drag them into this war. "I'm so sorry, Sans," you whisper. "You can't."

Sans blinks at you for a moment. "Frisk-" he begins, and he steps toward you, and finally, it sets you off. Adrenaline pulses into your system. You don't know what to do, what to say, but you know you have to get away from here, and your pulse pounds in your veins as you yank open the door and run outside.

"Frisk!" Sans yells, and he reaches after you, but you aren't listening. Your feet pound against the pavement without direction, and you keep your head down as you run as fast as you can, thankful that you've learned how to disappear by now.

By the time Sans gets his bearings back, you're long gone.

By the time you get home, your father is waiting.