It had been nearly 3 months since Frisk shattered the Barrier.
The entire monster populace had migrated to the surface. A bit impulsive, given there was nothing waiting for them on the other side. After the initial reverie had faded, they were left a bit unsure of what to do with themselves.
The landscape had changed drastically during their time down there. It was something only older monsters would have recognized. The sky was clear now. Clean clouds instead of billowing smoke. Trees had regrown. Grass and flowers had flourished over the dust and dirt that covered this mountain so many years ago.
At this point, they had no qualms with the humans, despite it all. Peace was their sole desire.
They'd sent Frisk to them initially, to break the ice on their behalf. It was a shock, to say the very least. Luckily violence was not their first reaction; and they were sympathetic enough to appreciate the monsters' neutral, self-serving intentions in seeking a new place to live.
The humans, understandably, wished not to disrupt the peaceful functioning within their own cities. Knowing the discourse that might stir with sudden announcements of a foreign monster race popping back up, it was decided that secrecy was their best course of action.
They were permitted to stay, found a town, even a small city if they wished…given they kept their distance and remained, for the most part, in pleasant seclusion.
Thus they wrote it into law, quietly. A short peace treaty, signed by Asgore and the governor from the nearest human city. A few simple words to set in stone, prohibiting hostility from either party; an unspoken rule only to be brought to public light if absolutely necessary.
It was an outcome most monsters found highly favorable; especially those who'd held onto that twinge of fear that surfacing would allow history to repeat itself all over again.
But the humans, to everyone's relief, gave them not a single incident. If anything, the few they took interaction with had been warily accommodating, and at times even pleasant, during this awkward transitional point.
They quickly established an unusual kind of trade route with a nearby town, in which they'd exchange harvested resources from the forest for food and other necessary supplies. Procuring means of construction proved to be the most challenging step of their endeavor. But, resolute as they were, they prevailed. And there, within the boundaries of the mountain wilderness, their civilization flourished.
In the impressive span of a few weeks they had established several small, but highly functional townships. They looked the same for the most part, though certain sectors were tailored more specifically to mimic the environmental comforts sought by different breeds.
Undyne took refuge with other aquatic monsters, in stone and mudbrick houses built by a river, heavily shaded by pine trees. Alphys, in a close by rocky clearing, well exposed to direct sunlight. And so forth.
They had running water. A few primal means to adjust temperature. Electricity at the time was…far from perfect, but enough to light houses and run appliances with some level of dependability.
Despite their humble situation, the monsters, for the most part, had finally found the contentment they'd been seeking all their lives. The need for progress, a sort of nagging want for restoration, rested with people like Mettaton. Even Alphys seemed to have taken an indefinite breather from her scientific work, much to his annoyance. However, this annoyance bred action, dedication, which in turn bred results; and he was soon on his way to developing a station to reinstate the population's access to localized television and radio.
Centered within these smaller towns was what might be considered their new Capital. It wasn't much more impressive than the other settlements, but it was secure and tight-knit, ideal for anyone valuing safety and comradery in their new location. It felt like Snowdin, without the snow. And given this is where the king now resided, those within that area felt most at ease.
This is where Frisk had settled as well, making his home with Toriel, naturally.
Even though she was in close proximity to plenty of neighbors, she would have remained painfully lonely had he decided to go elsewhere. For a woman like her, an empty house was a heavy weight to bear. Frisk's presence, reserved as it may be, made her world feel alive.
Things going as they were, life almost felt normal again.
Almost.
He was aware there was a difference this time. A massive difference. This outcome had been a costly do-over, and he tried hard to ignore that grating fact.
As far as Chara…well, he really didn't pop up much. His words were infrequent, overall presence little more than a subtle residence within him.
Frisk never brought this up of course. It was a bit weird, yes. But he wasn't exactly missing the invasive nature of his 'companionship.'
Conversations were brief. Few and far between. Their words had lost that hateful bite; and, given there wasn't much else to replace it with, it left most of their interactions hollow of any prominent emotion.
Frisk had long since dropped the festering infatuation that had taken hold of him for that brief time. Chara, to his surprise, seemed to have done the same.
It was never spoken of. It was almost as if it never happened.
Their initial deals?
Never mentioned them.
That one dream that had ever so slightly parted the spiteful tensions between them?
Never brought it up.
Those two little sessions that almost teetered on genuine intimacy?
Swept under the rug and forgotten.
They fell into an endless loop of casual informalities.
If there was anything to be said, neither was willing to make the first move. And given that these past matters with Chara didn't exactly have a direct impact on his daily life, Frisk did by default what he's always done best; shrug it off and passively move on.
On occasion he would wonder what Chara was doing up there. What was keeping him occupied while he went about his, as predicted, painfully average life. Watching a person go through a casual and non-climactic routine, day after day, could only be interesting for so long.
The man was probably bored out of his mind.
Nevertheless, his life had finally been restored, in a way even improved. Every morning he awoke to the natural sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window. The moment he left the house he'd be guaranteed to meet a familiar face strolling down the street. And every night he was greeted with a nice meal by a woman who had quickly become his mother figure.
This was enough for him now.
It was more than enough.
Hell had sliced through his apathy, trampled him to his core, and stuffed his heart with gratitude. It wrung and twisted him to where it was hard to recognize who he was before. And in many ways, it was for the better.
With Chara's absence, it was easy to focus on his life again. Simple, and pleasant.
Today was particularly quiet. Tori had gone out earlier in the morning, thus Frisk had been left by himself for most the day. He'd awoken barely an hour ago, and was finally making his way out to the kitchen.
On the dining table lay a tiny stack of paper; impossible to miss given the surface was otherwise clear. A scribbly cursive note left was for him, atop an envelope.
Frisk,
Went out for groceries. Be back around noon, hopefully.
Mail came today. This was for you.
Love, Toriel.
He picked up the envelope. The only thing on its front was his name, in bold black print. Frisk turned it about in his palm curiously, before carefully tearing into it.
The letter inside was addressed formally to him, from Asgore. His handwriting was neat and very professional, though the excessive cursive style was a bit hard for Frisk to decipher at first.
His eyes scanned over the words. It was an invitation; or more, informative note of a celebration to be thrown in his honor, a little less than a week from today. A declaration of his success, for liberating the monster race.
We anticipate you'll grace us with your attendance to this marvelous ceremony.
Sincerely,
His Majesty, Asgore Dreemurr
Asgore. Despite him living right in the same district, he hadn't seen much of him since their battle. Frisk was sure that had to do with the fact that he'd taken residence with his ex-wife. Though according to this letter, the man certainly seemed to hold him in high regard.
He skimmed it once more and his lips curled into a pleasant smile.
'They're throwing a celebration for me...? They've never done that before.'
'"Oh, well congratu-fucking-lations."'
The words were spiked with malice and sarcasm. He hadn't heard that voice in weeks.
Frisk blinked upward, opening his mouth a moment, before quickly shutting it again. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked away.
"…Uh, thanks." he murmured, clearing his throat.
An awkwardness twisted inside him. He licked his lips a second, staring off at nothing in particular. Again he coughed softly.
"Um… You've been quiet lately."
'"…Have I? I hadn't noticed."'
…
He pursed his lips. Following another small sigh, he addressed him again.
"Are you…alright…?"
…
"You've just been, like…silent… For a really long time… It's…kinda…a little freaky, I dunno."
…
'"I didn't think it was all that abnormal."'
…
Silence again.
Frisk clicked his teeth uncomfortably. "Eh…I guess I just wonder… If you're not talking, and you're just…there…" He fiddled with the papers as he spoke. "What have you been doing all this time…?"
…
'"Watching."'
That tone. Inconspicuous as it seemed, he did not like that tone.
No words followed, but that implication hung in the air.
With the sudden weight around him, his posture became stiff and constrained. Thoughts blotted into a nervous haze, and his nails clawed about absentmindedly in response to the tension.
His entire body jolted as the front door swung open.
"Jesus f-!"
That petrified expression relaxed upon seeing Toriel, arms full of grocery bags.
"Frisk dear, can you take some of these? I was going to take a cart, but we live so close- I didn't think I'd get this much, but I kept seeing things and bought more than I could carry."
"Oh- Yeah- Yeah, sure."
The boy quickly relieved her of some of her bags.
"Oh-! Thank you, sweetie." she breathed in relief. "I don't know what I was thinking, this kind of strain can wreak havoc on an old lady's back- Oh Lord-" There was a series of prominent crackles as she stretched, as if to illustrate her point.
With a breathy exhale, she went about unloading some of the things into their small mini-fridge. Frisk assisted her with emptying the bags.
"Well. Now we've got plenty of options for lunch. More than we bargained for, frankly… What were you thinking?"
"Heh. Actually I'm still looking to get breakfast."
Her head whipped toward him. "You haven't eaten breakfast yet?"
"I just got up."
"You just got up?" she asked with a scolding gasp. "Frisk, it's half past noon!"
He just smiled guiltily.
"Tsk. What is it with teenage boys sleeping into the afternoon, I swear…" she mumbled as she stacked away the last of their groceries into the pantry.
Frisk dusted his hands on his sweater, then perked up suddenly. "Oh hey, I opened that letter." A tinge of excitement made its way back into his voice. "It was this invitation thing- from Asgore."
"Asgore?"
"Here, here, just read it." he said with a grin as he handed off the letter.
Tori immediately winced at his annoyingly perfect handwriting. She murmured under her breath as she read over it, then stood in silence a moment before speaking.
"Tsk. He tries so hard to be formal." A dry chuckle. "And here he used to have his son proofread this nonsense. But as for you-" She smiled sweetly, handing back the letter. "I'm proud of you, Frisk. You deserve something like this, for all you've done… We are absolutely attending…" she trailed off, smile fading slightly. "Though we'll have to get you a suit. Not sure where we'll find one those up here..."
"Well, it's not totally necessary…"
"Yes it is."
"It is?"
"Yes, Frisk. You are not wearing a sweater to a royal gathering."
"…Fair point." He smiled slightly. "In that case, I think I might have a hunch or two on where to look…"
There weren't many places to shop for clothes locally; nice ones at that. It almost all came from Mettaton and his little 'company,' for he was the only one vain enough to invest anything in the fashion business so early on. Though he could be snooty at times, he kept his pricing rather generous. Having designed much of it himself, he got more payment in seeing people wear his clothing than the actual sales revenue.
They had plenty of time, but Tori, being prudent as she was, took him that very day. They weren't the only ones. The place was unusually crowded.
Mettaton was there, sassily ordering around some burnt-out employees. He quickly caught eye of Frisk and rushed over, beaming.
"Welcome, welcome darling~! Are you here to shop for that event t- Oh, what am I saying, of course you are! Come in, come in!" He placed a hand on each of their shoulders and ushered them in excitedly.
"Wait, wait- You guys know already?" Frisk asked in surprise.
"Oh, the whole town knows, darling! All the invites went out today!"
"Yeah, I guess they must have… Looks like everyone and their mother is here…" he mumbled.
"Ha ha! Indeed~" He emitted an amused robotic chuckle. "And they said this was a frivolous investment..."
Toriel's eyes lit up as they scanned over all the colorful fabrics on display. "Ah, you wouldn't happen to have any gowns for a lady my size, would you?" she asked with a giddy chuckle.
"Oh darling, we have an entire collection for you to browse! My attendants here would be happy to assist you-!" He gestured over toward a stylishly dressed cat and crocodile. "In the meantime, I can get Frisky here fitted for a tux~"
"Don't call me that-"
The man just 'tsked' him and turned his attention back to Toriel.
"And don't you worry about cost, darling, it's on the house."
"Oh my, that's- That's so very generous of you-"
"Oh, hush!" He gestured upward with a sweet, sassy smile. "You're a queen, my dear! It's time to start dressing like it!" He sent her a final playful wink, then called over Bratty and Catty. And with that, he escorted Frisk to the backrooms.
Though he had been busy managing the store, he made special time for him; just to be sure the man of the hour was fitted perfectly for the occasion. And the employees were probably relieved to get a short break from his constant micromanaging.
He took his measurements, then gathered an array of suits to go through. What followed, well…his level of commitment was admirable to say the least.
Only Mettaton could cheekily flirt with a guy, nitpick his outfit, debate with himself over said outfit, and rebuke his own argument in the same breath.
He would ask Frisk's opinion, but it really didn't matter. Mettaton's brilliant fashion expertise would ultimately override it. But hey, he was the guy who would have worn a freakin' sweater, so... He certainly trusted the robot's judgement.
Mettaton had him standing in front of a mirror, alternating between the two suits he'd narrowed it down to.
"So we have A... Or B. A. B. A-"
"They look exactly the same."
Mettaton gasped. "These?! What?! They look nothing alike!"
Frisk looked back and forth between the two plain black suits.
"...I...literally can't find a single difference."
"No, no. Darling. You're missing it." He rubbed his temple and clicked his tongue. "See the collar on this one? The subtle crease right here? This intricate stitching we worked so hard to design...?"
...
"Um…" Frisk squinted at the fabric a few seconds, then grunted softly in resignation. "...Sure."
"Right! So it's completely different from B."
"Y...es..."
"…God, you're just agreeing with me now, aren't you?"
"...Yeah."
Mettaton let out a long sigh, muttering quietly under his breath. "Ugh, some men have no appreciation for fashion, I swear, the nerve..." A slight cough. "Alright!" He perked up suddenly with a clap of his hands. "To put it simply, you've got two looks here."
He stood behind Frisk again and held the first suit in front of him.
"Handsome. Mysterious. May or may not have OCD."
He held up the second one.
"Or there's this one that says, 'I'm dressed for a formal setting, but I've got a colorful personality!'"
"Um-"
"Or…" The robot smirked and pulled a third suit from the rack. "Of course there's always C. 'I clean up nice, but I'm an animal in bed.'"
"...How exactly does one get all that from a suit?"
"It's in the subtleties, darling. They're like a language of their own."
"Well in that case, I guess I'll go with the first one."
"Excellent choice!"
Though he still didn't see the damn difference.
They didn't end up leaving together. By the time Mettaton was finally done with him, Toriel was still plenty occupied selecting her own formal dress. While he waited for her, he decided to take a short walk through the lively little town.
He wound up bumping into the skeleton brothers. Or more, he willingly approached them, given he'd heard Papyrus' voice ringing through the air long before he actually saw him.
They were bickering over the necessity of puzzle traps again. Since they'd settled up here, Sans had been lazier than ever about keeping up with them. And of course, that ticked Papyrus off to no end.
"And you told me this- morning- you would recalibrate your puzzles! You didn't calibrate anything!"
"I forgot."
"You-! Well, you need to do it! Regularly!"
"Why?"
"Why?"
"People just trip over them."
"Yes, that is the point, Sans!"
"It's more trouble than it's worth, bro."
"It's a deterrent, bro!"
"From what?"
…
"I…ahem…" He blinked at him blankly for a few seconds, then scowled. "You know what? I'm getting pretty tired of having to explain these things to you-!"
Sans snickered, and the other's scowl only grew deeper.
Papyrus heard a second set of snickering and flipped his head around like an owl. His frown immediately faded.
"Frisk! Ah, Frisk, hi!" Papyrus waved excitedly in his face and started off on a ramble. "Did you hear about the party they're throwing for you?! It's so exciting, I was wondering when they were going to get around to that! It's been what, 3 months now? It's so overdue, don't you think?! I was going to throw you one myself, but I've been a bit sidetracked lately…" he muttered, peering at Sans.
Frisk chuckled. "So you guys already got invited too, huh?"
"Oh, but of course! It's only natural they would want to summon the Great Papyrus to such an occasion!" His hand whipped out an envelope with his first name scribbled on it. "Lookie here, see?! It was a personal invitation and everything!"
"Yeah. Super personal. I got the exact same one." Sans murmured with that lazy grin.
Papyrus spun around with a huff.
"Well. I'm still flattered to be invited." He perked up. "Nyeh! Speaking of which! Sans!"
"What?" he answered as the other popped up right in his face.
"Sans! This is a formal affair!" He pointed up dramatically. "Thus, we simply must find formal wear!"
Sans just stared ahead uncomfortably. "Uh. Actually. I kinda had a thing that night."
"SANS! Don't be so rude! He's standing right there, you bonehead!"
"I…was joking. Heh."
Papyrus sighed in exasperation.
"Tori made me get my suit today too." Frisk smirked at the stout skeleton. "She's coming, y'know."
For a split second there was a glimmer that flashed in his eyes.
"Oh." His smile, though exactly the same, suddenly seemed more genuine. "Why didn't ya say so, kid?" He glanced up at his brother cheekily. "Maybe I can make room in my busy schedule to try on some stuffy suits after all…"
Papyrus shot him an excessive frown. "You are terrible."
His eyes just flicked awkwardly between Papyrus and Frisk as he still wore that stoic grin.
The other groaned and grabbed him by his hoodie. "Come on, you! We're getting out of here before you make me die of embarrassment! Again!" As he began trudging away, he spun around and waved. "Farewell, Frisk! We shall see you in…" He pulled a cheap kid's watch from his costume pocket and slapped it on his wrist. "4 days, 18 hours, 16 minutes, and 32 seconds!" With a final wave, he was running off, dragging a sluggish Sans behind him.
In the days leading up to the event, Frisk found himself attracting more attention than usual. The monsters had been beyond grateful to him, he was always aware of that, but he'd never received so many thanks all at once. With all that had been going on in prior weeks, everyone was mostly preoccupied with their little colonization up to this point.
The night of the celebration seemed to come in no time.
Toriel was busy getting herself primped and primed for the night. She'd been doing so for the past 3 hours; between the gown, and the immaculate grooming, the jewelry, perfume and all the little touch ups to make herself look her very best for tonight…
And all this time she'd been under the impression that Frisk was doing the same. So of course it was to her dismay when she found him face-first smushed into the couch cushion, shamelessly napping in his suit.
"Frisk! I thought you were getting ready!"
"Huh- What? Oh-" He startled awake and sat up quickly with a restrained yawn. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."
She frowned in disapproval. "No you are not, young man, just look at your hair! And your suit! It's all wrinkled now…" she scolded him.
"Alright, alright..."
Frisk rolled sluggishly off the sofa, and the woman followed him insistently as he trudged off to the bathroom.
He picked up his hairbrush. Brushed his hair back once. Then set in down.
"Ok, now I'm ready."
"My God, you're as bad as Asriel, come here-!" She stopped him as he tried to escape.
"Whaaat?" he whined.
"You're not going out like that!"
"Why, it's fine…"
"Oh stop it, you sound like a child."
Tori took the brush herself and straightened his unkempt hair. Then as she fixed up his suit, she bombarded him with reminders for the night.
"Make sure you smile, alright? Greet everyone with kindness and converse accordingly."
"Yes, Tori."
"And remember to stand up straight." Her hands squeezed his shoulders. "None of that slouching nonsense, you hear?"
"Yes, Tori."
"Everyone will be watching, so you must present yourself as a mature gentleman at all times-"
"Yes, Tori."
The woman hummed, then smiled down at him proudly, dusting off his suit one last time. "You look very handsome."
Frisk returned the smile bashfully. "Thank you."
He glanced at himself in the mirror. It really was the nicest he'd ever looked.
They left shortly after. Tori had been so proactive, Frisk's little tidying session hadn't thrown them behind schedule at all. In fact, they were more than half an hour early.
They arrived at a grand dining hall. It was surprisingly spacious; with more than enough room to accommodate all who attended. Surely it was the largest building they'd constructed thus far.
It was a brightly lit space, full of elegant dining tables adorned with fine glassware. Banquet tables were lined against the walls. It wasn't meticulously organized or anything. Preparations had been made by Asgore and his direct servants. It had the fancy aspect of formality without the stuffiness.
Pretty much everyone had dressed up, at least to some degree, and were busy mingling about in upbeat conversations.
Undyne was dressed in a women's suit, and clinging to her arm was Alphys, in that same polka dot dress. Mettaton was in a dazzling, perfectly tailored red suit. The three of them were chattering happily by one of the banquet tables.
Sans lingered around one of such tables. He seemed to be dodging Papyrus, who kept pursuing him relentlessly. Frisk could tell even from this distance he was not happy about something. As he approached he soon found out.
The two were wearing what were supposed to be matching folded ties. Papyrus' was orange, perfectly neat and smooth. Sans was blue, undone, and somehow wrinkled despite all his brother's efforts to press them beforehand. And boy was he hearing about it.
Tori seemed more than happy to intervene on his behalf. If skeletons could blush…
Frisk left them to their own devices and amused himself just taking in the sights around him. He had plenty of people come up to him in that span; greeting him, thanking him, congratulating him, some even jumping him for a hug. It was a little overwhelming, but he was completely jovial.
Eventually they were all seated, and Asgore stood at a raised podium on a small stage within everyone's view.
"Friends, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate the courage and selflessness of a special young man; and how his efforts tipped the scale in our conquest for liberation!"
The room roared into a cheer. Once every voice fell quiet again, the man continued.
"It had been over 20 years since our people had last seen the light of day. For many of our kin, visions of the surface existed only in stories and daydreams... War had shaken our civilization to its core. With every passing day, our hopes for restoration bled from us…"
One could hear a pin drop in this space; every ounce of attention was focused on the king as he proceeded with a lengthily speech regarding the history of their plight, and all that entailed. His demeanor shifted to something more celebratory as he neared its end.
"When all else failed, he prevailed. With strength. Perseverance. And determination."
His eyes scanned across the room, finally locking on the single human. He continued with a wide gesture to his audience.
"No soul before you will ever forget that radiant birth of sunlight… The crowning moment of our freedom."
Glass in hand, he toasted the night.
"To Frisk! May your story be told for centuries to come!"
A wave of cheers, whistles, and applause swept across the room.
Only moments following, the boy was overcome with a savage case of vertigo, followed by what felt like a hammer cracking his head.
The dizziness threw him against the back of his chair and washed over him, leaving him completely disoriented. The world seemed to blur for a swift point in time, and he was incoherent to the voices around him.
"Frisk, are you alright?"
Toriel had been seated next to him. Her eyes were wide with shock and concern. With all the commotion, she seemed to be the only one to notice his condition.
"Yeah… Yeah…I'm…" he trailed off with a wince, clutching his head forcefully.
"I thought you took medicine before we left?"
"I did…"
His eyes start blinking heavily. It didn't help his fuzzy vision. Lights suddenly seemed annoyingly bright. It quickly overtook him and became too much to bear.
"Fuck, I gotta go."
"Frisk-"
"Sorry- I- I'm sorry- I'll be right back-"
He stood abruptly and pushed himself into the crowd before she could protest again. It was impossible to make it anywhere completely unnoticed, but after some squeezing and shoving he managed to duck into the bathroom.
With a ragged exhale, he approached the mirror.
He stared deeply into his reflection, grinding his fingers into his forehead and hissing bitterly through his teeth. "What the fuck?! Is this you?! Are you seriously fucking with me right now, because I swear to God-! You disappear for weeks, then pop up at the worst fuckin' time-!"
"Who're ya talkin' to, buddy?"
Frisk froze at the sound of Sans' voice in the stall next to him.
"Shit- I thought I was alone-"
"Nope." the skeleton spoke casually as he opened the door. "It was pretty congested out there." A shrug. "So I thought I'd hide in here awhile. Kill some time." His eyes locked on Frisk with concern. "…Are you ok?"
Frisk blinked at him a second before responding. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a headache."
"Do you talk to all your headaches like that?"
"Wh-" He felt a jolt of nervousness, but tried to brush it off as a joke. "Nah. This is a special occasion."
"A special headache?"
"Try migraine."
"Ouch. Well that sucks."
"Yeah..."
There was a brief silence between them until Sans smiled with a chuckle.
"So… You wanna be bathroom buddies 'til this thing is over?"
"Ha. Well considering this thing was thrown specifically for me, I should probably try to stick it out."
"Oh yeah. Guess you have a point there." Another low snicker. "But, uh…if it's all the same with you kid, I might hang back for a bit longer. Paps has been on me all night, I could really use a breather."
"So you'd rather hide in the bathroom?"
A shrug. "I'm easily entertained." He shot him a mischievous grin. "Plus, it's kinda fun to watch him scramble around out there looking for me."
Frisk stifled a laugh. "Suit yourself, man. I'm just gonna try to get through this night without destroying the front half of my brain…"
…
His migraine never subsided. In fact, it only got worse.
He stuck around out of pure courtesy. But he couldn't have been more relieved when they finally made their way home.
He went straight to his bed. After a few minutes of moaning and groaning, he got up briefly to change out of his uncomfortable attire. Then once again he buried his face in his pillow, practically grinding it into his forehead in a fruitless effort to relieve that throbbing pain.
Eventually he managed to slink into the numbness of sleep.
Toriel grew worried for him as the night went on and he never emerged from his room. He'd insisted he only needed a nap... She glanced at the clock and sighed. She wasn't sure she'd feel comfortable leaving him home alone in this state…
She sat on the sofa. Paced. Checked the clock continuously.
At some point she paced into the kitchen, and, after preparing something, snuck into his room.
She moved cautiously, not wanting to stir or disturb the young man if he was out. After lingering in the doorway a few moments, she tried him.
"Frisk?" she whispered. "I brought you something, it might make you feel better-" She stopped mid-sentence at the sound of a muffled snore. For a minute she just stood there, watching the peaceful rise and fall of his body. "I'll just leave it here…" she spoke gently as she set a plate in the center of the rug.
The woman shuffled quietly to the doorway. Taking one last look at the sleeping boy, she smiled.
"Goodnight, my son."
With that, the door creaked soundly shut.
Frisk's body writhed about as he slept; his mind clearly tormented by something terrible.
It was a particularly violent thrash that woke him, but as soon as he opened his eyes, his dream was forgotten. Its after effect, however, was still plenty real.
As he sat up, he realized his entire torso, front to back, was drenched in sweat. There was a sick twisting in his stomach, and his heart pounded furiously.
The environment felt oddly controlled. A daunting stillness, like he was…
…
There was a sinking in his gut for a second. Gripping concern. He tried to disregard it, but the silence seemed to slice into his mind until it was ringing against his eardrums.
He sat there for a good 5 minutes. The sweating never stopped. That nagging fear never subsided. Eventually he got up, his movement stiff and a tad bit clumsy.
Something squished under his foot. It startled him, until the scent ebbed his alarm.
"What…?"
As he looked down at the pie chunk he had stepped on, he quickly noticed something else. There was an entire line of mess. A shattered dish, with bits of pie that scattered the floor. Like a plate of it was slewed across the room.
He locked up in his spot.
Urgently, he made for Toriel's bedroom.
Even with his anxiety at a peak, his movement was still hesitant as he cracked open the door.
"Tori…?" he whispered into the darkness.
He reached a shivering hand across the wall, eventually managing to hit the light switch.
The horrific sight he was met with obliterated him.
…
"T…Tori?! Mom!"
He shrieked, falling to his knees beside her. His hand shook over a long, deep gash across her chest. In his panic, his throat seemed to seal shut, suffocating his screams to high pitched wheezing.
"Wh…wha- …Hah…" His hands shook uncontrollably. Tears dripped onto her lax face as his reeling brain tried to even begin to process this.
Her eyes were empty, slightly glossed over, staring mildly crossed at nothing. His palms raked into the cold, dampened fur.
Being on the surface it was an utterly gory scene; here, the woman's death was not softened by the process of disintegration.
This was a dead body.
This was her dead body.
Shake and clutch at it all you want, she's not coming back, and she's not going away. The gravity of that injected itself into his gut all at once, and it nearly made him wretch.
Something else hit him in that moment.
His eyes locked on the swirling delirium that was the room as he currently saw it.
"It…was you…wasn't it…? Fuck! God, tell me it wasn't you-!" he wheezed, eyes squinting painfully and distorting his vision even further.
"Actually…"
Frisk's entire body froze up. He whipped his torso around; Toriel's head was dropped negligently to the hardwood floor as he did so. His heart was stricken with pure petrification at the sight he beheld.
Chara stepped toward him, unfazed, smirking like the soulless bastard he was.
"It was you."
He blinked at him in utter shock, voice hitched and deranged. "W…wha…no…no, no, it- it couldn't- I wasn't- I was asleep! I-I was in bed the whole time-!"
His face went pale, falling to a sickly white, even more so than the dead man before him, or the dead goat at his knees. Sweat began to sheen over his skin in a nauseating flux between polarized temperatures.
"Y…you…y-you…used me…to…"
Chara just cast his eyes on him with the same stoic expression.
"…Why…? Why would you do this…? Why, why, why-?!"
The man gazed down at him long and hard before he finally spoke; words falling out in disturbingly smooth contrast to the other's distressed sobs.
"Do you truly believe you deserve this?" Nonchalantly, he took a step closer. "Did you really think…that you could play God, time and time again, and still have a happy home waiting for you at the end of the day?"
"I paid for my sins." he hissed under his breath. "I paid you!"
The chuckling that followed made Frisk want to strangle that psychotic fuck. But his bones felt painfully heavy in his skin, and their weight kept him nailed to the floor.
With a soft sigh, Chara glanced down at Toriel's dead form.
"She had no idea, you know. She had no memories of your initial impressions. Your cruel apathy. Your selfish rage. She hadn't a damn clue."
Frisk squealed as he prodded the body with his foot.
"You were completely undeserving of her affections."
"And what is that for you to decide?!" he snapped up at him.
Chara just stared at him. Frisk's voice trembled as he spoke.
"I loved her!"
"Oh please, you killed her for sport."
His breath shook. "That…was before…"
'"Before I fucked some compassion into you?"'
Frisk's teeth clenched hard, eyes boring with fearless hatred into the other's. "This was not your decision to make!" A quivering growl was emitted from his throat. "It was theirs. It's their decision- whether they want to trust me or not- It's their decision whether or not I deserve this-! Not. Yours."
He broke down again, for just a few moments. Chara stood there patiently, seemingly indifferent to it all.
"It was going fine-! Everything was just fine! Why did you-!" His throat constricted and strangled his voice. "She fuckin' cared about me, she- she would have forgiven me-!"
"If only you had told her."
…
They remained there, wordless, save for Frisk's incoherent grievances.
A knock on the door nearly scared him out of his wits.
"Knock knock." a deep voice sounded from the other side.
…
Frisk's world stopped.
…
"Heh. See, this is the part where you say, 'Who's there?'"
…
The skeleton was once again met with uncomfortable silence. He chuckled awkwardly.
"Heh, I uh…I hope you're not mad at me for running late. See, I know we agreed on 9:30, but Paps told me I should run 'fashionably late,' but I, uh…heh…I wound up running regular late…"
…
"You'll forgive me though, right…?"
…
"Tori…?"
…
"Tori? Are you there?"
The moment the door clicked open, so did the epicenter of Frisk's core; and his consciousness was removed from that world.
…
Black.
Light.
Flowers.
Flowers.
...
"Howdy!"
He screamed.
Black.
Light.
Flowers.
Black.
Light.
Flowers.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
"Howdy, I'm Flowey! Flowey the flower!"
He felt on the verge of tears.
Once more.
No change.
Each do-over only spiked in impulsiveness and rage.
He let it play. Then cut it off.
He felt himself shutting down.
Black, light, flowers, black, light, flowers, Flowey the flower-
He screamed his lungs out before the bewildered plant could even introduce himself.
And with a click of his brain such first impressions were absolved over and over.
...
"...Er...kid? Human? Hello...?"
He lay there sobbing in the flower patch. His mind was swimming in a whirl of devastation, but clearly he was there long enough for the soulless flower to grow concerned for him...
...
Click.
He opened his eyes. Adrenaline coursed through his shaking limbs. His brain pulsed with blind rage as he glared hatefully at the foliage beneath him. Growling like a cornered animal, his fingers dug hard into the dirt, crushing several buttercups in the process.
...
"Howdy! I'm Flowey! Flowey the flower!"
...
"Hi Flowey..." he choked out with a pained smile, shuffling on hands and knees toward the other.
...
"Uh, hi..."
Frisk held that look, unblinking, tears dripping ceaselessly down his cheeks as he dared to brush the petals of that flower.
"Hey-! Hey, hey, hey-!" he protested, jerking away. "The hell are you doin'?!"
"...Sorry." he croaked.
...
"Just wanted to...to check...if you're real..." He drew in a long breath, laced under a choppy snicker, as he dug his dirtied nails hard into his forehead.
The flower's eyes flicked back and forth over the human in confusion, then alarm, as his nails had managed to pierce through his skin.
"Woah, wh...what is this...? You're scarin' me, kid."
...
"Ha..." His smile twitched as he stared off into the distant cave. "I'm so sorry... Let me just...start over for you..."
...
Black. Light. Flowers. "Howdy!"
Frisk couldn't help but laugh.
