Frisk doesn't remember when they lost their boots. It might have been in Waterfall, when they took them off to put on the ballet slippers. The slippers, though, scared them—the fabric a dark, startling red under the dust coating them—so they took them off. Did they put the boots back on after that? They couldn't remember. After they lost the boots, they lost one entire leg of their tights, so now one foot is permanently barefoot while the other only has the thinnest bit of fabric covering it.

Even Sans thinks they look pretty pitiable without footwear. They decided to play that up in this last run and put the ribbon back in their hair, hoping monsters might hesitate to murder them at every turn. Surprisingly, it's working pretty well, all things considered.

Or maybe it's just that Sans is keeping a closer eye on them this time around; they're never sure how much, if at all, he remembers from their previous runs, but he's always up to something different. This time he's being very careful about them. He even loaned them his coat so they aren't freezing for once; at the thought, they tuck their toes under the hem of the coat and reach down to rub some life into them.

They're supposed to be sleeping now, but rest eludes them. The Underground is darker than usual, and while that doesn't mean it's actually night, it's easier to sleep then. Next to them, Sans snores on, chin tucked against his chest, but they know if they move too much, his red eye will flash in its socket as it fixes on them. Even Flowey is napping, tucked against their collarbone, safe under the folds of the coat. Frisk is tempted to press their fingertips against his roots, just to be sure that he's really there, but they don't want to wake him. In the last run, Asgore's halberd ran him through his face, leaving them screaming before Asgore cut them down as well. Right now, he deserves some rest.

They try to focus on something more cheerful; usually, making plans for the future is enough to cheer them up. When they first fell into the mountain, their first plan was to find some way to explain their way out of this mess and then they planned to walk back down the mountain and start hitchhiking to wherever they could get that was as far from mountains as possible. Kansas maybe—that was supposed to be a very flat place, wasn't it? That dream had started to shift soon after. Firstly, they started imagining getting to a beach where they could then swim as far as they could out into the ocean, far from any mountains as possible. But then reality set in more and more and they would have just settled for lying in a sunbeam like a contented cat. They had also started imagining scenarios where they'd found a way to take Flowey through the barrier as well—together they could lie in the sun. He'd probably like that, being a plant and all. Chara would come with them as well, being that they were just a voice in the back of their head. They wished they could introduce Chara and Flowey. Frisk thinks that they and Flowey would make good friends.

They have really started to grow fond of the idea of them, Flowey, and Chara all resting in some rocking chair, Flowey in a flowerpot next to them, the sun drifting down. The image has given them a lot of comfort thus far.

Its magic is wearing off now though. The sun is becoming a distant memory and Asgore looks as undefeatable and uncompromising as ever.

Next to them, Sans lets out a real snore. Frisk glances over at him; their lips tremble, almost twitch up in a smile, but even that feels like too much work. So, instead, they let their eyes wander back forward and they stare at the gray brick before them.

*You are losing hope.

Frisk closes their eyes as Chara's voice echoes in their brain. No, I'm not. I'm just… tired.

*…

*Either of them would speak to you. If you would just turn to them first.

No, Chara. They're tired too. They resist the urge to sigh, lest it wake either of their physical companions up. I'll just deal.

*If you insist. But you should note that you need not do this alone.

They force themselves to smile, not that they're entirely sure Chara can tell what expression they're wearing at the moment. I know. Thank you. I just… I'm just tired.

*Then you should sleep.

Frisk sighs through their nose; Flowey shifts against them and they freeze. I'll try. I'm just… not… that kind of tired.

Chara doesn't dignify that with a response and instead falls mercifully silent. Frisk tries not to sigh again and just stares up at the ceiling.

If the old scenarios aren't working, maybe it's time for a new one. They'd really like that idea of the three of them—Frisk, Chara, and Flowey—being out on the surface. Maybe it'd be nice to include Sans as well. It makes little logical sense, but it's a nice thought. But when they try to craft the mental image, it won't come. At last, they just have to admit that Sans probably wouldn't come. Say they do get past the barrier, they know that when they turn to him, he'll only nod before turning his back on them. He's just looking after them for awhile, as he says, but more than that it's not like he's going to be much safer on the surface. Even Mettaton—and oh, god, poor Mettaton, the fight and that final explosion is always going to haunt their nightmares—would have been better suited to the surface.

So instead, they try to imagine this: somehow, they are going to talk Asgore into letting them escape. Maybe even talk him into using the human souls to let Flowey out too. When they get past the barrier, they will flop onto the ground, and lift their hands in thanks as the sun warms them. And then maybe they'll call Sans on their phone, let them know that the surface is as beautiful as they remembered. They will sit there, on that mountainside, soaking in the sun until their skin burns and peels.

They try to imagine. But the images don't come.

Frisk pauses and glances at Sans again. It wasn't just Flowey who died horribly in the last run—they can still remember that horrible look of acceptance as the halberd swung down and he shattered into dust particles before their eyes. He looked so ready then. It makes their stomach churn just thinking of it.

Sans is in a deep sleep now—he twitches, perhaps dreaming. Frisk silently wishes him kinder dreams and then stands.

The motion startles Flowey into wakefulness, but before he makes a noise, they press a finger against their lips in a request for silence. They take one last look at Sans, tuck his coat around their shoulders, and then silently pad away on bare feet.

Flowey stays quiet as they leave Sans behind—he still doesn't like Sans, probably never will. That used to bother Frisk—now it just seems like one more thing that never changes in this place.

Frisk lets their feet lead them, walking the gray cobblestone path away from their shelter until they reach the winding upper road of the upper levels of New Home. Below them, the cavern yawns open to reveal a dreary city cut from gray stone. There's no lights on in the city—curfew's strictly enforced in the monster cities—so the buildings are dark blobs rising up towards the hole in the side of the mountain. The path is hard to follow in the shadows, but they've walked it so many times now that their feet can find the way even in the gloom.

Once they are far enough away, Flowey speaks. "We're leaving him behind?"

It sounds cruel when he puts it that way, but Frisk remembers his face as he accepted his doom and shudders. "I just… want to try something different this time."

Flowey's quiet as the castle looms into sight —they try something different every time. The only thing that doesn't change is their reluctance to hurt others. For a while there, Flowey had admired that determination to not harm others. Now he's back to trying to convince them that Asgore, at least, isn't worth the effort.

"Okay," he says at last, "what are you going to try different this time?"

They can see the gates now. The gates to the castle are open—apparently, once a human appears in the Underground, Asgore orders the gates left open in case a human manages to actually make their way to him. He is the last stop on the path before the barrier, so every human must come to him. They are the first to make it all the way to him on their own in a very long time though—all the others had been captured and brought to him.

Six other humans; six children. Frisk can still see their souls floating in the jars—Green, Yellow, Orange, Purple, Blue, and lastly, Cyan. The blood splattering Cyan's container always looks the freshest—it's the hardest to look at.

"Frisk?"

They swallow and straighten up. "I got an idea."

"…and are you going to tell it to me?"

Frisk grimaces. "Flowey, do you mind sitting this one out?"

Flowey twitches violently, tightening his grip on their arm with his roots. "Uh, no. You've gotten farther with me there these last few times than you have any other time."

This is true, not that it means much—last time they lasted a whole three minutes and that was with Sans there helping. But Flowey did help, calling out when Asgore was going to strike and how to avoid.

At the same time, Frisk has no intention of letting him be around for this one. "Look, Flowey, just let me try this once, okay?" They try to smile. "Don't worry. I wouldn't leave you behind."

He just glares. "Is this because I died in the last run?" Unlike Sans, Flowey has a perfect memory of what happens in former runs. As horrible as it is to remember their own deaths, they wonder how many memories just like theirs he has. He never seems to have nightmares or trouble sleeping like them. "Look, forget that. Shit happens. Whatever happens this time, we… we'll worry about it next time."

He doesn't even sound discouraged and barely even resigned—he accepts his inevitable death as surely as they do the sun coming up each morning. Still, they're more stubborn than he is—if they weren't, the power to reset would be his now.

(What would happen, they wonder, if they did just let him have the power to reset back? Could he figure out a better plan? Could he find a way to get through the barrier? Would he find the power to strike Asgore down where they cannot?)

(Would it just be better to hand their soul over now and be done with it?)

*Frisk.

*Stay determined.

Frisk coughs, forcing their mind from their dark pondering. "Flowey. Please, let me try this on my own."

Flowey is quiet for a long time before his roots on their shoulder loosen swiftly. Before they can catch him, he drops to the ground, burying his roots instant into the loose dirt that had been blown there by the wind. "Real gratitude," he grumbles. "Fine. Do it your way. But next time, we're trying mine."

Somehow, they manage a smile for him. They can only marvel as they turn back to the path to the castle that somehow he still believes that there will be more times to try and try again.

They know the inside of Asgore's castle well. There is one room that's always locked, a few that look like no one's ever in them, and then a child's room that disquiets Flowey and Chara alike. There's a strong locket in there and a knife, but Frisk does not bother to get either of them.

There's no point to any of that anymore.

Instead, they walk the path through Asgore's home into the heart of the castle. He's not in the throne room—he rarely is—and instead they squeeze out the secret door in the alcove. They make their way down the stairs outside, battered by the wind as it slams into the side of the castle. One time, they tried to walk this path during a raging storm and was knocked straight off the path. Luckily, they made good time on the next run and now they don't have to worry about the storm again—there are faint rumbles of thunder outside the mountain, but they are soft and distant for now.

They pause at the bottom of the stairs, gazing down at their feet before they finally lift their eyes up to spot the hidden green house. It seems so out of place, like an ill kept secret. Still, inside is a lovely variety of plants, arranged in tasteful ways to bring out the best in each plant. The first time they'd seen it, part of them wondered how Asgore could be so horrible to humans and monsters alike, and still so good to these inanimate things. They don't wonder anymore. But it will be nicer in the greenhouse; they can enjoy a few sweet moments of green and calm if they're quiet enough not to make Asgore notice them immediately.

But first, they need to take a step forward. Frisk closes their eyes and has to count their breaths until they find the will to put one foot in front of the other.

Somehow, they reach the door. They step inside and admire the foliage around them. Inevitably, they are drawn to the patch of golden flowers in the heart of the green house; the patch looks just like the ones in the Ruins that fell on so long ago. Frisk imagines just laying down and breathing in their scent for awhile until the world ebbed away around them. Without a care, they stepped carefully into the middle of the patch and gaze down at the gold around their ankles.

Asgore's halberd prods them immediately in the back. "Turn slowly."

Frisk gazes thoughtfully down at the flowers before doing exactly as he says. When they look up at him, they realize his face and scowl is already achingly familiar. They know he had a son once—did he ever smile upon that boy when he was alive? He must have, because why else would he look so tense now? "Hello, your majesty."

(It's only polite to turn and greet a new person.)

He glares at them and jabs them with the spike of his halberd right in their sternum. "Walk."

They feel the flowers brushing against their legs and let their eyes fall shut. This is as good a place as any.

*…Frisk?

Unconsciously, they knit their brow. They feel bad now—they could leave Sans, send Flowey away, but Chara has to stay with them every time. How unfair that is.

"Walk," Asgore orders again, jabbing them hard enough that the spike catches on the yarn of their sweater.

They open their eyes and look up at him. "I'm not going to fight you, Asgore."

The Overlord glares. "Then die here." He lifts the halberd.

Behind him, the green house's door slams open. "Frisk!" Flowey cries, popping up next to Sans' feet—either Sans woke up and got Flowey to show him where Frisk went, or Flowey went and woke the skeleton to chase after them. Either way, part of them is a little pleased to see that they're willing to work together.

Mostly, they're sad—they wanted to avoid them seeing this. Now Asgore will turn and kill them next, unless they escape in the confusion. They hope so.

The halberd comes down.

The world is mercifully black. Here, in these moments after they die, they rest in the comfort of silence and nothing. Nothing harms them here, nothing to trouble them.

Except.

Sans and Flowey saw them die. Will they have sense to run away?

Frisk doesn't know. They hope, but their hopes are so often in vain.

It isn't fair.

Thinking of Flowey, Sans, and Chara, Frisk lifts one hand helplessly up into the darkness and calls out one last time for help.

No one ever comes.

But this time, someone does.

A/N: God, I hate the formatting on this site. Anyway, I've written very little about actual Fell!Frisk, so I wanted to try something from them. This was originally much longer-it was going to cover their entire journey, but that was too long and not particularly interesting. There was also some scenes after the end here, where Frisk and Gaster talk over the terms of the deal and then Gaster creates actual Data!Frisk-but again, too long, not particularly interesting. Oh well.

I actually drew some chapter art for this one! Maybe I'll post links to it later, not that ff net likes to let my links work.

Next week should be another request chapter. After that I think there'll be six or seven more chapters unless people come up with more requests.