MARTIN: Ho ho ho, what's goin' on, people, this is Santa Marty at Mad Martian Media! I'm handing out entertainment and wisdom to all the good little guys, gals, and enby pals! And my Christmas present to you came late this year, but trust me it is worth it! It's your favorite guest panelist and mine, The Great Papyrus!

PAPYRUS: Hello again humans! It is I, your cuddly skeleton friend! I am sending a greeting out to all… erm, how many people are watching this? Can we see that?

M: Sure can! Right in the corner there's a running tally.

P: Hmmm, one thousand! That's quite a lot!

M: Uh, no. That's how people are hosting the stream. The actual number of viewers is… there.

P: … Oh my. That's one, two, threefourfivesixseven digits?!

M: Ayep. We're hitting the big leagues, big guy! Can we get someone to look up whether we broke the record for most viewers on a stream?… Not yet? Well, the day is young, and there's questions to answer! Before we get started I wanted to tell everyone we are sponsored today by Bicentennial, the stage musical based on the writings of Isaac Asimov written, scored, and starring Mettaton, playing for six weeks only at the beautiful Imperial Theater right here in downtown Weymouth. Folks, monsters are not able to conduct legal business outside the city of Weymouth, so this show will not be coming to you. If you want to see the surface debut of the one and only Mettaton, you have to come to us. This is going to be a pivotal, life-changing event, and the only way to see it is the next six weeks in Weymouth. The first two weekends are sold out and tickets for the remaining weekends are going fast, so if you want to be a part of history, act now.

P: Mettaton was the biggest television star underground, and we can finally share his boxy glory with humans! I haven't been able to get tickets that fit my busy schedule, but I'm very excited about it!

M: Now, for all the newcomers to the stream here's how it goes…

Early November

Silas descended the staircase in his condo dragging a suitcase in one hand, the wheels making a loud clatter with every step they dropped. Toriel was on the couch, books on Math, English, and Science spread open on the coffee table. She was holding a notebook and tapping her pencil against it, though she looked up when she could no longer ignore the racket. On reaching the bottom step Silas casually asked, "Toriel, would you like to use my bed?"

She looked up at him with a slight blush. "Oh my, how forward of you!" Toriel giggled. "But surely a strapping young man like yourself can do much better than this old woman!" Silas gagged, needing to put a hand on the counter to steady himself. Toriel's smile faded. "Oh, I apologize, I did not mean any harm… I only meant to tease you a little."

"It's, fine," he coughed, his cheeks still a bit red. "But in any case, I won't be sharing the bed with you. I wrote a memo a month or two ago about LOVE and how it is likely to affect the legal system. I only intended it for New Hampshire law, but bar associations across the country are planning to adopt some form of it and so now I am 'the expert' on the subject. I was informed today that I am leaving on a business trip and won't be home for a few days."

Toriel nodded with a finger against her lip. "So, since you will not be here to use your bed, you are offering it to me? Thank you for the offer but I must decline. I have gotten rather used to sleeping on the couch, and I fear sleeping on a bed again might be too comfy and I will not want to give it up again."

"Then I can at least get a fold-out or something. The Monster Integration Committee's retainer is more than enough for that."

"But the couch I use now is practically brand new!" she protested. "It does not make sense to throw it out when you have gotten hardly any use out of it!"

"Then is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?" he asked. "It does not feel right to keep you in these conditions when you've been living here for months and might be here for several months more."

Toriel sighed and leaned her head back. "And yet, am I not a freeloader? I bring in no money, and it might be months or years before I can open a school. I cannot keep accepting charity."

"It's not like that," he insisted. "I couldn't raise Frisk on my own, and I can't remember the last time I've eaten this well. You've also done a fantastic job keeping everything tidy. I could be giving you my entire salary and it would not be enough to repay you for everything you do."

She gave him a weak smile. "Forgive me. I am used to keeping myself busy and being in charge of things. I am still learning to share space with other people. I was… very alone for a very long time. Thank you for your patience."

"It's no trouble," Silas said. "No trouble at all."

M: Next one up is a bit of a personal question. "Papyrus, now that monsters can get driver's licenses, when will we be able to see you cruising down the streets?"

P: Very soon! As a matter of fact, I received my driver's license a couple weeks ago! It's laminated, and that makes it superlatively official! I am looking into purchasing a vehicle, but I have been informed this is a difficult undertaking with no credit history. But! Once I have acquired my dream car it will be much easier for me to make my weekly trip to Concord!

M: Oh yeah, you visit the state congress whenever it's in session. How's that been going?

P: Better every day! Now that people are getting used to monsters moving up to the surface, gaining employment or opening their own shops, and just being around, Weymouth is a joy! It's not odd at all to see human and monster mixed into crowds, waiting in lines together, and co-existing peacefully! Everything is going much better than I've imagined. There are even monsters opening their own businesses that are attracting human customers!

M: Oh yeah, there's a couple shops that people are real interested in. Muffet's Pastry Shop is the big one, but Grillby's is a happening night spot, too! Have you been there yet?

P: Nyeheheh, I'm a good boy so I haven't and never will! Unless it's pick up a to-go order for my lazy brother!

M: Fair enough! Moooooving on…

Mid November

Marijane pushed in the door quietly, her back lowered and shoulders arched to give herself a lower profile. On the other side of the door was a dimly lit bar, the scent of sawdust mixing with human alcohol and monster "alcohol". Monsters of various shapes and sizes populated the bar, with games of poker, pool, and darts occupying the attention of the regulars. A whiteboard hanging at one end of the bar advertised the night's specials, along with a cryptic message of, "Our hearts go out to the 27 victims of the recent tragedy." She slipped inside the bar and eased the door back into place so it would not make too much noise as it closed. She exhaled and turned around, intent to continue sneaking, only to come face to knee with a pair of dress pants. Her neck craned upward to find a living flame stuffed into a sharp-looking suit and vest, peering down at her and shaking his head with his arms crossed. He uncrossed his arms to sign, You're a bit young to be in a bar little girl.

Marijane giggled, not looking very guilty about being caught. "I said I'd come visit. I'm a few years late but here I am."

Grillby's flames crackled with mirth. Indeed you are. Shall I get you something? A snack, juice, milk? On the house of course. As humans put it, your money's no good here.

The girl shook her head. "I'm sorry, I've only started learning sign."

Grillby nodded and motioned for a woman in a serving apron to come over. The woman was quite tall and muscular, with wide hips and thick arms. She had a human-like face, except for two small tusks peeking out from between her lips and the two horns on her forehead. She had certainly bulked up since she was a young girl pining over the dapper mercenary who ate breakfast in her cafe every day, but she still carried herself like the girl she used to be was never far from her thoughts. She sauntered over to see what was happening, but shrieked in delight when she saw the girl at the bar. "Marijane!" she said with a wide smile. "Our little matchmaker, here at last! Here, let me put these down and… there! Now, do you want to give your Auntie Homura a hug?"

"Yes please!" Marijane said, opening her arms wide. Homura picked her straight up off the floor in a big hug, then spun around to set her back down in a seat at the bar. "I'm really glad you two are still happy!

Homura nodded, "Oh yes, it's so wonderful to see him every day again! We were separated for a bit… not because we fell out of love, goodness no, but everyone who's anyone knew the best education could only be gotten at Slightly Bigger School! I didn't want Fuku to go through Waterfall twice a day, it's not safe for fire elementals, but she was still too young to live on her own, so we decided! That Fuku would live with her sweet mother in the capital while she finished school, and my hubby would stay in Snowdin running the bar." She sighed. "We'd visit each other when we could, but it's been rough. So when the surface opened up and Grillby said he would be reopening his business on the surface, we had a talk as a family, and decided I would move up here with him! Fuku isn't the same girl she was two years ago, she can survive in New Home just fine. And, if the former queen can get that 'Dreamer Academy' up and running she might even be able to join us next year! First graduating class of the surface, wouldn't that be nice?"

Marijane nodded. "So you have a daughter older than me now…"

"Oh," Homura said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's nothing!" Marijane shook her head. "A lot of the kids I was supposed to go to school with have grown up and gotten jobs. Some of them have kids of their own. It's just… I dunno." She folded her hands together and rested her chin on them like a pillow. "It feels weird. That everyone moved on and kept living their lives, and I was stuck for so long. Even the kids in my class now don't feel like friends. But it's okay. I know someone else who has it way worse." Her thoughts drifted to a red-eyed ghost, even more out of sync with time than she was, and with an even more difficult road ahead if they ever wished to return to the world.

"Even so," Homura said. "Just because someone else has it worse doesn't mean you can't complain! Everyone has their own cross to bear and we all need love and support. All of us! So if you ever want to scream at the world, just call Auntie Homura and I'll listen to your troubles. And, of course, you're welcome here any time. But, just in case, make sure you let your parents know you're coming. Um, do your parents know you're here now…?"

Marijane's smile opened to become a wince and her eyes shifted from side to side while an "uhhhhhhh" slipped out of her mouth. At just that moment two human adults walked in, looking side to side before spotting Marijane and running over to her. "Marijane!" the woman shouted. "You can't go running off like that! We thought-" Her voice broke and she bit her bottom lip. "You can't disappear on us!"

Marijane lowered her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "Really, I didn't mean to make you worried. But I saw this place, and Mr. Grillby and Mrs. Homura, I met them underground and they were my friends. so-"

"It's okay," her mother said, giving her a hug. "I know you're used to doing things your way. And we wouldn't want you to miss out on seeing friends. But you have to at least let us know where you're going!"

"That's right!" Homura said, patting Marijane on the head. "You shouldn't worry your parents, they're working hard too!" She then looked up at Marijane's parents. "You have a lovely little girl. Make sure you don't lose her."

Her father smiled. "I know. Never again."

M: Huh, this is a strange one. Can we have do-overs?… No? Alright, here we go: "You have to tell us where Sans is! We want Sans! Where is he?"

P: Is this Erica? Monica? Jessica? Which one are you? Or… don't tell me Sans got more!

M: Uh, Paps? What's-

P: Well, I suppose it doesn't matter; even I don't know where my brother Sans goes half the time! I guess now that the weather is getting closer to what it was in Snowdin, he's more comfortable with going outside. He's spending a lot of time exercising!

M: … Sans. Exercising. You know, I find that hard to believe. Sans is the laziest guy I know, lazier than I am, and longtime viewers know how bad I am!

P: The Great Papyrus never lies! He goes off on his own and nobody knows where he goes for hours at a time! He comes back tired and smelling like pine needles, so I assume he's taking nature walks. I'm so proud he's finally taking care of his health!

Late November

Sans trudged through the forest, the frost forming a white sheen over the dead and fallen leaves. He pushed aside a few low-hanging branches, trying to peer through the space between the trees. His slippers stepped so lightly he did not even crunch the twigs and leaves underfoot. He was getting closer to the thin column of smoke which emerged from the treeline. He had gone out this way a few times after first coming to the surface, but quickly gave up. He reasoned, correctly, that when the weather got colder they would have to start burning wood to keep their dwelling comfortable, and that would leave a trail for him to follow. After another few hundred feet he could make out the shape of a dwelling in between the tree trunks, the only one he had seen. He ignored both the aching of his feet and the rising anticipation in his chest, neither speeding up nor slowing down his approach. His destination turned out to be a cozy cottage, built simply but solidly out of wood in the middle of a small clearing. Tree stumps littered the immediate surrounding area, and from somewhere nearby came the echoing whacks of more wood being chopped nearby.

A woman descended from the cottage's porch, wearing a scowl and pointing a shotgun at Sans. "The hell d'ya want?" the woman asked. "Whatever yer sellin' we don't want any."

Now there was a speech tic he recognized. "heh, don't mind me, just out for a hike. though since we're chatting, are you mary campton? avery's mom?"

She responded by pumping the shotgun to make a cha-chunk sound that echoed down the valley. "Ah'm sorry, Ah don't speak zombie. Clear out, now, 'cause Ah don't fire warnin' shots."

"Mama."

Sans turned to look at the speaker; Mary did not, nor did she stop pointing the gun at Sans. Avery, the seventh human, walked slowly into the clearing, a hatchet resting on his shoulder. He laid the hatchet on the ground and said, "S'okay, Ah'll talk to him. Nuthin's gonna happen, we won't leave the yard."

Mary did not immediately move, opting instead to keep the shotgun pointed at Sans for another moment. Finally she pointed the gun down and away from him. "Fine. But winter's comin' soon, we cain't slack off too much. Finish yer business and boot 'im out." She turned her back and headed back into the cottage.

Sans rubbed the back of his head. "you don't come to town, so it was up to me to come to you. One would think you don't like visitors. didn't mean to cause any trouble. mind if i sit down?"

"Go ahead," Avery said. Sans plopped onto a tree stump with a heavy grunt. Avery continued standing, looking off into the distance. "You musta been searchin' for a spell. We ain't 'zactly got mail service here."

"yeah, well," Sans waffled. "there was some stuff i needed to take care of." He pulled his hand out of his pocket. "here. this belongs to you."

Avery held out his hand and took the object Sans pulled out. It was a single bullet, intact with the primer loaded and all. "The hell you been holdin' onto this fer?" Avery grumbled. "An' what am Ah suppose to do with it? Ah ain't even got the gun it goes to no more."

"still yours."

Avery rolled the bullet between his fingers, staring at the way the sun glinted off the brass. "You didn't come here on account of no bullet. Whatcha really here fer?"

Sans had been hoping he could ease his way into this. But for all that Sans preferred being obtuse and roundabout, Avery was precisely the opposite. No nonsense, straight to the point. It was a character trait Sans had trouble dealing with. He looked at Avery from the corner of his eyesockets. "… did i ever kill you?"

Avery stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked away. "Look, Ah toldja before, it don't matter what happened in the other time. It didn't happen. In this world you ain't no killer."

If Sans could accept that there would have been no need to travel all this way. "i have to know," Sans said. "what kind of skeleton am i? i can't judge myself, not when i don't know what i would have done."

"What does that matter?"

"because nothing's making sense," Sans admitted. "there's… i have this data. that says something should have happened by now. something i can't stop and nobody will even see coming. there's been literally a thousand chances for it to happen, but it hasn't. and there's a lot more chances for it to happen, but every time one of them passes the slim chance that everything will be okay gets bigger and bigger. i can…" He beat a fist against his chest. "I can feel hope starting to come back, and I can't take it."

Avery narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I getcha." Avery shifted and leaned in close to Sans. "If'n Ah say you killed me, you ain't gonna make it to the bottom of this mountain 'afore, how'd Chara put it, Fallin' Down. If'n Ah tell you you didn't, you would think Ah was tryin' to spare yer feelings. Ain't that right?" Sans said nothing. Avery shook his head. "So I ain't telling you that."

"please," Sans pleaded. "i have to know."

"Ah coulda killed you back then. We both know Ah coulda, and Ah didn't. After all that I ain't killin' you now."

And that was it. Nothing more he could do.

Sans read the name of the room he was in, a 30 digit alphanumeric code which bore no relation to any of the names on the whole mountain. Ever since coming up to the surface he had been trying to find a pattern to the names of areas without success. In the Underground these were fairly simple, either "room_4" or some description of a feature like "room_onionsan" for the lake where Onionsan lived (though he never did learn why a random place in Hotland was called "room_bad_opinion_zone"). The surface was not nearly as kind; every building, every street, every clearing had a different string of nonsense characters for the room name. If he got even one character wrong there was no telling where he would end up. At first he kept a notebook, but writing out all those letters and numbers got tiring so he finally picked up a cell phone. He kept it on airplane mode most of the time, too many girls he had no intention of talking to anymore knew the number, but it did make it easy to store these long codes. "i'll come back," he said. "though i might take a shortcut next time. try not to let your mom shoot me."

Avery sighed. "She talks a mean game, but only 'cause we don't get no visitors up here. You know she ain't never killed nobody." He swallowed. "An' since Ah'm the man of the house now, I aim to keep it that way. Oh and Sans, one more thing." Sans had been about to shortcut as soon as Avery turned their head but paused. "Yer carryin' a lot of weight. I ain't the person who can take that off ya, but you should find someone who can."

He felt a flash of anger. What the hell did this kid know? What gave him the right to tell Sans what to do? But it was a brief flash; nah, who cared? Let the kid say whatever he wanted, it would make no difference. Sans nodded without verbally responding. Avery turned back to look at his cottage for a moment and opened his mouth to say something else, but Sans was already gone before the next word left his lips.

M: Next question is about a particular monster, I guess some sort of missed connection? "Hey, I've been around Weymouth and I used to see a golden flower monster hanging around but haven't seen him lately. With the weather getting colder, is he doing okay?"

P: Oh! So you've met Flowey!

M: … His name is Flowey. The Flower. Nah, you know what, forget it. So you know this guy Paps?

P: Oh yes, Flowey is a good friend of mine. He used to tell me all kinds of things. Advice, suggestions, things like that. He never steered me wrong! Well… there was the one time, but it led to the barrier being destroyed so I can't say it turned out all bad! Curious question asker, you have no need to fear! Flowey is perfectly all right! He has found a place to stay during the frigid winter months and is in absolutely no danger!

Early December

The doorbell rang. Asgore put his magazine down and tromped over to the door. He opened it and looked left and right but was unable to see who was paying him a visit until he looked down. "Oh, hello Flowey! What can I do for you?"

The flower was growing through a crack in the brickwork and looked up at him with unconcealed contempt. "Y-y-y-you w-w-w-win," Flowey spat. "Let me in, it's too c-c-c-cold out here."

"I thought you would take me up on my offer once the snow settled in," Asgore said. "Even Snowdin doesn't get this cold, and there's no place to escape to. Now now, don't pout, let me get a pot for you, I'll be right back." He left the door open as he got a pot full of new soil and brought it out, setting it on the ground for him. "Hop in and I'll take you to the greenhouse so you can thaw out."

Flowey patted the soil with a leaf then sighed. "I g-g-g-guess I have to," he muttered. He looked as if he were about to lift himself out of the ground, then stopped and glared at Asgore. "Uh, do you mind…?"

"Oh! Of course!" Asgore sheepishly turned his back and hummed a little bit.

There was some shuffling and scraping behind him, and at one point was tempted to turn around when he heard a snap followed by, "Ooo, not getting those roots back…" but maintained Flowey's privacy. After a moment Flowey told him, "Okay, I'm done. You can turn around." When he did so Flowey was growing out of the pot as though he had always been there, shifting back and forth slightly to try and get comfortable. "You didn't have to get the good stuff," he commented. "It's not that much better than the standard soil you can get anywhere."

"Perhaps," Asgore mused. "But I can't help but pamper those who can voice their appreciation for it. Now, let me show you the greenhouse." Asgore picked up the flowerpot, closed the front door, and began leading Flowey through the house.

Flowey asked, "Why are you so nice to me?"

Asgore laughed. "It is the least I could do for you. After all, you broke the barrier for us and we have not even been able to thank you properly."

Flowey stiffened. "How did you figure it out?"

"I did not know for sure until you confirmed it for me just now," Asgore explained. "But it would take the power of seven human souls to break the barrier. You had six. It's much easier to imagine you got another soul from somewhere than someone else came in with seven other souls. And, of course, Frisk could not have done it, human souls cannot absorb human souls. So it must have been you. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you have your reasons for not taking the credit. It can be our secret."

Flowey rolled his eyes. "I'd feel a lot better about that if I could trust you to keep secrets."

Asgore hummed. "Oh, I don't know. I could probably be pretty good about staying quiet with the right motivation. Ah, here we are!" He opened the door and a blast of heat wafted over him. There were several rows of various ferns and flowers, vegetables down another row, a bin separate from the others growing radishes (Flowey knew from personal experience that radishes were territorial and would quickly crowd everything else out if you did not keep them separated). Asgore set Flowey up on one end of a long bench. "Quite a difference between here and outside, wouldn't you say? You're welcome to stay here as long as you like. I can get a television put in here so you have something to watch. Oh, and something else!" He deposited the pot on a shelf, then rummaged around in his pocket. He presented Flowey with a cell phone, looked to be about a year old model. "It's not activated, so you'll only be able to use it around the house. Um, the 'Wi Fi' password is-"

"'Dreemurs four', with a pound sign in place of the first 'e'," Flowey finished for him as he took the phone.

"Erm," Asgore swallowed. "You're very close! It's Dreemurs five."

Flowey's head shot up with widened eyes. "Five?! Why would-" He stopped himself and his face soured. "Oh. Right. Yeah that makes sense." He rolled up his leaves into a thin tube and tapped them against the screen to enter the information.

Asgore paused, then sighed. "I… suppose I used a four in some of the histories you've experienced? When you had the power to control time?"

Flowey shrugged. "Something like that. It wasn't for wi-fi, but you use the same password for everything. By the way, don't do that. It's bad security." He did not feel the need to comment on Asgore's guess about Flowey having time powers at one point. He knew, he knew he knew, he knew he knew he knew, etcetera. It was a conversation he had grown tired of many hundreds of resets ago.

Asgore nodded. "I… see. I will take that advice to heart. I can pick up some gift cards for you later, but, ah, even with the backing of the gold in the mountain I'm afraid the human banks won't issue us credit cards yet."

"And you're leaving out that you wouldn't trust me with your credit card number even if you had one. Hey, I'm not offended. Just do whatever. Oh, could you get me Frisk's phone number, though? I wanna keep in touch with them." Asgore gave it to him and left him to settle in.

*: howdy
*: guess who just scammed a free cell phone out of the king? (flower emoji)

-_-: Flowery flowery its flowery
-_-: I know you don't and won't believe me, but it's good to hear from you.

*: oh for crying out loud your gonna make me puke

-_-: *you're

*: this isnt how I imagined this conversation going

-_-: Hi flowery
-_-: Ask or is really nice like that

*: do you visit him at all? I'll be hanging out in his greenhouse for the winter so I guess you can come see me
*: or don't

-_-: That might be fun
-_-: Toriel and Asgore are getting along marginally better these days so it's not impossible to end up there. And you haven't killed anyone yet so Toriel is starting to come around on me seeing you.

*: I should be annoyed the bar is so low but I'll take it
*: so, making any progress on your project?

-_-: Our what
-_-: Oh, sort of. We borrowed a couple of the soul containers from the lab, Alphys is busy setting things up for the human scientists that will be coming in soon so she won't notice they're gone. Still trying to figure out exactly how to ask.

*: so you got the easiest part down and are so proud of yourself for it
*: you have fun with that
*: got any suggestions for games? I can't go anywhere and have a lot of time to kill

-_-: I mostly play runner games they're pretty fun
-_-: Try 10000000.

*: …
*: do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to do searches for a name like that?

-_-: Of course. ;)

M: Next one… eeyurgh, sorry man, this one's kind of rough. "What do you think of the girl that got indicted for killing monsters? Do you think it's right to lock her up forever?"

P: Aha, you mean Rebecca Troy. Hmmmmm. To be honest, I am deeply torn about how to feel. On the one hand, her crimes are quite terrible.

M: Ah ah ah, alleged crimes, gotta be careful about that.

P: On the other hand, there is talk of having her tried as an adult. Which is nonsense! She's only 12, how is that an adult? And I fail to see how locking her up in prison forever will help anyone. King Asgore posted her bail and has written a letter asking for clemency, which not all of us monsters are very happy about, but I don't know if it will do anything.

M: Yeah, the problem is you can't exactly sweep murder under the rug. But there's no guarantee she'll get the full time.

P: But it is possible?

M: Maybe. I mean, I don't think she should get away scott-free. The prosecutor's office was saying they don't want to treat monster deaths as less than human deaths, and I agree with that. At the same time, she's not even in her teens. I don't think it's right to ruin her life just to send a message. Man, this question was a real bummer. New rule: no more bummers this time, okay guys?

Mid December

"I don't think it's racist at all," Byron Rickford was saying to a reporter. "Monsters have powerful advocates and are very quickly becoming part of everyone's lives. The factories are already churning out monster food. There are monsters getting driver's licenses and opening businesses. Hell, they're bringing up their kids and want to be let into public schools! One minute they're nowhere, the next they're everywhere. It's scary how fast things have changed, and not everyone is comfortable with that! All my organization wants is to slow things down a little, give people a little more time to get used to them. We just want to pump the brakes a little." He was very careful in how he pronounced the word 'monster': put a bit of a growl on the first syllable and say it almost like a shout, 'mon-sters'. A sign of aggression, enough to give people a negative association with the word but so subtle that most people would not even know where that feeling came from. He stood behind the podium, with a series of microphones in his face and a small gathering of local reporters seated in front of him. It was not a large press conference, but it was bigger than the ones he had arranged previously. Humans First was definitely getting bigger in terms of money and influence.

A reporter asked, "But isn't it true Humans First does a lot of recruiting from displaced factory workers, truckers, and other people and industries who could reasonably hold grudges against monsters?"

Byron rubbed his chin. A gotcha question, huh? Trying to make him say that Humans First was an anti-monster group and hang the label of "racist" on their heads. But that would not work. "Now I won't say there's nobody in Humans First that doesn't like monsters. It's a pretty natural reaction when you think about it. But we're talking one or two bad apples, the rest of us are all-American patriots. Besides, we're not burning anything on people's lawns or calling for anyone's death. The biased media has lost all sense of perspective and has decided to persecute us for not going along with the radical pro-monster agenda. There's no one else fighting for regular Americans; Mayor Cole sold us out, the governor's not doing anything, almost a quarter of the state house is ready to make all the monsters full citizens, it's a mess! So what if we get a little passionate, we have to make up for everyone out there who is passively letting monsters roll over our way of life! And we're not just fighting for ourselves, we're fighting for everyone who's suffered injustice under the monsters, like that poor little girl. It's a crime what's happening to poor Rebecca," he said, sniffling only once. "Locked up in a hostile world filled with monsters, she tries to defend herself, and her reward for overcoming death is to get locked up. Those monsters want revenge, and they're using our own courts to do it!"

A different reporter asked, "But the monsters are advocating on her behalf. They have been cooperating fully with the investigations of Rebecca Troy and Avery Campton, even providing most of the evidence showing Avery killed in self-defense. In Rebecca's case King Asgore himself has written a victim's statement asking for clemency-"

"That's fake news," Byron spat. "I don't know where you get your sources but that's not true. It's obviously some kind of mind game those monsters are playing. Do you really think any judge is going to let her off the hook because the King of Monsters writes a nice letter? He knows it won't make a difference except make him look good in the eyes of the public." He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and took the opportunity to end the interview: "I'm sorry, no more questions, I must be going." The newspeople clamored for him to answer just one more sound bite and cameras flashed all around him, but he ignored them until he was able to get into his car.

He called back the number that texted him. "Been waiting for you! How did things go on your end?"

"Beautifully," said the woman on the other end of the line. "Ms. Lisa Pembrooke has agreed to make a sizable donation to our cause. She has also agreed to speak to other wealthy donors she knows and convince them to also write us checks. It could hardly have gone better. With her bankrolling us we'll stay in the green for the weeks to come. Who knows? We might reach a hundred million dollars or more by the time campaign season comes around next year."

"Excellent!" Byron celebrated. "I knew I could count on you!" Byron ended the call and leaned back in his car seat, smiling in satisfaction. Everything was going better than he ever dreamed…

M: Sadly, looks like that's going to be our last question.

P: Oh no, already? But we're having so much fun!

M: You can't give the audience everything they want. You've got to leave them hungry, leave them wanting more! Also, I just got a text message from my internet provider informing me that their "unlimited" plan does not actually mean "unlimited". So not only will this stream get cut off if I don't end it soon, but I may need to cancel my New Year's stream with Mettaton (who, I will remind viewers, we gratefully thank for sponsoring today's program, go get your tickets for Bicentennial on sale now).

P: How perfidious! I was looking forward to that.

M: I think we all were, so it's time to make an angry call to them. In the meantime, thank you to all our viewers and donors alike, it's your support that make these streams possible. Like, subscribe, and get notified of my streams, thank you for everyone who sent in questions, ah, what else what else? Oh, and thank you Papyrus for coming on yet again!

P: It's no trouble at all! It was as fun as it always is!

M: Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find the customer service number for this piece of sh-

(This streamer is currently off the air. Get notifications when they go live.)

Late December

Frisk woke up tucked in their bed, even though the last thing they remembered was playing games with all the monsters in Silas' living room. No, wait… as they thought about it they sort of remembered someone, maybe Toriel?, taking them upstairs. They were not even in their pajamas, instead they were still wearing the clothes they had the previous night. They rubbed their eyes and looked around the room. Some of their loot had been taken in already: a television rested on top of their bureau with a game console hooked up to it. A knit blanket from Toriel had been placed over them so they could keep warm. A remote control helicopter was still in its box, nestled away with a book of children's recipes and a joke book.

Frisk shot up straight with a gasp. "Chara!" they said. "Chara, what day is it?!"

The ghost appeared from wherever they went when they slept. They looked around lazily, in contrast with Frisk's panic. "Given that it's morning, it must be the day after Christmas," Chara explained nonchalantly. "You passed out around nine."

"Oh no!" Frisk said, dismayed. They kicked the covers off, rolled onto the floor, and crawled under the bed. "No no no! I fell asleep before the most important part!"

"I peeked back downstairs after you got brought up," Chara said. "Trust me, you did not miss much of anything."

"Not that!" Frisk replied as they wriggled their way out. They were holding a small rectangular present in their hands, wrapped in lime green paper covered in pine trees. "I didn't give you your present!"

Chara's gasp caught in their throat. They rubbed the locket around their neck and looked from Frisk to the present and then to the door with a hunted look in their eye. "Frisk, I… I can't accept that. I didn't get you anything."

Frisk jumped up to sit on the edge of the bed. "You don't have any way of getting me things, don't worry! You have so little, I wanted to do something nice for you. So here! You can go ahead and use my hands to open it." They put the present in their lap and held onto it loosely with both hands.

Chara grumbled, "There is really no way I can talk you out of this, is there? Very well, I'll play along."

Frisk felt their grip tighten on their left hand while their right one scratched at the tape with a fingernail. That hand carefully, oh so carefully, peeled back the tape so as not to leave a single tear in the paper. Slowly, slowly, until it was all off. Then it went to the next piece of tape. Frisk bounced in impatience and cried, "Come on, just open it!"

"You have your fun, I have mine. It's fun to watch you squirm. Oh, damn it, look what you made me-" The bouncing had caused the fingernail to dig into the paper, scratching a hole in the gift wrapping. Through the hole a tiny bit of the present within could be seen; it was a plump Japanese woman's face with a complicated smile. Chara sucked in a breath. "No way. No way-!" All their previous care went by the wayside: they tore into the paper with both hands, throwing shredded scraps of wrapping paper in every direction. When they were finished they held a small book in their hands. The cover depicted a small Asian woman in a dress with a smile on her face and her hands behind her back.

Frisk explained, "I had help getting it while you were sleeping, then went back to bed and pertended I just woke up. Then when it came I wrapped it in secret! This is the one, right? Kitchen, the book you like?"

Their question went unanswered. Instead Frisk's arms wrapped around the book and held it tightly to their chest without them consciously intending to. They could not see Chara behind them but they felt cold arms wrap around their shoulders and a weight on their back. A shaking, weak voice whispered in their ear, "… Thank you."

Frisk giggled. "You're welcome, Chara! And Merry Christmas!" They heard a quiet "Mmm" of agreement, and that was present enough for them.

—

AN: Sorry about not updating more recently, the last month has been… well, it's been rough on all of us, hasn't it? We're going to get through this year, even if it's one week at a time.

Speaking of weeks, next week I'm going to be a special guest on The Determined Podcast! It's a show about Undertale and creators of fan content; our experiences with Undertale the game, what it's meant to us, and how we put our own personal spin on this game we've come to dedicate way more time writing and talking about than we did actually playing it. I'll be joined by regular hosts Pastaguy, KittenMuffins, and Vikingaspoke, and there will be a session answering live audience questions. Just search for The Determined Podcast on Youtube to see past episodes. We'll be going live Sunday the 21st at 2 PM EST (6 PM GMT). Hope to see you there!