This is a little one-shot I have from a while ago. It was an idea to detail a little of what could have happened had "Kris" made a different decision, but it really required jumping through too many hoops, so to speak, for him to realistically choose to go to Gaster for help. Still, I'm a fan of things being cute, so I was willing to sacrifice a little realism in order to have something wholesome.

There is a chapter 2 of this :)

Also, happy birthday Undertale. I didn't have anything to do for it, so I figured I'd post this!

A victim.

Kris was a victim.

"Please." He bowed his head, a touch too low, to the guard, but he could not bring himself to care for it. Perhaps they did not judge as easily or were as picky as Mother and Father. Besides, if Kris even had the ability to drag himself from his numbness, he would not dare make the attempt. "I must enter."

"I am sorry, child," addressed the guard, shifting anxiously to lean on his right foot. "But Their Majesties have no cause to see you. If you have an important petition to make-"

"No."

The other guard kept a grip on his spear, perhaps even tightening it briefly. The first guard leaned, now to his left, nervousness dripping off of him. He must be new. Kris provoked no fear. He was too small, too innocent and sweet looking. Unless, of course, the tattoos…

Kris shook the thoughts from his head.

"I need not see Their Majesties." Again he bowed, reverently, lower this time. "I must see him," Kris continued. His addled mind intended to end the sentence there, but Kris forced himself to continue. "Gaster. The royal advisor. I beg you."

Kris knelt in front of the guard and the grand royal gate, face lowered respectfully to the cold blue-dyed marble steps beneath him, half covered in autumn leaves. The Queen was fond of such things. Kris supposed she got bored of having everything at her impulses and whims.

The guards hesitated. Kris felt the distinct urge to run, but he sat as still as a captive and waited for judgement. The second guard fingered his spear above Kris, and Kris could hear the sound of metal tapping the marble, contemplating. The first guard considered for a long time, then turned and walked quickly into the palace.

Could he tell that Kris was in great pain, of body and Soul? Or, perhaps he merely wished to be away as quickly as possible. Perhaps the guards knew just what those tattoos meant, and feared even getting themselves, useless guards, involved.

Would Gaster arrive with a large escort in case Kris carried weapons? Kris had hoped that Gaster would be… mostly alone. That was the best that Kris could have hoped for. And yet, Kris almost felt something break through the numbness at the realization that his admittance, repentance and pleas would be heard by so many. He came in contact with it when tears pricked his eyes.

Kris shoved the emotions down. Aggressively. Cruelly. As Mother and Father had caged him in but an hour before.

Kris felt terror rise sharply from the mist and almost on instinct he tried to work it back into numbness, but it held firm, latching onto his heart and tugging hard. What if Gaster refused?

Kris had made all sorts of wild assumptions to allow him to drag his feet to the front gate of the Palace. Gaster would see him. Gaster would hear him. Gaster would help him, sympathize, be alone- mostly.

Those assumptions would all prove wrong and topple like a card tower. Then, where would Kris be landed? Prison, he decided, was the single best thing to hope for. Perhaps Gaster was a severely unjust man who despised humans and was more than willing to jail a thirteen-year-old boy for calling upon him. Yes, Kris decided that when Gaster had proven to be indifferent about Kris's problems, as he would, Kris would try his greatest to irritate him. At least then, Kris would be guaranteed food every day. He would have a sheltered place to sleep.

His parents could not hurt him any more.

Kris shut his eyes briefly, and when the stark image of a crude tattooing needle flashed into his mind's eye he snapped his real ones open again, suppressing a cry. Just be patient. Wait for Gaster.

What had I been thinking? Kris mentally chastised himself. He had been brash and full of idiotic assumptions about his future. What if Gaster ordered him executed simply for wasting Gaster's time, to take the chance of unjustness to another level? Another consideration popped into Kris's head.

Why would Gaster sympathize because of Kris's involvement with that horrid cult?

Gaster hated the cult. Anything that reminded him of it, as well. Kris had heard the rumors. Gaster even despised mages! Mages, who kept their borders safe from the fae and drove pixies from towns and villages. Kris's own mother had her soul saved by a mage. Kris could not help but wonder if his mother would still be alive today if that mage had known about her unsavory side.

Perhaps the story was all a lie. Just like Kris's whole life had proven to be.

Until his thirteenth birthday, Kris had always been an obedient child. Perhaps he had not fully agreed with Mother's ramblings or Father's disgust with their neighbors, but he had been obedient. Would Gaster really sympathize with him?

Kris's legs had begun to cramp from the kneeling when he caught the faint, but certain, sounds of approaching footsteps from beyond the doors. His heart sank when he began to grasp just how many footsteps there were. Gaster was not alone. Not nearly. But, Kris argued himself, you expected this. The intelligent part of you expected this.

The doors swung wide and Kris risked raising his face, if just for a moment, to glance up at the entourage. Kris instantly ducked back down, his bangs swinging to cover what was visible of his tattoos. He had not caught sight of Gaster. There must be forty guards guiding him- perhaps more. Why the precautions? Kris understood some, of course, but forty guards?

The Queen must have become bored, again.

"Regardless, I find no need," grumbled an unfamiliar voice. Not that of a guard, but one with the slightest noble accent that commanded respect. And fear.

Kris bowed lower, if such a thing was possible. He must have well crossed the "correct level" of bowing required for high-ranking politicians such as Gaster, but Kris was still trying to impress. He knew that it was futile, of course, but just in case his hopes were not dashed-

Silly presumptions. Gaster was too important to mingle with common human filth. Kris had seen the monster nobility. This was how they thought. Gaster could only possibly be worse.

"I am only doing my job, sir," another replied to Gaster, his voice bearing an accent of the commonfolk, though it was deep and throaty, commanding. Kris decided that it must be Gaster's Cornerstone of the guard. Why was Gaster arguing with, or grumbling at, his Cornerstone? How thoroughly odd. Kris caught himself thinking and inwardly smiled. He should not react in such a way, but he was impressed with himself. Because of how he became numb, instead of breaking. How he had lied so convincingly to Mother so that he had but one more chance at freedom.

Freedom. The word had never tasted so bitter and so out of reach.

Kris had three options. One, if Gaster made such a decision, Kris would go to prison. For life, or at least until Mother and Father died of natural causes, he hoped. Two meals of bread and water a day, a place to rest his head. Sturdy walls and iron bars to keep the dangers out. And in. This, Kris reasoned, may drive many men to insanity, but this boy could live on it. For a while, at least.

He knew instinctively how the second option would end for him. If Gaster simply sent him away, Kris could run away into the wilderness. He would be eaten by a wild animal, die of thirst, starve, die of heatstroke, or be murdered by little giggling pixies. Whatever happened there, he would die. Quickly. Kris had little to no experience in the wilderness.

But regardless of the inevitable death in option two, Kris found it preferable to the final option. By far, the most horrendous of them all.

Go home.

Kris did not even want to attempt to sort through the implications. Would Mother and Father suspect his intentions, knowing that he was out far longer than they presumed? Would he be forced, in the near future, to wed a good cult-following girl to please Mother and Father? No doubt if they found a female of even remotely similar age that met that stipulation, marriage was the next inevitable step whether Kris said yes or no. With that foothold, the cult would become Kris's entire life, perhaps even without it. An obedient follower of God. No, not God. The twisted abomination that they called God. They ruined him. God was good, forgiving, kind! Their god demanded sacrifice. Perfect living.

Coming-of-age.

Kris inadvertently shuddered. Suddenly, he took in the eerie quiet around him as if, at last, his senses had dulled with his emotions and now he was deafened.

Seriously considering such an inane possibility caused Kris to jerk his face up in terror, desperately searching for the guards who, previously, had been the source of so much noise, who had dripped with anxiety and fingered their weapons with suspicion.

Kris realized with a start that there was no one here. No one, that is, except for one singular person, standing tall and thin in front of Kris, eyesockets downcast to meet his gaze.

Eyesockets set in a face marred by the tattoos that Kris now wore against his will.

It took Gaster a full second to recognize the tattoos. Even when he had taken them in, which Kris judged by how Gaster's eyesockets bulged with indescribable emotion, Gaster remained locked in place, eyes on Kris. A statue, hands clasped behind his back, what looked like horror etched deeply into his face.

"Your Excellency." Kris bowed again. That was how one addressed the Royal Advisor, right? Kris, for once, found himself wishing that he had satisfied his curiosity over the palace when the urge took him. But now he had to play a guessing game with the Royal Advisor, who he was willing to bet had chosen to throw him to a pack of raging lions the moment Gaster had noticed those horrible tattoos.

Kris supposed that the bad manners could not hurt anything. At least, not any more.

Kris sat, on his knees, respectfully bowing his head for a long time, at least considering the discomforting position. It must have been five minutes before Gaster spoke, and even then, he barely managed a strangled noise from his throat for several seconds. If it could be called a throat, anyway.

Finally, something must have clicked in Gaster's head. A cold skeletal hand moved, and Gaster knelt. He held his hand up to Kris's face, cupping it under his chin to force him to look up. Gaster's hand, bearing the mark of a true coming-of-age ceremony. A small, circular hole cut into the palm. Vile and nauseating. Kris had been spared that fate when Mother recognized, with some insistence, that Kris was of little use without his hands.

"Who?"

Kris finally resigned himself to his fate and stopped avoiding Gaster's eyes. Kris looked up, gazing with surprise into the sympathetic, open face of a man tortured young who had grown to fight another day.

Sympathy?

Not what I expected.

"Wh- what?" Kris managed, recalling that Gaster had asked… something. What was it?

Gaster tried again, voice barely a whisper now as if violating some sacred law.

"Who did this to you?"

Lying and ignoring would do Kris no good, so he tried to dredge up the courage to be honest.

The numbness cracked, if only briefly, and the little time was all it took for salty tears to pour from the corners of Kris's eyes, irritating his new tattoos. Kris squirmed in pain, and surprisingly, Gaster reached out to wipe the tears with his sleeve. Kris snatched back control despite the empathy. He did not need empathy right now. He needed to be calm. Collected.

"Parents," Kris croaked, wincing at himself. A moment later he remembered himself and followed up with further description. "Devoted followers. You must wish to see where they-"

"No, no. That will not be necessary, I assure you, not yet. Please. Come inside. Your wounds still ache and I can see that you must be reining in a great deal of emotional strife. Come, come." Gaster beckoned Kris in like Kris was a puppy, or perhaps a petulant five-year-old.

Yet somehow Kris felt calmed. Perhaps it was the use of the words 'wounds'. His tattoos were considered wounds by Gaster. Because Gaster understood.

Kris determined immediately that he liked Gaster.

"Come now, it is alright," told Gaster as Kris took a reluctant step through the Palace doors. As Gaster led Kris into the great marble building, likely with some destination in mind, Kris could see that Gaster's guard had been dismissed only to stand close, prepared. Every one of them held a weapon at the ready and the Cornerstone himself had his eyes, glowing through the helmet, transfixed on Kris. But Gaster continued to mumble assurances as they passed the guards, and Kris found no meaning in Gaster's interactions, or lack thereof, with his Cornerstone. In fact, it was possible that Gaster was pointedly ignoring his guards. Perhaps it was for Kris's own benefit, for some odd reason.

"It is safe here," Gaster assured again, then finally let go of Kris's wrist and strode to a great and wide door, fist up to knock. Kris stared dumbly at his wrist. Gaster had been holding it the entire walk, but Kris had simply not noticed. Why? He should be acutely aware of the softest touch in his current state, disordered and traumatized. And why had Gaster been touching him? Kris could walk by himself. That is not to say that he did not occasionally get lost. But Gaster must have more faith in him! Kris can follow someone easily.

Was it not but ten minutes before that Kris had chosen to hope that Gaster was unjust and cruel, that he would imprison Kris with his high influence, simply because Kris was a human?

There was no avoiding it; Kris had no right to complain. Gaster had truly been nothing but comforting since he had appeared. Kris's paranoia was completely stripped of credibility, at least for this one time.

Kris found himself dreading if the pattern ended with the King and Queen.

"Please enter."

Kris startled at the voice, spoken from far behind the great doors but still loud and clear as day. Gaster only stood in place, waiting, and Kris began to wonder why Gaster did not push open the doors when he remembered that Gaster was a skeleton. No muscles. No strength.

An easy victim.

Kris glanced at Gaster's hands.

Guards behind the door pulled it open themselves, and Kris forced himself to straighten and stare straight ahead. He hoped that he looked strong, confident. To break down in front of the King and Queen would likely mean immediate discharge from the throne room, perhaps worse. Kris tried not to think through that part, and instead he shoved away the dark assumptions. Perhaps they were not all that bad.

Stubbornly keeping his head up, Kris marched into the throne room behind Gaster. The symbol of the monster kingdom hung in banners around the extensive room, a monster soul set inside of a fairy one, and the symbol was repeated on the long royal purple carpet that served as a walkway through the direct middle of the room, cutting it in half. Two golden thrones were situated near the end of the room, a few feet to the left or right of where the carpet ended. But contrary to Kris's expectations, His Majesty King Asgore was not sitting on the throne, nor was his wife in hers. Queen Toriel was not even in the room. Of course, Kris could not blame her. She had her infant child to worry over, as she had a tendency to exert herself without cause. Kris supposed she got bored.

Kris wondered what their future monarch would be like. Probably best to investigate the current one, to find out. Likely the son, Crown Prince Asriel, would take after his father.

"Gaster," greeted King Asgore from the corner of the room, with the same voice that had allowed them inside seconds earlier. His tone held a hint of surprise, which confused Kris. Gaster had been in the palace when Kris called upon him. Why was His Majesty surprised at Gaster's swift return?

"Asgore." Gaster bowed, only slightly, and raised his head to smile at the king. Asgore returned the expression, and stepped to approach Gaster. What? Kris had assumed that everyone had to refer to the king as His Majesty, King Asgore, the like. Gaster spoke with familiarity. Did they have a history together, aside from Gaster's position?

Kris cursed his reluctance to investigate the palace now. He would not have had to be surprised and puzzled by such small, useless goings on.

"I apologize, I was not expecting you to appear so soon. How was Asriel?" King Asgore asked, addressing Gaster as he came nearer to Kris. The king did not seem to have noticed Kris yet. Was King Asgore simply ignoring him? Or perhaps King Asgore was too focused on Gaster for the time being. What of Crown Prince Asriel? Had Gaster been with him, instead of the king?

How strange.

"He was doing quite fine. He seemed very interested in my hands," Gaster reported, holding up a hand marred by the cult that he had been born into, so long ago. "as any child would be. I suppose we should have to explain it later, when he becomes vocal and inevitably his first words have to do with me."

Kris thought that Gaster had been speaking seriously, as it must have been a sensitive topic for him, but when King Asgore chuckled Kris reconsidered.

"It will likely have something to do with me or Toriel, Gaster."

Gaster tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face, then shrugged. "Whatever you say, Your Royal Majesty."

King Asgore smiled humorously and now turned to address Kris. Kris jumped a little from the unexpected turn in the conversation, but His Majesty spoke as if he had not noticed. And, perhaps he hadn't.

"Hello, child." King Asgore tilted his head, curious, and he stepped forward to reach a hand out. Instinctively, Kris jumped back, and the king lowered his hand. He was frowning. Kris held back an exclamation at himself. Such idiocy! What if I ruin everything?

Kris kept careful control over his expression to keep himself from scowling. Despite how it would not have been directed at the king, but rather himself, King Asgore may have gotten the wrong idea from such an expression. So Kris kept his mouth shut, untrusting of his ability to speak, and stared confidently at the tall monster in front of him.

"Asgore."

The king took his eyes off of Kris and switched over to Gaster, his Royal Advisor. Hopefully, Gaster would come to Kris's aid when he could not speak.

"This boy is traumatized and injured. I would advise against touching him."

Instantly, King Asgore's mostly calm expression turned into one of acute worry, and he turned toward Kris. Kris backed away another step. Empathy? Was this empathy?

"I am fine," was all that Kris could force out. He had to say something. He did not want King Asgore to know of his emotional state. The king had no business knowing his emotional state. Gaster, bring me away from here.

"I am so sorry."

Kris tried not to react or respond to King Asgore's words, but they would not be pushed away like most words would. The king did not know him. Why did he care for Kris's pain? Admittedly, Gaster's empathy was also confusing to Kris. Perhaps it would be best not to dwell on it.

For now, Kris wished to escape the conversation. This was not going to help him, only remind him of his troubles. Gaster could help Kris by himself, right? Did this really necessitate contacting the king of monsters?

"Asgore, perhaps it would be best if you did not interact with the boy." Gaster put a hand on Asgore's shoulder and gently pushed him, though Gaster's lack of strength made it impossible to move the large man. "I merely wanted to show you, so that you could understand. Someone out there, this boy's parents, I believe, is still a follower of that disgusting cult. I hope that you understand when I tell you that I desperately wish that we imprison them for as long as possible."

"They tattooed him," King Asgore noted, still frowning down at Kris. Kris squirmed in place, and risked glancing behind him. Perhaps he could simply leave? This conversation was too personal. These two people did not know him at all. They had no right to speak about him and his life this way.

"Yes," Gaster replied slowly.

"Did he consent?" asked the king.

Gaster took his eyes off of His Majesty to look into Kris's eyes. Kris stopped squirming and stared back, still valiantly attempting to look calm, but unfortunately finding that he was rather bad at it. His eyes teared up and he reached up to wipe them away, before they could spill and irritate his face once more.

Gaster must have taken this reaction as confirmation, one way or another, and turned back to the king. "No."

The king's face hardened. "Where do we find his parents?"

Gaster stepped toward Kris and kneeled down to where his face was level with Kris's. Kris found the action rather insulting, as he was not that short, but he did not allow it to show on his face.

"Child, where are your parents?" Gaster asked. "I know that I said that it was not necessary to say, earlier, and it was not. If you do not wish to say, that is alright. Are you hungry?"

"I could make him some tea," said the king's voice from behind Gaster. Kris could not resist an odd expression overtaking his face. That was certainly not something he expected to hear coming from the king's mouth.

"I," Kris stuttered. "I live in the poorer section of the city. In the midst of a cluster of buildings housing humans, from Klaea. We are from… well… we live in the center of the group, me and my parents. Sometimes they attempted to indoctrinate our neighbors, but our neighbors… did not care for what they followed. So I… I did not… well…"

Have any friends.

Was that useful information? Gaster had merely asked where Kris's parents lived. Kris had been attempting to provide other information, so that Gaster could ask around, as Kris's neighbors would gladly sell out the strange, fanatical people next door. But if Gaster found his neighbors in the first place, was there any point in asking? If Gaster felt he needed further confirmation of Mother and Father's actions, would he not ask the neighbors anyway?

Kris fell silent, his eyes lowered to the marble floor beneath his feet.

A long empty moment followed Kris's embarrassing attempt at explanation, before Gaster placed a hand on Kris's shoulder. Kris was not sure if he should feel comforted or not. Gaster's hand was cold and hard. Certainly not comforting on its own, especially considering the hole.

Kris made up his mind and shivered. Gaster let go.

"Are you hungry?" Gaster asked again, in a quiet voice.

Kris shut his eyes. Yes. He was hungry. So hungry.

An image flashed into his brain, and he snapped his eyes open with a strangled gasp. Gaster stepped back in surprise, but immediately he recovered and reached forward to take Kris's arm. "Come, then. Let us get you something to eat."

Kris thought that he heard Gaster whisper something to the king as he led Kris away, but he could not be certain. He was too focused on keeping his eyes open, unblinking, afraid to close them again.

Lest he see that needle approaching his eyes once more.