Whoa, what's this? TWO chapters in three days? WHAAAAAAAAT?!
I was on a roll after the last chapter, so I kinda kept writing and, well, you can see the result!
And thank you to HiddenDragon21 (Guest) for your review! Calling my self-indulgent fanfiction a "gem," you flatterer you!
Five days.
It had been five days since they had been caught. Five days since their hidden belongings had been found, and since their parents, in a fit of rage, had confiscated all of their hidden food and removed their furniture in their search for hiding spots.
They hadn't found everything, but they'd found most of the important stuff. Frisk's stashes of energy bars and drinks were gone, along with some of their clothes, the ones with lots of pockets. Their mattress had been dumped on the ground, their trash spilled in a corner, and the dresser scooted across the room into a corner where no loose floorboards had been found.
Frisk actually kinda found this funny, because their parents had unknowingly made the room look like Sans's.
Still, it was hard to find things funny when you'd gone without any real food for days. A few pieces of bread had been delivered two days ago, but that was all they'd had since then. (At least they had water. Thank goodness for adjoining bathrooms.)
And their photograph was torn. Their father, in his rage, had torn the picture to shreds and dumped it the pile of trash the two adults had left behind. The child had found most of the pieces, but it still stung – these were their parents, and they'd done this.
Sometimes it wasn't too hard for Frisk to understand how much Chara hated them.
Still, the threats of bodily harm and foul cussing were a bit much.
*I swear, the next time one of them lets us near a knife –
"Chara," they whispered. "That won't help."
*Sure it will! We can say it was in self-defense! We're what, ten-to-twelve? We can probably get away with that kind of shit -
Downstairs, the TV came on, and news broadcasts began playing. The ghost went quiet, and Frisk crawled quietly (their legs were too wobbly to properly walk without falling over) to the door to listen.
"- in the field. Veronica?"
"Thank you, Robert. I'm currently standing in Lincoln Park, the site of the previous pro-monster gatherings here in Ebott. As you can see by my surroundings, many supporters have already begun coming together – right now the count is estimated to be somewhere around 600, and people are still pouring in, even half an hour before the protest is actually scheduled to start. That's quite a number, but not too surprising if you consider the uproar that occurred on many social media sites after the events of last night –"
Frisk frowned. Uproar? What had happened last night that had warranted an uproar?
Had their ally finally begun their part of whatever plan they'd concocted? They had mentioned that when they went to the next stage, there would be some massive upheavals.
*I bet they hacked the FBI.
Well, Frisk wouldn't be entirely surprised if they'd hacked somebody, but the FBI? That seemed a little risky for them – in their emails, they had made a very strong emphasis on caution, insisting that Frisk not say anything to the public about their involvement.
But then again, Frisk hadn't updated their blog in almost a week. Maybe that had been enough to prompt drastic measures.
Their parents were grumbling and barking out protests as the reporter continued describing the rally site.
" - surprising dedication, considering the one who organizes most of the protests, an online 'ambassador' by the name of F. Dreemurr, has not been heard from in several days. Many supporters have mentioned that this Dreemurr has mentioned that their family disapproves of the pro-monster community – "
The news feed was interrupted by heavy knocking on the front door. Their parents' conversation lulled. One pair of footsteps – their father, probably – headed to answer the door, while the other pair started coming up the stairs. Their mother, coming to stand outside their door in case Frisk got any ideas to call for help.
Frisk craned their ears, struggling to hear what was going on over the news still playing. They knew Chara was trying to eavesdrop too, judging by the frustration emanating from them.
Suddenly, their invisible friend gasped.
*It's a policeman!
A policeman? What was a policeman doing here?
*Hold on – he's saying . . . something about an anonymous tip?
An anonymous tip? Could it be . . .?
Their mother was outside their door. It was locked – it would take a few seconds for it to be unlocked. A few precious seconds.
"Chara, plug your ears," They whispered. Then they sucked in a huge breath.
"HELP!" They screamed shrilly, the loudest they'd ever screamed.
The voices downstairs lulled, even as their mother hissed for them to be quiet from in the hallway. They heard their father say something hurriedly – oh that's nothing, there's nothing wrong – but they weren't about to loose this opportunity.
"I'M UPSTAIRS!" They shrieked. "THEY LOCKED ME IN MY ROOM!"
Heavy unfamiliar footsteps came rushing up the stairs, and their mother, fumbling with keys outside the door, quickly said, "Oh, I'm s-sure she's fine, officer, you know how kids are, they exaggerate, we've had problems with this lock before, and she's always messing with it –"
"Enough," a gruff voice interrupted. "Just unlock the door."
"Oh, but there's really no need to be so worried, really, she's quite a dramatic little girl -"
"I said unlock the door."
There was a pause, then the click of they key in the lock.
The door swung open. Frisk scrambled back to avoid being hit, putting on a terrified expression complete with wobbly lips and little tears.
The tall, burly officer looked at them – with their thin frame, baggy clothes, the greasy brown bob of hair and body odor thanks to five days without a shower, the bruises on their fingers from trying to pry open their window, and, of course, the crocodile tears – and scanned the obviously trashed room.
Then he turned to their mother and father, who were standing there looking like a nuclear bomb was about to go off in the hallway. Which seemed like a credible threat, judging by the man's expression.
"Sir, 'mam," the officer said icily. "I told you I came here on an anonymous tip – you want to know what that tip was? My contact had reasons to believe that there was neglect and possibly abuse going on in this household."
He gestured pointedly at Frisk, who was still pretend-crying (very convincingly) on the floor.
"I'd say this counts, wouldn't you?"
Their parents began stammering, and the officer turned back to Frisk. "You need some help, kid?"
They nodded. He held out a hand, and they grabbed it quickly, letting him hoist them up, then grabbed his leg in an attempt to stabilize their jello legs.
"What all have they done, kid?"
Frisk let their lip wobble more. "They – they –"
Behind them, their father glared at them, and they let out a fearful whimper. The officer cast another nuclear glare over his shoulder, making the man flinch, then turned a reassuring look on Frisk.
"It's okay, kid, they can't hurt you while I'm here."
"But . . . they don't like it when I talk . . ."
"It's fine, kid. Just look at me, not them."
Frisk did so. "They – they hit me. On the head, when t-they found me using the laptop. And dad grabbed my hair, and they got rid of all my stuff, and they tore up a picture of my friends that I had, and they wouldn't let me have food, or wash, or – o-or –"
Chara started snickering as Frisk pretended to break down completely.
"A-and t-they called me bad names, and they l-locked me in my room and took all my stuff and nailed shut the window, and t-they told me I couldn't come out until I l-learned that kids are s-supposed to not keep secrets from their parents or like monsters –"
The man's eyebrows jumped up. "You're not scared of the monsters? I know a lot of kids who think they're scary."
"N-no," Frisk whimpered. "T-they're not scary. They're – they're nice, a l-lot nicer than they are, and one of the monsters I met treated me like I was her kid and she gave me really good pie and told bad jokes and let me call her mom - "
Their mother's face went livid.
"What?!" She screeched. The officer shot her another foul look.
He patted the top of Frisk's head, then turned to their stunned parents. "I'm taking your kid into protective custody."
"What?! You can't –"
"I can sir, and I will. From what I just heard, it's pretty obvious that you are not fit to care for a kid. They're terrified of you, you don't let them talk, and you've half starved them. On purpose."
He bent down to Frisk's level. "You have anything in here you want to take with you?"
Frisk nodded, biting their lip and wiping false tears from their eyes.
"I'll help you grab it."
He helped them gather up what little stuff they still had – some clothes, a book of old fairy tales they'd managed to keep hidden during the search, the pieces of their photograph with the monsters – and, when Frisk finally toppled over because their weak legs couldn't carry them, gave them an energy bar from his pocket. Then he picked them and all their stuff up, and gently carried them down the stairs.
"Officer –"
"If you think this is all, sir, I can tell you right now that there will be legal action."
That shut him up for good, and the last thing Frisk saw as the door shut was their parent's horrified faces.
The officer carefully opened the door of the police cruiser parked in the driveway, and set Frisk down in the backseat.
"Officer?" Frisk whispered. He stopped.
"Yeah, kid?"
He sounded like Sans. Frisk almost smiled at the thought. "C-can you take me to Lincoln Park first?"
"Look, kid, you need something to eat, and I'm on duty –"
"Just for a couple minutes?" They pleaded. "And – and can I have something with Internet? A phone or laptop?"
He considered this.
"No to the park, but you can use my phone," he sighed. He pulled it out – a touchpad, very fancy – and handed it to them before shutting the door and sliding into the front seat. As he pulled out of the driveway, Frisk fumbled with the phone until they'd logged back into their blog's account, and began to type.
Sorry I've been gone for so long. I was having some major family issues, and I didn't have access to the Internet for the past few days, but I'm back, and thank you to the 600-something people who have turned up at Lincoln Park for the protest in Ebott!
They hit enter.
"Mr. Officer?" They asked hesitantly.
"Yeah?"
"I h-heard on the news that there was some sort of uproar last night? What happened?"
He gave them a wry grin. "The real question should be what didn't happen."
Barely two minutes after Frisk finally posted on their blog after almost a week-long absence, a man at the Lincoln Park rally checked his messages, then whooped.
"Dreemurr just posted!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "Dreemurr's back!"
Everybody around him burst into cheers.
Five minutes later, dozens of families all over the city dropped what they were doing and came running (some literally) to join the crowds, their motivation restored.
Half an hour later, as the bewildered reporter relayed the information over the live feed, people watching the news dropped what they were doing, and rushed to tell friends and family. The Internet exploded.
The rally that day broke every record held so far, over 1100 people crowding into the park and celebrating their leader's return.
At the entrance to a certain Underground civilization, a guard checking the messages on her phone let out a whoop, catching the attention of everyone around her.
"Hey Dreemurrs!" she yelled at the giant horned monsters in royal regalia talking in hushed tones nearby. "Your kid's back!"
And across the Atlantic, two hours later, as international news picked up on Frisk's story and the world went ballistic once again, Artemis Fowl flicked off his television with a satisfied smirk.
