In retrospect, they really should have known better than to think they'd be fine.

The day started more or less the same as the last two had – Frisk woke up early, and checked their phone for new messages from Sans. There were none, the newest text being from a couple of days ago, the morning after they'd informed the skeleton of the SAVE point – a text telling them that Sans and Papyrus were en route to America, theoretically to visit the Underground.

Then they got ready for the day as Toriel woke up, waited patiently until she was ready as well, and then they were out the door for a brief breakfast, and then a long day of work.

The day after the gala, Frisk and Toriel had begun the final step in the process of preparing the volunteers for the fostering program – escorting the monster volunteers to arranged meeting places in order to become acquainted with the human volunteers, so that they could be sure of no bad blood between the two parties before they lived under the same roof.

It was harder than it sounded. Even though they'd carefully vetted the volunteers, made certain that the personalities and likes of each party were at least compatible, and assured the human volunteers that the monsters would not harm them (and vice versa for some of the more timid monsters), there was still an air of nervousness at every meeting, from the moment they first approached with magical beings in tow to the moment they left. Much of the meeting was usually spent giving further reassurances to each of the volunteers, and actively (and sometimes non-so-subtly) encouraging them to actually talk to each other.

It was frustrating. Thankfully, by the sixth meeting, they'd gotten the hang of it, and both parties usually walked away somewhat happy.

By the third day of meetings, the meetings were even what they'd dare to call fun.

Though only a little fun. They were still pretty frustrating.

This particular one had been really frustrating, but, like all the others, it had worked out in the end.

"Well," one of the human volunteers, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, said, holding out his hand across the table. "This has certainly been interesting. I suppose I'll be seeing you again, Mr. Drake?"

The dragon-bird-like monster gave a little huff, but held out one pale wing and accepted the offered hand in the closest approximation of a handshake that he could manage. "I guess so."

To his credit, the man barely batted an eye at what Frisk knew to be an incredibly cold wing with incredibly sharp feathers. "We'll be seeing you two later, then. Have a good day."

"You too."

The man nodded, and then got up and headed for the door. His wife, a middle-aged woman with short-cropped blonde hair and dimples, gave them a kindly smile and a friendly little wave as she followed him out the restaurant door.

As soon as the door swung shut, Snowdrake's dad let out a sigh of relief.

"Well, that could have gone better," he muttered.

With a chuckle, Toriel leaned over to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It could have gone far worse. At least Mrs. Winnick seemed to like you." She turned to Snowdrake himself and gave the monster teenager a wink. "Especially once you let loose that first pun."

Snowdrake puffed up in pride, grinning, and Frisk grinned as well, albeit tiredly. Oh yes, they'd had great fun once the puns had started. Back in the Underground, Snowdrake's puns left plenty to be desired, but, well, that had been taken care of by oh-so-subtly prodding Sans in his general direction. Within weeks, every monster (and human) that enjoyed puns was laughing honestly at his jokes, whilst the others were screeching in frustration.

Evidently, that had paid off, because Mrs. Winnick had almost laughed herself to death when the first pun had slipped out. The rest of the meeting had been much less tense, and the humans had agreed to take the two monsters in in the end.

Still chuckling, Toriel lifted a hand to flag down one of the waiting staff for the bill. "Shall we leave? This place is lovely, but I think we may have disturbed many of their customers."

"Yeah, sure."

When the bill had been taken care of, and they began the short trek to the door, Snowdrake bounced up to Frisk (literally bounced, in a gait not too dissimilar to that of a bird) and began chattering.

"You really think that pun was great? I used that one on Dad a couple days ago and he laughed, it was great, and now humans like it too! Maybe I can become a great comedian after all! Like maybe a stand-up comedian, one of those ones that stand up on a stage, like Dad was Underground –"

Frisk politely kept an ear on his blabbering, even as they silently scolded Chara for groaning loudly and obnoxiously when the monster had started talking.

*But Friiiissssk, he's so annoying!

That doesn't mean you have to be rude about it!

*It's not like he can hear me!

That's not the point!

The bickering continued all the way to the door, interrupted only by some of Snowdrake's gleeful puns (that they made a point to laugh at, even if they'd heard most of them before) and Toriel's own amused contributions to the jokes.

Their high spirits didn't last long, because that was the moment that, as they were opening the door, there was a sharp crack.

The punning gave way to shrieks of shock and terror, and Frisk slowly looked down at the red gushing out of them to stain their shirt, barely noticing the pain.

A bullet wound, right in the middle of the chest. Deep, and, judging by the blackness already eating away at their vision, probably fatal.

They looked back up in time to see the shooter, a short, pudgy man in a hoodie and jeans and a startlingly blank expression, load another clip into the gun and lift it to aim right between their eyes –

And pull the trigger.


LOADing from a SAVE point was always unsettling. The first time Frisk had done it, they'd ended up vomiting all over their own sneakers, and they were pretty sure that Chara had been vomiting too – as much as you could when one was a ghost with no digestive tract.

This time was no less unpleasant. The blackness of cold, unfeeling nothingness that came with every death gave way to a confusing array of colors – green and orange and yellow – and a strange sharp feeling, like they were pressing a knife against their skin without breaking it and spilling blood.

Moving as if through a thick tar, Frisk reached out, grasping numbly for something in that odd array –

And then they were bending double, gasping for breath and nausea boiling in their gut, as sweet, flower-scented air flooded their nose.

"Frisk?!"

Two voices, both male, crying out in alarm from behind them. Running footsteps, a hand landing on each of their shoulders as they struggled not to hurl. And the distant sound of conversation and orange flowers visible just behind the glowing golden star before them, almost right in their face…

I'm back at the gala.

Swallowing down rising bile, and trying not to pay attention to the throbbing phantom pains of bullets in their chest and forehead (unscathed chest and forehead, not even a bruise to show, no matter how much they hurt), they let their eyes come up to find the worried faces of Myles and Beckett Fowl hovering over them.

"Are you okay?!" Beckett was almost wailing, blue eyes wide with worry.

"F-fine," they managed, even as their stomach did a flip-flop of protest. "Just feeling a little sick, that's all…"

Their voice trailed off as Myles leaned closer, frowning. He didn't look as worried for them as Beckett did, but he still seemed concerned.

"What kind of sick?" He asked, eyes narrowing. "Dizzy? Nauseous? Feverish or clammy? Do you have any allergies that could cause this kind of extreme reaction?"

Frisk blinked numbly.

"Nauseous…? And no allergies..."

He hmmed softly, eyes narrowing, but he pulled back, giving them a bit more space – space which was quickly filled with his blonde twin.

"We should get you inside!" Beckett insisted, grabbing one of their hands and pulling them all the way upright.

"What?" Frisk almost stumbled over their own feet – no, their skirt, they were back in that dress they'd worn – as the boy gently pulled them away from the center of the flower patch. "N-no, I'm fine…"

"You most certainly are not," Myles scoffed. "You are queasy, obviously unsteady on your feet, and quite pale." When Frisk opened their mouth to argue, he gave them a stern glare. "I will assist Beckett in dragging you back inside if need be."

He managed to make that statement sound like a threat, even if it was well-meant.

*Just go along with it…

Frisk paused just as they were about to protest again, then sighed. Chara was right. It wouldn't do them much good to protest – there was a stubborn jut to both twins' jaws, and an equally stubborn look in each of their eyes. They weren't about to take no for an answer.

Plus, they reminded themselves, Myles was likely to notice something was off if they kept it up.

Decided, they nodded, and let the twins pull them the rest of the way out of the rose spiral and back towards the manor.


The gala played out almost exactly the same as before – there were no guns pulled on any of the guests, Mr. Yew was still easily the rudest person there, and their following conversation with Artemis Fowl was still the same, word-for-word (it was almost as shocking to listen to the first time as well – they still weren't entirely certain what to make of being called a genius, by a genius no less). In fact, the only thing that really changed was that the twins repeatedly visited them to ask them if they were okay (and reassured themselves of this fact as Frisk was leaving.)

It wasn't until they were back in their hotel room, and Toriel had gone to begin her own nightly bedtime routine (which would without a doubt leave the shower drain clogged with white monster fur), that something different happened, that something different being their phone, which had been left behind for the gala, buzzing furiously as some message arrived. They scooped the device up quickly.

From HumerusPnmaster: hey what happened

Chara grumbled something unintelligible from over their shoulder that sounded suspiciously like what do you think smiley trashbag. They ignored the ghost, instead texting back a reply.

FriskyBits: Assassin outside meeting site

FriskyBits: Got me with 2 bullets

FriskyBits: Chest and between the eyes

The shower in the hotel bathroom shut off, and they hurriedly shoved their phone underneath their pillow before Toriel could emerge and see it.

When, almost an hour later, the monster queen had fallen into peaceful slumber on her own bed, they quickly retrieved their phone to find a new message.

HumerusPnmaster: you ok

An image of the man's blank, emotionless eyes bubbled up to the surface, and Frisk shivered, suddenly cold.

FriskyBits: Yeah

FriskyBits: We've got this

FriskyBits: Now that we know he's gonna be there we can call the police

They took a deep breath. Two. Three.

*We'll be fine. I can take over and dodge for both of us if he's still there.

Strangely, those so-called words of comfort weren't all that comforting.

Their phone buzzed again, alerting them to a new message.

HumerusPnmaster: ok

A pause. Then another message, before Frisk shut off their phone and shoved it back underneath their pillow for the night.

HumerusPnmaster: good luck kiddo


Welp, Frisk's died for the first time in this fanfiction, and it's not the last time, either. Yay?

From now on, in chapters where they've died, I'll include a little death counter down at the bottom showing how many times they've died. Just because I can.

Frisk Deaths: 1