Mom smiled from where she stood next to Frisk's step stool. Her sleeves were pushed back to her elbows, her paws slathered in slime. The shelled snails and diced potatoes looked like lumpy jello in the glass dish on the counter.
Poor snails. Nabstablook had said that they lived a full and happy life though. They got to race when they wanted to, and they had plenty of friends.
Frisk hoped they could visit the snail races one day.
"Now is the fun part: baking the casserole," Mom said. "You will not be able to use fire magic yourself, but that is alright. I will be here to provide that service whenever you need it."
Frisk nodded. They'd lived with Mom for a month now, and she was always home in time for dinner. She was usually home in general, unless she was at the Ruins' small grocery store, or restocking the bowl of monster candy, or tending the flowers where Frisk had first fallen. All places that Frisk could find her even if that stray dog ran off with her phone again.
She wasn't going to leave them. She wasn't.
"Keep your hands clear, my child. This fire may burn."
Frisk hugged themself as a tiny ball of fire lit in Mom's palm. It glowed a soft orange, with a spark of white at the very center.
"It's beautiful," Frisk said, even though they'd seen Mom's magic dozens of times by now. Then they winked. "Just like you."
Mom gave them a funny look. "You are not trying to flirt with me again, are you?"
"...No?" Frisk grinned sheepishly. They always forgot that that wasn't a normal way to interact with monsters. ...Maybe it wasn't a normal way to interact with anyone, and their old mom had been the weird one. They'd never know now.
Either way, Mom was beautiful. So there.
She chuckled. "Seriously, I wonder who taught you before you… well. I suppose I am lucky that you settled for living with an old lady like me instead of charming every human on the surface."
She ruffled Frisk's hair with the hand that wasn't holding fire. But it was still sticky with snail slime.
Mom's eyes widened. "I—oh dear."
They stared at each other for a second. Then Frisk burst out laughing. Mom joined in a moment later, the fire in her other palm flickering out.
"I have certainly made a mess, haven't I?" she said after catching her breath.
"It's okay, Mom. I can get a bath later. You still have to finish the casserole."
Mom bit her lip, her bottom fangs poking out. "Alright. But you will clean up afterwards. We will not have a repeat of the Cider Incident."
Frisk giggled. The Cider Incident hadn't been that bad. The spiders had been a little clumsy bringing the cider down the web, and it had spilled in Frisk's hair. It hadn't bothered them, but it had made a sticky, smelly mess on their pillow when they'd taken a nap later that day.
They had expected Mom to be mad. Maybe even make them stay outside, or leave forever. But instead, after just a light scolding, she had gently washed the sticky liquid from their hair.
(That was the first time that they called Toriel "Mom.")
She washed her hands, and then fire sprung to life in them again. She passed her hand over the casserole dish, crisping the top of the gray-green concoction. It looked disgusting.
Frisk couldn't wait to try it.
"What do you think, my child?" She almost sounded embarrassed. "It still needs to cool, but we can add the finishing touches. Which would you prefer for the topping? Mushrooms, or marshmallows?"
"Mushrooms," they answered without missing a beat, though they felt a strange pang of… something. Disappointment? Why would they be disappointed? They loved mushrooms.
"You are the first child I have met who is eager to eat their vegetables." Mom chuckled while fetching the mushrooms from the refrigerator. "Have I been feeding you too many sweets? I would not have you think I desire to 'fatten you up.'"
Frisk blinked. Had Flowey…? No, Flowey never appeared around Mom.
"I am only teasing, my child. Some of the other children who fell here… they accused me of that. I suppose it is a rather dark joke. I should stick to puns..." She smiled sadly before retrieving a knife from the secret drawer above the stove. Too high for Frisk to reach. "Oh, I am rambling again. Rest assured that you may have as many vegetables as you wish. The vegetoids will be happy to have the extra business."
"I know you wouldn't do anything like that," they said. It had been one of Flowey's worse lies. Humans probably didn't taste anything like snails.
"Thank you for having such confidence in me." Mom chuckled. She spread the mushrooms across the counter and began cutting them into even slices.
Frisk scooted their step stool closer. "Can I help?"
Mom paused, frowning at the knife in her paw. "I suppose you should practice while I am here to assist you. But be careful, it is very sharp."
"I know."
Mom reluctantly passed over the knife, handle-first. Frisk's fingers closed around it.
They were filled with… something. Not determination.
Finally.
Their eyes widened, their grip weakening on the knife. That thought—that didn't feel like them.
"Oh!" Mom caught the knife as it slipped from their hand. "My child, are you alright? Are you hurt?"
Frisk shook their head quickly, not trusting themself to speak. Their hands still trembled like they'd been shocked. What… what was that?
"I am sorry. I should not have… I will handle the mushrooms. If you would like to take a break—"
"No," they said hoarsely. They didn't want to be alone right now. Just in case. "I'm okay. I'll watch."
Mom's brow was still furrowed, but she nodded. "Very well. Your moral support is appreciated."
They cracked a smile at that. "I can be great moral support. Give me an M! Give me a U! Give me an… um…"
"S?"
"Yeah!"
She laughed again, and it was like breaking a spell. Everything was okay. They could pretend the weird voice had been a bad dream.
There was nothing wrong with them. Nothing that would make Mom scared or mad. They could be good.
They would be good.
Starting by paying attention to Mom's lesson on monster food. Mushrooms were "physical food," so humans could eat them without getting hurt, but monsters had to use magic on them first.
"A 'seed' of magic is enough to treat something that already resembles food. Other inedible objects can become monster food if prepared with the proper levels of magic, but typically that is a waste. It would cost more magic than you would gain back by consuming it."
They nodded along, trying to commit all her words to memory. This wasn't part of their normal schoolwork, but they wanted to be prepared in case of a test anyway.
"My fire magic is well suited for treating food. Some other monsters have a more difficult time. It would be a treat if they would allow me to treat them to our cooking."
Frisk giggled. Maybe one day someone would accept their invitation to dinner with Mom. Napstablook probably would have, except they could only eat ghost food. Ghost food was made out of pure magic and memories, Mom had said. She couldn't use the type of magic needed to make it.
A small flame lit at the tip of her claw. She gently prodded the center of the sliced mushrooms. Instead of charring the vegetables, though, a little ring of light expanded outwards and covered them.
"There. That is the 'seed' technique for cooking. Though, I suppose you will not be able to use that either… but it is no matter! If you ever cook something for me or other monsters, I can treat it for you."
Frisk wanted so badly to cook for Mom. To repay her just a little bit for everything she'd done for them. But that would be really hard if they couldn't even pick up a knife.
Still, they nodded and asked a question that had been on their mind. "What happens if you eat food that isn't magic?"
"Ah. That is… not pretty. You know how human food passes through your digestive tract, correct?"
Frisk didn't know much about that, but they nodded anyway.
"Monsters do not have that. We are made of magic and dust."
Frisk's brow scrunched. "You don't feel like you're made of dust. You feel soft and fuzzy."
"That is the form my magic gives me." Mom smiled. "Do not worry. I will teach you more about monster biology later. Just know that we cannot excrete physical waste like you do. So it must come back up, and it makes us very very sick."
"Physical... waste…?"
"Ah. I believe the simpler term is, um, 'poop.'"
Frisk held back the laughter for half a second before it came bursting out.
"Yes, ha ha, it is very funny." She flicked them in the forehead. "You knew what I was talking about, didn't you?"
"Maaaaybe."
She snorted and shook her head. "You are a very interesting child. My… someone I know would have liked you."
After a wistful look, she scooped up the mushrooms and sprinkled them across the snail casserole. Frisk's stomach growled.
"Ha! Is this making you hungry? Most children I have met did not care for snails. I hope it is as delicious as it looks."
It didn't look delicious at all, but Frisk had been curious about Mom's snail food for weeks now. It couldn't be worse than some of the meals they'd prepared for themself on the surface.
"Will you set the table, my child? I will prepare our plates."
They nodded and hopped down from the step stool. They knew where the forks and cups were, and they took out the jug of spider cider for the special occasion. They placed napkins and forks in the proper places, poured the cider, and then scrambled onto their tall chair.
"Oh, we are feeling fancy!" Mom said when she returned with the plates and saw the tall glasses filled to the brim with cider. "You… certainly gave us a lot of cider."
They shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. "It's… more efficient that way…?"
The excuse felt familiar, though they really didn't know why they'd filled the glasses so high. It would probably spill and make a mess. They must have gotten too excited.
Mom gave them a funny look. "That's… hmm."
What did that mean? Was she upset? Had they ruined everything with two stupid glasses of cider?
"It is funny… I used to know someone else who said the same thing," Mom finally explained, though she still looked a little unsettled.
She used to know a lot of people, it sounded like. She was hundreds of years old, so it made sense.
And Frisk… Frisk was just nine. They couldn't make up for a lifetime of lost friends and children. They could barely do anything right at all. What if… what if they weren't good enough, and…
"Are you going to try the casserole? Or are you waiting for me to take the first bite?" she asked. Whatever worry she'd felt seemed to be gone.
Pushing back their own fears, they dug into the casserole.
It was… slimy. And kind of chewy. The snails themselves didn't seem to have much of a flavor, but the spices mom had mixed in tasted good. Exciting, different. Mom's cooking was always like that, mixing flavors that no humans would think to try. It had been weird at first, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
"'S good," they said with their mouth full.
She chuckled. "Thank you, my child. I hope it will cur-snail your appetite."
It wasn't a great pun, but they laughed anyway. Just being here with Mom, having someone to laugh with… it was still like a dream.
Frisk took a careful sip of their overflowing cider, and hoped that they wouldn't wake up.