Author's Note: Reminder that this is the last update, for a while. I'm putting this story back on hiatus to keep tweaking. So much...

Chapter 3: Home

The human awoke from the most restful sleep she had in recent memory, for once free of dreams representing her fears and insecurities. She kept her eyes closed, sighing as she snuggled into her quilts.

The maid would come soon to wake her up. She would have to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed and ready herself to deal with whoever her parents threw her at. She would be forced to smile and laugh and "be normal" despite everyone treating her like she wasn't.

It was just another day in her life.

Opening her eyes at last, she expected to see the window her bed had faced for almost a decade, but it was completely absent. She quickly realized there weren't any windows. Darting her eyes about the room, she didn't recognize it, at all! Panic froze her body as she stared wide-eyed at the wall, trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating.

Frisk finally remembered her new name, and the fact that she hadn't slept in her old room in months. She remembered falling down a hole. That meant she had to be somewhere under Mount Ebott, but where…?

As she sat up and looked around she checked herself for injuries that were no longer present. The splint was also missing. She still wore her clothes and her boots were on the floor, although a quick inspection found everything to be a little less muddy than they'd been when she woke up in the flowerbed. Had someone cleaned her up? Who? And how did her wounds heal so quickly?

Had she truly been dreaming? Was she already in the village on the other side of Mount Ebott? Why didn't she remember arriving? Or was she still dreaming…?

The dim light coming off the lamp wasn't enough to fully inspect the room, so Frisk left the bed to see if she could make it brighter. It turned out to only have two settings, the other indeed being bright enough to properly illuminate everything. After blinking the spots out of her eyes Frisk put on her boots and set about exploring her oddly civilized surroundings (that she didn't expect from a hole in the ground).

The door was unlocked. With that worry alleviated she took her time looking around at the dusty toys. She snooped in the wardrobe and dresser that were fit to burst with knitted clothing, sneezing as she disturbed the dust. Atop the dresser sat the old bandage and stick from her splint, which she shoved into her hip pack, thinking she might find a use for them, later. There was a box on the floor filled with children's shoes in a disparity of sizes… but none of them fit any better than what she currently wore. It was mildly disappointing, but to be expected. She dropped in unannounced, after all.

Frisk's mouth quirked, wondering if the tutor who taught her about wordplay would've liked that joke. Or if he'd be horrified by the fact that her "drop" had been anything but funny. He'd been such a nice man, one of the few who treated her like her birth hadn't been a mistake and like she had a functioning brain. He'd also expressed concern over how she was being treated at home, more than once…

It was probably why her parents fired him.

She stuffed the fond (and not-so-fond) memories into the corner of her mind where they belonged. She was never going to see those people again. Reminiscing wasn't going to help her figure out her current location. She needed to get going…

Slowly, Frisk opened the door, taking her time so the hinges didn't squeak. The lights in the hallway outside were bright, and everything was quiet. Frisk wondered what time it was as she stepped into the hallway. With no sun or moon, she wondered how whoever lived here could tell time. Did anyone live here? It didn't feel abandoned, the way adults said the Old City felt, but it was still awfully quiet…

To her left was a dead-end so Frisk walked to her right, passing by a tall vase with a drooping cattail in it. She passed by a set of stairs opposite a door that seemed to lead outside. She briefly considered leaving, but the house felt inviting while the outside… didn't. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

Hoping to stay unnoticed, she flattened herself against the wall as she peered into the next room. It turned out to be a living area with a bookshelf, tools for the lit fireplace, a dining table and chairs. Next to the fireplace sat a big, overstuffed armchair. It was currently occupied by a monster she recognized, though she was now wearing little reading glasses…

Frisk gulped. So she hadn't dreamt of being attacked by a talking flower, and subsequently being rescued by a monster. Frisk supposed she could still be dreaming… It didn't feel like it, but what else could it be? It had to be a dream, because someone like Toriel shouldn't exist.

It'd been ages since the war against the monsters. The paltry amount of written information from the era (that survived the passage of time and all the natural disasters since) insisted that they'd been nearly wiped out before being sealed away. They should've died out by now. What sort of resources could have sustained them down here, for so long?

Unless… Toriel was the last monster.

The thought of someone kind enough to rescue a complete stranger being so utterly alone squeezed something inside Frisk. The quiet suddenly felt oppressive and suffocating.

No halfway-decent person deserved to be forced to live in a cage made of solitude, no matter how warm and inviting it looked!

Frisk shook her head at herself. She was jumping to conclusions without any evidence. There could be other monsters, she just hadn't met them, yet. She wasn't going to learn more about her surroundings by cowering in the hallway, so she told herself to stop being silly and to get moving.

Again, assuming she was truly awake and actually moving.

The thought was becoming bothersome. Frisk internally debated whether or not to stop doubting the reality of her situation as she approached Toriel. One corner of her mind noted that she was knitting what looked like a sock in blue yarn. Her hands moved with a level of expertise that Frisk both admired and envied.

Toriel looked up from her project. She smiled, her cherry brown eyes warm as she exclaimed. "You are awake! Oh, thank goodness." She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I thought… well, it no longer matters. How do you feel, my child? Did you have a good rest?"

Frisk nodded. Although her throat and mouth felt gummy from dehydration, she still managed to say, "Yes, I feel much better now, Miss Toriel, thank you. How long have I been unconscious? What happened to my injuries?"

Toriel tilted her head, considering. "You slept for only about… four hours, I would say. As for your injuries, I-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Frisk's belly chose that very moment to protest its emptiness loudly, angrily, and painfully. Frisk pressed both hands to her middle, not to hide the sound but to try and ease the sharp pangs gnawing on her spine. She tried to keep her expression neutral, out of habit, but she could feel the tightness in her brow and mouth as she tried not to whimper pathetically.

*This is so embarrassing! she thought as her cheeks heated. *Mother would never forgive me for committing a faux pas like this! She would punish me for sure! I-!

Toriel rose from her chair. "Oh, you poor dear! Of course you are starving. Take a seat at the table and I will fetch you something to eat." Toriel suddenly paused and narrowed her eyes, just slightly. "Although… If I may ask, when was your last meal? If you have not had a substantial amount to eat in some time, I do not wish to hurt you by giving you too much, too soon."

Frisk couldn't meet Toriel's eyes and wound up staring at the embroidery on the monster's overcoat. She hadn't eaten a decent meal since her life had taken a turn for the worse, months ago. She'd managed to get some food and water, but nothing she would define as "substantial." How could she phrase it without prompting any further investigation on Toriel's part?

She didn't want to talk about the past. She didn't want to think about it, the way she'd just been thinking about a mother that had no power over her, any longer. She'd left it all behind so she didn't have to think about it!

A large, warm hand fell on Frisk's shoulder, making her look up. She found a gentle expression on the monster's face.

"It is alright," said Toriel. "Your silence on the matter speaks well enough. I baked a butterscotch-cinnamon pie to welcome you to your new home, but it will have to wait. It may be a bit too rich for your stomach to handle, for the time being."

Frisk looked at the arm attached to the hand on her shoulder, then into Toriel's eyes. She couldn't have heard that right. She did not just hear the words "new home" falling out of an almost complete stranger's mouth. Her confusion must've been apparent, despite her squint, because Toriel tilted her head as she asked, "Is something the matter, young one?"

Frisk quickly shook her head. "It's… nothing. Thank you, Miss Toriel."

"The pleasure is all mine, my child." She pat Frisk's shoulder, then pointed at the dining table. "Now sit. I will bring you dinner." After issuing the rather matronly command she bustled off in a swirl of skirts. Frisk stared after her, amazed that such a large being could move so fast. There'd been a happy little smile on Toriel's face…

Somewhat bemused, Frisk obediently sat at the table. She took in the dried (or dead) flowers in the vase before her, the delicate lace doily beneath it, and stared at the woodgrain of the table. It might've been because she was still tired but it looked like they were moving, swirling 'round and 'round the knot in one of the planks.

She was getting sleepy. Was she even awake? The pain in her stomach should've meant she was… but it all felt so surreal. Although she'd decided to treat everything as though she was alive, her internal jury was still in deliberations as to whether or not she actually was alive.

She shouldn't be. Looking back, there were so many times where she should have died, but didn't. There'd been too many close calls, too many instances where her fate had hung by a thread. Her luck (what little she had) couldn't hold out for much longer.

Was that why she felt like everything was a dream? She'd been living on borrowed time for months… maybe years. She prepared for it as best she could, but she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it finally did, a new pair would dangle for her to wait for, again and again and again. Bad fortune always followed good…

Maybe she was already dead. She just didn't know it, yet.

She was brought out of her brooding by Toriel's return. A bowl with a spoon in it was placed before her, along with a glass of water. A cloth napkin was placed beside the bowl as Frisk stared at what she was expected to eat. It looked like a vegetable and mushroom soup, but there was something else floating in there. Were those…?

"Here we are!" Toriel said brightly. "Snail soup in mushroom broth. Please take care to eat and drink slowly! You may hurt yourself if you do not." She pat Frisk on the head before sitting back down in her armchair. She took up her knitting, but the human could tell she was being watched from the corner of a fur-lined eye. Frisk smiled, hoping her gratitude could be silently conveyed around the lump forming in her throat. Looking down at the bowl, she remembered…

She'd eaten snails, before. The salvaged French cookbook her parents acquired became the bane of her existence before… everything happened. Escargot had been a favorite of theirs to serve at their social events. Drenched in so much butter they felt oily, and so much garlic that it tainted one's breath for days, they squeaked as they resisted mastication. It was always unpleasant but, in her role as "dutiful daughter", she ate every serving she was given without complaint. And, since her parents were such "trendsetters," all of their "friends" served escargot at their events, as well…

Nobody's cooks seemed to know how to make the dish more palatable.

Frisk took up the spoon, bringing it and a cooked snail up to her mouth so she could blow on it. It was mainly to buy herself some time to mentally prepare herself, but the soup was also visibly steaming away. It didn't smell terrible, and there was something comforting about it. It was just soup, so there shouldn't have been, but the feeling was there. It was odd, but Frisk didn't have time to puzzle it out. She'd blown on her spoonful long enough. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. The snail went in…

Frisk's eyebrows flew upward. It was delicious! Then she started chewing on the snail, only to find that it… wasn't bad. It didn't squeak against her teeth, and it practically melted in her mouth. Eyebrows still high on her forehead, she ate spoonful after spoonful, taking care to pace herself.

The oddest thing about her meal was how she felt as she ate. It was like someone was soothing away her fears and worries with each bite. She could swear someone was trying to tell her she was safe, that she home, and it was alright for her to rest. Someone would be there and watch over her, someone that cared.

It was so nice… too nice. She'd never felt anything like it in her waking moments… which meant it couldn't be real.

Frisk stopped eating, patting her lips with the napkin in order to hide the tightness pulling at her mouth. She was only a little over halfway done but it was becoming impossible to swallow around the lump in her throat. Tears burned her eyes, but years of practice kept them from falling.

*Not yet, she told herself as she drank some water. *Not yet. Never show your tears, never show your fears. Never let them know how much it hurts. Don't cry. Don't cry! Don't-!

Toriel's hand touched her shoulder, again, making Frisk softly gasp herself out of her thoughts. She somehow made herself look up at her hostess calmly, instead of jumping out of her skin the way she wanted to. Toriel was still smiling, but there was another expression hiding behind it, one Frisk couldn't place.

"Do not force yourself to eat more than you can handle," said Toriel. "Leave some room for the water. It is important to hydrate yourself, after all."

Frisk made herself nod, then she said, "Thank you. I… believe I am finished. I apologize for being unable to eat everything."

Toriel took the bowl and spoon away as she said, "There is no need for apologies. I will save this, so you may finish later." She took a step back, taking her hand away from Frisk's shoulder as she spoke more briskly.

"Now! I am afraid I was so concerned for your health after you fainted that I failed to properly dust your room. I will do so, now, and afterward we can ready ourselves for bed. Until then, you may occupy yourself however you please, but I must ask you not to leave this house or enter the basement. There are still many things I must teach you about living in the Underground. Until you complete the lessons it will not be safe for you to wander on your own. I hope you understand."

Frisk nodded and received a smile for it. Toriel bustled off once more, spending a few minutes in the kitchen before walking down the hallway. Frisk sipped at her water, marveling at the mineral taste that made her tongue tingle until it was gone.

She went into the kitchen to clean her glass. After setting it on the drying rack she began to notice the oddities of the place.

It wasn't like any kitchen she'd ever seen. There was no woodstove, for example. One corner held a tall icebox that looked like something elderly people called "fridges" (or "refrigerators" depending on whom you spoke to). Further inspection revealed it to be a fridge in truth, with a "freezer" where the ice would've gone, if it needed any to function. Despite having never seen a working machine before, Frisk was aware that wasn't how fridges worked, but nobody that deigned to talk to her about them could tell her exactly how they operated.

She opened and closed the door, wondering how it really worked. Didn't fridges need electricity to function? How was the interior being illuminated? Was it always on, or was there some mechanism that turned it off when the door closed? (She quickly found the little switch that was depressed by closing the door, answering that question.) The discovery made her wonder how the house was being illuminated. She looked up at the ceiling to find the source of the light in the room. It looked somewhat like a lightbulb… but at the same time it didn't.

Staring at it made her eyes hurt, despite her squint, so she was forced to stop. After rubbing her eyes she snooped in the cabinets. Frisk found kitchen knives on the highest shelf above the gigantic, sweet-smelling pie that was still cooling on the counter. She wondered why Toriel would keep them in such an inconvenient place… until she remembered how tall her hostess was. It probably wasn't inconvenient for her.

She found nothing else of note in the cabinets. The other corner on the fridge's side of the kitchen held a metal box. It looked like brand-new electric stove and it gleamed in the artificial light, without any scratches or dents. It didn't even have spilled food on the stovetop or inside the oven. Either Toriel cleaned it fanatically… or she didn't use it to cook with, at all.

Did she use fire magic, the way magicians were said to be capable of doing? Was that why eating her food felt the way it did? How? Come to think of it, where did the food come from? The vegetables and chocolate candy in the fridge, and the flour and spices in the cabinet had to come from somewhere. She doubted the monsters traded with humans after being left behind to rot. How could vegetables and wheat be grown down here without sun? Where did the cacao for that chocolate bar come from? Those trees grew in sub-tropical climates! How-?

Frisk shook herself out of her thought spiral. She had too many questions and not enough information to formulate any hypotheses, much less reach any conclusions. She wouldn't be able to find any if she just stood in Toriel's kitchen, staring at a trashcan full of empty snail shells.

She walked back into the living room and took a closer look at the fireplace as she held her hands to it, letting it warm her. She didn't see anything fueling the fire, neither wood nor coal nor natural gas pipes. The flames simply sat there, making her wonder if it was magical in nature.

Once warm, Frisk examined the shelf full of well-read books. She pulled down a history book and read about monsterkind's retreat deep into the caverns. They'd feared more humans would come for them, so they set traps behind them as they ran as deep into the Underground as they could. After a long journey and many trials, the new home of the monsters was founded.

It's name was… Home.

Frisk blinked. She didn't know what she'd been expecting. The author admitted that the king wasn't very good at naming things, and the volume ended soon thereafter. It was the first in a series but she couldn't find the others, so she put it back and continued exploring, Although there wasn't much left to explore (aside from the blunted tools for the fireplace), so she went back down the hallway to investigate the dead end she ignored before.

She passed the door leading to "her" room after briefly listening to Toriel humming a song to herself. When she entered the adjacent room the first thing that caught her eye was a diary sitting open on a writing desk. She knew it was wrong to read someone's private thoughts put on paper, but her desire to collect information overrode her better judgement.

All she found were a number jokes with skeleton-based wordplay. Some of them were so awful they were still somehow funny. Frisk didn't dare to turn the pages, but what little she saw made her chuckle to herself. She wondered if her hostess would appreciate the jokes she'd learned from her former tutor as she continued snooping.

The dresser had a drawer dedicated to knitted socks, although Frisk didn't remember seeing Toriel wearing them, herself. The socks looked somewhat undersized, however, making her wonder why they were here and not in the other room. Then again, there'd been even more socks in there, along all sorts of sweaters and scarves. Frisk wondered if Toriel made them all as she closed the drawer and turned away.

After inspecting Toriel's bookshelf Frisk moved on. The last room on the same side of the hall as the other two was locked, a sign upon its door saying it was "closed for renovations." There was a mirror hanging on the wall nearby, so Frisk took a moment to squint at herself, blinking at the half-starved waif she'd become. She grinned, making her reflection grin back.

*It's you, she told herself. Not the debutante she'd been raised to be, not the barely-tolerated mistake… but her. There was something freeing about the thought.

Across the hallway was a linen closet, and a bathroom. It was a very nice bathroom, with all the amenities such a place needed, except for one. A rather important one. A knock on the door jamb startled Frisk, though she didn't let herself jump. She turned to find Toriel smiling at her from the open door.

"I am finished dusting!" she said cheerfully. "I set out some pajamas and undergarments that should fit. You will find them on your bed. Once you have changed, please place your soiled clothing within the hamper. I will wash them tomorrow, after breakfast."

"Erm, thank you, Miss Toriel…" Unaccustomed to such motherly behavior, Frisk was at a bit of a loss. She hoped she was hiding her confusion as she said, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course you may! You need not fear asking me anything, my child."

"Thank you… Where is the, um… toilet?" Frisk blushed, a bit. Proper ladies weren't supposed to be so direct regarding such things… but she wasn't a proper lady. Not anymore. But that didn't mean she wanted to be rude…

"We have no need of them, down here," Toriel said seriously. She adopted a tone Frisk was used to hearing from her tutors, which made the discussion somewhat less embarrassing.

"The food we eat in the Underground is magically generated, whether as a construct conjured by someone, or converted from a magically-grown material through alchemy. Such nourishment does not move all the way through the body, as physically-based sustenance would. I will fetch you a chamber pot to utilize, but once what you brought with you from the surface has left your system, you should not need to do so, again."

Her interest piqued, Frisk asked, "What about the water? Won't that move all the way through me?"

Toriel shook her head. "The water that flows through the Underground contains such high concentrations of magic that it, too, will be absorbed entirely by your body."

Frisks eyebrows flew upward, again. "The water is magic, too? Is it… conjured, as well?"

"It is not. We simply find it to be that way. How that comes about is unknown, but we know this; the planet's core generates a massive amount of magical energy. It weaves itself into everything; not just our surroundings but ourselves, as well." She paused for a moment, as though remembering something, then let out a wry chuckle before saying, "Public sanitation was a bit of a concern, in the early days of monsterkind's imprisonment. It was one of the more pleasant discoveries to be made. But although we no longer need to expel waste from our bodies we must still bathe. So on that note, I will leave you to see to your personal hygiene."

An hour or so later Frisk sat on her new bed, her body and mouth both fresh and clean, snug in blue pajamas with purple stripes. The ensemble barely fit, and she supposed it was a good thing she was smaller than a girl her age ought to be. Her new socks fit much better. She stared at one, flexing her toes as she tried to figure out what sort of material they were made from. It wasn't like wool from any animal she'd ever known, and it was too thick to be made of cotton. The white color, however, seemed familiar…

She supposed she should've been thinking about something more important, like what she was going to do with herself now. But after being allowed to perform evening ablutions for the first time in two months, her mind was filled with nothing but contentment. She was finally warm and her stomach wasn't gnawing upon itself anymore, despite how little she ate earlier. She didn't know how that was possible, but she wasn't about to look that gift horse in the mouth.

Things seemed to be looking up. Even the thought that everything was a dream didn't really bother Frisk, at the moment. If she was going to have a pleasant dream she might as well enjoy it for as long as possible. The real trick would be to not overthink things…

There was a knock on the door and she bid Toriel to enter. She let the motherly monster tuck her into bed, despite Frisk's belief that she was much too old for it. Then again, she couldn't really remember the last time she was tucked in at all, much less with such care. It was… nice.

Very softly, Frisk said, "Thank you for everything, Miss Toriel" as her hostess was smoothing out the quilt around her. It made the monster pause for a moment, her expression surprised, before she smiled, again.

"You are most welcome, Frisk," said Toriel. She began leaning forward, as though to kiss her forehead. Frisk tensed, bracing herself for the unexpected display of affection that never came. Instead, she was patted upon the head once more before Toriel walked away to turn off (or was she dimming?) the lamp.

Frisk bit her lower lip indecisively as the room darkened. Just before Toriel left the room, she said, "If there's ever anything I can do to repay you for all you've done…" She trailed off as Toriel paused at the door, looking over her shoulder.

Frisk suddenly realized what sort of blank check she just offered. Would she be able to afford whatever-it-was her hostess would demand of her? Her father would never permit such a blunder-!

Thankfully, Toriel only smiled and said, "You owe me nothing, my child. Now rest. Tomorrow will be your first lesson and we have much to cover! Good night, Frisk."

"…good night."

The door was gently shut and she was gone, leaving Frisk to settle into the warmth of the quilts. So very, very warm. Even if this all disappeared when she woke up, she hoped she would remember the feeling.

It was nice to know her mind was still capable of such producing such a lovely little fantasy.

Author's Notes: Who knows if toilets are an actual thing in the game BUT, in a bid to preserve my sanity while writing this fanfic, I came up with a headcanon concerning water to apply to my AU.

Is it mentally lazy of me to use magic as an excuse? Yes. Do I care? Not really! ^w^

In case you were wondering about those socks, before you ask what they're made of, consider this; who do we know with a whole heckin' lotta fur that probably sheds no matter what she does, and a whole heckin' lotta time on her hands? I totally think Toriel would learn how to make yarn from her shed fur, if given half a chance. Waste not, want not! ;3

Plus, the brushing she does to gather loose fur prevents matting, which also prevents painful skin problems. And she has less loose fur clogging her drains. Such a useful hobby, wouldn't you say? :D YES, she washes it before spinning it into yarn! She's even learned how to dye it into different colors, but that's a more recent skill so most of the socks already made are still white.

She knits socks more than anything because hoominz don't have nice, furry feet like she does and she wants their tootsies to stay warm as they run around the Ruins. But it leads to having a LOT of socks lying around, more than she can keep in the kid's room. So she has a sock drawer, even though she doesn't wear them herself.