A/N: Woo, another chapter~ I'm working on cover art. Line art is done, so now I gotta color it in.

Changeling

By Catsitta

3. The Return

[*You've only just begun, Frisk. You can't quit now. Stay DETERMINED.]

Pain.

Frisk stirred from the black of unconsciousness, agony chasing away the numbness of sleep. Or was it shock? She couldn't move much. Her finger tips curled sluggishly, limbs feeling disconnected save for the lightning searing up her left arm. Sticky eyelids peeled open, crusted shut by dried sweat and tears. Her head rolled to the side, world swimming like candy fish in a jello bowl. There was yellow. A lot of yellow. And red. That red was her arm. No wonder it hurt with the finger wiggles. Frisk drew in a slow breath, choking on the aroma of buttercups and blood flooding her lungs.

Her gaze pulled up towards the meek spotlight of sun pouring from above, diffused by the swallowing darkness of the cavern. She was lucky to be alive. Falling from that height should have done more than broken an arm. Frisk rolled onto her uninjured side, hissing as she attempted to sit up, movement jarring the break. She didn't look at it. She didn't want to see what was likely pearly bone jutting through skin, crimson gleaming wetly, blood flowing fresh from dislodged clots. She didn't want to see dirt, leaves and petals sticking to dried stains, clinging to once damp wounds, littering her body in a parody of much needed bandages. She just...didn't want to see it. Because if she saw it in full, horrible glory—she might not make it out of this hole, stunned by the ever-so-helpful mental reminder that bones shouldn't be visible.

'You looked once already.'

Something dribbled down her wrist, a little raindrop upon ruined flowers. Frisk told herself it was sweat, then strained to her feet, legs crumbling pillars of sand in a rainstorm. Her torso tensed and trembled, uninjured arm held stiff against the urge to sway, eyes clenched shut. Throbbing pain spidered up ankles and built webs at quivering knees, hollows of joints kept from buckling by the thinnest of threads.

Frisk fumbled with her bag. A now empty bottle of water was little more than a crushed ball at the bottom, two phones nested on top, cuddled up with a cheap wallet and car keys. She pulled out her cell, thumbing the shattered screen with mounting desperation. No life flickered on. Useless. She pulled the brick phone out next, not at all surprised by its survival, though the blinking battery symbol warned her that it too was on its last dregs of viability. All she needed was one successful call. 911. Frisk dialed the number, shuddering when the call went nowhere.

"Mom. Dad. I'm sorry," she said, warmth beading down bruised cheeks. The red eyes of her first real friend in years arose in her mind. "Chara…" Frisk stumbled out of the flower patch and stared at the sheer expanse of the stone walls surrounding her. The child that climbed a mountain so foolishly let it swallow her up as an adult. Except this time, there would be no timely rescue. Who would report her missing? She was an adult, they have the freedom to do as they please, police would hesitate to consider her lost within 48 hours. Would Chara think she was simply busy and continue on their day, not questioning why Frisk wasn't answering texts? Would one of her professors even notice or care that the weird kid was gone? Would the park ranger investigate the blue truck parked in their visitor lot? That was her best bet. A ranger.

She swallowed, forcing herself to hold onto resolve.

To not panic.

Not all was lost.

A park ranger would come looking and discover this hole. It was close to the walking path. She'd be home by tomorrow evening. She just had to stay determined. And survive. Frisk pointedly refused to look at her arm. Refused to think about the steady drip, drip, drip. She peered down at the Nokia knock off. The buzzing white noise in her brain lost amongst the other signals her body screamed at her to acknowledge. Frisk thumbed to the contacts list, staring at MOM as the urge to press call echoed like fireworks.

Pressing the worn, green-marked button, she listened to it ring. Unlike the 911 call, it went through. Frisk held her breath, hoping that the woman on the other side picked up. Hopes of an early rescue were dashed as it went to voicemail, the generic message bidding her to leave one of her own. It was stupid. She should be trying to call the cops instead of doing this, but today was full of stupid decisions. "Hey, you don't know me, but I could really use some help. My name's Frisk, and I fell down a hole off the walking trail at Ebott State Park. I found this phone while hiking...I...please, send help…" Frisk paused and looked at the phone. It was dead. She wasn't even sure if she recorded a message, much less if it went through.

Frisk inhaled slowly, phone tucked away once more.

'You should really do something about that arm, Frisky Bits. I'm no survivalist, but leaving an open wound like that is just asking for trouble.' Great. Now she was hallucinating. Weird for her inner dialogue to sound like Chara. 'Well, Friskies, you gonna sit around and hope you don't die, or put an effort into staying alive?'

She pushed away from the wall. Staying put meant the best odds of rescue, but just waiting could mean death as well. Pain induced hallucination Chara had a point. If she wanted to be rescued, she had to live long enough for that to happen. Vision hazy and movements sluggish, Frisk searched for anything that may increase her odds of survival. A few sticks littered the cavern floor, cast from above and left here to dry or rot. She couldn't set the bone, but maybe she could make a haphazard sling? It was warm down here. With luck it wouldn't get too cold at night, that way she could use some of her shirt as a wrap. There were a few rocks with sharp edges she could use to hack at the fabric until it would tear.

Picking up a handful of sticks, Frisk staggered out of the pooled light, searching for trash that might have been blown in from above. A plastic bag would be helpful right about now as a makeshift rope to hold together her imagined contraption. In her exploration, she noticed something odd. The cavern opened up into a tunnel, which in itself wasn't odd, cave systems were common in this area. What was bizzarre was the clean cut nature of the tunnel. The walls felt...constructed. Her hand smoothed across flat planes and dipped into equidistant crevices. Like bricks. Frisk kept walking, drawn forward by foolish impulse and curiosity, stilling only when the path ahead grew brighter, lit by a source that laid ahead. She could see the squared outline of a doorway, framed in what appeared to be painted wood. There was a symbol carved at the top.

She should turn back. Basic common sense and animal instinct begged her to wander back to the flowers, make a sling and wait for help to arrive. Frisk peeked into the room. Another spotlight of sun filtered in from above, weaker but present. A patch of greenery sprawled across broken tiles, mother nature victorious where mankind fell negligent, cracking apart the stone floor as if it were sugar glass. Frisk stumbled to the grass and knelt, dropping too heavily on her knees for comfort. She was tired. So very, very tired.

"Heh. Weird, why do I feel like somebody else should be here?" Frisk swallowed the delusion, blaming it on what was likely a head injury. One positive in all this, her migraine was gone! Maybe. Or between the broken arm and concussion she couldn't discern the pain or place blame on it for her shoddy sense of balance. With one hand, Frisk began the slow, pitiful process of making a sling. Her shirt had a bloodstain along one side, and after what was likely an hour of carving it apart with a rock and a few creative poses to rip it, the tank top became a crop top. Knots were a nightmare one-handed. When she finally had something viable, Frisk dully noted that her injury was bleeding again. Whelp. Looks like the rest of the top had to be used as a bandage. Thank god for sports bras. The golden chain of her heart necklace glimmered against her skin, the pendant gleaming at the hollow of her collarbone.

The end result of her efforts was a hideous amalgamation that looked five seconds and a sudden sneeze from falling apart. But she no longer bled everywhere, and could claim she made an attempt to keep from furthering her injury. Victory! Oof. Okay, no celebrating. It hurt. Frisk rose to her feet with elephantine effort. She shouldn't have wandered from the spot where she fell. Getting back there would be a trial. One she was just stubborn enough to do.

"You know, you can't turn back. That's not how it works."

Frisk stiffened from her spot by the doorway, glancing back at the green patch to see a petulant buttercup. One may ask how can be a buttercup be petulant? It had a face. And could talk. It was official, she had hit her head when she fell and was still unconscious on the ground, and this was a twisted fever dream playing out in her last moments before the embrace of death.

The flower studied her, its frown deepening. "You should know that. Unless, have you forgotten?" The flower looked almost sinister as it began to laugh, "You have! Oh, this is priceless. Bet you don't even know why you're here, either. Or where here is." It plastered on the fakest smiles she'd seen in her life, "Howdy, my name is Flowey. Flowey the Flower. You must be awfully confused. After all, you are the idiot that managed to fall back Underground!"

"W-who are you?" Frisk took a step back, "What are you?"

It cackled instead of answering, "Oh, I just can't wait to see what will happen." Frisk flinched as something snaked around her ankles. Vines. "I'll let you go with a warning." His laughter continued as he lifted Frisk up effortlessly and half flung her into the hallway opposite of her intended destination. "It's kill or be killed down here, try not to forget THAT. Or do. I don't really care. Might be funny watching you try to play nice again...too little, too late." Frisk landed on the ground and the impact sent sparks of black through her vision. The world started to pixelate inwards and despite trying to claw back to the brink of consciousness, Frisk slipped.

" K."

.x.

Darkness chased and devoured. Voracious. Insatiable. There was nothing but black upon black. Dark, darker yet darker. It seeped. Chilled. Consumed. There was no light, no heat, no breath. Just tangible nothingness and palpable fear. Void. The open maw of an obsidian-toothed wyrm—ripping, pulling, crushing, tearing.

And then, there was a single pinprick of OTHER.

Something akin to light.

It flickered. Shifted. Reached.

It existed in the nothing. A spec of movement in the vast abyss of oblivion. It curled and writhed, lacking form or frame, as amoebic as shadows at the bottom of a lake. But it existed. It was OTHER. And it spoke. It's vocalizations nothing but clicking and static, a malfunctioning radio on blast.

The impossible cold became colder.

Suddenly, the darkness faded, warmth and light returned. And, as if time itself reminded the mortal realm that it was a force of nature, Frisk sucked in a breath. Blinking awake. It was a nightmare. Her whole form was soaked in sweat. Was it because of the dream or because of infection setting in? She writhed, trying to sit up, but her body was tangled up in...in...blankets? This wasn't the floor of the cavern. It was a bed. The air was stale and smelled strongly of dust, as if this room hadn't been used for a very long time. The blankets themselves bore the mustiness of age, the kind cloth assumed after being stowed away too long, clean but unused.

She shifted, one foot judging the span of the bed. A twin, with a wall to her injured side, no sign of restraints. Maybe she was rescued by a kindly old spelunker that didn't have many guests. One that lived in a cave system under the mountain. Yeah. And that whole talking flower incident was just an extended delusion brought on by a head injury. Speaking of that...she was pretty sure sleeping with a possible (definite) concussion was a bad idea. Though, her head did feel better. No migraine (for certain this time) and no other tangible aches. She felt around with her good hand, wincing at the texture of crusted blood. Hm.

Frisk froze at the sound a door easing open. Her eyes went wide upon seeing her likely rescuer.

There, framed by a soft yellow glow, was a skeleton. The literal embodiment of death and decay. Hollow sockets where eyes should be, an inhuman smile fixed wide on its pallid skull. If not for its attire and the distinct lack a scythe, Frisk would think it the reaper himself come to whisk her away. If it was Grim, well, apparently it was casual Friday. He wore an unzipped blue hoodie over a plain white tee, basketball shorts, and fuzzy pink slippers. In his phalanges was a tray, a bowl and a cup resting on top.

Death was bringing her breakfast in bed.

She swallowed and fought back the urge to laugh at the nonsensicalness that was this twist in her life. First she survived a fall from a grievous height, then assailed and insulted by a talking flower, and now she was tucked in a cozy little bed with a skeleton at the door with food. This couldn't be real. Not. At. All.

Frisk shivered as the skeleton approached, only the shuffle of his slippered feet making a sound. He laid the tray down at an end table by her head. There was a rattle and clink, ceramic and glass settling in place. The skeleton paused, instead of leaving, twisting to peer down at Frisk. Its sockets weren't empty. Flat discs of white floated in place of pupils. It inhaled sharply (how did it do that without lungs?), air whistling through its nasal cavity.

"you're awake," it—he said. His voice was a deep rumble, soft with the barest trace of unnatural echo, almost as if he were mumbling through that permanent smile. Frisk blinked up at Death, struggling to focus on exactly why he felt familiar. He smelt of ketchup and winter air. "heh. didn't know what i'd find when tori told me to check out the ruins. thought it might be a human...just wasn't expecting you...yet."

"Me?"

He pulled something out of his pocket–her necklace, pendant sparkling in the light draining in from the hall, "been a while, kiddo. ten years, give or take."

"That's mine. Give it back," Frisk reached for it, only to be toppled by a surge in pain.

"wouldn't go and move a skele-ton, if i were you. healing aint my gig. You don't got a high femur anymore, but your arm is still in pretty bad shape." He tucked the necklace away, "once you're a little more mobile, we'll get you to tori for a proper fix up."

Frisk sat up, ignoring the aches, "I'm not going anywhere with you. Not until you give me answers."

Those eyelights flickered over to the tray, "you should eat, kiddo."

"No."

The skeleton shrugged, "no skin off my nose if you don't. just means you'll be in pain longer." An eyelid (how did he have eyelids?) shut in a casual wink, "you really don't remember any of this, do you?"

"...The flower asked the same thing."

"oh?" He shuffled towards the door, "eat then catch some more sleep, pal. you gotta get your hp up before i get to explaining things."

HP. Like a video game? "I want to leave."

That grin of his grew impossibly wider, "funny. you did that already. look how that turned out. don't think you'll manage doing it twice." He stepped out into the hall, "see ya in the morning." The door shut behind him with a click, leaving Frisk with a dawning realization.

She did more than climb a mountain a decade ago.

She just didn't remember what.

-tbc-

A/N: [Frisk meets two familiar strangers, but something isn't right with this picture.

Thank you for reading! If Ao3 is more your jam, this story is now cross posted there. Feedback is adored.]