A/N: Fic officially on Ao3 and updated at the same time as here.

Changeling

By Catsitta

"Mt. Ebott has a long history of mysterious disappearances and befuddled travelers. The native people claimed it was the work of the spirits living in the mountain; even nowadays, the more superstitious folk claim there are demons or other such ill meaning figures luring people into hell. Of course, it is easy to explain away what is occurring. Often it is altitude sickness, individuals unused to the lower oxygen levels pushing too far, too quickly. They can become sick or confused, and given the treacherous terrain, likely end up meeting a rather unfortunate end. Even for locals, if they are less fit or young, such as children, straying away from the set paths could be deadly. Gruesome but far from paranormal. Any questions?"

Prof. Bowtie flashed a pearly smile before moving towards the next information sign. Students followed in a lethargic huddle. Frisk sipped from a water bottle, the explanation not sitting right in her stomach. There were too many questions lingering for altitude sickness to be the only factor at play. It didn't explain why she ended up so far from home in the first place. Mt. Ebott was a drive away and yet, there was no proof someone took her there. No signs that someone grabbed her in the night and stole her away to the park.

She capped the bottle.

Answers weren't about to walk up and say hello. Ten years as a long time, but she couldn't leave the space in her memory full of radio static. Not when she had a chance to puzzle in a missing piece or two to help bridge the gap. They said memory loss was a way for the brain to protect itself from trauma. Cracking open the barriers could awaken suffering long since locked away. But she would know...she wanted to know.

.x.

Frisk groaned and blinked away the murky haze clouding her vision. She hadn't fallen back asleep, not really, but after the skeleton left, her strength failed and she laid on the blankets, lost in thought. The shut door was tempting, but even if she made it across the room and it wasn't locked, she was in no shape to get far. She had no idea where this place was compared to where she fell. It could be miles. Bleary, she stared at the tray and its offerings. Eating food from strangers was a bad idea, but what was one more in the grand parade of terrible ideas that culminated in this moment? It made no sense to 'rescue' her only to off her with poison. Maybe it was drugged. She winced as she sat up. Second thought, hopefully it was drugged. Might make moving bearable.

Cradling her injured arm to her chest (it was no longer her catastrophe of a sling, instead it appeared that the bone was 'set' then wrapped in bandages), Frisk reached up and grabbed the handle on the bowl. It was, upon closer inspection, not a bowl at all, but a soup cup. Bright yellow with a chip on the rim, filled with a cloudy broth that smelled thickly of salt. There was a spoon and a glass of water left on the tray. Her stomach twisted at the prospect of eating, hunger reminding her that all she had since early morning was a piece of toast and some coffee.

"Here goes nothing," Frisk tipped up the cup...and gagged. Oh that was awful. Like someone boiled a pot of fishbones and algae with seawater until they were left with a thickened 'stock'. The texture was indescribable. Not quite gelatinous, but certainly denser than water while lacking the grittiness of flour. Urg. Frisk swallowed, a shudder running up her spine. To her surprise, some of the achiness in her body faded. She blinked down into the cup. Painkillers? Bolstered by the hope of numbing the pain enough to make an escape, Frisk down the rest of the bowl as quickly as she could manage, choking past the awful taste. Water never was so welcome until that moment, where she laid the soup cup aside and washed her mouth out.

She sucked in a few breaths, winded by her marathon chugging spree, before assessing her new situation. Her body didn't hurt half as much and she no longer felt like collapsing because she dared sit up too fast. Escape time. Frisk slipped out of the bed and picked to the door, suddenly aware that her feet were bare. The skeleton must have removed her shoes. So where were they? She absently rubbed her arms before a thought struck her. She wasn't just in her sports bra anymore. A sleeveless top had been pulled over it, the material possessing that overwashed thinness that was suited only to summertime.

Or when one had a high fever.

Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, Frisk pulled at the door handle. It swung open with a faint creak, casting that yellowish glow back into the room. There were no other noises or signals that it alerted the inhabitant of this place to her wayward wandering. Before creeping into the hall, she peeked over her shoulder to look at the room properly. It's greyed cast resonated sadly. A bed was pushed to either side, and what appeared to be a toy chest and a rack full of children's shoes sat against the back wall with a scuffed armoire positioned between them. All was faded, suggesting that no one called this room theirs for a very long time.

Frisk eased the door shut behind herself and inched down the hall.

Sconces lit up with electric lights kept everything bright, washing out the wallpaper and emphasizing the dull state of the wood floor. There were more doors leading to a dead end, and in the other direction, what appeared to be an open space. Frisk hurried that direction, heart racing at her good luck upon spotting a door and a stairwell leading down. One of these had to be the way out. She went first for the door, only to find that it wouldn't budge, as if someone had barred it shut. Frisk pulled at the handle, but her efforts remained fruitless. That left the stairs. The way out must be that way, unless there was a third exit lurking in the other rooms of this...house? Who knew where that skeleton lurked. Exploring would only increase her odds of being caught.

Each step down the stairwell was accompanied by a wince-inducing squeak.

Quickly, quickly.

Frisk scampered down as fast as she could without jarring her bad arm (which wasn't fast, but it was light years beyond the limping she did earlier). Her heart rate went even faster as she reached the bottom, most of the light snuffed. Eerie stone basement. Horror flick fodder. Fortunately, this hallway looked similar to the one she found after falling. Frisk forged ahead, clutching her arm to her chest, refusing to let the growing darkness smother her nerve. She had to do this. She had to escape. Weird flowers and casual grim reapers would not stop her from returning home.

The further she traveled, the cooler the air became. Colder and colder until she was shivering as she walked. Did it always get this cold underground? She must be pretty far down. Before she could question continuing this venture in bare feet and summer attire, Frisk spotted salvation. A towering stone door with that funny symbol she'd seen before carved onto its surface, akin to the triforce from the Zelda games but with wings. She hurried to it, palm flat and searching. There had to be a way to open it. She could feel it. This door should open, she just had to—

"heh. i see you're up and running kiddo."

—find the locking mechanism.

Frisk shot a look over a shoulder, spotting the skeleton standing there, hands tucked in his pockets. He wore that impassive grin of his, eyelids low, as if he'd rather be napping than interfering. His slippers looked a touch dirtier than before, a couple petals sticking to the pastel fluff. "I'm leaving," Frisk said, her voice coming out as a croak. "And by the way, that soup tasted awful."

"soup-osed to taste bad. sea tea is medicine, good for the body and soul, not the palate." He remained where he stood, coming no closer. "once it wears off, you'll be feelin' that break again." The skeleton shrugged, "since tori wouldn't like you hurtin' yourself, how 'bout you be a pal and come back upstairs. catch another nap. count sheep and all that."

She shook her head and went back to prying at the edges of the door.

He sighed but otherwise did nothing to stop her. It wasn't until she cracked the ends of her nails and the tips of her fingers began to bleed that he spoke again. "i know we got off to a rocky start, but uh, could you not do that. even if you got outside, couldn't let you go off alone."

Frisk blinked back tears of frustration, "I don't care what you, this Tori person or that flower think. I'm going home! You're nothing but a kidnapper if you stop me."

"you're dead if i don't."

His voice went hollow, and when Frisk peeked at him, his sockets were empty. No trace of those fuzzy white discs. Between the void pools and lifeless rictus, there was no denying the implied threat. The way he spoke, it didn't seem that he would be the one committing the violence, but rather, he bore the weight of knowing another would do so. As if he was the only thing between her and the grave. Ironic, given that he was a dead man walking.

Eyelights returned like will o' wisps emerging from a midnight forest.

"give this lazy bones a break, kiddo," he said, motioning an elbow at her wrapped arm. "you have to be chilled to the bone. left behind your shoes and this…" His hand emerged from the pocket of his hoodie to reveal the heart pendant. Frisk touched her collarbone. In her haste to escape, she considered its loss a casualty of circumstance. "c'mon. leave the door alone."

He stood there, hand outstretched with the necklace tangled between pale phalanges.

Unbidden memories of heat intense enough to burn made Frisk claw again at the door. Was the tea wearing off? No, this pain was different. It was a ghost of agony long since healed away, accompanied by the taste of butterscotch and cinnamon. The electric fence in her brain roared then sputtered, the white noise clearing for a blink. It was then she knew exactly how the door opened. Nails dug into a hidden latch and with a heave, she shoved the stone barrier to the side, giving just enough space to slip free. There was no time to revel in victory before a frigid blast of air scraped across bare skin. Frisk staggered out to find herself ankle deep in snow.

"What? How is this possible?" There were trees and low bushes, green despite the stony ceiling hanging above. Light came somewhere, but it bore the artificial brightness of a grow lamp. Flakes of white floated down like powder sugar through a sift and her breath clouded about her mouth in a thin fog. She was trapped in a bizzare snow globe!

"magic."

Frisk lurched back. The skeleton that had been standing behind her, was now in front of her, just as nonchalant as ever. "How did you do that?"

He chuckled, "do what?"

She scowled at his evasian, "Magic isn't real."

"de-nile aint just a river," he countered. "either way you're drowning in it."

Her shivers were full body, her feet and hands gone numb, "Please, I need to know what's going on. What is this place? Why won't you let me leave?"

"heh. hehe. see kid, the fact that you don't know any of that is the punchline to some awful cosmic joke. tiba honest, it's real unfunny."

She wanted to remember. She desperately wanted to know what she forgot.

Frisk felt her strength failing, the bolstering effects of the tea dropping away, "Who are you?" Her knees buckled and she sank to the snow. So cold. Her shorts were soaking through as she sat there, little more effective and just as pitiful as a kitten in a storm drain. She tilted her head up as he approached, looming tall.

"sans. sans the skeleton."

He reached down and hauled Frisk to her feet. His bare palm for some reason confused her. She didn't release his hand right away, fixated on the stray thought that there should be a whoopie cushion or a joy buzzer or some other gag. That his introduction wasn't complete.

"that's the look of someone remembering something," he tugged Frisk back into the stone basement, shutting the door behind them. She staggered helplessly behind, sagging against a wall as soon as they were inside. "things change, kiddo. actions have consequences, promises hold power. especially in the underground."

"...I'm cold." She suddenly didn't want to talk about it anymore. Or think about it. She just wanted to close her eyes and wake up in her bed at the dorm. Chara could psychoanalyze this bad dream, call her stupid for getting freaked out, and then they could go get buzzed on dining hall coffee so that Frisk didn't need to sleep for the next three days.

An arm wrapped around her waist and guided her toward the stairs, "let's go."

She nearly nodded off on her feet, but somehow, they made it back to the cozy warmth of the house. Sans ushered her to a matronly living room that looked like it belonged to a little old granny, basket of knitting supplies and faded recliner included. He nudged her into the chair and tossed a quilt over her lap—the panels forming a rather impressive stained-glass window with a rainbow of hearts displayed in a circle.

Sans returned from the nearby kitchen with a steaming mug.

"More sea tea?"

"nah. fresh out. golden flower tastes better anyhow."

Frisk accepted the mug, and breathed in. It smelled...

Pain. Dark. Dust. WhyWhyWhy?

Her breath caught, Sans watched. Knowingly.

'Worthless, smiley comedian.'

Chara?

"drink. it'll warm you up better than a blanket," he said, shuffling to the bookshelf and pulling out a purple-backed tome. 101 Snail Jokes. "when you're done, catch some z's. tomorrow is gonna be a long day." Frisk brought the cup to her lips, the sweetened tea somehow harder to swallow down than the salty slime soup, each mouthful leaving her choking on ribbons of emotion and pixelated memory. By the time she was done, the last dregs were essentially a shot of cold bitterness, and Sans had fallen asleep by the shelf. He sat on the floor, the joke book open on his lap, chest rising and falling steadily.

Unable to summon the energy to hobble to a bed or dare another escape, Frisk curled in a ball on the chair. Sleep evaded but the warmth from the fireplace chased away the lingering chill, and the pain in her arm was almost ignorable.

'He would be easy to kill. A knife between the ribs and done. Or take one of those bookends and bash his skull in. He wouldn't even wake up before he died. Then you could plan a proper escape instead of playing good hostage for this skelefreak.'

Frisk jolted at the thought.

'There is a thin line between being nice and being a doormat, Frisky. Both him and Flowey made it clear that this place wants you dead. He just happens to be keeping his bony hands clean.'

She couldn't kill someone! Where was this coming from?

'Where's your determination?'

Frisk covered her ears in a vain attempt to silence that errant voice. She was scared and injured. Desperation made people do horrible things in the name of survival. But stabbing a guy while he slept?

'One day it'll be him or you. And I guarantee he won't choose your life over his, Frisk.'

-tbc-