.

ONE BY ONE

Chapter 3: Friends

(Ring, ring...)

(Click.)

"Yeah, um, hey. This is Sans speaking. This number belongs to Frisk, right? ...okay, you're not saying anything, which I assume means yes. Looks like you somehow convinced me to do something really stupid. Dunno how you pulled it off, but I'm getting in touch like I said I would.

"I followed up on my old leads and couldn't find anything. Not even the start of something. I'm going to try some different routes on this go-around, so take your time, okay? You'll probably be tempted to rush through this, but setting things up on my end takes a while. Not to mention I've gotta convince Papyrus that I'm doing my actual job. You'll like him, he's nice. But I'm sure you know that already.

"Anyway, that's it from me. I'll meet you outside the Ruins. Looking forward to it."

(Click.)

(Knock, knock, knock.)

Frisk's bedroom door opened a crack. Through it peered a single red-gold eye, the color of beaten copper.

"My child? Are you awake?" A pause. "Oh. Well, I suppose that would have woken you up anyway. I apologize for my rudeness."

Frisk wasn't in bed. He sat at the nicked wooden desk in the corner of the room, its lamp providing a hard, clean light against the soft golden glow that seemed to permeate Toriel's house. The delicate scritch of his pencil was the only sound in the room. He didn't even know Toriel had come in until her shadow fell over him; she stood over six feet tall and frequently joked about her age, but she could still move like a ninja in a library.

"What are you doing, child? Drawing another picture?" She peered over his shoulder and saw the neat lines of arithmetic in his notebook. "Oh, your homework! You're such a good boy. Although, should I really call it homework if I'm teaching you at home? That would just make it...work." She frowned and scratched at the underside of her muzzle. "That won't do at all. I want your education to be fun. I will think of something better to call it."

Frisk nodded, still bent over his work. Learning his times tables was a relief in comparison to some of the things he'd been doing. And Toriel clearly enjoyed teaching him – her voice became stronger, more clipped, less prone to rambling apologies. They held their lessons at her dining room table, passing ragged textbooks back and forth to each other, Toriel taking down notes for him in her careful, delicate script. Afterwards she always smiled wider than usual, and hummed little tunes that Frisk thought he'd heard before.

"In any case, I thought you might like to go for a walk. I was not able to give you the full tour of the Ruins when we first met, after all. You must be very curious about this strange place." She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. "Of course, if you would rather finish your...bedroom-fun...no, no, that's just awful..."

Frisk carefully set down his pencil in the spine of the notebook, stood up, and offered Toriel his hand. She beamed and held it tight.

He'd never spent so much time in the Ruins before. He had always lingered a while – the first time because he'd just taken a long fall, and every time after because of what he'd learned and what he knew lay in store – but now he'd gotten several proper nights' sleep, and given Toriel a chance to start his schooling, and even braved some of her snail-based cooking. It actually wasn't that bad, provided you focused on the crunchy bits. After dinner they'd both sit down with books, her in the overstuffed recliner, him cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Toriel's private collection of reading material overwhelmingly favored snail-based trivia, but there were a few decent adventure novels in there as well, and he'd go page by page, occasionally pointing out longer words to her so that she could sound them out for him. The golden light never faded. It was difficult to tell day or night. Life in this house was a loop inside of a smaller loop, but this one had a soft bed and a warm hand.

The two of them stepped outside. Toriel had to duck slightly to avoid scraping her horns on the doorframe.

"I just wanted to thank you for staying so close. I know the Ruins must be tempting to explore, but they are more dangerous than they look. The floor in several places is very unstable, and many of the monsters are ill-tempered."

He knew every square foot of crumbling ground. He was on friendly terms with every monster in the Ruins – the Froggits in particular were actually quite philosophical when you got to know them. He stayed close to home for other reasons. The flashes of yellow at the corner of his eye. The feeling of always being watched. The distant, mocking laughter.

The fallen leaves at the foot of Toriel's coal-black tree were crunched down from where he'd often sat on them, idly scraping at the trunk with his stick. The stick was the same one he'd had since he first fell, but all this time, the wood had remained alive and flexible. Maybe it, too, wanted to put down roots and grow. He promised himself he'd plant it, when he didn't need it anymore.

The path branched; to the left was the ledge where the crumbling panorama of Home lay spread out in the cavern below, the dust of fallen masonry sapping away its color a little more each day. Toriel guided him in the opposite direction.

"In truth," she said, "this place can seem very small, once you are used to it." She pulled him a little closer, so his cheek brushed against the side of her robe. "But maybe that is not so bad. If you are ever lost, or hurt, just call my name. I promise I will hear you." She laughed. "Well. Maybe not my name. You can call me whatever you like."

He always ended up calling her 'Mom.' It had only been an accident the first time.

They walked through the shifting-perspective puzzle, past the crumbling pits, around the long-defunct spider bake sale. They passed the strangely adhesive cheese table without comment. When they approached cracked ground, Toriel glared and waved her hand, and the stones knit themselves together, making it safe to walk. She grumbled about the spike-path puzzle, saying she'd always intended to shut the thing down for good or at least file down the spikes, it was completely irresponsible, someone could get hurt. Eventually they stepped out of the Ruins gate, and descended the stairs into the foyer. Where Frisk had first looked up at that great entrance, and felt the stirring of determination.

"While we're here, I suppose we could have another look at the flower patch," said Toriel. "I have been meaning to pick a few more for the house. The ones I have now are beginning to wilt. Come along, my child."

She started to walk, then stopped. Frisk hadn't moved. She looked down at him, her smile fading.

"Is something wrong? You look very pale."

This was a good place. But there was wrongness here.

The children's knick-knacks were the first he'd noticed – in fact, he'd noticed them the very first time he'd arrived. Broken crayons, mismatched shoes, scarred toys dusty from disuse. They were scattered around the house like relics, in drawers that Toriel never touched, on shelves that were otherwise bare. And then he'd noticed other things. How sometimes, when he was reading in front of the fire, he'd feel her gaze on the back of his neck, and see guilt flash in her eyes when he turned around, as if she'd expected to see another face. The yellow-and-green shirts he refused to wear. The way she never asked for his name. The bedroom that was always "under renovations." He'd snuck in there once, after Toriel had dozed off, and found it cold and completely bare. He'd been able to hear the sound of his breath echo off the walls.

And no matter where he was, or how long he'd stayed, the same thing happened whenever he asked how to leave. It was like pulling a switch. Her expression would shift and harden, she'd hurry to the basement. And then he would find himself wreathed in her flames until he could barely stand, watching her eyes fill with tears. Her regrets hung over her surely as Mt. Ebott hung over the entire underground. It didn't take much to send them all crashing down.

He pulled his hand free and stood there in the foyer. Toriel began to fidget with the front of her robe.

"Are...are you feeling unwell? I am sorry, I should not have taken you out this far-"

He ran forward and held her tight. She made a funny little gasping noise; two high points of color became visible through the fur on her cheeks. Then, she placed a hand on his back, gently ruffled his hair.

"What a strange child," she said, not unkindly. Frisk's grip tightened. "Would you like to go home?"

He did. But instead, he asked her how to leave.

It smelled like pie crust and clean linen.

Again.

(Ring, ring...)

(Click.)

"Hey, Frisk, it's Sans. Here we go again, right? Looked over my notes and it turns out one of those new leads might actually pan out. I'll investigate and see where it takes me.

"And, uh, while I've got you on the line, could you do me a solid and get in touch with Papyrus? I haven't been home lately, and the places I'm going don't exactly have cell phone reception so I can't answer his calls either. You know Pap, he's got a real thick skin, but I think it's starting to upset him a little bit. He was fired up about that whole pasta play-date you two put on, so another visit might take his mind off things.

"Welp, that's my soft and fuzzy moment for the day. I'm getting back to the grind. Tell my brother I said hi."

(Click.)

Frisk had been shanghaied into a friendship adventure. Location: Papyrus' room, specifically his burning-red race-car bed. Guest-starring: Papyrus' action figures.

"- and this one had human-to-monster transformation powers, but that part broke. And this one had a button you could push to make her say hurtful things, but that broke too! And this guy has an ugly face and a bad attitude and he cares a lot about clocks! That's it. That's his entire character." Papyrus sounded incredibly excited by this.

They sat side-by-side on the bed with Papyrus' collection spread around him like a ragtag and badly disorganized army. Frisk leaned in close to examine every new toy he picked up and showed off, but had to time his movements carefully; Papyrus was such a jumpy collection of joints and angles that his elbows alone posed a serious threat to Frisk's skull.

"Ooh, ooh, and this one's Zacharie!" The toy was of a masked man in a sweater decorated by a single red heart; Frisk touched his own chest at the sight of it. "He's super mysterious and has strange powers over time and space! But he only ever appears in really special episodes." He paused. "I mean. Strategies. Nyeh heh heh." He twiddled with the toy's limbs a little bit. "Sans likes him a lot."

He went silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically subdued.

"I collected these back when we lived at the capital," he said. "Except for the ones Santa got me, of course. I'd show them all to Sans when he came home, but he always fell asleep before I got to his favorites. But then he told me that he saw them in his dreams! So I know he really cares!" He turned to Frisk, and perked up again. "And you, human! You, too, appear to be an aficionado of the collectible arts! I was really surprised when you asked me to show them to you! I thought you had something better to do!"

Frisk held up the toy and swiveled its head back and forth: Not really.

"Nyeh heh heh! Well! Your timing was impeccable! I was. Actually. Starting to wonder where Sans had gone." His expression turned sly, which was a terrible emotion to show up on Papyrus' face. Slyness on Papyrus' face was an immigrant from a faraway land, and it had no map and empty pockets. "Say. You didn't come over because my brother asked, did you?"

Frisk thought for a moment, then shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest: Guilty.

"Aha! I knew it! My powers of deduction remain unrivaled!"

Papyrus sprang off the bed with such force that the mattress nearly rebounded Frisk into the wall.

"Listen well, human! I, the great Papyrus, have something I must say!"

Papyrus stood tall and dramatically swished his cape. His battle armor gleamed, especially on the bits where the paint had chipped off. Frisk instinctively scootched a little further away. Papyrus on a monologue was dangerous, even outside of combat. His gestures became so fierce that a wayward thumbs-up could knock you out cold.

"Human! While we have established our relationship as strictly platonic, I still must confess something." His joint popped like a gunshot as he jabbed a thumb at his own face; he'd have taken his eye out if he had any. "From the very first moment I saw you, I had a good feeling! Even before I discovered our mutual love of puzzles and pasta! I saw you and thought, 'I would very much like to be this human's friend! And if I feel that way about him, then surely he must feel the same about me! What a shame that I have to capture him, because that will make a terrible first impression!' But in the end! I did not have to capture you! So that all worked out okay!" Frisk's ears were starting to ring.

Papyrus took a moment to catch his breath. He rubbed his chin, his glove squeaking against the bone. His eyesockets narrowed.

"Not only that," he said, "but I can tell from your expression..."

Papyrus' arm scythed through the air. His fingertip stopped a mere inch from Frisk's nose.

"...that you feel the same way! About someone other than myself, of course."

Frisk's jaw dropped. He looked away, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks.

"Nyeh heh heh! Once again I penetrate your aura of silence, and see the truth beyond!" He smacked his chestplate. "In that case! I hope your pursuit of this special someone is going well!"

Frisk curled up on the bed. His head gave a little shake. Some of Papyrus' enthusiasm drained from his expression.

"No? Hmm. How odd. I can personally vouch for your friend-making abilities." He tapped his skull. "Then, I ask you this! Do you think being friends with this person is a good idea?"

Frisk looked up and nodded, and then nearly fell off the bed as Papyrus' fist swung skyward.

"Then I am behind you all the way, human! Because I know you are a good person! And if you think that doing something is a good idea, then it must be a good thing to do! Just look at Sans! When we lived in the capital, he really wanted to be a dentist. He would spend weeks away from home, studying at dentist school! I was so proud! Then we moved away, and he never talked about being a dentist again! And that was okay, too! As long as it's what he wanted, I was prepared to support him. Just as I will support you, human!" Plaster dust sifted down from the hole Papyrus had accidentally punched into the ceiling. "And I will fix that later!"

Frisk sat there a while, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Then he walked over to Papyrus and held him tight. It was an awkward hug – the skeleton was a mess of sharp edges – but he put in the effort anyway.

Papyrus' whole body stiffened up. Then, little by little, he relaxed.

"Oh. Nyeh heh heh! For a moment I thought that you were going to suplex me." Frisk looked up from the vicinity of Papyrus' knees, his expression genuinely bewildered. "Well, Undyne taught me that every hug is actually a suplex! She did this by hugging me, and then suplexing me, while yelling 'Every hug is actually a suplex!' It...wasn't a very fun lesson." He patted Frisk on the back. "But this is nice, too."

They stood like that in the middle of his room, Papyrus' action figures watching silently.

"I'll have to teach you proper hugging technique sometime. You sure are lucky to have me around!"

It smelled like bones and spray-painted plastic.

Again.

(Ring, ring...)

(Click.)

"This is Sans. Giving my update, like I promised.

"The route I investigated on the last loop got me somewhere. I didn't find the person I'm looking for, but I ran into a few of his...representatives, I guess you could say. They weren't very helpful. I, uh...I don't think he actually wants to meet me. Heh. Have to admit. I didn't expect that.

"But I made a promise, right? So his opinion doesn't matter anyway.

"This route's a dead end. I'm going to have to go back and start from square one. Given how long it takes me just to get my materials together, I don't expect to find anything earth-shattering on this loop. Guess you'll have to save the world a few more times, bucko.

"So, how are you feeling? Getting a little worn down? Hey, maybe you should treat this as a learning experience. Now you have some idea of what you're putting the rest of us through.

"...sorry. I shouldn't have said that.

"I'll talk to you later."

...(Click.)

With every cycle, there were certain constants. Events unaffected by circumstance. Toriel always tried to block the exit to the Ruins. Papyrus' special attack was always stolen by that nefarious dog. And Undyne's cooking lesson always ended with her house set aflame. Although, Frisk wasn't sure if he should count that last one. From what Undyne had told him, most of her cooking lessons ended with something on fire. Lots of things Undyne did ended with something on fire.

At least this time they'd managed to make the sauce. It lay in the pot, blissfully unaware of the violence in its immediate future.

Undyne leered over the stove and, with great relish, sucked tomato pulp off her knuckles. Frisk had surreptitiously backed away to the piano. The kitchen counter was a scene of culinary carnage that would have made a Vegetoid froth at the mouth and pass out. Juice stains ran all the way up to the ceiling.

"The kitchen," Undyne said solemnly, "is a battlefield. The meal is your enemy. In its feeble way, the food you cook resists your efforts to make it delicious. And so, as with any opponent, you must strike fear into its heart."

Her blue limbs blurred. In one motion she yanked open a drawer, extracted a wooden slotted spoon, and spun it around her finger. Then she seized its handle and brandished it at Frisk.

"Human! You've already bested me in battle! But can you hope to overcome the lingering will of these wholesome ingredients!?"

Frisk stepped behind the piano.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

Frisk picked up the piano stool, carried it over to the stove, adjusted the seat, and climbed on top. Now, at least, his head was actually over the pot. Undyne snorted despite herself.

"Fuhuhu, you're such a tiny thing. It's hilarious. Until I remember the fact that you defeated me." Her pupil visibly dilated. "Then it's enraging. Now take hold of your weapon!"

He took the spoon from Undyne and stared down into the sauce. A single bubble popped apologetically on its surface. Undyne moved in uncomfortably close.

"Now, it's time to stir! As a general rule of thumb, the more you stir something...the better it is! Ready? Let's do it!"

Frisk stirred the sauce.

"Harder."

Frisk stirred the sauce harder.

"Harder!"

Frisk stirred the sauce yet harder.

"Harder! Ugh!" She reached for the spoon. "Let me-"

Frisk's eye flashed. He smacked his hand down on the counter and reversed his grip on the spoon, thumb and forefinger extended, its handle down at an angle. He stood poised over the stove. The sauce burbled in confusion.

Undyne's eye widened. She took a hesitant step back.

"That...that stance. Impossible-!"

The spoon sparked off the side of the pot as Frisk executed his latest stirring maneuver. With the added leverage of the counter and his revolutionary diagonal movement, he was able to achieve velocities unheard of by novice sauciers. The sound of wood scraping against cast iron filled the kitchen. Undyne stared, then gradually broke out a grin. And she had a lot of teeth to grin with.

"Yeah." She started to fistpump. "Yeah. Yeah! Keep at it, human! Pour your whole being into this dish! The zest of this marinara comes not from fresh basil and oregano, but from your burning spirit!"

On cue, Frisk reached for the burner and turned it on high. Flames gushed out from around the pot. The edges of the spoon were beginning to wear down.

"Can you feel it!? That fire in your chest! That heat boiling in your veins! That's friendship you're feeling! Man, I am stoked!" She turned and stomped hard enough to send cracks spiderwebbing through the linoleum. "Destroy that sauce, human! That sauce is your mortal enemy! That sauce owes you money! That sauce's name is Jerry!"

The spoon continued its rotation. Moving in endless circles. Looping around the pot without end. Frisk bared his teeth. His eyes were open so wide that his pupils were nearly visible. Behind him, Undyne was fist-pumping so hard that her knuckles were creating localized shifts in barometric pressure. Approximately eighty percent of her face now consisted of her many, very sharp teeth. The stove roared. The flames leapt. The sauce itself actually began to rise out the pot in a column of red, as though Frisk were summoning it from the depths of some acid reflux-inducing netherworld.

"Yes! Hell yes! Hell freaking yes! Friendship!" Undyne flipped her table through the ceiling. "Friendship!" Undyne headbutted her piano in half. "FRIENDSHIIIIIII-"

Then, they stood outside her burning house.

The flames licking out her open windows cast the two of them in silhouette. Undyne stood with one hand on her hip; she looked lost in thought. Frisk stared directly ahead. His shirt and face were marred by sauce and soot. He was breathing heavily.

"How in the heck did that happen?" Undyne asked. She glanced over to Frisk. "Do you know?"

Frisk kept watching the fire. Neither he nor the dummy in the corner seemed to have any answers.

"Well, anyway." She grinned. "You might be a weenie in combat, but that was some performance! Another couple weeks of this and you might even be ready to tackle risotto, the slayer of legends." She looked back at her house. "Uh, hopefully by then the renovations'll be done. Asgore's always ready to foot the bill."

Frisk's chest rose and fell. His fists were clenched at his sides.

"You know," said Undyne, "it looked like you were way more tense in there than when you were fighting me. Either you didn't think I was a threat, which would be a terrible mistake, or you must've been really stressed about something." She narrowed her eye. "Feeling better now?"

Frisk wiped sauce off his face and nodded. Undyne gave an approving grunt.

"Good. You've gotta get that passion out into the world where it can actually help someone. Fight some good fights. Or in your case, go and snuggle something really aggressively, I don't know." She smirked. "If you'd prefer, I'm always up for a rematch. And next time, I won't be so nice. Except I will be. Because I guess we're friends now?"

Frisk turned to her, then sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He moved in with arms outstretched.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell is this!?" She pushed him away and he looked up at her, confused. "No hugging! Hugging is literally the worst possible tactic on the battlefield. Do you have any idea how vulnerable you are in mid-hug? Do you know the only difference between a hug and a suplex?" She jabbed a finger at him. "Lack of follow-through!"

Undyne formed a fist and flexed. Muscles bulged along her wiry arm. She held the fist out to Frisk.

"This is much better. With this simple gesture, you can express your undying friendship," she flexed again and grinned, "or annihilate your enemies. You get the nice one today. Thanks for showing me a good time, pipsqueak."

Frisk held up his own fist. Undyne bumped knuckles with him as gently as possible, but his hand was still numb for the rest of the day.

It smelled like smoke and tomatoes.

Again.

(Ring, ring...)

(Click.)

"It's Sans.

"I know I'm calling you later than usual. Tried something different. Didn't work out. You'll have to go back around again.

"...okay, by the way you're huffing and puffing into the phone I'm gonna guess you're a little frustrated with all this. Kid, I'm seriously doing the best I can. With every new loop my paper trail gets longer and my new leads shrink. I told you from the start this wasn't a sure thing. And even then, between you and me? That might have been a little too optimistic. There's not enough variance between timelines. I keep seeing the exact same bubbles.

"I should've seen this coming. Half the reason I signed on for this in the first place is 'cause I figured you'd stay on the straight and narrow. I've looked over your every judgment. Every fluctuation. And don't take this the wrong way, kiddo, but you're more cuddly than Greaterdog out of his armor. I don't even think you've got it in you to hurt someone's feelings. And that's fine. That's a-ok. But if you hug it out with everyone you meet over and over again, that just means we're both gonna keep treading the same ground.

"I made my promise. I won't give up on this. But I think you need to reconsider. You clearly care a lot about all these friends you're making, so maybe spare 'em a thought instead of resetting ag-"

(Click.)

...

(Clatter.) (Crunch.) (Crunch.) (Crunch.) (Crunch.) (CRUNCH.)

Alphys' laboratory was an intimidating structure from the outside, a gleaming chrome hulk that wavered like a mirage in Hotland's burning air, but anyone who stepped through the door would find an interior as understated and apologetic as its owner. Furniture pushed into corners and out of the way. The chilly silence broken only by the low click of hard drives and thrum of very, very potent air conditioning. And like Alphys, the laboratory was more complex than it first appeared. Up above was the blinding anime wonderland of her bedroom, containing no less than seven consecutive weeks' worth of shows featuring characters with improbable hairstyles. And down below, the rust-choked skull of the D.T. Extractor moldered in the shadows, and the shambling amalgamates babbled to each other in voices that they themselves barely knew.

The "bathroom" door hissed open. Alphys shuffled out, her claws deftly navigating her phone's screen.

"God, I'm glad that's over," she muttered. "What was he thinking with that last question? Oh God. Oh God, he was broadcasting that. Ohhhh my God, I hope Undyne hasn't replaced her TV yet..."

Her spectacled eyes still glued to the phone screen, she turned and headed for her computer. She glanced up and saw Frisk standing there in the middle of the lab. She glanced back at her phone. She glanced up again, and emitted a sound not unlike a balloon being rubbed on a windowpane.

"Ah! Y-y-you're still here! I. I mean. Th-that's fine! It's not like I t-told you to leave or anything! My house is your house! Even though it's also my lab. Ha ha. Ha." She shoved her phone into her pocket and added, "Ha."

Frisk made no indication that he'd heard her. He stood in place, his head bowed. Alphys crept a little closer, and saw the shattered remains of his phone lying at his feet.

"Oh. Oh no. It's, it's the phone I gave you." Frisk's head snapped up, but Alphys' attention was elsewhere. "You must've accidentally dropped it. And then. Accidentally stepped on it several times." She kneaded her labcoat between her claws, made an unconvincing smile. "Um. D-did you not like the color...?"

Frisk shook his head, held out his palms in apology. He knelt down and tried to gather up the shards, pushing the phone's shattered casing together like a jigsaw, but they slipped through his fingers and clattered back to the floor. His shoulders started to shake, but he kept at it until Alphys finally crept over and took the pieces from his trembling hands.

"No, i-it's okay! Sometimes things just, um, break mysteriously. I'll fix it up better than ever. It won't even take me thirty minutes!" Frisk stood back up as Alphys pocketed the phone's remains. "I, I, I used to take things apart and then t-time myself on putting them back together again. That's a normal scientist thing to do. It's not weird at all."

Frisk wrapped his arms around himself and nodded. His hair hung in a brown curtain over his eyes.

"A-anyway, I'm sure Mettaton can wait for us to finish. Killer robots are. Totally known for their patience." She averted her gaze when saying this. "Um. Y-you can relax here while I work, if you like. There's sodas in the fridge and plenty of, um, historical viewing material in my room. You could stay up there for days if you want to, God knows I have...hey, why are you shivering? Is the AC too high?"

More than just shivering, Frisk's whole body vibrated like he was about to detonate. He clutched his arms tight enough for his nails to leave half-moon indents in his flesh. His breathing hoarsened, then turned into a sort of hiccup that made his whole chest jump. As Alphys watched, tears began to trickle out from behind his hair.

"Oh. Um. Okay. This is happening now." Her eyes darted around frantically; her skin turned a darker shade of orange. "Um. Um. Um."

Frisk's tears kept coming, despite his best efforts to hold them in. His hiccups deepened into sobs. He pressed his sleeve over his face; the fabric rapidly started to darken. He cried like someone who'd forgotten how. He was bent double from the effort of it.

Alphys looked down at her hands as if noticing them for the first time. She took a deep breath.

"Alright. Okay, Alphys, you can do this. Psyche yourself up. Power at maximum..."

She sidled up to Frisk and held him close. Her arms were stubby, but they still easily encircled his thin frame. "Uh. There, there?"

Frisk went stiff for a moment, and then rested his face against her shoulder and kept sobbing. Alphys could feel the heat of him straight through her scales. She frowned, experimentally rubbed the small of his back.

"It's all right," she said. "Come to think of it, when I was watching your adventure I thought you looked kind of depressed. It's been really hard on you, huh?" She patted his head. "Hey, come on. You've got me now, r-right? We'll get through this together. That's what friends are for." A pause. "Uh, y-you're crying a lot harder. All of a sudden. I, I don't know if that means I'm doing a good job or a bad one. Should I let go?"

Frisk clutched at her and started to wail. His body convulsed in her grip from the force of his sobs. That high, lost sound echoed through the laboratory. Half of Alphys' labcoat had become quite soggy.

Alphys gave him another awkward massage and looked at the lab's central monitor. She saw the two of them there, in each other's embrace, tear-stains spreading down her sleeves. She saw the guilt in her own expression. She looked away.

"It's all right," she said again, quieter. "We can stay here as long as you need."

It smelled like flavor packets and Pocky.

Again.

(Ring, ring...)

(Click.)

"...nothing.

"See you in the next one."

(Click.)

The same place, the same thing.

There they were again, the two of them. Frisk's head lowered, his face blank. Asriel's smile nowhere to be found. The flowers murmured to each other in the breeze.

"What did you just say?" Asriel asked.

Frisk replied, "My soul."

His voice was wispy as cobweb. Feeble from disuse.

"I thought about what you said. That you need a soul to. Stay yourself." He touched his chest. "Monsters and humans. They can take each other's souls, right?"

"Yes. They can, but-"

"That's what you and your friend did."

Asriel looked away. "I really don't want to talk about him anymore."

"But it's true. Isn't it?" Frisk raised his head. "If you had mine, you could stay."

"He had to die first. And." Asriel clutched his knees. "And I'm not even sure if he was really my friend."

"What about us?" Frisk asked. "Are we friends?"

Asriel gave another of his half-smiles. "Well, you did save me."

"No. I didn't."

Frisk cupped his hand in front of his chest. Warm red light spilled out from between his fingers.

"Asriel. If you were okay, then...I don't think I'd mind."

Asriel's eyes went wide. He backed away from the light as though it burned.

"Frisk, stop it."

The light intensified.

"I said stop it!"

His shout echoed through the cave. Frisk glanced up in surprise, and the light from his chest sputtered and dimmed. Asriel had moved back to the very edge of the flower patch, his knees drawn up to his chin. He was shaking like a leaf. His round, wet eyes were wide with fear.

"Asriel?"

"I don't want it. I don't."

"But-"

"I'm so tired of other people getting hurt because of me." Asriel unfurled himself by degrees, allowing his legs to splay out once again. He rested his palms on his legs and stared down at the flowers. "Please. Just let it be."

Frisk lowered his hand.

"Sorry," he said. "I thought it would help."

"And I appreciate it. Really. You're...you would have been a really good friend. But it's too late. You should be with the others, Frisk. I don't know how much longer I can hold on."

"Don't you want to leave?"

Frisk's question hung in the air, the sound unspooling into the cave above. Asriel reached out, picked one of the flowers, and held it to his chest. He stroked the petals with an outstretched claw. The sunlight streamed down his face, carved dark circles under his eyes.

"I've made my peace with it," he said. "It's better this way."

"That's not an answer."

"Then my answer's no. I don't." Asriel let the flower fall, and looked up. "I won't take your soul. I can't get mine back. And...I don't want to be around anyone, knowing what I'll turn into. I can't break their hearts all over again."

"But they-"

"It's all right if you don't understand. It's good, actually. You shouldn't have to." His voice became pointed. "Why are you still here, Frisk? What are you looking for?"

Frisk remained still for a long time; for a while, it looked like he'd fallen asleep sitting up. Motes of pollen danced around his head.

"I don't know," he said at last." A happier ending. For you. For everyone."

"And you found it. You did the best you could."

"I can do better. I know I can."

Asriel actually laughed at that. "You really are determined, huh? No wonder you defeated me so easily. And I tried so hard to look cool, too. Was I cool? Frisk?" He scanned Frisk's face. And little by little, his smile faded. His eyes widened in horror.

"Frisk," he said. "You didn't."

Frisk said nothing. He clasped his hands as if in prayer.

"How many times?" Asriel's voice was hoarse.

"...I stopped counting."

A long silence followed. Frisk couldn't bring himself to meet Asriel's gaze. Then he heard Asriel laugh again. Higher. Jagged. And when he spoke, his voice reminded him of someone else.

"I was right about you the first time. You really are an idiot."

Frisk heard a quiet hiss and looked up to see Asriel's face contorted. His eyes narrowed, his fangs bared in a cruel smirk. Dust trickled from him in glittering ribbons. His fur grew bare. His eyes grew hollow. The flowers drank what remained of him and shuddered with leftover life. And as he continued to dissolve, Frisk saw his skull exposed. Not bone. Rust and steel and clots of oil. The silhouette of the D.T. Extractor.

He couldn't breathe.

In unison, the flowers swiveled toward him and raised their faceless heads.

"Stay away from me, Frisk," they whispered. "If we're really friends...you won't come back."

It smelled like nothing at all.

Frisk awoke half-strangled by his sheets.

He gasped in air and clawed his way across the mattress just before gravity could reach up and yank him off the bed. At once, he shoved his hand into his mouth and bit down until he saw stars. Only then was he sure that he wasn't still dreaming.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited for his heart to stop jackhammering in his chest. His pajamas were clammy with sweat.

His last meeting with Asriel hadn't ended quite that way. But it hadn't ended well.

This bedroom was smaller than the one Toriel had first showed him, but she'd brought as much furniture from the underground as she could carry – or, to be more truthful, Asgore had carried it all himself, and she'd rapidly grown weary of telling him to stop. There was the toy trunk, and the armoire, and that scarred and pitted desk. It was largely bare except for the books that Toriel brought in from the library; he never asked her for anything. The window let in moonlight that striped the desk and floor like frost. Navigating by that milky sliver, Frisk slid off the bed, padded across the room, and opened the door a crack. In the dark hall beyond he could hear the soft bleats of Toriel's snoring. That was good. If his thrashing had woke her up, he wasn't sure if he could have thought up a good excuse in time.

He closed the door and sat against it, hugging his chest. Shadows skulked around the desk and under the bed. But he'd stopped being afraid of the dark a long time ago.

All in all, the monsters hadn't had as much trouble integrating as they'd feared. For all his faults, King Asgore couldn't have made for a better representative – his eight-foot bulk and wicked horns combined with his embarrassing earnestness, fondness for tea parties, and expression of faintly concussed good humor tended to confuse people long enough to agree with whatever he had to say. A society with magic as its fulcrum and gold as its currency had plenty to offer to the world above. The war was long over. Humanity's grudges and their ghosts had long given up and found other haunts. And while he'd done his best to stay out of the public eye, to hide his face, Frisk's presence hadn't hurt, either. The image of a human child clinging to a grandmotherly goat did a lot to alleviate concerns about the future of human-monster relations.

There were still rough spots. Toriel, from time to time, in her oblique way, worried about what would happen if anyone found out how her ex-husband had kept himself occupied over the years. Those smashed jars and those colored lights that soared out of the barrier and into parts unknown. He overheard her and Sans talking about it, sometimes, when he came over.

Sans stopped by often. As in the underground, it was an enigma how, exactly, he managed to earn a living, but he and his brother took care of themselves without the need for handouts from Asgore. While Papyrus attended driver's ed, with predictably entertaining results, Sans whiled away afternoons with Toriel, spicing their conversation with puns awful enough to peel the wallpaper. Frisk would hear their laughter from his room, and always cover his ears too late.

He avoided Sans whenever possible. He saw the pleading look in his face whenever they met, and he didn't know whether the plea was Let me go, or Let me stay.

And always, that feeling in his chest. Determination tugging like a fishhook at his heart. Undo it. Try again. Asriel. Asriel.

Frisk stood up and walked over to his desk. He picked up the chair and carried it back a few inches – he couldn't risk pulling it, it would scrape across the floor – then clicked on the lamp and rummaged through the drawers. He withdrew a blank sheet of paper, a box of crayons.

He was trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved, and that was wrong. He was taking all of this away from people – this sunlight, these conversations, all those futures left unlived – for that reason, and that was worse. But he couldn't fit the pieces together. Asriel telling him to leave. Asriel's broken smile. Asriel kneeling among the flowers, waiting for the end to come. He didn't understand.

He'd seen his smile reach his eyes exactly once. Right after he'd stolen the souls of everyone in the underground. His fingers had flexed, his shoulders had shook with suppressed laughter. And when he turned around, the joy on his face had been real. Right before he'd turned himself into the adult he could never become, and called Frisk by a different name, and tried to destroy him with a barrage of technicolor shooting stars. Frisk couldn't lie – he had looked cool. At the very least, he'd made a strong first impression.

"You know...I don't care about destroying this world anymore."

He started with two black half-circles at the bottom of the page. Then four parallel lines, going straight up.

"After I defeat you and gain complete control over the timeline...I just want to reset everything."

Then a straight horizontal line, and an upside-down U on top.

"All your progress. Everyone's memories. I'll bring them all back to zero!"

Straight lines across that center shape. Diagonal lines jutting out. Impossible to draw fingers with crayon. He settled for two circles instead.

"And you know what the best part is? You'll do it."

Now the important part. He started with the ears – two flappy oblongs trailing down his shoulders. Like thick parentheses. That was easier. That was the best place to begin.

"And then you'll lose to me again. And again. And again!"

That narrow circle joining the ears. That tuft of fur on the top of his head. Save the face for last. Save it. Save him.

"Because you want a 'happy ending.' Because you 'love your friends.' Because you 'never give up.'"

Water spotted the paper. Frisk rubbed his eyes and kept working.

"Isn't that delicious? Your 'determination.' The power that let you get this far..."

Two black spots for the eyes. Smaller ones for the nostrils. Inverted triangles for the fangs. Remember the way the skin under his eyes had crinkled. How his brow hadn't been heavy with guilt. Just before the giddy rush of his own power had twisted him. That one moment. Bring it back.

"It's gonna be your downfall."

He pulled out the yellow and green crayons and finished before his shaking hands could ruin it any further. He stared at his work. He wasn't very impressed with himself.

Frisk got up and stepped over to his window. They lived on the edge of town, and outside he could see the blackened shapes of the woods cutting through the shadows. Night opening into darker night. On the horizon was Mt. Ebott, the full moon hanging behind its peak like a diadem. He waited a long time for the moon to continue its journey across the sky. But it never did.

He picked up the paper and pressed it to his chest. He held it close.

It wasn't a very good drawing, but it filled him with determination.

Again.