Chapter Text
Something about spending an anomalous amount of time underground sure made the stars on the surface shine brighter than ever before.
Frisk stared at the dark sky with wide, scanning eyes. They almost couldn't believe that this was the same sky they stared up into on the night of their fateful fall into a new world — a new life.
They wiggled their toes in their worn, beaten down boots — which were now peeling apart at the seams from the adventure they had just embarked on.
They felt the earth beneath them through the thin and battered soles of their shoes, kicking a small pebble off of the high ledge they were standing upon, and watching it skimper down the mountain until they couldn't see it anymore.
Mount Ebott presided over a sleepy town that no one would think twice to stop in during a road trip; if you were born there, you were stuck there — a lesson the child had learned early in their life.
Frisk glanced downwards at the town they grew up in, and for a moment, soaked in a flash of gleeful amusement of how small it truly looked from up here.
It used to feel so big, so all-encompassing.
They drew in a deep sigh — the kind of sigh that wracks your whole body and makes your chest shake upon exhaling.
"careful up there. you might fall and discover another repressed underground civilization."
Frisk nearly did exactly that at the subconscious jolt that shook their feet as their breath felt knocked out of them, surprised at the presence of another voice.
Right when Frisk almost tumbled down the mountain the same way that pebble did earlier, a hand grasped the back of their sweater at the nape of their neck, giving a slight — but incredibly effective — pull.
The teenager stumbled back, planting their feet into the ground and glaring up at the voice, already knowing the culprit before even gaining the oxygen back in their lungs.
"Sans," they exhaled annoyedly, crumpling their fists at their sides childishly.
To his credit, a few beads of sweat were glistening on his skull, and his eye sockets momentarily flickered emptily in distress before he wiped his forehead and fixed his face. Frisk felt their startled irritation dissipate at the concerns that he would never vocalize, but were still written all over his skull.
After a beat of silence with Sans' glove still gripping the back of Frisk's sweater tightly, his hand loosened and dropped back into the pocket of his hoodie, and he was grinning like nothing happened.
"anywho. what're you doing all the way out here? left me on a cliffhanger, kid," his smile pulled even wider at his own wordplay.
Frisk exhaled a quiet laugh through their nose, and looked down towards the town again, crossing their arms insecurely.
There was no way to say what they wanted to say, really.
So they didn't.
"Dunno. Just taking in the view. This mountain is the most interesting thing around here," they mused with a shaky smile, turning back to face Sans again.
He was looking down at the town now, too. Frisk saw it in his eyes — the hope, the anticipation that all the monsters seemed to be blossoming with now. It was a beautiful thing to witness — the camaraderie and collective wonder at their first time seeing the surface world.
"yeah," he croaked out in awe, eye sockets scanning the world around them. "sky's definitely the coolest, though," he commented — softer than his voice usually was as his chin was cocked upwards to the stars and moon. That put a real smile on Frisk's face.
Frisk allowed a comfortable silence to wash over the two as he continued to stare up for a little longer.
The barrier had been broken for around a week now, and it naturally became the new surface outage. The mayor (who had remained surprisingly unopposed for as long as Frisk could remember) didn't quite have an exact solution for something so unprecedented, and it was concluded that the easiest solution was for the monsters to camp out in the mountains while he supposedly consulted with his advisors.
It's not like the town could handle the sudden influx of so many bodies at once — let alone mentally comprehend the complexity of an entire species unearthing from a prison that some believed to be just another common mountain myth.
There was a bit of a problem with the town officials allowing Frisk — an "unaccompanied and unsupervised minor" — to reside on the mountain with them, but Frisk was vehement in their mission, accidentally talking their way into convincing these people that they were the sole human representative of the monsters. An ambassador, if you will.
And plus, it wasn't much of an issue with how scared shitless Child Protective Service workers were of actual, real-life monsters; it's not like they had the guts to use physical force against them — a fear Frisk capitalized on.
Frisk tried to not think about the logistics of how it would even work out when they all would finally get off this mountain. God, they were anxiously dreading the integration of the monsters into their town.
A small nudge to their elbow brought them out of their trance and they looked up at a peacefully grinning Sans.
"c'mon. it's chow time, kid," he said, beginning to loop his arm into theirs. The simple act of him doing so told Frisk that he was about to take them on one of his mind-fucking shortcuts, making them almost instantly pull away.
They'd never forget the first time he randomly jammed his arm through theirs — with no warning — and took them to Grillby's so fast and so suddenly that they'd puked all over his hoodie in a comically instantaneous manner.
Frisk had gotten more used to them now, but nausea wasn't the only thing keeping them from embarking on a shortcut with Sans right now.
He cocked his head questioningly at their refusal.
In response, they looked away bashfully and tucked a lock of auburn curls behind their ear.
"I'm not in a rush to get back," they mumbled.
Sans' eyes tilted knowingly as he wordlessly led the two started a slow walk back to the campsite without a protest.
"y'know, you do have to actually talk to her eventually. and i don't mean this passive aggressive, teenager-y thing you have going on with her right now," he teased with a light shove to Frisk's side. "i mean a real talk," he finished, quieter and with more concern in his voice.
The sound of leaves crunching under their feet drowned out Frisk's incessant thoughts and the chilling bite of the wind on their skin replaced the permanent ache in their chest momentarily.
"I know," they sighed quietly. "I'm just..." Frisk trailed off exasperatedly before chewing their lip aggressively to think of the right words.
"I'm just upset with her. And I don't get how she doesn't get that," they finished lamely and monotone.
Frisk's arms were still crossed firmly across their chest, and they allowed the darkness of the night to hide the way that they shoved their fingers fiercely into their arms, nails piercing through their ratty sweater.
Sans sighed next to them. "i know you don't really want to talk about it. like at all. to anyone. ever," Sans spoke with an ever-so-slightly accusatory voice despite just teasing the teenager's own passive aggressiveness which brought a small snort of laughter from their throat.
"but seriously," he laughed quietly before stopping their walk behind some tall pine trees by lightly grabbing the sleeve of Frisk's sweater, undoing their tightly wound arms and pulling their nails away from where they'd embedded themselves. They silently wondered if that was intentional or by chance.
The sound of chatter, laughter, and a strumming banjo was now within closer earshot, suggesting that the two were mere steps away from the campsite full of the ecstatic underground residents, who still found a way to celebrate, smile, and feel grateful despite sleeping on a mountain for a week. Frisk admired them all more than they could ever put into words.
"if you need an ear, you're shit outta luck 'cause i've got none," he chuckled jokingly. "but i'm really always in your corner. no questions asked," he finished, his eyes tilting that same way they did when Frisk almost stumbled down the mountain minutes earlier.
The thinly veiled concern from Sans was always touching, but Frisk preferred the ease of avoidance over the difficulty of expression.
Instead of dropping to the ground and screaming their anxieties, anger, and hopelessness to the skeleton as they so secretly and desperately desired to do so, they instead swallowed harshly, and calmly patted Sans' sleeve with their hand affectionately.
"Thank you, Sans," and when they said it, they truly meant it.
The skeleton ushered them through the prickly trees and towards the dispersed crowd of monsters in the clearing of the mountain. As soon as they'd passed through the thick, soundproofing trees, the noise of voices and giggles and music seemed to tenfold in Frisk's already crowded brain.
The town had offered sleeping bags, tents, and other cheap supplies for short-term survival, which were sprawled out across various areas in the dirt with a glowing campfire in the middle, providing a widespread light to all the surrounding residents.
Frisk stared at the campfire, or rather, the woman standing directly next to it — who was calmly tending to the flames with a gentle smile and maternal charm only she could ever pull off. She would occasionally stir whatever stew she was cooking above the fire intermittently, stopping to kindly pour bowls as hungry monsters slowly came to her.
They sighed at the sight of Toriel, heart crippling just a little more. They felt stupid for even being angry with her, but something deep and guttural in their chest was ablaze with the cutting sting of betrayal upon seeing her for the first time since being in the Ruins.
It's not like they wanted to keep doing this song and dance of avoiding her, of glaring and scoffing, of being curt and rude — but something about doing so fulfilled the awful emotional wound in their soul that was carved the day she shut them out of the Ruins.
After the first home cooked meals they'd gotten in years, a clean bed, the promises of a simple life and childhood, and the endless laughter and silly conversations the two shared, Frisk was made estranged for the entire rest of their journey underground all for the simple request of exploring.
They remember trying to re-open the impenetrably solid doors of the Ruins, kicking them repeatedly, talking into nothingness at those stupidly purple doors as if she'd answer, for what felt like an eternity before they'd accepted the fact that they had to move on.
That was a cut that wouldn't heal upon a simple reunion now that the barrier had been shattered.
Frisk hadn't even realized Sans left their side until he came back with two wooden bowls full of Toriel's stew, so piping hot that the steam felt like it opened every pore on Frisk's face when they looked straight down at it. He pushed one bowl and a spoon into their hands gently.
"eat," he demanded firmly, but not unkindly. Frisk nodded wordlessly despite the churning nausea in their stomach that made them anything but hungry at the moment.
"i'm gonna go give this to pap, but i'll be around," he reassured, eyes lingering on the way the teenager stared at the bowl, deflated.
"but hey, remember that i think you are soup-erb," he jested in an emphasized effort to cheer them up.
"Well, I think you're stew-pid," they replied without missing a beat. This instantly made both the skeleton and the teenager laugh hushedly, and Frisk relished in the way a small weight felt momentarily lifted off of their chest.
They watched him scurry off to give Papyrus a meal — ever the big brother — making sure he and Frisk ate before even thinking about grabbing himself a bowl.
Frisk was left alone, again, with their thoughts — and now a bowl of vegetable stew.
Despite the feeling of their stomach curling in on itself, they forced themself to eat a small spoonful, allowing the warmth to course through their veins and the delicious comfort of Toriel's homemade food to wash over them like a crashing wave in spite of their anger.
Frisk stood like that for a moment, observing everything unfold. Gerson was sitting on a log in the near distance, playing his old and poorly tuned banjo for some of the kids who were desperate for some form of entertainment or stimulation on this mountain. The kids clapped off-beat and sung along with screeching voices, but it still made a smile curl onto Frisk's lips.
"Yo!" A familiar voice shouted, booming enough to penetrate the sound barrier of several conversations in the campground.
Frisk glanced up to see the wide-toothed grin of Undyne in the distance, who sat on a low, sturdy branch with Alphys by her side. They were both nursing their own bowls of stew, and Alphys was nursing a face so pink that Frisk could spot it in the distance.
Undyne made vigorous 'come here' motions towards Frisk, warming their heart as their feet seemed to subconsciously start slowly trudging their way towards the comforting familiarity of the two women.
Frisk weaved through a light gaggle of monsters, getting pulled into various conversations that they politely smiled and giggled their way out of smoothly.
They finally reached Undyne and Alphys, and they narrowly avoided spilling the bowl of piping hot broth all over themself when Undyne harshly pulled them in for a dangerously tight hug and noogie.
"Hey you! Where the hell have you been hiding?" She exclaimed ecstatically as Frisk untangled themself from the constricting noogie, using a hand to pat their curls back into place, sitting next to the overly excited warrior.
"Was just enjoying the scenery further up the mountain. The stars look crazy beautiful up there," they forced a small smile. Not like they could really express that they felt the overwhelming need to escape from being in such close proximity to Toriel because it made their head hurt and eyes water.
Alphys seemed to understand the hidden implication of their words anyways, though, as her eyes drifted to Toriel a few yards away and back to Frisk. Her eyes softened knowingly before she looked down and continued to quietly eat her stew.
There was a seemingly obvious tension to Frisk's inner-circle between the teenager and Toriel, but none of them were in the Ruins to know what truly happened.
Frisk had been asked what happened by multiple of their friends, but it just felt so stupid to even hold a grudge, nonetheless express it to anyone. So, they would simply brush them off and shake their head. A quick subject change was all it took to evade most of their prying questions.
"Y'know, whenever we get, uh, access to a TV...we should totally do a surface movie marathon!" Alphys claimed chirpily, seemingly very excited at the promise of new, unscoured media to consume. Frisk was grateful for the subject change and grinned widely at her passion.
"Yeah, man! There's a bunch of cool classics I'd love to show you guys," Frisk agreed excitedly. They felt their heart swell at the implication of future plans, the implication that the teenager wasn't going to get dumped on the street and forgotten about after all of this.
The three got engrossed in a discussion concerning some of the best movies to watch, and Undyne seemed to perk up happily at the promise of literally any action or fighting movie, which drew laughs out of both Frisk and Alphys.
"Friends!" A blaring voice rang through the three's conversation, making them all look up to the tall, grinning skeleton — Papyrus. His shorter counterpart wasn't far behind, trudging at Sans' usual leisurely pace.
Papyrus sat on a log in front of Alphys, a bowl of stew cradled in his own hands.
"Wowie! A real dinnertime! Just like the sitcoms," he exclaimed. The three welcomed his presence happily, and Alphys especially got excited at his mention of sitcoms, rambling into a tangent about their nuances.
The light and joyful air that Papyrus always seemed to bring to others whenever he entered a room always lifted a brick off of Frisk's chest. He was just a good person to be around.
Sans joined Papyrus where he sat, and though the skeleton was always smiling, Frisk swore that he grinned gentler at the sight of them sitting with Undyne and Alphys. The teenager smiled back momentarily, eyes shooting elsewhere at the sound of a branch breaking nearby.
Toriel approached calmly, exuding her usual air of quiet comfort that Frisk so admired. Now though, it only made them feel worse. They almost immediately lost their appetite upon her approach, and as she was eagerly greeted by the others, Frisk set their bowl down into the dirt and began to chew on their lip annoyedly.
Their arms seemed to subconsciously wrap around their chest, finding the familiar crevice of their arm, digging in harder the louder the laughter surrounding them got.
She was sat across from Frisk, and the two caught eyes for just a moment. Her eyes always were full of such grace and forgiveness, even after how they'd been treating her for these past three days. That, again, only made them feel worse. They averted their eyes not-so-subtly, thankful that Papyrus was gifted with the ability to probably talk a tree into being his friend.
Amidst the conversation, Frisk felt the observant eyes of Sans burning into them, but opted to stare at their shoes.
"...it really is great, Queen Toriel! I have got to share my spaghetti recipe with you sometime!" He claimed proudly.
Toriel laughed heartily at that as a chorus of the other monsters complimented and thanked her for feeding the entire campground nightly. She bashfully brushed off the compliments and shook her head.
"You all are too sweet, but I do hope you know this isn't my best work," she chuckled humbly, using her free hand to nervously smooth her dress down. "Really, I can't wait to have a proper kitchen, and cook you all proper meals," she said hopefully.
"I also can't wait to get to a store and purchase you some proper clothes, my child. Those shoes are really falling apart," she commented wistfully, clicking her tongue as she presumably glanced down at the state of them.
Her voice was cautious; she clearly knew they had some sort of conflict with her, but no straight answer. And despite everything, she still made sickeningly sweet comments like that. Her capacity for forgiveness could drive them insane, and in fact, it just nearly did.
Frisk's head shot up at the comment, feeling their heart pound like a storm in their chest and blood rush to their face.
"My shoes are fine. They've gotten me this far," they spat defensively.
That quieted the background chatter of the other monsters and drew an awkward cough from Alphys. Sans' body seemed tense and his eyes were squinted at the teenager, as if to tell them to quit while they were ahead. Frisk ignored his eyes once more.
Toriel opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Frisk chimed in again. They didn't even want to say anything else, but the hot rage that was blazing within them was spreading everywhere now, making their nose and fingertips hot and sweaty.
"Matter of fact, you don't need to buy me any clothes. Or cook me any meals. Or worry about my shoes," they laughed humorlessly, voice raising against their will and legs standing shakily.
Toriel stood now too, swiftly and powerfully in direct contrast to Frisk's own unstable footing; her face scrunched, offended. Clearly, she had her limits to being gentle, but even when mad, her voice had that tender lull to it.
"Frisk, say what you will, but at the end of the day, you are a child," she was sure to emphasize her last word, hand on her hip in the way that she did when she lectured.
Her voice was heavy, but it didn't even sound angry. She sounded emotional, as if she had been building this up over these past days. Hurt was the better word to explain the way she cleared her throat after a slight, saddened voice crack.
"And right now, by some grace of legal loopholes in human law, you are under our care — specifically my care. And you can be in this mood that you've been in for God knows what reason, but you cannot deny me that," she asserted hushedly, trying to ensure that the hundreds of other monsters surrounding them didn't get wrapped up in this strange, pseudo-family's argument.
Ironically, the other monsters were gleefully in their own worlds, laughter and distant conversation still ringing throughout the entire campgrounds, the mountain alive with an energetic buzz it probably hadn't felt in hundreds of years.
The small circle of monsters was still painfully silent in contrast to this upbeat environment, Undyne quietly slurping her soup and averting eye contact. As fearless as she is, seeing the former Queen upset seemed to rattle her bones just a little bit.
From the awkward silence, Sans finally rose to his feet leisurely — seemingly deciding that now was a good time as ever to intervene.
"listen, this-"
Just then, Frisk got their wits about them, and finally allowed the gravity of Toriel's words seep into their skin and subconscious.
Their anger renewed, they easily ignored the skeleton, still staring up into Toriel's eyes. Her eyes were still full of so much love and softness despite the way her face scrunched, and that felt like another knife to Frisk's heart. Generating hurt to anger was a simple thing, really.
"Y'know what, Toriel, I can deny you that. Because it's not your right, nor your responsibility, or your burden," their voice cracked loudly and emotionally on that last word, and they fought back the hot tears brewing in their eyes by digging their nails into their palms until they felt small beads of blood trickle down their fingertips.
"So, please, allow me to absolve you from whatever obligation you've deluded yourself into feeling towards me," they laughed humorlessly, "Go ahead and cook your meals and buy your clothes, but count me out," they spat mockingly, the words falling from their clenched teeth faster than they could mentally process the gravity of what they were saying.
They heard waves crashing in their ears, and a sudden heat emitting from their body that made breathing difficult.
A look of hurt and sadness so raw and visceral etched itself into Toriel's face, and it looked so wrong to not see her smiling. And Frisk hated themself even more as the silent seconds wore on.
Toriel cleared her throat and tried to pull her face together presentably. "Well," she coughed, dusting off her dress. "I suppose you came from this world, and if you have somewhere to return to, then..." she trailed off, clenching the sides of her dress anxiously in her paws, "then so be it." She finished monotonically, looking down.
Frisk felt like their body was going to explode into big specks of stardust and return to the sky. They were panting quietly, legs shaking ever so noticeably.
The teenager caught a glimpse of Papyrus' face; his always-smiling face was missing its happy-go-lucky grin, and instead, was replaced by sadness and twitching as he was clearly unsure what to say, or even what to do with himself.
For some reason, that was the last straw — seeing that they managed to bring a frown to the skeleton that never frowned; it broke a dam inside their chest as their legs moved swiftly and quietly to just get out of there.
They brushed past Sans clumsily in their path to storm off, and he grabbed their wrist tightly, stopping them in their tracks jarringly.
They yanked their arm weakly, not seeming to have the strength for anything more than a half-ass shake. The bony grip stayed, steady and grounding.
"what’s gotten into you?," the skeleton demanded quietly, his voice just a hair above a whisper — the words made just for them in a silent crowd. His brow bones were downturned and head shaking ever so slightly.
Frisk found that their mouth was dry and their voice was gone. They took a second to lure their vocal chords out of the cowardice choking their throat.
"Let go," was all they were able to whisper. It was a pathetic voice, unstable and weak; yet, Sans could hear the strength and demanding plea in it, opting to begrudgingly unhand the shaking — concerningly skinny — wrist his phalanges were wrapped around.
Frisk was sure they looked as pathetic as they felt, and the twist of concern in Sans' eyes made them want to throw up on his slippers.
Once unhanded, Frisk wasted no time in their storming off, walking haphazardly and carelessly quickly further up the mountain. They just needed to get away.
They weaved through branches and low-hanging leaves; their sight was blurry with the sweet release of tears that they had been choking back the entire time. They chucked branches out of their way haphazardly, swinging their arm in annoyance, feeling their body overheat and tears slide down their neck.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. It never was.
Their thoughts ran a mile a minute as they continued to run, run, run — slashing vines and branches until their entire body ached and they found a clearing in the forest.
They felt the sickest sense of deja-vu at what happened the last time they were running on this mountain, making their stomach turn uneasily.
Frisk stopped their conquest at last, their shaky breathing was loud in their ears in the dead quiet of the forest. They had gone so far, they couldn't even hear the campsite anymore.
They didn't care. How could they care right now?
Frisk's body throbbed in protest against them, and they slid their back down a large rock, hugging their knees childishly.
Why did I say that? What's wrong with me?
They tried to get ahold of their sobs, elbows placed on their bent knees as their fingers tugged painfully at their matted curls. Their tears ran down their hands, which were still throbbing from the attack by their nails earlier.
There is something seriously wrong with me. I'm damaged goods, I'm not right. I'm wrong.
"And so fucking stupid," they spat out in a disgusted whisper, running their hands over their wet face, attempting to will their tears to magically stop.
"hey, that's my friend you're talking about."
Frisk yelped involuntarily at the voice, head whipping up so fast that it banged harshly into the large rock behind them, drawing a muffled groan from the teenager.
Sans jumped, rushing forward and kneeling to their level where they sat.
"shit, i've really gotta stop sneaking up on you, huh?" There was a chuckle underlining his voice, but it was mainly apologetically concerned as his bony fingers held tightly on top of where their own hand was on the back of their head.
"i'm sorry," his voice was bashful and they could hear the wince on his face. Frisk waved the apology off with their free hand.
He shifted a little upwards, peeling their other hand away to look at the back of their head — presumably checking for an injury.
Once he seemed satisfied at the sight of no blood, he lightly pushed their head back to its resting place, his fingers still wrapped around their wrist.
Frisk dropped their head down in silence, blinking away the last of their tears under the cover of their hair and exhaling quietly through strained lips, arm limply extended outwards in Sans' hand.
They felt a familiar tickle of bone lightly brushing their palm, causing a foreign sting as they instinctively hissed and drew their arm away harshly, looking up.
The pale moonlight was the only source of light in this area of the forest, and the expression etched into Sans' skull made their chest hurt. His brow bones were furrowed unhappily, his ever-present smile faded into a frown.
Frisk looked like a mess, eyes puffy and red, leaves stuck in the threads of their sweater, cowering with their knees drawn to their chest and arms clenched close to their body.
"your hands," he croaked plainly — his voice laced with an unidentifiable emotion.
Frisk opened their palms to see the five crescent-shaped wounds on each hand, dry blood trickled all the way down to the top of their wrist. Frisk had nearly forgotten about the intrusion of their nails into their skin from anger earlier. It was the last thing on their mind right now, to be frank.
"Bad habit," they sniffed in explanation, wincing at how their voice cracked. The teenager drew their hands into their oversized sweater sleeves, looking away. They didn't want to be seen like this.
"well, you need to kick it, frisk. seriously. you're hurting yourself," his voice was gravely distressed. The usage of their name from his mouth made them flinch subconsciously. He rarely really said it, usually one of his goofily endearing nicknames was used to address them.
He sighed at the lack of response from Frisk, slumping himself against the rock next to them.
For a moment, they both allowed the sound of the chilling wind rustling the leaves and branches to take the place of any actual conversation, the distant hoot of an owl ringing through the wind from time to time.
"are we finally gonna talk about this? or are you in one of your stoically independent moods?" His voice finally rang out, his attempt to tease them playfully fell dead on the silence surrounding them.
Frisk sighed, their breathing finally regulated after the span of quietness. They stretched their legs out satisfyingly, their worn and ripped tights catching a loose twig on the ground. They then sat criss-cross, and faced Sans at last, looking up into his eyes as he watched them downwards right back with the same intensity.
"Toriel banished me while we were underground," the statement was plain and forward, and somehow was rid of all the resentment and anger that they had silently harbored since then.
Sans blinked at them, brow bones upturned surprisedly, allowing them the silence to expand on that.
Frisk sighed again, chewing their lip.
"I stayed with her for a while, you know. And not just that first week; it was..." Frisk's eyes averted habitually as they trailed off.
Sans and Frisk had a mutual understanding of timelines. At least, they hoped it was a mutual understanding — because it's not like they really ever talked about it.
"...It was throughout the span of a few resets. I was there for a really long time," their voice quieted to a whisper towards the end of their sentence. They glanced up to Sans, who was clearly surprised at the mention of resets, but a coolly neutral look took the place of shock in a blink.
Frisk cleared their throat, "anyways," they continued, "I got comfortable. I got used to certain leisures," they were digging their finger into the dirt absentmindedly, feeling skittish.
Their hand began to curl into a fist, but Sans grabbed their wrist firmly before their nails could reach their palm. They uncurled their fingers begrudgingly at the silent chastise.
"She fought me. And killed me a few times, too," they sniffed, "but, funny thing is, I didn't even care about any of that," their laugh was humorless and echoed loudly through the trees.
"I cared about the fact that she told me to never come back,” Frisk felt their voice get higher with the pressure of tears building in their throat, but they fought the urge off vehemently. They exhaled loudly in an attempt to expel the heavy emotion in their chest.
Frisk sniffled as nonchalantly as they could muster. "It's stupid, I'm being stupid," they coughed out.
"no, you're not," he hissed, eye sockets softening.
Another pause of silence fell over them, and Frisk hated it, as it made the sound of their shaky breathing easier to hear.
"i am sorry, for what it's worth," Sans coughed out, "i...i don't think you ever really told me that," he said softly. Frisk had told him a lot over the long span of resets spent underground, and so did he. Sometimes, it all got blurry — what was said and what wasn't.
Frisk watched his hand hesitate in the air over their shoulder before he awkwardly grabbed it in an attempt to comfort. His genuinity and the grounding, solid touch of his fingers slowed their haphazard breathing a bit.
"but, y'know, tori does love you. i can tell. she would've never asked me to make that promise if she didn't," he looked at them gently.
Frisk felt their heart warm at that; they knew, deep down, that he was right, but there was a fatal disconnect between their head and their heart to make them truly believe it.
"and, i mean, i know you came from here..." Sans' voice got cautious, like he knew he was about to push a button that he absolutely should not push, but he continued anyways, "...but you're really not gonna stay with tori?...with us?" His voice was quieter, bordering on accusatory, a little pang of hurt ringing in his words.
Frisk felt their face heat up at how easily he called their bluff, a spike of sad anger piercing their chest. "No, Sans, I have nowhere to go," they hissed honestly.
They tucked their head between their knees to regulate their breathing, and to hide their scowl from the skeleton. They felt their misplaced anger dissipate quickly, nearly immediately regretting snapping at Sans.
"I...I don't know why I said that earlier. There is nothing for me up here," they sighed quietly, voice muffled from being squished between their bent knees.
Sans sounded like he was going to respond and the words got caught in his mouth. His hesitation was loud in the silence before he cleared his throat and tried again.
"well...y'know, we’re up here now," Sans said plainly, his hand returned to their shoulder in another attempt of comfort.
For some reason, that really did strike a chord in their soul. They looked up at him, and despite how embarrassingly pathetic they were sure they appeared, Sans was looking at them like they had just hung the moon and stars.
They nodded their head, a gentle smile curling on their lips subconsciously. "Yeah," they sniffed, wiping their face again, "yeah, you're right."
They sighed to themself, digging their finger into the dirt again to do something with their hands.
"I'm sorry I caused such a scene. That was embarrassing," they muttered, feeling their face get warm from humiliation.
Sans shook his head. "kid, stop, it's okay," he laughed quietly. "i told you, i'm in your corner...we are in your corner," he declared quietly. Something about his smile felt just a little more real than usual. Frisk smiled back, their embarrassment dissipating at the assurance.
Sans clapped his hand on their shoulder once more, clearly a little out of his own depth with the amount of emotional comfort that had just ensued.
He exhaled loudly, standing up with a groan, absentmindedly complaining about how 'these 'ole bones aren't what they used to be', and offered an arm downwards to Frisk.
Frisk looked up at him for a moment: his tired smile and shifty eyes and fidgeting hand. There was something so profound in how hard Sans tried, every day, every reset, every timeline, every second. Even if it was all for nothing in the end. He always tried.
Frisk took his hand, allowing him to hoist them off the ground, and forcefully pulled him towards them, knocking into his ribs, suddenly overcome with a deep emotion. Frisk only reached his chest with their height difference, but wrapped their arms around him in an embrace regardless, fingers clinging to the back of his worn hoodie like their life depended on it. Their face was buried in the scent of ketchup and oakwood, a comfort.
They could practically feel the way his arms hovered unsurely for a moment before he wrapped his hands behind them too, a softer hold than Frisk's desperate one. A small laugh rumbled through his chest and vibrated onto Frisk's face.
"hey, hey," his chuckle was laced with a worry that Frisk could never really understand. They would never understand any of it. The monsters' love, their worries, their fears, their care.
It was nonsensical in Frisk's brain that anyone had that emotional capacity just for them. All they knew is that they wanted to hang onto it, onto all of them, for as long as they possibly could. It filled Frisk with an emotion they couldn't quite place, one that was so foreign and distinct that it made their head hurt.
They pulled away, slowly, but Sans still kept a solid hand on their back.
"when you need someone to lean on, i’ve got a whole rib cage right here with your name on it, kid," he mused, looking down at them with a tilted smile, brow bones creased sadly. Frisk nodded in response, sniffling and looking away, slightly embarrassed by their sudden display of affection.
They looked out into the vast woods for a moment, watching the owl that had periodically been singing throughout their whole conversation. They looked at the sky that the monsters were seeing for the first time in their lives.
They sighed, leaning back into Sans' hand, which kept them upright without faltering.
Frisk looked back up at him.
"I have to talk to Toriel," they declared softly.
Sans seemed pleased at this, but attempted to appear neutral in order to empathize with their apparent dread. "yeah," he sighed in agreement, "yeah, you gotta." His hand patted a comforting clap on their back before he withdrew it and bent his elbow towards Frisk, offering an arm downwards. Frisk knew exactly what he was offering already, and wordlessly looped their own arm through his.
"you ready?" he asked, eyes looking down at them with that unreadable expression that made their skin crawl.
Frisk held onto his arm tighter. They wanted to say ‘no’, they wanted to run, they wanted to hop down the hole in the mountain and hide underground forever and make one less problem for everyone — for Toriel.
Instead of saying that, they closed their eyes tightly and sighed forcefully.
“Yes,” Frisk said plainly, opening their eyes to see the lights in Sans’ eyesockets scanning their face.
He nodded curtly, his permanent smile was smaller now — softer.
Frisk felt the familiar feeling of one of Sans’ warps through time and space, the indescribably cold breeze wafting their curls backwards.
After Frisk blinked a few times from the disorientment, they found themself back at the campground — arm still clinging to Sans.
They withdrew their hand bashfully, suddenly feeling embarrassed at the amount of sentiment they had just displayed. Without thinking, their fingers curled into their palms, already raw from the previous intrusions from their nails.
They looked to their left to see Toriel in the near distance, talking to Undyne, her face lit up with laughter at whatever joke she just cracked. Asgore hovered excitedly and hesitantly around Toriel, as she seemed to be ignoring his presence completely.
They felt a firm grip on their wrist, causing their hands to unfurl surprisedly. It was gone as soon as it was there as Frisk shot their head up at Sans, who wore an expression of concerned annoyance.
“told you to knock it off,” he hissed simply, glancing down at their hands — dirtied by dry blood. Something about the sight of it seemed to make his expression falter nauseously, but it was gone as soon as they blinked.
Frisk felt bashful again, shoving their hands in their back pockets.
“Whoops,” they said plainly, looking at their shoes.
He sighed and wordlessly gripped their shoulder, clearly still a little new to the whole ‘comforting an emotionally repressed teenager’ thing. Frisk appreciated it nonetheless.
“alright, you got this?” He asked with his skull cocked.
Frisk looked up at him and nodded gently.
“Thank you,” they blurted. “…for listening,” they then murmured slower.
Sans squeezed their shoulder and his smile seemed a little more real.
“anytime, knucklehead,” his words were teasing, but his tone was gentle.
He withdrew his hand and lightly pushed Frisk towards Toriel’s direction, throwing them an unhelpful thumbs up.
When Frisk looked back, he was gone.
They sighed to themself, looking forward to Toriel once more. The campgrounds were quieting down now, some of the younger monsters and parents getting in their tents to sleep. Some stragglers nearby had glasses of some foreign boozy concoctions, laughing giddily together.
Frisk felt anything but giddy.
With hands clenched into painful fists, their legs trudged forward towards the trio.
Undyne’s toothy smile was turned towards them, but Frisk could sense the restraint in her body language. The last time she saw them was during their previous outburst during dinner. Nobody seemed to want to speak first.
“Ah, hello, Frisk!” a deep voice rang, and Frisk felt eternally grateful for the save — voice belonging to none other than Asgore. There was a certain humor in how Frisk was finding comfort in someone who also probably felt intensely estranged from Toriel, too, but they chose to ignore that.
“Asgore,” Frisk greeted warmly, their lips turning up into a smile as he trudged over and bent down to embrace them.
“Aw, King’s all soft and mushy!” Undyne seemed to finally lose the apparent tension in her body at Asgore breaking the ice; she tackled the two of them in her own strong embrace that made the teenager and Asgore laugh surprisedly.
Frisk wormed their way out of the tight embraces, still giggling.
“You know, you do not have to call me that anymore, Undyne. There are no kings on the surface!” Asgore declared heartily, clapping a hand on her back.
Frisk cocked their head at that and narrowed their eyes. “Well…there are monarchs in other countries, just not here,” they explained slowly.
Undyne and Asgore looked at one another and then back at Frisk.
“So, you’re saying I can be elected queen somewhere!?” Undyne asked overexcitedly.
“Monarchies don’t really work like-” Frisk’s thought was cut off by Undyne’s enthusiastic laughter.
“C’mon, King, we’re going to work on my campaign!” She declared without sparing a second thought to Frisk and grabbing Asgore by the forearm. Frisk wondered if she was actually strong enough to drag him off the way that she did, or if he just allowed it to happen. Either way, Frisk halfheartedly worried that she had dangerously selective hearing about political systems.
Frisk didn’t linger on that thought for too long, as they realized that the absence of Undyne and Asgore left them alone with the woman who had been silent for the entire conversation.
The teenager turned on their heel, facing away from the mountain and towards Toriel, who had a small smile on her face — presumably at witnessing the entire interaction.
Frisk suddenly felt small and shameful under her watchful gaze, fidgeting their feet restlessly, feeling all the words they wanted to say get caught in their throat.
“You seem very knowledgeable about human politics,” Toriel complimented quietly with a gentle smile. Frisk felt their face heat up from the praise. They shrugged nonchalantly, twisting a lock of hair on their finger.
“I guess. It’s, um, interesting stuff,” they commented, avoiding eye contact.
Toriel laughed heartily at that, and Frisk almost felt more embarrassed at how painfully awkward this interaction felt.
“Well, it sure is a good thing we have you in our corner as an ambassador, no?” Toriel inquired genuinely, head cocked sweetly.
Frisk, again, felt color rush to their cheeks. It was something about compliments from Toriel that always made them feel so bashful and under close observation. They didn’t answer her indirect question, and instead, stared at their beat up shoes.
Looking at their shoes reminded them of their outburst earlier, drawing a sigh from their chest. They dug their nails into their palms once more, forcing themself to build up strength that they didn’t have.
Before Frisk finally got the nerve to ask Toriel to talk this out, her own voice rang out in the silence between the two:
“Would you like to talk, Frisk?” She asked.
Frisk’s head shot up at the question, looking into her genuine eyes.
“Um. Yes,” was all they could muster from their dry tongue, and they wanted to punch themself at how lame it sounded coming out of their mouth.
Toriel beaconed them to a group of empty logs surrounding a small campfire that she, no doubt, started herself.
She sat on a log and stretched her back, looking at the fire calmly. Frisk trudged behind her with much less sure steps, and sat on the same log where she left room, presumably for them.
The two sat side by side in silence for a few moments, Frisk opening and closing their mouth like a fish out of water in deciding what they wanted to say.
“I’m sorry,” they blurted out — sudden and loud in the choking silence. The sound of the campfire crackled incessantly, the aroma filling Frisk’s lungs.
Toriel’s eyes were soft; the remnants of hurt were carefully concealed in the way her claws clenched and unclenched on her knees.
She sighed, a small smile gracing her face as she closed her eyes.
Toriel turned to look at Frisk, her white fur seemingly glowing from the brightness emitted from the fire in front of them.
“It’s okay,” her voice was so soft — always so damn soft — and more notably, genuine. Toriel didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. She possessed a heart of such pure intention that it made Frisk want to explode sometimes.
After a beat, she spoke again: “I know we haven’t known one another for all that long, but I do love you, my child,” her voice was like honey to Frisk’s ears, and she tentatively reached a hand out to stroke a loose curl from their forehead. When the teenager subconsciously melted into the touch, she cradled their shoulder with her other hand.
“I…I feel almost as if you’ve been my child for a very long time,” she chuckled a little incredulously.
Frisk jolted a little at that, a pang of sharp guilt piercing through their soul momentarily.
They bit their lip thoughtfully. “Yeah,” they croaked out before clearing their throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” they said quietly.
It was silent for a moment; Toriel brushed their shoulder comfortingly and Frisk hid their shifting eyes in the comfort of her soft palm.
Frisk inhaled sharply and slightly pulled away to look up at her.
“I…I don’t mean to be difficult,” their voice was quiet, almost unheard over the sound of happily hollering monsters in the vicinity.
“I just didn’t know how to feel,” they declared weakly, “after the Ruins.”
Toriel looked like she’d been burned by the comment; Frisk continued despite their soul dragging downwards in their body.
“I just never want to feel like that again. Like you gave me this…white picket fence, and it was just swept out from under me,” they felt their voice waver, but forced themself to swallow the tears harshly.
They looked back up at Toriel, whose expression was pained beyond belief as she held them tighter.
“I want to stay with you,” they declared firmly, eyes glossed over and throat tight.
“I want to stay with you,” Frisk repeated in a mumble, meekly laying their head on her chest in such a display of vulnerability that surprised themself as she immediately wrapped her arms around them in an all-encompassing embrace.
“Oh, my child,” she sighed shakily.
The campfire was getting dimmer from a lack of upkeep, its crackles growing quieter and quieter.
“I am so sorry. I want you to stay with me. I do. And I will never, ever shut you out like I did before,” her voice was quiet and slightly muffled as her face was pressed gently into their hair. She was genuine as always, and Frisk could tell. They hung on tighter too.
The two of them stayed like that for a moment, quietly embracing and listening to the distant sounds of their friends celebrating, the crickets chirping, the world turning. It was nice. It was serene.
Frisk couldn’t tell how much time had passed — whether it was five minutes or an hour — but they could tell that their heart felt warmer and their chest felt lighter. They broke the embrace with a wet sigh.
Toriel looked into their eyes, smiling gently.
“You ought to get to bed, my child. It’s late,” her voice was barely above a whisper. Her paw brushed a stray tear from their cheek as they nodded and leaned into the warmth.
Frisk pulled themself to their feet as Toriel rose with them. She planted a soft kiss atop their loose curls.
“I’m gonna go around and put these fires out, but you sleep tight,” she told them softly, her loving eyes crinkling.
“Goodnight, Tori,” Frisk declared quietly, feeling their cheeks hurt from the smile pulling at their lips. She grinned back as she slowly trudged fire to fire, using her paws to tend to the flames and put them to rest.
They trotted off to their shared tent with the skeleton brothers; there was a limited number of tents with a large number of monsters, meaning essentially everybody had to share.
Frisk didn’t mind it, in fact — childishly, they almost preferred it. It was difficult to sleep with the terrors that subconsciously wracked their brain from underground, with the anxieties of being back on the surface that spooked them to their core.
It was nice, in a way, to wake up with a jolt in cold sweats and peer over to see Papyrus snoring peacefully and Sans lazily flipping through a book he’s undoubtedly already read hundreds of times. How he was able to see the words in the dark so well, Frisk had no idea. When they’d ask, he would use his most mysterious voice to say ‘magic’ paired with jazz hands. Frisk had a suspicion that it was because he’d probably memorized the words by now.
Frisk grabbed the beat up drawstring bag with their pajamas by their shared tent; they had received it from Toriel. Whether it once belonged to Asriel or Chara many years ago, they didn’t know, but they always felt closer to both of them when they had it.
They strolled into the nearby woods which had a swimming hole that Frisk was familiar with. They used to come here all the time when they were younger. Sometimes thinking about it made their head hurt, but they tried to put it out of their brain.
They rolled up their sleeves and lazily scrubbed water over their arms and neck before changing into the worn down, oversized brown sweater from the bag. They washed their legs haphazardly and pulled on the black basketball shorts they were borrowing from Sans — the shorts were so big on them that even with rolling the waistband several times they still fell below their knees.
Frisk dipped their head into the water, enjoying the serene sensation of silence for a moment. Even the sound of crickets were muffled by the quiet pond. They thought about the surface for a moment, all their fears and resentments for this forsaken place. It was crazy to think how the place that the monsters so longed to be in was one that Frisk so longed to escape.
They whipped their head out of the water, panting. They hadn’t realized how much air they had run out of, caught in their own thoughts. They flipped their soaked hair behind them, feeling the water drip down their back.
They held their damp face in their hands, breathing harshly, rubbing their eyes.
Frisk allowed themself a moment more of regulating their breathing before shaking their head brutally as if to shake their fears away. They threw their other clothes into the bag, slinging it over their shoulder before dragging their feet out of the forest.
The teenager dropped the bag right outside of their tent, looking across the campgrounds to see complete darkness as Toriel had put out all of the fires. Asgore was in the distance, gently ushering drunken stragglers into their tents with a smile.
Frisk smiled to themself and sighed before crawling into the tent, plopping themself into their claimed corner with a pillow and blanket from Sans and Papyrus’ old couch.
Sans was in his own corner on the opposite side, flipping through a book as usual. He glanced up to them, eyes brightening.
Frisk hummed a greeting, propping themself up on their knees as they combed through their wet hair with their fingers.
“hey, you,” the shorter skeleton greeted, putting his book down without saving his place in it. A small lantern that was slowly running out of power as the days went on illuminated his skull.
“how’d it go?” He questioned, his eyes scanning observantly as usual. Frisk closed their eyes as they brushed through their hair.
“Good… It actually went really good,” they said quietly, opening their eyes to see the skeleton smiling back.
It looked like Sans was about to say something else when Papyrus busted in at that moment, wearing his ‘Cool Dude’ T shirt. He skidded into the middle of Sans and Frisk, his rightful place, yelling a greeting.
Frisk would’ve been startled — had they not already been used to his behavior by now. They smiled widely at the taller skeleton’s presence. Papyrus blabbered on about his recent training jest with Undyne and his excitement for getting off the mountain eventually. Frisk laughed and hummed and nodded in acknowledgment, always pleased to see the taller skeleton.
He seemed to yap himself to sleep, slowly dozing off until his words quieted to nothingness.
Frisk finished the braid they had been working on in their now damp hair contentfully and laid their head on their pillow at last, facing Sans who looked down at them, from across Papyrus’ snoring frame, with an unreadable expression.
He turned the lantern off, effectively making the tent jarringly pitch black.
Frisk picked at the loose threads on the old pillowcase restlessly, listening to the crickets sing a lullaby to the now quiet campground.
“it’s all gonna be okay, y’know,” a familiar voice poked out of the darkness quietly.
Frisk averted their eyes to Sans, who they could barely visibly decipher. The teenager propped themself up on their arm lazily and blinked a few times silently to process the statement.
“Yeah,” they whispered dumbly. It sounded more like a question than an answer; their voice sounded like a small croak in the overwhelming silence — minus Papyrus’ meek snores.
There was another beat of silence from Sans, and Frisk almost assumed that he dropped the conversation completely, until he pitched in once more.
“it’s just…you keep acting like something horrible is waiting for you at the bottom of this mountain.” His whispered voice was calculated and obnoxiously observant.
Frisk chewed their lip and felt their nails subconsciously start digging into their palm. The last thing they wanted to do was ruin anyone’s excitement about the surface with their own anxieties. If anything, they thought they’d been hiding their fears pretty damn well.
Though, it wasn’t surprising that Sans of all people said something. Nothing really ever got past him, no matter how much Frisk wished it would sometimes.
“There are some things, Sans…” their voice seemed to start against their will, hushed and constricted. They put a hand over their heart, which was beating restlessly.
“…that I just can’t explain to you,” Frisk finished exasperatedly.
Papyrus continued snoring absentmindedly, and Frisk could tell that Sans cocked his head in the darkness to look down at him and then back up at Frisk. He was worried.
“i really wish you didn’t think that,” he said, his voice softening.
Another beat of heavy silence followed and they both let it linger in the air.
Frisk felt an immense pressure on their chest, their fingers digging further into their palm aggressively. They were grateful for the cover of darkness to conceal the habit from Sans’ chastises.
Feeling uneasy, they turned away from him, laying down now. For some reason, they still felt under observation by Sans even in their pitch black surroundings.
“Goodnight, Sans,” they whispered, not knowing what else to say — still holding their chest.
“night, kid,” he uttered, not missing a beat. Frisk heard the rustling of pages, meaning he was probably somehow reading the same book again.
Frisk kept picking at the loose threads of the pillow case, feeling perturbed. Nonetheless, they were exhausted from all the emotional upheaval of the day, already feeling their eyelids getting heavy.
Their fingers uncurled slowly from their palm and they relished in the way it stung so harshly as soon as the air hit it.
Frisk didn’t know if it would all be okay, and they also understood that Sans didn’t truly know it either.
They had never gotten this far in one of their numerous runs before. It was uncharted territory, something they could no longer calculate off of memories and knowledge from resets.
There was no more reset up here. Only the unknown and forward.
That made their stomach hurt, but it also made their heart warm. It was weird — inexplicably so.
Uneasiness seemed to come to Frisk easier than any emotion now, and there was some strange and twisted comfort in it regardless of the plaguing feeling of dread.
With that, they uneasily began to doze off — with the sound of crickets chirping, Papyrus snoring, and Sans rustling his book pages — it was all a symphony of life, fragile to its core and totally, completely un-reset-able.
And Frisk would have to learn to find solace in that.