Chapter Text
It stings.
Your wrist stings, and something smells nice. You’re awake.
If you’re awake—that must also mean that you’re alive. If the afterlife is good you don’t think you’re supposed to hurt there, and aside from your wrist your legs are throbbing vaguely, plus your nose feels like you’ve mashed it against something. And you don’t think that a bad afterlife would smell as nice as your surroundings.
You’ve botched it again, then. Your eyes feel hot. Try as you might, it seems like your body just won’t let go of life. It’s almost funny. You just grunt instead of laughing, though; you haven’t got that in you right now.
Lying here until you die of hunger is technically an option, you suppose, but it’s not attractive. So you squint your eyes open a crack and slowly push yourself into a sitting position, blinking at your surroundings.
You’ve landed in the middle of a thick patch of soft wildflowers, all kinds of them—more than you know how to recognize. When you glance up, the hole that you fell through seems shimmery and vague, small enough to block out with a hand; the flowers are probably all that kept you alive after you jumped. Shifting confirms your fears: You’ve crushed a lot of them, their stems snapped and bent, petals squished. Fingers shaking, you pet them gently; you didn’t want this at all. You wish you could’ve fallen a few feet to the left or right, and prevented all this waste—trust you to cause this much damage just by existing.
For the most part, you appear to be unharmed. There are a few extra scrapes and scratches on your hands and tiny runs in your tights, but the laces of your boots aren’t even untied. The bandage around your wrist is, predictably, coming undone; you pull your sleeve up and wrap it back up as tightly as you can despite the sense of futility.
You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You ran up here after you ran out of supplies, after you realized the bitter truth you knew deep down all along, that no one was going to come to get you. After you decided you might as well end it yourself after all instead of waiting. You have no food, nothing to drink, and no idea of where to find those things. Your clothes are dirty, your wrist is probably still bleeding, and there’s probably no place to go to the bathroom here, wherever here is. At least flowers growing means that there’s water here somewhere, doesn’t it? Maybe you should go look, if you can convince yourself to not just lie back down and hope that this time you won’t wake up.
“Oh,” says a voice, and you catch your breath and whip your head up so fast you nearly hurt your neck. There’s a person here with you.
Whoever they are, they’re standing at the mouth of a tunnel that you hadn’t yet examined your surroundings close enough to notice, looking down at you with round eyes. They’re wearing a long purple… robe? Dress, maybe? over a white shirt with long sleeves and a high collar. It’s hard to tell what kind of shoes they’re wearing under the robe(?), but you can at least see that they’re black. There’s a big blue patch over their chest with a white—coat of arms?—on it that you’ve never seen before, three triangles under a winged circle. Their robe is belted at the waist with a small knife at their left hip, and there’s a golden heart-shaped pendant on their chest.
Their hair is a little over half auburn; the rest is white. Some of it frames their face, and the rest is pinned up behind them with some sort of gold pins and wire that you can’t see clearly with them facing you. The irises of their eyes are the bright red color of fresh blood—even weirder than the too-light color of your own eyes—and there are dark circles under them. Their skin’s probably a little lighter than yours under their blush, you think; aside from their eyes and graying hair, you think the strong line of their nose with the slight hook in its bridge catches your eye most.
They’re definitely a grown-up. They have more gray hair than any of the teachers in your school, so you want to guess that they’re maybe in their early fifties or so, but the only lines on their face are very thin and fine, so maybe they’re in their forties and just started going gray early.
“You’ve—fallen down, haven’t you,” they say, and take a step closer. “Are you all right?”
You shrug a little. Where are we? you sign, not thinking. I didn’t think anyone lived on the mountain.
“Oh,” they say again, eyebrows raising. And—so quickly that you can hardly believe it’s happening—they raise their own hands and sign along as they reply, “Technically, no one does. These caves are inside Mt. Ebott, not on them, and they’re certainly populated.”
I can hear, you sign back, stupidly, rudely, because that’s definitely what you need to say to someone who’s courteous enough to reply in the same language instead of being mean to you when they see you trying to communicate. You flush so badly that your ears feel scalded. Sorry, you add feebly.
The person actually smiles a little as they drop their gaze. “That’s all right,” they say, and then look back up at you hastily. “I didn’t want to assume either way, and now I know.” They rub at their upper arm in what you think might be self-consciousness, and then reach the same hand up to squeeze their pendant. “I am Chara,” they say, and then they finger-spell C-H-A-R-A for you, and show you a sign you don’t know: It looks like the sign for knife but in reverse, their right index finger sweeping towards their chest instead of towards you. It has to be their name sign. They make it a second time, and this time you repeat it. They smile again. “That’s very good. What do you like to be called?”
You spell F-R-I-S-K for them, and follow it up with the name sign you chose for yourself—an F with your right hand tapped twice over your chest in the same place as the sign for heart.
Chara mimics you, getting the sign right on their first try. “Frisk?” they ask, and they smile when you nod. “And what pronouns do you prefer?”
The relief that rushes over you when they ask this is as tangible as if someone has wrapped you up in a warm blanket and given you a tall glass of strawberry milk. They, you tell them, smiling.
This time they grin. “Will you look at that, we match,” they say.
You let your smile grow in response. Some of the library workers and convenience store cashier clerks back in town are trans, but none of them are nonbinary like you, and certainly none of them are as old as Chara.
They take another step towards you, then another, much steadier and more confident now. Then they extend their left hand to you and lean down slightly. “Can you stand?” they ask.
You consider the hand. They’re wearing a thin gold ring on their ring finger, and they’ve also got a wrist brace on, which you didn’t notice before. There are little scars like craters on their fingers and the top of their palm, old and white and barely visible. You take their hand in your right one and let them pull you up. They’re slow and careful at it, and they don’t let go until you’re steady on your feet. They’re only a little less than a head taller than you, now that you’re both standing.
Thank you, you tell them, and then look guiltily at the flowerbed behind you. And I’m sorry for ruining the flowers.
Chara’s forehead creases a little, and this time their smile isn’t as wide. “It’s all right,” they say, more gently than they’ve said anything before. “This is what those flowers are here for—cushioning the ground so that people who fall or… jump can land safely. They’ve been here for twenty-four years now. They’ll heal, and grow back in all the stronger.” Their gaze gets a little distant. “That fall’s not steep enough to be fatal, unless you land badly. It’s still a sharp enough drop for serious injuries, though.”
You talk like you know, you say, and it seems to startle them out of their reverie.
Chara nods, matter-of-fact. “I came here through the same hole when I was your age,” they say. “Twenty-eight years ago last September.”
If they were really the same age as you then, that would make them only thirty-eight now, you calculate, fingers tapping on your thighs as you count. Either they’re overestimating how old you are because you’re a little tall for ten, or they’re a lot younger than you guessed.
Where is here? They haven’t yet gotten irritated with you for your questions, and you’ve got to get information out of someone if it’s too late for you to just curl up on the ground and wait to die now. You said people live here, but in town they say that this is a cursed mountain no one ever returns from.
Chara folds their arms behind their back and straightens up, and answers your question with a question. “Do they still have those old fairy tales about monsters and how they went to war with humans?” they ask. You nod, and they go on. “Then you might remember that the monster survivors were all sealed away. Mt. Ebott is where they all live now. These caves are called the underground, or the Kingdom of Monsters. They, along with most other places here, were all named by the previous king. His names are incredibly on the nose.” This they say with a straight face, but you think their eyes are laughing, so you smile a little.
“Anyway, it’s impossible to leave once you’re inside the seal, but you can get in from the outside. We think that’s why the rumors about this mountain came about—to keep anyone from venturing in and getting stuck, or worse,” Chara goes on. They spread their hands a little self-deprecatingly. “Looking at the two of us, I’m sure you can tell how well that worked out.”
You smile a little again, and Chara smiles a little back, kicking one foot out briefly before returning to their lecturing pose.
“So, yes—monsters live here. A few humans, too, who came through that hole up there like you and me. Speaking of monsters,” they say, frowning, “would you mind if I made a quick phone call?”
There’s phone service down here? You want to tilt your head at the strangeness of it, but instead you just nod, not wanting to impose. Chara digs in their pocket and comes up with—you think it’s called a smartphone, from what you’ve seen in old movies; it’s very old-fashioned looking. Chara unlocks it and enters a few commands with the touch screen, then holds the phone to their ear and waits. They perk up after a few seconds—whoever they called must have answered.
“Ree?” they say, their gaze swimming off towards the juncture of cave wall and ceiling. “—Yes, I know I’m taking a while, something happened.” A pause. “No, it’s nothing that dramatic. We have another new one.” Another pause. “Their name’s Frisk. They’re—how old are you?” they ask, swinging around and startling you even as you answer. “They’re ten,” they inform their conversation partner, nodding their thanks. “I’m going to start bringing them back, but I want you to come meet us along the way, if you can sneak off. They could be hurt, and as I don’t have magic like some people, I have no way to heal them.
“All right.” Their gaze—their posture, their whole aspect softens as they smile this time. “I’ll see you very soon, then. I love you.” And they pull away from the phone, doing something with it to make its screen go dark. “My partner,” they say by way of explanation, sticking the phone back into their pocket. “If you’re hurt anywhere, he can help you. I’ll bring you to meet him—it will be a good chance to show you what kind of place the underground is.”
They offer you their right hand, expectant.
You hesitate for just a moment, but—little as you know about this place, little as you know Chara themself, they’re like you. And you have nothing to lose, nothing to fear. You came here ready to lose your life. What can they really do to you that’s so bad in the face of everything you’ve already endured?
So you put your left hand in theirs. Chara holds it very gently.
“Then let us go, Frisk,” they say, and they lead you towards the entrance they came through.
Through the tunnels and a few inexplicable piles of red leaves, Chara leads you up a staircase into what looks like a big purple building.
“This castle is the center of the old capital, Home,” they explain. “You see what I mean about names. Up until a few decades ago, all monsters lived in this city or as close to it as they could—since then everyone has spread out a lot more.”
There’s a door before you, but instead of opening it, Chara leans against the wall. You cock your head to one side.
“This is locked,” they say. “And it’s a good opportunity to explain something you’ll see a lot of in the underground—puzzles. In between towns, you can’t go a block without tripping over one. It’s as bad as an old video game.”
What’s the point of them? you ask, frowning.
Chara shrugs. “It seems like initially they were made as a way to stall intruding humans, but then monsters just got used to having them and started using them in place of non-magical locks, for fun. The ones here in the back of the castle are pretty easy—my partner and I used to use them for practice when we were young. That plaque beside the door—” they point helpfully, here— “is your hint, and these switches here next to the path are the puzzle. If you’d like to try it out yourself, go ahead; I’ll refrain from telling you the answer unless you get stuck. If it sounds like too much bother, I’ll take care of it. There’s one in almost every room from here to the castle, and if you change your mind at any point, let me know.”
They seem content to loiter and watch you, so you square your shoulders and tramp over to the plaque they pointed out to you. It says “Only the fearless may proceed. Brave ones, foolish ones. Both take not the middle road.”
You turn and look back at the rest of the room. There are six switches on the ground and a lever on the wall next to Chara. The ground underneath two of the switches is light, like the path that cuts through the middle of the room.
It seems easy enough. But then, if you fail such an easy puzzle, won’t Chara be disappointed in you? You could always ask them to do it instead, rather than face the consequences of making a wrong choice yourself.
But—no. If you cause them too much trouble, they’ll get angry and leave, just like everyone else does. So you take a deep breath, push the four switches on the darker ground down with your foot, and then push the heavy lever up, hoping.
The door creaks and opens with a deep heavy noise, and you could float from relief when Chara smiles at you and says “Well done.”
They walk through the opened passageway, and you follow them.
“This is another one with switches—I think it will be easy for you, though, so I’ll just wait by the end of the path,” they tell you this time, and off they go. It looks like the door to the next room is blocked off by some kind of obstacle, but there’s a plaque in the corner of the room that holds more of your attention. If you can keep solving puzzles right, then maybe you can make a good impression on Chara, and…
Well, you’re not sure how interested in the future you are anyway, but it would be nice to have someone not completely disappointed in you.
The plaque says to stay on the path. There are two wall switches that the path leads right up to, and one further down the wall. Chara’s right; it is easy.
There’s something like… handwriting, maybe? on the wall next to the first of the correct switches, though it’s too faded to make out actual words. You wave to get Chara’s attention, pointing to it when they turn to look at you.
“Oh—my foster mother wrote those for kids going through these puzzles,” they say. “She’ll probably rewrite them again soon if I tell her they’re getting faded. She worries.”
She sounds nice, you sign.
Chara’s quiet for just long enough that you’re wondering if you were too far away for them to see you clearly, then: “She cares very much,” they say at last. “She does her best, and she’s a good teacher and a good cook, even if she can be a little intimidating from time to time.”
Was that silence because they were thinking about you coming to a judgment on their foster mother’s character so quickly, or because of complicated feelings for her on their own part? You don’t know them or their circumstances well enough to tell.
You go flip the other switch, and the barricade retracts into the ground with a loud clanking noise.
“Well done,” Chara says again. They wait for you to catch up to them before proceeding into a small hallway.
Their pace slows as the two of you turn the bend, and you look up at them to see them turning around slightly.
“Sometimes there’s a dummy around here,” they say, “but they must be off visiting relatives today. It doesn’t matter that much. Monsters know nowadays what humans look like.”
You tap their arm very lightly to get them to look down at you. What does it matter that monsters know what humans look like?
“Monsters like to use their magic to spar with one another,” Chara explains. “It’s just playing, but humans can’t create bullets to fight back with, and monsters’ bodies can’t stand up to physical attacks very well, so it’s very unfair for monsters and humans to fight. My foster mother apparently makes a point of having human children practice nonviolent actions to use in such conflicts with the dummy, but nowadays monsters won’t mistake us for the same kind of being and invite us to fight.”
You nod; Chara goes on.
“For what it’s worth, if something ever happens and you do get drawn into a battle, just run away if you can’t convince the other party to stand down. It isn’t worth exposing yourself to danger, and they won’t chase you if you show so blatantly that you don’t intend to play along.”
Privately you think you’d rather keep trying to work it out with the theoretical monster so that you can fix whatever you’re doing wrong or help them calm down from whatever they’re upset about, but Chara’s advice is practical, so you give them a thumbs up.
They proceed to the next room, and you follow them.
This chamber is a much bigger one than the last, and the light-colored path beneath your feet follows a twisty pattern over the ground. Chara walks straight towards the hall, ignoring it, and you follow after them.
“The main puzzle here is in the next room,” they say as you trot to keep up with their longer strides. “There should be a hint plaque up in the hall, if you want to keep solving—oh, hello there.”
You turn to see what’s gotten Chara’s attention, and very quickly take a step closer to them. There’s a white froglike creature about as tall as your waist hopping up towards you. It has a face on its stomach that moves and blinks independently from its head.
It ribbits at Chara in croaks with varying pitches and lengths, and Chara listens to it as if it’s speaking in an actual language. “Yes,” they say when it goes quiet. Maybe it is. “We have a new one. I’m showing them around. This is Frisk.”
You jump a little, but you understand the cue, so you wave hello to the monster. It bobs its big frog head back at you.
“Yes, you can go tell the others,” they say, and it hops back off.
What was that? you ask, once the monster has hopped around the corner and out of view.
“That was a Froggit,” Chara explains. They finger-spell it out for you and give you the proper sign for them to practice. “They’re a species of monster that mostly live around Home still. They’re very gentle creatures—though they can be a little difficult to understand if you aren’t used to how they talk.”
You reach the end of the short hall and catch your breath: The floor in the connected room is coated in sharp spikes as tall as your chest.
“Can you figure this one out?” Chara asks from very far away. You barely hear them over all the metal spreading out before your eyes. At the same time, you feel very very far away and pinned in your body like a butterfly on a card in a collector’s museum. The bandage on your wrist is itchy; you hold your right arm in your left hand and scratch at it as surreptitiously as you can.
It would be so easy.
“Frisk.” Chara’s voice is tinny, but the white crest on its blue field is right in front of your face, and you jump a little. They’re so close that you can see your own distorted reflection in the metal of their locket.
Their hands fold around yours and untangle them, and you look down so that you won’t have to look up into their face. Your stomach drops a little anyway. The nails and fingertips of your left hand are red; the bandage has half unraveled, and the swollen scab across your wrist is broken and weeping blood and gross yellow pus.
“It’s the spikes, isn’t it.” A pause. “You can just nod or shake your head if you don’t want to or are not up to signing.” It occurs to you that they aren’t shouting at you, and through your confusion you nod. “That’s okay. I can wrap your arm back up when we’re on the other side, but let’s focus on getting you through here for now. These spikes retract over a path that’s the same as the lighter area in the last room. I’ll lead you across. Close your eyes or look only at me, and hold on to my hand. You’ll be fine.” Another pause. “Is that okay with you?”
You nod and squeeze your eyes shut tight.
Chara walks in slow, small steps so that you won’t trip, their right hand firm around your left. You hold your right hand up level with your heart and press close to Chara’s side as they lead you. After a while, your footsteps stop clanging on metal, but it’s a few moments later when Chara reports that it’s safe to open your eyes now.
The two of you are in a long corridor that doesn’t seem to hold anything remarkable. There are no Froggits, no other monsters; just the two of you.
Chara lifts up your right arm, pushes your sleeve back, and unwinds your bandage. They look at your cut-up wrist and at all the bloodstains on the cloth, spend a moment searching for a clean spot, and then wrap it back up again—a lot more expertly than you could’ve done. Maybe it’s just because they have two free hands.
“It’s not much, but it should hold until we get back to Asgore and Toriel’s,” they say with a sigh. “We can get you a clean one then if we have to, and wash this or throw it out.”
Their voice is very soft—you can’t pick up on any annoyance in their tone at all. They must be better at hiding it than anyone you’ve ever met.
You fold your fingers into a fist and release them experimentally. The tug of the bandage around your wrist is almost pleasant. You repeat the movement a few times, testing.
“Um,” you say aloud.
Chara almost startles, you think; you’re also very sure that you only notice this because of how closely you’re watching them. “What is it?”
You ball your right hand into a fist and use it to circle your heart, over and over.
“You don’t have to apologize,” they say very quietly. “It’s alright. I understand.”
Somehow, that’s very difficult to believe.
“I do understand,” Chara says, and despite yourself you tilt your chin up just enough that you can see their face.
Their eyes are narrowed and their brow furrowed with something resembling but not quite the same as concern, and they’re smiling as if through pain, the bow of their mouth lopsided and a little too flat.
Seeing you looking at them, they pull their right sleeve up so that its cuff is crumpled at their elbow, exposing a few inches of pale forearm past the edge of their wrist brace. Scars, some old and white, some half-healed pink, some so faded they’re barely visible, crisscross Chara’s skin like tallies. Unthinking, you reach out with the desire to trace them, like Chara’s skin is rough-textured paint on canvas in a museum, so enticing you’d have to stick your hands in your pockets to keep from rubbing it and getting shouted at. You just barely restrain yourself at the last moment now, too, remembering that Chara is a person and one you’ve only just met. You deliberately retract your hand to your waist, and push your thumb through your belt loop.
“I understand,” Chara says again, and they tug their sleeve back down over their scars and the end of their brace.
“Chara?” someone calls from the other end of the hall, echoing slightly from its length, and Chara just lights up. They seem to rise eagerly where they stand, turning towards the voice, color blooming in their weathered cheeks, eyes widening, a smile stretching the corners of their mouth. It looks too big on their face. You bet it’s the kind of expression your parents and teachers would call creepy.
There’s a monster there, walking towards the two of you in hurried strides. They’re very big, with white fur and horns and a messy, dark honey-gold… mane? They walk on two legs like a human, but their hindquarters are distinctly animal-like, shaped like a dog or big cat’s. The long twisty horns look like they could belong on some kind of goat or deer; but the ears are round, floppy, and beagle-like; and the mane is distinctly lionish.
They’re also wearing khaki shorts that bag awkwardly at their heels and cling to their thighs, a button-down shirt, and a knit sweater vest with patterns of stars and flowers. There’s a heart-shaped pendant on their chest that you’re very sure is the match for Chara’s.
The monster stops when they get to you, and you swallow hard, craning your head back to look up into their face, their light brown eyes. They only have eyes for Chara, though, holding out open arms to them: Chara steps into the welcoming hug and reaches up to hold the monster’s white muzzle between their scarred-up hands, going up on tiptoe. The monster hugs them gently around the waist, and their mouths meet.
Your face feels hot, watching them kiss. Aside from the monster’s long muzzle meaning they can’t pucker their lips like a human, it looks like something out of a movie—like the grown-up movies your parents would leave on the TV to watch or for background noise without caring that you were around. You think you see tongue, and Chara makes a soft sound that feels way too intimate for you to be hearing in person, but the two of them separate before you can actually make up your mind to cover your eyes and give them privacy.
Set down on their feet, Chara leans into the big monster’s chest and stomach, giggling like a teenager. Their face is alight with mischief as they turn to you and gesture. “This, Frisk, is my partner,” they announce unnecessarily.
The monster untangles their—no, his, didn’t Chara use he pronouns when talking about their partner earlier?—left arm from Chara and extends a very large hand towards you. It has squishy-looking pink pads on the palm and every fingertip. Curiosity as to whether it feels the same as a cat or dog’s toe beans as much as courtesy leads you to put your own left hand in his. It’s barely the size of his palm pad. When he folds his hand around yours it’s careful, and when he shakes it, he seems practiced at containing his strength when it comes to interacting with people smaller than him.
“Howdy,” he says. “My name’s Asriel Dreemurr. It’s nice to meet you, Frisk.”
You smile and nod, since it’s hard to answer properly with one of your hands occupied.
“So you’re new to the underground, huh,” he goes on, releasing you. “Golly, you must be so confused. It’s lucky Chara was there to find you! We’ll help teach you how things work around here, get you settled in.”
Chara said that it’s impossible to leave because of the seal, you muse, signing along with your thoughts.
“It is for now,” Asriel answers. “But we’ve got someone working on that, so someday we’re going to be free. We can explain more about that later, though.”
Do all monsters know sign language? is the first thing you think to ask, and both Chara and Asriel raise their eyebrows at you. The similarity of their expressions is kind of funny, given the difference in species and size. The top of Chara’s head is just shy of being level with Asriel’s shoulder.
“Not everyone,” Asriel answers, “but most people know at least some, I think.”
“All the other fallen humans are fluent,” Chara supplies. They fold their arms and lean against Asriel’s arm as they look at you. “A family friend of Asriel’s parents is unable to speak. I knew a little already when I was young, because I’ve had nonverbal episodes in the past—I learned more from his oldest child, and Asriel wound up learning with me after a while. Everyone in our close social circle at least will be able to understand you, even if some won’t be able to reply in sign.”
You get the strong urge to pinch yourself, but your wrist still stings like nettles, and shouldn’t that be all the proof you need that this is real? A whole country, even one small enough to fit inside a mountain, where you won’t have to force yourself to speak out loud to be understood. You feel downright guilty, to have such a gift dropped into your lap.
“Asriel,” Chara is saying, “will you look Frisk over and patch them up? We’re still a ways away from your parents’ place. If they’re hurt somewhere on the inside, I don’t want them to have to bear with it all the way.” And to you: “I said so before, but he has healing magic—he can get your wrist, too, if you need it. I think you should let him, but it’s up to you.”
You blink. Asriel is already kneeling before you, putting him at just below eye level for you—like you’re a much younger child, you think. He holds out both hands, gently. “I won’t do anything without your consent,” he says seriously, “but it would make me happy if I can help. It won’t hurt—is it okay with you if I heal you?”
And your hands are ready to turn him down, to demur, because you can’t impose, you’re not supposed to impose. But he said it would make him happy. And it does hurt. So at length you nod and set your hands in his big palms.
Something… warm, pleasantly so, runs over you—like standing under the changing room showers after your school’s mandatory swimming lessons. The dull ache in your nose goes away, then the soft stinging in your hands and knees follows it. The bruises along your front from landing soothe away like candy melting, and that comparison makes you notice that Asriel’s hands are emitting a soft spearmint-colored glow.
He leaves your right wrist for last, and he closes his eyes as if in concentration. More obvious lights gather around your hand like little fireflies, all that same spearmint green, landing and beading and sinking into you. It’s a curious sensation—it doesn’t hurt, but it’s so hot it’s nearly uncomfortable, like catching melting wax with your fingertip.
“I think we should have Mom look at this when we get to our old house,” Asriel announces at last. “I’ve stopped the bleeding and repaired some of the damage, but I don’t know if I got all the infection, and it hasn’t been treated properly—that shows in how it’s healing. It’s good you tried so hard to keep it wrapped up, Frisk,” he says seriously. Your stomach jolts—if anything, you’d expected rebuke for not taking care of yourself. “This would be much worse otherwise. I can tell you did the best you could with what you had. Don’t do anything too rough with this ‘til my mother treats you just in case, OK?”
“You don’t need to second-guess yourself so much, you know,” Chara says as he straightens up, leaving you boggling up at him. “You’ve been in charge of my medication and physical therapy for eight full years and you’ve always been perfectly capable with it.”
Asriel scratches at his chin. He looks like he’s pleased and trying not to be. “Heck, Chara. I’m glad you think I’m doing a good job, but Frisk’s health is important, so I don’t want to take chances.”
“He tries to be humble,” Chara says to you in an aside, and you giggle. “I believe he’s under some egregiously mistaken impression that it’s charming or something.”
What do you mean my health is important? you ask, still smiling a little. I’m just some kid you’ve barely even met.
Asriel and Chara do that thing again, where they both make the exact same expression. This time they look at each other too, holding each other’s gaze for a moment as if communicating by eye contact alone.
“Well, first of all, your health is important because everybody deserves care, and you’re part of ‘everybody’,” Asriel says. “And besides, we’re responsible for you now.”
You frown, but Chara picks up after him before you can argue. “I found you, for one thing. For another, you’re a child in need and we’re adults, and you remind both of us of myself at your age. But more than that, this is our kingdom. We care about everyone in it, and that includes you, Frisk.”
You finger your dirty bandage instead of saying anything.
“Anyway—we’ve still got a ways to go to get back to the house,” Asriel says, shrugging. “I’m sure you’re tired. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can rest.”
There’s a very small part of you that’s almost—annoyed at the way they’re pulling you along, expecting you to keep going when you’re already so tired. But you’re also annoyed at the part of you that’s grateful for them whisking you through this strange place, because you have so little to keep you going otherwise. Didn’t you climb the mountain in the first place, fling yourself into that hole, because you were so sure that there was nothing left?
You can’t think about that now. There’s nothing you can do about that now.
So you just nod to Chara and Asriel and let them lead you on down the long corridor.
The next room is inexplicably carpeted in red leaves. They’re crisp and crackly underfoot, the best kind; inexplicably, the sound cheers you up. Slither-slither-snap-crunch-crack. Even after the healing you’re too tired to run around in them and kick them all over, but that would probably cause trouble for anyone who wants the path to stay clean anyway, so that’s fine. You do hold your arms out at your sides and kick your feet up as you walk.
“There’s that thing with the Monster Candy over that way,” Asriel says, and points to a small dead-end room to your left.
“That is a good idea,” Chara muses. “Frisk, are you hungry at all?”
You want to deflect, but your stomach chooses exactly this moment to gurgle hopefully at this suggestion of food, so you just duck your head in embarrassment. It’s been a long few days, and you probably used up a lot of energy mountain climbing. You can’t visit your stashes anymore (it’s a pang to think that—the little oyster cracker packets you carefully stowed away will go bad, now, without you there to savor them bit by bit in emergencies). There’s no reserve for you, and you’re running on fumes.
“We’ll get you a proper meal when we reach Asriel’s parents’,” Chara says, “but in that case it’s probably best to get you something to tide yourself over.” And, that decided, the two of them lead you into the room. There’s a stout pedestal its center, with a wide bowl of candies in wrappers and a sign saying Take One. You pick out one. Asriel takes a fistful.
Maybe you look shocked, because Chara smiles and says, “As long as you’re not taking them all or knocking the bowl over and spilling everything everywhere, you can take a few instead of one. Toriel refills this every few days. It is candy for everyone, but there’s enough to compensate for differences in individual need—for instance, people of whom there is a lot to feed,” here they gesture up and down at Asriel, who grins; “or people who happen to be particularly hungry at the moment.”
Are you going to take some? you ask.
Chara makes a face. “Monster Candy is to me as Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans are to Dumbledore,” they say, shrugging, adopting a rather tragic air. “Forgive me if the refrance is outdated. Somehow I always wind up picking the licorice ones. Even I know when to quit.”
“More for the rest of us,” Asriel says, grin widening. He winks at you, and despite yourself, you giggle.
The candy wrappers are all bright colors, but there seems to be no correlation between wrapper color and flavor. You tuck two candies into your pocket and eat a third, strawberry-flavored one.
This cheers you up, too.
You follow Chara and Asriel through the leaf hall again and into a room with a wide band of cracks along its floor and two window-like openings in its wall. Chara makes a face.
“If you step on those you’ll fall to a room beneath this one,” they explain, pointing to the cracks. “It’s safe—there’s a leaf pile under the holes—and you can get back here by climbing back up through those—” they indicate what you thought were windows— “but it’s easier to jump across them if falling doesn’t sound like a good time right now. I jumped them on the way out, actually. I have bad knees and I’m too old to bounce back quickly from landing wrong.”
I don’t know if I could make the jump, you admit. The band of cracks is very wide.
“There’s an easy solution here, if you feel up to it,” Chara says. They turn to their partner. “Ree, carry us.”
Asriel snorts good-naturedly. “Okay, okay. There’s not much of either of you to carry, after all.” And he lifts Chara up in the crook of one arm, where they sit and preen like an ostentatious cat.
You hesitate a little when he extends his other arm to you, but Chara seems happy enough, so you lean against him and let him lift you. Asriel does so without much visible effort, as though you’re a lot smaller and lighter than you actually are.
He’s so warm and so solid that it makes your heart thump a little. It’s been a long time since anyone hugged you or picked you up.
You’re expecting him to take a running jump, so your heart thumps again and you gasp with wonder when he instead casually lifts into the air and floats over the cracks, easy as a bird on the wind.
“Showoff,” Chara says lovingly, and leans into his opposite shoulder as he touches down.
The puzzles return in the next room: First a simple one where you have to weigh a switch with a rock to clear the path, then a complicated cracked floor puzzle that Chara proclaims to be a nuisance and leads you across by the hand like the spikes, and then another one with rocks. You’re caught off guard by the one that talks; Chara tries very hard to hide their giggling but doesn’t succeed. Asriel shrugs at you apologetically, and you shrug back; in all fairness, the sign in the other room did say three out of four.
You pass a room with a small mousehole and—unbelievably—cheese set out on a table for the mouse that you assume is inside somewhere. Chara wrinkles their nose at the cheese and walks faster; Asriel just lengthens his stride, but you have to jog to keep up with them.
They lead you left at the next crossroads, through a room where other monsters are going about their business. There are Froggits and a few other kinds of monster you’ve never seen before; Chara points them out to you as Whimsun, Loox, Moldsmal, Migosp, and Vegetoid. Each one has a proper sign name; you hope you’ll be able to keep all the new words you’ve learned today straight in your mind.
There’s another cracked floor puzzle past here; Asriel volunteers to take care of it, and you and Chara wait while he does. Your feet are starting to hurt—you hope you don’t have much further to go.
“Last one,” Chara announces when you enter the next room. “You just have to push the correct switches in the next three rooms, and we’ll be there. You can try this one if you’d like.”
It’s good to have something to do, so you nod and run to check the hint plaques.
The puzzle proves to be an easy enough one, and you come to another crossroads.
“Toriel and Asgore’s is that way,” Chara says, pointing to the hall on the left, “but there’s something you might be interested in straight ahead. It won’t take long.”
Okay, you answer. You really want to sit down, but you don’t want to be rude to Chara and Asriel after they’ve brought you all this way.
The straight path leads you out to a terrace overlooking a vast city built out of the same purple stone as the rooms and halls you’ve been traveling through. You lean on the rail to take your weight off your feet and stare, awestruck. Even though Chara said that monsters lived here, you’d been imagining small caves. It looks like Mt. Ebott is almost totally hollow on the inside; you think you can see shafts of dim light coming down from the cave ceiling, other little holes in the mountaintop.
“Chara and I live all the way out there,” Asriel says, pointing. You follow his muscled arm and clawed forefinger with your eyes, squinting. Is that the outline of another city? You think it might be, but it’s too far away to see properly. “It’s a couple days’ journey through the underground on foot, but we needed to make stops on the way back anyway. We’ll show you around so that you can decide where you’d like to live later on.”
Where you want to live. It sounds like much too big a decision for you to handle. You’re having trouble seeing beyond the immediate next step; planning for your future is too alien and tiresome to comprehend.
“You don’t have to decide now, of course,” Chara says. “Besides—you must be very tired. Let’s go get you a place to sit down and some decent food.”
They lead you back down the hall and around the turn; the walls open up to enclose a little courtyard carpeted in red leaves. A black, twisted tree stands in the middle of it all—you would assume it was dead, if not for the fact that it’s still got two leaves clinging to one withered branch.
Past the tree is a structure that looks very much like the front of a house, complete with windows and a front door.
“We planned to stay the night already, and I told my parents that we were bringing you,” Asriel says. “They’re both used to looking after fallen humans—we were Chara’s foster family, and my parents and the two of us have helped all the other fallen children find places to live. You’re more than welcome here with us.”
“Asgore and Toriel are both very nice,” Chara puts in. “You don’t have to worry about making a good impression or anything.”
You take a deep breath, hold it, and release it. Even if you are a little worried—there’s nothing you can do but keep moving forward.
The house you’re led into looks just like a human one, although the furniture is more monster-sized and the whole place itself is a lot cleaner than your house was. Everything is faintly golden here, and most of the rugs and ornaments are shades of red and orange. Something smells sweet here.
Right in front of you there’s a staircase leading down; to either side there’s a hallway. You point at the stairs and raise your eyebrows; Asriel sets his large hand on your arm and brings it back down to your waist, shaking his head.
“Those stairs lead towards the exit to Home,” he explains. “You probably shouldn’t go that way on your own—the forest outside is cold, and you could get lost. Besides, you definitely need to rest and eat something before you have any more adventures.”
You find that you agree with this very much, and you nod to show him so.
Chara stretches—you hear popping noises and wince a little—and then flaps a hand. “I’m going to our room to go change,” they say. “You were right, Ree, I really ought to have gotten out of this as soon as the address was over instead of being lazy and going right out to walk. If I leave my hair up any longer I’m going to get a headache.”
They turn down the right-hand hallway and open the first door, stepping into the room and then closing the door behind them.
Asriel’s hand rests careful on your shoulder. He points towards the left hallway. “Let’s get you a place to sit down and introduce you to my parents,” he says.
This hallway leads to what you assume must be the living room. There’s a dinner table with five chairs arranged around it, one conspicuously child-sized; there’s a bookcase and a stand for tools, a fireplace, and a big cozy-looking reading chair. This chair has a monster of the same kind as Asriel sitting in it—though when they see your arrival, they stand up and come to greet you.
“This is my mom,” Asriel says, extending an arm to present her. “Mom, this is Frisk. Chara found them at the usual spot.”
“Greetings, my child,” says Asriel’s mother. She’s a little shorter than her son, but she still has to bend down a bit in order to look you in the face without you getting a crick in your neck; she does this with a smile. “I am called Toriel. It is very nice to meet you.”
It’s nice to meet you too, you reply.
You look each other over. Toriel has the same white fur and floppy ears as her son, but her horns are a lot smaller and she doesn’t have the same big golden mane as him. Her eyes are darker, too, a reddish brown that you think is close to the color of Chara’s hair. She’s wearing a long bluish-purple dress with a flower print on the skirt and a knit periwinkle cardigan, held closed at the neck with a little golden pin that’s the same shape as the insignia on Chara’s robe. Maybe it’s the Dreemurr family’s coat of arms or something, though you don’t see anything that looks like a weapon in its design. There are glasses with silver frames perched on Toriel’s muzzle, and it’s so funny-looking on her monster’s face that you almost smile.
“You have done well to come all this way, my dear,” she tells you, and takes a step to the side. Her big paw hand settles very lightly around your shoulders, and she shepherds you forward. “Come, let us get you off your feet.”
You realize a second too late that she means to sit you in her own cushy chair, and you’re still signing feeble protests as your butt hits the cushion. Then you sink down and sigh. You know you ought to get right back up and sit on something that doesn’t have fabric for you to get all messy and dirty and sweaty, but it’s just so nice to be sitting down finally, and on something soft too. You only think to squeak in protest when Toriel begins to unlace your muddy boots.
“Do not give me that, my child,” Toriel says briskly. “You are all in. And would it not be nice to let your poor feet breathe for a moment? There.” She eases your right boot off and sets it on the wood floor, smiling up at you. The tips of her canine fangs poke out past her lips, which make that sort of cleft thing that a lot of animals’ do; her nose is all over fur, though, instead of damp skin like a dog or cat’s. You sort of want to pet it, except that monsters aren’t animals, they’re people. So you tamp down on that urge the same way you did with the one to touch Chara’s scars, and wiggle your toes instead. It is nice to be able to stretch them.
Toriel takes your other boot off and lines it up perfectly with the first, beaming.
“While Dad’s still looking after the tea, would you mind looking at their wrist, Mom?” Asriel asks. You and Toriel both turn towards him. “I did a little healing on it, but I didn’t feel experienced enough to really mess with it, just in case.”
Toriel swings her head back towards you. “What do you think, Frisk?”
You pause for a moment, uncertain, then extend your hand to her, pulling your sleeve up to give her easier access.
She undoes the bandages and examines your wound, clucking softly. “Come here, my son,” she says, beckoning, and Asriel crowds in too, kneeling on the floor with her in what you think is an effort to not box you in and panic you. “Watch how I do this, so that you will know how to care for this type of wound in the future.”
Toriel holds your arm between her hands, and magical light gathers in her palms, filling your wrist up with the same kind of heat that Asriel’s magic did. Since you’ve seen it once before and know what to expect now, you look over the two monsters’ heads and stare vaguely around the room, taking in more details. There are photographs hung up along the far wall, some too far to be distinct, others clearer. Some are in black and white, pictures of Toriel and another monster like her with bigger horns; others are what you imagine must be of Asriel and Chara as children, in faded color.
There’s a vase on the kitchen table filled with the same kinds of wildflowers you landed on. Maybe Toriel takes care of them.
“All done,” Toriel announces. You blink and look back down at the smiling monsters in front of you, dropping your eyes to your wrist. All that remains of your first failed suicide attempt is a pink scar, shiny against the olive of your arm.
She releases you, and with both your hands free, you sign thank you, curling your toes in the feet of your tights.
“You are very welcome,” Toriel tells you, straightening up. She turns towards the hall you arrived in. “Ah—Chara, welcome back.”
You’re not sure if you would have recognized them without Toriel identifying them. They’ve taken the pins and wire out of their hair so that it hangs down to their shoulders, stripes of white every bit as thick as they’d been pinned back. They’re barefoot in a pair of beat-up jeans and knit green sweater. Only the braces on their hands and the pendant on their chest are the same.
“It’s good to get out of those robes finally,” they say, stretching. “Though I’m going to need a shower or something before bed. Frisk—I’ll show you where the baths are after dinner, all right? We can wash your clothes while you’re getting clean.”
“Oh—darn,” Asriel says suddenly. “Do we have anything for them to sleep in?”
“Your father and I still have your old clothes, dear,” Toriel responds. “If there is a set of pajamas Frisk likes, they can use those.”
You wave a hand to get everyone’s attention. What are you talking about?
“Oh, I apologize,” Toriel says. “If you are all right with it—if you do not have other plans—we would like you to stay the night. Unfortunately we do not have another room that we can spare for you, but Gorey and I are more than happy to get Chara and Asriel’s old things out to accommodate you. It is no trouble. I am so excited to have a child in the house again.”
From the way her eyes sparkle as she says it, you can’t really doubt it. You press your fingertips together for a moment, thinking over your confusion. I still don’t understand why you’re all being so nice to me, you say at last. This is so much. Even just explaining things and helping me get through the puzzles would have been more than enough for me. So…
You look from one face to the next. Toriel’s expression is very calm—you think artificially so. Asriel’s brow is tight with pain under his bangs, and Chara is wearing that look again that’s not exactly concern but something close.
They’re the one who speaks, in the end. “It’s okay if you don’t get it yet,” they say, folding their arms. “It’s enough as long as you can tell we’re doing this because we really want to. Besides—if we’re a little pushy with making sure you have food and shelter and a tour of the underground, that’s less pressure on you to try to refuse it even when you do want it.”
Your chest jolts, and you have a sudden, sharp desire to hide. You feel somehow more naked than if someone had opened the door on you when you had all your clothes off.
Toriel gets to her feet. “Now, I must go and see to dinner. Be good, won’t you?” She beams, and off she goes.
You rub at your chest. That odd feeling still hasn’t quite passed.
Asriel sits on the rug, legs sprawled out so that you can see his paw pads if you tilt your head a little; Chara curls up in his lap and leans into his chest, closing their eyes. Asriel rests his chin atop their head. They both look—comfortable. Peaceful, even; this is probably the most relaxed Chara has been all day. They fit together with a long-standing ease—you don’t think you’ve seen your parents, or any of your classmates’ parents, look this natural. From the childhood photos on the wall, Chara must have been around your age when they fell; spending nearly thirty years growing up together and falling in love must do that, you guess.
Someone enters the room from the direction that Toriel left it, but it isn’t her: It’s the other monster from the photos, probably Asriel’s dad. His horns stick almost straight up and then swoop backwards, unlike Asriel’s, which slant almost straight back and only curve sideways. His mane is a lot neater than Asriel’s too, and looks combed and parted like human hair; he even has a beard. There’s some gray in it here and there, visible across the room but not as thick as the gray in Chara’s. He’s wearing a pink button-down shirt with the sleeves neatly cuffed and a very worn-looking pair of jeans. In his hands he’s balancing a tea tray, which he sets down on the table before approaching.
“Howdy, young one,” he says to you, smiling. His eyes are daffodil gold, mesmerizing and bright here in this underground world, warm like the furnishings. His voice is deep and his words are a bit slow and ponderous, like he’s chewing on them even as he speaks them. “My name is Asgore. It is very nice to meet you. I have brought a few different kinds of tea to drink while my wife makes dinner, and a plate of her best gingerbread monsters. I apologize if you cannot eat them—there are other snacks that I can find, if you would like.”
There’s nothing I can’t eat or really hate, you sign quickly. Thank you very much for your hospitality.
Asgore chuckles. “You are a very polite youngster,” he observes. He takes one step, then pauses and picks the tray up again. “On second thought, I will carry this tray to you. It must have been very difficult, climbing the mountain and then navigating all our puzzles immediately afterwards. Your feet must hurt very much.”
Only a little, you say. I was alright because Chara and—you frown, realizing that you never got his name sign—A-S-R-I-E-L helped me.
“Is that so.” Asgore turns twinkling eyes on his son and Chara. “I am glad to hear of it. They’ve both grown into wonderful adults, and great leaders.”
Chara makes a noise of discontent, their eyes still closed. “Asgore. You’re being embarrassing.”
“May not a father-in-law express affection for his favorite foster child?”
“I’m your only foster child,” Chara complains, stretching slightly in their partner’s arms. They’re grinning, though, so you guess they’re just bantering for the sake of it. There’s none of that tension when your parents trade barbs, anyway.
Asgore gently sets the tray on the floor. “There is sugar and honey if you would like either, Frisk,” he says. “I have brought green tea, chamomile, Earl Grey, and oolong.”
You don’t know that much about tea, but you’ve at least heard of chamomile before, so you ask for it. He passes you the cup and saucer very carefully, making sure that you don’t burn yourself as you take it. He also passes around the gingerbread cookies at the center of the plate. They really are cut in the same shape as the Dreemurrs.
“One thing you can do is to dip your cookie into your tea,” Asgore tells you brightly, holding up one huge finger.
“Dad,” Asriel says.
“It is what I am told is a ‘life’s hack’,” he goes on. “It will make this pre-dinner snack much more ‘epic’. Is that not right?”
“Chara, why did we ever let Alphys show him the internet,” Asriel complains. Chara is too busy giggling red-faced into his chest to answer.
You hide your own smile behind your teacup. It’s so hot you almost burn your tongue, but it’s not bad.
Dinner is a thick vegetable stew with a slightly gingery taste and little blocks of tofu and cakes of fish meat bobbing in between the carrots and celery and pepper and potatoes. It’s not quite like anything you’ve ever tasted, but it’s incredibly filling, and instead of making you sleepy, you feel more energized with every bite. You do your best to pace yourself, but you wind up having three huge bowls anyway, and a slice of fresh-baked grainy bread each time. It’s nice going back and forth between the smooth soft vegetables and thick broth and the chewy bread with its tough crust and the seeds and grains inside it.
And for dessert, Toriel brings out a pie like nothing you’ve ever eaten. She says it’s butterscotch cinnamon, and it reminds you a little bit of pumpkin pie, but it’s so much sweeter—so sweet that even you can only eat a single slice.
Nobody asks you questions about the surface or expects you to talk about yourself unless you volunteer. Nobody asks with overweening patience what your real name is because “Frisk” doesn’t count as one. You do get to learn Asriel, Toriel, and Asgore’s name signs, and Chara says that they’ll help you memorize the new signs you’ve learned today if you want.
Toriel asks Asriel how he’s doing on his paperwork, and when he groans and makes a pitiful expression at her, she chuckles and offers to help him. “You are so very like your father, my dear.”
Asgore spreads his big hands and nods. “We would have been lost without your good sense, Tori,” he agrees.
“Clearly this means that I am expected to step into Toriel’s shoes and pick up the slack?” Chara makes a face. “By all means, let me discuss in detail how deeply and earnestly I am not looking forward to this.”
“Aw, that’s okay, Chara,” Asriel puts in. “You support me in plenty of other great ways. And you can always take up after Mom’s ex-general executive board position for the Royal Guard.”
“I thought I already had, Ree,” Chara says mildly, and all four of them burst out laughing.
They spend some time talking about a local aquarium, which you eventually gather is for water-dwelling monsters and not fish, and the progress of monsters moving there; then they talk about someone called Alphys and how “the machine” is doing. You sit back and let the words wash over you meaninglessly, taking comfort in the Dreemurrs’ concord.
Eventually Toriel spots you yawning, and she has Asgore and Asriel clear the table while she bustles off to fetch Chara and Asriel’s childhood pajamas. Chara leads you into the living room, where you both wait and drink tea.
“They might be a little large or small on you,” Toriel says when she brings the pajamas out for you, “but you can use whichever ones you like or are most comfortable.”
A lot of the pajama sets have very soft fabric, but some are of the bumpy weave you think is called a waffle print. One of those is pastel yellow with cheerful spring green stripes and a white daisy print, and you pick it.
“I’ll take you down to the baths then,” Chara says. “You don’t have to put your shoes back on, Frisk, it’s just a few hallways away.”
They lead you down the stairs and around a turn that you think you ordinarily might have missed, then past another turn and through a door to a huge, gleaming white bathroom with dark blue wall trim. There’s a separate shower and bathtub, each with shampoos lined up along the sides.
“Leave your clothes in a pile by the door when you’ve taken them off,” Chara says. “I’ll take them back up to wash so that they’ll be clean for you in the morning.” They show you how the bathtub tap works, and point out the shampoo that’s theirs, which you agree will probably work better on you than the kind for monster fur.
Going over all this reminds you of something, and you tug timidly at their sleeve. Where’s the bathroom?
“Next room over,” Chara replies. “Actually, I’d better warn you now so that you don’t think anything’s wrong and freak out later—monster food’s treated with magic and your body will absorb it almost completely because of that. As long as you’re drinking liquids you’ll still have to pee and all, but unless you’re eating handfuls of raw grass or mushrooms or something, you won’t poop. That’s normal.”
That’s so weird, you tell them, tilting your head in fascination. As full as your stomach is from all of Toriel’s food, you were sure you’d wind up having to go soon.
“Incredibly, that’s one of the things that gives humans most trouble adjusting here,” Chara says, shaking their head. “Everyone who ate regular meals before they came here remarked on it a lot, at least.”
You look at them, at their nonchalant expression, because the way they said that—sounds almost like—
“Do you need help washing your hair?” they ask, and you tell them you’ll be fine and decide to let it be.
Finally, Chara takes their phone out of their pocket and hands it to you.
“This is waterproof,” they explain, “so don’t worry about dropping it or holding it if your fingers are wet. If you need anything, speed dial Asriel—one of us will come help.” They show you how, and have you try to manipulate the phone’s touch screen by yourself. The interface is clumsier than you’re used to; it always looked a lot easier in old movies. But you manage to figure it out in the end.
They sweep out of the room, then, with a smile. You pinch yourself lightly. The phone is very solid in your hands: They’ll come to get this, you know, and that’s sort of a relief.
It takes a while for the bath to fill; you strip while you wait and leave your clothes where you were told. There’s a full-length mirror near the sink, and you look into it, frowning.
It’s you. Same old Frisk with their same old bowl cut and freaky pale eyes that you can’t open the whole way without tearing up and getting a headache from how bright everything is. Still skinny and gawky, ribs still showing if you twist your arms the right way. There’s still dirt under your fingernails and in the wrinkles of your knuckles.
But your scrapes and cuts are all healed, your wrist too. And your stomach is full for the first time in you don’t know how long. You pinch your thigh to remind yourself that this is all real, turn around, and shut off the water so that you can sink into the massive tub and clean up.
Apparently what Asgore and Toriel meant by accommodating for you is retrieving Asriel’s old twin sized bed from when he was your size from storage, cleaning it, and setting it in the living room near Toriel’s chair and the fireplace so that you’ll still be able to have a bed to sleep in despite all three bedrooms already being full. All you can do is gape in stupefaction, hands limp at your sides, Chara’s phone dropping from your numb fingers onto the floor.
It’s late and you’re too warm and tired to really protest as much as you should, and either way, Toriel bustles you into the bed before you can so much as muster your thoughts. Your shirt and shorts are folded in a neat pile on her chair; your tights and your bandage are still hanging up to air dry. Even your boots have been cleaned of muck.
Feeling very much that you’re intruding on a space that’s too good for you, you thank the Dreemurrs, wish them all a good night, and get into the bed.
When you finally give up on sleeping, you don’t even know how many hours have passed, just that the fire is burning low and you’ve rolled over more than ten times trying to find a more comfortable position. The mattress is wonderfully soft and the blankets are perfectly heavy, but you have a nasty feeling that you’re having so much trouble sleeping because it’s so much nicer than the rain shelter bench or your floor pallet back home. It’s way too squishy and comfy. There’s one tiny wary little corner of your brain that’s halfway convinced that Toriel and Asgore and Chara and Asriel are going to burst back in at any moment and tell you that there’s been some kind of mistake, that you’re not really the human they meant to extend all this kindness to, and to send you on your way.
They can’t possibly really mean to be this nice to you. Or—worse, they do, because they have expectations, and when you can’t meet them they’ll get tired and kick you out.
You get up and are halfway to the front door, fists bunched in the bumpy waffle print of your borrowed pajamas, before you manage to convince yourself that it would be stupid to find that terrace and jump off to see if this time it’ll kill you for real.
So you pace the living room in quiet feet instead. You go to look at the bladed tools in their stand, the pokers and the rakes, but every one of them has carefully rounded edges so that they’re all harmless. Chewing on your lip, you go to the kitchen and look through the drawers. There are no knives anywhere.
You consider Chara’s arms. If they used to live here, and if they used to hurt themself when they were your age too, maybe it makes sense that Toriel and Asgore keep all their sharp objects where a nosy kid wouldn’t be able to find them. So you sigh and go back to sit on the bed.
Maybe you just hit your head really, really hard when you jumped down the hole and you’re just hallucinating all these nice people. That makes more sense than a whole four grown-ups who are this ready to make room for you in their own personal space for no reason, right?
You get back up. Emotion’s raging in your chest, almost as powerfully as it was when you realized that no one was coming for you, and you let it carry you down to the opposite hall, let it buoy you up to knock on Chara and Asriel’s door before you can remind yourself not to bother them and chicken out.
There’s a grunt from the other side and a thump. “Just a minute,” you hear Chara say, their voice weirdly strained.
You clasp your hands at your middle and stand very still, starting to feel very very cold.
After what feels a lot longer than a minute but is probably just your nervousness playing tricks on you, the door opens just enough for Chara to slip out into the hall with you; they close it behind them immediately. They’re red-faced and disheveled-looking; their t-shirt and boxers look hastily pulled on.
“What is it?” they ask breathlessly, and your heart drops out of your body.
“Sorry,” you whisper, dry-mouthed with fear and humiliation. God, why didn’t you think? There’s little more your parents hate than being interrupted when they’re trying to have sex. You’d be lucky to get off with just a clout to the head, if it were your mother answering that door instead of Chara. You hang your head further and cringe into yourself.
“Frisk,” Chara says very gently. Their hands reach for your shoulders, but pull away when you flinch. “It’s all right. Asriel and I weren’t doing anything that can’t be interrupted if you need help, okay?”
“Still sorry,” you mumble.
Chara’s quiet for a moment. “Let’s go to the kitchen and get a glass of water,” they say at last. “I’d invite you in, but I think we need to give Ree a minute or so to clean up first.”
You hide your face in your hands, nod, and let them lead you.
In the kitchen, they fill two tall glasses with water and hand one to you. You sign a small thank you before you accept it, and drink slowly. Chara downs the contents of their own glass in one long draft, head tilted back so that you can see their throat move; when they set it back on the counter, it’s empty.
You stand in silence for a while.
“Trouble sleeping?” Chara says at last.
You nod.
“Bed too soft?” they ask, and you nod again and set your glass on the counter.
That’s not just it, though, you admit with some reluctance.
Chara’s quiet for a long, considering moment. Then: “Want to talk about it?”
You shake your head vigorously, the ends of your hair whipping your face.
“That’s okay.” They reach for you again, and pull back on their own this time. “Are you—all right with being touched right now?” they ask, their words careful and formal.
It says so much, that they know to ask that, and you nod silently.
Chara’s fingertips touch your hair lightly, stroking your head. They lift their hand between pats instead of pushing your hair the wrong way or ruffling it, and you lean gratefully into the touch, closing your eyes.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” they ask, voice low.
You hesitate, knowing that you shouldn’t cause any more trouble than you already are, and think of the terrace again and shudder.
I just need to know you’re really there, you say at last, fingers shaking with the courage it takes to be so honest.
Chara appears to consider this. “Well,” they say at last, “tomorrow is going to be another long day. You’re going to need the rest. If you want, you can stay in our room tonight. Ree should be fine with it, and that way if you wake up you’ll be able to see us and know we haven’t walked out on you or anything.”
You should protest, say they don’t have to go so far just for you, that you’re being enough of a bother already. Instead you grab the side of their t-shirt and hang your head so they won’t see how dangerously close you are to tearing up.
Chara leads you back to their room like that.
The door is already open when you get there, and the lights turned low; Asriel is sitting sleepy-eyed and ruffled on the edge of the huge mattress in a pair of boxers and nothing else.
“Frisk will be spending the rest of the night in here,” Chara announces, patting your shoulder.
“Ah,” says Asriel, smiling. “Should’ve figured. They really are a lot like you at that age, huh.”
Chara crosses the room to slap lightly at his shoulder, making him chuckle. “You shut it,” they say tenderly. And to you: “If it’s too crowded, Ree and I will bring your bed in so that you can still be in the same room at least.”
If you sniffle a little, both of them graciously ignore it. You keep signing thank you over and over even as Chara goes to shut the door and Asriel crawls under the covers, stretching out on his side facing you.
“You get the edge,” Chara announces to you. “Don’t want to box you in if you have to get up for any reason.”
Thank you, you tell them again.
“Don’t worry about it,” they say, sitting down on the mattress and stretching out before they roll up to Asriel’s side, pressed up close against him. It strikes you again just how comfortable they look.
You swallow hard and then swing yourself up next to them.
“Goodnight, Frisk,” Chara says, closing their eyes. “Asriel, get the lamp, would you.”
He reaches out without even sitting up and yanks the chain, immersing the room in comfortable darkness.
“’Night Frisk,” he mumbles, and puts his arm around Chara.
“Goodnight,” you say as quietly as you can, and run your fingertips up and down the bumpy weave of your borrowed pajamas to ease your thundering heartbeat.
You can hear both of them breathing, and Chara is a warm weight on the mattress next to you as you close your eyes.
(You sleep the soundest you have in a very, very long time.)