Archive of Our Own

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*
It’s 3:42 AM, and you shouldn’t be awake, but you are.

You had a nightmare again, and you had killed your friends, again, and you wake up sobbing, hearing Chara in the back of your head trying to hide the fact that they’re also shaken by the dream, but you can feel their emotions simmering in your shared body and it makes you cry more, curling up into a ball as you both feel bad about something that you didn’t do.

This time, Chara unhelpfully quips, but the comment lacks bite. They’ve come a long way since you first met them; you feel like you’ve rubbed off on them some. They try sending happy feelings your way, the softness of Mom’s fur on your cheek when she gives you a hug, the weightlessness when you laugh at one of Sans’ bad jokes, the giddiness as you play tag with Monster Kid.

The tears stop coming, and you send them a grateful thank you which they brush off with a shaky laugh. You return the favor and send other happy feelings back at them as you stand up, scrubbing your face with your sleeves and slipping on your shoes, not bothering with socks.

The tension in your head subsides a bit, and they slide their consciousness next to yours, not trying to take control of your body, but not completely hands-off either.

We going anywhere in particular?, they ask, and you can feel their irritation at the lack of socks, the backs of your shoes rubbing against your ankles uncomfortably. You can’t bring yourself to care.

I was thinking about just walking the neighborhood. Fresh air and all that. They nod your head, and you’re sure they can feel your reluctance to go back to sleep. You sure can feel theirs.

You exit the little house and close the door behind you before picking a random direction and walking. The air has a bite to it, your breath just barely fogging in front of your face, and you vaguely think that you should’ve brought a jacket.

You’re already at the end of the street, so you don’t turn back around. You can deal with having a cold face and ears.

It’s a few blocks away that you think that maybe you shouldn’t be walking around unsupervised at nearly four in the morning. Sure, you’re a pretty independent kid. You mostly took care of yourself up until you fell into Mount Ebott, and then you traversed the whole of the underground by yourself (and with Chara, but no one else really knows they’re in your head).

You’re very independent, but that doesn't mean you’re not in danger out here. Maybe you should make your way to where Sans and Papyrus live. It’s not too far, and it’s kind of in the direction you’re walking, and you and Sans occasionally talk about nightmares to each other, when you need someone else who knows about the resets.

You can hear Chara groan, Ugh, not that guy. His puns suck, but you can feel the softer undertones. They’re glad, like you, that you both don’t have to rely on just each other sometimes. It can get hard. You’re both so young still - them maybe more at heart rather than actual age, you still don’t know when they were born or how long ago they died - and it’s nice having an adult to talk to (even if he doesn’t act it sometimes).

There’s an engine noise and you tense, but a black car drives past and turns a corner sometime up ahead and you force yourself to breathe normally.

You pick up the pace, just a bit.

There’s footsteps behind you now, you notice after a minute or so, too distracted by the loud sounds of your own rushed feet, and you know you shouldn’t turn around and look but you do anyways and you see two people dressed all in black and you can’t see their faces and they’re laughing about something quietly and when they catch you staring at them they look at each other.

Run! Chara says, and you obey moments later as they both break into a sprint in your direction. You try to pick somewhere to run - home is in the other direction, so going to Sans’ is probably your best bet right now - but as you round the corner, shoes making you slide a bit with their worn soles, you see how close the people have gotten and with rising dread you realize you won’t make it.

As you scramble for a new plan, Chara jerks your body down an alleyway and makes you dive behind a dumpster. You hold your breath and curl up and hope that you won’t get caught.

Actually, you don’t just hope. You’re determined to not get caught. You can feel a SAVE point form right there and you wonder belatedly if that’s such a good idea, but you don’t have much time to think on that before footsteps come down the alleyway and you’re found, a rag roughly shoved in your face before you even think about fleeing again and your vision sways before you black out completely.

You come to slowly, groggily, head aching just a bit, and you try to curl back up and fall asleep, but then you remember you’re not home and you shoot upright, vision swimming a little.

You’re on an old, worn bed, decorated with various stains you don’t think about too hard, on top of the covers, in a too-small room that looks more like a concrete bunker than a bedroom.

There are people in the room, two, the people from before. One’s in a chair against the wall opposite of the bed, and the other’s standing next to the lone door - the only exit.

Frisk, you hear, and you can feel their relief as you ask them what. How long have they been trying to get your attention, you wonder to yourself as they continue, these guys don’t look too tough, we could probably rough ‘em up a bit and get through that door.

Your fists clench then relax. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to do that, even if they did, what, kidnap you? You’ve made friends with monsters who wanted to kill you, you’re willing to try to get out of this with minimal violence.

Now’s really not the time, their irritation is evident, and you can feel them trying to gain just a little more control of your limbs. You don’t allow it, and you hear them growl. Fine. Do it your way. S’not like I heard them talking while you were out or anything. You’re about to ask them about the waver to their voice, but voices, actual out-loud voices pull you from your thoughts.

The humans have noticed that you’re awake. The one by the door has a phone out now, but you missed parts of the conversation and can’t really follow it now so you don’t try.

She puts the phone away and sneers at you. “Gave us quite the chase back there.”

You don’t grace her with a response. She doesn’t seem bothered either way.

The doorknob jiggles, then opens, revealing a man. You wonder vaguely if you could’ve gotten out when he entered but it was such a short amount of time and who knows how many people are on the other side of the door that you scrap the idea immediately.

“Oh! Look who it is.” His voice is deep, smooth, and, in nearly any other scenario might be comforting, like a storyteller.

As it is, the voice sends chills down your spine and fills you with dread. Your hands tighten into fists. You don’t remember telling them to do that.

“The little Ambassador of Monsters. Frisk, is it? When I heard that they-” He motions to the other two people, “-found you, of all people, I knew I had to personally come down and see. I almost didn’t believe them.”

Frisk, you hear Chara once again and the way the voice quivers in your head makes your heart nearly skip a beat. I-I gotta, we, they mentioned, they’re babbling and you try to stay calm for them, allowing them more control of your left hand while you hold it with your right, we have to get out, now, or else they’ll, he’s gonna-

“Frisk.” You whip your head up to glare at the man. You feel annoyance at being in two conversations at once and being interrupted during them, but he keeps talking before Chara can form their thoughts, “Are you even listening?” He tuts, like you’re his child and he’s scolding you and anger boils deep inside you. “Fine. If you don’t want to chat, we can just move this along.”

No! You hear Chara scream, and you hold the hand they have harder because they want to flail it and punch the people. They continue to scream, and try to make you move, run, punch, anything and your limbs are twitching and you lose focus on anything physical as you both fight for control but they’re hysterical and you finally gain back full control.

You realize things have happened since your internal struggle began. First, you’re no longer sitting, and one of the other humans, the one that was in the chair, is holding you down, flat on your back against the bed. The woman, she has a gun pointed at you and is next to the man at the end of the bed. His nose is dripping blood.

His hand goes to her wrist and angles the gun away from you.

“No need for that, now. This one’s a bit feistier than I’m used to, but I’m sure I can manage.”

You realize his shirt is halfway unbuttoned and a pang of fear shoots through you.

We have to get out of here, Chara is saying, and you can feel their panic coursing through you.

But even if you weren’t frozen by the sheer amount of thoughts and feelings muddling your mind, you’re still being held down and the man continues to undress and by the time you even think of LOADING your SAVE he has crawled onto the bed, onto you and you can’t hold back tears and you try reaching for SAVE but you can’t, it’s like you’re in a battle back in the Underground, you can’t reach it, you can’t Flee, can’t Spare, can’t ACT, you try to FIGHT but there’s too many of them, all holding you down and-

You sob, while it happens. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, and it hurts and you nearly pass out at some point from your panicking. You wish you would have.

You don’t know how much later it is when he moves off the bed, starts to make himself presentable again.

“The Ambassador will make an excellent addition.” He decides, before leaving.

You don’t know what else to do, you don’t want to stay here, go through anything else like this again, and from what he said you feel like it would keep happening and -

You finally, finally reach your SAVE.

You’re next to the dumpster again, and Chara is screaming again, and it feels like they’re pounding against your skull with their fists, asking you why, why did you LOAD, why are you gonna make us go through that again, when we could’ve endured through it and escaped.

You don’t have an answer to that. But you feel like there’s a way you can go about this so it doesn’t happen again.

It does.

You try running immediately when you wake in that room, but that just leads to you being pinned sooner and the SAVE is out of reach again and the man doesn’t spend time ranting and gets straight to…it.

The next few escape attempts happen in a similar manner. Slip out the door when he comes in? He and the woman catch you as you try. Run while you’re still in the alley? They’re already at the entrance and catch you regardless. Jump him and beat him to a pulp when he enters the room? The woman shoots you and you die.

That’s probably your favorite outcome so far.

This current attempt, you’re almost resigned to just let it happen again, but Chara isn’t. They slip into control and find a glass shard near you, slipping it into the waistband of your pajama pants. They don’t have time to use it before the people find you and force you unconscious, but when you wake up and the man enters, they lunge at the woman, slicing her throat before turning on the others and dispatching them just as quickly.

They let you have control again and you sob, sinking to the floor, arms and face unpleasantly sticky and the air too cold against them.

They scream and make you dig your fingernails into your arms when you’re back in the alleyway, asking why did you go back and you tell them that you’re no killer. Not this time. There has to be another way.

You’re reluctant to let them take over again, but you’re already in the room and you’ve tried so many times and you’re exhausted so you let them. You wait to see what they’ll do, what they’ll try different. You just tried threatening to kill yourself with that glass shard but they were able to wrestle it from you before you could slit your throat, and now you’re pinned early again and can’t escape. You wonder if there even is anything else to do.

When you notice the man is approaching again and how silent they are you realize what they’re doing. They’re fully controlling your body so you can’t feel anything that happens but you can see it and you beg them to let you have control again, trying to force your consciousness past the barriers they threw together to keep you back, try to save them from feeling it happen, it’s your body, you should be the one forced to experience it, but they don’t let you. You have to sit back and watch the man undress your body, while Chara has to feel it happening for the first time.

Stay strong, Frisk, you hear, and you would be sobbing if you were in control, You need to stay strong and keep trying to come up with a plan to get us out of here!

You LOAD at the soonest possible moment, but you’re too late to save them from the experience.
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*
When you refocus your mind, it’s to a strange sense of deja vu, like you’ve already spaced off and checked the clock and seen that it’s 4:17 in the morning on this day in particular.

You realize pretty quick what happened.

The kid. They -

God damn it. You stand up from your shitty mattress and rub your hand over your skull, anger already coursing through you and making your left eye burn. You take a step forward-

-and step into their room. You’re close to saying 'what the fuck, kid' but you realize they’re not here. Your anger dwindles slightly, and you walk around their house, seeing if they’re just in another room.

They’re not. You pull out your phone to call them, and hear the ringtone chiming from their room. You go back, seeing it plugged into the wall, and the anger that filled you moments prior is replaced with dread.

Where are they?

You flashstep outside the house from their room and wander around there, checking their favorite places to sit, play, walk.

You refocus your mind and see that it’s 4:17 in the morning and you feel a headache starting to form.

When you shortcut into the kid’s room again, you have the feeling you won’t find them there.

You scrub at your face with your hands before going back home. You’re going about this all wrong. You pull out an MTT brand metal lunchbox you keep in your dresser. Back when you were still in the Underground, you reinforced it with some time-resistant material you still had from your more scientific past.

You open it, and pull out a pen and a small notepad, scribbling down the date, time, and 'kid’s gone', along with the beginnings of a list, so far consisting of '-their room'.

You place the notepad and pen back into the lunchbox and flashstep back into their house, searching it before quickly pulling them back out and adding '-tori’s house' to the list.

You’re diligent on returning the list to the box.

You refocus your mind and see that it’s 4:17 in the morning and you immediately go to your dresser and pull out the lunch box and see if there’s anything new in it. You come across notes you don’t remember scribbling down, and you realize the kid’s lost, and you need to find them, You put a tally mark in the corner - there’s two now - and you almost start looking when-

You refocus your mind and see that it’s 4:17 in the morning and you get the lunchbox. A third tally mark. You go to the park, to different places they’ve told you they like to sit and look at the stars or a path they like to walk or some trees they like to sit against.

You refocus your mind and see that it’s past four in the morning and you pull out the list from the lunchbox and add a 17th tally and continue the search. Not at the tree a few streets down, not in the neighbor’s yard petting their over friendly pitbull, not-

You refocus your mind and don’t even glance at the clock as you go to the dresser, adding a, what, 26th tally to the paper? The list of places where the kid isn’t is long now and your handwriting is sloppy and rushed, and the last few are just random streets near their house, and even though you can feel the dread thick in your ribcage you keep looking, walking down different streets with the lunchbox thumping against your femur with every step.

This time, though, you hear a scream, and even though they don’t talk much they still laugh and cry and that’s their voice so you run, jotting down the street name and circling it a few times before putting it away and rounding the corner.

You see two figures, human, all in black, one with an unconscious Frisk over their shoulder and the other opening a backdoor of an unmarked black car.

"hey!" You call before you think about it too much, and the woman - the one holding the door - pulls out a gun and -

You refocus your mind, coughing, and you swear you can feel the phantom pain of a bullet breaking through your skull and your body turning to dust.

You feel too dry, and you stumble to the dresser to check your notes, see if it has any info on why you feel like you just got shot, and you see the street name circled and waste no time going there, adding a 27th tally.

You’re able to get there as the humans stand at the entrance to the alley.

You don’t think twice before you fire a volley of bones their way, fast, too fast for either of them to notice or dodge.

You pretend you don’t see the bodies as you step over them and into the alley, looking around, "frisk, buddy, you there?"

There’s a whimper from behind a dumpster further in, and you go to it. You find them, curled up around themself, face pressed into their knees, nails digging into their arms.

They’re crying, and if you had a heart it would be breaking, and you don’t know whether to try to comfort them or let them calm down by themself, but then you look back out to the street and see the legs of one of the humans, the rest of the body out of view behind the wall, your bone attacks fading away after being idle for so long, and there’s a pool of blood on the sidewalk, so you quickly pick them up and teleport them back to their house so they don’t have to see.

You sit them down on their bed, making sure not to knock the lunchbox against them, and just kind of keep your distance, standing in the middle of their room. You don’t know why they reset, what, 27 times? Maybe more if you forgot to tally or didn’t have time or whatever. But you don’t wanna freak them out more by doing something they don’t want you to do.

"need anything?" You ask, finally, and they shake their head but immediately contradict themself as they hold out their arms. You sit on their bed next to them, setting the lunchbox off to the side, and pull them into a hug, rubbing their back in a (hopefully) soothing manner.

“it’s ok kid. i gotcha. you’re safe now.” You mutter, just words to calm them, and their fingers, bunched up in your jacket at your back, relax little by little.

They stop crying pretty quick, and you’re a little surprised. They pull away from you and wipe their nose on their sleeve (ew, you probably have snot on your jacket. You’re gonna hafta actually wash the damn thing) and give you a small smile. You smile back, but only because, well, you’re always smiling. It doesn’t reach your eyes, and you hope they don’t notice.

“so. wanna talk about it or…” They’re shaking their head violently, scrunching more into a ball. “woah woah, ok, you don’t hafta.” You hold up your hands defensively, and they stop moving their head, uncurling slowly.

You two sit in silence for a few more minutes before they slide off the bed, rummaging around in one of their drawers.

“whatcha doin’ there, kid?” They hold up a new pajama shirt and pants, then motion towards the bathroom. “ah. good plan. want me to stick around?” They nod once and walk off. You decide to just wait for them in their room.

You don’t think you could sleep now if you wanted, so you pull out the notepad again and stare at all the tallies, wondering just what happened that made the kid reset so many times.

When the shower starts, you’re a little surprised, you just thought the kid wanted to change out of their old pajamas because they had been in an alleyway, but you guess it does make sense for them to wash themself first.
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*
You enter the bathroom and immediately lock it with shaking arms. As you place the new clothes on the counter you look up at your reflection and you scrub at your face, trying to rid yourself of the tears still there.

Don’t think about it. You’re safe now. What happened is only as real as the timelines your nightmares show you.

Except there was no full reset. It’s still this time, now, and it happened so much and-

And your stomach twists painfully so you collapse next to the toilet just in case, but nothing comes and you squeeze your eyes shut and your hands into fists and force yourself to stand once the feeling subsides.

Shower. A shower sounds good. You think you’ll take a shower.

You turn it on and as you let the water run and warm up you start to undress-

But all you can see is the man undressing you, you can’t feel it but Chara sure as hell can and you scream and plead and-

You just pull yourself into the shower, clothes and all, turning up the hot water until you can feel the sting where it hits skin.

Your clothes grow waterlogged and you know you should take them off but it doesn’t feel safe, you don’t feel safe, you-

You’re crying again and you hope that the shower is loud enough to block out your sobbing because you don’t want to freak Sans out, you don’t wanna wake up Mom and worry her and, and tell her what happened you can’t do that you won’t do that.

At some point you wound up on the floor of the shower, crying and digging your nails into your scalp and breathing fast, way too fast, and your face is scrunched up and your brain kind of goes fuzzy and now your nose and cheeks and forearms are kinda starting to go numb and tingly and once you stop crying so hard you shakily stand back up.

In a fit, you pull off your clothes and throw them onto the floor of the shower opposite the drain. You press your forehead against the wall of the shower and tears are still coming out, you feel the water run down your face, your back, and you turn the water hotter but you just don’t feel clean.

You grab the round, plastic-y loofah and you just. Scrub. All the skin you can reach. As much as you can. And when that’s not enough, you scrub harder til it hurts and your skin is bright red and the stinging is nice it makes you focus and-

You need more. The loofah leaves your skin stinging but it doesn’t last you need more-

You’re not sure which of you remembered it, but you lurch out of the shower and open one of the lower cabinets and pull out a knife, their knife, Chara’s knife. You kept it like you kept all the other humans’ belongings but you keep this for the rare day when nothing is ok and one or both of you just can’t take it.

Like now.

You’re back in the shower, and the waters hitting your back and it almost feels like sweat you’re not clean-

You draw the blade across your arm and it stings, but not enough, never enough, so you do it again, harder, faster, and you feel slightly sick again at how easy this is, to both of you, the memories of so many other times you or Chara-

You do it again and again and again, the lines like toothpicks spilled on the ground, numerous, random, crisscrossing, and your arm howls with the pain and it is glorious-

With both of your consciousness synced up so well, you don’t even pause to think about how easily your left hand now grips the blade, you’ve never been left handed, always right, but it’s almost like this blade was made for your left hand, and you drag it across your right arm again and again, cuts angry and red and seeping blood more so than the ones on your left arm and there's quite a few more too-

You force you both to still the blade, watching as the blood rolls around your arms, drips off the backs and mixing with the water.

Your arms sting, and it is not enough.

You leave the knife to your left hand, as you realize its superior skills at this task, and you attack your thighs, leave them no MERCY, sparing no inch of the fronts or sides, and once they’re reduced to vaguely resembling a bunch of poorly drawn tic-tac-toe games overlapping each other, ragged and smeared with blood you turn back so the water comes from the showerhead onto your limbs and you bite your tongue so you don’t scream from the pain.

It’s hard not to, both of you want to scream (you didn’t realize how you both are controlling the body nearly equally) but you can’t if you scream they’ll know and they’ll take your knife away and-

You just focus on the pain, the throbbing of the cuts, how they feel like they’re on fire as the water hits them, hot and unwavering. As the water mixes with the blood, it spreads and lightens, coating your skin like the world’s sheerest fabric, diluting into faded swirls as it pools and joins the water at your feet.

The liquid going down the drain almost looks more red than transparent.

You don’t know whether the air smells coppery or you’re imagining it, but you lean against the side of the shower, feeling more than a little faint - whether it be because all the blood, the steam from the too-hot water making it harder to breathe, or the fact that you’re just so tired, existentially tired even.

Maybe all of those. Who knows. You slide down, just sitting on the shower floor next to your dirty, soaked pajamas and you stay like that until the water no longer feels hot. You turn the knob hotter, and it obeys, but you went too hot and it makes all the cuts flare with pain again so you turn off the water, giving your red, raw, marred skin a break for once.

You tumble out of the shower more than a little dazed, and dry off slowly, carefully, making sure not to irritate the cuts too much or to bleed on the towel. Well, as much as possible, anyway.

You wrap it around your head and go back to the lower cabinets, pulling out the bandages you keep there after stashing the knife away. Slowly, you wrap your right arm (marveling at the fact that, wow, it's new, you don’t have to reuse the same one over and over again anymore), making use of your teeth and knees to hold the bandage in place as you do so and, once wrapped, tucking the end back through a few times to keep it on. The process is repeated for your left arm.

You start to wrap your left leg, but halfway up you run out of medical wrap. You desperately look for more, but your search comes up empty.

You resist the urge to cry more, and just resign yourself to taking the toilet paper to finish up the job, no matter how shoddy it turns out. You regret that your right leg, the leg that’s injured more because your left hand had a better angle at it, doesn’t have any of the actual wrap, but it's a bit late now.

After finally drying off your hair, you stare at yourself in the mirror once more. The bandages on your arms are already starting to bloom with reds, and the toilet paper on your legs is sticking uncomfortably due the cuts that are still bleeding.

The pajamas you brought in - both the shirt and pants are long even though it’s not cold enough to warrant fuzzy pants and a long sleeved night shirt - are pulled on, and you realize that the bandages go far enough down your arms that they’re visible unless you hold your sleeves in your hands.

That’s ok. That’s something you can deal with. Something easy. Something you can control.

You step out of the bathroom and find Sans still in your room, staring at some papers, and when he realizes you’re back he puts them back into the little lunchbox and sets it to the side.

“feelin’ a little better now?” He asks you, and you hold up your right fist, making a knocking motion, yes, while thinking a dry ‘made myself feel better through the only way I know how’ to Chara, who laughs humorlessly at it. You walk up to your bed and pause. Do you really want to sleep? Sure you’re tired, but you’re not ready for more nightmares. You just had enough in the past thirty or so resets to last the rest of your life.

Plus you like to sleep on your stomach, and your arms and legs ache at that thought.

So instead, you grab your favorite blanket off your bed and wrap it around your shoulders like a cape. You turn back around and walk to your bedroom door, hearing Sans get to his feet.

“uh, where you goin’, kid?” He asks, the little white pinpricks of light in his eye sockets flicking from you to your bed for a moment.

You hold out your right fist, thumb poking out between your pointer and middle finger, then hold up your pointer and middle finger, TV. He nods.

“sounds like fun.” He says as he follows you out.
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*
Honestly, you just worry for the kid. They’re usually...pretty ok with telling you what’s bothering them.

And the fact that they’re not telling you anything right now? It’s got you really worried for them. So you’ll stick around for as long as they need. Be there for them.

They plop down on the couch unceremoniously, while you continue to stand.

“want anything from the kitchen before i sit down?” You ask, and their hand is up, thumb, pointer and middle fingers out, apart, ready to come together to say no but they pause. Instead, they run the tip of their index finger down their throat, thirsty.

“for anything in particular?” They do actually sign no this time, and you shrug. “alright. i’ll go find something.” You walk into the kitchen as you hear the television turn on and the volume immediately get turned down so as not to wake Toriel.

You search the cabinets and find some hot chocolate mix so you fill up some mugs with water and get about to making it. Kid probably needs something warm and sweet. As you wait for the microwave to work its magic on the water, you rummage around in the fridge and find some chilled slices of one of Tori’s pies and, well, you’re sure she won’t mind if you and the kid finish it off.

Once the microwave beeps you hurriedly open it - why is the beeping always so loud - and add the chocolate powder to the mugs, complete with its own tiny inadequate excuses for marshmallows that make you want to frown so you pull out a bag of marshmallows and add probably too many before grabbing your spoils and heading back to the kid.

There’s some show on, you don’t think you’ve seen it before, and by the look on the kid’s face they haven’t either.

“here, some hot chocolate. and a slice of pie, just in case you were hungry too.” You set down the mug and plate on the table next to the couch, knowing they can never resist their mom’s pies. They smile at you while, with a flat hand, they press their fingertips to their chin and motion as if they’re blowing you a kiss.

Thank you, and you shrug, as if to say ‘no problem’. You sit down on the couch now, with your own mug and slice of pie, and you two watch whatever show this is.

It turns out to be a late-night infomercial thing, and you two laugh whenever someone fails to do something overly simple in an overdramatic fashion.

But as they reach out to the table to grab the plate of pie, you catch a flash of white on their wrist and the small joy of hearing them laugh is crushed by a flood of dread.

“woah, wait, are you hurt?” You can’t help but ask, an arm extended out, as if you were about to touch their arm but stopped. They freeze up, eyes wide, before their arm snaps back to them. They sign no, a few times ‘cause their hand’s shaking as they do, then they, with a flat hand and fingers splayed, touch their thumb to their chest then flick the hand out, I’m fine, over and over again they sign it before they realize their wrapped wrist is showing again as they do and pull it back into the blanket, stretching it more around themself.

You sit in stunned silence, and they look at you with watery eyes and there’s a pang of sadness behind your sternum.

“was it either of those humans who chased you?” You ask, ‘cause no matter what they said, they are injured, enough to wrap their arm in medical bandages, and before your anger at those humans can climb further they shake their head, slightly, so slightly you almost miss it. A tear slips from their eye and they rub it away with the blanket.

“were there any more humans there who hurt you?” And then they look conflicted. You clench your hands into fists, your sockets going dark, of fucking course you missed one, at least one, the one that hurt Frisk and they wave a hand about to get your attention. You look to them and they’re shaking and they look afraid and you realize it's you, you’re scaring them with your anger written so clearly across your skull so you close your sockets, take a few deep breaths, calm down, then tell them to go on, the lights in your skull winking back into existence.

They hold a fist with the thumb extended, touching their chin, and move it til its a couple inches from their face, then they hold out both hands, only pinkies and thumbs out and let them drop a little. Not now. They tap their left wrist a few times, then take both hands, only pinkies out, and touch the tips together before pulling them out. Time and line, respectively.

“was...is that why you kept resetting?” And they nod, curling up a bit more. You feel like that’s the extent of that information you’ll get about why, for now.

“but. if that was a different timeline, then why is your wrist still hurt?” They squeeze their eyes shut, shaking their head, and you get the impression that they tried to lead the conversation away from that topic and failed. “kid. tell me what happened, how you got hurt.” You can’t help but adding, “cause if you don’t, i can go wake your mom up and tell her you’re hurt. she’ll wanna see it to heal it and will want an answer.”

Their eyes widen, shocked and probably a little betrayed that you pulled the mom card, but hey, they’re hurt for fucks sake. They take a shaky breath, hold out their pointer finger and press it to their chest and….

And that’s it. You were expecting, what, them to launch into a story about how they fell while they were running? Tell you there was a third or fourth human you missed who got to them? Say it’s an old injury from a day or so ago that you didn’t see?

You were ready for a lot of things.

But not ‘me’.

You’re silent for a long time, and they’re trying so hard to keep themself from crying, and you finally manage speech again, but it's a small, sad “kid…”, and you can’t keep the hitch from your voice, and that breaks them, crying and you don’t waste any time before pulling them into another hug.

A few tears of your own are shed, but you make sure they don’t see. You’re just...speechless. You can’t get any words to come, any thoughts to even form a coherent sentence gone.

Did. Did they do that to themself now? Just now, after you rescued them? When… .

The shower. You hug them a bit harder, being extra careful of their right arm, and you wish you had learned healing magic at some point but being healthy ain’t really your shtick.

“this…” You start to say, but that train of thought escapes you, so you start again, “we need to talk about this.” The kid stiffens in your arms, and you pat their back lightly. “but not now. you’ve had...quite the night, it seems.” They sag a little, hug loosening slightly. “personally, i think you should try and sleep, at least a little.” Their fingers are gripping the back of your jacket again, and you can tell they want to protest, but for whatever reasons don’t.

“c’mon kiddo. let’s finish up our snacks - or not - and getcha back to your room.” They nod, you feel it against your shoulder, before pulling back, wiping their face on their blanket.

There’s a silence as you both down the dregs of the now-lukewarm chocolate, and you shove the entire last half of your slice of pie unceremoniously into your mouth as you watch the kid look at their untouched slice, lips drawing back into a grimace before taking it to the kitchen to put it away. They took their cup too, and, after turning the TV off, you follow them, taking your own plate and mug.

You’re still both silent as you walk to their room and they slowly crawl into bed, looking a bit conflicted, like they wanna flop onto their stomach, before shifting onto their back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“hey, kid.” you say before you can overthink it, and they turn their head to look at you. As they pull the covers over themself, you notice that their left arm’s also bandaged and you try not to think about it too hard right now, “you uh, need anything?” They’re silent for so long you almost think they didn’t hear you, but eventually, they hold out their hands, fingers splayed, palms up, then curl their fingers in, almost claw-like. Want. They pause for a few seconds before moving their sleeve slightly and pointing at the bandage.

“you run out?” You ask, trying to be nonchalant, but more dread, or something, swirls around your core. They only nod, before turning on their side slightly, back to you.

You take the hint, turning off their light for them, before you teleport to the nearest store that you know is still open. You startle a poor worker by suddenly appearing in the aisle he’s in and he drops whatever he was restocking, koolaid you think. You approach him, and you try not to ignore to how he squints at you, trying to figure out if you’re really a monster or he’s just really out of it.

“hey, don’t lose your kool-aid.” You laugh and before he can react, you continue, “d’ya know where the bandages are?” It takes him a few moments, mouth opening and closing, to tell you it’s a few aisles down, and you wink an eye socket at him before taking a shortcut there. You really didn’t need to, but you can’t help messing with humans.

Plus, hearing his surprised little yelp makes you laugh again, before your mood sobers, looking through the rows of band-aids and other medical-y supplies.

You grab a few rolls of the first wrap you see and head to the front, where a bored looking teenager scans your items and you pay them in crumpled up bills and loose change, and it’s not too much later that you’re back in the kid’s room.

They sound like they’re asleep, breathing even, and for that you’re grateful. You place the bag of bandages on their nightstand, then slump against it, sliding down until you’re sitting.

No way in hell you’re leaving this kid alone tonight.

You’re awoken by something hitting your forehead.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but you guess all that timeline shit must’ve drained you more than you realized. You just wanted to watch over the kid last night to make sure they didn’t do any more impulsive things at ungodly hours.

Speaking of which, they’re awake, sitting up, squinting against the sun streaming through the window and rubbing their wrist. That must’ve been what hit you, and they still look really tired so you think they did it while asleep and it woke both of you.

You just kind of...sit there, waiting to see if they’ll do anything. After about a minute, they swing their legs over the side of their bed when they notice you on the floor. Their whole body flinches, and they scrunch up their face with a pained hiss, a hand twitching toward a forearm, curling until their forehead almost touches their knees.

“didn’t mean to startle you, that’s very bed of me.” You try, and a little bit of the tension in your bones leaves when they giggle and uncurl at your terrible pun. They do get off their bed now, making sure they won’t step on you, and start walking to the bathroom. Fear shoots through you and before you think about it, you grab their arm, words tumbling out of your mouth, “wait, stop, w-where are you going?”

They make a small pained noise, tense, and you realize you’ve fucked up and immediately let go of them. Shit. You didn’t grab them hard or anything, just…

They rub their arm lightly, before signing I’m fine and then make their hand into a fist, thumb between their pointer and middle fingers, waving the hand left to right, toilet.

Your anxiety over the matter doesn’t fade, but you let them go, ‘cause you need to trust them, even though they’ve made that so hard, messing around with time, killing everyone just to undo it, and now this.

This kid, directly or not, is gonna be the death of you. It’s probably unhealthy to be so strung up about things, but it’s not really something you can help.

They come out not too much later, and you motion to their bed, and, hesitantly, they sit down on the edge of it, looking confused.

“we should change those bandages, kid.” You say, reaching into the bag to grab a roll They shake their head, looking like they’re about to stand up again, so you keep talking, “it’ll be easier for someone else to bandage your arms, must’ve been hard to do it yourself. and since you don’t really want tori to know - even though she should -” You give them a stern look, pupils brightening slightly, “i’m kind of your best bet here.”

They slouch, resigned to their fate, and as you sit down beside them they hold out an arm to you, head down, staring at their bedsheets as they pick at some loose threads with their free hand.

You roll up their sleeve for them, and you didn’t realize that the bandaging goes all the way to their elbow, holy shit. It’s maroon in multiple places, and halfway down the lines that seeped through are all muddled and crisscrossed. It’s hard to pick out individual lines because of how mottled they are through the bandage.

You find the end of the bandage and slowly start to unravel it, making sure to be extra careful, but when it gets to the parts that were more bloodied sometimes it wants to stick to their arm. You don’t want to hurt them, so they do it themself, and once the old bandage is off you can’t help but stare. Their arm is royally fucked up. There’s so many cuts, all red and blotchy, some slowly bleeding again from the bandage being taken off.

They shift a little, and you quickly empty the bag of the other bandages before using it to store the used ones. You slowly wrap their arm, making sure it’s not too loose or tight, and even go as far as to grab some kleenexes to dab at the bleeding cuts to get rid of some of the blood so maybe when the bandages are taken off they won’t be stuck and reopen the cuts again.

You finish up their arm, and they look like they’re going to weasel their way out of their room when you put a hand on their shoulder.

“arms, plural. saw the other was wrapped.” They turn back to you and continue to not make eye contact as you repeat the process on their left arm. It’s not as bad - hah, wrong word, it’s still fucking heartbreaking and terrible - but it’s at least not as severe as their right arm.

After both their arms are done, they pull their sleeves down again, but don’t move. You’re almost afraid to ask, but you do: “any more?”

They hold out their hand, and you don’t quite get it until their eyes land on the roll in your hand, so you give it to them. They pause for only a second before starting to carefully pull up a pant leg.

Their left thigh is only half covered with bandage, the upper half has toilet paper instead - must’ve been where they ran out - and they work on it themself - which is good, that might have been a bit more awkward than their forearms. That leg is the worst yet, and you rub the sides of your skull, just next to your eye sockets, and you hope their other leg is okay even though it doesn’t seem likely at this point.

It isn’t. It’s even more fucked up, and completely wrapped in just toilet paper, which is falling apart and sticking to the cuts. They don’t bother picking off the little fibers that cling to their injuries, wrapping their leg and handing you back the nearly depleted roll.

“that it?” They nod and make sure the new bandages are covered by their clothes before standing up. You grab the bag of bloody wrappings and sigh a little.

“i’ll go put this in a dumpster for you.” You shift it out of sight, behind your back, when you hear a knock at the door.

“who’s there?” You ask before she can talk, and there’s a little thud on the other side of the door, as if she was surprised and stumbled slightly.

“A-atch” She says, fumbling over her words. You feel bad for startling her.

“atch who?”

“Bless you!” You laugh, all of you, even Frisk, and you’re glad for the lift in mood. “May I come in?” She asks a few beats after her laughter dies down. You look to the kid, and they nod, so you say yes for them. Toriel enters, looking confused. “So, Sans, what are you doing here?” Frisk looks at you, wide eyed, scared you’ll tell her everything.

You shrug. “thought i’d stop by and say hi to the kid, make sure they weren’t sleeping through their entire break from school.”

“Sounds more like something you would do.” She smiles at you, and you shrug again. That was your plan, but not anymore.

“makin’ sure they don’t follow in my footsteps. anyways. i’d better get going. a nap’s calling me.” And you shortcut out of there before she can ask you anything else, or see the bag behind your back, or you have to lie to her again. You hate lying to her. Especially about something so...major. But it’s the kid’s thing, not yours, so they have to be the one to tell her.

You really hope they do.
======

======
*
You really don’t want anyone to know. You wish you could make Sans forget about it even. This is something you should deal with alone.

You wish you could take his memory away. But you know that LOADING and RESETTING doesn’t affect him like everyone else. You can’t just jump back to your last SAVE and leave him clueless as to what has happened here. You don’t really want to, either, considering where the last SAVE is and wondering how he even found you. You still don’t know if him finding you was a fluke.

You wish there was something you could do.

“Frisk, my child?” Toriel breaks you from your thoughts that you fell into after Sans took a shortcut out of your room. You force a smile, and she smiles too, although you can tell she's still worried about you. “What would you like for breakfast?” The way she says it, she sounds like she already asked while you were spacing off.

You shrug, and sign to her that you don't really care, and she nods. “Alright.” She starts to leave, presumably to go make some food, but she pauses in the door, “Have any plans for today?” You shake your head, emphasizing the point by signing no. “If you would like, I do not have much to do today myself…” and you nod, your smile widening, genuine, as does hers, and she closes your door behind her as she leaves.

Choosing clothing takes longer than usual, and you end up settling on grey sweatpants and a purple t-shirt. You also take out a black hoodie, the one that’s really oversized and really comfortable and warm, and pull it on. The long sleeves are what you need right now.

When you make your way towards the kitchen table, you can smell pancakes being made and the normalcy of it makes your eyes watery, but you refuse to cry.

What if we hadn’t reset?, you wonder, how would Mom be feeling right now? What would she be doing? You were hoping Chara would respond, but they don’t, and you feel a little lonely.

There’s already a glass of orange juice at the table, along with a fork and syrup, and about a minute or so after you sit down, Mom comes out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of pancakes in one paw, and a small bowl of sliced strawberries in the other.

“Here you are, little one.” She looks really happy as she places everything down in front of you, and you can’t help imagining that face, scared and sad, calling all your friends asking if you are at one of their houses because you can’t have just disappeared-

You force yourself to stop thinking about that.

She sits down across from you, a mug of something, coffee maybe, dwarfed between her paws. She must’ve eaten before you woke up. “I do not know what I would want to do today, so if you have anything in particular that you would like to do… .” You let your mouth turn up slightly, not quite a smile, but close enough. You know she probably does have things to do, but feels like she doesn’t want to drag you along if you don’t want to do it.

So, you hold your left hand horizontally in a ‘c’ shape, while you move your right hand up through it, fingertips touching before blooming outwards as is moves, doing this a few times while moving your hands more left, before holding your right hand flat, palm down, and circling it around in front of you, in a spiral. Garden.

She looks a bit surprised, but she doesn’t decline the request. “Alright. If you wish to help me with my garden today, you may.” You sign a quick thank you before picking up the bottle of syrup and putting a generous amount on your pancakes. She reads a book as you eat, knowing you can’t communicate well while your hands are busy, and you’re glad for the comfortable lull in conversation, not really wanting to talk or sign more than necessary.

You don’t eat as many pancakes as you might’ve any day previous, and you can tell Mom notices it, but she doesn’t comment on it as you take your dishes to the kitchen. When you return to her, you extend your pointer fingers, holding them out sideways but both pointing towards your left, and you move them that direction. Go. You tilt your head, though, as if you’re unsure, making it almost a question. She just nods, and you see a concerned expression pass her face just for a moment, before she smiles, places her bookmark in her book and gets up.

“You should bundle up, as it is quite chilly today.” She says, glancing at the backyard through the sliding glass doors. You go grab a scarf and some gloves, as well as your shoes, and you feel like you’re overheating by the time you’re in front of the back doors again.

She’s already outside, grabbing the gardening items from a little shed, and you join her, enjoying the bite the air has. It’s a nice feeling, one that makes you feel more...present, you guess. More aware of your surroundings.

You’ll admit, you feel a little lost without Chara commenting on nearly everything. You wonder why they’re being silent. They have been since just after the shower. You kind of feel like you drove them away.

You take some tools from Mom and begin to help garden. It keeps your hands too busy to speak, and gives you something to do rather than sit around and think about what happened.

You keep trying to think random things, puns, comments about the day, anything, to get them to respond again, but all you feel is their presence, as far back in your mind as they can go, steadfastly ignoring you.
======

======
*
Something is off with Frisk.

The fact that Sans was in their room was odd, but not enough for you to suspect something amiss. You know that they have nightmares, and talks to Sans about them. You wish they’d come to you; however, you will respect their wishes. They took longer to come down than usual, but you assumed it was due to them having just woken up and enjoying their fall break.

But then they barely ate half of the pancakes you made, when they would’ve normally been able to finish the whole plate, and they’re being more quiet than usual, even with their hands; they’re signing the minimal amount of words to get their thoughts across.

Something is wrong, and you wish you knew what.

You don’t dare ask, though. They are a growing child, and you will respect that there will be things that they don’t tell you about.

You can’t help but wish they did.

They’re helping you garden, which doesn’t happen much now that they’re in school once more, getting homework and hanging out with their school friends, and it’s nice. You can’t really talk to them much while gardening, with their hands too busy to form a response, but the music coming from the little plastic radio makes it so the silence isn’t an awkward one.

You two get so caught up in gardening that when your phone rings, it surprises you. They only glance up at you as you pull yourself into a standing position, fishing your phone from your pocket.

It’s...Sans? Usually he texts you funny jokes and pictures of cats with cute sayings on them, but he rarely ever calls.

You tell Frisk that you’ll be just inside if they need you, and answer once the door is shut.

“Hello? This is Toriel.”

“hey tori. got a little request to ask ya.”

“Oh? And what is that?” There’s a pause, as if he’s reconsidering asking.

“can ya make sure the kid doesn’t see the news?” You lean against the door, and you can feel the cold glass even through your clothes and fur.

“What is on the news that you think is unsuitable for them?” You feel like you’re out of the loop, and you’re really tempted to turn the TV on to see what it’s saying.

“just. don’t think they’d like to see it, is all.” He’s definitely holding back on saying something.

“Sans.” You say, letting your voice take on your more serious tone, the one you used mostly when you were still queen. You walk to the living room, picking up the remote and turning the TV on. The volume is quiet, nearly on 0, but the slight mumbles from it can be heard through the phone. You can tell because he sighs.

“tori. a few streets away some humans were found, uh, dead.” You change the channel to the news and catch a glimpse of police and caution tape, before it’s replaced with a map where it’s happening. It is...disturbingly close to your home.

“Oh dear…” You bring your free paw to your snout, covering it slightly in shock.

“yeah. so. i feel it’s best to not let the kid see the news.”

“I understand.” You turn the TV off, and head back to the doors, watching Frisk as they continue to tend to the plants. “Is it safe to be outside?” You ask, barely holding yourself back from going out there and picking them up to keep them safe.

“yeah, it happened late last night so they’re sayin the perp must be far away by now. plus with all the police around, it’ll be safer too.” He sounds a little too sure about it, but while you still feel quite nervous, you trust him.

“Alright. Thank you very much for the call.”

“yeah it’s no problem. gotta look out for each other, y’know?” You smile, even though he can’t see.

“Yes, that is true. But, I must get back to gardening. I have left Frisk out there by themself, and I feel I must help them.”

“well, i’ll leaf you to that, then.” You chuckle at that, and you go back outside as you exchange goodbyes.
======

======
*
You two take a break from gardening when your ears start to hurt.

She notices how red they are, first, and you adjust your scarf to cover them (along with your nose) but that only prolongs the inevitable, so eventually you have to head inside to warm your face.

Times like these, you’re jealous of Mom’s and Dad’s fur. It’s how she can garden so much without feeling the chill, and you know she’s only coming in because you’re inside.

She makes you hot chocolate, and it sends you back to last night when Sans did the same, but you force yourself into the present, letting the mug warm your chilled fingers, past the point of being comfortable, but it helps ground you in the now. She also decides to make you some lunch, as you were outside for quite a while.

You try tempting Chara out, telling them they should take control to drink the cocoa. You know they love chocolate.

Surprisingly, it feels like they shrink away more, and the silence in your mind is deafening.

You slouch, just a little more, feeling even lonelier than the times before you climbed Mount Ebott.

You busy yourself with your phone, while you wait for the warmth of the house to sink in, halfheartedly eating the food Mom brings you, while playing some little cat game you got recently to distract yourself from, well, everything.

Eventually, you and Mom go back out to finish gardening. You kind of wish you could just stay out here, until you got too cold to feel things properly.

Your emotions feel like they’re to that point already, and you’re not really sure how to feel about that.

The gardening is finished not too much later, and after you to come inside once again, you pull out a few board games, to which Mom gladly says she’ll play. You mostly play battleship and connect four as with the former you only have to sign a letter and a number, and the latter requires no communication at all.

You try to ask Chara for help when you are close to losing a game, but they stay back.

You wish you knew why they’re hanging back, so you could coax them out again. You miss their little mental remarks, no matter how bad.

After the board games make you bored (no mental groaning accompanies the thought and you chew on your lip), Mom realizes it’s time for dinner. You gather up the pieces to the games and store them back away in the hall closet, and you’re done in no time. Mom’ll still take a bit to make dinner, so you think you’ll watch some TV to pass the time.

You wonder what’s on that one channel you and Sans watched last night. Those infomercials were pretty funny, maybe whatever’s on during the day is just as amusi-

“-impaled multiple times, but there is still a search for the weapon or weapons that could have left such unique shapes. Here are pictures of the victims, as provided by the families. If you have any information... .”

You can’t look away from the screen, even as a noise comes from the kitchen. Two photos are shown side by side, the people who were, apparently, impaled on something or another, and it’s them. Your kidnappers. Or. Almost kidnappers in this timeline.

They’re...dead. The very thing you were trying to prevent, why you reset and endured that experience so many times is because, although you wanted to escape, you also didn’t want another human’s death on your hands.

Although, it wasn’t you who did it.

It was Sans, it had to be. He...killed those humans. And you tried so hard to not do that, thirty times you tried to let them live and free yourself but it didn’t work.

Their faces stare you down from the TV. They look so...normal. They had lives, families, friends, sure they were in a bad business but that doesn’t negate the other facts.

They are still, silent, and the man’s approaching, you can hear his footfalls approaching you to...to do things to you. Again, and again, and again, and again...

There’s a faraway voice in your ears as something touches your shoulder.

It’s the man. You scramble off the couch bed and ram your knees into the table in front of it. The voice keeps saying things, getting closer, and you don’t know what it’s saying, just that it’s him, he’s going to... he’s gonna...

You scream, and although by others’ standards it’s barely a scream, it hurts your throat, the pain making tears well up in your eyes.

You don’t really know how, but you eventually realize you’re sitting on the floor, in your bathroom, back propped against the door. You don’t know how you got here. You can hear him knocking at the door- no it’s not, it’s not him? You hear someone frantically knocking on the door, the sound muffled by clothing or fur or something, and you can feel the door shuddering with the knocks, shivering against your spine.

You feel a little light headed, but you can’t really control your breathing so you let it happen. At some point, you started crying, tears soaking into your hoodie, and the fact that you can’t remember when makes you feel...off. You shakily reach up and lock the door before lurching forward towards the cabinets, fishing out your knife (Chara’s knife? Both?) and scrambling back to sit against the door.
======

======
*
When you hear talking in the other room, you’re greatly confused. When you hear what they’re saying, you realize you left the TV on the station Sans said to keep Frisk away from, and the plates you were carrying slip from your paws, shattering into small pieces when they hit the floor.

Oh no. You maneuver your way out of the kitchen, telling yourself to clean it up once you’ve seen to Frisk.

You find them sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, almost shocked. Did they know these humans somehow? Old friends, perhaps?

“Frisk, maybe we should turn off the TV?” You try, approaching them slowly. You see them tense, but otherwise don’t seem to notice you said anything. You place a paw on their shoulder, gently, to reassure them that whoever hurt the humans is no longer nearby, they don’t have to worry about being attacked as well, but they jerk themself away, running into the coffee table, before backing away from you a few steps.

“Frisk?” You approach slowly, worried, “My child, it is alright, whoever did this is-” but before you can reassure them, they scream.

You’re frozen on the spot as they do, they’re never this loud, not when they’re excited about something or anything, and they’re looking at you but not looking at you, as if they don’t recognize you.

The only thing that snaps you back into action is when they bolt.

Quickly, not allowing yourself to hesitate, you follow after them, but they close themself in their bathroom and when you try the door it doesn’t open, not because it’s locked, but because something is in front of it.

When knocking and cajoling doesn’t work, you worry at a claw with your fangs for a few seconds before pulling out your phone and calling Sans. You may be out of the loop, but he seems to have an idea as to what is going on, so maybe he’ll know how to calm them down? Or help them in any way?

He answers on the last ring, and your magic is racing through you.

“hello?”

“Sans? This is Toriel. I have made a mistake.”

“uh. explain?”

“I left the television on the news channel when I turned it off, so when Frisk turned it on they saw the news.” You hear him swear under his breath, as well as some muffled noises.

“they see the thing i said they shouldn’t see?”

Your silence tells him all he needs to know.

“i’m on my way.” And by the time you realize he hung up, the phone beeping to alert you to the fact, you spot him out of the corner of your eye.

“shit. they in there?” He asks, and you nod, putting your phone away, and when you glance back up to ask him what’s going on he’s gone again.
======

======
*
You almost didn’t answer the phone, but when you saw it was Tori, you scrambled to accept the call before it went to voicemail.

You wished so badly for it to be a joke, but she’d never joke about something like this, so you scrambled to put the papers back into the lunchbox from where you had been examining them, and get over to her house as quickly as possible.

She’s standing in the hallway, which is nice because you teleported to the kid’s room and you don’t have to walk far to find her. She’s in front of the bathroom door, and you try to not let your fear show.

She tells you they’re in there when you ask, and you waste no time in shortcutting inside. You don’t see them and that makes your worry spike, but then you hear a sniffle behind you and you turn, seeing them sitting against the door, knees pulled up to their chest, and a knife held to their neck.

Your legs nearly give out under you.

“kid.” Their head snaps up, eyes wide, watery, and the knife is pressed a little harder against their skin.

“no need for anything like that…” You say, hands held up placatingly, trying to be the opposite of threatening to keep them calmer.

They shake their head, and you swear the magic flowing through you screeches to a halt, worried they’ll slit their throat right then and there with the action.

“Dead…” They say, so quietly you barely catch it. You don’t understand. They squeeze their eyes shut. “They’re...dead. We tried so hard to…” they pause, swallowing before continuing, “escape without letting people die.”

You’re stunned. Even after these bastards captured them, hurt them, they still try to save them? “kid. some people aren’t worth saving.” and they laugh, a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Yeah. Like me.” They try to move their hand to, to kill themself, but they can’t. Your left pupil has turned blue, holding the knife in place, and it casts the whole bathroom in an eerie light.

“what’ll happen after?” You can’t help but ask, “wouldn’t doing...this just make you jump back?” You’re not quite sure how it works, but from the notes other yous have taken, you feel like their death makes the timeline rewind a bit.

“Not if I don’t let it.” They try to move the knife still, but you’ve got it suspended in place. They try to lean into it but you pull it away. They reach out to grab it, by the blade even, so you quickly bring it to yourself, letting it sit on the floor to your right. The blue glow vanishes, and the kid curls up more. You can hear them crying into their knees. You’re sitting. You don’t remember doing that.

“We...we killed them, a few times.Thought it’d be better than what happened the other times.” They croak, voice unaccustomed to so much talking. “Was, but not enough. Kept going back. Sometimes didn’t try to kill, just hurt, to get away. Still died.” They’re not speaking in complete sentences anymore, and you have no idea what to do, what to say, anything. You don’t know why they keep saying ‘we’, you don’t know why they hurt themself, you don’t know why they feel like they have to kill themself.

You don’t know how to help them feel better.

They take a few deep breaths. “The times when...it didn’t happen, or where they didn’t die...when...we died...those were the better times.” It feels like there’s just, an absence of anything behind your sternum, and it aches with worry for kid.

“well...i dunno what ‘it’ is, but all that’s in the past now, kiddo. you gotta just. keep movin’ forward.”

“I don’t wanna.” and it sounds so childish, like they’re being told to eat some vegetable they don’t like. The childlike nature of the phrase juxtaposed with the raw emotion in their voice, and the situation in general, makes you laugh. They lift their head to look at you, confusion written all over their face, and you can’t stop laughing, tears rolling down your skull even if you try to wipe them all away.

Nothing is said while you...do whatever the hell you’re doing, and by the end you honestly can’t tell if you’re crying ‘cause you’re laughing or ‘cause you’re fucking heartbroken. They’re just tears.

You notice they’re digging their nails into their legs, and you pause to compose yourself.

“you’ve made it this far. why give up now?” They only shrug, letting their gaze fall to the floor to examine the tile. “we would be sad, if you died. all of us.” You say, focusing on the knife next to you. “tori and asgore would lose a child, the rest of us a friend,” You don’t know where you’re going with this. “monsterkind would lose its ambassador, hell, you’re friends with a lot of them too, they’d miss you...”

“I get it.” They say, stopping you mid word-vomit. “I understand that. But…” They pick at the frayed sleeve of their hoodie for a few moments before sighing and shrugging. “I don’t...wanna think about what happened. And dying is...a good way to make the thoughts, memories, go away.”

There’s an odd clacking noise, and it takes you longer than it should to realize it’s you. You’re shaking and your bones are rattling against each other. You try to still yourself, but you can’t. They lift their head to look at you, and your gaze settles on their neck, where a red line sits, blood beading, the surrounding skin red with irritation.

There’s a sniffle, and it wasn’t you, and the kid looks confused, and you realize that Tori is probably still on the other side of the door and also probably heard most, if not all, of what was said.

The kid realizes this too, crying again as they stand up on shaking legs, unlock the door, and throw themself into Tori’s arms. She looks really confused and distraught. But relieved too.

You let out a breath and flop onto your back, closing your sockets, more exhausted than any other time you can remember. Your magic is still thrumming through you, more frantically than it probably should be, and you focus on reining the magic in, calming down.

You can feel eyes on you, and you open a socket just enough to catch Tori’s worried look. You rub your face and sit up, pausing for only a second before picking the knife up, eyeing it warily. Her eyes are also on the knife, and you smile grimly at her.
======

======
*
You curl up against Mom, arms around her neck, and she’s rubbing your back. Your face is pressed into the fur where her neck meets her shoulder, and you can feel more than hear her talking to Sans.

You feel like you’ve done enough talking today.

Good news though, Chara came back. It took you a while to realize it, but they came back as soon as you had the knife against your throat, begging you to stop, to reconsider. They were apologizing quietly to you as you spoke to Sans, for something or another. You were kind of ignoring them, too caught up in your own thoughts.

They’re telling you they won’t go silent again, because they thought it would help but it made things worse. It’s what I do, they reflect sadly, make things worse. You coax them to help you control the body, so that they can hug Mom too. You two can talk it out later.

You’re...honestly just super exhausted. Not only did you get less sleep, but with all that’s happened…

You fall asleep in Mom’s arms

When you wake up, you’re on the couch, head resting in her lap as she pets your hair, combing through it gently with her claws. Sans is collapsed in a chair nearby, looking as tired as you feel, and you don’t blame him. The TV’s on, some movie you don’t know, and neither of them seem to be really paying attention to it.

You curl up more against her leg, and she pats your shoulder a few times.

No one says anything, and you wonder how much Sans told her while you were out. Probably all he knew. Or...maybe not? Because that involves resets, and Mom doesn’t know about those, and that would be a lot to explain, especially since he doesn’t seem to know a whole lot about them either, except that they happen…

You have a headache. You rub at your face with your arm, and the scratchy material of medical wrap irritates your cheek.

Also, your arm isn’t covered by a sleeve anymore. So she knows about that then.

You pull your arm back next to your torso nonetheless, as if to hide it away, ashamed.

Sans is looking at you, pupil lights dim, casting odd shadows over the rest of his skull. It nearly looks like there are bags under his eyes. You almost don’t want to, but you glance up at Mom, and she too is looking at you.

You hug yourself around your stomach, and whisper a hoarse, “Sorry.” before trying to curl up. Maybe you can keep curling up smaller and smaller until you blink out of existence?

“Hush, child, there’s no need to apologize.” Her voice is thick, and you can’t tell why right now. You can tell she wants to say more, because her paw that was running through your hair has stilled, but she doesn’t.

“kid.” Sans has pulled himself up, so he’s actually kind of sitting in the chair rather than looking like he’s slowly slipping off of it, and he’s staring at his finger bones. “honestly? we have to talk about this.” He glances up, past you, to Mom, before settling his gaze back in his hands. “not tonight, though. tomorrow. we have to, ok? we gotta know what’s bothering you so we can help. so…” a beat, “so you don’t feel like you hafta die to solve your problems.”

You can feel Mom tense at that, and you don’t blame her. You’re surprised he actually said it like that.

“Would you like anything before you go to bed, dear?” She asks, and you make yourself get up, sitting on your knees next to her, and you hug her again. She doesn’t waste a second hugging you back fiercely, one paw going back to petting your hair.

When you pull back out of the hug, your hair feels kind of static-y, so you try to pat it back into place. She laughs, and while it sounds a little sad and watery, she doesn’t cry.

“Perhaps it is about time for a trim? If you would like.” And you nod, quickly leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek before standing up. You can tell they want to follow you, so you turn back before you leave the room.

You hold your right hand up, flat, fingers together, fingertips touching your chin, before bringing it down to lay, slightly cupped and slightly above your left hand, which is held horizontally across your chest.

Goodnight, you smile at them as they, too, sign goodnight at you. Something like happiness swells inside you, and you go into your bedroom. You change quickly into pajamas and crawl into bed, pulling the covers completely over your head before you focus inwards.

Chara?, you think, hopefully.

Hey, you hear back, I’m still really, really sorry.

For what?

Everything. You frown slightly at that.

You didn’t do anything, you try.

Exactly. I sat in the back of your mind, and didn’t help at all. And you almost killed yourself… they seem in shock, to be honest? I’m glad you didn’t succeed, like I did. Being dead sucks. Would not recommend. You have the impression that they’d be smiling bitterly right now.

You didn’t do anything wrong, you clarify, to be honest, hiding in my own mind seems really nice right now. I don’t blame you one bit for doing it.

They make a noise in your head, almost like a scoff, I only did it because I thought I messed up.

You pause. Why would you think you messed up?

The whole shower thing? They prompt, I messed up.

You rub a hand over your face, the air feeling stuffy under your comforter. That was both of us, not just you.

You tried to stop us, after your arms were...whereas I thought of the knife, I’m the left-handed one, I’m the one who’s done that too many times before.

You laugh at that last point, and they stop their little monologue. You’re not the only one. I only stopped us there because I thought it would’ve been enough. It wasn’t. It was both of us, not just you.

They’re silent, and you’re worried you may’ve scared them back again.

I still shouldn’t’ve left you to deal with everything on your own.

I don’t blame you, you think simply, lifting the blanket slightly to allow fresh air in, to be honest, it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyways…

You’re both silent for a little while.

I can’t believe Sans killed them. You think, the mere idea of him hurting someone foreign to you.

I can. He killed me plenty. I guess I’m just surprised it took him so little to take action. Before, I had to kill literally everyone he cared about before he attacked me. Now?

He cares about us, you finish for them, finally resigning yourself to sticking your head out from beneath the covers to get fresh air.

He cares about you. He doesn’t know I even exist, let alone that I’m hanging around in your mind.

I’m sure that if he knew that, he’d care about you too. From the emotions you can feel coming from them, they’re not too sure about that.

There’s a minute or so of silence between the two of you before they sigh, Get some sleep, Frisk, we’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, and we should try to not be a zombie when we do.

You nod, and before you try to sleep, you offer them part control of your body. They’re hesitant, but settle their consciousness next to yours.

You both wrap your arms around yourself, and it almost feels like you’re hugging someone else, and being hugged back.
======

======
*
You are...quite confused right now. You didn’t mean to hear everything through the door, but they were talking quite loud, and you didn’t like the idea of leaving your place next to it.

They both said odd things you didn’t quite follow. Something about ‘jumping back’ and they mentioned killing people? And he started talking about how they’ll be missed and a wave of old grief floods back, pressure building behind your eyes and tightening your throat.

You finally realize the magnitude of the situation taking place behind that door, and your first thoughts, echoing Sans’ words, are I don’t want to lose another child. You lean against the wall to steady yourself. You will be strong, even if they can’t see you through the door; you will be the strong one.

Then they say how they want to forget, their seldom-heard voice cracking, and it makes your chest clench. You slide down the wall until you are sitting, a paw over your snout, trying to be quiet but tears have started to roll down your face and you’re sniffling.

It’s silent in the bathroom, and you try not to let that worry you more, but then the door opens. They throw themself into your arms and you hug them tight, most of the fear and dread overpowered by a wave of relief.

You stand up with them in your arms and look to Sans. He’s...laying on the floor, looking very tired. When he notices you’re looking at him he slowly gets up, then picks up something next to him.

It’s...a knife. A very familiar knife, and you don’t know why. You’ll think about it later.

“i’ll uh, hold onto this for now.” He says, a bit awkwardly, and you just nod.

“What…” You have so many questions, they all get jumbled up as you try to ask. “What was all of that?”

“i’ll...explain what i know, but that’s not much. the kid’ll have to tell you themself.” He rubs his skull with his free hand. “meet you in the living room.” And before you can protest, he’s gone. You walk there, carrying Frisk, who is now asleep in your arms, in a stunned sort of daze. It feels somewhat surreal. You wonder for a moment if you’re actually dreaming right now, but you don’t think you could have imagined this kind of situation yourself, so you dismiss the thought.

He’s already in a chair when you enter the room, slouched with his elbows on his knees. You take the couch, and gently lay Frisk down next to you, grabbing a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch to cover them.

“so.” He says but doesn’t continue, threading his fingers together. You realize he’s not holding the knife anymore, and you wonder where it is. You also notice that the TV has been muted, and the channel changed.

“I...know that you have been holding back information.” You say, hesitantly, “Both of you; and be it to intentionally be secretive or to keep me from worrying, it does not matter.” You sit up a bit straighter when you say, “You will tell me what is happening.” Your voice has taken on a sterner tone, not unkind, no, but it’s the voice of a queen, strong and demanding of attention.

He rubs the back of his skull with a sigh. “yeah, i was hopin’ the kid’d say something. ‘s not really my story to tell.” You glare at him, not willing to put up with this nonsense anymore. “ok, ok, but i really don’t know much more than you.”

“Tell me.” You emphasize. Your ignorance nearly ended in disaster.

“ok. uh.” He leans back in the chair, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. You see his sockets close. “those people on the news? nearly kidnapped frisk.” You breathe in sharply, but don’t interrupt. “i stopped them before they did. uh. you kinda saw how that turned out.” Your gaze flicks to the TV for a moment before returning to Sans.

“You mean, you…?” You can’t bring yourself to say it. He chuckles darkly.

“yeah. they were gonna hurt frisk. and...i stopped them. a bit too well. didn’t really think about holding back when i heard them scream and saw the humans goin’ for them.” He’s tapping the tips of his finger bones against his thumbs, in little odd, repeating patterns.

You...can’t really bring yourself to look at Sans at the moment, so you instead watch Frisk. They...look peaceful, sleeping on your lap. You see an injury on their neck and you’re tempted to try and heal it, but you’re afraid the sensation of healing magic would wake them, so you hold back.

“and...ah fuck.” He slides down in the chair, face looking strained as he mumbles something about time. “there’s a lot to explain.”

“But...you saved them, yes? The kidnappers did not get to them.” His smile seems tight.

“i’m...not sure i should be one to explain this to you, it’s the kid’s thing, and i don’t know much about it, but. they can, uh, manipulate time? sorta. sometimes, if they wanna, or if they get killed, they can jump back to a point earlier in time and it’s like it never happened.”

You pull a face, and he shakes his head.

“i know. i know i sound crazy-”

“Jokes, Sans? At a time like this?”

“it’s not a joke.” And there’s something in his face, something about how he said it, that makes you pause. It’s...his words sound almost familiar, in a foggy, strange kind of way.

You rub your face a little, mussing up the damp fur beneath your eyes, before idly running your claws through Frisk’s hair, making it lay flatter.

“you feel it, yeah?” He slides down further. “they’ve...done it a lot. when we were still in the underground. they haven’t done it as much since we got out, but it still happens.

“i...only found them because it was happening. i used each new time to look for them in different place- my notes’re back home- and i only found them on about the thirtieth time ‘round.” His fingertips are now still, pressing against each other with quite a bit of force, if how his fingers are bending are any indication. “so...whatever those humans wanted with them? could’ve happened about thirty or so times.”

“Oh dear…” You mumble, petting their hair as if to calm them, as if they aren’t asleep.

“yeah. they, uh, mentioned something that happened, only calling what happened ‘it’ and that really worries me, who knows what those humans did. they hurt frisk somehow. but sometimes, i guess, they tried defending themself. and they ended up killing the humans. they jumped back because they didn’t want the humans to die-” He interrupts himself to laugh, “and i ended up killin ‘em.”

You’re silent, just watching the blanket rise and fall with their breaths.

“and, uh. they remember what happens from when they jump.” He continues, and your non-occupied paw clenches slightly, worried as to where his words are going. “and. whatever happened kind of fucked ‘em up.” You frown at his language, but let it slide since Frisk is not currently awake. “and so. they.”

You wait for him to continue, but are met with silence. He’s slid even further down in the chair, back resting on the cushion, shoulders shrugged high with his arms still over the arms of the chair.

“they, uh. just look at their arms.” You pause, but do as he says. You gently take one arm and pull back the sleeve, and you’re met with their whole forearm arm being covered in a bandage, mostly white but with splotches of maroon. You quickly look back at him, face scrunching a little and your magic pulsing just a bit faster, and you see that he’s watching them.

“they did it to themself. it’s...i’m not gonna lie, it’s bad. cuts all up and down. both arms and legs.” Your magic circles your body faster, and it’s distracting.

“and now this?” He adds, more to himself than to you. He tilts his head back as best as he can. “kid.”

You feel like that’s the end of the explanation, and you move to pick up the remote, turning the volume up just a bit so you can catch vague murmurs. It is some human movie, and you idly watch it.

It’s not too much later that Frisk wakes, and after a quick chat they’re off to bed. You are worried for them, and Sans seems equally so, but you let them go by themself.

You both sit there in silence for a bit longer, until you stand.

“I think it is time I, too, sleep. You should do the same.” He nods, but doesn’t move. You find yourself waiting for a few beats for him to make his way out before you give up and head to your room. He’ll see himself out.

When you wake up and head to the kitchen, you see that he’s still there, on the floor in front of the chair. It looks like he slid out of it at some point.

He’s asleep, and you frown. You go to lift him- he weighs about the same as Frisk does- and lay him on the couch, covering him in a blanket. He may not care where he sleeps, but you do.

When you make your way into the kitchen, you nearly step on a shard of ceramic. It had slipped your mind that you had dropped dishes last night. It had also slipped your mind that neither you nor Frisk had dinner last night. They will probably be very hungry today.

You grab a broom and dustpan, and begin clearing the floor of anything sharp or hazardous when an image flashes by in your thoughts.

That knife Sans had been holding. You...remember it now.

You had seen Chara holding it sometimes.

That’s why this situation feels familiar, and it makes you sigh, sitting down in a chair as you stare at the half-cleaned floor.

You do not know how long you sit there, thinking of all your children, but it is long enough that Sans walks in, stretching.

“hey uh, thanks.” Is all he says, is all he needs to say, and you nod, the small disruption spurring you to your feet to clear away the rest of the shards.

You wash your paws and grab your book before sitting at the table, where he’s already claimed a spot. He just sits in silence as you read, and he may have even fallen asleep again.

At some point, you hear a flush, and you slip your bookmark back into place before standing up. Sans- who has his skull laying on his arms atop the table- turns his head, following your movements with his glowing pupils. You make your way into the hall to call to them, “Frisk, my child? Would you like anything in particular to eat this morning?”

They pop out of their room momentarily to sign, holding their right hand up, only pointer finger extended, up near the corner of their mouth, curling and uncurling it as they move it across their face. Cereal.

You nod and make your way to the kitchen while they close their door. “Does cereal sound good to you?” You ask Sans as you pass by, and he makes a noise that sounds more like a ‘yes’ than a ‘no’. You grab the milk and cereal - both human and monster brands, since you and Sans need the kind that your magical bodies can actually use as energy - and place them in the center of the table. You go back for the bowls and spoons, setting the table just as Frisk walks in and takes a seat.

They’re shaking slightly, and look like they’re about to talk, when you speak first.

“If you are about to tell us what I think you are, it can wait. Food is more important right now.” They sag, muscles that were tense relaxing, and they hesitantly nod at you as they pour themself their cereal.

It’s quiet, and a somewhat strained quiet at that, unlike normal breakfasts, but you attribute it to all of you being a little on edge.

Once they’re done, they fidget, twining their fingers together in many ways in their lap, and this time it’s Sans who says something.

“once we’re done eating, let’s go back to the living room. might as well be comfortable if we’re gonna have this talk.” He shrugs, and you see Frisk nod. They close their eyes and mouth words to themself while you and Sans finish eating.
======

======
*
You are not ready to tell them yet. But you know waiting won’t do any good.

This is what you keep telling yourself as you all go to the living room. They both sit down in the chairs, leaving the couch to you. You sit on the middle cushion, hugging your legs to yourself and using your knees as a chinrest.

Remember, I’m here and can take over if talking is too much, ok? Chara reassures, but you know they’re as nervous as you are. They still don’t really want Mom to know they’re in your mind, but you both agreed that the resets are something that need to be discussed. And if the situation calls, they’re prepared to show themself, even if they really don’t want to.

You take a deep breath, to calm yourself, before you speak. They’re both ready to listen.

“Ok. What...do you know?” You’re whispering, because you know there’s going to be a lot of talking, and you swallow nervously as they both lean in to make sure they hear your soft words.

“i...vaguely explained timelines, but probably not very well. and...all i know of what happened the other day.” Sans says, letting his line of sight fall to the floor. You get the impression that he’s ashamed, or apologetic without apologizing. Probably for telling Mom things that you should have.

You understand though, and just nod.

“Ok uh, yeah. I can, kinda jump back in time. I can make a point to jump back to if I’m feeling determined enough to. And…” You sigh, closing your eyes as you psych yourself up to telling the story.

“...and so the other night, I woke up because I had a bad dream. Thought I’d get some fresh air. But as I was walking, I realized I was being followed. So I hid in an alley. I was determined to not get caught...but I was caught anyways.

“They knocked me out and I woke up in a room, on a bed. I...didn’t really think to escape until a man walked in.” Your throat feels thick, and you fight to speak past it, “He...he said. Some things. A-a-and th...then he…” You don’t even know how to begin to word it.

Chara does. You don’t protest as they come forward to help.

“He raped me.” When they speak, they’re not as quiet, and the words feel like they scratch against your vocal chords on their way out, making them ache a little. You dig your fingers into your legs as they slink back, cracking an eye open to gauge the monsters’ reactions.

They look...confused. That’s not what you were expecting. Your breath gets caught in your throat. You can guess the louder voice threw them a bit, but they shouldn’t be this confused, right?

“What…” Mom begins, and your knees start knocking into each other. You hug your legs tighter, to still them, but it’s not very effective. “What does that mean?” You look to Sans, as if he might know, but he looks just as confused.

Do monsters not have a word for it? You wonder, and all Chara does is send a wave of their own confusion at you, unable to come up with words.

“I-I...don’t…” You squeeze your eyes shut again, unable to look at either of them as tears threaten to roll down your face. You press your face into your knees, trying to make yourself breathe normally. You’re only somewhat successful.

“It is okay, my child. We can worry about definitions later. It is...something bad, I can only imagine right now, but you need not say more if it troubles you so.” You nod, motion stunted by your legs being in the way, and you continue.

“S-so, when h-he was leaving, he s-said tha-that-” Deep breath in, you need to calm down, “I’d make a, a ‘good addition’ and he made it sound like what happened would keep happening a-and I didn’t want it to so I jumped back but it kept happening and sometimes I tried to escape but they always stopped me or killed me and so sometimes I tried killing them but I felt horrible afterwards so I kept jumping back and it just kept happening and-”

“breathe, kid.” He’s quiet enough that you could have easily missed the words if you weren’t listening so closely for their comments, so you gulp down a few large breaths, fast and you know you should breathe slower but you just said so many words and the air you have doesn’t feel like enough.

You start speaking again when you don’t feel light headed. “And I thought I’d be stuck in that terrible loop forever.” Your voice is raspy, and it hurts to speak but you do it anyways. “When they caught me trying to escape, or when the man...it was like I was back in the Underground fighting a monster. I can’t jump back, couldn’t jump back...after a while, Sans found me.”

There’s not much else to say, Sans had already told her about your arm, at least, and she was there during your panic last night. It takes them several moments to realize this too.

Mom stands up, and you stiffen slightly, before you remember you’re not in danger and force yourself to relax again.

You did good, Chara reassures you, sending happy things your way- mostly thoughts of dogs.

“Thank you very much for telling us all of that.” She says, from next to the couch. “Now, if you would like me to, may I….May I see your arms? Sans informed me that you are hurt, and I would very much like to heal them. But only if you want me to.”

You sniffle and wipe your face on your jacket sleeve, nodding. You figured she’d say this at some point, so you dressed accordingly. You slip the green jacket off, setting it off on one cushion while Mom takes a seat on your other side. The tee you’re wearing, light blue with a little picture on the front, doesn’t cover any bandages.

You unwrap them, devoting your whole attention to the task so you don’t have to see her face. Once one arm is free, she gently takes the hand in one giant paw, while holding the other over the injuries.

She lightly brushes a paw pad over the cuts and lets her magic flow to you.

Healing magic...is hard to describe, you think. It’s kind of like, the physical embodiment of the flavor of spearmint gum. Sharp, but not in a bad way, more in a strong, gentle, unwavering way, with a bit of sweetness and as the skin is healed it tingles for several moments after her rough paw pad has passed over it.

This kind of magic works differently than you would have imagined. Before you experienced it, you would’ve thought it would heal any injury like, well, like magic. Not a trace of it left, just gone. But it’s not like that. It only really speeds up the healing process, but nothing more.

This point is quite noticeable as she moves her paw, finished with the arm. A few of the cuts seem to have disappeared completely, the shallower ones, but the rest have turned into pale little lines, a few shades lighter than your skin, joining the lines already there.

You’re tempted to run a finger over them, to feel if any are ridged up, slightly puffed out from the curve of your arm (you see some that might be), but you resist, instead unwrapping your other arm so she may heal that one as well.

Your legs are a bit more awkward, but you wore baggy sweatpants so you could pull the legs up easier.

You know Mom’s probably really sad right now, behind her focused expression, but you’re sure telling her you don’t want her to heal you would hurt her just as much. Better she know. Better you show your trust in her, and in Sans.

Once she’s done with your legs, she heals a cut on your neck that you didn’t even realize was there. It must’ve happened last night, you realize with a shudder and a spike of distress. She takes the bandages to toss, and asks if there is anything you would like to do today. You shrug, slipping the jacket back on. She nods, and says she’s sure there’s something you all can do together.

It makes you smile.

You can pinpoint the exact moment Sans looks up the word.

You’re all playing chutes and ladders - Mom said it was cold out and you didn’t want to really leave the house anyways - and he’s on his phone. It’s not his turn, not that he’d put it away if it was. He said he was texting Papyrus, said his brother was concerned that he didn’t come home last night and he had to reassure Pap that he was ok, just fell asleep at your house.

But only a few minutes after he says that his pupils dim until they’re almost extinguished, and he goes rigid. It takes Mom shaking his shoulder to snap him out of his daze and look away from his phone.

He goes back to normal after that, but he glances at you more often, and it makes you want to curl up a bit. You don’t, but you wish he’d stop looking at you with that sad expression.

When he gets up to leave later - actually through the front door like a normal person - Mom says she’ll see him out. You stay in the living room and pack up the board game, and when she comes back, she seems more cautious around you, pausing before she places a hand on your shoulder while she asks if you would like lunch, and if so, what.

Sans must’ve told her, or shown her the definition or something. You feel uncomfortable with how sad you’re making everyone; yeah, they care and it’s nice, but you don’t want them to worry, to act like you’re gonna break at any second.

Even if you might, you admit, thinking of the knife. You don’t know where it is. Last night is...a little foggy, and you checked where it usually is and around the bathroom. You think Sans may have taken it, and you feel a twinge of something in your chest, not hate, no, more like annoyance at that.

You hope you can get it back. For Chara, since it’s one of the few things they actually owned that’s on the surface. It feels...odd, not knowing where it is. It makes you kind of anxious, to be honest.

They feel flattered at the thought that you’ll try and get their knife back.

Anything for a friend, you think at them, and they don’t know how to respond.

Over the next few days, quite a few of your friends ask you to join them in fun activities. You know that Mom or Sans must’ve told them something, because they’re never all so insistent to hang out with you in such a short span of time.

Undyne and Alphys have you join them for a sleepover. They gather all their pillows and blankets and air mattresses in a pile in front of their large TV and you all try to pull an all-nighter to binge watch anime. This time it’s Ouran High School Host Club. This used to be a more common thing, but Mom said no more sleepovers on school nights after you nearly fell asleep three times in one class.

During the sleepover, there are breaks to get more food (mostly popcorn, candy, and pop) and once for a small pillow fight that ends up with Undyne making you fly from one end of room onto the pile of soft things. The force of the pillow hitting you hurts only a little, but landing in the pile is fun, so you ask her to throw you into the pile a few more times, and she gladly agrees.

While you enjoy the silly and romantic themes of the anime, Chara chimes in that it would be better with more fighting. You disagree, but tell them that maybe next time you can convince Alphys to play one that Chara might enjoy more. They act like they don’t care, but you can feel their happiness. You don’t mention that to them, though.

You fall asleep sometime after 2:30 (that’s the last time you remember checking the clock) and when you all wake up Alphys is lamenting that you missed the ending of Ouran, and she asks if you’d come back sometime to watch what you missed. You nod with a smile, glad for the offer. You do want to know how it ends.

Monster Kid wants to play the next day, and you do too. You haven’t seen them since Friday, when you both left school, and you love playing with them. They tell you that they have some really cool video games they want to show you, and you happily watch.

One’s on a console, and they have to play with their feet, but they’ve gotten really good at it.

They don’t do so well at some of the more intricate bits of the game, so they ask you to help, and you do, gladly, helping them through the tough parts although sometimes Chara has to help you. You hand them the controller back just when you do what they couldn’t - it is their game - and they say a grateful “Yo! Thanks!” while flashing a toothy grin at you every time you do.

The other game they show you is on their computer. It’s really cool, ‘cause their computer has, in addition to the normal mouse for their friends or parents, a little attachment that they can put their mouth on and it acts like a mouse.

They play a game with it, and they tell you to take the arrow keys so you two can co-op it (even if it is a one player game). You have a lot of fun, even Chara, who sometimes tries to make you press a different arrow key and send your character off a cliff. Monster Kid has surprisingly good reaction times with the clicks and stuff, and with making sure your character is looking the right way, and you’re really impressed with their skill.

The day after, Papyrus insists you join him for a drive around the city, and it’s nice to get out and see everything, even if you don’t stop to explore every place. He agrees to stop at parks though, and both of you pet every dog you see (and shock quite a few humans, you guess because this side of town doesn’t have as many monsters), but after you reassure them he’s a good guy, they usually let him pet the dogs too.

The dogs love him. They lick his legs a lot and he’s really happy and you don’t want to tell him it’s probably because they think he’s one of their toys. He tells you more about that annoying dog that plagues him, even up on the Surface. The stories are silly, and you laugh more than you have for a few days.

You both get ice cream, and he questions why the wrapper doesn’t have anything written on it. You tell him most human ice cream is like that, and he’s genuinely surprised before he launches into a story about the nice cream man.

Once he bought a nice cream from him, but it didn’t have anything on the wrapper. When he told the bunny about it, he started to apologize and asked to see the wrapper back. He handed Papyrus the wrapper back, and there wasn’t just one good thing written on it, there was two!

He says he was so amazed he put it on the fridge for a few weeks, until the annoying dog came along and ate it.

When it’s finally time for you to go home - Mom wants you back for dinner (you don’t want to tell her you had ice cream for lunch) - he drives you back. Chara was mostly ignoring everything today because there had been too many people around, but now they’re finally starting to be more social.

He doesn’t know that he drove by the alleyway you hid in that night, and you’re honestly surprised that you’re not panicking right now. You do sit a little more stiffly, and hold your breath, and you can’t seem to take your eyes off of it, but other than that.

As he rounds a corner, and you catch one more glimpse of it, you think of how you never want to go back there. Never want that to happen again. You feel a SAVE point form, but only for a moment, as the odd warmth they seem to give out vanishes. You leave it back at the intersection (not that you can move them once they’re made) as the car keeps going.

Knowing you have a new SAVE that isn’t in the alley helps you relax, both you and Chara.

Papyrus is watching you, looking a little worried, and you smile at him. He smiles back.

On a warmer day, Mom asks if you would like to hunt for bugs, and you nod happily. You start in the backyard, but end up in the front, taking a nice walk around the neighborhood, catching bugs as you see them.

You know she is looking for snails, and you’re looking hard too, but you don’t find any. When you return to the house you look up snail facts and tell her maybe she’d find more at night, and she says she never thought of that, having been in the Underground all times previous where there is no clearly defined day or night.

You two spend the rest of the day watching cartoons and reading (she took you to the library to get some new books), and once the sun has set you go back out to look for snails. You’re both more successful this time around, and you have a competition to see who can find the most snails. You’re more willing to climb into smaller spaces to look for them, and Chara keeps telling you to check random places (they learned a bit about snail hunting while living with the Dreemurrs), but Mom’s more experienced in searching, and she wins. You don’t mind, you’re just happy knowing she is having just as much fun as you are.

You even spend a day with Asgore. He is your adoptive dad, and you’ve missed him. You usually go to his house on weekends, and occasionally on school days, but the break and what happened kind of messed up those plans. You haven’t seen him in over a week.

So when you see his house you’re more than a little stunned. It’s got quite a few more plants in it.

He says he ordered some exotic plants, and didn’t realize that the climate may not be good for them and now he has to have them inside. You grin and help him take care of them, asking him about each one when Chara tries asking you, and sometimes one or both of you have to look up specific facts about ones he doesn’t know as much about.

It’s cool to see them, how different they all look, and especially the cool ones that move when you touch them, like the venus fly traps and the sensitive plants.

You think he must have been the only one that was told the whole story other than Mom and Sans, being one of your parents. He is more cautious around you, but when you refuse to act differently, he seems to pick up on it and stops acting so weird.

A few days after you’ve hung out with pretty much every one of your friends, Sans texts you at 11:30 at night. You are nearly asleep when the phone buzzes loudly against the wood of the nightstand, and startles you from the edge of sleep. Your heart’s beating fast, still trying to calm down from the scare, as you check your messages.

‘wanna do something?’ is all it says, and you rub your face with your pajama sleeve as Chara scoffs, that’s not vague at all. You unplug your phone and take it to your bed so you can sit down.

‘What do you have in mind?’ you send back, and several seconds later there’s a soft, yet sharp knock on your bedroom door. You pull on a jacket before you open the door, and he doesn’t speak, just holds a hand out to you. You take it, start walking forward-

-when he takes you through a shortcut. You’re on a grassy hill, the city just a vague glow on the horizon, and he sits down on a blanket, pupils dimming a bit in the night. You follow his lead, and see a telescope next to him.

“‘s a clear night tonight. thought you might like to look at the stars.” he shrugs, moving the telescope between you two. You eye it critically, and he laughs. “don’t worry, this one’s prank-free.” You laugh too, and look through it. You’re surprised by the number of stars you can see here.

It kind of reminds you of the night you climbed Ebott. You chew on your lower lip at the thought, and move the telescope so your line of sight sweeps across the sky, leaving the memory behind as you marvel at the lights. You stop after a little bit and move the telescope closer to him.

He waves a hand in your direction, trying to get you to look as much as you want, but you push it closer and he eventually relents. Once he pulls the telescope in front of himself, you tug your jacket a little tighter around yourself, the night air chilling you in your night clothes and jacket. Before he puts a socket to the telescope, he sheds his jacket and drapes it onto your shoulders. It’s a bit big on you, but it feels nice, so you slip your arms through and zip it up and laugh at how you can fit your whole body in it. He chuckles a little too before returning his attention to the ‘scope and the sky.

You remember calling Papyrus many times while in the underground. Once, he told you that Sans loves outer space, and you think that’s partly the reason he chose this to do.

As you look up at the stars, there’s only a few constellations that you or Chara can recognize (them more so than you), but it’s far more than Sans knows. As he gets a closer look, you both tell him all you know, the big and little dipper, Orion’s belt, and all.

When you’re out of constellations, and he’s done looking around at other stars, he pulls away from the telescope, gaze falling on you, the lights in his sockets bright, and you smile at his delight, even as his pupils leave spots in your vision. You tell him he should get books, or look up more constellations so you can come out here again and find them, and he says he might. You hope he does.

It's about a month since that night, and you're finally at another ambassador meeting. You - as well as Mom and Dad - agreed that you should take a break from politics until you felt well enough. You felt bad about missing things - you know Mom and Dad can handle things without you - but your presence at the meetings is beneficial.

So here you are, thirty some days later. It's a weekend so you're not missing school for this, which is good. There's quite a few people here, and you're uncomfortable, but you're between the Dreemurrs, and that helps you feel safe. At some point, you wander off to use the restroom. As you're trying to make your way back to your parents, someone stops you, begins to talk to you.

“Oh! Look who it is.” His voice is deep, smooth, and, under normal circumstances, should be comforting, like a storyteller.

As it is, the voice makes your knees give out beneath you, tears burning your eyes, and you realize after a moment that you're screaming.
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