Chapter Text
“I, Alphys, Royal Scientist of the Underground, document, record, seal, and hereby certify the death of Frisk Zayden Maddison. DOB: Unknown. Age: 6. Date of Death: 3/31/2029. Cause of Death: Unknown…”
Toriel held the certificate in her trembling hands as she silently cried, her tears blinding and stinging her eyes. On the table by her massive armchair was a scrapbook which she was going to make for Frisk, but it only served to be a painful reminder of the future she could no longer have. Frisk was now yet another child she lost in the Underground. He died from some sort of illness; she knew that much. In a grim way she was thankful that her ex-husband Asgore never put his hands on Frisk. This was the only silver lining that brought her relief. A very limited amount, but still some.
Sans sat by the fire in her living room trying to focus on the crossword from today’s paper, but his eyes drifted back to the small tub of playdough Frisk used to play with. Pen in hand, Sans lightly tapped his skull with frustration. He had no idea what he was truly feeling: was it sadness? Anger? Anxiety? Or, more likely than not, numbness? This uncertainty filled him with uneasiness. It was better to just relax and take it all in stride. Nothing could be done about it now, so no use in dwelling on it. Besides, Frisk didn’t reset, and there’s no possibility of that happening anymore because his death was permanent; it’s probably for the best. That feeling, whatever it was, still lingered despite this newfound hope. He shot a quick glance at Toriel, then looked back at his crossword which he hadn’t even started.
“So, uh…how long was it?”
“How long was what?”
“Well, you know, since he died.”
Toriel wiped her eyes with a delicate white handkerchief then laid the death certificate down on the table, right on top of the scrapbook.
“It has only been about two weeks.”
“Two weeks? Geez, that’s, uh, pretty recent. I thought more time had passed, honestly.”
Asgore was idling in the kitchen and served Toriel and Sans slices of butterscotch cinnamon pie before taking a small one for himself. He noticed that Toriel hadn’t, or wouldn’t, touch the pie, and it was left uneaten on her lap. He then stood behind the armchair and rested his right hand on it, secretly hoping he could rest his arm on her shoulder as he used to do. He couldn’t find the inner strength to look at her directly knowing everything he had done to the other humans who fell before Frisk. He never wanted things to come to that, but it had to be that way, for the good of his people, and to give them hope. But that hope came at a horrible cost.
“We did everything we could for him,” Asgore said, trying to slowly reach his hand over her shoulder.
Toriel swatted his hand away with force.
“Don’t offer me your worthless comfort. You knew exactly what you were doing with the others. And don’t even think about pretending you wouldn’t have done the same to him either.”
Asgore looked down and hung his head in shame.
“I know.” He massaged his temples with his hand. “And I’m sorry—”
“If you were REALLY sorry, you would have stopped after the first human and actually LISTENED to my plan, would you not? YOU made that choice. Now you have to live with its consequences.”
Asgore took a step away from the chair and sat on the floor trying to eat the pie, but he only lightly picked at it with his fork. Sans still sat by the fire pretending not to hear the conversation. He finally became distracted enough to attempt the crossword. First clue: “When a monster dies, it is ______.” Answer: “Fallen Down.” That first crossword line was strangely funny given the heaviness of what was going on.
“Yeah, thanks for the pie, Asgore. It’s good. Never had it before.”
“You’re welcome, Sans. Feel free to come by my home for more anytime.”
“Cool. I gotta share this sometime with Papyrus. He’d love it.”
“I’d be more than happy to oblige.” Asgore walked back to the kitchen and picked up a tea kettle.
“Would any of you like some tea? I brought the golden flower tea that you like,” Asgore said, turning to Toriel.
She relented a little bit and nodded. Sans gave a halfhearted thumbs up.
Asgore served the tea in little porcelain teacups that were painted white with daisies silhouetting the borders. Sans then came to the realization that with Frisk’s permanent death, there would be no way out of the Underground. He could finally name what he was feeling earlier: grief. He grieved the loss of the future, the hopelessness of their situation, and, despite everything, he was grieving for Frisk. Sans let out a long and drawn-out sigh.
“Man,” Sans said, “What are we gonna do?”
CHAPTER ONE:
“Prove it. Prove to me that you can survive.”
Toriel prepared a series of magical attacks on Frisk, much to her discomfort and shame. She never wanted to hurt him and tried everything in her power not to, but she thought in her heart that she was doing her best to protect her child. He successfully dodged each attack with ease. Despite everything she was doing, Frisk refused to fight back.
“What are you proving this way?” Toriel asked in frustration.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Mom.”
“Attack or run away!”
Frisk tried to give Toriel a hug, but she gently pushed him back.
“Go away!”
The attacks gradually became less intense as Frisk insisted on sparing her. Toriel tried to remain detached from the situation, but she started to let down her guard despite her best efforts.
“Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Mom…” Frisk started to say, but he quickly lost his train of thought.
“Please, go upstairs. We can have a nice life here. I know we don’t have much, but…”
Toriel’s last thoughts got stuck in her brain before she could say anything. She felt a massive lump in her throat grow as she slowly realized the gravity of what she was doing. Pangs of pain seared through her chest; she was not ready to say goodbye.
"I want to go home.”
Toriel took a deep and heavy breath.
“No, you’re right. You would just be unhappy trapped down here. The Ruins are very small once you get used to it. My expectations, my loneliness, my fear…for you, my child, I will set them aside.”
Though she tried everything she could to keep Frisk from leaving the Ruins, he was relentless in his stubbornness, much like Asgore. Once she gave him his final hug goodbye, she had to focus on taking care of the golden flowers. If she didn’t, she would find endless excuses to rescind her decision to let him go.
“If I let Frisk exit the Ruins, who will protect him from Asgore?”
“Frisk is far too young to go exploring the Underground by himself.”
“The puzzles in Snowdin and Hotland are very dangerous. I can’t let him take those risks.”
“Will I ever see him again?”
These thoughts and others like them kept racing through her head, but she forced herself to regain her composure. Frisk was not actually her child, after all. But did that really matter? Chara wasn’t her son either. It was evident enough that her son Asriel and Chara loved each other and became as close as blood. How could something like that be disrespected? What if she and Frisk could have had more? Did it have to be this way?
“Come on, Tori, focus. You know this is the right thing to do,” she told herself as she turned away from Frisk for the last time.
“Someone has got to take care of these flowers.”