Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frisk McGaan was a… different child. Mrs. McGaan knew that from the moment she popped out, bawling and squealing into the county hospital.

“You cheated on me, didn't you!” Mrs. McGaan shrieked in delirious rage. Her face was flushed and sweaty, with a glassy sheen in the unflattering fluorescent light. Her hands trembled with exhaustion, and she was slumped on a hospital bed that was at least ten years old, if not older. Diligent nurses had tried their best to wash the smell of misery from it, but it remained, nevertheless.

“What? I did not cheat on you! How is that even possible?” Mr. McGaan shouted back, his severe face becoming red with rage. Had large purple bags under his eyes, and a red indent in his hand where he was still clenching his car keys. He was unshaven, unwashed, and wearing only a muscle shirt and sweatpants. 

“Now, please, calm down, Mrs. McGaan. There is no need to be upset-” a nurse pleaded, holding her arms out defensively. 

“No need to be upset! There is no way I could be the mother of such an ugly child!” Mrs. McGaan shrieked. Now, Mrs. McGaan was not pretty, but not gorgon like, either. Mrs. McGaan was the type to pine over a chipped bathroom mirror for hours, twirling her hair and admiring her “stunning” looks. It could easily be said that Mrs. McGaan thought she was god’s gift to men everywhere. Anyone who was more beautiful than her was, therefore, an enemy.

On the contrary, Mr. McGaan was quite the opposite. He wasn't handsome, however, he wasn't too hideous. He spent hours in front of the mirror, but instead of admiring his every virtue, he criticized every tiny flaw. This made Mr. McGaan thoroughly miserable, and he spent every waking hour making sure everyone else was miserable, too.

“A baby this ugly is obviously yours, dumbbell! Now be a man and face up to it!” Mrs. McGaan shot back, eyes drooping. She turned over and fell asleep in what must have been record time. The sound of rhinoceros snores filled the room.

“I demand a baby refund, or I will sue!” Mr. McGaan bellowed at the nurse. The nurse let out a small squeak, but quickly composed herself.

“S-sir, I’m afraid we don't offer refunds on children. Would you please follow me?” The nurse stuttered, holding open the door. She gestured for Mr. McGaan to follow her. Mr. McGaan glared at her like she was crazy. They stood there, in a silent standoff for some seconds.

“Fine,” Mr. McGaan caved, following the nurse out the door. No one saw it, but he turned and whispered to Frisk McGaan, cooing on her mother’s lap.

“You little devil.”

 “Frisk McGaan, put on that dress immediately!” Mrs. McGaan shouted at the stubborn little kid. She was crimson with rage, her hands shaking as she sputtered. In Mrs. McGaan's hands, she brandished the pinkist, most sparkly dress the world had ever seen. Frisk had their arms crossed, back turned to their mother. Their face was livid with rage.

“I'm not wearing your stupid dress! I'm not a girl!” Frisk screamed back, stomping their feet. Several teddy bears with bright red bows tumbled to the ground from their cozy shelves from the mini earthquake Frisk caused.

“Frisk, who gave you these ideas! You are a girl, through and through, and you will dress like one!” Mrs. McGaan yelled. She scooped Frisk up, forcing them into the dress with a dexterity that spoke of much practice.

“Mom, no! Let me get-” Frisk struggled with the straps of their dress, but stopped struggling as soon as they saw Mr. McGaan prowl in. He glared at the fallen teddy bears, at Mrs. McGaan, and then finally at Frisk.

“What seems to be the problem here?” He growled to Mrs. McGaan, who had fallen deathly quiet and still. Frisk froze in place, hands still hovering over a frilly sleeve.

“Frisk won't shut up about her dress!” Mrs. McGaan sighed, exasperated, “She just keeps whining and whining!”

“Frisk, wear the dress.” Mr. McGaan stated plainly. His hand slipped down to his belt. Frisk gulped, rubbing their arm where last week’s bruises still stung.

“Y-yes, I'll wear the, the dress.” Frisk stuttered, hastily pulling the despised straps back up.

“Good. We're leaving for the cocktail party in five.” Mr. McGaan ordered, then exited the room.

The ride to the cocktail party was silent.

Frisk wandered around the vast living room at the cocktail party. It was lined with dirty, overstuffed couches, dusty paintings of even dustier men, and the occasional window looking out onto a cloudy street. Frisk squirmed as they felt drunken bodies press to their left and right, confining them. It was at these times that the frilly, itchy dress felt especially confining.

“Psst. Over here!” A kid waved at Frisk from a secluded corner they hadn't noticed before. Frisk hurried over, greatful for the invitation. The kid was in a small nook, hidden away from the main room by a floral curtain.

“There's only adults at this party. It's really boring.” The kid yawned, leaning over a small table, eyelids half closed “What's your name?”

“Frisk,” Frisk mumbled, peering closely at the curious boy. He seemed about four or so years older than them. His eyes drooped, and he was rubbing his fingernails against his palms in an effort to stay awake.

“I'm Omar. Nice to meet ya.” Omar said, pulling something out of a small, striped bag. Frisk tensed up. Omar unfolded several mysterious objects from inside the bag, laid them on the short table, smoothed them out and pulled two stools over, one on each side. Frisk peered over curiously. The objects seemed to be some set of figurines, but it wasn't like the action figures the teachers wouldn't let Frisk play with at school. The pieces were shaped oddly, and they were in black and white instead of the normal bright colors. There was some fihures shaped vaguely like horses, some with rounded heads, and some with weird bumps on their heads. Frisk picked one up, rolling it around in their fingers. 

“So, have you ever played chess?” Omar asked, grinning.

Frisk shook their head.

“What? You haven't?” Omar looked a little shocked, “Well, I'll just have to teach you!” He bounced back, shaking a piece in his hands. Over the course of several minutes, Omar sped through the basic rules of chess, pointing out what different pieces did and how they moved. His voice sped up and up, until it was nearly a blur.

 “So, got all that?” Omar asked once he was done. How could have Frisk got it! He spoke faster than lightning!

“...Sure,” Frisk responded, unsure of what else to play.

“Great! Let's play, then!” Omar said. He confidently reached over, and moved a white pawn forward one space. Frisk looked hesitantly at their tiny black pieces, considering their options. With one definitive move, Frisk began to play.

“I lost to a ten year old…” After a long, hard fought match, Omar stared down at the pieces in confusion. His brow scrunched up as he stared at the board. Frisk, on the other hand, was quite happy. That game was fun!

“I lost to a ten year old! You're amazing, Frisk!” Omar shouted, suddenly hugging Frisk.

“Thanks,” Frisk whispered, unsure of how to take the sudden praise. Once Omar let them go, Frisk stared down at their hands, half smiling and half cowering.

“Hey, you know, there’s chess tournaments you can attend. Here, give me your number and I’ll send some to you!” Omar said, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“Oh… sure, I guess,” Frisk responded, jotting down their number on a nearby napkin and handing it to Omar. Unfortunately, this sudden movement attracted the attention of the hawk-like Mr. McGaan. Mr. McGaan sauntered over, holding a brightly colored martini and nearly tripping over his own feet along the way.

“Frisk, who is this?” Mr. McGaan inquired, staring down at Omar like a snake stares at a rabbit.

“Hi, I'm Omar!” Omar said cheerfully, standing up and holding his hand out to Mr. McGaan. Mr. McGaan glared down at his hand, and then brushed it away.

“Omar? Sounds like a terrorist name,” He rumbled, grabbing Frisk by the collar, “Come on, it's time to go,” Mr. McGaan said, fragging Frisk out. Frisk waved hesitantly to Omar on the way out the door.

Mrs. McGaan was already waiting in their shiny, red car. Her mascara was smudged and melting, making her seem like some vampire. Both Mr. McGaan and Mrs. McGaan’s breath reeked of alcohol. Mr. McGaan started the car with unusual force, twisting the key so hard it seemed like it would snap off entirely. The car woke up slowly and sleepily, but suddenly began rolling down the street at a harrowing speed.

“Dad? Are you sure you're not going to fast?” Frisk asked nervously, clutching the edge of the car door until their knuckles turned white.

“Don't lecture your father,” Mrs. McGaan snapped tartly. Frisk whimpered and tried to retreat into their seat. Five minutes passed, just enough time for Frisk’s parents to start talking.

“...was talking to Frisk’s teacher…”

“What'd they say?”

“...smart. Just a load of bull crud…”

“Darn right!”

Mr. McGaan, who was driving, turned around to face Frisk. They could smell the alcohol on his breath, assaulting their nose.

“You say anything in school?” Mr. McGaan slurred, eyes blurring in and out of focus. This didn't seem right, wasn't he supposed to be driving? Frisk's eyes widened as they watched the nightmarish scene unfold before them. Time seemed to slow down until every second was a minute.

“Watch out!” Frisk screamed as a giant tricked hurdled their way.

Noise. Heat. Pain. That was all Frisk felt until the world faded back into focus. They were sprawled at the base of a huge, gnarly oak tree, adorned in fall foliage. The shiny red car was completely wrecked. It slept on its back next to the huge truck, which had a couple fires blooming out of the hood. Frisk did a once over of theirself. Head, check. torso, check. Arms... fuck. A huge glass shard had wedged itself in Frisk's forearm. Surprisingly, Frisk felt numb. The fact that it didn't hurt made Frisk more panicked than if it would have if it had hurt at all. Frisk's breath came in stuttering gasps, head pounding, arms trembling. Wait - they still had their phone! Frisk fumbled around in their tiny dress pockets, pulling out their phone.

  “No, no, no! No reception,” Frisk mumbled to themself as they shakily unlocked their cracked smartphone. Frisk glanced desperately up the slopes of Mt. Ebott. Maybe if they went higher, they could get enough reception to call 911? Frisk heaved themself up, amazed at the effort it took. They were beginning to feel light headed, but with all of their DETERMINATION, Frisk began to limp up Mt. Ebott.

It was about fifteen minutes later, and Frisk had one percent left. Not surprisingly, Frisk felt like their human battery had less than one percent, too.

“Cmon!” Frisk whispered to their phone, as if it was a sentient being. They pulled themself up one more step, and then... yes! Frisk's phone had service!

Frisk sighed in shaky relief, collapsing to the ground. However, in this process, Frisk's hand let go of the phone. It feel underneath the root of a nearby elm tree. Whoops.  Going on their hands and knees, Frisk realized the tree was hollow, and that they could climb in.

“C’mon, just a bit further…” Frisk mumbled, as they pulled themselves under the roots. Then, without any warning, the ground underneath them gave way. Frisk tumbled down, down, down, into the darkness, which was waiting with open arms to engulf them.

Chapter Text

Frisk floated gently in darkness. It was a warm, comforting sort of darkness, more akin to a blanket than to night. Frisk wanted to stay there forever. It was nice… why ever wake up?

“Frisk… stay DETERMINED! The world depends on it!” A voice announced. The voice wasn’t too loud, but it was loud enough to catch Frisk’s attention. It was moderate, empathetic, with a slight… Norwegian accent? That was the last thing Frisk heard before they woke up, and they subsequently forgot their odd dream.

Black and white. That was all Frisk could see. Black and white checkers, stretching as far as the eye could see. Under Frisk’s squinted eyelids, it all blended together into undulating waves of grey. Frisk went through their mental “how screwed up am I” checklist. Head - hurt like heck, but okay. Hands - not bad. Legs - FRACK! Frisk hissed as their leg just dropped offline. Icy pain lanced through their leg, like that time Mrs. McGaan had dumped a bucket of ice water on Frisk to wake them up.

“Come on, seriously?” Frisk said, clutching their leg. Just great! Now they were going to starve down here, alone, in a cave dotted with… black and white checkerboard tiles? For the first time, it hit Frisk that they might not be alone.

Click. Click. Click. Frisk heard echoes bouncing off the cool tiles. Their stomach dropped.

“H-hello? Who’s there?” Frisk called, their voice wavering. Click. Click. Click. The echoes were louder now, booming in Frisk’s ears. They began to breath faster, trying to pull themself away from the sound. With a soft thud, Frisk’s back hit a wall. A shadowy figure appeared the end of the hallway, casting a long shadow that covered Frisk.

“Stay back! Don’t come any closer!” Frisk yelled. In desperation, the scrabbled around them for a weapon, any weapon. Frisk’s hand closed on an object, and they brandished in front of them. To Frisk’s disappointment, it was only a stick, pathetically small.

“Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the flower!” The figure introduced itself, stepping into the sunlight filtering from above.

Frisk stared at the figure before them. Flower - with legs and a face? Frisk froze, trying to register the scene before them. There was a yellow flower in a pot, which had some sort of weird robot legs.

“Eeeeh! What are you?” Frisk yelled, surprised. The hand with the stick started trembling, and adrenaline kicked in, numbing their system even more. The flower stood out in the black and white world like an ink blotch on an empty piece of paper.

“What do you think? I’m a flower,” Flowey said, smile growing. Frisk lowered her stick. Whatever Flowey was, he seemed friendly enough.

“You’re new to the underground, aren’t cha?” Flowey asked. Frisked nodded vigorously.

“Golly, you must be so confused! Someone ought to teach you how things work around here. I guess little old me will have to do,” Flowey winked, “Ready? Here we go!”

Frisk squeaked as they felt their damaged legs floating off the ground, ending in a midair sitting position. Flowey’s did the same, however, Flowey seemed much more relaxed. A quasi-real chess board appeared out of thin air between them, fading into existence like a hologram.

“You see those chess pieces? Those contain your SOUL, the culmination of your being,” Flowey said, pointing out Frisk’s pieces, all lined up neat and orderly. Frisk picked  a pawn, and inspected it closely. It was a creamy ivory, with a red heart etched in it’s side. Flowey’s pieces were yellow, respectively.

“Hey, are you done inspecting one tiny, inconsequential chess piece?” Flowey asked. Frisk glanced up, startled. Flowey cleared his throat and continued.

“Anyways, the monsters down here will ask you to play a game of their choice. Whoever wins gets to ask a favor within reasonable limits of the other that must be performed, no questions asked,” Flowey explained, and Frisk nodded sagely. Any favor? That might be useful.

“You understand? Great! Let’s play a game! If you win, I’ll heal your leg!” Flowey said. Frisk nodded in acceptance. They picked up their pawn, and moved it forwards two spaces, an accepted opening move.

Flowey barely even looked at the board as he moved his piece.

“Checkmate,” Flowey said simply.

“Hey, that’s not fair! You cheated!” Frisk protested, half standing before they realized that they were floating. This resulted in Frisk hissing and retreating back into their chair - if that was what it was called.

“You IDIOT. In this world, it’s CHEAT or BE CHEATED,” Flowey said, his friendly face morphing. In its place was a sick, twisted smile overlying what Frisk realized was a sick, twisted nature. Not for the first time, Frisk felt like they were in some very deep water.

“My favor,” Frisk said. They wrung their hands, fidgeting “What do I have to do?” Flowey laughed, starting off low, but gradually rising in pitch until Frisk had to cover their ears.

“It’s simple: DIE!”

Frisk gasped as they felt their SOUL lifting off the chess pieces, being pulled towards Flowey. Now, having one’s SOUL taken is not a pleasant experience. It is a direct violation of one’s very life force, a tangling of two things that were never meant to be together. Frisk slowly slumped in their chair, the edges of their vision slowly going dark. It would be so easy to just relax, and let the darkness envelop them… No!

“Help!” Frisk shouted into the darkness, feebly.

*And somebody came.

As if as a response to Frisk’s cry, a fireball sped through the air, hitting Flowey. It knocked him off his feet, slamming him into a nearby wall, where he lay crumpled in a heap at the bottom. Frisk felt a moment of satisfaction at his shocked face.

“What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth… Ah, do not be afraid, my child.” A kind, motherly voice said. Frisk looked up, and fell to their knees, part from shock, part from the pain emanating from their leg. For standing over them was a goat in a robe. One on two legs at that, but a goat nonetheless. Frisk toppled ungracefully into the flowers, suddenly very tired from their long ordeal.

Chapter Text

“Y-you are…” Frisk stuttered, looking up at the goat lady. She was wearing a long purple robe, with trailing white sleeves Frisk had seen in storybook princesses. The goat lady had a faintly regal aura, seeming to glimmer in the small ray of sunlight from where Frisk fell.

“Do not be afraid, my daughter,” The goat lady assured. She held out her hand - paw, Frisk silently corrected, to Frisk, “I am Toriel, caretaker of the ruins.”

“...Not a girl,” Frisk whispered, refusing to meet Toriel’s eyes. Frisk shivered a little, even though it wasn’t particularly cold.

“Oh! I’m sorry! Are you a boy, then?” Toriel asked. Frisk looked up, peering at Toriel’s face. It was knit with concern and care. Frisk subconsciously relaxed a bit.

“No. I’m not,” Frisk said, a little louder this time. Something about this goat lady seemed to radiate compassion, making Frisk more at ease with her than almost any human they had met. Well, maybe except Omar.

“Very well, my child. Oh!” Toriel exclaimed, putting a paw over her mouth in shock. Frisk stared at her, puzzled for a second.

“What?” Frisk asked.

“Your leg!” Toriel exclaimed. Frisk glanced down at their mangled leg. Oh. Yeah. That. Now that Toriel pointed it out, Frisk felt it begin to throb again.

“Here, my child,” Toriel said. She placed a fuzzy paw on Frisk’s leg, and green lighted flowed out of it.

The green energy was cool, relaxing even. Frisk felt themself relax into the comforting feel of whatever Toriel was doing.

“There. How does your leg feel?” Toriel asked, removing her paw. Frisk glanced down. Instead of the gaping wound they expected, there was nothing there. Huh. Running a quick systems check, Frisk realized that all of their scratches were gone, too.

“Thank you,” Frisk whispered, and Toriel smiled warmly. Frisk slowly, shakily stood up, dusting off their sparkly dress. Boy, how they hated that thing.

“Oh!” Toriel exclaimed. She pulled out a pocket watch from the fold of her robe. Her eyes widened.

“I have to go.” Toriel said. She ran towards the door. About a foot from the door, Toriel stopped, as if realizing something. She glanced back at Frisk with a gaze that could only be pity, Frisk realized with a small pang of fear.

“Be careful,” She warned, “He is watching.” Toriel bolted out, closing the door with a resounding thud behind her.

“Wait! Who is watching!” Frisk called, but they were too late. With a SOUL full of DETERMINATION, Frisk stepped through the door.

The first thing they noticed was the cameras. They were plastered around the room, gazing at Frisk with glazed eyes. Frisk shuddered, suddenly self aware of their tattered dress and muddy skin.The whole room seemed covered with the same checkerboard tiles from the last room; the tiles were splattered with mud and dust. Frisk hesitantly ran their fingers over it, and the dust came off onto their fingers. The spot where Frisk had touched was now clean and shiny, Frisk realized with a jolt that there was writing on it. Frisk glanced nervously at the cameras, then proceeded to scrub away more of the dust with their hand.

Name: Frogit

Age: 26

Sentence: Exiled to RUINS

Frisk felt their stomach drop. Who was Frogit? With shaking hands, Frisk rubbed off more dust from the wall.

Whimsum. Loox. Spider #1. Spider #73. Exiled to RUINS.

Frisk continued to rub at the wall, only to see more and more name, hundreds, possibly thousands of names. Then Frisk froze, like a deer in the headlights.

Name: Human #5

Age: 7

Sentence: Death

Frisk stood up. They felt sick. With quick gasps, they ran out of the room, not looking behind once.

In the next room, Frisk glanced around for cameras. Yup, still there. The same smell of dust still permeated the air.

“...Please. Human,” A faint whisper came from behind Frisk. They whirled around defensively, only to see a monster propped against the wall behind them. Unlike Toriel, this monster looked vaguely like a frog, but with an odd design on it’s belly. It was clearly sentient.

“Human,” The frog insisted, and Frisk started. They realized they had been staring. Frisk warily approached the prone monster, stick clenched tightly in hand. When the monster made no move to attack Frisk, they edged closer. Frisk didn’t let their guard down, however. They had learned that lesson with Flowey.

“Human… do you have any food?” The monster rasped weakly. Frisk checked their pockets, drawing out an energy bar. It always helped to have something on hand with parents like Frisk’s. Frisk handed it to the frog, and he greedily gulped it up with a sigh of content.

“Thank you, kind child. I am sorry, I do not have much to give you, but is there any questions you would like to ask?” The frog said, more clearly now. He seemed to have restored some of his vigour.

“Where am I?” Frisk asked, glad to have someone willing to help.

“You are in the RUINS, the prison for the lowest of the low in our society. Anyone who defies the king, long may he live, comes here,” The frog said. Frisk noticed he made an odd little salute when mentioning the king, but it was jerky and half hearted.

“That’s terrible!” Frisk said, wanting to hug the frog now.

“Indeed it is, young one, but you must learn to watch your mouth. The king, long may he live, is always watching,” The frog repeated the little salute. The cameras! That was what they were for.

“How do I get out?” Frisk asked, hope blossoming in their chest. Maybe this nice monster knew the way! Frisk watched him expectantly, eyes glittering.

“Get out? That’ll take nothing short of a miracle!” He began to laugh, deep chortling laughs that seemed to destroy what frailty he had left.

“My work here is done. See you on the flip side, kiddo!” The frog said. He slowly disintegrated into dust, leaving Frisk alone.

Frisk stood there, staring at their hands. Dust. There was so much dust. It wouldn’t come off, it wouldn’t! Dust, there was so much dustin the earlier rooms, too! How many monsters had died in this prison?

The thought of the dying frog, holding himself together just to help you…

It fills you with DETERMINATION.

Chapter Text

Frisk shakily stood up. Their hands shook, whether with fear or exhaustion, they did not know. The small room they were in seemed even smaller now, the faded beams of sunlight pouring in from the crumbling ceiling dimmer. There was dust on their hands, dust in their hair; dust seemed to permeate Frisk’s entire being. Frisk had never been religious, nor did they ever intend to be, but the whole situation struck them as morbidly ironic.

From dust you come, and to dust you shall return.

On the the topic of religion, what religion did monsters practice? It seemed only right to leave a marker for the frog. Frisk stared at the dust for a while more. On a whim, Frisk picked a pink, frilly ribbon from their hated dress, using it to cordon off the pile of dust where the frog had been. Deciding it a suitable grave, Frisk fled the room.

The first thing Frisk noticed about the next room was the long row of spikes in the center, making it impassable. Frisk cautiously stepped up to the spikes. They were long, elongated and shiny. Why were the spiked so well kept? Who was Toriel trying to keep out? Or, who was Toriel trying to keep in? Frisk yawned. How long had it been since they slept? Frisk’s eyes felt heavy. They plopped down against the checked walls, sighing. As if right on cue, Frisk’s phone pinged.

Frisk’s phone displayed the circling little loading screen of doom, and then shut down.
“No!” Frisk yelled, frantically jamming the power button. The phone stayed dark. Frisk vaguely recalled it being on 2% earlier. Snap! How was Omar’s dad going to find them now?

For a second, Frisk allowed themself to imagine what Omar’s dad could be like. Maybe he was nice. Maybe he gave Omar mints pilfered from various restaurants, was able to share secrets without starting a screaming match, and comforted him when bullies called him a freak and pushed him off the playground. Maybe Omar’s dad kept the refrigerator well stocked; maybe he played baseball with Omar just like all the fathers in movies that Frisk had watched at school. Maybe Omar lived in a nice house with ugly, fluorescent wallpaper, a big backyard to play in, and a big shelf of whatever books he wanted to read. Maybe.

Frisk didn’t realize that they had been crying until they brought a hand up to their face; big, fat ugly tears rolled down. Frisk was so tired of checkers.
Shakily standing up, Frisk looked around. As to quote Mr. McGaan: “People who sit around on their butts all day are worthless pieces of trash!” Well, also that Frisk decided they had better keep moving. The spikes, however… Oh! There was a lever on the wall! Frisk trotted over to it. “Pull this, my child. -Toriel” Frisk unconsciously smiled. It was nice to see that they had at least one ally here. Frisk reached up on their tippy toes; the lever was just a tiny bit too high for them. With a loud Kerchunk! the lever came down. The long spikes retracted.

Frisk continued onwards. Walking through the Ruins, Frisk realized how devoid of life the whole area seemed. If there was one frog man, where was the rest? Frisk’s footsteps echoed through the cavernous hallway. They walked into a smaller room, more like a bend in the hallway that had been roughly excavated. There was no tiles in here, only rough grey stone walls. There was no cameras, either.
“My child!” Toriel called out. She stood in the center of the room, smiling maternally. She was now carrying a slightly bulging bag slung over her shoulder.
“Toriel!” Frisk yelled, throwing themself forward towards Toriel. Toriel tensed up, raising her fluffy paws to protect her equally fluffy face. Frisk hugged Toriel tightly.
“Oh!” Toriel exclaimed, lowering her paws and gently hugging Frisk back. There was a sort of strength in Toriel’s grip that reminded Frisk of a documentary they had seen in class, one about bears. Toriel seemed just like a big momma bear, protecting her cubs.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I trust you made it to here without any problems?” Toriel said, letting go of Frisk. Frisk’s face fell, and they looked away.
“Who was the frog man? Where is everyone else? Why are there spikes here?” Poured out of Frisk in a jumbled blur.
“Whoa, slow down,” Toriel chuckled, “Frog man?” She thought for a second. A look of shock and realization rippled across her face. Toriel bent down to Frisk’s height.
“We… everyone in the Ruins… made some choices. Choices to stand up for what we believed in. That’s why we’re here,” It seemed that Toriel had explained this before, “Isaac, the frog man as you call him…” She began to look uncomfortable.
“Isaac isn’t a bad monster. He just made some bad choices. Therefore, he needed to face the consequences, just like your parents give you a time out when you do something bad,” Toriel explained gently. Frisk looked down at their feet. They scratched at their arm, pulling the itchy lace a bit down. Toriel’s face lit up in realization.
“Is that uncomfortable?” She asked. Frisk nodded vigorously. The lace rubbed uncomfortably against Frisk’s arms whenever they tried to do something, and the dress was ripped at least six different places by now. Frisk doubted it had been designed with spelunking in mind.
“Here, I found this. Try it on.” Toriel pulled out an outfit from her bag, handing it to Frisk. Frisk’s first reaction was to run their hand over the fabric, appraising it. Oh. My. Gosh. So. Fluffy! Frisk’s face lit up. It was a soft cream color, consisting of a shirt, shorts, sturdy boots, and a little cape to throw over the shirt if it got cold. The whole outfit had an elaborate embroidered stripe running through it, consisting of tiny pawns sewn on.

Frisk obtained the challenger’s clothes!
Effects: +5 defense. Monsters cannot kill Frisk on sight, unless the monster wins a game against Frisk.

“I’ll step out to give you some privacy,” Toriel said, turning towards the exit.
“Thank you!” Frisk called after her. They ran an appreciative hand over the wonderfully crafted outfit.

Toriel’s kindness… It fills you with DETERMINATION.