Chapter Text
“Like I said, it’s not even real fire,” Chara says with a roll of their eyes. From their spot in front of the living room fireplace, Chara sticks their hand inside the flames, watching as the magical fire licks harmlessly across their pale skin. It’s warm, and feels more like a gravity-defying stream of water than anything else.
Frisk hovers from nearby, tugging on Chara’s sleeve to get their attention in order to sign, “Does it hurt?”
“No way. Come on, you know mom baby proofed every inch of this place,” Chara says. “We couldn’t get hurt even if we tried. Or, well… maybe that’s not true, we could hit each other with chairs or something…”
“Please don’t hit me with a chair,” Frisk signs. Alas, they are completely ignored, as Chara continues to morbidly brainstorm all the ways they could get hurt. Mostly in an on purpose sort of way. Frisk frowns, slightly perturbed by Chara’s rambling of how “we could drown ourselves in the bath” or “we could choke on all the plastic silverware in the kitchen”.
A tapping noise brings Chara back to attention. They note Frisk’s stubby nails hitting the stone surface of the fireplace, a sign that they had something to say and needed Chara to look.
“What?”
“Mom won’t like it if she sees you touching the fire,” Frisk signs.
“Well, THAT is why she’s not GONNA see it,” Chara retorts.
Frisk snorts, or at least, makes a face like they did. “Truly the master of stealth,” they sign.
“Uh, yeah,” Chara says, puffing out their chest, where a golden locket engraved with the delta rune rests. “Unlike some people, I know how to be subtle with my footsteps.” To prove their point, they push themself up off the floor before proceeding to stomp loudly around the room. “I’m Frisk, and I like to announce my presence to everyone within a fifty foot radius! Oh boy, I sure hope no fish ladies with huge spears find me!”
Despite the mockery, Frisk giggles, their shoulders shaking with mirth while the only sounds that come out of them consist of amused huffs of breath and the occasional quiet snort. Chara keeps their eyes fixed on Frisk, seeing them signing “I don’t do that!” whenever their hands aren’t busy pointlessly covering their mouth.
In the middle of Chara mimicking dragon noises while stomping around to Frisk’s amusement, the sound of the front door suddenly opening and closing pulls the two fallen children out of their shenanigans.
“Oh, mom’s home,” Chara mumbles offhandedly. Curious, they wander over to the archway leading out into the landing area. Behind them, the not-so-gentle padding of Frisk’s feet can be heard, and Chara sticks their arm out behind them for Frisk to latch on to, to help them find their way to the doorway a little faster.
In front of the door, Chara sees Toriel stood facing away, kneeling down doing something with her hands that Chara can’t quite make out. A tiny hand tugs at Chara’s sleeve and, without turning away, Chara quietly explains what they’re seeing to Frisk.
“She looks like she’s taking off her shoes or something, but she doesn’t even wear shoes so it’s weird,” Chara mumbles, oblivious to the tiny nods of understanding Frisk keeps giving them. “Um, she’s putting her hands on something? Now she’s… wait, shut up.” They throw up their hand, to which Frisk flinches, still clinging to Chara’s sleeve like a lifeline.
With such a small house, Toriel’s voice easily carries to the living room. She speaks in a gentle hush, her neck craned towards something blocked by her massive, furry body. Another monster, perhaps? Although, Chara couldn’t fathom who that could even be; the ruins were full of monsters that mostly kept to themselves. The only monster that ever came to visit was one that couldn’t even be physically touched to begin with, throwing everything back into unknown territory.
“Do not worry, my child, you will be safe here,” Toriel was saying, causing Chara to frown and shoot a glance back at Frisk, who was looking just as confused, lips pursed with one brow raised in silent question.
“I don’t see anyone else,” Chara whispers, suddenly feeling the need to be extra quiet. They turn back to Toriel right as she continues speaking.
“Why don’t we get you cleaned up? I’m sure you’ll feel much better after we’ve gotten all these leaves out of your hair,” Toriel says, followed up by a gentle laugh. She moves her arm in a motion Chara recognizes as a hair ruffle. Their heart drops as their brain finally registers what’s happening.
“Another human fell down,” Chara mumbles, numb, speaking more to themself than to Frisk.
They watch as Toriel stands at her full height, taking a few steps away from the doorway with her hand clasped around the hand of a much smaller human child. Well—maybe “child” was a bit inaccurate. Chara supposed it depended more on who you asked; some people still referred to even older teenagers as children, so perhaps it was all a touch subjective. But, Toriel had said “child”, so for now, they were a child.
The “child” seemed, from a distance, decently taller than either Chara or Frisk, hence their hesitation to consider them a child at all. They had dark brown hair that brushed against their shoulders, with olive skin and an oversized black dress shirt with matching leggings. Something about them seemed incredibly strange, something Chara couldn’t quite put their finger on. Was it the choppy hair? The weird outfit? Or perhaps it was just the way they looked like they had been living in the forest outside Mt. Ebbott for months, considering the caked on dirt around their face and neck and all the twigs sticking out of their hair.
They hesitated to say it might be in the way the human walked stiffly and with their head down; a lot of kids climbed Mt. Ebbott, and it was never for happy reasons.
The two disappear into the washroom at the edge of the hallway, and only at that point does Chara stop staring long enough to finally acknowledge Frisk, who was eagerly awaiting further information.
“It’s a kid,” Chara explains, establishing whatever passed as eye contact with someone who never opened their eyes. “Looks older. Covered in twigs.” They pause, mulling over the image in their head. “Looked kinda like you, actually. Just older and weirder. Straighter hair, too.”
Frisk opens their mouth in an “O” before lowering their head in thought, processing this new information. Chara playfully rolls their eyes, putting both hands on their partner’s shoulders and lightly patting them, snapping Frisk out of their thoughts.
“Don’t think too hard, you’ll overheat,” Chara teases. “Mom took them into the bathroom, since they looked like they fought a tree and lost. You can meet them later.”
With the tiny grin that had once won over the hearts of thousands of monsters, Frisk smiles before nodding in assent, allowing themself to be led back into the living room, where the two of them wait by the fireplace as they had not long before.
Chara finds themself unable to muster the energy to pretend to smile, their dark brown eyebrows drawn into a scowl over narrowed red eyes, lips curled in disgust.
It feels like an eternity of waiting before Toriel finally steps into the room; although, Chara deeply feels as if they could have easily waited an eternity more, if only to keep the weird kid out of their life. Surprisingly, Toriel comes in alone, although Chara supposes it hadn’t quite been enough time for someone so thoroughly caked in dirt to have gotten clean, and a kid that old probably didn’t want to be assisted while bathing. Especially not by a goat monster they just met, and ESPECIALLY not by a goat monster you never knew existed to begin with. It had been so long, Chara often forgot there were people not used to the existence of monsters.
“I apologize for leaving the two of you waiting,” Toriel says, the tip of one paw resting delicately against her chin. “I trust you haven’t caused too much trouble while I was away?”
“Nope,” Chara responds immediately, grateful for Frisk’s fixation on the human child preventing them from mentioning anything about the fire. Toriel squints her eyes a little at Chara’s response, but gives up on her suspicion fairly quickly, what with there being much more important things at hand than Chara potentially having acted out in her absence. The two children feign ignorance, waiting for Toriel to explain things on her own.
The goat monster steps over to her chair and takes a seat, beckoning the two fallen children over to her. She holds out her arms, and Frisk immediately grabs on and uses it to climb into their adoptive mother’s lap, nestling into the crook of her arm like a kitten. Chara, meanwhile, leans on the chair arm opposite Frisk, doing their best to act as casual as possible.
“My children, I have something important to tell you,” Toriel begins. Right away, Frisk reaches down to the locket around their neck, the one matching Chara’s own, and taps at the gold exterior, causing Toriel to direct her attention their way.
“Is it about the human?” They sign. Toriel’s rust colored eyes widen slightly, one paw rising to cover the side of her mouth.
“Oh! You must have noticed us coming in,” Toriel deduces.
“We heard the door,” Chara explains. “And you talking. To. The Human.” The disdain in their voice as they spit out the word “human” is readily apparent, so much so that Frisk shoots them an open-mouthed glance. However, Toriel remains impassive, perhaps opting to ignore the bitterness in their tone.
“Yes, well, I found them lying in the flower bed,” Toriel says. “They appear unharmed, just a bit dirty. Although they had flower petals around their mouth…” At that last part, Toriel’s face scrunches up, disgruntled and confused. She quickly recovers, “I brought them here, as I felt was right. I intend to give them the spare bed in your room, until I can find a suitable alternative.”
Chara frowns, lip jutted out in a pout. She was talking about giving out their bed, the one they used to sleep in when they’d first gotten their body back. Sure, they hadn’t actually slept in it in nearly three months, but… still. It was the principle of the matter!
Regardless, Chara keeps their mouth shut. They didn’t even actually sleep in that bed, there was no point in throwing a huge stink about it. It wasn’t a hill worth dying on. Or, in this case, a bed worth dying on.
Again.
Frisk taps their locket again, bringing everyone’s attention back to them. “We can clean out the spare room for them later, right?”
The room they were referring to could only be the door at the end of the hallway, the one with the sign marked “closed for renovations”. The three of them knew exactly what that room used to be, although Toriel wasn’t aware Frisk was privy to that information due to how tight lipped she had been about it. Despite the sign it felt more like an excuse; that room would never be renovated, although Chara had always imagined that if it had, it would be turned into something a touch spiteful, like… an anti-gardening room…?
Listen, they weren’t the most creative person in the world, okay?
With the type of strained fake smile that says “no, we won’t”, Toriel smooths down Frisk’s fluffy hair and says, “I’ll consider it.”
Ah, yes. Mom speak for “no”.
“Yeah, yeah, so when do we have to meet them?” Chara impatiently interjects, crossing their arms over their chest. Perhaps as some type of mini-punishment, Toriel reaches over and ruffles their hair, to which Chara makes a series of shocked and offended noises.
“Do not be so sour, young one. I am sure you will grow to like them, just as you have each other,” Toriel says, voice sickly saccharine.
Considering the circumstances… “Doubt it,” Chara grumbles. Before anyone can say anything, they turn their head away with a huff. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
Toriel good-naturedly rolls her eyes, not that anyone is there to really see it. “They are taking a bath at the moment. I would appreciate it if you would both do your best to welcome them. Just as well, I was thinking of making them a pie, as a welcoming present.” She turns toward Frisk. “What do you say to helping me in the kitchen, Frisk?”
Frisk’s mouth falls open slightly, surprised, but they quickly recover, hiding away all traces of emotion before giving a very stoic thumbs up. With a soft chuckle Toriel smooths their hair down, gently so as not to graze them with her claws. Turning her head over to Chara, she asks, “Chara, my child. Would you care to assist us?”
They huff, grumbling incoherently as a frown darkens their face. They go to reject the offer, since, after all, why would they want to help a human? Besides Frisk, no human they’d ever met was worth baking a pie for. But then something occurs to them, something so brilliant they can’t stop themself from grinning ear to ear, a dark glint in their eye.
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
The human takes very long baths, as it turns out, the pie having ample time to cool to a pleasantly warm temperature, perfect for eating. Toriel had even managed to wash and dry the human’s clothes, using her fire magic to expedite the process. The three were gathered around the table, putting on the finishing touches in setting the table when the human walks in. At once, two sets of eyes lock on to them.
Immediately, Chara notices the addition of a green and yellow striped sweater to the human’s wardrobe, and they narrow their eyes in a glare. The knitting almost feels like a personal attack, even if the yarn is made out of a slightly different color from the one Chara was used to seeing. It was still just… too much. What was next, a heart locket?
They keep their mouth shut. A part of them knew it would be silly to throw a fit about this, too, it wasn’t like Toriel kept many other color sweaters. It had been he who shall not be named’s favorite, so of course there would be dozens of them.
“Ah, Kris!” Toriel exclaims. “Come in. We made you a pie!”
The human—Kris, apparently—remains still, one hand on the frame of the archway, hair covering their eyes with their lips pressed into a line. They move their head slowly away from Toriel and towards the table, where a freshly baked butterscotch cinnamon pie rests dead center, four sets of dinnerware placed before four wooden chairs. With their eyes hidden, it’s hard to tell if they look anywhere else, their head pointed directly at the pie.
They take several extremely stiff, mechanical steps forward until they come to a rest next to the only unoccupied chair, across from Frisk. Toriel gives them a patient smile as they take a seat. Chara, meanwhile, glares under the table at Kris’s legs, which stretch out as far forward as possible before one bends, foot resting on a lower rung of wood on the chair. They aren’t tall enough for their leg to reach Frisk’s side of the table, but, still. Who does that?
Kris keeps their hands, which are mostly covered by the sleeves of their borrowed jumper, in their lap, a strange juxtaposition to the rude positioning of their leg. They keep their head down, making no noise or sudden movements at all whatsoever. Chara’s fingers curl, annoyed.
Completely disregarding their strange behavior, Toriel cuts the pie into several slices before asking Kris to choose the piece they want. The human’s head raises just enough for them to—apparently—see the slices, and an entire fifteen seconds passes in tense silence before Kris slowly points to a seemingly random piece, which Toriel dutifully scoops out and serves to them.
Chara grinds their teeth.
Afterwards, Toriel serves up a perfectly average, not too big, not too small slice for Frisk, followed up by a medium sized slice for Chara, which she then cuts in half to form two thin slices. Out of the corner of Chara’s eye they catch Kris watching over the exchange, their mouth parted slightly in curiosity.
After settling in proper, Toriel reaches over and gently ruffles Kris’s choppy hair. Their brief flinch doesn’t go unnoticed to either Toriel or Chara, but they quickly settle in to the affection, allowing Toriel to complete the gesture. Kris remains still with their hands in their lap, their head turning slightly as they watch everyone else at the table begin to eat. All except Chara, who holds their fork limply in one hand while staring, dead-eyed, at Kris. They watch the scrawny looking kid—teen?—uncomfortably gulp and Chara can’t help the smirk that breaks out across their face.
“Chara, be nice,” Toriel chides, startling Chara for just a moment before they pout, irritated. She wasn’t even looking at them, focused instead on scooping up an appropriately polite amount of pie onto her spoon. Were all moms psychic? Was that it?
Annoyed, Chara picks up one of their two slices of pie with their hand and shoves a frankly absurd amount of it in their mouth all at once, maintaining what they assumed was eye contact with Kris all the while. They watch in satisfaction as Kris mouths “wow” at the display.
Toriel speaks up. “Now that we’re all settled in, Kris, I’d like to introduce you to my two children.” She gestures with her paw towards Frisk, “This is Frisk. They do not speak, I am afraid, but I have been teaching them to sign, if you are perhaps interested in learning as well.”
Kris’s head perks up slightly, their bangs conveniently falling over both their eyes. They raise one hand, which shakes ever-so-slightly, and hesitantly sign, “I already know.” Chara gapes at them.
“Oh! Well, that is very convenient, I suppose,” Toriel says. “Although monsters use slightly different signs, there are still some of us that remember human signs as well. I’m sure Frisk would be happy to show you the differences, though, isn’t that right Frisk?”
They give a thumbs up in response.
“All the same, though, they cannot see, so you will have to employ slightly different means of communication if you wish to speak with them,” Toriel explains. “If you do not wish to, or cannot speak, there are plenty of other ways. But, we can discuss that later.” She makes eye contact with Chara from across the table, smiling warmly to counter their immediate grimace at the knowledge of what was coming up next. “Chara, would you care to introduce yourself?”
What is this, the first day of elementary school? Chara groans. “Whatever. My name’s Chara. Which you should already know, since mom just said it, so. Kind of pointless if you ask me,” they grumble, using their fork to jab at their pie crusts a little more roughly than necessary.
Toriel softly sighs, turning back toward Kris, who appears fixated on Chara’s fork. “They can be a bit rough at times, but they are truly good at heart. I’m sure you’ll all be fast friends in due time.”
Chara jabs their plastic fork into the center of their pie, to which Kris to flinches.
“Truly good at heart”. Yeah, sure, whatever.
Annoyed, Chara forcibly interjects, “Hey, mom. Can we give Kris some of that lemonade I made earlier?”
Toriel blinks, surprised by the sudden request. “Oh, well, I suppose, if Kris is up for it. I can only imagine you must be quite parched, after your trip through the ruins.” She looks down at Kris while she says so. “What do you say?”
“Yeah, Kris. It’s to die for,” Chara ominously says, grinning ear-to-ear while tearing off a chunk of pie with their fork like flesh from a corpse. A small hint of teeth shows as Kris nibbles on their bottom lip, and they look more to Chara’s hands than their face as they slowly nod.
“Then I shall—”
“I’ll go get it,” Chara exclaims, jumping out of their seat and rushing into the kitchen.
While Frisk and Toriel had collaborated on the pie, Frisk helping more than one would expect despite their age and size—seriously, they could barely even hold an egg in one hand—Chara had prepared refreshments behind their backs. A simple recipe that any child could follow—freshly squeezed lemonade, with just the right amount of sugar carefully measured out with a cooking spoon.
Or, at least, that’s how the recipe was supposed to go.
Chara pours out exactly one glass, filled up as far as they thought they could balance without spilling any on the way back—which was quite a lot, not that they were bragging or anything—adding in the final ingredient to their fruity mixture before dutifully carrying it back into the living room. They set the drink next to Kris’s plate with a playful “bon appetite” before settling back into their own chair, chin propped up on the back of their hands with a barely contained grin spreading across their face, lips twitching.
Slowly, Kris glances between the glass and Chara, multiple times over before slowly wrapping one hand around the glass, using their sleeve to protect their skin from the cold. They stare into the glass as if some evil curse will jump out of it and snatch their face or something, lips pressed together uncomfortably tight. It seems like they may never actually build up the nerve to so much as open their mouth, when all of a sudden they’ve tipped the glass back and taken a generous sip.
A sip that ends almost as abruptly as it began.
Chara’s grin widens victoriously as they spot Kris’s right eye, the one less covered by their hair, shoot open wide in shock, and while it’s still a bit hard to tell, they think they can see a bright, golden brown iris. With their lips twisted into a grimace Kris sets the glass down with all the intensity of an adult doing shots, their eye watering as their free hand shoots up to cover their mouth. It takes them a while, but they eventually manage to swallow it, forcibly re-adopting their stoic, expressionless face from before, albeit with their lips noticeably twitching.
“Oh my, are you alright?” Toriel asks, watching Kris with concern in her eyes.
Shifting uncomfortably, Kris eventually nods in such a way that says it is very much not all right, but they sign, “Peachy.”
With a malicious grin, Chara starts swinging their legs and says, “One could say that the taste is indescribable, right, Frisk?” To Kris’s surprise, Frisk makes a sound almost like a snort or a snicker, covering their mouth to hide the expression on their face. “So, you like it, right? I made it just for you, Krissy.”
Tapping their fingers on the table, Kris tenses, a noticeable shudder travelling down their spine. They nod once, in a very unconvincing, sideways sort of way, and to Chara’s shock they pick up the glass and begin to chug. And chug, and chug, until the entire glass is empty. They’re nearly in tears by the time it’s over, face contorted in a horrible grimace as shudders wrack their body but they pretend to ignore all that in favor of apparent normalcy.
Chara gapes.
What a fucking power move.
At this point, Toriel has clearly realized something is up, her eyes narrowing and lips pursed in a stern expression. “Chara. Did you put salt in the lemonade?”
Feigning offense, Chara throws a hand dramatically over where their heart should be. “Who, me? Why, mother dearest, why would you think such a thing? I’m hurt.”
With a small huff, Toriel says, “I sure hope you did not make an entire jug of lemonade just for this. Because if I have to pour it out, you are going to get the lemons to replace it yourself.”
“My lemonade is perfectly fine!” Chara defends. “Why, to taint such a beautiful mixture would be the gravest sin.”
Toriel narrows her eyes. “I see. Then I suppose you would have no trouble serving some for the rest of us?”
“None at all!” Chara says in their best attempt at an angelic voice. They innocently bat their eyelashes, playing up their cuteness with their pink cheeks and wide, round eyes. It doesn’t work, of course, but they don’t end up getting grounded or anything either, so they consider it a win.