Chapter Text
You didn't even get a chance to see the figure that pushed you down the mountain until it was too late. In all honestly you weren't even scared, just a little disoriented, really, until you felt your feet dangling freely and the dirt and rocks crumbling underneath your fingers as you struggled to gain purchase on something, anything. The switch from being solidly on the ground to gripping a root that happened to grow from a tree that grew mercifully close to Mount Ebbot was such a drastic one that you weren't even of a mind to scream. You looked around wildly, wondering how you'd managed to land in such a predicament, and you reasoned that you must have tripped on the very root that you were holding on to for dear life now. You calmed down slightly; this was a problem, certainly, but you could find your way out if you really tried. Experimentally, you kicked your feet around, looking for something to connect with but, to your dismay, there was only empty air to greet you. That was fine, just fine, you thought bitterly as you struggled to pull yourself up by the root of the tree.
You had begun to make some progress, you realized belatedly, when you felt something press against your fingers. Startled, you looked up to find the source of the feeling, when you saw them. A child. Where had they come from? You didn't know. They watched you, their brown hair blowing in the wind, with such a cold expression that you shivered with fear. They locked eyes with you and refused to let go, even as you huffed with the effort of pulling yourself out of the mountain. When you'd managed to get halfway up, you looked around only to see that the area surrounding Mount Ebbot consisted of mostly dirt, small trees, and grass too shallow to trip over. This was the only tree with roots big enough to trip you, and it was so close to the mountain that you wouldn't have dared venture near it for fear of falling. Still the question remained: How the hell had you fallen? Your thoughts shifted to the child, who hadn't made any move to help you, or to get help. Had... had they tripped you? It certainly seemed likely; any normal person would have offered help, but here they stood, watching you flounder and struggle, still doing nothing but watching you. You felt ashamed for thinking so even if, more than likely, it was true. They were just a child, probably no older than eight or nine. Maybe they were innocent. But the stare they delivered was so unnerving! Nothing like any child you'd ever interacted with. It screamed evil. You chided yourself. Maybe... they weren't evil. Only one way to find out.
"C-can you help me?" You certainly hoped they would; your arms were beginning to burn, and your fingers were going numb. The child cocked their head, hair brushing their cheek, but otherwise made no move to help you. Your brow furrowed in confusion. Had they not heard you? It was impossible that they couldn't have; you had spoken an a loud enough voice, and they were close enough to you that you could see that their shirt, dull grey with a sickly yellow stripe through the middle, was flecked with something red. Blood? Your blood chilled. The blank stare, the blood stained shirt, the fact that they seemed content to watch you fight your way up the mountain, the growing suspicion in your mind that they had, in fact, been directly responsible for your fall all pointed to the fact that the child was evil, and you whimpered quietly. Your gaze drifted downward, from their hair, so dark that it almost seemed black, to their face, a chalky pale white, to their pants, caked with dirt and blood. You swallowed heavily, and continued your inspection.
Their shoe, you realized, was what you felt on your hand. Your heart dropped, and you felt your body chill in fear. "Did you push me?" you nearly whispered, even though you almost certainly felt you knew the answer. They only responded by grinding their sole into you hand, hard, and you bit back a scream, your only focus now on getting up the mountain. They pressed harder, raising their foot briefly before stomping down as hard as they could, a malevolent gleam in their eye. You couldn't hold back the shriek that burst from you lips, and their face shifted as they continued their assault on you hands. They smiled, you noted, horrified. You tried to grip the root tighter, but felt a searing pain throughout your entire left hand. It was broken, you thought. Your cried aloud, determined to get on solid ground and run away as fast as you could, hopefully to your home, or at the very least as hospital. The child reared back their foot, and your eyes widened in horror. Not only had they pushed you down this mountain, they'd broken your finger, and they were going to see to it that you fell, going so far as to kick you to what would certainly be your death.
In what almost felt like slow motion, they swung their foot with as much force as they could muster until it connected with your face, and you screamed , feeling the blood splatter and run down your chin. You breathed through your mouth as you felt the nausea roll through you, then gasped in horror when you saw them prepare to repeat the action. They kicked you again and again, your mind filled with animal terror, until you realized that your hold on the root was weak at best, and that you were going to fall into the empty space behind you. You felt your fingers slipping, and looked up at the child, whose smile had grown slightly since the last time you'd looked. They stomped on your fingers again, and you looked in horror as they slipped off of the tree root. You flailed in desperation, and grabbed the child by their pant leg as you both tumbled into the abyss below. Unlike when they'd kicked you, the fall didn't feel like slow motion. The fall felt fast and real, too real for your liking. You could feel the air whipping past you too quickly, making it hard to breathe.
The child struggled to free themselves from your grasp, and you clung tighter to them. It was too dark to see anything, and you didn't see what they did, but you felt a slash of pain across your abdomen. A knife? Your fear increased tenfold; not only were you going to fall to your death, you were going to fall to your death with a murderous child who would probably cut you until you were so injured that even if by some miracle the impact didn't kill you, the loss of blood would. The child writhing and twisting as hard as they could to get away from you jerked you from you fearful train of thought, and you looked down to see... something yellow? Olive? Brown? It didn't matter, you told yourself as you held on tighter to the child, who seemed to struggle harder as the both of you reached the bottom. They managed to get underneath you as you quickly approached the bottom, and you hurriedly tried to keep them on top; as much as you had grown to fear and dislike them, you didn't really want to crush them to death underneath your weight. However, it seemed that it was going to happen; the more you tried to save them from as much injury as possible, the more they fought against you, even trying to stab you again. The two of you rushed closer to the bottom of the mountain, and you could see their face better. Contorted in rage, they tried to stab you again but you dodged, using the increasingly brightening light to your advantage. They tried one final time, but you wrested the small dagger from their calloused hands and tossed it, only realizing the minute you did it what a mistake it was. It would have to fall some time, and though your reflexes weren't horrible, they weren't the best in the world. You panicked as you thought about how much damage the knife would be able to do, falling as fast as it was going to be falling.
Before you could worry further, you and the child hit the bottom of the mountain, a sickening crunching sound filling the air, and you cringed hard, almost too scared to look under your body. You hadn't been able to prevent the child from staying beneath you and they'd broken your fall, along with probably every bone in their body, if the sound was anything to go by. Hesitantly, you moved off of them and peered down. They looked at you with the same cold expression they had before, and your eyes flicked away. Their eyes looked a little too glassy for your liking, and you couldn't tell if it was because they were trying to intimidate you, or because they were dead. With difficulty, you stood and looked around. The brown thing you'd seen had been a bed of dying flowers, all of them except the ones you and the child had fallen on standing straight up, despite their unhealthy color. Were they just naturally brown? You didn't know and you didn't care. You looked up to see a fading red ball, the sun, you realized with a heavy heart, sinking further and further until it left your sight entirely. It would be impossible to climb up, even if you didn't have a broken finger and a slash in your stomach. You let out a loud scream, before turning to the child, who had managed to sit up. They watched you blankly. "Why did you have to push me?!" you screamed at them. They continued to stare, and then, to your extreme disbelief, laboriously shrugged. "You don't know?! You don't-" You cut yourself off to scream once more. "That's- that's not a good answer!" The child paid you no mind, however, as they reached into their pocket and ate a... pastry? You watched in disbelief as they ate the sweet and shook themselves out, as if the fall down the mountain was no more inconvenient then a paper cut. You could only gape at them as they stood, looked up, and held their hand out for a while before the knife that you'd forgot you'd thrown sliced through the air with a loud whistle, before dropping on its side into the child's waiting hand. Your pulse spiked; now that they were armed again, would they finish the job and kill you? You looked at them again, since the first time before you'd landed. They looked perfectly fine. No scratches, no scrapes, certainly no broken bones... the child looked like nothing had happened. "How...?" you started to ask, before stopping yourself; they'd made it clear that they wouldn't answer your questions, and asking would only be a waste of time, you reasoned.
The child watched you struggle to come to terms with their sudden recovery, a twinge of amusement on their face, before tossing you a mushed pastry, turning on their heel, still slick with your blood, and walking away the darkness gradually swallowing their small frame. Cautiously you approached it. What if it was poison? It didn't look poisonous. They ate a pastry just like it, and they seemed fine. Better than fine, you thought, thinking back to how quickly they recovered from their injuries. You brought the treat to your lips and took a bite. The first thing you noticed was how you could grip the pastry with both hands, and you brought your broken finger to your face. "What?" you mumbled to yourself, as your finger straightened out. You wiggled it a little. It was fine. Fully healed. "What the fuck..." you murmured, taking another bite. You pulled your shirt up to look at your stomach and winced; the child had done a serious number on you, and the slash mark was deep enough that you could dig your fingers in the wound if you wanted to, which you certainly did not. You took another bite of the pastry, happily noting the taste of cinnamon and sugar, watching the wound heal. By the time you'd finished the cinnamon treat, you were fully healed.
You weren't really sure what to do, and following the child into the darkness didn't seem like a very good idea, so you sat down, only to be startled back into standing when you saw a flower with a face pop up out of the ground, wearing an angry expression. "Frisk! You need to stop! This won't bring anyone back!" it said, only to stop, confused, when it saw you. You stared, brow furrowed. A talking flower? You briefly wondered if you'd gotten a concussion, but then dismissed the notion; the cinnamon bun would have cured it, right? The only explanation left was that there was, in fact, a talking flower in front of you. "Who's... Frisk?" you asked it.
"What?" it responded. "You're Frisk. You're always Frisk." You shook your head at the flower. "No... I'm (y/n)" You told it. "Oh." it said. It cocked its head at you, confused. "Are you sure?" The question was so earnest that you had to laugh. You held you face in your hand and laughed as the flower stared at you worriedly. "Alright..." it said. "Frisk is usually the one I see down here. How'd you end up falling?" You avoided the flower's gaze. "It wasn't pretty." you told it. The flower dropped its stare to the ground sadly. "Things are rarely pretty down here." You looked at the brown flowers. "I'm sure" you murmured. "Usually Toriel comes down here by now, but she-" "What's your name?" you blurted out unthinkingly. The flower's face turned up slightly. "My name's Flowey." it told you anyway. "I'm sorry," you told it, "tell me about Toriel." Flowey shuddered lightly. "She's not really evil, she's just very... She comes down here looking for children to keep." You gestured to yourself. "I'm not a child." Flowey rolled its eyes at you. "Toriel was alive to see the war against humans. She thinks everyone's a child." "She doesn't sound too bad." you told Flowey. Being treated like a child, loved and cared for, didn't seem like too3 bad right about now. You found yourself almost eagerly awaiting her arrival. Flowey noticed. "You don't understand." it snapped at you. "She's not- she's not normal! She won't let you leave once she takes you!" You waved your hand dismissively, even though you knew Flowey probably knew best. "Who says I'd want to leave?" Flowey looked at you, growing annoyed. "Fine," it huffed. "You'll see what I mean when she gets here." The two of you stood silently for a moment, until you looked at Flowey. "Hey, what are you?" you asked. Flowey furrowed its brow. "A flower?" it answered. You shook your head. "No. Are you a boy flower? A girl flower?" "Oh!" it exclaimed. "I'm a boy." You nodded. "Why?" he asked you. " I couldn't tell." "Oh."
He seemed content to sit silently with you, bobbing slightly on his stem, until you both heard footsteps approaching. His face blanched, and he promptly disappeared into the ground, leaving you alone to face whatever was coming. You cursed him internally for his cowardice, but you understood; if the roles were reversed, you know you might have done the same. Slowly, you made out the figure nearing you. A tall goat like woman? was walking towards you, her tattered gown dragging across the floor. She searched around, almost frantically, even sniffing around, until she locked eyes with you. You stilled fearfully. Maybe Flowey was right; she did look unhinged. Before you could think to run away, she rushed over to you and wrapped you in a tight embrace , and you fought a shudder when you felt her sniff your hair. "My child," she rasped, before clearing her throat and trying again. "My child," she repeated, her voice closer to a coo than a growl. "I am overjoyed to see you! I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins. You are not the first child I've met, and I hope you will not be the last. Won't you come with me?"
You eyed her, more than a little scared. Her eyes, wide and bulging, looked a concerning shade of yellow, and her fur looked dingy. For the second time today, you felt shame roll through you. She was trying to be kind, and here you were, shallowly judging her for her appearance. You smiled wanly. "Of course." you said, and you followed Toriel into the shadows, your hand in her paw.