Chapter Text
You pick up your glass of cider and sip from it, doing your best not to squirm in your chair as your grandmother adjusts her reading glasses on her snout and flips gently through the pages of your math homework. Toriel is absolutely silent as she checks your answers; she doesn’t even use a calculator to double-check. It’s pretty impressive, you think, that she can do it all in her head; the last time you said that to her she chuckled and ruffled your hair and told you Frisk, back when your grandfather and I first came to these caverns, the modern calculator had not even been invented yet. We wrote our complicated math problems out longhand or we worked them out upon an abacus.
Having lived for over a thousand years probably gives you plenty of time to get really, really good at math, you guess. But her really-really-good-at-math-ness makes it that much more nervewracking when she’s tutoring you.
Two years ago, when you’d first arrived in the underground and decided to make your home with Chara and Asriel, you’d homeschooled under Toriel until she was sure that you would be on the same level academically as the monster kids your age. Chara had stressed, too, that they wanted you to have the option to keep on homeschooling until you felt ready to enter a school environment, and that you could go back to it if you tried public school and decided it wasn’t working for you.
You’ll learn best when you’re comfortable and in an environment where your needs can be met, they had said. There is no objectively right or wrong choice—just whatever works best for you. We’re flexible, here.
All in all you’d spent about a year under Toriel’s tutelage, so that you could start middle school with the other kids instead of showing up in elementary school at its very end. It helped that MK, who’s a year older than you are, reported to you about what middle school is like and how much fun they were having there. And you’re having fun too, now that you’re going with them. School is a lot more manageable when all the teachers and most of your classmates understand you when you sign.
But even now, you—and MK too—come every school day to do your homework here in Home, under Toriel’s watchful eye and with her and Asgore providing snacks. They still give Chara and Asriel occasional advice about ruling and such from time to time, but they’re pursuing their hobbies in their retirement—and for Toriel that means teaching.
Sometimes she explains things in easier ways than your normal teachers do. Others, she just has more time than they do to go over things with you, since she’s dealing with tutoring two kids instead of splitting her attention between fifteen or twenty. Even when she can’t or doesn’t have to help you understand your work, she always encourages and is patient with you.
The snacks and the stories that Toriel and Asgore often tell you are a big perk, too.
At length Toriel sets the papers down and smiles at you. “Very good,” she tells you, and you let out the breath you’d been holding. “No mistakes this time. It appears that the extra time you and I have spent on algebra has paid off.”
You squirm in your seat a little, relieved. I was sure I’d gotten some wrong… I’m glad, I didn’t want to disappoint you.
“Oh, my dear, you could not possibly disappoint me,” Toriel says kindly, reaching to pat your head lightly. “As long as you are learning at your own pace and in an environment suited to you, I will always be satisfied with your progress.”
You smile a little and push into the squishy pad of her palm.
“Yo, you got the all clear?” MK says from the entrance to the kitchen; you look up to watch them precede your grandfather into the room. Asgore has a tea tray in one arm, and your stomach growls a little at the promise of his signature biscuits.
You give them both a thumbs up. MK says “Awesome!” and Asgore smiles. You take your phone out and file your homework away under Box H for safekeeping so that the table will be clear for them to put the snacks.
“So is there anything you wanna go do later?” MK asks, taking their seat; you shift to better look at them. You’ve both grown over the past two years, but them especially: They used to be shorter than you even though they’re a year older, but they’re almost a whole head taller than you now, and a lot steadier on their feet. You don’t have to dive and catch them by the back of the smock so much anymore, which is good because if they keep getting bigger you don’t know if you’d actually be able to save them that way or if they’d just yank you down with them.
I wish I could stay for longer, but I have to go straight home today, you respond. Chara and I have to go out for… You hesitate very briefly and finish the sentence with clothes shopping.
If MK notices your minute pause, they don’t mention it. “Ahh. That sucks, I guess, but when you need more clothes you need more clothes, yo. We can hang some other time.”
You smile and nod. Toriel and Asgore are, you notice, both watching you, but their eyes on you are neutral, and you don’t think that they’re thinking anything particularly judgmental just because you’ve chosen to omit what sort of clothes shopping it is to your best friend. Maybe they think it’s just because you’re entitled to your privacy. And you’re glad of that, but you figure that you might wind up talking to MK about it anyway someday later, when you’ve been able to decide for yourself how you feel about this.
“In that case, why don’t you leave with Frisk so that you may at least stay together until you must part ways to go home?” Asgore suggests. “When you finish your tea, I can put together snacks for you to take back with you.”
“Dude, that’d be great!” MK exclaims, bouncing in their chair. You’ve got to duck your head a little to hide your smile at their calm and irreverence, calling their own king’s father (not to mention their own tutor’s husband) ‘dude’. “Thanks a lot.”
“It is our pleasure,” Asgore replies, beaming. You can’t imagine any sort of human king or political leader reacting like this, being so easygoing, and you’re selfishly glad that monsters can be and are. It makes it so much easier for you to relax and just live here among them.
Your adoptive grandparents send you and your best friend out on your way laden with snacks—you store yours in a box with empty space, and help MK stuff their pockets, knowing that their parents or sister will help them unpack later. You say your goodbyes, and venture out into Snowdin Forest.
As soon as you step into the snow your glasses begin to tint soft smoky gray, saving you from having to squint and stick close to MK as you travel. Even so, they lead the way; you let them. Their feet crunch through the snow, and you wonder a little but don’t ask whether it bothers them to go barefoot around their home since they’re a reptilian monster or if they’re just used to it by now.
MK fills the air with chatter as you walk, looking back at you now and again to give you opportunities to reply if you want. They tell you more about the project that they’ve been working on, about their neighbors’ kids’ quest to get Rufus or Holly in on their games of Monsters and Humans for more realism (knowing more about Holly’s arrival, you can see why she’s been refusing), about the argument their sister had with the girl she apparently likes, about Undyne and Papyrus’ recent misadventures. Mostly you smile and let them talk, occasionally prompting them to give more details—you love how excited they are to tell you all about what happens in Snowdin when you’re not around, and how much fun they always seem to have talking to you. It’s nice, having them for a friend.
You arrive at Snowdin a little too soon for your taste, but you promised you would be back in Hotland once you were finished here, and you don’t want to break your word. So you wave goodbye to MK and take the fork to find the Riverperson.
“Where to?” they ask you, and you answer Hotland and carefully climb onto the longboat so that you can get going.
You take out your phone to send a message that you’re on your way now, and play idly with some of the apps, but none of them can really hold your interest for long. You tap your toes absently on the bottom of the boat as you sit, suddenly besieged with one of those sudden and inexplicable bouts of formless worry. This shopping trip is probably going to be weird, and if Chara gets frustrated with you—if you do something to bother or upset them—
“Tra la la,” says the Riverperson cheerfully, startling you out of your negative spiral. “Great rewards await after great trials, and the greatest approaches. Hmm… what sort of rewards could be waiting after that…?”
As usual with their weirdly apropos non sequiturs, you’re not sure whether you ought to be heartened or creeped out.
Eventually you make it all the way up the river to the Hotland stairs, and—you let out a big huff of breath and a relieved smile lights up your face when you spot Chara waiting there for you.
They must have changed clothes when they got home from monarch work—they’re dressed down, in jeans and sneakers and a faded T-shirt with their hair hanging loose to their shoulders. They’ve got their knife clipped to a belt loop as usual, but their special gloves aren’t on underneath their wrist braces; it’s about as casual as your guardian ever gets outside your actual home.
They smile when they see you and stand in that slow gingerly way that middle-aged human grown-ups sometimes do, careful of their joints. Even so, they’ve made it down the rest of the stairs by the time you’re close enough to hop off the Riverperson’s boat, and are already opening their arms for you to sail into.
So that’s exactly what you do—holding back just enough so that you won’t knock them right over onto the ground, wrapping your arms around their waist and hugging tight. Chara folds their arms around you too, warm and strong and secure, and all your vague worries are instantly banished—you feel like all your emotions have melted into a mini sun of happiness, like you’re beaming tiny hearts in every direction like something out of Alphys’ old manga volumes. Chara runs their fingers gently up and down your upper back in a scritching motion, then reaches up to pet your hair.
“Hey, you,” they say soft and gentle, with that melty-warm note of tenderness that only you and Asriel and a handful of their closest friends ever get to hear. You shiver with joy, all pressed up against them safe and loved. “Enjoy the homework party at Asgore and Toriel’s?”
You ease back just enough to nod, and Chara smiles down at you, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’m glad to hear that.”
You could float. Instead you bump your face into their sternum, nuzzling in close and turning your face to rest your cheek against their heartbeat with a happy sigh.
Chara presses another kiss to the top of your head and runs their hands in long brisk strokes down the length of your spine, signaling you to let go. You’re reluctant to, but you still get to bask in your parent’s love, so you ease off without protest. They smile down at you, reaching up with both hands to stroke your cheeks with both thumbs and make you giggle.
“Ready to head to the tailor’s?” they ask.
A little flicker of that anxiety revives in the pit of your belly like a curl of brush smoke, and you try to tamp it down. Chara must notice anyway, because they stroke your hair gently, resting their hands on your shoulders.
“We’ll make this as quick and painless as possible,” they tell you. “If you get too uncomfortable we can always stop partway, but this does need to get done sooner or later, and I think sooner will be better for you. But I’ll be here with you to help every step of the way.
“And then when we go home, your father will be there to make us pasta-and-vegetable scramble, and I hear he’s also going to be making strawberry rhubarb and marble pies for dessert. So you’ve got something to look forward to when we’re done.”
You take a deep breath. You promise we can go home if it gets really bad?
“I promise,” Chara tells you, sober.
Okay. You shake your head. Anyway, it’s not so scary if you’re with me.
They smile at you, small and crooked, and reach out to take your hand. “Okay. I’ll do my best to look after you, so let’s go.”
You squeeze their hand, they squeeze yours back, and up the stairs the two of you go, side by side.
The trip to the city of New Home is a quick one if you take the elevators (which you and Chara normally do), and walking its streets is faster with Chara than if you have Asriel along, since everyone likes to stop Asriel to chat. Everyone still greets Chara too, but you get dragged into way fewer meandering conversations with their subjects.
Two years ago, when you’d still been trying to settle in, you’d wondered anxiously (and with more than a little affront) if this meant that everyone was less friendly towards Chara. They and Asriel had just smiled and explained to you that the people of New Home—and the whole underground—love Chara just as much as Asriel, but that everyone understands that Chara’s threshold for social interaction is lower and nobody wants to overload them over something minor, so people who aren’t especially close to them let them approach on their own terms.
“It helps keep me from getting too distracted when I’m trying to finish the job,” Chara had added. “Sometimes it pays to have a reputation for being very shy.”
All that said, you arrive at the tailor’s in a little less than fifteen minutes. As soon as the door closes behind you, your heart starts to thump unpleasantly in the floor of your jaw, and you grip the side of Chara’s shirt tight.
One of the tailor monsters notices the two of you, and waves a noodly arm at you, offering a jovial smile. “Ah, Your Majesty, Your Highness! Good to see you! You’re right on time for that fitting appointment—early, even!”
Chara puts a gentle arm around your shoulders. “May Frisk and I borrow a changing room and a tape measure for a little bit? I know I mentioned this before while we were setting the appointment up, but I think they may be more comfortable if I show them how to take the basic measurements myself, before we move on to the things that can be done over their shirt.”
“Of course,” the tailor says, and points to the other side of the building. “Changing room 9 should be open, and I set a measuring tape there beforehand.”
“Thank you,” Chara tells them, and they herd you across the shop, ducking in through the door and closing it after you.
Finally alone with them, you heave a little sigh. Your heart’s still beating uncomfortably fast, but it’s a little better knowing that you’ve escaped being measured and examined by the tailor you still don’t know all that well.
Chara reaches out to stroke your hair, and you watch your reflections in the mirror rather than looking over at them. Their expression is complicated—they’re smiling but there’s also pain in their eyes. “Poor Frisk,” they murmur. “I was just as unhappy when I had to come down for my first bra fitting, too.”
You make a face. I don’t have to take my underpants off, do I…?
Chara shakes their head so emphatically that their hair flies in a red-and-silver halo around their face and shoulders. “Only your shirt, and you can keep that on for a while longer. I think it would be easier if I demonstrated how to get a ballpark measurement on myself first, if you’d be comfortable with that. And then you can decide whether you’d rather try yourself or have me help you. I can step outside if you want to try measuring on your own, too, if you would feel best that way. Everything comes down to your comfort level. You do need this kind of underwear to help support the weight on your chest so that your ribs and your back won’t hurt, but I do not want to walk all over your boundaries.”
Because it’s Chara and you know that they do want you to really be honest about what you want, you take a moment to think about it instead of just trying to please them with your answer. I think I’m okay with you showing me first, anyway, you tell them at length. I also… think I want to wait to decide whether to have you help me until after I see what I’d have to do.
Chara nods. “That’s a good idea, and very fair too. Here—I’ll show you how to measure the size of your chest, and explain everything while I’m doing it. Hold on a moment.” And, without any further ado, they take their shirt off, hanging it on one of the hooks on the wall.
Even knowing what you’re here for, you still avert your eyes politely when they start to take their bra off too, instead focusing on your own reflection.
Puberty has sort of crept up on you sneakily over the past year or so. You’ve gotten taller since coming to the underground, and you’ve gained a lot of weight too now that you’re eating regular meals with bigger portion sizes—when you were ten you had really skinny arms and legs, but now if you’re standing with your feet exactly next to each other, your thighs touch, and there’s a new squishiness to your tummy. Your face is still really round and babyish, you think, but now that your body’s filling out you look less like a gawky kid and more like a real twelve-year-old.
Maybe it’s the weight gain that’s made this part of puberty so much of a surprise. It was hard to miss when you started getting longer, thicker hair on your legs and your privates and stomach, and under your armpits and in a couple other places that you’d never heard hair was supposed to grow on humans with bodies like yours. (You’d sat on that part for a couple weeks, vividly remembering pediatricians telling you how ‘abnormal’ your private parts are, before tearfully asking Chara if it was weird to have hair in those places too, and they had hugged you and told you that it wasn’t weird, that there’s nothing wrong with you.)
But though nowadays you can look at photos of yourself from last year and see that your chest was starting to grow, you somehow managed to be completely unaware of it until you had small but noticeably heavy and pendulous mounds on your front. Finally, Chara looked at you a week ago and said that it was probably past time to get you something to support your chest and hold it still. They said that the increased feelings of hopelessness and the sensation of being trapped you’ve been having lately might actually be because your chest is literally weighing you down, and that they want to try getting you proper underwear before talking to Toriel about increasing the dose on your antidepressants. Asriel had agreed.
Your parents take medication and mental health very seriously, and it’s knowing that fact that made you agree as much as anything. If getting bras to wear doesn’t make you feel better, they will talk it over with Toriel, and they will make sure that they can adjust your medication accordingly. They love you, and they’re careful with you, and they’ve been consistent with that love and care over the past two years no matter what—even over the few times that you tried timidly to lash out to make sure that their love wasn’t conditional after all. You can trust them, and you can talk to them and trust that they will listen to you.
“All right,” Chara says, and you face towards them again.
This isn’t the first time you’ve seen them with no shirt on, but it always feels weird to see them in any state of partial nakedness. Not weird in an uncomfortable way, like it always was with your birth parents, but still strange in a way that it isn’t for Asriel. Maybe because he’s covered in fur where they’re not, which sort of feels like he’s always wearing an extra layer of fuzzy pajamas, and it’s odd to consider Chara as a person with a body when their being your parent and their efforts to keep their and Asriel’s love life mostly private lull you into thinking of them as sexless.
Maybe that’s not fair to them. They didn’t stop being a person when they became your parent, so maybe you should try harder to think of them as one outside their role in caring for you.
While you’re turning that thought over in your head like a smooth stone in your hands, Chara picks up the tape measure. They turn so that they’re facing you diagonally, an angle where you can see what they’re doing as they pull the tape tight around their ribcage, close underneath their breasts.
“Now, this won’t get you quite as perfect a fit as you would if you were to have the tailor take a lot of exact measurements,” they say, “but not everyone is comfortable with having their body examined that closely, and so taking your own measurements this way is quite enough to be getting on with for now—we’ll get you some store-bought underthings to try and see what fits and what you like, then talk to the tailors using the numbers we get from this right now and your preferences as a base.
“But to make that intermediate bra-hunting step as quick and painless as we can, first one will need to calculate one’s band and cup size. Band size is simple—you measure the circumference of your ribcage, tight as you can. Note down that number, and either round up or round down to the nearest even number, depending on what’s closest.”
Chara pinches the tape measure between their fingertips and unspools it from around their ribs, holding it up to look at the number. They produce a notepad from their inventory, pick up a pen on the shelf, and note down their own measurement.
Then what do you do? you ask.
“After you’ve got a band size, then you go on to calculate cup size,” they say. They hesitate for a moment, looking at you seriously. “This is the bit that I’m not sure you’d be comfortable having someone else help on, because you have to bend over perpendicular to do it. I’m not okay with having someone I don’t trust tell me to take this position and then manhandle me, so I don’t want to ask that of you if you wouldn’t like it either.”
You nod. Will you show me?
Chara smiles a little at this. “Of course.” They do bend, slowly, at the waist; their chest hangs down freely, and they loop the measuring tape up over their back, adjusting it with what seems to you like a lot of practice. “If you want to do this by yourself, I can help you get the tape in the right place, or just tell you if it’s too high or low; if you’d rather have me step out, the margin of error won’t be so bad that it would be difficult to shop around. Everything is up to your comfort level.”
So saying, they bring the tape around their breasts, carefully adjusting the tape again to make sure they’ve got it right. “For this part you don’t have to measure so tightly—you want the measuring tape to be a little loose over the nipple line.” They go silent for a moment, and you frown, squinting at what you can see of their face—through their hair and at this angle you can’t really tell, but you think they look pensive. After a while they sigh and straighten up, glancing at the tape and making a face; they don’t note the number down this time.
Only after this do they notice you staring, and they smile at you, a little pained. “When you get a little older like me and your skin starts to lose its elasticity,” they say, “or if you’ve lost weight and have some empty flesh in your breasts, you also need to take measurements like this one lying on your back and standing up, then average those numbers so that you can make sure you’re not overestimating your cup size. But you’re not going to have to worry about that for a long time.”
As they explain this, they set the measuring tape down and take their bra back off the hook on the wall, wrapping it around their ribs and doing up the fastenings in front of them, then twisting the band around so that they can put the front of the bra on properly. Now that you’re actually watching them, you can see the way that they carefully push all of their breast tissue into the cups before adjusting the straps.
Emboldened a little by the circumstances, you point a timid finger to the part of Chara’s chest that’s still visible over the fabric of their underwear, at the long, shallow shiny white streaks down their skin that don’t look like scars. What are those?
“Those are stretch marks,” they tell you. “Most of us furless folks get them somewhere or other when we grow and as our weight changes—you could get some on your thighs or chest, your stomach, anywhere. They’re normal. And I’m glad you asked instead of waiting, this time.” They touch your face lightly, fingers stroking your cheeks; the contact relaxes you. “I know talking about bodies can be scary or uncomfortable. But if there’s ever anything you want to know, you can always ask me. If I don’t know, I will go find out.”
Okay. You take a deep breath. I think I want you to help a little.
Chara nods. “Whatever you need.”
You pull your own T-shirt off, hanging it up on the wall, and look at your reflection again, the still-unfamiliar sight of breasts coming out of your own chest giving you a moment’s pause. It’s very weird—not in a way that feels bad, not in a way that makes you really uncomfortable, but something that you know will take getting used to.
With Chara’s help you get the measuring tape up around your ribs—“You want it really snug underneath your bust,” they advise, “but still straight and not tilted”—and it’s strange and tickly against your skin as you pull it tight.
“Have you got it?” they ask, and you pinch the spot where the tape meets and nod. “Good, then try to let go.” You do, and peer at the number; you reach for the pen and notepad to jot it down. “Now for the trickier part.”
I trust you, you tell Chara, who gives you that little pained smile and pats your head.
“You can just sort of lean back against the wall if that feels safer,” they say, surprising you a little. “Just sort of push your butt and your thighs up to the side of the wall and then lean over, to make sure nobody can sneak up behind you. That’s what I always did.”
The mental picture makes you giggle a little, but you do as they suggest, backing up to the wall and then leaning over. You giggle more at the coolness of the wall against the underside of your thighs, still palpable through the fabric of your tights.
Chara again helps you get the measuring tape around your back, holding it in place with their thumb while you fumble with the ends. The tape was tickly on the skin of your ribs, but it’s even ticklier on your bare nipples, and you have to fight not to squirm so that you can get a clean measurement.
You pull your shirt back on as Chara looks over the numbers you’ve written down.
“For your band I think we’re going to round up, since you’ll be growing anyway,” they say. “Now, you take the difference between your band size and your bust size and calculate your cup size from there. That’s three inches for you, so a C—you have gotten big over the past year, I’m glad we didn’t wait any longer to go underwear shopping then.”
You reach out and pull on Chara’s sleeve. Isn’t a C cup… pretty big on someone my age? you venture, suddenly worried again.
They stroke your back. “Not particularly. Human media tends to make a lot of noise about breast size that isn’t very accurate—I was very surprised when I came here and was able to get a much better education about bra sizing than anything I’d ever seen on the surface. And only some monsters actually have pectoral breasts like humans do in the first place! Lucky for me that Asgore and Toriel have been around for long enough that they knew where to take me to find people who could help.
“And the underground has changed quite a bit in its knowledge of human needs, these past thirty years,” they go on, smiling at you a little wryly. “Anyway—now that we have these ballparks, we can have the tailor take a few more fine measurements over your shirt, and then head out to a clothing store to see what sort of styles you like, buy you a few tide-overs until the tailors are finished. There’s all sorts of colors, some with decorations and some that are plain… and there are different kinds of cup shapes too.
“I think we’ll look at some sports bras too, while you’re there,” they say, their expression gone thoughtful. “Those sort of compress your chest and make it smaller, hold it more still, for exercise’s sake, but since they minimize the size of your breasts a little, it can be a way for you to see if you like the way a flatter chest looks on you.” Chara turns, resting their hands lightly on your shoulders. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you try binders until you’re finished growing. I don’t want to take the risk of all that pressure on your ribcage hurting you, or stunting your growth. But once you are fully grown, if you’re interested in trying one, you can ask Rufus about them. I don’t know much about what sort of binders are good and all the tips for binder sizing and safety, but he can teach you anything you want or need to know.”
You nod. That sounds reasonable, I think.
They smile. “Good. Now—shall we get going?”
You wait for Chara to pull their shirt on to leave the dressing room; they hand off the measurements to the tailor, who putters around you with their own measuring tape, directing you to lift your arms and once even to hold your breasts up. They never touch you directly, letting you have a safe margin of distance; they wink and tell you that any inaccuracy will just give you extra growing room, making you smile and putting you more at ease.
Once this is done, Chara promises to contact the tailor and let them know what styles of bra you find at the store that you like, and you leave the store, headed off to take care of the actual practical half of today’s shopping trip.
You return home in less than an hour, tired but triumphant—the bag in your arms holds one regular bra and two sports ones, and you’re wearing another regular bra underneath your shirt. Every time you pass a mirror or a glass picture frame, you turn to stare a little at your reflection: Even though this is the “normal” kind of underwear and not the one that’s supposed to press your chest flatter, your breasts look smaller, and they don’t droop anywhere near as much. They don’t jiggle while you walk either, and you feel less anxious, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s because the weight on your chest (Chara might find that one pretty funny if you told them) is contained or whether it’s because the trip to the tailor’s and then the clothing store really was a lot better than you were fearing.
“Why don’t you go put those away?” Chara suggests, stretching a little as they slide their shoes off by stepping on the heels. “I’m going to go bug Ree in the kitchen—we can wait for him to finish cooking in the living room when you’re done.”
You smile and nod, heading right down the hall to your room. Two years ago, after you got your living arrangements settled, you’d chosen the room in the middle of the hall, the one closest to Chara and Asriel’s. Some of the furniture in here is their old stuff from when they were little, like your bed, and some is Toriel’s or Asgore’s, left in the basement in storage when they moved back to Home, like your chest of drawers and desk. But some of the things were bought just for you, like the lamp and the little toy piano that you use to practice on days when you can’t visit Undyne to use her real one.
The middle drawer is where you keep your socks and your underpants, and you take your new bras out of the bag to find an empty space to put them. It takes a minute’s worth of shuffling, but by stacking your underpants on top of each other, you manage to clear a space big enough for them to fit without having to crumple them up awkwardly.
Satisfied, you scratch at your back for a minute—the fabric of the bra you’ve got on is stiff and itchy, though Chara promises that it will be more comfortable once you’ve had a few days to get used to it—and then bring the bag back out with you to put in the recycling bin in the foyer before you return to the living room.
Chara has already staked a claim to the big cushy reading chair by the fireplace when you arrive. They’ve scooted up against the left arm, leaving enough space for you to squish in next to them, but you still hesitate for a moment and wait for them to pat the space in invitation before you actually do sit. They get an arm around your shoulders, and you nestle in close, happy for the contact.
“Your father informs me that dinner is going to be in about ten minutes or so,” Chara tells you, leaning their head against yours. “But we can relax until then.”
You smile wide and let out a grateful sigh. Chara kneads your arm gently.
“If…” they begin at length, and you turn your head to rest your chin on their arm and look up into their face. Their cheeks go darker pink and they look away for a moment, their eyes flicking back to meet your gaze the next breath they take. “If you have anything else you’re worried about when it comes to—to puberty and bodies and growing up and all of that, you can always talk to me. I want to help, Frisk—I want to be a good parent.”
I will ask, you tell them, and then hesitate. Um…
They shift a little in the chair to face you more fully. “Yes? You can take your time.”
You look over your shoulder a little to make sure that Asriel is still in the kitchen, then clear your throat a bit. Does all this… you gesture to your chest here for lack of any elegant way to explain, then continue, Does it mean that I’m going to get my period soon too?
Chara reaches out to stroke your hair, their bitter smile more than enough to tell you that they can guess why this worries you.
“I can’t say for sure,” they tell you, “but you might this year or next. I didn’t get mine until I was fourteen, but I hit puberty on the late side because of all the stress I put my body through as a child, after all.” They pause and pat your hair again. “Mine are so hard on me because of the damage I did to myself. Yours will probably be a lot less painful and scary, and even if they are that bad, we know how to deal with that.” They hold your face lightly in both hands and lean in to kiss your forehead, the press of their mouth warm and brisk through your bangs. “I promise you that we will take good care of you, Frisk,” they say seriously, “and it will be okay. And you know I don’t promise that it will be okay if I cannot be completely certain that I can fulfill such a promise.”
You lean forward and into their lap, twisting around so that you can hug them around the waist without bending your legs too painfully. Chara laughs quietly and wraps their arms around you in turn, kissing the top of your head again; you wriggle so that your cheek won’t be pressed hard into the chain of their locket.
“I believe you are getting to be too big for this, my child,” they say, sounding so much like Toriel that it sends you into a fit of giggles.
You hear a brief clicking of claws on the floorboards, and then you hear Asriel’s voice saying, “If they’re too big to fit on your lap, I’ll take them,” which makes you giggle even harder.
“Hello, Ree,” Chara says over the top of your head. You open one eye to watch your adoptive father’s approach: He stops right next to the chair, leaning in to kiss Chara deeply over the top of your head—it makes a little wet noise, and Chara hums low in their chest, making you blush—before opening his arms so that you can bounce up into them. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing, cradling you like a baby; you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh as he nuzzles your cheek.
“Dinner’s ready,” Asriel announces, swaying a little where he stands to rock you. (You’re so happy you could just melt.) “Come on, let’s go eat.”
He’s already set the table, and lowers you into your chair expertly and with care before moving to his own seat, Chara joining you moments later. Your plate is heaped with pasta, nuts, and green vegetables—Asriel’s vegetable scramble is only very lightly seasoned with olive oil and garlic, gentle on your tongue where you might get overwhelmed by too many textures and flavors when you’ve had an especially anxious day. You sign a quick thank you over your food before digging in heartily; from the smile in his eyes as he watches you, you’re sure he knows that you mean both for dinner itself and for thinking of you like this.
Pie follows once you’ve eaten the main course—strawberry rhubarb and chocolate-vanilla marble, both freshly baked, just as Chara promised you. Two slices is all you’re allowed, so you ask for one of each: Later on you’ll eat more of the strawberry since that’s your favorite, but Asriel’s marble pie is delicious too, and you want to take advantage of its freshness.
Chara gets the used dishes and goes to wash them; you stay at the table with Asriel to tell him about your day, moving from your own chair to plant yourself in his lap. While he’s telling you about his day, gently making fun of his various council members and helpers, Chara returns, getting their knitting from the bookshelf and perching in the reading chair to work on their latest project.
Then: A sharp slam and the patter of feet as someone rushes through the front door.
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and when you glance around the room Chara has frozen where they’re sitting with wide eyes—but it’s just Alphys who comes running into the living room, so you relax.
She slows to a stop barely before she’s gotten past the bookcase, clapping a hand to her chest as she gasps for breath. Her lab coat is askew and she’s (somehow, despite being reptilian) sweating heavily—she must have come charging straight here from work.
Asriel gets an arm around you and lifts you up with him like a little kid as he stands. You’re grateful for how stable he is, leaning into his warmth; he crosses the room to stand by Chara’s chair, setting his free hand on their shoulder for a moment as if to calm them. (They do close their eyes and take a deep breath.) “Alphys, is something the matter? Can I get you a drink?”
“Sorry to b-b-barge, in,” she says between pants. “I j-just c-couldn’t, I h-had t-to, to t-t-t-tell you right aw-way.” Here she takes a deep breath, visibly straightening up where she stands like she’s trying to regain equilibrium. “The f—final version of the, the soul s-separation and s-support machine. It’s d-done and t-tested.”
Asriel swallows hard. Chara sets their knitting down.
“How soon?” Asriel asks, hushed.
Alphys is still sweating and shaky, but she lifts a fist and unfolds her thumb, offering you all a smile that’s surprisingly confident. “We’ll b-be ready in e-exactly a week.”
You manage to sleep for maybe a couple of hours, but that’s it; once you’re awake you’re awake, and no amount of rolling over or hugging your favorite doll close helps you fall back to sleep.
Sighing, you sit up and put your glasses back on. You’ll just go get a glass of water or something for now—you don’t actually have to decide whether to bother Chara and Asriel until you get back.
You open your door as quietly as you can and tiptoe outside, and then immediately stop in your tracks when you see that the door to your parents’ room is still open a crack, and there’s a strip of light showing from inside. Their voices are coming from inside too, so they’re obviously very much awake.
Unsure whether you can sneak past without drawing their attention, you hesitate, and their words begin to register in your brain when you hear your name.
“—Frisk’s biological parents, you know. I don’t know what we’re going to do, if we get out and then start monster-human relations off with a custody battle.” Chara’s voice is bitter, and their tone and the words they’re saying send your heart dropping cold out of your body.
Asriel makes a soft sympathetic noise. “If it comes down to that, we’ll fight for them. I don’t want to give Frisk up any more than you do, and—well, from everything they’ve told us about their old parents, I don’t think they’re really going to give us any trouble. Frisk is happy with us, and we love them. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”
Chara groans. “I don’t know. I hope so, but I don’t trust the system. We just have to be ready in case it does happen, so that we won’t be taken off guard, so that we’ll have a counterattack prepared.”
You want to let your legs give out, you want to slump against the wall and cry, but then they’ll know that you’re here eavesdropping, and—you didn’t even mean to, you never wanted to hear this. Not your parents, the only grownups in the world who’ve cared to love you and keep you safe, worrying about you being taken away.
“I’ll talk to Mom and Dad, and we’ll think of something. We won’t let it happen,” Asriel says firmly. There’s a long silence in which all you can hear is your heartbeat, and then he says, “And you know that, Chara. What are you actually worried about?”
Against your better judgment, you lean in closer to the door, straining your hearing.
It’s quiet for another long while, and then:
“My parents will still be alive too,” Chara says, small and brittle.
A pause. “Well, they definitely won’t be able to take you away,” Asriel says, gentle. “You’re forty. You’re an adult. They’ll be old, if they really are still around. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”
Chara breathes in, sharp and pained. “But I still am,” they say, that warning edge in their voice that they get sometimes when they’re close to tears.
Fabric shifts. There’s the creaking of mattress springs. “That’s okay. I’ll protect you.”
“I don’t even want to see them,” Chara goes on, their voice muffled and weak. “It’s taken me so long to build up what little stability I have. They could destroy it in an instant. I don’t want this, Ree. I don’t want any of this.”
“You’re free from them,” Asriel says. “Just like Frisk is free from their parents, and all the other fallen humans are free from the families that they don’t want to see again, too. You know how to defend yourself, and if that’s not enough, I’ll keep you safe. You’re free. We’re all going to be free.” A small pause here, and another rustle; you guess that he’s probably nuzzling their hair or face. Your throat is dry and your knees are locked painfully to keep you in place without leaning noisily on anything. “You can be happy about that, if you want.”
Chara doesn’t say anything.
There’s a deep sense of unease in you, unbearable and prickling like a limb regaining circulation; if it were physical you’d be dancing in place to try to bear the discomfort and make it go away as soon as possible.
Then: A tiny, muffled sob.
You give up on trying to remain silent and undetected. You don’t understand why Chara’s so scared and upset, not really; you just know that they are, and that you can’t stand it, it’s scaring you so much worse—you need them to stop, or else you’re going to cry too. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach out and knock on the doorframe, pushing their door open.
Your parents are sitting on their bed, both in pajamas, Chara held tight in Asriel’s arms. They don’t look up towards you, face still hidden in your father’s chest, but he turns to see you: First his eyes widen in surprise, and then he smiles awkwardly, shifting so that he’s got Chara safely tucked to his chest with one arm and the other is free to hold out to you.
Your first step into their room is tentative, but Asriel nods and beckons, and you nearly trip over your feet rushing in to get close to the two of them. There’s enough room in his lap for you to squeeze in next to Chara, and so naturally you do, stretching one arm around them and one arm around Asriel as far and as tight as you can.
“I’m sorry,” Chara croaks against Asriel’s side. “I hate to worry you like this.”
It’s too hard to try to find the words to tell them that it’s okay and you don’t mind that will really convince them that you’re genuine, so you just try to hug harder.
“Did we wake you?” Asriel asks, leaning down to bump his nose against the crown of your head, gentle.
You shake your head against his front. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say aloud. You hesitate just a moment longer, then—“Got nervous,” you append. “I wasn’t sure why.”
“We’re all nervous, I think,” Asriel says, hugging you and Chara close. His heartbeat is steady and strong against your forehead. “This has been so long in coming, and now—just like that, we’ll be breaking the Barrier in a week! But it’ll be okay. We’ve worked really hard for a long time for this. And we won’t let anybody take you away from us, Frisk.”
Chara doesn’t say anything, but they do get an arm around your waist, pulling you in closer to them. It’s hot and stuffy in the hug, cocooned by the arms of both your parents, but the physical pressure of your packed bodies and the strength in their arms is a reassurance you need right now.
“Can I stay here tonight?” you ask, small and quiet.
“Yes,” Chara says thickly. “I think—we all might feel safer that way.”
Asriel loosens his hold on you, letting Chara shuffle back on the mattress and wipe their face on their sleeve. You get back to your feet to let him scoot over to his side of the bed, and take your glasses off to set them on the top of the dresser, near the old family photo of your parents as kids.
“You can have the middle,” Chara says, and you smile and jump up onto the bed to find your place in between your parents.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” Asriel jokes, and you giggle a little, wriggling down in the blankets to find a comfortable spot. Chara leans in to kiss your forehead and hold you close; they lie down beside you and hold your hand tightly under the covers. Their fingers are weathered and pockmarked with scars of varying ages, but their grip is steady and strong.
Asriel gets the lamp, and the springs groan as he stretches out next to you, slinging an arm over you and Chara.
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Goodnight, Ree, Frisk,” Chara appends, more softly.
“’Night,” you whisper, blinking up at the dark ceiling.
It takes a while for you to fall asleep. But the soft sounds of your parents breathing and shifting in their sleep lull you at last, that vague sense of unease notwithstanding.
You don’t remember what you dream.