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If you had eternity, how long could you spend it repeating the same few days over and over again? Better yet, if you had eternity, how long would you spend it trying to save others?
One year? Five years? One hundred? How long would it take for you to give up? How long until the weariness and frustration that gripped at the edges of your soul finally withered at that inborn natural determination of yours? Until all that remained were its tarnished remains.
Frisk stopped keeping track of the resets after their 100th run ended with them skewered on Asgore’s blood red trident.
Frisk had tried pacifism, they had tried cowardice, they had tried self-defence, and a few resets ago, they had given in to the dark recesses of their mind that saw them cutting down every monster they saw. Frisk would shudder in delight as they ripped apart the last monster they could find. Blood rushed through their veins, and their heart pumped against their ribs as their hands would grow more and more grey with dust.
Nevertheless, Frisk’s fate seemed inevitable.
Frisk would die, usually quite brutally. Perhaps by being burnt to a crisp, or impaled by bones, cut to ribbons by glowing blue spears, lasers and bombs left no trace of them, extinguished into a pile of dust by blasters. If they had beaten all odds and avoided those tragic fates, then it was Asgore, the king of Monsters, who would raise his trident over his mighty head and bring it down upon Frisk again, and again, and again.
Then Frisk would open their eyes, and there they were. Brought back to the hallway before the throne room. The glowing, bright star that Frisk resented hovered slowly above the grey floors. It tempted them with its golden glow. The offer for another chance had kept Frisk from ending up like the other fallen humans, at least so far.
Frisk had long since pondered what gave the glowing star such strength. The power to unravel time itself wasn’t something they had access to before. Blandly, they would consult some imagined theories. Nothing they could imagine seemed right, though.
Their actions didn’t matter, whether they fell under the crushing might of the king or if they cut him down. That glowing beacon of power would let them redo it all over again. But they were tired. They couldn’t remember exactly how long they had been down here. Not that it mattered. They couldn’t age, or die in any way that mattered.
Their past friends would have no memories of them. People they had killed before were suddenly alive. Frisk was still the final human soul needed to free Monsterkind from their eternal prison.
The first few times they had reset, they had spent attempting to make their scant few allies remember. At most, a vague feeling of Deja vue would ruminate in their friends. Though it never lasted, nor was it ever enough to spare Frisk from their violence.
…
Sans certainly knew more than he let on, though how much he knew, even Flowey couldn’t discern. The smaller of the brothers was certainly an enigma. One Frisk had long since given up on figuring out. He seemed content to watch Frisk endlessly repeat the same three days for infinity. The one time Frisk had battled against him, they swiftly abandoned any future plans for complete genocide.
Frisk stood before Asgore's throne room for the hundredth time. Their shoulders weighed heavily with the memories of all their past deaths. Their fist clenched down around the dusty kitchen knife. They had only taken a few lives this run, nothing compared to the genocide Frisk had previously enacted. They shuddered, remembering the sick delight that had come with the reckless slaughter of the entire Underground. The power they had gained then was lost to them.
Still, a little EXP helped make Asgore's battle less painful. A healthy LV of 4. A few monsters Frisk knew wouldn’t be missed (and some Frisk had just grown to really, really hate) fell to their powerful strikes. Frisk’s face was bathed in the (dimming?) light of the star; the faint glow had oddly grown darker as they returned from their fall in battle against the king. Bruises and scratches from the fight remained dotted across Frisk's body. They numbly noted a trickle of blood beading down their cheek.
‘Weird’ was all they could muster up to think.
Frisk turned their head, glimpsing Flowey disappear back into the ground with a meek shriek.
“Flowey,” they softly spoke, their voice cracking as they waved the flower to come closer. Frisk watched as Flowey re-emerged, closer to them and the dimming star this time.
His mouth pinched tightly as he extended two thorny vines towards the star. His dark eyes watered as he met Frisk's sterile gaze. He dropped the two vines, letting them sink back into the ground as he leaned closer to Frisk. The burnt petals lining his face brushed up against Frisk’s legs. He made sure to avoid putting any weight into his leaning. Aware of the purple and black bruises that painted Frisk's legs, contrasting against their tanned skin.
“Why is it dimming?! It’s not supposed to be like that!” He barked, his voice rising the longer he spoke. Flowey looked up at Frisk with a stormy glare.
“Loads are supposed to undo everything. Your fight with Asgore hasn’t even happened yet!” With each sentence, Flowey’s voice rose higher and higher, crackling with raw power. His mouth sharpened, revealing two razor-sharp canines as he spat.
“I know,” Frisk responded, their voice neutral. As if it were no big deal that the very thing that granted Frisk effective immortality was losing its strength. Or, truthfully, that Frisk was losing strength. The bruised child crouched down, grunting softly as their muscles ached in response. The bloodied child reached out to their only companion, softly petting Flowey’s golden petals. Frisk opened their mouth to speak, but found nothing would come out. Their throat strangled their voice. Smothering the hope they wished to grant Flowey. Their face burned with shame. Frisk’s mind shrieked as their body ignored its commands. A warbling croak was all Frisk’s mind could push through.
To Frisk's greatest shame, they could offer their loyal companion no words of comfort.
Flowey’s eyes welled with tears. He took in large gulps of air as he tried to stop himself from crying, flinching away from Frisk's touch. He wasn’t a baby anymore! He couldn’t keep crying every time something happened. Chara was right; he really was a crybaby.
“This always happens! You humans always promise you won’t give up, but then you do!” Flowey wanted to scream; he wanted to tear Frisk apart for daring to break their promise. Just like Chara did, just like all those other dead humans did.
“You promised ME! Friends aren’t supposed to break their promises!” He sobbed, hunching over himself as fat tears rolled out of his eyes.
“I know,” Frisk whispered again. They reached back out to Flowey, their fingers gently touching the blackened edges of his petals. Flowey raised a vine from out of the ground, smacking away their touch with an angry snarl.
“You know?! Great, so everything’s just fine then!” Flowey shrieked, coughing and sputtering as he choked on the musty underground air. “The all-mighty Frisk knows they're giving up and doesn’t care! No worries, everyone! Sure, they’ll die, all of humanity’s gonna die, and Asgores is gonna become the god-king ruler of the world, but great, cuz you just know!”
Frisk quietly chuckled at Flowey. He must be feeling a little better if he’s back to snarking at them.
“I’m sorry, Flowey,” Frisk started again, reaching down to cover Flowey’s mouth as he started to interject.
“I’ve tried. I’ve kept trying. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but I can’t give everyone a happy ending.” They gritted their teeth, pushing down their pride as they spoke.
Frisk didn’t want their last moments spent wearing another mask. Apathy had burned away the last reserves of their energy, dulling the fear and pain they carried with them throughout their journey. They no longer cared to pretend like their journey hadn’t changed them. No longer was the innocent, naive child who stumbled into the ruins still there. Weariness had clipped away at everything Frisk once was. Leaving a tired, haunted version of themselves, they couldn’t stand to look at.
“I’m so tired, Flowey. So, so tired”, Frisk admitted. The weight of everything spilling off their chest as they let out a shaky breath. The words that had been caught in their throat tumbled out before their mind could catch up and put a stop to it.
“I can’t keep living like this, stuck in some perpetual purgatory for the rest of my life. I can’t help people who won’t accept my help, Flowey. Every time I reset, I have to endure so much pain before they’ll even look at me without trying to kill me!” Frisk remembered the countless battles they had survived and died in.
Papyrus, cloaked in his dark uniform, shoots a spiked bone through their eye. Papyrus watched Frisk run from him as he shot out waves of blue bones. Frisk remembered feeling Sans gaze bore into their back as they fell to the ground, clutching their gaping stomach, blood spilling into the porcelain white snow as the youngest of the skeleton brothers walked up and landed a painless blow to their head. Frisk dimly remembered feeling adrenaline coursing through their veins as they dodged Undyne. Their scream halted as she landed a strike directly into their throat.
Frisk could have gone on, described each death as vividly as they remembered it. But they didn’t have forever anymore. Asgore awaited them. Freedom awaited them.
“At least…” Frisk choked out, “At least when I die, the barrier can finally be broken. You’ll be free, Toriel will be free, you’ll all be able to feel the sun on your face.” A fragile smile sat trembling across Frisk's face.
Frisk stood up, turning their back on their sobbing friend. They selfishly hoped Flowey would eventually find it in himself to forgive them. They watched as the glowing star faded until it was finally gone. They hadn’t felt this apathetic since before they jumped down. There was no doubt that the determination had finally finished draining from their husk of a body.
Flowey suddenly shot out two vines. Wrapping each one around Frisk’s uninjured ankle. He wiped away his tears. The golden flower set his face into a resolute expression as he spoke, ignoring the way his voice still occasionally trembled and warbled.
“I’m not letting another one of my siblings kill themselves over some stupid, half-baked suicide attempt! Please, I just wanna go home with you.”
“Flowey…” Frisk sighed, tugging gently as they failed to detach the vines from their ankle. “What about everyone else?” The fates of the entire Underground hinged on Frisk's death. An entire species was doomed, and subsequently, another human's life would have to be given in exchange for Frisks.
Given how long it had been between Frisk’s fall and the last humans. That meant a whole new generation of Monsters would come and go before the barrier would be broken. And despite all the pain, all the fear they felt. A small part of Frisk remembered all the good timelines. Timelines where their friends protected them, helped them, and saved them more times than the twelve-year-old could count. For all that Frisk reasoned, they still cared, they still loved their friends.
“Who cares!? They’ve all killed you at least once! Mum and dad don’t know I’m alive, Chara’s dead, everyone who meant anything to me is either dead or I wish they were!” Flowey hissed, “You're my friend! And the only person worth anything in this entire place!”
Frisk shivered at the venom of Flowey’s words. Long gone were his tears, replaced with seething hatred as he spoke about the rest of his people.
“They deserve to rot down here! None of them are good people; they bully and kill and steal from everyone else. Let them be miserable. Maybe they’ll do us a favour and kill themselves!” He spat, sneering as he ranted and raved.
“But-“ Flowey cut Frisk off.
“But what?! Please, Frisk. We can reach the surface together! We can watch the sun rise together forever! We won’t have to fight for anything ever again. We’ll be friends forever. We won’t have to reset or reload ever again!”
Frisk tore their gaze from Flowey’s. They bit the inside of their cheek as they contemplated his words. The human child’s mind sat in war with itself. How could they justify abandoning an entire species' chance of freedom? Then, another part of their consciousness spoke. How many chances had they given Monsters? How many times had they gritted their teeth and broken down the walls each of them had? And how many times had it ended in grief, in death?
The few times they had defeated Asgore and reached the surface, Sans had always called them afterwards. His gruff voice rumbling over Frisk’s ancient phone as he reassured them that everyone was doing fine.
Papyrus was Papyrus. Sometimes he was the king, sometimes he was the only captain of the royal guard, sometimes he was dead. Most of the time, Undyne (when Frisk managed to befriend her) had vouched to slaughter Frisk, should they ever meet face to face again and so on. Sans would tell them to take care of themselves before hanging up the phone. No matter how many times Frisk dialled back, he never picked up…
So… they would be okay, right? Maybe angry, sure. Frisk had done well this run, though, with minimal killing. Most of their friends were still alive. Mettaton, Muffet, and a few stray aggressors had fallen under Frisk's fine blade. But everyone else was fine.
They would be fine.
Frisk wasn’t needed here.
They would be happy.
Flowey would be happy.
They didn’t have to die.
Frisk could live.
Flowey would be free!
Frisk grasped their blade, tightening their grip around the scratched plastic as they offered a hand to Flowey. A reluctantly excited expression had finally graced their stoic face.
“Let’s get home then. We don’t wanna be late for dinner,” A glimmer of excitement edged at the end of Frisk's voice. “My parents won’t mind if you live with us, they’re really nice, just really strict”
Flowey grinned, ricocheting off the ground as he crawled across Frisk’s arm, settling his various brown roots across their body as he secured himself to sit across his friend's shoulders. He could barely contain himself, restlessly shifting as Frisk marched forward, a new type of determination pumping through their hearts.
…
Two friends walked into the throne room. Each uniquely determined to slay the Monster King and earn their freedom from an eternal prison.
Asgore stood no chance against them, falling the moment he raised his steel trident. Several thorny vines shot out from the ground, crunching through the king's armour like it was cardboard and plunging straight through his chest.
Asgore let out a sharp choke; any last words were stolen as a final vine impaled itself through his throat. He gurgled on his own words, spit, dust, and magic coagulating in his torn throat and dribbling down the corners of his mouth.
His dark, bloodshot eyes widened for a brief second as he felt himself crumbling to dust. His Trident clattered to the ground with a thunderous boom, snapping Frisk out of their stupor. They gritted their teeth and willed themselves to step closer to the dying king.
The human stood before the king, brought down to his knees by a flower's might. The vine stuck in his throat recoiled back to its owner.
“You…” the mighty king gasped, angry, shocked, fearful of what came next for the dying. His next words were cut off as Frisk brought down their weapon across the Asgores' mighty chest. His dust scattered across the golden flowers that grew in his throne room. His bright white soul hung suspended in the air. Flowey whipped a vine around it, plunging his father's soul into his chest, to be kept safe until Frisk was ready to leave.
Flowey ignored the strange tugging at his proverbial heart. Centuries without one's own soul left him unused to the comfortable flood of positive emotions having one provided.
“Ugh, gross. Frisk, hurry up and get to the barrier! I think I’m beginning to feel emotions!” he whined, tugging at the end of Frisk's choppy brown hair.
“Ohh nooo, we couldn’t have that, could we?” they teased, chuckling as they stepped over their fallen enemies' remains.
…
The barrier parted for the two siblings with little argument. Asgore's soul-shattering as the human and soulless flower walked through. The magic washed over them, releasing its grip as they moved further and further out of the cave. A cool summer breeze gently guided the two away from the rippling barrier.
The two stood at the edge of the cliff, Flowey resting across their shoulder as both gazed at the rising sun. The clouds painted the sky in pretty pastel pinks and oranges. A far cry from the dark, rocky scenery of the Underground.
Laughter, loud, gut-busting laughter, erupted from Frisk. They bent over, clutching at their stomach as they howled with joy. Flowey shrieked as he fell with Frisk, cursing them out as he leaned away from them.
They were free, finally. No more death, no more fighting. This was it.
Frisk wiped a tear from the corner of their eye, patting Floweys head (and minding his snapping bite). They dropped their dusty knife, letting the wretched weapon clatter to the ground as they turned to stare at Flowey, watching as the Monster soaked in the sun's shine for the first time in Millenia. Their mad laughter slowed down to the occasional odd giggle. Frisk’s felt as they let their previous lives and deaths drip down off them and soak into the dry dirt beneath them.
Their shoulders bounced up, free from the mighty burden they carried.
“We’ll be okay”. Frisk muttered to themselves as they waited for the sun to hang high above them before they walked down the mountain with their new friend in tow. Frisk carefully retraced their steps, finding their way back to the old abandoned trail and then back to their home. Flowey hung off of Frisk's shoulders, reaching out to grasp at hanging branches and plucking blooming flowers out from the ground.
‘So much really has changed, he thought to himself. Flowey’s eyes were glued to the distant outline of Ebott City. What once could barely be considered a settlement had grown into a bustling, busy city. Chara would’ve loved it.
The knife lay atop the mountain, hungry for bloodshed, abandoned by its owner to the wilds of Mt Ebott, where it would quickly be forgotten, hidden away by the sands of time.
Frisk’s family would have questions, but for once in a very, very long time, Frisk was sure everything would be better than okay.
…
The Underground, haunted and ruled by vicious, vile creatures, disagreed…