Archive of Our Own ^beta

You don't want to admit it, but you're kind of scared when the front door closes, and you're on the outside. Toriel's already unlocking the car, and you know she's waiting for you, but for a moment, you can't make yourself move. You're not used to being alone with her like this. There's always Chara- and Asriel- 

But now there's just you.

"Are you all right, child?" her voice drifts back to you, warm and laden with concern. You nod stiffly, doing an about-face and marching to the car, letting her help you up into the back seat and fasten your seat belt for you. You can do it, but it seems to make her happy to do it for you.

"Sans is meeting us at the mall," Toriel says. You nod again, looking at your lap. You know you're making her worry, but you can't seem to stop. It's not like Chara could help being in pain, and you would rather Asriel stay with them so they aren't alone, but it's not the same, just being you.

The drive to the mall is silent. Toriel seems to have given up on making conversation with you, and you feel a twinge of guilt, deep within your stomach. You can't seem to talk anyway, though, your throat's feel like it's got a boulder in it. And it's not like you can sign to her while she's driving. You could make her crash.

Sans meets you at the mall's entrance. He's lounging against the wall, with a hot dog in one hand that he's carefully licking the ketchup off. All the humans in the vicinity give him a wide berth. It would hurt your feelings, but he looks like he's enjoying himself. He looks up, one eye sparking ghostly blue for a moment.

"Hey, kiddo," he says easily. "Tori. What do you call a skeleton that won't get up in the morning?"

"What?" Toriel asks, and you can see how she's trying to hide a smile.

"Lazy bones," Sans grins. Toriel's shoulders shake with the force of her laughter, and you can't help but smile, too. Sans dumps the rest of his hot dog in a trash can and crosses over to you, offering you a bony hand to hold onto. You quietly appreciate it.

"Where to?" Sans asks Toriel. 

"Frisk needs new pants most of all, I think," Toriel replies after a moment's thought. "Is that right, child?" She asks you. You nod.

You don't pay attention to the names of the stores Sans drags you past until you end up in the kids' section of a department store. Sans has taken you to the boys' side and you send him a hesitant, grateful look when Toriel's not looking.

It's not that you mind girls' clothes exactly, it's just that when you browse through them, everyone assumes you are one. You've had enough of being fussed over, enough of pinched cheeks and hair tousles, murmurs of what a pretty little girl you are filtering through your ears and flickering resentful flames in your stomach even higher.

Toriel looks a bit disapprovingly at Sans' choice (deliberately frayed jeans with the knees ripped out), but she doesn't say anything when you grab them to try them on. You don't really like them, but you like that Sans picked them out.

When you shimmy them on, you have to stifle laughter at the picture you make in the mirror. Chara might like these, you think, but they look terribly out of place on you. You set them aside for Chara, then try on Toriel's pick. It's from the girls' clothes (of course). They have lace frills on the edges of the pockets and the cuffs, and embroidered flowers, but for all that, you do actually like them. More than you thought you would. And it would make her happy to see you in them, you think, peeking out the door to see if Toriel is in sight.

As you ease out, awkward and gangly-limbed, you hear a hanger drop to the floor in the changing cubicle next to you. It's a small noise, but you jump anyway, then let yourself relax a bit, when more noise erupts from next door.

"Clumsy, pick it up right now, why can't you be more careful-"

It's muffled and you keep missing words, but it's not because of the person shouting, it's because your ears have decided to block it out. Your hands press tightly against your ears, eyes squeezed shut so hard you see stars. All of the small pleasure that you've taken from wearing flower-embroidered jeans has vanished and you want nothing more than to get dressed again and leave. To go underground, where nobody can scream at you and you don't have to keep pretending you're a human in anything but skin.

You back into the cubicle. Toriel's not there anyway, she must be looking for another pair of jeans for you, and Sans must be helping her. You carefully lock the door and sit on the little bench by the mirror, not noticing how much you're shaking until your hip bumps the edge of the mirror.

Chara would shout profanities at them, or figure out how to hit them with a crutch. Asriel might tell them they should be nicer. But you aren't Chara or Asriel, you're Frisk, and you don't know how to do anything but sit there and shake and let your fingernails bite crescent-shaped welts into your palms.

"Frisk?"

Toriel at the door, and she sounds concerned again, and you know you should smile and open the door and show off the jeans, but you can't move and you can't talk and you can't do anything until all of a sudden, Sans is in front of you.

"Kiddo?" he asks, and you gape at him. "Hey," he says, kneeling down in front of you so that you have to look down at him. It makes you feel a little better. "You okay?"

You shake your head.

He unpeels your fingers, one by one, and you wince when you see the bruised, bloody marks your nails have left. He doesn't say anything about them, but he's gentle as he stands up, tugging you to your feet.

"Wanna go home?" he asks, studying you closely. You shake your head again. You do, you really, really do, but you also don't want to disappoint your mom, and you know that if you don't get it over with now, you're going to have to come back later.

"Looking good, kid," Sans tells you, clicking his finger bones together and pointing at the girly jeans. You smile a little.

Toriel coos over you, and you don't want to admit you like it, so you just stare at the ground. You agree you want the jeans. You agree to try on more. Sans lets you change alone, but this time, you can feel his presence right outside the door, and it makes you feel safer.

The people in the next changing room leave and it feels lighter. Your hands don't tremble as much when you change into the next pair, or make a face at the shorts that Toriel's slipped into the pile. They are bright pink, and they don't fit anyway.

When you step out of the changing room for the final time, securely bundled in your own clothes and feeling like you're ready to jump out of your skin, Sans holds your hand again. It stings a little, because you really did a number with your fingernails, but you don't mind. It makes you feel more real.

"Would you like to go anywhere else, child?" Toriel asks you gently. She looks out of place, arms piled high with pants and a couple things for Chara and Asriel. A strange warmth burns in your throat, looking up at her, who's smiling down at you in a way you've never seen before from anyone who was supposed to be watching over you. You hesitate.

"Wanna go to the food court, kiddo?" Sans bumps your shoulder with his. You nod a bit- you don't really, but you feel kind of lightheaded and dizzy, and you know that tends to mean your blood sugar's getting low.

Sans secures you and Toriel fruit smoothies and himself another hot dog while you sit at the farthest table, tips of your sneakers almost brushing the floor. Your back's against the wall, and Toriel sits by your side, leaving the other side for Sans. You feel boxed in, but in a good way.

"You're doing well, Frisk," Toriel murmurs, just for you and her. You smile as Sans sets the smoothie cup in front of you, straw already poked into the middle. The flavor is tropical fruit, though most of what you can taste is banana and orange. Toriel's is mixed berry and she lets you take a sip.

I want to go now, you sign when you're mostly done with your smoothie. Toriel peers into your cup, nodding with satisfaction when she sees how much you've drunk. 

"Do you want the rest?" she asks anyway, and you shake your head, signing no for good measure. Your mouth feels almost numb with cold.

"Come, child," Toriel says warmly. "Let's go home."

Home never sounded so good.