"Saudade is a word in Portuguese and Galician (from which it entered Spanish) that claims no direct translation in English. It describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. A stronger form of saudade might be felt towards people and things whose whereabouts are unknown, such as a lost lover, or a family member who has gone missing, moved away, separated, or died.

Saudade is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well-being, which now triggers the senses and makes one live again. It can be described as an emptiness, like someone or something that should be there in a particular moment is missing, and the individual feels this absence. It brings sad and happy feelings all together, sadness for missing and happiness for having experienced the feeling."

Full Summary: In a timeline where the Seventh Human escapes from Underground in the neutral-pacifistic ending, monsters are still trapped behind the Barrier, and Frisk has had a difficult life ever since they left. Homeless, alone, and living day-by-day, Frisk has never been less determined, nor more hopeless, in their entire life. They don't belong.

However, five years after their adventure beneath Mt. Ebott, a new human child arises from the Underground. The "True Pacifist", they're calling her.

Only this time, the monsters have followed them to the Surface.

Desperate, lonely, but plagued by guilt for leaving their friends behind, Frisk can't find the will to face them all after so long. But they miss them - merciful God above, do they miss them. They don't know how much longer they can keep this up. They're hungry, sick and miserable, and so very, very alone.

Will Frisk ever find the determination to face their friends again? And can the monsters of the Underground finally give this Fallen child somewhere they can call home?

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Undertale. That honor goes to the genius mind of Toby Fox.

Your eyes were wide, jaw slightly agape with nothing short of pure disbelief. Peering through a dirty window at the back of some ma-and-pa cafe in the center of some human city you hadn't bothered to learn the name of. It's not like there was any reason to know it. No-one would have cared, anyways. Because if somebody did, you wouldn't be here, hunkered down in a filthy back alley, standing on your tip-toes to peer into a homey kitchen, eyes fixated on an old television currently playing the news. At first, you'd been on the hunt for some food to swipe when the leftover stuff was tossed out, but the news-story had since caught your attention.

A befuddled, maybe even scared-looking woman was reporting at the scene of what looked like a tiny mountain village. The half-built structures of houses mingled with finished complexes in the background. The ground looked like it was paved in cobblestone and earth, exposed by countless feet, the pathways winding off somewhere into a sea of tree that served as the anchoress' backdrop. You couldn't make out much more than that. Every now and again, someone - or something - would meander past the camera, offering a nervous smile or a wave.

The headlines spiraled across your vision, twirling and twisting in your brain like a parasitic worm. The words "monster", and "settlement", and "underground" repeated themselves to you, and then, suddenly, the camera panned to one side, the woman walking with it, as it focused on a large, cozy-looking home, a pair of creatures standing in front of it. One figure was unbelievably large, wearing a purple tunic with a golden-white crest emblazoned across its front. Thick, strong limbs, bare feet, with a rounded muzzle and long ears. Covered in downy, white fur from head to toe. A monster. Somehow you knew that she gave exceptionally soft hugs.

Next to the goat-monster, stood a human child, hands politely cupped behind her back. She couldn't have been much older than you. She only came up to the monster's mid-waist, elegantly thin with pale complexion, and long, curly red hair. She was wearing a sweater and scarf - they looked hand-knit - to keep her safe from the cold of late autumn, but what you could see of her skin was decorated in light freckles. Her eyes were a kind, soft hazel, but they held distinctive flecks of green inside them.

Her sweater had the same crest on it. The Delta Rune felt like a punch to the face, and seeing the human and monster holding hands nearly made you double over with a blow to the stomach.

Your tummy twisted itself into knots as a new word, "adoption", came to your attention.

Suddenly, you didn't feel very hungry anymore, never mind the fact that you hadn't had a decent meal in... months? Maybe even years? It was hard to tell at this point. Your feet had started to tingle from standing on your toes for so long, and your hands were numb after holding onto the window sill, being exposed to the chilly air. A figure ducked back into the kitchen, and you gasped quietly, moving quickly to take cover behind the dumpster you stood a few feet away from. It was a tough squeeze, but thankfully you were thin enough to still fit back there. The scent was god-awful - years of garbage combined into one toxic-smelling slew tried to force its way through the tattered bits of what was once called a scarf, and up your nose - but you held your breath and bared it.

A human stumbled outside, weighed down by plastic sacks of precious cargo, tossed out and left to literally rot. You briefly felt grateful for people's wastefulness - that just meant there was more for you.

You held your breath, not daring to move even a single hair hunkered down in the dumpster's dark shadow, as one of the employees stumbled over. You heard them grunt with effort, saw the black lid lift, and the garbage bags thunked into the bottom of the container. Nervous anticipation fluttered through your heart, but not in a good way, as the person paused a moment after finishing their disposal. Usually they ran right back inside, not wanting to stand out in the cold any longer than necessary. But this person - whoever they were - was hesitating.

There was a shuffle, a sigh, and they walked almost reluctantly back inside.

You waited for a good five minutes before daring to slip out of the smelly hiding place.

As you rounded the bin, preparing to search for something of sustenance, your eyes spied a Styrofoam take-out box on the ground in front of it. Curiously, you picked it up. Warmth seeped into your frosty fingers as you flicked the lid away.

Inside, lay a slightly over-stuffed burger, sided by a heap of salty fries, and several ketchup packets lined up in one of the corners. A swell of euphoria and gratitude rose in your chest, and you couldn't resist walking up to look through the window again, the box now closed, and clutched tight between your hands. No-one was in there for the moment, but you thanked the employee either way.

At least someone was willing to show you a little mercy.

As you meandered down the sparsely-populated sidewalk, sticking close to the walls of buildings on your right, you pondered over the kindness that had been shown you. The take-out was still warm in your hands, and you held the precious gift as close as possible, careful to keep it from tipping too much to one side, so everything stayed fresh and put together. The only misgivings the food brought you, was the knowledge that someone was aware of your presence at the cafe. You doubted you'd be able to go back any time soon.

Last time you'd stuck around one place for too long, it... hadn't ended well. Apparently, the owner of that particular pub wasn't feeling entirely generous, and didn't appreciate you rooting about through their garbage cans. He was, however, drunk off his ass. You doubted that was legal, considering.

A shiver unrelated to the cold ran down your spine. Humans could be rather cruel to one another.

You still had the scars to prove it. Then again, you had plenty of them. Most of which you'd gotten during...

A minuscule sigh escaped you, and you tried to make yourself look small and inconspicuous as a group of humans passed. It was funny - ever since falling beneath Mt. Ebott, you'd found yourself subconsciously categorizing between the two separate species. Before then, humans were just people, beings you passed every day; monsters and monster wars were nothing more than myth and legend from centuries ago. But now, humans were humans, monsters were monsters, and the latter of the two seemed to have more humanity in them than the creatures the word was categorized after. In a twisted way, it was almost humorous. And now, it seemed that monsters were going to become a part of humanity.

You sighed again, vaguely noticing as the walkway beneath your feet became more and more dilapidated, and city buildings and roads gave was to overgrown gravel paths and crumbling, boarded-up walls.

After all this time... It'd been five years since you first fled from the Underground. Five long years since you'd seen hide or hair of a monster. Half a decade had been the last time you had smelled the warmth of soil and magic, traversed through the dust of the Ruins, stepped across the white-covered grounds of Snowdin, felt the damp, humid breeze of Waterfall on your skin, or the burning heat of Hotland on your sweater-clad back.

Five years before was both the first, and final time you could recall feeling you belonged.

In all truth, five years wasn't really that long, but for your thirteen-year-old self, it seemed like a lifetime away.

A part of you had been tempted to go back, on more than one occasion. But something always stopped you from scaling the mountainside of Ebott a second time. For every occurrence, it was the same thing.

You were scared.

Scared of falling upon Flowey and that strange, spiritual presence that had plagued you during your travels. Scared of facing Toriel again, after leaving her behind in the Ruins, after she'd cared for you with a love so tender and whole-hearted. Of seeing the Skeleton Brothers while they patrolled for humans, of being brought back to Undyne, the Captain of the Royal Guard. Of coming across the meek, nervous genius that was Underground's Royal Scientist, Alphys, and her creation-slash-friend Mettaton, who had a knack for entertainment and (apparently) human-exterminating.

You were alone now, truly and completely. It brought peace, but also sorrow. A large, dilapidated house stood farther up the road, a silhouette in the late afternoon light.

But mostly... you were scared of wait would await you in the Castle.

Asgore would not be waiting for you in the Throne Room this time, you knew. It had been a rather cruel twist of fate, no matter how perfect. One might have even called it poetic justice. Both a human and a monster soul was needed to cross the Barrier, you knew, and Asgore had destroyed the only chance you had at offering him Mercy. Unable to Spare him, you were forced to Fight. One human child, finishing off a monster King, who had already claimed the souls of six human children.

One soul. That was all the both of you needed. You hadn't been ready to die. You were scared of death. Why else would you keep using your determination to continue, after being killed off by the monsters so many times? Anyone else would have given up a lot sooner.

In the end, you had almost been kept from gaining your wicked prize. Flowey had tried to intercept the King's soul, and shatter it to bits. But you had worked faster than he anticipated. He hadn't been given enough time to enact his plan to its fullest potential. He hadn't had the chance to collect the six human souls lying in wait in the basement.

And, with Asgore's soul slowly crumbling to dust in your hands, you had fled. You didn't care if Flowey could give a "better ending", you just wanted out, and you wanted out now. If you stayed, it was only a matter of time before another monster came along to avenge their fallen king, and claimed the seventh soul in his name.

You had already chosen to kill King Asgore, rather than face death. You wouldn't be able to bring yourself to kill the Queen, too. But that still didn't mean you wanted to die.

The last thing you'd heard from Underground was a voicemail on your cellphone from Sans, recorded a few days after you'd returned to the Surface. Asgore's Soul had dissolved into dust a few hours afterward - frankly you had been surprised he held out for so long - and by then, you knew that going back had never been more of a not-option than it was in that exact moment. You couldn't bring yourself to just wipe the dust off your hands. So, you kept it in that heart-shaped locket you'd found in the Castle, where a photograph, or other keepsake should have been held.

Tears had started to crest down your cheeks at some point - you weren't sure when, nor could you find it in you to care. The guilt was still like a toxic bubble in your throat, choking and burning until all you could do was try not to scream. You had murdered the hopes and dreams of a kingdom, and left said kingdom trapped beneath the earth - for who knew how long? All so you could get away. Because you were scared.

God, if anyone was a monster in this situation, it was you.

The box in your hands was still warm, but not as much as before. You wiped the tears away, and went up the front steps into your home.

Well, in reality, "home" was a foreclosed building that had been left to rot years ago. It had still been in pretty good condition when you'd happened upon it, and you worked day after day to maintain the structure (to the best of your ability). The walls - inside and out - were mostly peeled free of paint - well, excluding the faded graffiti. Nearly every window was broken, cracked, or missing altogether. The porch sagged in some places, and the overhanging cover had large hole in the wood that made it up. The front door sagged on its hinges with a large hole in the bottom half, and the entire left side of the house seemed to pull a little farther down than the right.

You slipped through the hole - over which a stained, light-green blanket had been pinned - and wandered inside. The house had been foreclosed before its previous owners were able to remove all of their furniture, it seemed, as there were still chintzy armchairs and couches in the foyer, weather-worn counters in the kitchen, along with a dining table and spindly chairs in their namesake room. There was even an old, antique piano in the room by the stairwell! It was old and out-of-tune, but you still liked to play on it sometimes, pretending it was well-kept and on a grand stage as you preformed for a crowd of hundreds - perhaps thousands! It had been some time since your last concert... hopefully the kind, adoring fans weren't missing you too badly.

Traveling up the stairs (and having to jump over a few that had broken through), you bypassed a couple empty guest rooms and bathrooms, to the master bed-and-bath at the end of the hallway. Some floorboards and wall panels were missing here and there, and the scent of mildew and old wood was heavy in the air. A nighttime chill was beginning to settle over the frost-slicked building.

It wasn't perfect, but it was home. It had been since you were eight, when you ran away from the monsters beneath the mountain, and back into the world humans above. After the first few attempts, you had never really bothered yourself with trying to find some sort of alternative housing. The children you had encountered usually made beating you black-and-blue a popular sport, and the neglectful "caretakers" hadn't given much of a damn about any of their charges. The only perks was a slightly-better-than-bad heating system, and the promise of three meals a day. Still... you couldn't say you were any happier in these places, than you were now. If anything, it was an equal amount of misery. But at least you could do whatever you pleased here, without fear of being picked on or scolded.

Closing the bedroom door behind you in attempts to insulate the inside a little better, you carefully placed your charitable meal beside a literal nest of blankets and pillows, and undressed. Dancing over the cold floor to an old, lopsided wardrobe to spare your poor, bare feet (well, to spare your bare everything, really). One of the sides had collapsed before you'd come here, so you just stacked/threw your clothes inside it. There weren't any hangers to use, anyways.

Slipping into a loose pair of designated nightclothes - a gray T-shirt and black bottoms, patterned with white skulls - you finally settled yourself on the floor to eat. It was probably best to go for the burger first - you wanted to ration out what you had, and the meat was sure to spoil long before the fries.

Upon further examination of the now-lukewarm food, you were delighted to find the burger had all the fixings anyone could have desired to go along with it. Lettuce, tomato, cheese, some round cuts of onion, pickle slices, condiments... thank you, kind human employee! You set the sesame seed bun to the side and plucked them off one-by one. It was a little messy, but you didn't mind. The veggies would go bad before anything else - best to have those now. Maybe you could save the patty for tomorrow's breakfast? Wait, on second thought, you could eat the bun and some fries then. The patty would be tomorrow's dinner.

After chasing the fixings down with a small handful of fries, and licking your fingers clean, you closed the box, and placed it just inside the wardrobe. Hanging up your dirty day-clothes on a fallen bit of rafter to change into tomorrow, you moved on to doing your usual rounds. Dusk had fallen by this point, and you saw bits of a fire-stained sky above trees and overgrown greenery surrounding your ramshackle home while readjusting blankets and sheets that had been secured over the empty windows. It did wonders for insulation, and even helped when there were storms.

Golden-red light peered through the blotchy makeshift curtains as you retreated to your little "nest". It seemed that, out of everything left in the house, beds were not one of them. The frames, sure, but not an actual mattress. And it was too drafty downstairs to sleep on a chair or couch. So you settled for gathering the soft things, and moving them here. After washing and drying them in the sun (there was a deep-well pump in the backyard; it wasn't clean enough for you to feel safe drinking it all the time, but it was how you washed your clothes and body if they got really nasty), you'd laid out every cushion, sheet, comforter, and throw pillow you could get your hands on into the comfy little set-up you had now. It was enough for two of you to fit on, which was nice, since you tended to toss and turn, and the swaddling of cloth made you feel safe and toasty during colder nights. They were patched, some filled with holes, and had the lingering scent of mildew and dirty feet, but it was still better than nothing.

Wrapping the softest blanket of the pile over your shoulders, you fished out a decorative pillowcase from somewhere by your feet, and pulled it into your lap. There was something solid and rectangular inside, and you took it out. An ornate little jewelry box peered innocently up at you. You unlatched the lid, and opened it. Inside lay a few keepsakes.

That cute kitten keychain you'd found on the sidewalk two years ago (it reminded you of Temmie), laden with scavenged charms (a small branch - complete with leaf at the end of it -, a pair of ballet slippers, a frying pan, a boxing glove, a book, two obviously-toy knives and a cartoon gun). Then, there were scraps of what seemed like random junk:

A used bandage, a faded scrap of ribbon, a fairly masculine-looking bandanna, the leftover bits from an old, stained apron and tutu, a cloudy pair of glasses, a piece of leather from an aged cowboy hat.

Finally, your eyes rest on the reddish, heart-shaped locket, and a bulky cellphone. Absently, you press a finger to your lips, before setting it on the locket, knowing that inside the dust of a mighty being rested. The phone was removed, slowly, carefully, and the keepsake box closed and set aside. You made sure to wrap it up in its pillowcase, so everything inside stayed nice and cozy. Your mind drifted back the the news report you'd seen earlier.

The phone still worked just fine - but then again, Alphys had been the one to modify it, and she was a genius. You just had to turn it off every once in a while so it could automatically replenish its lost battery power...

An image of the human child holding Toriel's hand sent a stab of longing into your heart. Doubt was gnawing away at your head.

If she had gotten out alive, then who was to say you wouldn't have? You could have been her. Standing there, proudly, beside the monster you had once asked to call "mom" (and then flirted with directly after), holding her hand, with talk of being adopted into the family. Maybe Asgore needn't have died. You could be telling jokes with Sans and cooking spaghetti with Undyne and Papyrus. Or spend time watching anime with Alphys. Singing, dancing, and shopping with Mettaton. Listening to music and laying around with Napstablook. Living and helping build the settlement around Mt. Ebott. You could have been the Monster Ambassador for the Underground.

You could have been the True Pacifist. You could have made a difference. You could have been loved.

Instead, you murdered the only who gave them all hope, and left them all behind. All so you could save your own skin.

And now look at you. Homeless, living in a foreclosed house in the middle of forest-filled nowhere, watching as that little Pacifist girl lived a life you had so desperately craved, but most certainly did not deserve.

Hot tears started to drip down your face.

They were all probably over at whichever house Toriel called home. Eating butterscotch-cinnamon pie, sharing stories, telling jokes. Basking in each others love and friendship.

You bit your lip and hiccuped.

Then they would all leave. "see ya, kiddo," Sans would say; "Farewell, Human!" Papyrus would chirp; "See you tomorrow, Punk!" Undyne would cheer; "B-Bye-bye, s-sleep well," Alphys would stammer; "Goodnight, Darling!" Mettaton would croon.

You hugged the cellphone hard against your chest, beginning to shake.

Toriel was probably tucking the True Pacifist child into bed - she was probably the same age as you - and pressing a warm, furry kiss to her forehead. Maybe reading her a story, or singing a lullaby to help her sleep. Swaddled up in warm blankets and even warmer hugs.

A choked whimper ripped its way from your chest. It hurt.

"Goodnight, my child," Toriel was most likely saying, "I will see you in the morning." Then, in the middle of the night, she would leave a slice of Surprise Pie on the nightstand. The human child would wake up to it, and go about whatever routine she and your mother had developed over however long they'd lived together.
Your heart was thudding against your ribs. That hurt, too.

Then, right before she closed the door behind her, Toriel would turn around in the doorway. The warmest, most tender of looks would cross her soft face. Her motherly radiance would be haloed by the hall light, and she would give the Pacifist child the sincerest of smiles this world had ever witnessed. And she would say, in the most genuine tone any creature could ever muster:

"I love you, my child."

You began to sob in earnest. Tears made your eyes and face shine in the falling light, casting your tired little house and tired little body into darkness, with nothing but the phone screen to light your way. Your shoulders jerked, your chest heaved, and every cry and whimper was a split-second from turning into a shriek of pure, agonizing sorrow. You held that bulky cellphone to your chest as if it were the only thing keeping you anchored to this world, and if you let go, you'd plunge down into the black vastness of the Void. Every breath was a painful, shuddering gasp, and you felt your face tingle and your head spin and you curled into yourself, wishing desperately for nothing more than a friend to tell you that you would be okay. That all of this was just a bad dream, and when you woke up, you would be in your mother's arms as she rocked you back to a more peaceful sleep.

You sniffled and sobbed, trying to clean the wetness from your face with your shirt, but it wasn't working out very well. New tears replaced the old ones, and your nose was running badly.

You were just a kid, goddammit! What did you do to deserve this? Why did you have to run away from the other humans? From the Underground? From Toriel? Why did you have to climb that stupid mountain?!

By the time your wails had died down into (rather painful) hiccups, it was completely dark outside, save for the moon and stars. Your entire body still trembled. Before you knew what you were doing, you opened up the screen on your old cellphone, and started pressing buttons.

A little check-mark accompanied by the text "message sent" seemed to drain every last bit of energy from your bones, and you hunkered down in your nest for the night.

You sniffed again, and whispered to yourself, "G... g-good... good ni-ight, F... Fri-Frisk," before your aching eyes closed, and the merciful blackness of sleep overtook your mind.

Just a warning that this is my first multi-chapter story for Undertale, and that between home and schoolwork, updates may vary in their frequency. I'll try to keep up a somewhat regular schedule - updating once or twice a month, perhaps? - but no promises.

The second chapter is almost finished, and I will be adding it within the first week of February.