"Mom!"

Your scream echoes through your room, and you clap your hands over your ears, cringing. The walls gather the word greedily and fling it back at you with gleeful abandon. The air rings with the aftermath of your cry until it strikes you like a slap, and the tears slip down your face.

An instant later, the door bursts open. Light from the hall beyond illuminates your darkness, and you turn your face to that salvation, already reaching-

Except the silhouette in the doorway is all wrong, not soft hair and gentle hands, but huge, and horned, and coming for you with bared claws...

"I am here, my child."

That voice. Deep, and sweet, and soothing, and memory floods back. Of course. How could you have forgotten? But it is too late. The traitorous light is upon your face, and Toriel has already seen the fear and dismay that you now struggle to hide from her.

"Oh," she says, and you hunch your shoulders against the quiet sadness in that word. The bed dips as she sits next to you and rests a hand against your upraised knees. "But I am not the mother you expected, am I?"

A strangled sob escapes you, and you clap your hands to your mouth in shame. Shaking, you bury your face in your hands and try to hide the bitter tears that must seem so ungrateful in the face of all she has done for you.

"Oh, Frisk. My sweet child. It is all right." Her clawed hands are very careful as she lifts you into her lap. You turn your face into her, trying to hide your grief, and she reaches for the extra blanket draped over the foot of your bed. With a flick of her hand, she shakes out the soft fabric, and the happy, colourful snails patterned on it wink in and out of the light. Wrapping the blanket around you, she holds you close and rocks you gently, stroking your hair as you weep.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out between your tears.

"No, small one." Toriel is so warm, so soft as you tuck your head beneath her chin, taking the comfort she offers. "You cry for love of another. That is nothing to be sorry for. It is all right. Cry as much as you need, my love. I am here. I am with you."

With that permission, you let yourself go, pouring out your tears against your mother's shoulder. As you do, they begin to wash the memory of the dream from your mind, until the pain of the nightmare eases, leaving only the faded, slightly blurry image of a man and woman who loved you. At last, the sobs loosen their hold on you, and you blow your nose into the handkerchief Toriel has produced from somewhere. You never know where she keeps them, but she seems to have an endless supply.

"Now then," Toriel says gently, wiping your damp cheeks with her thumb. "Can you tell me why you think you must apologize?"

Your cheeks burning, you look down, unable to meet her eyes.

"Frisk." She smooths the hair away from your face, and it sticks a little to the damp spots. "This is not the first time you have dreamt of your mother, is it?"

You shake your head.

"Why did you not tell me of this?" Her hand beneath your chin is gentle, but insistent. You brace yourself, expecting to see the hurt in her eyes, but her expression shocks you. There is no pain. No accusation. Just love, and understanding, and sympathy.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. "I didn't want you to think that I… that I…"

She just laughs, not unkindly. The sound wraps snugly around you, easily as warm and comforting your blanket. "My dear child. Tell me something. Do you love Papyrus?"

You blink in surprise. It seems a silly question, but you give her the obvious answer. "Yes."

"And because you love Papyrus, does that mean you love Sans any less?"

"No."

Smiling, she glances at the photo in the frame on your nightstand. "Or Undyne? Or Alphys? Does it make them any less your friend because you have others?"

You start to understand what she's saying, and the ghost of a smile touches your face. "No."

Nodding in approval, she hugs you tightly. "Then I have no fear of my place in your heart just because you long for another. I know your heart well, my child. It is quite large. I do not think you have yet come close to filling it."

A little of the tension leaves you, and you sag against her, your hands sneaking free of the blanket to knot in the fabric of her nightgown. This one is pink, with little white dogs all over it. As you rest your head against her, you can smell the faint scent of cinnamon. She's been midnight baking again.

"Frisk, dear? May I ask you something?"

A small, nervous thrill chases through you, but you nod anyway, snuggling even closer. Toriel takes the unspoken hint as she always does, and wraps her arms even more tightly around you, nuzzling her nose against your hair for a moment in quiet reassurance.

"You never speak of her," she says, and you flinch a little at the words. Toriel doesn't miss it, but she presses on after a moment of hesitation. "Or of him. I had thought you kept silent because their memory hurt you, but I wonder now…" Her hand on your hair is so soothing. You understand why the dogs like being petted so much. Her hand stills, and you find the courage to look up at her again. "I wonder," she says again, "are you silent because you are afraid of hurting me?" You don't need to answer; Toriel knows you well enough that she can read the answer in your face. "Because I would like to hear about them… if you would like to tell me."

You had thought you were done with crying, but the hot tears spill down your face again, and Toriel holds you close. Resting your head against her, you can hear her heartbeat, and it fills you with determination. You begin to speak, slowly at first, but your voice soon gains strength. Long into the small hours of the night, you tell your story to the rhythm of your mother's heart.

It hurt, at first, but the more you talk, the better you feel. You had been so afraid when you realized that your memories were becoming unfocused. It was harder to remember details. The pictures in your mind were growing fuzzy, as though you were viewing them through dirty glass, and though you could probably ask your aunt for a picture, you'd been too afraid to ask Toriel to help you get in touch with her.

You're not afraid anymore.

You begin to remember the funny things, and Toriel laughs along with you as you recount those memories to her, too. Though they are very different people, you think your mothers would have liked each other. Slowly, your voice falters as you run out of stories, and you fall silent once again. This time, there is no trace of the nightmare left.

"Mom?"

"Mmm?"

Your eyes are heavy with sleep, and it's very dark, but Toriel's fur is still bright against the shadows. You reach out, absently stroking the soft ear spilling over her shoulder. "Will you sing the song?"

For a moment, you're afraid she's going to put you back to bed first, but when your hand tightens on her nightgown, she just shifts until she's more comfortable, and goes back to rocking you as she strokes your hair. When she begins to sing, you give a soft, contented sigh, and let your eyes drift closed.

Hush my child, have no care,
Close your eyes, be not afraid.
Sweeter dreams await you there,
Can you see the snail parade?

You add your voice to hers, though it is soft and full of sleep. The colours of the song splash across the darkness behind your eyes.

Green, yellow, blue and red and orange,
violet, too
Such wondrous colours, can you see them
swirling, shifting?
So many snails are passing by,
waiting for you.
Go, hurry now and join them, I can
see you drifting...

While you dream, I'll be here,
Keeping shadows far away.
Sleep sweet child, no more tears.
Dance with snails 'till break of day.

You're asleep before the end of the lullaby, and the words bear you safely into unshadowed dreams.

Two months later, you find yourself skipping down a broad path, reaching out your hand to brush against the trailing willow branches that bow to you on either side. Twirling, you call over your shoulder, "it's this way!"

"Frisk, dear, slow down!" Toriel calls back. "You are going too fast, and someone is not going fast enough!"

Obligingly, you twirl in place for a while to let Toriel catch up. Asgore is just a bit behind her, slowing down because he can't stop looking up at the sky.

"Golly, the weather's nice today!" He seems larger in his formal clothes, but they don't do anything to dim the bright smile on his face. "Birds are singing. Flowers are blooming... "

"It's a perfect day for a picnic," you finish, taking a moment to peek beneath the blanket covering the basket in Toriel's hand, reassuring yourself that everything is still there. Then you're off again, running between the rosebushes to the top of the hill.

Toriel arrives first, delicately sidestepping the thorns on the bushes, but Asgore's cape snags and you have to run back and free him, because he doesn't want to risk hurting the flowers. Taking him by the hand, you pull him up the rest of the hill, and both of you arrive redolent with the perfume of the roses.

Breathless, you smile up at them. Toriel tsks softly, but she's smiling back as she pulls a leaf out of your wind-tangled hair and straightens the locket around your neck. Finally, she nods in approval, and gives you a pat on the head. "Go on, dear. Don't be nervous. You are the Ambassador, after all."

You straighten beneath the weight of your responsibilities, though it still can't quite keep the excited bounce from your feet as you step forward and kneel on the lush grass. Holding the wreath of yellow flowers in both hands, you carefully place it so that it's resting between the two headstones before you.

"Hi Mom. Hi Dad."

Folding your hands in your lap, you look at the two names carved in the stones before you, and though it makes your heart ache, as it did the last time you were here, it no longer seems like the kind of ache you will never recover from. It will never, ever go away…. but it is changing. An ache of sorrow and regret still, but without the despair that used to follow.

"Sorry it's been so long. I should have come and visit a long time ago, but things got… um… complicated. And then I got scared for a long time. But I know better now. So you remember how I used to want to be a doctor, and then a chef, and then a ninja ballerina astronaut? Well, I don't think I'm gonna be any of those any more. I'm an ambassador now, and I wanted you to meet someone."

You rise to your feet, carefully brushing the grass from the thick brocade on your vestments, and go to where your parents are waiting at a respectful distance. Taking each one by the hand, you pull them forward, drawing on their strength and support for this long-overdue introduction.

"I just want you guys to know that it's okay. You don't have to worry about me. This is Toriel, and this is Asgore. They're the Queen and King of all monsters, and they're gonna take care of me now. They don't take care of me the same as you did, but even though they're different, they're still a really good mom and dad, and they have a lot of help, so I'll be just fine. And just 'cause I love my new family, it doesn't mean I don't still love you guys as much as ever, okay? I thought, maybe, if you don't mind, we could have a picnic here under your nice tree, and we can tell you all about what's happened, and you can see for yourselves that everything's going to be all right."

You trail off as you run out of words, and part of you wishes that you'd written down your speech after all, but Toriel had been pretty insistent that if you spoke from your heart, it would be just fine. Maybe she was right. A warm, gentle wind swirls around you, sweet with the scent of the bright flowers growing around the grave. It really is a beautiful place.

"Well, dear?" Toriel asks.

You close your eyes, listening with your heart as you sift through the memories of the parents you had known. Smiling, you open your eyes again.

"I think they'd like the company," you tell her.

"Well then." Toriel sets down the basket and unfolds the blanket on the grass. "Let us be good company. Do you want a cheese sandwich or a snail one?"

As Toriel busies herself with lunch, Asgore sits on the blanket next to you. "This is a good thing you did," he says softly. "Thank you for asking me, too."

You wrap your arms around one of his, straining to hug even that much of him - he is very big, and you are still very little. "You're welcome," you say, and give a quiet giggle. "Even Mom had to admit that if you're gonna be my monster Dad, you should at least say hi to my human Dad."

Asgore inclines his head, the jewels on his crown winking in the sun. "Howdy, sir," he says, solemnly. "I'm going to take very good care of our Frisk. I swear it."

"He liked playing catch, too," you tell Asgore. "He couldn't throw as far as you, but he could play for hours. Mom always got tired, but not Dad…" Your throat tightens, sudden and unexpected.

Toriel looks up from the basket in alarm, but Asgore has already scooped you into his lap, and the comfort of the hug loosens your throat and keeps the tears at bay. Satisfied that you're all right, Toriel finishes with the sandwiches and passes both of yours to Asgore.

It's still hard. Very hard. But somehow, despite the painful reminders, you're glad you had this idea. The day turns out to be one of the happiest memories you've made in a long time. It's a shining new jewel to add to the collection you've been building since you Fell.

You're almost out of the cemetery when Toriel realizes she left the royal snail fork behind. Reassuring them that you'll be just fine, you turn and run back to your human parents' tree to get it. You don't mind the run, and it'll be good for your monster parents to have a chance to talk to each other alone. They've been doing that more often lately, ever since you got sick that one time, and there's a new easiness growing between them.

You find the snail fork hidden in the grass, but when you turn to go again, you realize that something is different. Someone has taken one of the pretty, sparkly rocks from the memorial fountain down the hill and put it next to the wreath between your parents. Almost like a guard dog to watch over them.

"Sans?"

He steps out from behind the tree, giving his head a sheepish scratch. "hey, buddy. thought you'd gone home."

You bounce over to him, showing him your discovery. "Mom forgot her fork. How come you're here?"

"just making a promise."

You tilt your head at him. "But you hate making promises. What kind of promise did you make?"

"a good one." He takes your hand and tugs you down the hill, and you follow, happily swinging your hands between you. "knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"smell leap."

"Smell leap w- Oh! Eww!" You burst out laughing.

Sans just grins at you. "thought you'd like that one."

"That's so gross!" You giggle again. "I can't wait to tell that one to Artie!"

"probably sholudn't tell it to Tori, though, okay?"

"Sans, I'm little, not stupid."

"heh. didn't think you were, kiddo."

Even a year ago, you would have thought it strange to go up a hill alone this far from home and come back down with someone who by all rights should have been hours away, but your family is what it is, and your parents don't even bat an eye as Sans waves and gives them a friendly "'sup?" The conversation is free and easy between the four of you as you make your way back to the big embassy car. As your legs get wobbly, tired from a day of skipping, Toriel frees you from your heavy vestments so Sans can carry you on his shoulders. And when Sans gets tired from a few minutes of carrying you, Asgore carries you both.

By the time you reach the car, you're barely awake. Mom and Dad buckle you into the back, whispering quietly to one another as one of them props your head on Sans' shoulder. The padding of his jacket makes him a pretty comfy pillow, and both the weight of his head as it comes to rest against yours and his quiet snoring are familiar comforts that lull you further toward sleep.

There's a brief battle over the radio before your parents settle on Napstablook's "Spooky Chill" satellite radio channel, and you open your eyes for a moment as the car pulls away. You can still see your parents' tree on the top of the hill, silhouetted by the setting sun, and you raise your hand to wave goodbye. This time, it only hurts a little.

Letting your hand fall to your lap, you close your eyes against the faint stinging in them, and though there has been no change in the snoring that's currently reverberating through you, bony fingers wrap around your hand a moment later. You don't think you'll ever figure out how dry bones can be so soft, and warm, and comforting, but right now, they're exactly what you need. Belatedly, you realize that he never did tell you what his promise was, but you're already halfway to sleep, and the question vanishes for good, lost to your dreams.

You do not remember much of your dreams that night, save one thing. You remember standing atop a hill, looking out over a castle, held safe in your mother's arms as you breathe the scent of her long, dark hair. And then she turns, and another set of arms takes hold of you, and this time the shoulder you bury your head against is covered in white fur. But the first arms did not let go. You are held by both of your mothers, human and monster, not an object pulled between them, but a child supported by both. Over the years, as even that memory fades, you will never forget that feeling. Not a trace of animosity or envy. Just deep, pure, overwhelming love.