Whoops I made a sad.

Today's Frans Week Prompt (Day #3) was to choose an AU. I chose Flowerfell bc I love it to bits.

Figures the first genuinely shippy piece in this thing is full of angst goddamn why can't I just let them be happy I'm like some sort of emotional masochist. lmao

This one-shot was inspired by Sanei and SociopathicAngel, as well as a Flowerfell-inspired rearrangement of "It's Raining Somewhere Else", similarly titled "It's Raining, Sweetheart", and by the original, fan-made song, "Secret Garden". The fanfiction "Overgrowth" had a heavy influence on this, but since I did not want to copy someone else's hard work, I tried to put my own spin on the story. I hope this is satisfactory!

With the first flower, they didn't know what to think. They didn't know where it came from, just that they had died, and woken up with it in their hair an entire day in the past. So they were confused, more than anything; all they understood, was trying to take it out of their hair felt like tugging on an exposed nerve. It hurt, so they decided to leave it be. After all, one tiny, yellow flower was no big deal, right?

It wasn't until they died for the fifth time, with four new flowers appearing beside the first, that Frisk started to feel a small amount of concern.

Every time they were killed, and forced to LOAD a previous SAVE, a new one appeared. It wasn't a huge deal, but if the words of Flowey and interactions with Toriel were any indication, they knew the path ahead would not be an easy one. Death had never been more likely of a possibility than it was down here. Even still, the human was determined to show mercy, vowing to spare every monster they came across – after all, violence never solved anything, and who knew? Maybe, if they were shown a little bit of the kindness this world seemed so deprived of, the monsters would want to help them on their way to the Barrier?

By the time they finally managed to convince Toriel into letting them leave, Frisk had ten different flowers, beginning to form a crown along their temples.

And it was with the tenth flower, that they met Sans. A gruff, rather moody skeleton who, at the very least, did not kill them on-sight, like they'd been expecting. It gave them hope for their journey.

He'd been unwilling to help them. If anything, he'd been amused by their drive to spare any encountered foes. "'s not gonna happen, sweetheart," he insisted in a mocking tone, "they're gonna tear your pretty face to pieces before you can even blink."

The human told him they believed otherwise.

By the time Sans' little brother had run them through his various puzzles and traps, Frisk had another ten flowers decorating their scalp. The Guard dogs had had their fun, as well, adding another seven to the list after making them their personal chew toy. And yet, Frisk persisted.

With twenty-seven tiny flowers sprouting from their hair, and a few from their right arm, Frisk had taken solace in the Snowdin Inn, thankful for its respite. The room had smelled of cigarette smoke and iron, like old blood. There were a few dark stains along the walls that made their skin crawl, and the sheets were old and musty. The blankets were warm, however, so they did not complain. One thing about this village they certainly did not enjoy, despite all of its frosted beauty, was the cold. It made the blossoms growing from their scalp ache and wilt, leaving them with tremendous migraines and nausea. Flowey wasn't too fond of it, either.

The first time they tried passing Papyrus, he had killed them within five minutes. Frisk came back to consciousness standing before the glimmer of light that appeared just outside of the Inn, their skin still reminiscently warm as they were reminded of those cozy, ash-scented blankets inside. Sans had met them at the trail head into Waterfall, almost appearing to be irritated.

"why aren't you fightin' back?" he had demanded. He seemed confused at the idea of someone not trying to go for a killing blow in battle. "all this 'mercy' crap is gonna bring ya' is death, sweetheart, an' those freaky flowers of yours don't seem much like the 'dying' type."

The comment on their flowers had been a little unnerving; however, Frisk simply smiled, and continued onward.

Six flowers later, they began noticing the growth was coming alarmingly close to their left eye. Frisk wasn't entirely keen on finding out what happened when the golden blooms finally reached it.

With thirty-three flowers adorning their crown, hands and ankles, Sans had broken his script, and surprised them with the proposal of food. The cinna-bunnies the human had (technically not eaten yet) during their last fight echoed in their belly with a sickening sweetness, urging them to accept his offer. In the end, it was decided to postpone the fight with Papyrus, just this once. After all, it would be a lie if Frisk said they weren't scared at the prospect of facing him for the eighth time.

"so," the skeleton had gruffly mumbled, "how many times 's it been?" It was blunt, if anything. Frisk had been a little shell-shocked at first, wondering how he, of all the monsters, had somehow managed to remember and keep track of all these previous encounters (and the resulting deaths) they'd been through. They weren't sure what urged them into telling Sans about the flowers, let alone the fear they felt of going blind, or how much dying hurt. Unexpectedly, he'd taken it all in stride, even patting their shoulder in a pseudo form of comfort at some point, as if he understood somehow.

When they thanked him for listening, he'd grumbled and shrugged it away, as if it didn't matter. "if you wanna be stupid and keep dyin' for no reason, be my guest, kid. 's not like the people down here deserve it, but. . . whatever."

They didn't bother trying to make him think otherwise, but uttered a soft phrase:

"Sometimes kindness is enough."

By the time the two reached the path again, Frisk's body was beginning to go numb from cold, making their arms heavy, steps wobbling unsteadily. Sans had looked annoyed at the human's stumbling about, rhetorically asking if they wanted to be killed. Neither of them commented when Sans quietly shrugged off his heavy, fur-lined jacket, and helped Frisk pull it over their shoulders. It was surprisingly warm, and smelled strongly of mustard, metal, and bones. Even Flowey, who had been snarking at Sans since the beginning, remained silent. The skeleton in question merely tightened his scarf, averted his gaze, and turned his back.

". . . Thank you," Frisk had murmured after a moment, to which Sans merely snorted a haughty "yeah, whatever."

Papyrus, to put it mildly, hadn't been fond of his target making him wait. In fact, the human hadn't the chance to meet him at the usual place when he came looking. He stormed out from through the trees, yelling for his brother. He certainly hadn't been expecting his kin to be showing some form of kindness to them, and had been enraged when Sans refused to call for Undyne while Papyrus brought them to the shed as a captive. After some excessive nagging, the smaller skeleton had merely snarled "piss off!", which had sent Papyrus into an angered tizzy.

Before they could so much as blink, Frisk came back to reality, jacket-less, cold, and with a terrifying darkness taking place of what their left eye should have been seeing.

By the thirty-fifth flower, they were half-blind.

This time, Sans met them outside of Grillby's bar. He had taken one look at their eye, closed, crown of yellow petals spreading over it, and wordlessly slid off his jacket. They had accepted it with a quiet nod.

"It doesn't work," they told him out of impulse, as if it would help them process the situation better.

"i know," he replied. Beneath the jacket, Frisk felt Flowey's vines curl around them in a pseudo-hug. It helped.

With thirty-five flowers, half-blind, and more buds beginning to emerge from their wrists and ankles, Sans stayed by their side. It was incredibly off-script from what they had witnessed thus far, but something about the action made Frisk question if he felt guilty for being a catalyst in the death that robbed them partially of their sight.

Papyrus had not been pleased.

It was a miracle the two of them had managed to flee – Sans taking the human by their hand, and running. It was only with the monster's magic that they had manage to escape unscathed. There had been profuse apologies, insisting that "you didn't have to help me," to which he had merely shrugged, continuing to wander the path alongside them. By protecting a human, helping them evade capture, he had committed high treason against the kingdom. It wouldn't be long before the other monsters caught word of his betrayal, making him as much a fugitive as they were.

"I thought they didn't deserve it," they had mumbled, to which he scoffed.

"they don't."

As they crossed into the humid environment of Waterfall, Frisk had made him promise that, while they were traveling together, he would not kill during an encounter.

"sure. whatever you say, sweetheart."He hadn't been very pleased, likely agreeing because Frisk would have continued to bother him until he did. They weren't certain if he would listen or not.

He did.

It cost them another nine flowers, by the time Undyne became part of the equation. It was getting harder to feel their legs, and a constant limp had begun to taint footsteps that had once been confident and graceful. Sans continued to insist that Undyne was an improbability when it came to their pacifistic views. Frisk, on the other hand, would not give up on the idea that, although it would be difficult, improbable and impossible were two very different things. They would get through it.

"you're gonna get yourself killed, thinkin' like that, sweetheart," he had growled, to which they merely smiled, looking a little sad. Taking in the subtle lines and shadows of anxiety that began to etch into the bone around his eyes.

"It wouldn't be the first time."

When Undyne finally appeared, Sans ran with them. It was difficult – the limited feeling in their legs made fleeing infinitely more problematic than it had been nine deaths ago.

They'd almost made it once, when a spear suddenly burst from the ground, skewering Sans up into his ribcage, jutting high enough for the head to reach through his heavily cracked skull. The dust and tears burned in Frisk's lungs even after Undyne gave them the chance to try again.

Frisk lost count of how many petals bloomed beneath Undyne's bloodthirsty gaze. The flowers on their body increased to fifty, sixty, perhaps even more. She was by far the most daunting enemy they had faced yet, and despite it all, Sans kept to his unspoken promise not to kill.

It lasted, until the pair woke up in a crystal-lit cave, Frisk no longer able to feel one of their legs. "Look, Sans," they had laughed, laying on the ground, feeling the water gather and drip from stalactites onto their cheeks, "It's raining." They then told him about rain on the Surface, how everything felt cleansed and new after a storm, and that was why they loved it so much. Sans had rolled his eyes, telling them, "c'mon, sweetheart – you can talk all about your rain when we finally get outta this dump." There was something dark and resolute in his tone.

Carrying them upon his back, Sans had been merciless this time, tearing best he could into Undyne as he fled, sending attack after attack, trying to slow her down. Whether she was killed in the process or not was no concern of his. Flowey had to use his vines to keep the human from throwing themself from their friend's back, if only to get him to stop.

By the time Undyne was rendered unconscious in Hotland, they'd cost themself another handful of blossoms. The numbness was spreading to the other leg, and Frisk's fingers had begun to tingle with discomfort. Sans was less than pleased when they refused to let him dust the violent warrior. Instead, they'd all but dragged themself to a lone container of water, and splashed the little cardboard cup over her head. It roused her enough to retreat from the sweltering heat and save herself. Sans had refused to help until she left, hauling them onto his back afterward.

With an unknown amount of golden flowers decorating their body – it had to be nearing one hundred, at this point – the duo entered the geothermal hub of New Home.

"you're gonna have a heat stroke in that thing," he had grumbled after they refused to remove their jacket. They shrugged best they could.

Despite being surrounded by magma pools on all sides. . . Frisk felt cold.

Sans tried in vain to hide his concern.

The flowers plastered thickly over their legs, arms and chest by the time they'd made it past Alphys, her human-hunting robot, and the horrors dwelling in the CORE. Frisk's ability to walk left them dozens of deaths before, and their arms were draped limply around Sans' neck. They'd lost their sight a long time ago. Flowey had to more or less bind them to Sans' back with his leaves and vines to keep them from falling. Frisk secretly found it ironic that a monster who embodied the very flowers that cursed them like this was the only thing keeping them from slipping sideways into a lake of molten lava.

They didn't know how long it had been since they finally accepted their fate, but it was becoming more and more apparent to them that they would not be making this journey to its end. Sans would snap and snarl at them every time they tried to bring it up, before growing uncannily silent for a period of time. As if he were thinking of some way to cheat fate. If they could, Frisk would have patted him on the back. Maybe given him a hug, although they doubted he would appreciate the last idea very much.

The remainder of the journey became a blur of noise and darkness to them. Monsters were not as frequently come by, this close to the Castle. Time passed differently when one could not see and scarcely feel what was happening around them. The majority of the time spent riding on Sans' back was them drifting in and out of consciousness. Frisk had been growing more and more tired with each new flower that dared to sprout from their skin. Whenever they were awake enough to concentrate on it, however. . .

They spoke of home. On the Surface.

Of the seasons, and how they reminded the human of the different settlements underground. Of sunsets and sunrises, and the strong, gorgeous colors blending together with the rise and fall of each day. Of the snow and sun and rain. They always seemed to focus on the rain, when it was brought up; about how it nurtured everything, and how it sounded so terrifying, yet so incredible, when paired with high winds. How it filled lakes and oceans, and could tears away encounter mountainsides when given enough time. How they would listen to it falling on the roof of their house while they slept at night, soothing them like a lullaby. About the sight of everything glowing the next morning, and the scent of dewdrops.

"It feels like all the darkness in the world is swallowed up and washed away, after the rainfall," they had reminisced during one of their more lucid moments, and Sans could feel them smile against his shoulder blade. "Doesn't that sound lovely?"

He hummed in mild acknowledgment.

There was a pause, and then:

"I hope it rains for you on the Surface, Sans. Then you'll see."

He noticed the phrasing, but for once, chose not comment on it.

". . . whatever you say, sweetheart."

They weren't sure how much time passed, how many times they'd been forced to start over, when everything started coming to an end. Most of their time was spent silent and unaware, lulled into rest by the rhythmic breathing and sway of Sans as he carried them to the Barrier. All the knew was, by then, the cold numbness had crawled its way throughout their body, making it difficult to so much as breathe. It was almost as if Frisk could feel those icy roots closing in around their very heart. Golden petals formed a lovely band around their head and face, loose leaves and blossoms tangling with their brunette tresses in random patterns. The flowers spilled from the sleeves of their borrowed jacket, the legs and waistline of their jeans, the collar of their shirt. Their hands and feet had long since vanished from sight beneath the overgrowth. The world was dark and growing quiet.

"Seven SOULs. . ." they had murmured, voice frail as the flower petals consuming their body, "that's how many you need. . . right?"

"we can find a different one," the skeleton had argued. He was cradling them in his lap. Somewhere to the side, Frisk registered Flowey's sniffling. "anyone else will do. anyone but you."

They had smiled then, shaky and weak. Blindly, one of Frisk's flower-covered arms raised, trembling, into the air. They heard him choke on a breath when their fingers pressed to his cheekbone. They felt one of his arms shift, feeling the dull pressure on the backs of their fingers as Sans' hand pressed against their own. Cradling it to his face like a precious treasure.

"The sun is beautiful, Sans," they whispered, trying to comfort him, "You'll love it. Almost as much as you'll love the rain." They felt his head shake slowly, as if in denial. "The moon is beautiful, too. . . and the stars. You can make wishes on them every night. Billions of them."

"i wish for you to stay," he replied without skipping a beat, voice sharp and full of conviction. Moisture began to slip through the petals of their fingers. It made their heart ache for him. They could feel the lines and creases in the bone of his face, a deep, tortured frown bending at his teeth. The smile on their own visage strained, struggling to remain bright enough for the both of them, even as the numbness began to spread to their SOUL.

"Promise me you'll always be kind," they continued on instead, "Promise me you'll give the Surface a chance. You can be happy there, you know. It really is a wonderful place to exist."

"i'd be happier with you existing here."

"I'll still be here. I'll always be here. With you. . . right here." They shrugged their head against his chest, where Sans' SOUL resided.

". . ."

They could feel his tears dripping onto their cheeks, curving down flower-speckled flesh, as if they were Frisk's own. They shifted a hand to touch the corner of his mouth.

"Smile for me, Sans?" The bone there seemed to tremble.

"i'm sorry." His voice sounded broken. "i-i can't. . ."

"Sans. . ."

They tried to lean closer. He hunched down, holding them to his chest. They could feel his warm breath brushing across the blooms covering their face.

"Please smile, Sans. . .? For me."

The darkness was no longer contained to their sight. It was beginning to swallow them up, bringing the Seventh Human back into the world of sleep.

They wished they had the strength to say more. How happy they were to have met him in Snowdin Forest. How thankful they were that he helped them, and they never would have made it this far without him. They wanted to tell him more about the wonders of the Surface. That he had grown very dear to their heart. Frisk was not certain just how long they'd spent underground, but after countless deaths, it felt as if they had known one another for a lifetime. Their companion, their friend, and maybe more. After all, who knew?

Perhaps he loved them, in that moment, as he took them by the hand, holding them close enough to hurt. Clinging to a wilting, dying flower, as its final petals began to fall, being consumed by the overgrowth that had devoured their host body.

The last thing they knew, was the warmth of bone against their lips, shaky, tearful. For a moment, they felt his mouth twist up into a painful smile against their own.

Frisk's face was bright, and they gave a peaceful sigh as they went.

Thank you for smiling for me, Sans.

Sans was not certain how long he sat there, just. . . holding them, even after their body relaxed into nothingness. He didn't know, nor did he care, if any others happened upon him in that lonely, flower-laden room, the walls of their prison having fallen after untold centuries.

A golden twilight began to stream in through the tunnel leading outside, beckoning him from the cavern. The body held in his arms felt much too light, too limp. Lifeless.

Like a dead, wilted flower with a broken stem.

And so, the Seventh SOUL had set them free.

The sun dazzled and blinded him, at first, its radiance more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. The horizon, blazing different shades of orange, red, pink and gold, was laced with clouds; heavy and filled with water, but scarce enough to spare a majority of the sunset before him. His head tilted skyward as he felt the first mists of water beginning to drip down from the sky, as if in mourning for the flowered human, resting in a monster's arms.

heh. . . would'ya look at that. . .

His eyes opened, staring into the endless sky. Sans felt his mouth twist into another smile, bitter and contrite. The falling droplets made it easier to pretend the dampness on his face was not caused by his tears, as water cleansed the world of this darkness that had taken his human away.

it's raining, sweetheart.

Tbh I made myself really sad with this one. Whoopsies.

ihopeididthesameforyoubecausei'mamonsterapparently