Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

✰════°∴,*⋅✲══〖a long time ago, first person point of view.〗══✲⋅*,∴°════✰

It was a cold, rainy day. My arms ached due to constant movement as I attempted to mash the large pot of cooked potatoes, my mother bustling about behind me with the preparation of last-minute items. It was Thanksgiving, and we were expecting company. My father entered through the large archway leading into the kitchen, "C'mon, kid." Dad mutters playfully as he pulls off the oven mitts that have protected him from the heat of the frying turkey. "You gotta put your back into it, remember?" My eyes roll as I ignore him to the best of my ability, raising to the tips of my toes before putting my entire weight down into the potatoes.

Mom picked up a hand towel, halfheartedly smacking my father with it. "Leave her be!" She exclaims with a content smile. "Your daughter has been a wonderful help during the preparation of this meal, and you will be enjoying all of it, no matter if the potatoes have chunks or not." She practically floats past me, grabbing a mortar and pestle I had previously abandoned. "Now, I'm sure she would appreciate help with this." She says firmly, handing the stone grinder that was filled with herbs to my father.

"Hey," I groan out as I add another slice of butter into the giant pot of potatoes. "I was gonna do that myself, I was just- taking a break." My mother shoots me a lighthearted glare, my father glancing at me with a raised eyebrow as he begins to grind the whole seasonings into finer pieces.

Mom moves back behind me, standing at the stove with a hand on her hip as she stirs the homemade cranberry sauce. "It's alright, sweetheart." She says gently, "I watched you struggle with them for almost ten minutes. I think it's time to let your father do it." I grumble to myself, the sound overshadowed by the loud ringing of the doorbell. Dad's eyebrows furrow as Mom glances away from the bubbling pot.

"Probably just a neighbor asking for sugar or something," Dad explains quietly as he pushes the mortar further onto the counter, away from him as he goes to the front door. I abandon my potatoes to follow alongside him, my heart dropping as we pass through the dining room and I catch a glance of a cop car through the large window. My naive mind runs wild at the sight.

I stand behind my father, practically hiding from the officer as he opens the door. "Officer." Dad greets with a nod of his head, rain pouring behind the man clad in the classic Ebbot Police Department uniform. "Is something the matter?" My hand grips the extra fabric at the end of my sleeves, fiddling with it.

The look on the officer's face is grim but desensitized. My father reaches back to grip my hand comfortingly as my mother watches from the dining room, the man taking a deep breath before speaking. "I regret to inform you that there's been an accident." The words confirm something that, in the moment, had never been my biggest fear. "Your daughter and son-in-law... They hit one of the worse patches of rain."

My father's mouth opens, then falls closed as the words die on his tongue. "We think a deer rain across the road, and your daughter tried to brake to avoid hitting it. They hydroplaned at a high speed and lost control, flying down the hill they were on and into a tree. We believe they died on impact, but they... We didn't recover any bodies." My heart is in the pit of my stomach as tears silently roll down my face. "My sincerest condolences, sir."

The officer's sincerest wasn't very sincere sounding. Dad grinds his teeth for a moment as he fights back tears, his typically soft voice taking on a gruff undertone. "Their child should've been in the car with them. Are... Are they alright?" The world seems to freeze as the question lingers in the air.

A weight is lifted off my shoulders as the officer nods, obviously happy to tell some better news. "They're as fine as they could be. broken leg, sprained arm, and some surface-level cuts. You'll be able to see them tomorrow, and the hospital will inform you of their recovery plan." A part of me hopes this is all a bad dream, something that I'll wake up from when Celeste rings the doorbell with Frisk in her arms, Gabriel by her side.

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The hospital was bleak, and stark white. The smell of disinfectant had burned a hole in my brain for the past two weeks. I had stayed within the depressing confines for the past three weeks, sticking by Frisk's bedside to my own detriment. My hair was freshly cropped into a shorter style than it had been, the hassle of trying to care for it in this whirlwind causing the change. The first snow of the season had come quickly, the world going quiet as it blanketed everything.

Frisk was still in the wheelchair the hospital provided as we left the hospital, my cold hands pushing them down the plowed but slightly icey sidewalk as we walked to the car. Their sixth birthday had come and gone during the span of time that they had been recovering, the nurses offering a small blessing of a chocolate muffin instead of a cake.

"So," I murmur, my voice barely able to raise past a whisper for the past almost month. "Stilling of learning sign? Since you don't wanna talk. I think it could be fun, y'know." Their brown eyes were dull, tan skin flushed by the cold air. Frisk had always been a talker, wanting to point out anything and everything they could. The idea of them being silent was unnerving, but their mind was far too young to process what had happened.

As we approach the minivan Mom had convinced Dad to get the year prior, I see the familiar face of my brother leaning against it. His arms were crossed, shoulders squared as Mom spoke. "Justin- Please. It won't be forever, just temporarily until we figure out something better." My father stood beside her, a sullen look on his face as his fingers absentmindedly twiddled as the occasional snowflake graced his skin.

"I'm not doing it, Mom," Justin explains firmly, "I'm not taking them. That kid's a bad luck charm, and I'm not gonna burden myself with that." He huffs, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "I'm trying to get my degrees, to work myself up in my company. I can't just add a starsdamned kid to the mix." His voice is practically a growl as I redirect Frisk and I toward a small bench. They stay in the wheelchair as I brush the snow off of it, sitting down.

"So," I mumble, trying to ignore the raising voices of Justin and my mother. A sigh leaves me, my shoulders sagging. "The funeral is coming up. It's only a couple of days away." I pause, blinking back the tears that have gathered in my eyes. I need to be strong for Frisk. Come on, idiot, be strong. "Do you think we could finally honor that promise of pie?" I ask softly, my head tilted slightly as I watch their face for a reaction.

A smile creeps onto their face as they nod gently, trying to not jostle the sling holding their arm in place. "Great." I say with a matching smile, "We'll make an apple one or something, I feel like that's the only one I kinda could figure out off the top of my head." My smile fades as I hear footsteps crunch in the snow as they come toward us, my eyes meeting my father's quickly.

"Hey." His tone is low as he speaks, a sense of guilt creeping behind it. "We need to have a talk." He looks at me, panic crawling up my throat as I imagine all of the things that could be going wrong. He turns to Frisk, "How about you go hang out with your Grandma? While your aunt and I talk?" Frisk looks at me, almost for permission, before nodding.

Dad's hands grip the wheelchair as he quickly pushes them toward my mother and the car. Justin had walked away, the engine of his car roaring as he sped away. My father returns in long strides, sitting next to me silently. His hand reaches out, several snowflakes fall into his palm. They linger for longer than normal as he begins to speak; "So, you heard what Justin said." I nod as I watch the snow in front of me fall, trying to hold back the newly formed anger toward my brother. "...Frisk is going into foster care." My eyes widen as my head snaps to make eye contact with him.

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Frisk was leaving after the funeral. My parents claimed it was the best situation we could've asked for, but I disagree. The week passes by too quickly, and I'm expected to say goodbye too quickly. I try to ignore the feeling of impending doom as Frisk and I struggle to bake a pie. When we pull it out of the oven, it's obvious something went wrong somewhere along the process. "Uh." I furrow my eyebrows at the pie, Frisk forming their hand into a phone-like shape, pulling it from their chin to in front of their chest.

'What's wrong?'

That question hurt more than they intended. Their eyebrows are furrowed as they stare from me, to the pie, and back. "I don't really know." I laugh it off, putting the pie on the counter and closing the oven. "I guess, it's like an... Applesauce pie?" They stick their tongue out at the notion, making me nod in agreement. "I think the texture will be weird."

They move their hand in a nodding motion, pride blooming in my chest at how quickly they're picking up ASL. My eyes wander to the window, the soft white land beyond the thick glass causes me to sigh. "How about I make us some hot cocoa instead and we sit outside? I can even read a book to you." They perk up, running as quickly as they could with crutches toward the room we had been sharing. I laugh softly, warming milk up quickly on the stovetop.

After a couple of minutes, they come back panting. They hold up a book like it's a prize, a laugh leaving me at their excitement. "Peek-a-boo with Fluffy Bunny?" I ask, pouring the warm drink into two different mugs. "Stars, I learned to read using that book." Fond memories of my sister reading the book to me push to the forefront of my mind.

Two mugs are clutched in my hands as I walk toward the porch, Frisk following behind me. I settle onto the couch, the almost constant snowstorms having ceased for today. Our cocoa steam as silence settles over us, Frisk pulling themself onto the couch and curling into my side. I hand them their drink, "Peek-a-boo with Fluffy Bunny;" I start reading quietly.

✰════°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°════✰

The cold chills me to the bone as I sat in the same place Frisk and I had years prior. It was a different year, but the same house, the same snow, and the same couch. The wind blew snowflakes onto my legs, the ice melting against the warmth of my skin as I allowed it to seep through me with each shiver. It was almost comforting, my fingers fumbling as I carefully opened the letter Frisk had written to me. That was the one form of contact we were allowed, letters and polaroids the only thing left that connected us.

"𝐇𝐞𝐲, 𝐒𝐮𝐧." I smile at the familiar nickname Frisk gave me after I dyed my hair yellow when I turned 16. "𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨. 𝐈 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫! 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐈'𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰! 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐚. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲. 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐞! 𝐈 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥."

There are a couple of inked-out lines on the page as if they wrote multiple sentences down before getting it right. "𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞. 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧! 𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬, 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐀 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐒𝐋. 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲! 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲!"

I stare in shock at the last line. A small smile only breaks my face when I see a small; "𝐏.𝐒. 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝! 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮! 𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!"

I was emotionally in shock as I frantically reread the letter in my shaking hands. Why would it be their last letter? I dig into the envelope, pulling out a small, engraved, golden locket. It has three strange symbols on the front, I stare at it. A small snowflake lands in the middle. "Fuck off, Universe," I whisper as I stare at the locket, the swear feeling foreign on my tongue. I put it on, struggling for a moment to get it to clasp behind my neck. After it's settled flatly against my neck, I grab a small card with a detailed recipe on it.

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The years forward were as kind to me as they could be. In this moment, tears were burning their way down my already burning face. My finger is rubbing idly against the engraved front of the locket, a sniff leaving me as I force my eyes to focus on the movie in front of me. A blanket is disregarded at my feet, my body temperature far too high for me to even think about touching it. The fan above me is blasting cool air onto me, shivers wracking my body every so often.

I sniff, grabbing a tissue and wiping my face. "You know what." I whisper, getting off of my couch with an annoying amount of effort, "I have a fever." I state to myself, opening the locket around my neck. "I'm gonna make some pie." I ignore the voice in my head screaming that I'm severely depressed with a high grade fever.

Could a depressed person make... I stare at the recipe card I kept inside the locket for all of these years. "Cinnamon butterscotch pie?" My eyebrows are furrowed as I stare at the recipe. Oh, hey, it even includes a dough recipe. I go through my cabinets, a loud gasp leaving me when I find butterscotch chips I had used in cookies for my work.

After getting everything together, I get to work. Tears occasionally escape, but I wipe them away quickly with the back of my hand. Morning light starts to trail into the room, a small smile creeping up my face as I see the newly bloomed flowers outside.

With the pie crust made and in the freezer, it takes little to no time at all for me to make the filling. I decide to let it sit, setting an alarm on my phone as I head back to the couch. I feel a shiver work its way down my body, making me curl into myself as I push play on the tv. I'm just glad I could call out of work. My head thunks against the armrest, sinking down into the pillow I had placed down earlier. "Small nap." I whisper to myself, "Got an alarm set and everything."

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱, 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘈 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵... 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯. 𝘉𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴. 𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵.

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯. Aren't you not supposed to feel pain in dreams? 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬. 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦?

𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳, And I swear, you really aren't supposed to feel things like this in dreams! 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳... 𝘌𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴? 𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, A loud ringing pulls me out of my dream.

A sharp inhale makes me choke, my sore throat protesting my every cough. I blink the tears out of my eyes, reaching over to my phone and hitting the button to stop the alarm. "Stars, shit," I mumble to myself, forcing my legs to work as I leave the couch and walk toward the kitchen.

I can feel the dream I had bugging me in the back of my head. But, eh. What's the use of thinking about it? I'll forget it in a few minutes anyway. I pull the dough out of the freezer, roll it out, and put it into the pie pan. I continue to follow the recipe, and over an hour later, I have a pie.

"...I just made a whole pie," I whisper to myself, realizing it's going to take me a good amount of time to finish this thing without eating a piece every day. "Welp." I sigh, grabbing a plate and a pie cutter. I put a large slice on the plate, staring at it. "...Whipped cream." I nod my head to myself, grabbing the almost empty can from the fridge.

I pile whipped cream on it, taking a breath to appreciate my hard work. Before destroying it. I shovel a bite of the slightly warm pie into my mouth, melting in appreciation. I feel tears brim my eyes. "What the hell, Frisk." I whisper as I take another bite. "Where did you find this?" After finishing my piece, I ignore my yearning for another. Instead, I go back to the couch. Within seconds of my head hitting the pillow I had placed there, I feel myself slipping into another dream. 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺. 𝘐 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘐 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮.

𝘐 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱, 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘺. Is it a name? I can make out a greeting, but what the is the last word?

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴. 𝘐 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦. 𝘈 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺, "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘰 𝘎𝘰 𝘛𝘰 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳?" Holy shit, I heard that. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘺, 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩-𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥.

...the world changing around me as I stand? 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮. 𝘐 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺, "𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶." 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦. "𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴—"

I gasp as I sit up, immediately regretting it. "Oh, come on!" I groan between coughs, my throat screaming at me. I struggle to calm myself down, reaching over to take a sip from the large water bottle I've been nursing for hours. "What are these dreams?" I whisper to myself, dragging a hand down my face. I sigh, "I need more of that damn pie. That'll make me feel better."