Would That Make You Happy?

Frisk is your child, the result of a teen pregnancy, but they've always been told that you're their older sister. In an effort to get away from your own abusive mother, the two of you end up falling into the Underground, where Sans is startled by this abrupt change in what had become a predictable pattern of events. Maybe your presence is what is needed to stop the endless cycle of Resets.

After many struggles, both internal and external, you and your found family reach the surface, only to face even more difficulties from the society you weren't sure you'd ever see again. You meet new friends and encounter people from your past, though for good or ill, you're not sure. Sometimes it's difficult to tell kindness from cunning.

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121. The Beach, Pt 1

It's seven in the morning and the house is pure chaos.

You and Toriel are in the kitchen packing up a cooler with drinks and food for the day at the beach. Papyrus keeps walking from room to room, trying to decide on what he should bring. You've had to tell him three times now that going swimming in December isn't a good idea but he's having none of it. Yes, it's not like he feels temperature the same way that the others do, but if he goes in then the kids are going to want to go swimming too because for some reason they don't seem to understand the concept of cold. All you can think of is when Frisk got so sick back in Snowdin and you're not going to go through that again.

If push comes to shove you know that Sans will help you keep your child out of the water.

Sans is helping pack up blankets and towels, occasionally coming to ask your opinion on something before adding it to your growing pile of supplies. Asgore is doing his best to keep the kids distracted but they're too wound up. If there's anything more disruptive than two giddy children getting underfoot it's the nearly eight foot boss monster chasing after them through the kitchen. At some point Deacon and Bo must show up because the sheep monster appears at your side and joins you and Toriel in making sandwiches.

"I tried to get Blooky to join us, but they just aren't ready," Mettaton is saying to Alphys as they walk into the kitchen. "Maybe I can convince them once things are... a little more certain."

"We d-don't really know how things are going to go today. Good, I hope, but I u-understand why they'd rather stay home," Alphys says, frowning a little. "Lots of people are pretty n-nervous. Hope do you need any help?"

Honestly you just want everyone out of your kitchen that isn't helping put together food. But you know that's just your nerves talking. "No, we've got it. Did you bring the things I asked?"

"Of course, darling," Mettaton assures you in a soothing tone. He must be able to see the tension in your face. "Towels and blankets, extra water, and Alphys brought plenty of snacks. They're all out in the car."

As Mettaton and Alphys leave the kitchen Bo catches your eye while sliding a sandwich into a plastic bag. "It's a little strange, seeing him like this," she says to you, smiling.

Your eyebrows raise. "Who, Mettaton?"

She nods, sliding the bag closed and fitting it into the nearly-full cooler with the others. Rubbing her hands on the front of her sweater, she reaches for two more slices of bread. "He's more relaxed. Also, I don't really make it a habit of spending my days off with my boss."

"Oh, I didn't even think about that," you say, glancing towards the living room. You can't see everyone else from this angle but you know they're out there. "How is he, as a boss?"

"Depends on who you ask," she says, shrugging. "You have to assert yourself. See, I think he's just fine. Much more bark than bite." Bo gives you a wry smile. "Now Burgerpants... he lets Mettaton walk all over him and then whines about it after. Actually, he's been getting a bit better now that he's been dating the nice cream guy. Bell, I think his name was?"

"Speaking of dating," you say, giving her a sly look. Before you even have the chance to ask the question Bo's smile widens and her big blue eyes catch the light. "How are you and Deacon?"

Toriel lets out a soft laugh, but doesn't say anything, keeping her eyes on her work.

Bo glances over at the queen and then back at you, halfway through spreading peanut butter across a slice of bread. She nudges a tuft of pink wool away from her temple with the back of her hand. "We're doing good. I know it's just been two weeks since we really met, but we've just been talking so much. But, I think you know all this already," she says with an amused look. "You and Deacon are close."

She's right, you do know. He keeps telling you things whenever he gets the chance. Like something cute she said to him, or how he went to go see her at work after school last week. You also know that in the week since their first date they still haven't slept together, despite the two of them going out of their way to see each other as much as possible. You wonder how long that's going to last.

"I just wanted to know if you were feeling the same way as he is," you say in all sincerity. "Sorry, I hope I don't seem too nosy."

"You're his best friend, I don't blame you," she says, nudging you with her elbow. "He talks about you a lot, you know."

You're smiling, a swell of affection bubbling up in your chest. "Does he?" Bo nods, and you add, "He talks about you all the time. I'm glad you guys started dating. Are you two, like, official? God that sounds so high school..."

She giggles, cheeks darkening under her creamy fur. After a second she nods. "He actually asked me this morning, when he picked me up. He said, 'I only take girlfriends through government checkpoints. You okay with that?' And I said, 'Oh, I guess I should stay home then.'" You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, giggling as she tries not to laugh. "And Deacon's eyes got all wide and he was trying really hard not to lose his cool, so I told him yes."

"Oh my god, where is he? I need to go make fun of him," you say, finishing up the sandwich you're working on and wiping your hands on your jeans. "This is payback."

Bo and Toriel's laughter follows you into the foyer, where you're surprised to find Deacon by himself instead of in the living room with the others. He's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, though his normal light hoodie has been replaced with a heavier jacket. With the weather getting colder and colder the closer you get to winter, you don't blame him. He's standing at the foot of the stairs, looking at the pictures hanging there with his thumbs hooked on his back pockets. He doesn't seem to notice you as you come up behind him.

"So, I heard your girlfriend beat you at your own game," you tease, poking him in the side.

He jumps a little, glancing over at you. "No way. I got her to say yes, didn't I?" he says evenly, giving you a half-hearted smile. His attention returns to the pictures, and you follow his gaze to see what he's so focused on. Oh, it's the ones from Thanksgiving. Specifically, the one of the two of you.

"It's a good picture of us," you say, studying his face. His expression is difficult to read.

Deacon's brow furrows a little, and his eyes scan over the entire collection of frames. "But, this is for you and your family," he says, his voice careful and measured. Uncertain.

"Deacon." You tug on his sleeve and when he glances your way you give him an exasperated smile. "You might as well be family."

His eyes widen and he seems at a loss for words. Then, as color creeps up the sides of his neck, he shakes his head and rubs his shoulder. "No, I'm not..."

Putting yourself on top of the first step, right in front of him and now at eye-level, you make sure the two of you are alone before fixing him with a serious look. "Get technical all you want, but you belong on that wall," you tell him. You reach out and put your hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. "Can't you see you're part of this ridiculous clan now? Because you are, whether you like it or not."

He arches a brow at you, doing his best to look stubborn. But you can see the flattered expression hiding underneath. "I can think of someone who might beg to differ," he mutters under his breath.

Your mouth curls into a crooked smile. "This," you say, gesturing behind you, "was Sans's idea."

Deacon blinks, clearly taken aback. "...Huh?"

"He said you were like my brother."

He blinks again. Then, a small, sly smile creeps across his face. "Well, as your big brother, I'm not sure I approve of you getting married to a skeleton."

"Shut up," you say, shoving his shoulders and laughing as he staggers backwards. You drop down from the step and cross your arms over your chest.

"You can't just keep dumping all these surprises in my lap. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that your fiancé could disintegrate me with his laser skull," he says, shaking his head. "I mean. Literally. A laser skull."

"Actually, a pair of laser skulls," you correct.

"Hope. Why didn't you warn me that he could turn me into a greasy smear?" he says, dropping his voice an octave.

"I didn't know either of them could do that. Sans said it was serious emergencies only. And what was he going to do, just throw it casually into conversation?" You arch a brow and let out a small sigh. "He's not a killer, Deacon. He wouldn't disintegrate you. Uh, unless you tried to actually hurt one of us, I guess," you find yourself adding, as an afterthought.

"Well it's a good thing I don't ever plan on doing that," he says, running his hand through his hair. Then he gives you a curious look. "But you're serious? He actually said that about me?"

"Yes. Seriously. He's really starting to come around, but don't you dare say anything to him about it."

"My lips are sealed. I wouldn't want to jeopardize our blossoming friendship."

"Deacon."

"Do you think he'd want to swap friendship bracelets? I'm still torn up over the fact that you lied to me about getting us some."

"Deacon stop."

There are protesters at the Line.

There's been a few, you've heard, coming and going the last few days, but they're out in force now.

You're not a good judge of numbers, but you'd have to say at least fifty, maybe a hundred. They're lined up on either side of the road past the checkpoint, holding signs and yelling something you can't quite make out. The soldiers are keeping a watchful eye on them and they haven't caused any kind of incident, but just their presence is enough to put a damper on your mood. As your car sits there, waiting for your turn after Asgore and his family, Sans reaches over to pry your hand off the steering wheel. He threads your fingers together and squeezes.

"They're just signs. People protest things all the time. There's... jerks that protest at funerals, for god's sake," you say, for Sans and for Frisk and for yourself. "It's not going to stop us from having a good time at the beach today, right Frisk?"

You glance into the rear view mirror and they catch your eye, giving you a bright smile. "Right!" they say. You smile back.

The gate in front of Asgore's van lifts and they drive through. You catch sight of Asriel waving at you through the rear window and you wave back, a small rush of anxiety making your chest feel tight. You'll meet them down at the beach. You've all got maps, and you've shown them the route plenty of times. They're ready, everyone is prepared for this. Everything is going to be fine.

You shift the car into gear to take your place at the guard station, putting yourself back into park. Rolling down your window, you're pleasantly surprised to see Sergeant Wilkes, one of your acquaintances, manning the gate. But what little pleasure you find from a familiar face is squashed the second you start hearing what the protesters have been chanting.

"KEEP THEM IN! KEEP THEM IN!"

Wilkes seems to notice your change in expression, his dark brow furrowing in sympathy. "They've been at it all morning, since before sunrise," he says, jerking his head towards the crowd. "What they don't seem to realize is that their lot has caused more trouble than any of you ever have. We used to joke that we were working harder at keeping troublemakers out than in, but I'm afraid it's not much of a joke any more."

"Have they done anything?" you ask, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

He shakes his head. "Okay, I need your names to confirm with our database so we can put in the system that you'll be off the mountain," he says, giving you a weak smile. "But looks like it's just the three of you? Where's Papyrus?"

"behind us, with mettaton," Sans says, giving the soldier a strained smile. "he wouldn't miss this for the world."

Wilkes chuckles, glancing at the black car behind you. "That's what I figured," he says, typing something on the computer beside him. "So, all monster residents need to be back by 2200, that's 10 PM. And any repeated offenses may result in loss of privileges off of Ebott. Failure to return to the designated monster residential territory will result in arrest and further disciplinary action and reevaluation of privileges for all residents." He clears his throat. "So just make sure you come back, okay? Not that I'm worried about you three. Where are you headed?"

"are you asking cuz you're curious or because you have to put it in the file?" Sans asks, raising a brow. You squeeze his hand.

"Both, actually," he says, looking a little sheepish.

"The beach," you answer.

"Oh, with the king and queen? I hope you guys have a good time." He gives you a weak smile, then returns his attention to his monitor. "Are your cell phone numbers on file still correct?"

"Yes."

"We shouldn't need to reach you unless there's an issue with curfew," he says to your silent question. "And that's pretty much it. I'm sure everything will be fine, but you guys be safe, okay?"

"We will."

   
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