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.


151. Why Are You Here?

Chris's smile brightens as he crosses the parking lot to meet you. "I thought maybe I missed you," he says, shoving his hands in his front pockets. He hunches forward a little as he walks, like he's trying to make himself smaller.

Deacon is at your side, looking at you to try and read the situation. But you're not sure how to react. Chris is just how you remember him, just older, bigger, and a tiny, quiet part of you that had waited and hoped for him to come back into your life is stirring in the back of your mind. This boy is the first person you ever loved. The first person you had sex with. When you were fourteen he knew you better than anyone else in the world. He was your refuge. You would have done anything for him.

So where does that leave the two of you now?

Without any sign from you to tell him what to do, Deacon wedges himself between you and Chris. "Hey," he says, holding out a hand. As Chris slows to a halt in front of the two of you, he has to look up at him. When did he get so tall? Deacon isn't exactly short, but next to Chris he sure looks it. "What's this all about?"

He looks at Deacon, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, then over his shoulder to meet your gaze. You had forgotten that his eyes were gray. "It's good to see you," he says, and that hesitant smile is back. "Like, really fucking good to see you."

"Good to see me," you say flatly, eyes narrowing. "Chris, what are you doing here? How did you even know where to find me?"

He looks a little taken aback, though you can't imagine he's surprised that your reunion isn't as friendly as it could be. You put your hand on Deacon's arm and he looks at you, searching your face before stepping back to stand beside you. He's barely restraining a grimace. Chris watches the two of you for a moment, fumbling as he tries to find his words.

"Eric? I mean, you remember Eric," he says, clearing his throat and glancing down at the ground before meeting your eyes again. "Look, I don't really keep up on the news much, at least not recently. But he told me about that stuff that's been airing. In that interview you did you mentioned where you worked and I figured I could catch you here."

"And what, you think they're right?" you say, bristling. "That you can just swoop in here and—"

"No no no!" Chris blurts out, holding his hands up and shaking his head. His jagged bangs fall into his eyes and he pushes them aside, tucking his hair behind his ear. God, even all his mannerisms are the same. "I just... I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help."

"You want to..." Your grip tightens on Deacon's sleeve and he tenses, looking between you and Chris. As the bubble of fear inside you bursts at the realization that, no he doesn't want to make things worse, something else swells up in your chest. Something angry and bitter that comes out as a sharp, humorless laugh. "You want to help? Now?"

He swallows, having the decency to at least look ashamed. Fidgeting with the barbell pierced through his eyebrow, he bows his head. He opens his mouth to say something but you don't let him speak.

"Where were you eight years ago Chris?" you blurt out, balling your hand into a fist and holding it in front of your chest. "When I needed your help!"

"Hope, I'm sorry," he says, and that pitiful look on his face just makes you want to hit him. Which in turn has you recoiling inwardly, surprised at yourself.

"I don't—" You cut yourself short, shaking your head and biting the inside of your lip. Letting go of Deacon's arm, you push your hair out of your face and fix Chris with a hard look. "I don't need your apologies. Or your help. I've done this without you since before Frisk was born, and I don't need you now."

"I just want to talk," Chris says, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "Maybe explain myself, if you'll let me."

And isn't that something you've always wanted? Answers? Because while he abandoned you, pregnant and only fourteen, you weren't sure how much of that was really his choice. How many of the words he'd managed to say to you were fed to him by his parents. They'd always hated you, you were certain of it though they'd never said so to your face. 

"And how do your parents feel about you being here?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm sure they're thrilled."

He straightens, pushing his shoulders back. Frowning, he glances off to the side and back at you. "They don't know. I..." he clears his throat again, a nervous tic of his. "I moved out. I haven't talked to them since then."

You blink, relaxing just a fraction. "You what?"

Grimacing, Chris shrugs his shoulders and looks down at the ground. "After you... after you and Frisk disappeared, we got into a huge fucking fight. And I left. Can I... This is probably a lot to ask, but I was wondering if I could meet her. You don't have to tell her who—"

"'Them'," you interject, keeping your voice even. His gray eyes dart up to yours, looking confused. "Frisk is nonbinary. They go by 'they' or 'them'."

"Oh. Oh, shit, sorry. Fuck, I'm glad that I didn't screw that up in front of them. It's just... the long hair threw me off," he says, wincing.

"Chris, you out of anyone should know not to assume based on hair," you say, relaxing a bit more and arching a brow. His sheepish expression draws a tiny smile out of you.

He grabs a handful of his own long hair and gives an embarrassed laugh. "Shit, yeah I guess you're right."

Sensing the shift in mood, Deacon rests his hands on his hips, easing back a little. He looks at you, raising a brow, and he doesn't need to speak for you to see the 'Now what?' in his expression. That's a good question. Chris watches your silent exchange, rubbing his chin as you return your attention to him.

You bite your lip, regarding him with uncertainty. "What exactly do you want from us, Chris? Do you want to be part of Frisk's life? Because they have a father now, and if you think you can get in the way of that... I won't let you."

The way he looks at you, it's like he's looking at you for the first time. Like he's been seeing someone else and realizing that you're not that scared girl anymore. You're a woman, a mother, and Chris is... you're not sure what Chris is. Is he really any different from the boy you knew in high school? "I just want to make things up to you, if I can. I know I fucked up. I should have been there for you."

"Yeah," you agree, hugging yourself. A fleeting, mournful smile curves your mouth for a second before disappearing. "You should have. I'm not sure what you think you can do to help us, but if you want to talk, I'll listen."

"Oh, Sans is going to love this," Deacon mutters, and you can't help but laugh.

"Oh, is that... Sans is your boyfriend, right?" Chris asks, the momentary look of relief gone as quick as it came.

"No," you say, unable to help the self-satisfied smile you give him. "Sans is my husband."

"Her skeleton husband, great choice of shirt by the way," Deacon says, thoroughly unimpressed.

Chris's eyes widen as he looks from you, to Deacon, then down at his shirt. His cheeks redden just enough to be noticeable, and he gives you an apologetic look. "Fuck, that's right. Uh, shit I forgot, should I...?"

"It's fine," you say, shooting Deacon a look. He just smiles at you. "We can... Chris are you doing anything this afternoon?"

His eyebrows shoot up, one hand splayed over the front of his shirt, as if to hide the skull design. "Uh, just coming here. Looking for you."

"I don't want to stand here in the parking lot. If you want to talk, you can come to the house," you sigh, earning yourself a surprised look from both Deacon and Chris. "Frisk won't be home until late, I can tell Toriel to keep them until you leave. I want to talk to them first before I just... I'm not going to surprise them with this. If they want to meet you, and I don't have a problem with whatever it is you have to say to me... and if Sans agrees. Then we can figure something out."

"Yeah, yeah of course," Chris says, bobbing his head in agreement. "Whatever you want. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

You tell him to follow you back to the house, and as he walks back to his car (a BMW, which you can only assume his parents bought for him) Deacon hangs back by your side. He fixes you with a questioning stare, one brow raised as you fidget with the locket hanging around your neck. Your thumb trails over the infinity symbol on Sans's Christmas gift.

"You think I'm making a mistake," you say, and Deacon shrugs his shoulders.

"I think Sans is going to disintegrate him. With his laser skull," he says, so deadpan that you snort and bite back a laugh.

"He said it's a blaster, and no he won't," you insist. "He's not here to cause trouble."

"That you know of."

"He's harmless. A huge softie the whole time we were dating."

"Perhaps," Deacon says, running a hand through his hair. He gives you a sly look as the two of you walk towards your cars. "But I'll give it to past Hope; Chris is cute. I see what you liked about him." He winks at you.

"Deacon I swear to god."

"I mean he'd have to be. Between the two of you, no wonder Frisk came out so adorable," he says innocently.

"Don't try to distract me with flattery. I'm too disgusted by the thought of you finding my ex attractive," you say, trying not to smile. You're not succeeding.

"Do you want me to come with you? Call me paranoid, but I don't like the idea of leaving you alone with him, softie or not," Deacon says, sobering as he pulls out his keys.

For a moment you're about to tell him no, but when you really stop to consider it... "Yeah. I appreciate it. And I'm sorry this is messing our plans," you say, wincing.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, how dare your ex-boyfriend just show up with no warning on the day you're supposed to spend with me. How could you be so inconsiderate!"

You huff a laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll meet you at the house."

You don't even have time to think about what you're doing, what good could possibly come out of talking with Chris, because you have to call Sans while in the car. You have to let him know that there's a possibility he might still be at the house when he gets home. That's the last thing you want to surprise your husband with right now.

Sans picks up on the second ring. "hey babe, everything ok?"

"Yeah, everything's—"

"S-Sans!" Alphys yelps on the other line, and you hear your husband let out a startled sound.

"sorry alphys! i got it," he says, and you hear the scrape of metal and a loud thunk of something sliding into place. "ok gimme two seconds. i'll be right back. hope, you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Are you okay?" you ask, getting the distinct impression that you're interrupting something.

"yeah, don't worry about it. just caught me in the middle of something. what's up?" He sounds a little out of breath.

"Um. It's... Everything is okay!" you insist, letting out a nervous cough.

"ok..." he says slowly.

"It's... Chris. Chris came to see me after work today," you say, and you jerk the phone away from your ear as the crackle of magic comes through the call as high-pitched feedback.

"what the fuck does he want?" Sans growls. You wish you could say you were surprised by his response.

"He's not here to try to take Frisk. He wants to talk, and I wanted to let you know he might be at the house when you get home."

"what about frisk?"

"Frisk is with Tori this afternoon. I don't want them meeting him unless all three of us decide it's okay," you say, doing your best to try and placate him over the phone.

"babe, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks, letting out a frustrated sigh. You can just picture him gritting his teeth. 

You sigh too. "No," you admit. "He says that he saw the news recently, about us. And he wanted to try and help. I... don't know how much he can do, but I... Hun, I dunno."

"the last time you tried to give someone a chance to apologize to you, it bit you in the ass," he says carefully.

Your hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel as you turn down the long road towards your house. "I want to know why. This is my chance to know how he justified abandoning me," you say, bitterness creeping into your voice.

"do you want me to come home? i don't like—"

"No, you stay. Deacon's coming to the house too so I won't be alone."

"are you sure?"

Biting your lip, you hesitate for a second. "Yeah. I want to get a chance to hear what he has to say before you judge him too harshly."

"who says i'd judge him too harshly?"

"I don't want a repeat of what happened with Deacon."

"fine," he grumbles, unhappy. "but you call me if anything changes. it only takes me a couple minutes to teleport home."

"I will," you agree. "And, Sans. I love you."

"love you too," he answers begrudgingly, his tone softening just a little. "be careful."

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