Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air was warm and stale, in a gloriously dismal union with the corpse of an autumn day so still it seemed to be attempting to avoid detection. The sky remained the colour of steel, with the gaze of the sun desperately trying and failing to break through into the frozen day. It felt as if the excitement and wonder had been sucked from the very earth, and there could be nothing but trees weeping red leaves to be crushed underfoot by muddy boots of the residents of the town venturing into the gloom.

In summary, one of Kris’s favourite kinds of days.

Don’t get them wrong- Kris didn’t… not enjoy sunny days, or snowy nights, or times when blossoms would rain on the town, getting stuck in the gutters in the earth’s nexus to spring. It was just more simple on these kinds of days. No one would pester them about something they’d done or said, some offending prank, perhaps, that annoyed them- too tired to do more than sleep, drink endless amounts of hot chocolate and coffee, and read the sodden newspaper they had collected from the doorstep matted with wet paw prints. No one would try to strike up meaningless conversations better held when they actually mattered.

And most importantly, no one would disturb Kris in their mission.
Kris stood now amongst a configuration of trees, displaying their maple leaves with a dullness that hinted at a once glorious complexion, desecrated by the sky’s ceaseless downpour. In their hand, Kris clutched an unusual object for a teenager to bring on a rainy day adventure- the family microwave. It was an old brand of the kind made and exported by the human territories before their military overthrew their government, when President Hebby was still in charge. Not that Kris knew or cared. A long extension cable ran behind Kris as they walked, plugged into the front door outlet now some 200 metres away behind them.

As their muddy wellington boots trudged through the equally muddy soil, Kris’s mind turned to think on other matters. Kris preferred to think, not speak, to observe the world instead of influence it. There was more to be gained that way, as Toriel would say, actions could often speak louder than words. Kris’s thoughts themselves were so intense that they scarcely spoke, only when necessary. A reputation as the stereotypical *quiet kid* was an unfortunate but admittedly inevitable side effect.

And so Kris began to wonder at new question: at why exactly the Dremurr family owned a microwave. It was the same paradox with owning a cooktop- Toriel could and did simply use fire magic to cook things. True, Kris had found the microwave buried in a concerningly murky pile of junk accumulating in one of the dusty dimly lit storage cupboards that naturally spawn in homes more than 30 years old- like Toriel’s, surely- but then there was the question of why such an appliance was purchased in the first place, and where- Hometown was quite a distance away from the nearest real city, human or monster. Perhaps even then, Toriel could predict where her life was to go 30 years in advance, entrusting the artefact to her possible children, children that may lack skill or ability in fire magic. It was just the sort of thing Toriel would do, Kris noted with a small smile. To think ahead was the gift not everyone could inherit.

Kris stopped walking. Before them lay a small, leafy clearing in the forest. The apricity of the sun, which had won its battle with the ever-shifting clouds, contrasted nicely with the fiery colour of the trees, giving an air of limbo between winter and autumn. It was exactly as if the trees were not quite sure exactly what they wanted to be. In the very centre of the clearing, there lay a marble birdbath, full to the brim with dirty rainwater and leaf litter. The detail on it was breathtaking, it had been certainly constructed by a master of the trade, a clever old monster designer, with human-like fingers for carving the delicate patterns, perhaps. It reminded Kris of a church building similar to Hometown’s. This was a symphony of stone, meant to calm the heart and cleanse the mind of doubt. The three heroes of the legend, the Delta Warriors, stood out solemnly as the prominent feature of the birdbath, with the Deltarune symbol high in the sky behind them. Kris’s eyes lingered on the birdbath for a second, then another.

Then a second too long.

Kris began to wonder at themselves. Their eyes had seemed to go to that birdbath of their own accord, even as they trudged over, drained the water from the basin, and placed the microwave in the now empty reservoir- that had not been Kris’s doing. It had been something else, perhaps…
Not quite of this world. Destiny? Chance? An omen of the future?

No, that was a stupid thing to think. Nothing like that existed.

Feeling altogether quite uncomfortable in their skin but proceeding nevertheless, Kris began to walk further into the forest, leaving the microwave and the long cord behind it sitting atop the marble bowl.

Some 15 minutes later, Kris returned, this time holding a heavy bag they had brought with them. The bag appeared to sag noticeably under the weight of its contents as it was placed atop the microwave.

Another 5 minutes later, it was done. Kris had taken extra precautions to verify the integrity of the wire connecting the microwave to the outlet. The contents of the bag had also been checked thoroughly for any imperfections, which they luckily had none. Everything was ready.
Kris poured the rocks out of the bag and into the microwave, listening as they clattered. They had dropped down almost happily, as if they were returning to their ancestral homeland of heating machinery, as if this was what their entire lives had been leading up to- to be microwaved by an angsty teenager, a stage of life all young rocks have to pass through. Some of the rocks even sported a growth of forest moss, an extra charred snack that pushed it forward the rock hierarchy. Kris shut the microwave and set the timer for two minutes on high. After all, no one likes an undercooked rock.

The microwave purred happily as Kris watched the passage of the rocks as they underwent metamorphosis and transformed into the delicious snacks they had long aspired to be. At long last, after the two minutes that seemed like eternity were over, the food was ready. Kris took the rocks, and gnawing happily, began to pack up their setup.

So ended Kris’s normal life.

Chapter Text

Augustus was not having a good night, one of the few throughout his long career as a security guard that made him question his choice of a job, especially on days like today when he had a special mission and couldn’t count on quiet throughout the early hours of morning. He could clearly remember his youthful days, when he had chosen it based on the fact he didn’t really have to do much except throw out the occasional burglar or drug-seeking junkie when he was guarding hospitals. It was a good starter job that was never quit because he loved doing it so much, and so fifty years later here he was, an old man with a wheeze and a limp- but still, of course, just as sharp as his younger carefree counterpart.

The only downside was though, August had a habit of being easily scared.

It had started when he was still a kid, an impossibly long time ago, when he and his brothers and sisters had snuck out to a graveyard. In the dead of the night, they had crept from grave to grave, the bravest among them (the older kids) trying to scare the whole group with tales of ghosts and skeletons. It was only when they got quiet and August had turned around to see what was the matter- foolish thing to do, really, knowing his older siblings, and had come to face to face with a terrifying carved pumpkin. August had screamed and run off, and Henry, the boy wearing the mask, had cackled and chased him. Eventually, Henry got bored and went back to the main group, followed eventually by August, who had bizarrely been criticised later for taking too long to get back.
Then there was that damnable pizza place which he had to watch over with that grainy camera system, the one with the human-shaped robots that sung to the kids, who, as far as he knew, were deathly afraid of them. Augustus himself had found it creepy from the get-go, but that was before the robots started moving and he had to defend himself until his shift ended six hours later. He only took the job because he could get free pizza and the last job didn’t pay well- the bills and all- but even then after five nights he had had enough and quit on the spot. All he had got out of that experience was a hundred and fifty dollars that seemed to be desperately apologising to the idea of a minimum wage, two slices of pepperoni pizza and a tortured soul.
Then there was that time when he was guarding a TV studio on the election night, when a group of enraged militant human nationalists nearly overwhelmed security and Augustus had to hold his own against 323 or so men demanding that the ballots be entirely recounted from scratch regardless of the fact that the vote counting was not taking place at the studio broadcasting its results.
Then there was that rather odd cabin. August remembered it well- a number had texted asking for his services but would not give a name or an organisation, only asking him if he could watch over a cabin in the far north, where it snowed all year ‘round.
That had been one of the strangest nights of his life. It had all started out pretty normal, aside from the fact that all the lights were on despite no one being home… but then things started moving around. It started small- cups, slices of bread, but by 5 in the morning pianos and lamps were floating around and dark shadow figures were manifesting in the lounge room.

Add up incidents like that over years? It wasn’t hard for the average monster to realise why August became someone of peace and quiet, someone of cool darkness, often complemented by a warm blanket and some hot chocolate to drink.

As for tonight?
Well, the truth was, out of any place he would guard, he did not rank churches particularly highly. There was something about them, being in them, that made him feel uneasy. Maybe all he was worried about was some fool breaking in trying to have a go at the jewellery, but still….
And now here he was, after a night of bumps and queer creaking from the old building, a night of being jumpy and on edge, getting a call from the equally old telephone kept in one of the closets at the front of the church. He had received explicit instructions from the father that ran this place (Alvin, was it? August hadn’t really been paying attention) to be on standby in case he called, warning it could happen during any time of the night so he’d best not fall asleep.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why. After all, every monster in the country had been preparing for this week, perhaps this night, if the phone meant it would be tonight after all. For the past few months, the monster leadership had been talking a great deal about the extremists that had taken over the human government. The sad news was that the situation only seemed to grow more dire. Unexplained troop movements to the border, threats and propaganda across the border becoming more harsh and racial, calls for peace from both sides becoming more desperate. Everyone knew a big war was coming, the only question was when, and who would strike first. Therefore, the monster government had organised a plan to alert residents near the border to evacuate as soon as war was declared. Many monsters had already packed up in advance with their families, ready to go at a minute’s notice. Alvin had been put in charge of alerting Hometown while Mayor Carol was to organise the evacuation in the ground.

But for a monster who enjoyed quiet, it was deemed, rather ironically in his view, necessary for Augustus to ring the church bells.

And now here August sat, watching the phone begin to ring.

“Angel help us.”
August shuffled (He could no longer walk normally and forget about running after any intruder) over to the telephone and picked it up. The measured tone of Father Alvin cut through the relatively silent church.
“Augustus? Is that you?”
“Yes, Father.” August marvelled at how shaky his voice sounded, how nervous. To be the monster in charge of ringing the bells was undoubtedly metaphorically significant. After those bells began to ring, there would be no going back.

No going back.

“Good. The Kingdom of Man has declared war on the United Federation of Monsters. You are now on full alert. Do you remember your instructions?”
“Y-Yes, Father.”
“Good. Ring the bells to alert the town, then help Mayor Carol oversee the evacuation. It is also my solemn duty to announce that, by decree of the Monster Congress, all humans living in monster territory are now enemies of the state and should be treated as prisoners of war. This includes any and all humans living in Hometown and surrounding districts. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course, Father.”
“It is my understanding that only one human resides in Hometown- a child by the name of Kris. You mustn’t treat them too poorly as they are regarded well in the local community. Some of Kris’s adopted monster family may attempt to resist Kris’s capture. Police will aid you in extracting the child.”
“What if Kris escapes?”
“Then the angel smiles upon us, Augustus. Go now.”

Click.

Chapter Text

The bells were the first thing Toriel heard.

Twilight shone through the blinds, as the night beyond the distant horizon began to die. Toriel’s eyes, unfocused with sleep and with confusion, stared meekly around her darkened room as her brain, feeling waterlogged and heavy, began to work.

It was only then that she realised what was going on.

This was no time for lounging about in bed.

Toriel sprang to her feet, looking around wildly at her half-packed bags in the corner. She had been expecting this for some time, everyone had, but she had not thought the day, or rather night, would come so soon. Perhaps she had never really made peace with the fact that sometime in the near future, she would have to go away, away from her place, her home, away from Hometown, away from her peaceful life in the forest of crimson and maple, there would be no more peaceful early morning trips down to the lake, no more late movie nights with the kids, Kris and Noelle shrieking with glee as Asriel and Dess watched with smiles on their mouths and in their eyes, no more of buying chocolate kisses from that store clerk, no more business with that shelter at the bottom of town, all over now, all gone.
She began to tremble. How could she have been so careless? She hadn’t even packed anything for Kris-

Oh.

The thought sprang in her mind, almost in imitation of her worry.

Humans were the enemy now. The hundreds of thousands of soldiers on both sides marching across the border, the hundreds of thousands of aircraft that must surely be taking off, as if in a race to see who could bomb the major cities first, the ships setting sail- they were the enemy now. This morbid game, played by the rage-infected leaders of the humans who had learned nothing, nothing that history had screamed in their ears as the screams of the dead and dying, victims of their folly, were to be.

It was the first war all over again.

FIFTY YEARS AGO

The scene was one of chaos.

Toriel stood, clutching a small rucksack, staring around her in bewilderment. Mount Ebott City, asleep not half an hour ago, was now in a state of total disarray. Air raids sirens were wailing their cry to the night, lights were being switched on everywhere, and monsters were out in the streets, frantically packing and preparing their belongings and children for what was to come. She had been told by her parents to wait outside while they organised themselves. “getting ready- so stay out of our way and look sharp about it.” Had been what her father said, in an agitated tone. Toriel had also detected something she’d never heard in his voice before- an edge which she later knew to be panic. They gave her no chance to ask any kind of question- “what the hell is going on” was pretty high up on her list, she recalled- and she was thrust out of the door so quickly that she probably couldn’t had said anything fast enough for them to hear.

So there she stood, a girl of maybe seven with striped pyjamas on, breathing in the pandemonium on the streets and mixing it with her own jumpy feelings. The smell of diesel and horseshit from families speeding away from the city clogged the fresh night air, the sweat on Toriel’s fur and hands combined uncomfortably with the polished surface of the wood of the rucksack, and she had begun to develop a headache from confusion and those infernal sirens.

She sighed, exhaling a small white cloud which she knew to be her own breath, but she could not even enjoy the pleasure she usually gained in that, in normal times. Everything just felt-

What was that?

Toriel had heard of fireworks before, had seen them at New Year’s, but usually fireworks show up in the night sky, right?

And usually, most don’t scream when fireworks go off?

Suddenly, Toriel felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to look, and saw her mother, looking tired, dazed, but full of adrenaline and energy, staring at her.

“Sweetie, um……”

Toriel’s mother was a kind soul. She always liked to pretend everything was fine and everyone was happy, even when it certainly wasn’t and they certainly weren’t.
“Did- did you hear the big firework just now?”

Toriel stammered out a response.

“Y-yes…….. was it really just a firework…? “

“…Okay, well, here’s the plan. We are going to go out to the countryside, just for a little while, alright?”
She did not give a reason, Toriel recalled later. Perhaps this was what disturbed her 7-year old self the most.

“w- why is everyone screaming??”

“They’re just… excited, honey. Come with me now. We’re going.”

Toriel sat in the family car, having been hastily bundled in by her father, looking out of her window at the side of a tunnel that led out of the city and into the country dirt roads, and thinking. Her father sat at the wheel, certainly not more talkative than he had been the rest of the night. Her mother sat in the passenger’s seat across from him, her face buried in her scarf. Toriel noticed every so often she would look at her watch and shake her head sadly, and occasionally the two parents would exchange some dialogue about “the cut-off to getting out before we’re trapped.” and when it might be.

Predictably, the car had been caught in a traffic jam. It seemed half the population trying to leave the city had had the same idea. Her father kept saying he wanted to do things “my way” which her mother did not seem to approve of. Toriel was not exactly certain what “my way” meant, but she could guess it had something to do with moving quicker. Toriel’s father hated being stuck in confined spaces, something apparently called “clos-tro-fo-bee-a” or so she had heard it said. He was also a car mechanic and knew how quickly their car could go, having taking a fondness for late night drives to test cars he had just fixed up.
The events of the night were bouncing around Toriel’s skull in such a way that her mind itself seemed to be simmering, like a deadly potion in a cauldron. There was just no explaining it, she thought. She had the good sense to know well what explosions were- had seen them in black-and-white movies in the glitzy theatre on the other side of town- and that large bang, come to think of it, had sounded awfully like one…. And what about the screaming, that horrible smell-

Toriel’s train of thought was rudely interrupted as something seriously reminiscent of an explosion sounded overhead. Small pieces of plaster and rock from the tunnel roof came raining down on the gridlocked cars, and each one of those poor monsters trapped inside the tunnel that night felt their world had come crashing down at last. Toriel’s mother let out a small, weak cry and her father swore.

A few seconds later, a large part of the tunnel behind the Dreemurr car collapsed.

The next minute would be blurred in Toriel’s mind forever, as if her brain simply rejected what her eyes saw and her ears heard. She hadn’t ever thought too hard about death before- she just knew that old folks eventually dissolved into dust, and it usually made everyone sad, which she didn’t like- so of course, like any living thing, she developed a mistrust and a fear of the idea. Now, with death staring Toriel in the face, she realised what was happening, really realised, and she cowered- frozen, trembling, unable to move.

She remembered screwing her eyes up tightly, strong hands, most likely her father’s, plucking her from her car seat and placing her over his shoulder, like a rucksack, running with her faster than Toriel had ever seen (or rather felt, as her eyes were still shut) anyone go. She remembered her pyjamas rubbing uncomfortably against her furry skin, the rush of adrenaline and sweat, her heart pounding out of her chest. And, oh yes, she remembered the screams. Those screams that would drive anyone mad, pure anguish, pain, grief, panic from those around them, those that knew all too well they were not going to make it out in time, encompassed in one, terrible, horrible cry. The screams echoed throughout the tunnel in such a fashion that they seemed to be coming from everywhere- that is, from all directions…

And so one wish echoed throughout Toriel’s head, no, more like a command, a requirement, to get out of the damn tunnel. She knew she would die if she did not, if not from the screams then surely from the crumbling structure above her. It all rested on her father now. He was near the end of the tunnel now, closing fast, though of course Toriel could not see it…

Colours and shapes were shifting all around her now, her mind felt fuzzy…

100 metres,
She tried to move her head, say something, her last words..

50…
Muscles would not obey. She tried with all her might…

20…
Somewhere a strange red light was shining… her head pulsed with the glare of it.

10…
Whispers from all around were closing in…

5…

Two red circles above Toriel’s eyes were circling, dancing, circling into nothingness, and there was an explosion, and Toriel knew no more.