Chapter Text
Chapter 1
They couldn't breathe. The air wasn't coming
They were suffocating.
Their hands grasped their throat, trying to cry out for Toriel or ANYONE that would help them.
Wheezes only escaped their throat, yellow eyes wide. Their face was painted in sweat, trying to force their breath out.
"M-Mom!" They tried to call out, their lips barely parting. The noise escaped their throat as a pathetic rasp. Trying to throw off the sheets was a harder task than it seemed like.
Their short legs tangled around the power-blue sheets, entrapping them in a fluffy mass of sheets. Their mind swirled together into an incomprehensible mess, barely able to think, barely able to breath.
Their lungs burned.
They were running out. They wouldn't go down without a fight. I need.... Anyone! Please! Panicked rasps escaped their throat, their whole body shaking in a tremor. This couldn't be happening. No... Please no... Not like this! I can't die! Please!
"AGCK!" I can't lose control. Their hands were slick with sweat, finally managing to detach themselves from the blankets.
Stumbling up, Frisk's legs collapsed under them. Dull Pain flashed into their shoulder, and there was no air for them to gasp.
Shrill laughter echoed in their ears, laughs of demented amusement. Their vision swam and distorted in front of them. It was too much. Too much to bear. Was this the end? Would he end, with no one? Their nails scraped at the carpet, beige strands sticking under their fingernails. It may have only been a minute, but it felt like an eternity.
"Frisk? Darling, are you alright? Oh dear God!" A metallic voice rang out, but they could barely hear it. Frisk was hardly aware as cold limbs wrapped around them, Frisk had only one goal. And that was to breathe.
Which seemed to be impossible.
"ASGORE! GET IN HERE!" The metallic voice crackled, before Frisk felt themselves being roughly lifted up. Their head was pressed into hard metal, yet all they could do was wheeze. The world seemed to blur around them, coughs wracking their small body. They could manage to hear the glorified calculator swearing under his breath.
"Mettaton?" A baritone voice called out, as Frisk felt themselves nearly slam into the railing on the stairs. The voices seemed to get farther and farther away, their tiny hands gripping the robot like a lifeline. Is he... Shaking?
"Asgore! Something's wrong!"