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Don't you Know That the Kids Aren't all, Kids Aren't Alright

Summary:

Paperjam and Fresh have a great life, but they still wish they could adopt some kids. They just didn't expect it to happen like this. Flowey, what did you do?

Notes:

Today is my birthday!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Finding Random Children is not how we Planned to Adopt

Chapter Text

 

 

PJ was tired. He didn't really know why he was tired, although he never really seemed to not be. Maybe it was his housemates. Fresh was easily the most helpfully chaotic person PJ knew. No one else he knew fit into that category, though. PJ still didn't understand how they ended up as mates. Theoretically neither of them should be able to love the other, but here they were, laying together in bed every night and arguing over the TV remote, so it seemed to be working out okay. The house had yet to entirely explode and they had a roommate who didn't pay rent. Neither did they, but that wasn't really relevant, was it?

The roommate's cackle was the only warning PJ got of the chaos to come and he ignored it. One, it was Flowey, and Flowey cackled on a regular basis. Flowey was the house terror. Some people would say he was a house plant. They would be wrong. Two, nothing was outwardly wrong in the house at the moment, so why worry? Three was probably the most relevant, though. PJ was asleep the entire time Flowey was cackling and didn't hear it. What a shame.

PJ woke up at the usually time. He got brushed his teeth, washed the drool of his mate off of his bones, and got dressed. He muttered a child's rhyme as he tied his shoes, then wondered why. He hadn't thought of the rabbit hole rhyme in decades, maybe even centuries. Why did he now?

He went downstairs about 2/5 of the way before he remembered the other thing, so he trudged back up to their bedroom and turned on the alarm clock. Fresh's alarm was at 03:04 because he liked the number. It had yet to ever go off at that time because PJ wasn't stupid. He woke up at a reasonable time and turned it back on so his 09:45 alarm would wake his mate up in time for work.

Fresh was a librarian, PJ was a retail worker at an craft supply store. The fact that they lived in the Multiverse and were surrounded by universes where more interesting jobs were available was precisely why they kept these jobs. Sometimes they'd take an odd job for one of the universes, usually keeping the Powers from causing them too much grief, but that was all. No one understood why the Powers obeyed these two and absolutely no one else, least of all them. They just went with it. Neither of their jobs payed that well, anyway, not that they needed the dough.

The note on the kitchen table was new. He read it, then flipped it over. Was there anything on the other side to explain this oddness? Nope. He read the thing again, just to be sure.

"PJ, you and Fresh are going to be parents soon. Good luck. I promise to fix your house for you! Sorry about this, The Balance. PS: You need fresh milk, lots of hot chocolate, and dinosaur oatmeal. PPS: Don't give anyone actual meat, they think it's gross."

O...kay. That made no sense. He had no idea who The Balance was. He'd never heard of that one. They weren't one of the Powers or Universes, so that wasn't it. Why were they giving his mate and him children? They'd been turned down at the orphanage because of that time Flowey killed somebody. In his defense, they were trying to kidnap a child. No one blamed him but the Toriel at the adoption agency. She was a well-known grudge keeper, though, so they weren't that angry with her. Well, PJ wasn't. Flowey, who wanted "little chaos apprentices", tried to sneak out and kill her for not letting his two "pets" adopt the baby Chara and Frisk they'd been interested in.

"Flowey," PJ said suspiciously, "How did this note get here?"

The cackle he received as his only answer wasn't very reassuring. So helpful, Flowey. At least PJ knew whose fault this was. Flowey's. It was always Flowey's.

 

The trip to Malltale to get groceries went surprisingly well for Fresh. Usually he got threatened by at least one or two Sanses or Papyri with an attack (no one ever bothered to tell him why) for being there before they remembered the Malltale Rule: Everyone can shop in peace as long as they don't steal. He and PJ never stole their groceries or anything else. Flowey was permanently banned, just like Temmie and Bob. Bob was the worst of the offenders by far.

Then Fresh got home with his groceries and found PJ sitting with his skull in his arms. Fresh was pretty sure he was crying, but he'd always been Hard of Hearing. He really needed cochlear implants, but the scientists of the Multiverse were still working on ones for the parasites. Well, scientist. Fresh hadn't heard of anyone doing trials except Sci. Sci was the best. Fresh and he were best friends, although everyone else was scared of... Well, both of them, but for very different reasons. Fresh wasn't sure why they feared him, and Sci was dangerous if he ran out of coffee or things to work on. 

"Yo, mate-datey, what's the funk for?" Fresh completed the question and greeting with finger guns and got a groan for his troubles.

"I really can't handle the lingo right now, Fresh, and if you want to know what's wrong you need to go see the backyard. I still can't compute what the he-ck is happening out there. You need to see it for yourself."

Fresh nodded at his mate. He understood what he meant, although the censored swear word, for once, wasn't making sense. His magic didn't like swearing near children, and, despite the fact that Asriel-turned-Flowey had been rooming with them for over 150 years, it still considered him a child. He completely and fully took advantage of this fact. Flowey was off visiting a Swap Chara he'd made friends with right now, though, so why was his magic censoring the swear?

"Why is there a treehouse half-built in our backyard?" Was Fresh's impulsive question when he looked up and out of the window. 

"That's not the worst of it. Look at the ground, Fresh. Look at the ground," PJ despaired.

Fresh looked down. There, in the yard he and PJ had prepared for the children they'd been working to adopt for a few years now, was a full-scale battle... Well, not full-scale; it was child-scale, but it was nonetheless destructive for that. Paint and raw code had been flung everywhere, adding and taking away from their simple yard at random. There were a new flowerbed or five, depending on how you defined a flower bed, in one corner of the yard. The one they'd actually planted was dead. Blood and marrow were dotted along the fence in what looked like modern art crossed with arterial spray. Arrows and acid both fizzled on the wood. The sandbox had four little mud statues in it, all of them at different child's skill levels and states of destruction. 

"I thought we told the Powers not to come here without at least telling Flowey?" Fresh mused.

"The Destroyer was the only one who answered the text and he just said, [Finally! Gimme my birthday presents], which doesn't help at all. Before you ask, Sci said he had nothing to do with this. Apparently his boyfriend lost an eye, so they're plotting something special again. I just hope they don't involve you this time. I love you, Fresh, but did you really have to make that thing neon pink? There's almost no one in the Multiverse who likes that shade."

"Then why'd you paint the house it?" Fresh absently asked. He was trying to take in the sheer mass of children napping out in their yard right now. 

"That was you, Fresh," PJ answered, bone-deep exhaustion in his voice, "... It's a good thing the Queen in Undertale decided we were too nice to refuse her blankets. I think we might have to ask for more."

Fresh wasn't really paying attention to his mate's mutterings. He was stuck in a loop. Fourteen of them. There were fourteen of them. 

They looked just like he'd always guessed the fouteen Powers would if they were children.

Fu-dge.