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archetypal-archivist · 18 days ago

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A Real Fixer-Upper

An Undertale Yellow Fanfic: Click the Link to Read on AO3

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Survival was your motto, an unfortunate necessity that came with falling into the Underground in place with little clean food or water. After the kind-hearted Doctor of the Wild East takes interest in your ability to repair things, however, your life takes a turn for the strange and you find yourself caught up in a game very different from your time in the dumps of Waterfall.

Monster. Mechanic. Friend to the Wild East's own eccentric sheriff, one North Star, and his co-conspirator to boot. What's a poor human to do? Lie like crazy and hope things don't unravel any further than they already have.

…What's this about broken hearts?

Chapter 1: In Which We Address Setting

Your arrival in the underground had gone unnoticed, unremarked, and for a long time, you had thought yourself to be totally alone.

You'd been picking through the local dump with your friends on the surface, scavenging for loose engine bits and parts to fix up your older brother's clunker of a car. He'd claimed that if you all could help him get it running again, he'd be happy to teach you all to drive it. Well, you'd found your car parts. You'd also found a hole, far too late to do anything but trip right into it.

When you'd woken up from your fall, you had been lying on a heap of trash bags and rejected mattresses, staring right at the jagged edge of a spring that could have easily run you through had you just landed a few inches to the right. You'd cried then, more from shock than pain, and then stared up at that little patch of sunlight far, far above you long enough for it to vanish as night swallowed it up.

You'd wanted to panic, but with no phone and no way to call for help, you knew your energy would be better spent elsewhere. No one would expect you to be alive after a fall from that height; you'd be lucky if they found your hole in the junkyard at all. It was a horribly rational thought and you felt just as horrible thinking it, knowing that you were now well and truly on your own.

Your experience those first few weeks could perhaps be summed up in a series of lessons.

Lesson one: people don't like to be around trash for very long. You, being 'people', agreed with that.

You had managed to scrape together something of a shelter from an overturned refrigerator and some mattress stuffing, which was enough to keep the constant dripping out, but the underground dump was humid, smelly, and breathing there felt like you were constantly heaving in oil and rot. You waited by that slim patch of sun for hours each day, straining your eyes and ears for signs of human presence, but nobody came.

Wandering further afield brought you to mountains of litter, junk, and debris made up of all sorts of things in various states of disrepair. Scavenging brought you food, sometimes clean water or bottles of soda, but it was an inefficient and dangerous method of survival. More than once you'd found some container of beef jerky or peanuts buried under something else and upon trying to pull it free, the whole mountain atop your find would collapse.

You'd pause every time, stifling your panic and waiting for someone to come see what the commotion was about, but again- nobody came. So you'd just dig out your prize and go back 'home' to stuff your face and stare at the light some more.

It was miserable. You so, so badly wanted to be home, back with your mother and your father and your big brother, getting into trouble only to hop right back out again. Life aboveground didn't smell. It didn't leave you shaking with cold when the water that flowed through the dump soaked up into your bedding at night.

You wanted out and nobody else dropped by your little slice of hell, so you supposed everyone else who wandered into your territory wanted out just as badly too.

Days passed.

And still, you were alone. The next lesson came all the faster for it.

Lesson two: survival sucked. You sucked it up.

Of the things that found their way into the underground dump, the vast majority weren't edible. If you looked for ten minutes, you could usually find something to wear. Twenty, and you could find something electronic with enough parts to it to maybe be fixable. But food? Finding enough for a full, balanced meal took hours and hours.

Your usual meal looked a bit like chips, crackers, or cookies, with some dried meat or fruit if you were lucky. Dairy was unheard of. Vegetables, too, were in short supply, as most were rotten through by the time they found their way to your hands. Week two had you desperate, though, so with careful cutting and a camp stove made of sheet metal and a car battery, you could pretend to make stir-fry. Enough crushed peanuts and olive oil could make even terrible vegetables palatable.

You missed yogurt.

Water was... an experience. The flood waters that constantly lapped at your ankles in the dump was unsafe to drink at best, often full of oil or toxins at worst. Even the clearer patches at the edge of the garbage dump seemed to glow an unsettling blue, a shade that had you worried about fun things like 'radiation' and 'secret nuclear testing grounds'.

You'd read "Hatchet" of course, and "My Side of the Mountain", and "Where's Wally?" You could be creative, be patient.

An empty cup set into a metal bowl of water, placed over an open flame. With a bit of tinfoil to make a tent over the set-up, you had something to purify water with. Dehydration was no longer a fear... but worry persisted, and slowly consumed.

You had what you needed to get by, but it was never quite enough. When gathering all you could, there was always an itch for more, even when there wasn't anything more to find.

In time, as weeks blurred together in a haze of routine, your wrists thinned, your hair grew limp, and the you who built shelters and repaired radios was replaced with one too focused on their stomach to think. You hated it. You were starving.

And while fresh fruit and clean water was always on your mind, rationing beaten into you by weather and circumstance, you gained a hunger for far more than food.

As lesson three emphasized: you were alone.

For an hour every day, timed by your grandfather's tritium watch- which had miraculously survived your fall- you watched the sun. It was the one thing you allowed yourself each day not related to survival. Sometimes you'd bring along a broken toy, or a shattered bit of technology to attempt repairs on while you gazed up at the hole you'd fallen through, waiting for help you wouldn't come. Other times, you'd sleep, an occurrence that had been getting more and more common as existence wore you out.

It was on one such sleepy, do-nothing afternoon that you first learned of the creatures you'd come to know as 'monsters'.

———

The underground dump was never silent. Water rushed and gurgled as it flowed its way through the piles of trash, which shifted and groaned as more debris got deposited or carried away. The stone walls of the cavern around you trapped the noises, making them echo until things like direction and volume lost meaning.

So, was it any wonder that when you first heard the crash, you thought it was but another echo? You had merely blinked, shifting to be more settled under the hole in the ceiling in case a cave-in was imminent. Then, the voice- a scream.

It was like a shock to your system and you ran.

The crash, the shriek, both were sharp and sudden but the lingering echo was a dull roar, like the sound of the car screaming down the highway. It was enough to give you a general direction, but it still took far, far too long to find the source of the noise.

The pile of trash that had fallen over was one of the largest in the dump, full of kitchen appliances and yard tools. It had been a useful source of tools (most people didn't throw away things like hammers) but you'd always been careful when scavenging, wary about the weight involved. It seems like you had every right to be concerned- something had slipped, and brought the whole pile down with it.

Under the bulk of an old freezer lay a writhing form that you barely recognized as a body.

Two arms. One eye. Presumably two legs, but both were trapped under the appliance, as was half a fuzzy purple torso. The flat, round face that turned to you with an expression of fear had a mouth full of teeth that put you in mind of an old Wooley song; purple people eaters indeed. When that big, green eye caught sight of you, the screaming began anew.

"A- ah- A huma- ahaha- A human!" The form lunged forward at you, eye bright and wild with pain as the creature adamantly did not move. A silvery-grey powder began to collect at the corners of their mouth as they screeched again.

"Stay the fuck away from me! Go away! Go away!" Their words curdled into something of a warbling gasp as you edged forward, terror thick and hot in the back of your throat.

"What... What are you?" It's all you could force out, still staring at the creature. Your hands trembled and shook at your sides.

"I'm dyin', ya filthy human bitch. And y'ain't gettin' my soul, I'll fuckin' KILL you, see, jus'. Jussss' fuckin' see..." More of the creature's body was melting away into powder, the tips of their fingers and whatever remained of their legs dissolving away in the current. You weren't sure how to respond to this, torn between answering the plea in that big green eye and leaving as requested.

This was death. You'd never seen someone die before.

"Can I help?" you managed, again edging forward. "Please, you're hurt."

"I'm dyin'. An' I don't want ya here." With these last, gasped words, the creature tilted their head up as far as they could manage to summon what looked to be a tiny white star. It fluttered above their head for a moment before your world went black and white, a flash of pale blue at the center of your vision. As if that was the star's cue, it launched itself right at the blue smear before you could even tell what was happening.

It hurt. It was invasive, cold, painful- and damage done, the creature slumped into the water to dissolve away into a sodden white paste.

You Won! You Gained 10 EXP And 0 Gold!

You - - ATK: 2. DEF: 4. LV: 2.

You Feel Sick.

Color bled back into your world as you stumbled forward those last few steps, collapsing to your knees with a splash. The pile of garbage groaned ominously as you pushed at the broken freezer, but you cared for little beyond trying to gather up as much of the dust as you could.

What... What was that? And- dust? One moment it was a person, a creature who could talk, could answer questions, the next it had pulled you into some sort of mirror dimension, had attacked you, then died! Was the dust its body? If you gathered it all up, would the creature come back?

You felt numb with horror as your hands moved beyond your control, scraping up mud-grey slurry and off-white powder into the tail of your shirt. Then, done with your work, you stared for a long moment before going 'home'.

The creature didn't come back, despite your best efforts. You even went so far as to hang your shirt over a campfire to dry out the dust before pouring the remains into an empty soup can. After several days of waiting, questions haunting you all the while, you eventually settled for burying the can in the heap of mattresses that marked where you first fell into the underground junkyard.

Your mind still did not let you rest.

Where did the creature come from? Were there more out there? It knew what a human was, so were there more humans in the caverns? Why were they so scared of you?

That creature, whatever it was, it could talk. It could have helped you. You could have helped them! And- and this hurt the most- they had preferred to die than speak with you.

Because you were a human.

(It made you feel like a monster.)

For the first time in a long time, you went out of your way to find a mirror. The face that greeted you in the polished brass sheet you settled on was not one that you recognized. Your hair was longer than you liked it to be, matted and filthy for lack of soap. Grime crept up your thinning jaw, and traces of blood lingered on your limbs from the times you tripped and fell while scavenging.

A few neat scars had even begun to form on your hands, forearms, feet, and ankles- all the places your clothes weren't enough to protect you.

You hurt. You hurt. And with seeing yourself, seeing a human who was not 'you' in your reflection, that longing to speak to someone, anyone, came flooding back.

If you looked like yourself again, would the creature have been so scared of you? What if you stopped looking like yourself altogether? The ache of the thought was just one more pain among many, but the idea held merit, you decided.

If one creature could come to the dump, others could. If one could speak, then more could speak. If you just spoke, looked, acted right, you could ask questions, get answers, beg for help.

Maybe you could go home.

You decided to retreat to your shelter, wait, and... experiment.

———

The equation of spending time on looking for your next meal versus putting together an adequate disguise was not one that was easily balanced.

Too little effort and your disguise wouldn't hold up, too much and you would be too weak to run should things go poorly.

Eventually you settled on a compromise: you would build up a costume from materials in the dump but you wouldn't sew a single stitch to do so. With this thought in mind, you began to look for bits that you could adapt to your purposes. Defense was a nice thought, but freedom of movement and accuracy were far more important. As such, while you rather liked the idea of hooded cloaks and gloves, you knew better than to think that you wouldn't get caught on things or struggle with zippers.

The final outfit looked vaguely bug-like. Your favorite part consisted of a thick oriental rug in brown and white (with a rusty red stain you tried to ignore) that you wrapped into something between a shawl and a cone. This “shell” was shaped a bit like a shield bug's carapace and the bell-like flare to it allowed for your arms to move freely in the wide space underneath. A sharp piece of metal threaded in and out of the edges held it closed, a slight bend to your rule of no sewing, and you had taken the chance to weave other pieces of useful metal into the fabric in the process. In a pinch, you would have all the wire, nails, and rebar you could need.

The rest of your outfit was of a similar theme: baggy beyond all belief so you would have plenty of wiggle room and an easy time slipping in and out of it. A pair of black rubber waders and a burlap sack over your head neatly covered what skin remained and acted as added protection. By putting the waders and sack on first, then the tough shell after, the heavy material made it hard for the other pieces of your disguise to be removed. A few holes cut into the sack for your eyes and mouth, then some red sunglasses (with a crack in one lens) later, and you looked like a giant bipedal beetle.

The last touch was your watch, which you kept on your right wrist.

You looked yourself over in the reflective brass sheet, jumping up and down to test your maneuverability, then bowing forward and back as if you were practicing one of those fitness routines on TV. The red lenses of your glasses stared intently back at you as you nodded. The disguise wasn't perfect, but you didn't look human anymore, so you chalked your efforts up as a success. The only thing was...

You crouched low on the balls of your feet. The edge of your shell hit the ground long before you had finished the move, your head shrinking down into the fabric like a turtle. You paused, considering, entrenched in your little cloth pyramid. You pressed a hand to the inside, noting how firm the material was.

Would this work as a temporary bunker? Maybe. You also couldn't reach out of your shell either. If you wanted to grab anything, it'd have to be done by reaching out from either the neck hole or the bottom of your shell, which you'd rather avoid if possible. Arms coming out of strange places wasn't a human trait, but you weren't sure if it was a trait shared by any creatures either. Troubling!

But, ultimately unimportant. You could run if you had to, you didn't look like yourself anymore, and you definitely could take a hit or two. It was time to see if your disguise would work- and for that, you needed a creature.

As luck would have it, you didn't have long to wait. Time was strange for you underground as the only indicator of time passing was the little slice of sunlight that poured into your corner of the dump. Even then, you only spent an hour or three each day there, so often were you scavenging, so "morning" versus "evening" was all you really had to go on. The number of sleeping periods since your fall was your most accurate marker of time, and it took about 4 since your costume's finishing for a creature to come along.

You'd been ducked down in a pile of pipe bits, trying to find something you could turn into a (clean) water-tight container, when the sound of wingbeats got your attention. Peeking up from the neck of your shell, you could make out a tiny creature hovering above a pile of tin cans with a thoughtful look on its face. The blue creature was about two feet tall with spindly arms, legs, and antennae, two beady black eyes, and a pair of wings that seemed to defy physics in order to keep the creature aloft.

It seemed harmless. Maybe. But even if it wasn't, it was still a person. Time to shoot your shot.

"A-ah, hello?" Innocuous enough, right?

The creature shrieked, spinning in the air to fire a white butterfly at your position. You immediately ducked back into your shell to let the fabric take the force of the blow.

"D-don't! Scare me like that! I d-didn't see you there, eesh." A long pause, then a gentle nudge to your shelter urged you to peek your head out again. The little creature was now flying about a foot away from your face, its expression rather contrite, if still a little fearful. The creature looked into the cracked red glass of your stare, then blinked. "Are you okay? I hit you pretty hard."

"I am. Are- are you okay?" was all you could muster in response.

"Yes, I am. What were you doing, hiding there? Not many monsters visit the dump unless they're looking for something specific. Do you need help finding something?" Okay, your disguise was definitely working if the- 'monster' was it?- was talking to you like this.

"I'm looking for a piece of pipe I could use for a project," is how you decided to respond, choosing to be diplomatic rather than to start screaming about looking for a way out. The fact that you were talking to someone was intoxicating and it was bringing all your latent worries and questions to the surface. "And yourself? Who are you anyway, what are you looking for?"

The monster introduced themself as a whimsun, one of many who lived in a place called 'New Home', which was apparently different from a place called 'Home' and much nicer besides, if a bit cramped. They had been looking for some metal to use to make a set of armor, as they were intent on becoming a whimsalot, a sort of guard with advanced training and a 'soul of steel'.

"Of course, being a guard these days means little without any humans about. Mostly the job's about keeping the peace, but I think the slow pace would be good for me. I'm not brave enough to fight a human just yet," the whimsun had joked a little sheepishly. You had to literally bite your tongue to keep your questions to yourself, but it made you glad that you'd been so thorough with your disguise.

It took a lot of probing and you'd had to help the whimsun with their metal collecting to distract them from your cluelessness, but soon you had enough gossip to put together a picture of the Underground and its history. Five out of the seven human souls for the barrier were in King Asgore's custody, with the supposed fifth having turned up mysteriously in Waterfall some months prior. Large swathes of Waterfall were still under heavy watch from the Royal Guard, which was why your little corner of the Underground was so empty.

You weren't sure how you felt about the revelation that humans had attempted genocide on the monsters of old. You cared little for the drama of your fellow man but the thought that this cruelty against the monsters had both happened and had been wiped from history left a foul taste in your mouth.

The existence of the Barrier also had you biting your tongue; the urge to burst into hysterical laughter was strong. Of course you were trapped down here, why wouldn't your luck leave you in the lurch? Surface life was apparently too good to you for too long, it was about time that fate decided to kick you in the shins. Having people you wanted to go back to was only the cherry atop the shit sundae that was your life.

You got very quiet after that. The whimsun, picking up on this, had left you to your thoughts soon after.

And once again, you were alone.

———

In the following weeks, life continued to kick you while you were down. A period of warm, dry weather- summer, you thought- meant that little new garbage fell into the dump, leaving you with less to eat than usual. Your disguise was hot and made the humid weather of Waterfall even more unbearable, but it did protect you from mosquitoes, though their existence in the Underground was an unpleasant surprise. Apparently even monsters could get bug bites, who knew?

A few more monsters did stumble into your patch of dump, but most had little interest in talking to you. Those that did were offput by your insistence on greeting them without an 'encounter', a standard form of getting to know a stranger. One tried to reassure you that they'd like your 'bullet patterns' no matter what they were, but you declined anyway. Hurting their feelings had felt awful.

Whimsun had explained to you about common etiquette of the Underground, but you knew that getting into encounters with other monsters was a one way ticket to Asgore, your cyan soul- a 'patient' trait- marking you out as a human. So, rudeness was all you were left with. It netted you few friends and on the latest occasion, you'd been the target of a proper attack courtesy of a woshua who had taken offense to your everything.

You still hurt. In fact, you hurt more than usual, your bones aching in your skin as you stretched out on a damp mattress under your little patch of sunlight. You honestly couldn't say how long you'd been trapped underground but you could feel the effects of your stay clinging to you like a second skin.

No, wait, that was just the soggy burlap of your mask.

A pang in your stomach and you rolled over, shoving your face into the squish beneath you to sulk at your body's unwelcome reminder that you had yet to eat that day. Could anything go right today?

"My my, you seem to be in a bit of a pickle!" That was a voice. That was definitely a voice.

You lurched to your feet, wavering for a moment as you spun around to catch sight of your visitor. The monster in question was a short fellow, a birdlike creature about two-thirds your height with a purple raincoat and a black plague doctor's mask that... seemed to be on fire? Two white eye-lights blinked up at you from behind the dark grey lenses of his mask.

Monsters were weird.

As you stared at the monster, the fellow stared back at you, the tilt to his head implying a smile. Realizing he was waiting for a response, you muttered a reluctant, "Yeah. Today's been sort of terrible."

"I'd say more than just today," he shot back. You bristled at that. He wasn't wrong, of course, but you still rankled at getting called out. You'd been trying your best, it's not your fault you looked homeless- you kind of were.

"What about it," you gruffed out eventually. The monster just waved his hand and with a flash, your world bleached itself of color, signaling the start of an encounter. Your soul hovered in front of your chest, the bright blue stark against the black and white. Shit.

"Now don't look at me like that," the monster huffed, crossing his arms with what you assumed is a pout. The flames around his head flickered at the motion. "I know plenty about you already and whatever hang-ups you have about encounters, I promise this is quite safe. This is just to keep you from running off on me." The monster CHECKed you, giving you a careful eye-over as he absorbed whatever new information he'd discovered.

You paused for a long moment, assessing your options, before CHECKing him back.

* THE DOCTOR -- ATK 0. DEF 6.

* KEEPS TO HIS OATHS.

That seemed ominous. At least you had his name now.

The Doctor's next move was an attack. Another wave of his hand and an out-pouring of green sparks flitted across the battlefield, carried by a non-existent wind. You braced as best as you could, preparing for pain, but to your surprise, the magic swept right through you to leave a pleasant tingling in its wake. You stood up from your slight crouch, arms loose at your sides underneath your shawl as you considered what to do next. For the Doctor's part, he just seemed smug.

"Green magic heals. It's my specialty, you see? In fact, I'm incapable of anything else! Stand there and ACT or FIGHT as you like, neither of us will be leaving this encounter with a single scratch!" Huh. Okay, that did make things a little better. Just to test him, you chose to ACT, calling out-

"You're a stalker and a weenie!" Okay, insulting him was a bit low, but you were curious. If he couldn't take you at your most gross and abrasive, then you'd remain lonely, miserable, and utterly correct to be wary of him and strangers like him.

He chose ACT too, calling back, "I like the grunge! Homeless is the new cool!" Okay, that sounded like a compliment but was very definitely an insult back.

ACT again. "I'm not homeless! I built myself a home right over there, look," you defended yourself, pointing to where your little refrigerator-mattress shack was. In the time since your fall, you'd managed to upgrade it with additional roofing of sheet metal, a radio, and a camp stove. A few strings of fairy lights tied the place together to the point it almost looked livable.

"Your ingenuity is very impressive. Did you fix all that up yourself?" Another compliment from the Doctor.

"Yeah, but what's it to you?" Just for something different, you dug your fingers into where one of your pieces of rebar was secured to your rug-shell, wiggling it loose. You then spun on your heel so that centrifugal force launched the metal at the Doctor in a mock attack, a move he easily dodged.

The Doctor shot a gout of green flame at you, which you deliberately chose to weather again. You felt invigorated after his attack, something which surprised you as your stay Underground had thus far left you almost permanently exhausted.

Seeing your surprise, the Doctor again tilted his head to the side in a very bird-like motion. "My, you look like you just woke up from a twelve hour nap after that little attack. Let me smack you around a bit while I explain what I'm here. You could clearly use the healing."

He wasn't wrong, so you did as he asked, standing still and choosing to SPARE the Doctor over and over while he explained.

The Doctor was from a distant corner of the Underground called the Dunes, a hot and sandy place with a small population of monsters. Bad luck with 'certain geological phenomena' had left the formerly lush land without water so most had moved away, leaving only a few isolated towns left. He himself was from the 'Wild East', where he ran the only hospital around. Normally he could keep up with the work alone, but due to 'events', the Wild East had gotten more dangerous and he was in need of extra hands. Should anything happen in the nearby Oasis Valley and he was called away, no one would be left in the Wild East to take care of any emergencies, which was just asking for someone to get dusted.

Thinking back on the very first monster you ever encountered, you went pale behind your mask and nodded. You'd give a lot to never see a monster dust in front of you again.

"Why me? I can't be your first choice. And you never explained how you knew me, either."

"This more an ask of opportunity than something I planned," the Doctor chuckled back, casting more green sparks from his fingertips at you. "You're a very strange-" the pause was notable, his gaze piercing- "monster and you've been featured in all sorts of stories. The saloon is a lovely place to pick up rumors and the Dunes isn't as far from Waterfall as you might think. In just about every story I can think of you're mentioned to be building something, fixing something, or looking for something new to build or fix."

"So?" you asked, idly selecting SPARE.

"I can fix a body no problem. Even without magic, it's easy enough to put a hurt monster back together again. Some food, a night of rest, and most monsters are stable enough for me to get to them later with some proper green healing. It's those whose problems are more inanimate that I have trouble with."

Your brow furrowed at that, confused. "Okay, you lost me. You're a medic, what exactly are they asking you for? Are you supposed to fix their front doors or something?"

The Doctor took your question in stride, answering, "A monster's health is tied to more than their physical body; the state of their soul and their emotional well-being are very important. A monster with a 'broken heart', as the humans say, is a monster without the will to live and once you're missing that, you're as good as dust. Monsters call it 'falling down', a state of hopelessness so profound that the body begins to decay with the soul still housed inside. A nasty way to go, but curable."

"How?"

"A monster just needs to fall in love with living again," he replied. "But of course, preventative measures are best. We've been Underground a very, very long time after all. It doesn't take much for a monster to lose hope these days, and breaking or losing something important to them can be just the blow needed to shatter a soul. I can feed all the green magic I like into a monster, but if I can't heal the cause of the break, there's nothing I can do."

Your eyes widened behind your glasses at that. "So that's why you want me. I've got plenty of free time and you already know I can fix things." There are other reasons why you made an excellent candidate to help the Doctor, you knew, but you weren't sure you wanted to give him any ideas. You were already desperate. If he offered you a dry bed and a meal every once in a while, you were fairly sure you'd be willing to work for him for free.

"There's one more reason," the Doctor continued, expression growing more serious. "You will keep your mouth shut. You have things-" another, very intent glance towards your soul- "you want to keep secret. Well, so do I." He hesitated, as if unsure he wanted to share more, then ended the encounter. Your soul sank back into your chest as color filtered back into view. "You must forgive me if I'd rather not go into it. I promise, I will never hurt you and your part in my secrets will be minimal. Just keep quiet when I ask."

You ducked your chin into your shell, considering his words. "Say I agree to work with you; you keep my species a secret and I keep my mouth shut on whatever your deal is. I'll work for you in the Wild East fixing things you can't, and we'll save some lives together. What do I get from all this?"

"The satisfaction of a job well done not enough for you?" The Doctor's tone was far too flippant for you to believe him.

"I like being alive, thanks. That usually takes food and water, to start." You were practically buried up to your nose in your shell, the red of your sunglasses burning at the monster accusingly. The Doctor just chuckled at that, taking humor in your display of pique.

"Food, water, a bed in the attic of the Hospital, and a small stipend to be given to you every seven days. Does this sound better?"

"Help me gather up my tools and carry them back to your place and we have a deal."

———

The Doctor ended up being practically useless when it came to helping you move your stuff, his small form kept sinking into the muck of Waterfall if you loaded him with more than a few pounds of material. While you didn't have much you considered yours, per say, you had plenty of stuff that you knew was needed for the work ahead of you. In the end, you just handed him your jars of screws and bolts while you piled your tools and scrap metal into a tattered pillowcase, which you then hauled over your shoulder. You tried to take along some of your food and water stash but the Doctor had gone silent when he'd seen your supply pile before claiming that he'd keep the pair of you well stocked for the trip.

To be fair to him, the Doctor did take this role seriously. The trek to the Wild East was much more arduous than the monster had implied, with a series of stairs cut into a cliff serving as the primary way to get from the upper reaches of Waterfall to the Dunes, the path eventually terminating in an abandoned mine. The deeper into the earth you walked the warmer it got, and at the first hint of you sweating through your burlap mask, the Doctor had pulled a bottle of cold lemonade from some unseen pocket and offered it to you with a warning against dehydration.

The warning was well-warranted and you went through a lot more lemonade as the pair of you finally exited the cave system into what you could only describe as a desert. It was flowing sand, rough orange mesas, and alarmingly spiky cacti as far as the eye could see- with nary a hint of civilization. The Doctor had shrugged off your glare and set off into the Dunes and faced with no choice, you followed him.

The rest of the trip sucked. You were tall enough to high-step above the worst of the shifting sand but your strength was quickly exhausted, leaving the Doctor to shove green into your system every half hour to give you an artificial burst of energy. This process wiped the Doctor almost as quickly as the heat wiped you out, leaving the pair of you hiding under a rocky outcropping for the worst of the midday heat.

It was there that the Doctor offered up lunch and a better description of what you could expect from the Wild East.

"So there's really no Royal Guard presence at all?" you asked, scarfing down half a bean and cheese sandwich that your new employer had pulled from the apparent ether.

"None," the Doctor had replied, watching you with morbid fascination. You had gone so far as to pull the burlap sack off your head so you could eat faster and the little monster had seemingly taken an interest in seeing a human eat up close. "We're so few in number, and us monsters are generally so peaceable, that we haven't been a stop on their patrol route in years."

"But there has to be at least some trouble, right? Things can't always be perfect."

"Ah, that's what the sheriff and his posse is for, but the chances of that group giving you any problems for your species are slim at best. They're less 'law enforcement' and more 'law adjacent'. Think of them as town mascots if it makes you feel better; they may set the rules but following them is up to your degree of common sense."

"Who are they, anyway? What do they look like?" you asked around the last bite of your sandwich. The Doctor just shook his head at you with a chuckle before offering up another bottle of lemonade.

"You'll meet them in time, I'm sure. Now, the people you really need to care about are..."

———

Once midday had passed and you'd had your fill of refreshments and conversation, you and the Doctor set out again, this time in a bee-line for the tall cliffs along the back of the cavern, the Wild East apparently nestled in their shadow. The rest had given you back your energy, which gave you the opportunity to notice and gain new loathing for a whole new set of discomforts.

Your burlap mask was good for keeping out the flying sand, but it stuck to your face as you sweated, leaving you both itchy and sticky. Your rug-shell, which provided plenty of defense and had a lot of room underneath, was also excellent for trapping warm air. The metal woven into the fabric practically burned in the desert heat. The only parts of your costume that seemed optimized for the climate were your sunglasses and waders, which worked to keep the sand out of uncomfortable places but did little besides.

As such, when the last of the day's light faded away and you and the Doctor rolled into town, you were hot, tired, and miserable- but you weren't sandy.

Small victories.

The Hospital was fortunately one of the first buildings along the main thoroughfare of the Wild East, a two-story piece painted in military grey-green with a red "H" above the door. The wooden siding and slatted windows gave it a very 'Western' feeling, a sense you got from the whole town, what little you could see of it.

"Why's it so dark out there," you grumbled to the Doctor, stepping through the swinging double doors to get a look at the infirmary. To your relief, the inside of the Hospital seemed more modern that the outside and you found a light switch with ease.

The Doctor quickly followed you, kicking off his boots by the door. One tipped over, dumping a small pile of sand out onto the wooden floor. "I'll turn on the fan in a second and show you your room; it's late and we all wake up early around here. As for your question," the Doctor stepped around you, gesturing for you to follow, "we don't exactly 'keep with the times'. It's part of why I went so far to find you, most folks around here don't know how to use a cellphone, much less how to fix one. And try to bring a VHS tape to one of those 'New Home' monsters and they act like you're asking them to make fire with twigs."

"You don't have street lamps here, do you," you dead-panned, seeing where this was going. Following the Doctor led you through a small door in the back, then up a very narrow set of stairs that turned sharply into what must have been the Doctor's quarters. A postage stamp kitchen with a wood-burning stove met your gaze, along with a tiny table for two, a cot off to one side, and several shelves full of everything from food to herbs to a few lit oil lamps. There wasn't an outlet to be seen. "Seems...rustic," you added, though in truth you thought 'backwards' or 'charming' would fit better.

"The Wild East is on the power grid, but it's all run through the Steamworks to the North I'm afraid," the Doctor said, moving to pull a cord hanging from the ceiling. The small ladder unfolded, leading to the attic. "Outlets that were built before we switched to using the Core for power work fine, but we've got nothing more recent than that. As such, who has power and who doesn't is a bit of a toss-up."

You looked up to where your room in the attic would be, then back to the Doctor. "And will I have power?"

The Doctor tilted his head in a way that read a bit like a sheepish smile. "You'll have a fan?"

———

As it turned out, you did have power. It was just in the form of a single outlet, which the Doctor had warned you against plugging any power strips into. Something about blowing out the circuit breaker, though by that point you were only half listening, too busy taking stock of your new quarters.

The room itself was tiny, the floor space barely enough to waddle around the bed and get to the window with. What it lacked in breadth though, it made up for in height, the sloping angle of the roof giving you plenty of space to stand straight. That, combined with the large East-facing window, gave the room enough sense of space to not be claustrophobic. The warmth, however, was already unpleasant, making the fan unfortunately necessary. Alas, no desk lamp for you.

As the Doctor had explained, heat rose and it all got trapped in your little attic room. While you were welcome to spend your time in your room as you liked, it would be best if you only used it for sleeping at night, when the room would be cool enough to be livable.

You'd nodded your assent to this quickly, seeing sense in that. Even if you had wanted to stay up late reading or working on a project, the lack of light past sunset (or the 'curtain drawing', as the Doctor had called it) would make it difficult.

Another warning from the Doctor about introductions the following morning had you hanging up your disguise, dumping your shirt and slacks in a pile off to the side, and settling down to sleep. You were out like a light.

Morning came quickly, just as the Doctor said it would. The screeching peregrine falcons were definitely a change from the stereotypical roosters, though, which you complained to your employer about as soon as you'd stumbled into the kitchen, still groggy from sleep.

He'd just laughed, told you to ignore the 'eagles', and served you some pancakes. As far as mornings went, you'd take it.

The rest of your morning was spent with the Doctor touring you through the ins and outs of his clinic. For all that he claimed that you working for him was act of serendipity, he seemed well-prepared to have you. The infirmary below had six beds, with the seventh having been removed to install a desk for you. He'd also gone to the trouble to building a 'latrine' out back of the Hospital, which you'd been surprised hadn't been part of the building to start with.

The next step was to show you his supplies of bandages and medicine, citing that you would be helping him with some his easier patients as a learning experience. It was as the Doctor was walking you through the contents of his suture kit that the Hospital saw its first visitor of the day.

The monster who strolled through the doors was a tall creature; finned, scaled, and dressed in shades of purple, blue, and black.

You couldn't see their eyes but you could tell they were looking at you intently from under the brim of their beret.

"Hello Moray! How are you?" Your employer greeted the monster with a cheerful wave, apparently recognizing them. He'd then gently shoved you to the side, getting between you and your visitor. After a moment more of consideration, the monster nodded back.

"I'm well enough. Star has us running drills for the next bandit attack, so we'll want more blister cream by the end of today. Though," and here 'Moray' paused, eyeing you over, "you may have us beat for future plot points."

Okay...? You didn't know what to make of that statement but it clearly meant something to the Doctor, as his next chuckle sounded slightly strained.

"I'm afraid my new assistant wasn't hired on with your antics in mind. I can do blister cream and I'll be sure to take my assistant over to the saloon for lunch, but it's strictly back to work for them after, yep! Pass that along to Star too, won't you Moray?"

The fish monster grinned at your employer then, a wide, leering thing, "Eh, I can try but I make no promises. You know how Star can get. Get your Newbie a good hat, keep 'em quiet, and that should help; we'll do our part in making sure nobody gets hurt so Star won't have an excuse to approach 'em."

A final nod and a grin to you, a wave to the Doctor, and Moray was gone as quickly as they had arrived. You let out a heavy sigh once the door swung shut, leaning a hip against the desk as you met your employer's gaze with a gimlet red glare.

"Okay, you have to tell me what was up with that because that? That seemed like trouble."

"That," the Doctor huffed, throwing a hand to the air, "was Moray, a member of our sheriff's little troupe. They work to keep things interesting around here-"

"Wait, but bandit attacks-"

"Are one of the things they schedule on the community calendar, yes-"

"Why a hat-"

"If you don't have one, they'll get you one-"

"And why me?"

"Because you're new," your boss groaned, dumping the beak of his plague doctor mask into his hands. "I knew this would come up, but I'd hoped it would take a little longer. If you're new, there's nothing our sheriff loves more than to rope you into what the Wild East has to offer- pun very much intended. It's great for tourism, terrible for everyone sane."

"...Toursim?" You asked weakly.

"Ah." Said the Doctor.

———

Apparently the good Doctor had left a little tidbit out of his explanations about the Wild East: the whole town was full of historical reenactors, or as your would put it...

"They're LARPers. Your town is run by LARPers obsessed with human movies. How the hell have you not all been, I dunno, excommunicated for cringe by the rest of your species? Aren't humans your mortal enemies?"

The Doctor's expression looked somewhat akin to a constipated seagull. "Now that's a little harsh. We're not as bad as all that..."

You rolled your eyes under your mask, "This is part of why you're not on the Royal Guard Patrol routes, I bet. They all think you're nuts."

"That- may be part of it, yes," the Doctor finally admitted after a lengthy pause, meeting your withering gaze with his own more blasé version. "Judge us all you like, but tourism brings in plenty of gold and we have some of the highest happiness ratings of the Underground. Call us crazy if you must, but it's a crazy that works."

You weren't sure how you felt about people turning a whole town into what was essentially a theme park without accounting for the opinion of the locals. And if that 'sheriff' and his group were really in charge, what happened to all the monsters who didn't want to take part in the reenactments? It was a series of questions worth pondering, and ponder them you did, keeping your silence as the Doctor dug an old straw hat out of storage for you and ushered you to the saloon for lunch.

The saloon was another two-story wood building, the material of it weather-smooth and varnished a rich dark brown. You could hear the faint jangling tunes of ragtime as you got closer, trailing close on the heels of the Doctor as he slipped through the double doors. Stepping in after him was like walking onto the set of an old Western, stunned-silent crowd and all. The center floor was taken up by a standing bar ringed in enough stools to seat a dozen monsters. A corner by the door had a few card tables set up, at which a few shady-looking monsters were playing a round of poker. A shadowy fellow in a top hat met your gaze and you quickly looked away, a shiver going down your spine.

The second story consisted of a sort of balcony, which was populated by several tables of drunken revelers. A lone pool table was shoved into the back and you could just make out a group playing darts through the haze of tobacco smoke, which curled lazily around the ceiling and the golden glass chandelier at the building's peak.

The brass light fixtures, the central bar, the smoky smell of old tobacco- it was both nostalgic and deeply out of place, given your location Underground.

"Hello everyone," the Doctor said, breaking the choking silence. A beckoning motion from your employer and he had you joining him on a stage near the back of the saloon, the bar tender being kind enough to flick on a lone spotlight for him. You stood there awkwardly, cursing your extra head of height as the Doctor strained on his toes to pat your shoulder.

"This here is my assistant, fresh from Waterfall. They'll be joining me in the Hospital from here on out and will be just as happy to take your gold as I am, so don't get any funny ideas about discounts! Their favorite color is beige and their favorite food is rock salt; if you have any other questions, no you don't!"

...Really? Beige?

Sound came rushing back, the various monsters shouting back their own greetings as they turned back to their drinks, games, and personal conversations. The nervous tension thrumming through the Doctor released with a gusty sigh, the monster now leaning into your side with a hint of smile to his posture.

Was that really it? Just a few throw-away lines, some fake info to make you seem boring, and you were part of the town? Just like that?

Apparently not, because somewhere from the balcony a hand slammed against a table, the noise echoing loud enough to once again silence the crowds.

"Well well, Doctor! Glad to have you back, and with such good company, too! We need more than just some in-tro-ductions, I must say. You, bringing us help like this? Further aid for all our ills? This calls for a proper celebration!"

The crowd on the left balcony parted, making way for what you knew on sight to be the sheriff of the Wild East. His posse- an intimidating group of four monsters- loomed over his deceptively slim shoulders, giving him gravitas he may otherwise have lacked. The lone face you recognized of the posse, Moray, gave you a sheepish wave.

The sheriff leading the group wore black boots and pants, a teal button-down, and a brown poncho with pale blue and green embroidery around the hem. A golden star was pinned to his lapel and a dark brown cowboy hat pulled the outfit together, casting the monster's five-pointed face in deep shadow. A beat, then that shadow lifted, revealing a wide, white grin glittering with excitement.

"Dina! A round of root beers for everyone and a feisty slider for the newbie!" The crowd cheered at the announcement and the music resumed with a jattering crash, ragtime pouring out from some unseen speaker to add to the levity.

The sheriff put one hand on the balcony as if to swing over it to fall to the first floor, hesitated, then bolted for the stairs. In mere seconds he had joined you and the Doctor on stage, jockeying until he was between the pair of you. The beaming smile was all the brighter from up close, which had you squinting suspiciously.

"I'm the sheriff in these here parts, North Star they call me. An' for yourself?"

Here the Doctor tried to interject, shuffling around North Star's other side, but a quick-step on the part of the sheriff and your full attention was back on him and his grin.

Your disguise didn't really allow for offering him a hand to shake, nor did you want to, so you sketched a bow instead. A tilt of your head so your glasses caught the light of the chandelier and you drawled, "I'm the Doc's assistant."

A beat passed while the sheriff waited for you to elaborate. You didn't.

"I ain't gonna judge if you'd rather not share your name, y'know. Lotsa monsters 'round these parts have names they picked, if you want to just make one up." North Star said, voice lowering into something warmer. The Doctor stilled, and something in you did too.

That was... a surprisingly insightful guess for a monster you'd just met. You were a human and had a very human name to go with your species. Even if the Doctor said there'd be no problems for your kind in the Wild East, you didn't want to give away the game so quickly. It wasn't safe.

"Hm," you said eventually. Would you regret this? "Why don't you give me a nickname instead?"

The sheriff's eyes grew large at that, white and wide in shadow of his hat. "Woah, really? Ha, if you're sure, then I'd be glad to think of something." North Star took a few steps around you, spurs jingling as he hemmed and hawed, going so far as to pluck gently at the edge of your shell, which had you edging away on instinct. Fortunately he seemed to respect your discomfort, immediately backing away with hands raised before going right back to circling.

"Heh, been a while since I'd seen a proper outfit like this. I can tell you put real thought into it, even if it's a bit thrown together" North Star commented to himself, finally coming to rest before you with his hands on his hips. "A set-up like that has a purpose behind it, and with you following the ol' crow Doc like you are, I'd say you're the type to be serious-like about that purpose. So- let's call you Scarecrow! Scare the sick out'a people, yeah?"

Huh. As far as names went... Yeah, that would do.

#my writing #undertale yellow #fanfiction #undertale #starlo #reader insert #uty

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