Challenge #01065-B333: Santa Claws

The Santa Suit in King Fluffybuns' wardrobe. -- Gallifreya

The first rays of Christmas morning lit the snow with gold. This was a day of magic. A day of miracles. And the best miracle was that Frisk had a family now.

Mom Toriel and Dunkle Sans. And Uncle Papyrus. And Aunties Undyne and Alphys. And a whole host of others who would be sharing the feast at the Really Big table.

The grin on Frisk's head wouldn't go away. Their breathless giggles turned into laughter and jumping on the bed before they remembered to use the little trampoline Mom had got strictly for Frisk's need to jump.

And then it was too much. Frisk ran for Mom's bed and bounced on it. Saying the most words they had said for the better part of five years. "Mom! Dunkle! Is Christmas! Santa, Santa, Santa!"

Mom caught Frisk in a hug. "Not yet, my child. I must wake up and cook. Santa comes to us for lunch."

"Civilised people are still asleep, kid," rumbled Dunkle Sans from somewhere under the duvet.

"Time for snuggles," soothed Mom. "And smooches." She added a kiss to Frisk's brow.

Frisk spent a greedy hour in Mom's arms before the excitement of the day began to worm its way in again. "Present?"

"This is your first proper Yule, is it not?"

Vigorous and enthusiastic nodding.

Mom sat up. "How about you and I stay busy making treats for the feast? Nice quiet work that won't wake up Uncle Sans."

"Don't worry about it, I'm a determined sleeper," said the lump under the Duvet.

And since he presently began to snore, Mom carried Frisk out and down into the kitchen. Which meant going past the magnificent tree. It was a plastic one, for practicality, and decorated with everything imaginable. The star at the top was more like a sun, in celebration of life on the surface. The lights sparkled in every colour of the rainbow. The tinsel glistened, and there were so many baubles, paper chains, candy canes and random augmentations that it was easy to lose track of the tree.

And a great deal more presents under it already than Frisk had seen the previous night. "Ah! Presents!" Frisk pointed.

"Yes, my child. They are presents. But we must do a little work now to help feed all of those who are coming to feast. Would you like to help me make a Cinnamon Butterscotch pie?"

Frisk clapped.

But it wasn't just the enormous butterscotch pie. There were gingerbreads and shortbreads and little snacks of this or that, and boxes of gelatine that had been setting overnight. Mom let Frisk cut those up with a hot knife, under her careful supervision.

Enough food to feed an army.

But then, an army was coming. All the friends Frisk had made in the Underground, including the Amalgamates. Which meant that a good quarter of the population of Snowdin forest, Snowdin itself, Waterfall and Hotland were invited.

And they would be bringing presents, too.

Frisk did most of the finding and fetching until the doorbell rang. And then it was time to greet every incoming visitor with offers of kisses and hugs, thanks to the mistletoe just inside the doorway.

And finally, just as the feast was coming together across the vast expanse of the Really Big Table, someone let themselves in.

"Ho, ho, ho!"

Several people screamed the word, "SANTA!" Including Frisk, Papyrus, and Kid the kid. Somehow Alphys was amongst the excited crowd clustering around the large, red suit trimmed in white fur.

Frisk wasn't fooled for a second. It was Dunkle Asgore in a Santa suit. His Santa hat sat awkwardly on one of his horns. He did, though, have a very large sack of presents.

Frisk signed, Goat Dunkle.

"Ssh," insisted the Kid. "He has so much fun playing the part."

Oh. Okay. That made him Santa enough for Frisk.


Drifts of wrapping paper threatened to bury the Yuletide revellers. It had almost buried Frisk. They were still in their striped, footie pyjamas, and they had snuggled down amidst the cheerful paper. Exhausted from all the excitement. And possibly one too many servings of pie.

Sans lifted them out of the debris with his magic, resting Frisk on the slumbering cushion of the King. He, too, had had a little too much excitement and pie. Others were already using him as a cushion, including Sans.

"Found them," he said.

"Must you use Asgore as a pillow?"

"He's closer than the bedroom."

Toriel sighed. "I suppose he does not mind." she looked into a past long since gone. For an instant, the love she used to feel for her ex-husband lit in her eyes. "Is there anyone else lost under all this paper?"

Sans lifted it all up, layer by layer. "Nope." He let it settle in one definitive pile. "We're good."

Toriel went to fetch the kindling basket. Even though she had fire magic, she knew Frisk liked to set the fire themselves. And all this paper, torn asunder, would be just the thing. When she got back, all the paper was in the really big kindling bin, waiting for her to pick it up.

"Sans..." she warned. "You are playing tricks on me, are you not?"

"Who me? I haven't moved a muscle." He grinned at her. "Settle down. Pull up a highness. It's time to take a break. You deserve it."

"But what about the--" the kindling was already back where it belonged. Tori glared at her new husband. "Oh, you."

"I think I missed out on some of that snuggling and smooching," he said. "Care to top me up?"

She settled down next to him with a giggle.

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