Work Text:
The unanswered calls and texts were nothing new. Sometimes Sans just didn’t bother. Other times he slept straight through his phone farting. But after several days and not a single trolling attempt on the Undernet? It just wasn’t like him.
Frisk sent off another punchline (Sofa, so good. How are you?) and pocketed their phone. The night sky was just beginning to bleed away, waking the little animals and birds that lived around Ebott. In a few hours, everyone would be awake for work or school. Asgore would tend to the school’s garden, Undyne would be starting her morning workout with Alphys, Papyrus would be at it again to find out if anybody knew where Sans was, and Toriel would call to see where Frisk was.
But that was later. Now, Frisk stood in front of the door to Sans’ workshop. It had been checked everyday already, always empty and in a state of disrepair. Old habits died hard, though, and it was one of two places he could usually be found in at this hour.
Steeling their courage, Frisk opened the door, stepped through, and closed it behind them. Descending the broken stairs was tricky; some were missing and almost half of the bottom ones were broken. Taking care of their footing, Frisk slowly made their way down into the ruined lab. Bones still held up the ceiling, the semi-exploded couch cushions were bare, and the faucet wasn’t leaking.
Though there was a distinct difference in the room that Frisk couldn’t pinpoint. They squinted through the dim light provided by the hanging lightbulb, scrutinizing everything. Bits of wood in one corner, scattered papers on the table and one on the ground, used vials, glass shards by the sink, dented machine -
- phone on the ground, covered in white powder.
Hands shaking, Frisk withdrew their phone and scrolled through the contacts until the right name was highlighted. They pushed “send” and waited. Breath held.
The phone on the floor rang.
And Frisk began to cry.