Archive of Our Own

You could still hear them.

The shrill laugh of your aunt who may or may not have had too much spiked eggnog. Your mom’s sweet but stern voice calling your dad to come help her in the kitchen. Your tiny cousins all squealing as one races to catch the other. Even the blaring Christmas music is audible through the house’s thin suburban walls.

Sure it’s muffled, but as much as the wind tries to drown the merriment out with it’s howling, you could still hear it clearly from your old tire swing. You felt as if you were inside with them.

But you aren't.

No, you were outside, in the dim moonlight, in your parent’s backyard, alone.

Why?

Because you felt better being alone outside with just you and the moon, than alone inside with your parents and relatives. Not that you hated your family or Christmas or anything like that. You just . . . didn’t feel as happy as the rest of them. You didn’t have the same “holiday spirit”. So feeling left out and guilty for not having fun like everyone else, you slipped outside for some fresh air and silence.

Only the air isn’t fresh or silent. The low babble of noise is a constant reminder of what you’re missing out on, and the bitter wind makes you feel as cold and empty as you do within. Tightening your grip on your childhood tree swing dangling beside your childhood tree house, you rock back and forth, grazing your feet against the ground. You stare blankly at the forest beyond the old wired fence a few feet away, wallowing in your self-inflicted misery.

There isn't even any snow.

It always snowed in time for Christmas. But tonight is Christmas eve and there’s not so much as a flurry. In fact, it had been unusually warm right up until a week ago. Then all of the cold that this area had expected since November suddenly poured over the mountain surrounding your old neighborhood. But still, not a single snowfall. Logically you know it’s because of abnormal weather patterns and such, but you feel the real reason is because even the snow knows that this Christmas is different.

It's different because this is your first Christmas coming home from university; and having arrived just yesterday, you had missed doing so much.

You’d missed helping mom with the community cookie drive. You’d missed decorating the tree and drinking eggnog with dad. You’d missed watching your little cousin’s school pageant. And instead of spending tonight watching your favorite Christmas movies until 1 a.m, mom decided to host a family party since you’re in town, effectively ruining the last Christmas tradition you hadn’t missed.

You sniffled, barely able to feel the pathetic tears streaming down your numb cheeks.

You know you should be inside enjoying the holiday with the people you love . . . but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Not when it all felt so wrong- so unlike Christmas. You wish you could feel happy like them. You wish Christmas had stayed the same and nothing had changed. You wish you weren’t crying outside in the cold darkness, freezing your bare fingers off, and spending your Christmas eve feeling so utterly alone-

CRACK

You jolt in your seat, blinking back to reality, and squint in the direction of the sound.

That direction being right in front of you.

You wonder if maybe it was just a blustery wind snapping a dead branch. But as you look, you think you see one of the bushes jostling like it was being tugged at by an animal. It could be a neighbor’s dog or cat that got stuck, or maybe a woodland creature from the nearby mountain.

In case it was the former, you stiffly stood up and walked a few steps toward it.

“Hello?” you call out softly. You don’t expect a response, but you hope if it really is an animal, that it would react to your voice.

Nothing.

You wait a few more seconds, staring hard at the bush, when you finally spot the creature.

At least, you think that’s an animal you’re looking at. You can’t see it’s silhouette, but you can make out two white dots. Probably the moon reflecting off the dark pupils of a lost puppy or a scared doe. You ignore how intensely they stare back and smile at it, hunching over so that you wouldn’t frighten it away.

“Hi there . . . ” you say, voice a little breathless from the cold.

If it’s a woodland creatyre, then your friendly approach will probably frighten it away, but if it’s a pet like you hope, then your calm voice and outstretched hand should be enough to coax it to come to you.

But the creature doesn’t move toward either the forest or you. It just keeps staring. It was so still that you wonder if it’s just the moonlight tricking your eyes. But you wouldn’t give up yet. Maybe it really was stuck inside the bush somehow. If so, you had to help it- otherwise it could freeze to death in this cold.

Taking another step forward, you try again.

“Are you okay? Just stay still and I’ll . . . help . . . y-you . . .”

You falter as the two white dots slowly rise into the air, never breaking eye contact with you. You stand up straight, but the dots keep going higher, forcing you to tilt your head up to look at it. It slipped from out of the shadows and stood underneath the pale light, letting you see what kind of creature stood before you.

It looked like a skeleton.

It towered over you, the bones of its body thicker than any human skeleton you’d seen. And it’s large head was rounder too, almost filled out. It’s fangs glistened as it smile, but the smile felt fake and not-so-friendly. And the white dots staring right through you weren’t reflecting off it’s eyes- they were its eyes. At least, they seemed to function like pupils within it’s hollow sockets.

Your own eyes widen with terror as you slowly stumble backwards.

Your brain wasn’t convinced the skeleton was real yet, but your gut told you that it didn't matter, it looked like a threat and your body acted accordingly, trying to put as much distance between you and said threat. The thought occurs to scream for help, but your voice is stuck in your throat. With a thud, your back hits the tree you were just swinging on, stopping your retreat.

The entire time the skeleton stayed still. It’s gaze never left yours, but it hadn’t reacted to you since it moved.

You felt a small spark of hope . . . maybe it wasn’t going to harm you? Maybe it's just curious? . . . But even if that were true, you didn’t want to spend another moment outside with it.

Sprinting the twenty feet to the house was your safest bet, but also your biggest gamble. That left you with only one other choice: your old, dilapidated tree house.

Maneuvering your hands behind you, you felt the wooden blocks that made up the ladder to the fort above. They were nailed into the tree itself, so they would still be able to support your weight, right? And while the tree house isn't the best escape route, it is the closest. You remain rooted to the spot with indecision, your shallows breaths creating a barely visible vapour in the air.

The crackling of leaves and twigs break the tense silence as the skeleton starts moving towards you.

Instantly you spin around and start climbing. The bark catches on your coat and the splintering wood scratches up your hands, but you don’t care. You’re just desperate to get away from the creature. Even if it isn’t real and you aren’t in any danger, you are driven by pure fear now.

Fortunately or unfortunately the tree house isn't that high and you reach the top in a matter of seconds. Pulling yourself up through the hole above you and onto the creaky, dirty floor, you sit on your knees and pant heavily.

You made it.

But as safe as you feel in the darkness of your old tree house, you know you aren’t truly safe. Not yet. The skeleton is still down there, and it knows where you are. You are so screwed. Although you want to curl up and close your eyes in the vain hope that doing so would make it go away, you have to check. You have to make sure it’s gone.

So lying flat on your stomach, you grip the edge of the opening and peer down.

You gasp sharply.

The skeleton is still down there alright. It stands directly below you, looking up with its unblinking stare. But that isn’t why you gasped.

The reason for your shock started at its hips and extended far beyond, looping several times around the base of the tree. A tail. It's massive- much wider than you and covered in glimmering blue scales that seemed to dip in between shades when it moved like water.

It was the snake from the mountain.

The one you grew up hearing rumors about. A giant snake monster that no one had seen, but somehow everyone knew about, like some local legend. The one that was always blamed for the disappearance of daring hikers who never returned. The one you thought about as a kid when looking through your bedroom window at the mountain looming a short distance away.

The skeleton half is a surprise- you don't remember anything about it in the stories- but you know without a doubt that this is the snake.

You feel a chill colder than the wintery air shiver through your entire body.

The first coherent thought it simple: Why? Why is it in town? You had never heard of it coming this close before, and you have lived your entire short life here and you'll probably die here too. Maybe hunger drove it to seek food outside its territory?

If so, you were the perfect snack for it, just sitting all alone in the cold night. Then in a blind panic, you’d trapped yourself in your small, defenseless tree house, allowing it to easily climb up and eat you. You feel your throat tighten.

Please . . . don’t come up here. Please don’t come up here. Please. Just leave. Don’t climb up here. Please, please, please, please-

Finally, the monster breaks eye contact with you and looks at the tree.

No . . . no don't! Don't just- go away!

It slowly moves around to the other side of the trunk and out of your line of sight. Your breathing quickens.

Yes! Yes, that’s it! Leave. Go back home and-

The monster suddenly slithered back into view, only this time it was higher.

It stares up at you, locking you in place with it’s gaze as it grips the tree with its boney hands. Meanwhile its tail circles the tree, loop after loop, until all of it is tightly secured around the trunk. Then its skeleton half moved again, disappearing and reappearing a moment later, now much higher than before- at least half way up the tree.

It was climbing.

You want to scream. You want your parents, your family, anybody, to come rushing outside and save you. But you can’t scream. You can’t even look away as the monster continues to climb higher and higher, its snake tail slowly coiling around the trunk one loop at a time.

It was kinda . . . mesmerizing to watch.

In fact, if you didn't feel so horrified by the reality that every time his tail looped higher up the tree, you were another second closer to your inevitable death, you’d be fascinated by the sight. You’ve always been fascinated with snakes ever since you were young enough to beg for a pet one. It’s probably why you were so curious about the snake-monster as a child.

Now that curiosity is literally about to kill you.

The skeleton half disappears around the tree again, breaking you out of your hypnotic stupor. When it comes back, it’s so close that if you reached out, you could easily touch its skull.

The thought sends you scrambling away from the hole. You toss the debris aside and huddle into one of the corners, hugging your knees to your chest. You take one last look at the opening before squeezing your eyes shut. No tears trickle out- you’re too scared to cry.

This is it.

This is how you will die. At the hands of a creature that up until two minutes ago you didn’t believe really existed. On Christmas Eve. Alone.

And it’s all your fault.

If only you’d stayed indoors and tried to enjoy the party, instead of stupidly hosting your own little pity-party outside, then your parents wouldn’t have lost their only child on Christmas. You wish you could see them one last time and tell them goodbye, and that you’re sorry you-

“hello.”

Your eyes fly open and flit over to where you heard the deep, whispery voice. Your heart skips a beat as you see the skeleton in the treehouse entrance.

Its hands grasp the edge of the floor while its skull and shoulders protrude out into the room, blocking almost all light from below. But you don’t need light to see its two burning, white eyes staring at you with the same intensity as before. Only now, the bone above its sockets is slightly furrowed like actual eyebrows.

“what’ssss wrong?”

You gawk at the skeleton-snake monster.

It-

It- it can talk!?

It . . or he (at least, it sounds like a he) is not only sentient, but can actually communicate with you? With english words? Of course, him being not only a snake-skeleton monster, but a talking snake-skeleton monster isn't the craziest part of your situation. But why is he talking? Why hasn’t he just eaten you already? Why is he just staring and . . . and . . .

. . . did he just ask you what’s wrong?

You blink, realise you haven’t answered him, and fumble for a response. But words keep slipping past your tongue like a wet bar of soap. How are you even supposed to respond to a question like that!? “Oh, nothing’s wrong Mr. Snake-skeleton, except for the fact that you climbed up here to eat me.” Yeah, that'd go over real swell.

Your frazzled mind settles for your automatic response to the question you've heard a thousand times.

“Noth . . . nothing’s wr-wrong . . . I-I’m fine,” you croak, either from cold or fear, you didn't know.

The skeleton’s eyebrows(?) furrow even more and while he’s still smiling, it feels more like a frown.

“tearssss. why?” he hisses, pointing to his cheek.

You lift your fingertips to your face to find it's still damp from earlier.

He . . .

Had he seen you crying?

How long had he been there . . . watching you?

That last question was too disturbing, so you focus on the monster’s question. More specifically, the way he said it. He sounded curious and concerned? Maybe . . . maybe he isn’t here to eat you. Maybe if you satisfy his curiosity, he’ll go away? It couldn’t hurt to try.

Licking your dry lips, you give him the truth. “I, uh . . I cried b-because I was sad. My . . my family, they’re having f-fun without me, and- and I felt left out and alone . . so I came outside to cry.”

It sounds really stupid now that you say it outloud. Like something an angsty teen instead of a mentally-developed adult would do. You should have told him something more believable- like you had injured yourself. But you’re too overwhelmed trying to process what’s happening to think up a lie.

Fortunately for you, the monster appears to believe you, as his expression changes from concern curiosity to a look of . . . understanding? It’s too dark to tell for certain, but you swear you see his eye, uh, light-thingies, soften for a moment.

Maybe it’s just your desperation to live, but he looks less like he’s about to eat you the longer you stare at him.

“want to . . . sssstay alone?”

You rub your wet, pink nose on your coat sleeve and look at the floor like a sniveling toddler.

“N-no, I don’t really wanna be alone, but I . . . I d-don’t want to make them feel bad, with me feeling down and all. It’s better if I just stay out here.”

It’s silent for a few moments. You remain completely still, frozen stiff with fear and cold but mostly fear, hoping your answers were enough to get the monster to leave. But he doesn’t move. You rack your brain for something else to say but the skeleton speaks first.

“i . . . ssssstay?”

You stare at him in disbelief.

Did this ginormous, man-eating monster just ask if he could stay with you?

He was 3 times your size. He could break your neck with just two of his fingers. You have no way of stopping him from killing you, much less to stop him from getting inside the tree house. Yet here he is, asking you permission? You eye him suspiciously and wonder if this was some kind of trick- like how vampires can’t enter a house without being invited in. You choose your next words carefully.

“You . . . you want to- to come in here . . . and sit with me? That’s it? You’re not gonna- (kill me and swallow me whole) -do anything else?”

The skeleton nods. It’s so deliberate and solemn that, even though you have no reason to, you believe him. You believe that, for whatever odd and bizarre reason, this sentient snake-skeleton monster just wants to sit with you in your decaying old tree house.

You should say no. You should take your chance and tell him to leave. Even if he comes in anyway, at least you tried. You have nothing to lose.

“Um . . . o-okay.”

Maybe it’s your own curiosity, or your desire to not be completely alone on Christmas eve. Or maybe you just have a death wish. Regardless of whatever forced that one little word past your blue lips, there’s no going back now. You curl your knees tighter to your chest and watch the monster with bated breath.

Like his nod, he’s slow and deliberate as he heaves the rest of his skeleton half through the opening. How he’s able to fit his broad skeleton shoulders through that square hole you can't figure out, but he does. Your eyes follow him as he drags his way over to the opposite corner to you. Then he sitatues himself, placing his hands-claws-in his "lap" and bending his head over despite it still touching the wooden ceiling.

You look over at the opening just as his tail starts to slither in. It spills into the tiny tree house like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed. Only instead of toothpaste, it’s thick coils of shining- no, glowing blue scales. You couldn’t tell before in the moonlight, but in the near darkness of the tree house, you see that the tail itself is glowing and pulsating with a soft azure light. It’s hypnotising to look at, and you feel somewhat disappointed when the tip of the tail finally emerges and settles a few inches away from you.

He’s completely inside now- his enormous tail piling on top of itself in the cramped tree house. You push down your panic as you see that your only escape route is now blocked by his appendage. Despite feeling somewhat claustrophobic and suffocated, you do your best to ignore them and direct your focus to the skeleton.

Just like he said, he’s not . . . doing anything.

He’s just sitting and staring at you. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. His unwavering stare pierces through you in the darkness, making you feel a bit uncomfortable.

Still, he’s not crushing your windpipes and devouring you, so you suppose you’re alright for now.

Yeah . . . you’re fine.

This is fine.

This is . . . .

. . . . awkward.

You glance down at the floor.

Should you say something? The monster knows english, but he doesn't seem like much of a conversationalist. What do you even say to a snake-skeleton-monster that won't offend him and make you his Christmas dinner? Small talk seems kinda pointless. Maybe you could ask if he is-

“cold?”

Your eyes snap up at the monster, only to see he’s no longer looking at your face, but at your hands. They’re trembling- whether from fear-shot nerves or the cold, you’re not sure. But you are cold if the quiet chatter of your teeth is anything to go by.

You glance sheepishly back up and nod.

He pats the only space left in the room between your feet and his skeletal body.

“ssssssit . . .”

Your body naturally tenses up, but the softness in his voice makes you feel as though he doesn’t have any bad intentions. And it’s not like moving out your corner is putting yourself in more danger than you’re already in. After a second or two, curiosity overcomes your caution and you scoot the few inches over to the spot.

Immediately, his tail begins to move. You freeze as fear shoots through you like electricity, leaving you to helplessly watch as his appendage circles around you. It loops twice around your legs before coiling up to your waist. It finally stops with the tip resting in your lap. You wait for it to squeeze you, but it doesn’t. It’s not even that restricting- feeling more like a weighted blanket tucked around you than the deadly grip of a predator trapping its prey.

All rational thought leaves you as you gently lower your hands onto his tail to finally feel his magical scales. To your surprise, they’re rather soft and smoothe and warm. Like, really warm. The heat radiating from his tail not only seeps into your numb fingers, but your entire body. And is it just your eyes getting used to the dark, or is his tail glowing even brighter all of a sudden?

You look curiously at the skeleton to see him genuinely smiling.

“warm now.”

Your eyes widen a bit. He’s attempting to warm you up with his tail! You’re not sure how, since snakes are supposed to be cold-blooded, so you chalk it up to him being a snake-skeleton monster. But as fascinated as you are by this display of his unique biology, you’re more touched by the gesture itself. You let your shoulders loosen and smile back.

“Y-yes, I’m much warmer now, thank you, um . . .”

You falter, realising you don’t know his name. Does he even have one? You decide you could at least give him yours.

“. . I’m (y/n), by the way.”

The lids of his sockets droop, leaving you baffled at how that's even possible.

“ssssssans. sssssans the sssssskeleton.”

You giggle. You can’t help it. Not only is it a weird name, but he chooses to introduce himself as a skeleton, when at the same time he hisses his ‘s’ like a snake. You don't know why that's so funny to you; it probably just caught you off guard.

“what’ssss funny?”

You stop laughing and cough a bit dryly.

“N-nothing. I just . . . t-this has been a really strange Christmas, that’s all,” you say nonchalntly, not wanting to offend him.

Sans tilts his skull to the side.

“chrisssstmassss?”

“Y-yeah, Christmas. It’s um, it’s a holiday we humans celebrate. Family and friends get together and exchange gifts in the morning, bake cookies, watch Christmas movies, sing carols, and do lots of other fun stuff,” you explain. (Gosh, you hope you don’t sound condescending . . .)

“carolssss?” he probed some more. (Maybe he was just a desperate to avoid the awkward atmosphere as you.)

“That’s just a word for Christmas songs," you say. "People a long time ago used to stand outside and sing them together and that’s called ‘caroling’. But it’s not very popular to do that anymore. Although . . .”

You trail off, a smile growing on your face as a favorite memory of yours surfaces in your mind.

“. . . when I was a kid, I loved the idea of caroling and wanted to do it, but none of my friends would go with me. So it ended up just being me and my dad. We went to every house on the street. I only knew two songs by heart and I wasn’t very good at singing. My poor dad had to listen to me squeakily sing the same songs over and over for an hour to our neighbors. But my dad wasn't annoyed. He acutally said he was proud of me for spreading Christmas cheer and that we could do it again next Christmas. So we did, on every single Christmas eve after that. I think we did it until I turned 16. That’s when we started watching Christmas movies instead.”

You finish your story, forgetting all about Sans as you reminisce over your past Christmases. You realise just how much they’ve changed as you’ve grown up. How the old traditions were switched out for new, more age-appropriate ones as the years passed. The changes never made your Christmas any less like a Christmas, just a different kind . . . of . . . one . . .

“sssssing . . .”

His gentle hiss jolts you back to the present.

“Oh . . . u-um . . . Sing? Like . . . you want me to sing something for you?”

Sans nods, his fuzzy white lights expanding ever so slightly.

This was . . . an odd turn of events. For a second you thought he was messing, but the look on his eager and curious face was too genuine. So you decided to do what had been working so far: just rolling with it.

“Uh, okay. Um, let’s see . . .”

You absent-mindedly ran little circles on his scales as you try to think of a song you know all the words to. A few came to mind, but “Grandma got run over by a reindeer” doesn't feel very fitting at the moment. Your mind drifts back to your caroling days and you remember singing “Carol of the bells”. You still know all the words to that, right? Probably.

Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

“Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away, Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, to young and old, meek and the bold . . .”

Your voice is a bit scratchy at first, but it smooths and strengthens as you continue. Even though you’re singing softly, your voice still sounds loud in the still darkness. You feel self-conscious at first, but that quickly wears off. After all, you’ve sung in front of complete strangers before. If you ignore the fact that this particular stranger is a 20 foot snake monster, then it’s not so different.

Actually . . . you’re quite enjoying yourself. Singing always makes you happy, and as you sit comfortably in the warm coils of this gentle beast, you feel your smile growing. Your eyes are fixed on the swirling scales, the flecs of magic shining like white stars really adding to magic of this special moment.

“. . .merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas . . .”

Your voice fades as you finish singing and the silence returns, almost defeaning, but no longer awkward. You look up at Sans to see his reaction and it’s . . . not what you expected.

His eye-socket lids are even lower than before and the white lights in his eyes are the brightest you’ve seen yet. And his smile . . . it looks so . . . so affectionate. You think you see a blue-colored blush on his cheeks, but that could just be the glow from his scales reflecting off his face.

“pretty,” he hums fondly.

Your cheeks suddenly feel warm, and it’s not from the heat of his tail.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “I . . . it’s my favorite Christmas song. Do you like it? T-the song, I mean?”

“yesssss . . .”

Suddenly, Sans raises one of his sharp-tipped claws toward your face. You don't even think to flinch. Then carefully, he plucks a few strands of hair from behind your ear, running his boney fingers across it. He’s caressing it so gently that you barely feel it.

Weirdly enough, you're not scared or nervous really. Okay maybe a little nervous, but mostly confused and . . . oddly touched?

Against your better judgment, you’re starting to warm up to Sans (pun not intended). He acts more like a curious, docile cat that just wants some company more than a fearsome, blood-thirsty predator. He even seemed to like you your singing.

Your hands move on their own, grabbing his own and pulling it into your lap before you could stop them. His claw dwarfs both your hands and the bone feels unnatural to touch, but you can feel a faint warmth coming from it. You feel like one of those people in cat videos who hold their cat's paw. Sure, it could scratch you, but you trust that it won’t.

The skeleton continues smiling at you, and you smile back- this time much more sincerely.

“Sans . . . do you-”

SLAM

You jump at the sound and stop speaking, letting go of his hand. Your head swivels towards the wall closest to the house and you hold your breath, as if you are afraid of getting caught. Then out of the darkness, you hear one of your younger cousins calling for you.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), Auntie says it’s time to eat! . . . (YYY/NNN)!”

You don’t answer the child. You’re not entirely sure why. You could scream now and get rescued by your family. But . . you don’t need rescuing anymore. So you stay silent and listen.

After a moment, you hear the backdoor slam a second time. Now the only thing you hear is the breath you let out. You turn back to Sans to see the white light pupils are slits now. They shift their focus from the wall you looked at back to your face. His smile is tight and sharp, giving you the impression he’s on edge. You gently rub his tail, hoping to put him at ease.

“Sorry Sans, but . . . I have to leave now. I uh . . . I need to go eat.”

Sans doesn’t respond, his eyelights still razor thin. Instead, you feel his tail squeeze ever so slightly. Not enough to restrict your breathing or anything, but enough to make your heart rate spike.

He . . he isn’t going to make you stay, is he? He’d let you go if you asked him to, right?

You swallow and try to keep your smile from faltering.

“Sans . . . I need to go. P-please let go of me now.”

For a second, he doesn’t react. Then he blinks, slowly, and lets out a hiss-y sigh. When he opens his eyes, the lights are round and fuzzy again. His tail starts to move away until the hole in the floor is exposed, the light from below now pouring in. You let out a quiet sigh of relief at the sight.

"Thanks," you sweetly say, giving his tail a pat as a sign to let go.

You wait for his tail to start uncoiling itself from around you, only for it to suddenly tighten and travel past your waist and up under your arms.

W-what . . . what is he doing!? You look frantically at Sans for some explanation, but he just keeps smiling, not at all bothered by your visible distress.

You grip the tail now on your chest as it picks your butt off the floor, too lost in your confusion to panic beyond tensing up.

Helplessly, his tail moves toward the entrance and before you can tell him to stop-! wait-!, your legs fall through.

You whimper and shut your eyes, expecting to drop the fifteen feet to the ground. But you don’t, thanks to Sans’ secure grip on your upper body as he lowers you down. Still, you keep your eyes closed until your dangling legs land on solid earth. As you stand, his warm tail slithers up and over you, the tip lingering just a second within your hair.

Now that it’s gone, you feel cold again and shiver.

Looking up, you see Sans gazing down at you, his blue glow outlining the silhouette of his skull. He’s smiling his neutral perma smile, but his eye lights still look softly at you. Hugging yourself, you surpress a shudder at the chilly air and smile softly back.

“Thank you for keeping me company . . . I . . . hope can see you again sometime.”

Sans doesn't say anything, but from the sharpening eye lights and widening smile that what you said pleased him. His reaction warmed your chest back up from the inside. He didn't look anything like the predator you'd seen scaling the tree trunk minutes ago now. Now he looked . . . kinda adorable, honestly.

With a small wave, you call softly, "Bye Sans . . . Merry Christmas!"

Sans lifts his claw and curls it in a stiff attempt to return the gesture. "merry christmassss," he parrots back.

You give him one more warm smile before turning on your heels and trudging toward the house.

Just a few minutes ago, you were ready to run for your life in this direction, but now you don’t even bother to look behind you. And while you’re eager to spend the rest of your night enjoying Christmas with your family, you can’t help but feel a little sad that you have to leave Sans.

You’ve just made friends with the snake of the mountain, who as it turns out, is more than just a hungry, mindless beast people painted him out to be. Even though you don't live in this area anymore, you hope you can see him again this week, or maybe even during spring break. The thought fills you will nervous excitement. As you finally reach the door, you stop with your hand on the door knob and look back just in time to catch something blue trailing into the bushes.

“. . . and a Happy New Year too, Sans.”