Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sans isn't really sure what he expected to come wandering out that huge stone door, in the nebulous "someday" that something might. 

Whatever he expected, it certainly isn't the waif-like, clumsy-legged child that stumbles out into the snow like a newborn Gryftrot-offspring right before his eyes. It sports a purple sweater with stripes that hangs over-large on their tiny frame like a woolen garbage bag, baggy shorts with frayed hems, and a pair of battered boots that look as though they may have once been black. 

Sans watches it silently from the cover of the trees. Whatever promises he may have made to voices behind doors - and however harmless the human child might appear at first glance - there's no need to go rushing into things. (And in any case, rushing into things is Papyrus's specialty.)

Sans would prefer to have at least some idea of what he's getting into. 

The white lights of his pupils follow the petite human inquisitively as it traipses slowly along the not-oft-used path, its head turning alternately back and forth between the trees and then forward to the way ahead.

Once, just once, it glances over its shoulder towards the ruins, and Sans watches its expression flicker with something almost like sorrow.

Then it squares its narrow shoulders and raises its chin, forging on ahead. 

It's a slow journey to the bridge his beloved, bone-headed brother built a useless wooden wall across; the snow hasn't been beaten down on this path the way it is on the more common roads in Snowdin, and the poor thing is up to its shins in fluffy white powder. 

Sans, beginning to feel the tiniest bit sorry for the human, pops out of the trees and onto the path, still some distance behind it. He watches it hop over the large branch in the path, arms flailing as it nearly loses its balance on the landing. After a few precarious moments, it rights itself and continues.

For curiosity's sake, Sans purposely steps on the branch moments later.

SNAP.

The human's shoulders jerk up towards its ears, and it whirls around, looking startled and somewhat panicked. However, it does not act further, and when it seems to be reassured that it's alone after all, it turns again towards the bridge.

Sans is at least relived to see that the little tike doesn't even instinctively whip out any kind of weapon. Sure, it's carrying a stick in one hand, but even setting aside the fact that the stick wouldn't leave more than a light welt on any monster in the entire realm, the human doesn't brandish it like an instrument of violence in the first place. Honestly, the little twig isn't even tall or sturdy enough to be a walking stick. Sans can't begin to fathom its purpose. Some kind of weird human teddy bear or comfort blanket? Heaven only knows.

Encouraged, he walks slowly up the path behind his target, his pace as lazy as ever. When he begins to fall behind, he simply slips between the cracks in space - a useful little trick that never gets old - and skips a few extra feet ahead to catch up. 

As the human approaches the bridge and slows to a pause, Sans reaches into his pocket for one of his favorite tools of the trade.

time for one last test, he thinks.

"H u m a n .  D o n ' t  y o u  k n o w  h o w  t o  g r e e t  a  n e w  p a l ?"

Sans decides immediately thereafter that his comedic timing is perhaps a bit off the mark as the human lets out a startled cry and nearly topples backwards into the crevice beneath the bridge in its attempt to spin around. Alarmed, the skeleton shoots forward and reaches out a hand, catching soft, flesh-covered fingers in his bony grasp.

A strange, rubbery wheezing sound erupts into the frozen air between them as Sans's whoopee cushion deflates between their joined hands.

"whoops. that didn't turn out quite like i planned, heh. the ol' whoopee cushion in the hand is ALMOST always funny. and usually not so deadly." The human, who now also clutches at Sans's wrist with its free hand as the skeleton pulls it upright, pauses. Then it lets out a surprised little giggle, and Sans feels an unexpected flare of warmth beneath his ribcage. After making sure that they are standing together a slightly safer distance from the crevice's edge, Sans finally releases the little tike and tucks his hands comfortably back in his pockets.  "so you're a human, right? y'know, kid, i'm supposed to be stationed out in these woods to watch for humans, but i've never actually seen one. how'd a small fry like you end up here?"

The human's expression grows solemn. "I fell," it says very seriously.

Sans chuckles. So it can talk. "yeah, that's how most humans get here, from what i've been told. but, y'know, it's kinda dangerous for you out here..." He shrugs. "i'm technically supposed to capture ya. but i'm not really interested in that kind of thing. my brother papyrus, on the other hand..." His grin widens. "he's a human-hunting fanatic." Sans watches the human's eyes widen faintly. "i'm just sayin'... wouldn't you have been better off staying behind the door?"

Its face falls, and it drops its gaze to the snow piled around its boots. "Couldn't," it says morosely.

Sans decides against prying into this just yet. "hey," he says instead, jerking his head towards the bridge. "i think i see my bro right up ahead. he's been pretty depressed lately, and i think seeing you would cheer him up. don't worry, his fence is way too wide to keep you out."

The human looks up at Sans in confusion - likely trying to reconcile the fact that he just seconds ago informed it of Papyrus's human hunting obsession with the idea that Sans is clearly being nice to it.

"he couldn't hurt a fly," Sans says reassuringly. "trust me, it'll be fun." He pauses, realizing suddenly that he's forgotten a key part of the introductions. "i'm sans, by the way. you got a name, buddy?"

He's rewarded with a small smile blooming on its face, and again he feels a flicker of warmth between his ribs. "Sans," it says happily. Then it reaches out again, touching the sleeve of Sans's eternally-favorite blue winter coat. "Frisk," it tells him, its small fingers curling just slightly into the puffy blue fabric.

"frisk, eh?" Sans says, digging a hand out of his pocket long enough to muss its strangely-cut mop of brown hair. "c'mon, frisk. let's go meet my bro."

Chapter Text

“huh, maybe he’s leaving?” says Sans after a moment, watching his brother’s back in the distance. Then the taller skeleton whirls around, and Sans laughs at the expression on his face. “nevermind. here he comes!” He does a quick survey of the little clearing where his station sits. Then he grins – or, well, grins wider, anyway. “hey, kiddo, i got an idea – see that lamp over there someone ditched? go hide behind it. should be just the right size.” The child looks perplexed, but nods anyway, toddling off through the slightly-more-packed snow of the clearing to plant itself on the other side of the conveniently-sized light fixture.

is the lamp as big as the kid or is the kid as small as the lamp? Sans wonders idly in amusement. Then a flash of red-orange catches his eye as his brother comes tromping over, wearing an exasperated expression Sans knows well. He glances one last time in the hidden human’s direction, then turns to greet Papyrus.

“‘sup bro?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT ‘‘SUP’, BROTHER! IT’S BEEN EIGHT DAYS AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T. RE-CALIBRATED. YOUR. PUZZLES! ALL YOU DO IS HANG OUT AROUND YOUR STATION! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?!”

trading knock knock jokes with mysterious voices behind doors. making promises i can’t say no to. waiting for a human to show up. wondering how many times i’ve done it all before, Sans thinks.

giving up.

“staring at this lamp,” he says instead, shrugging his bony shoulders with a wink. “it’s pretty cool. you wanna look?” The lamps seems to emit the tiniest squeak of alarm in response. Sans hears it.

Papyrus does not. “NO I DO NOT WANT TO LOOK!!! WHAT IF A HUMAN COMES THROUGH HERE?! I WANT TO BE READY!!! I WILL CATCH A HUMAN! IT MUST BE ME! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL CATCH A HUMAN AND FINALLY BECOME POPULAR. SO POPULAR. THE! MOST!! POPULAR!!! PEOPLE, PEOPLE WILL ASK, TO BE MY FRIEND?! THINK OF ALL THE KISSES, SANS! SHOWERS! SHOWERS OF KISSES EVERY MORNING! THE KISSES, I SHALL BATHE IN THEM.”

Sans is having the time of his life. His brother has only given this speech – and a dozen variations on it – every day for the last how many years? Now the target he so desires is mere feet from him, and he’s too busy ranting about it to find it in the first place. Sans could take pity on him and cut this short… but really, where’s the fun in that? “maybe this lamp could help you,” he says, his voice light and innocent.

“SANS! YOU! ARE! NOT! HELPING!!!” Papyrus stomps his foot vehemently. “YOU LAZYBONES! ALL YOU DO IS SIT AND BOONDOGGLE!”

“bro, chill,” Sans interrupts him before Papyrus can dip any further into his reserve of ‘Different Ways to Call Sans Lazy.’ “i’ve gotten a ton of work done today,” he adds with a gleam in his eye. Papyrus knows that gleam. Sans knows Papyrus knows that gleam. Papyrus knows that Sans know that Papyrus knows that gleam.

Really, the horrified look that’s beginning to blossom on his brother’s face says it all.

“a skele-ton of work.”

“SANS,” Papyrus wails despairingly.

“c’mon, you know you’re smiling.”

“I AM AND I HATE IT!!!”

This time, both of them hear the little giggle from behind the lamp, and two skulls turn towards it in unison.

“SANS, THAT JOKE WAS SO BAD THE LAMP IS LAUGHING AT YOU FOR MAKING IT!!!”

“or it was just that good,” Sans counters, amused.

Papyrus shakes a red-mitted fist at him. "I AM LEAVING!!! AS FOR YOUR WORK... PUT A LITTLE MORE... 'BACKBONE' INTO IT! NYEH HEH HEH!!!"

Sans snickers as Papyrus stomps away from the clearing. For someone who supposedly hates puns as much as Papyrus does, he ends up dishing them back out to Sans more often than he'd ever admit. He shakes his head affectionately and wanders over to the human's hiding spot. "ok, kiddo," he says, poking his head around the lamp. "he's gone, you can come out now." 

Frisk gazes up at him and nods. Then they shiver, rubbing their tiny hands up and down the sides of their arms. It suddenly occurs to Sans that, though he doesn't know much about a human's physical necessities, even many of the fur-covered residents of Snowdin are dressed more warmly than this bare-skinned little creature whose outfit is too big and too worn. When the poor thing sneezes, Sans shrugs off his favorite blue jacket without a second thought, holding it out to Frisk. "c'mere," he says. "looks like you might need this, buddy." Frisk looks from Sans to the jacket and back again, a strange expression of hesitance on their face. Sans laughs. "it's ok, i promise, it's not gonna bite ya." Frisk lets out a giggle at this, apparently entertained by the idea of a jacket monster, and seems to relax, sliding first one arm into a sleeve and then the other as Sans patiently helps them into it. He nimbly clicks the rarely-used zipper into place, sliding it up carefully to avoid catching Frisk's chin in the process. Then he takes a step back to examine his work, shoving his hands into the also-rarely-used pockets of his shorts. 

Frisk looks like a giant blue marshmallow. 

a very happy giant blue marshmallow, Sans amends in amusement, noting the blissful look that's drifted onto Frisk's face as the jacket both shields them from the frozen air around them and lends them any leftover warmth from Sans. A skeleton such as himself may have no skin, but cold to the touch, he is not. "well, it didn't bite, but it kinda looks like it swallowed ya," Sans tells Frisk, winking. Frisk laughs openly at this, and to Sans's surprise, they suddenly duck into the neck of the coat, causing them to appear headless. Then they wave their arms dramatically, hands hidden inside the just-slightly-overlong sleeves.  "heh. you're alright, half-pint." He ruffles the mop of hair that sticks up from the coat. "ok, kiddo, ready to go?" Frisk pokes their head back out, though the zipped-up neck of the jacket still hides their face from the nose down, and nods in a determined fashion. Honestly, Sans's original plan involved keeping an eye-socket on any human arrival from the distant background, watching over their progress and stepping in to assist only should the need arise.

As things stand now, he's fairly certain that attempting to watch over Frisk from anywhere besides right next to them would be like asking for a heart-attack.

Of course there's a part of him that still wants to follow the original plan - after all, constant babysitting is pretty much the antithesis to the 'do absolutely nothing' gig he's normally got down pat... and he really, really can't afford to end up caring. But then he thinks of Frisk's little hand on his sleeve and their innocent face smiling up at him, and that part of him shuts up and goes back to its corner. 

"so, you ready for some puzzles?" he says, strolling alongside Frisk in the direction his brother left. Frisk tilts their head quizzically, brow furrowing. "yeah, i guess you're not really used to the customs around here, huh? monsters really love puzzles, see - and it's a pretty big tradition to set up puzzles to catch humans with." When his young charge looks alarmed again, he chuckles. "don't sweat it kid, my bro's puzzles aren't gonna hurt you, i promise. papyrus gets a little carried away sometimes, but he's a real big softie. plus, you got me lookin' out for ya. nothin' to worry about." The genuine smile he receives in response is so full of warmth and trust that it very nearly causes a blue flush to rise in his cheekbones.

He clears his throat, shaking it off immediately. "so, Frisk, since you, uh, aren't staying in the Ruins... where you off to, anyway?"

Frisk's expression grows almost painfully solemn, and they gaze up at the distant cavern ceiling. "Out," they say softly. 

Sans winces. He looks away, hoping Frisk didn't notice. "tryin' to get home, huh?" He turns back in time to see Frisk flinch oddly. 

"Just... out," they say, not looking at him. 

Sans falls silent at this. Ordinarily, he'd really just sort of gloss right over this with some lighthearted remark and move on. But something in his gut is telling him that whatever caused the kid to leave the Ruins behind, despite looking like they truly had wanted to remain - whatever is inspiring this need to leave altogether - is something he's going to have to figure out.

He gets the feeling he can't afford not to care. 

Chapter Text

Minutes melt into hours as Sans tags along with the human to progress through his brother’s series of traps.

When Papyrus expresses his utter confusion over Sans’s presence at the child’s side, Sans remarks simply that he’s making sure they don’t lose their way between puzzles. Unsurprisingly, this answer completely satisfies Papyrus’s curiosity.

“YES!!! GETTING LOST IS FOR MAZE PUZZLES! AND MAZE PUZZLES HAVE! NO!! CLASS!!! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD NEVER STOOP TO A MAZE PUZZLE, NYEH HEH HEH! WHICH IS WHY THIS... IS A -SPECIAL- MAZE PUZZLE, HUMAN! IT IS… SHOCKING… AND ALSO INVISIBLE!”

Sans is pleased to notice that both his brother and the child seem to be enjoying themselves (although no one enjoys themselves as much as Sans does on the electric puzzle. He’s slightly concerned at first as to how Frisk will react if zapped - but he needn’t have worried. After Sans reminds Papyrus to give the human the ball, Frisk glances from Papyrus to his large bootprints in the snow and back again, then begins hopping from bootprint to bootprint with the glass sphere clutched against their chest, both of their small feet fitting easily inside one print. The resulting look on Papyrus’s face as Frisk hops out the exit of the invisible maze completely unzapped nearly has Sans in stitches.)

Even more amusingly, Sans can practically see an affection gauge over Papyrus’s head that fills a little bit more every time he encounters Frisk. Each new puzzle attempted and solved is a boost to the gauge - and his brother’s eyesockets practically sparkle with delight when Frisk wanders up to a him with a frozen chunk of spaghetti in their mouth, gnawing determinedly away at it as Papyrus babbles about having rearranged the snow to look more like his face.

And if Sans had any remaining doubts as to this development (he doesn’t), the sudden anxiety on Papyrus’s face as he lowers the gauntlet of dangerous weapons to the bridge the small child stands halfway along on says it all.

“uh, bro, that doesn’t look very activated,” he remarks a few long minutes later, barely containing his urge to laugh.

“IT IS JUST… I HAVE CONSIDERED THAT IT MAY BE… TOO EASY… TO DEFEAT THE HUMAN WITH! I AM A SKELETON WITH STANDARDS, AFTER ALL! MY TRAPS ARE ALL TERRIBLY FAIR!” The tall skeleton waves the trap away, looking visibly relieved. “PHEW!” he mutters, in as much as Papyrus is capable of muttering anything. Then he glares at the child. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, HUMAN?!”

Sans has to turn away to avoid laughing out loud.

Still, as much as Sans generally avoids doing any work and thus anything having to do with the puzzles, he’s also more than aware of his brother’s entire repertoire of puzzle-traps. As that repertoire has now been exhausted, it can only mean one thing - which means it’s time to have another helpful chat with Frisk.

“hey, kiddo… remember how i was telling you my brother has those super cool blue attacks he uses?” With Frisk being perhaps the best listener Sans has ever had (barring only the voice behind the door), he’s spent the last few hours bragging about his brother even more than he normally does. Frisk nods, gazing up at Sans curiously as he steps off the last plank of the bridge and back into the snow. “well, you’re gonna wanna keep remembering that… i think my bro’s gonna wanna battle you soon, so it’s--”

He stops dead at the look of outright panic on Frisk’s face.

Sans misunderstands at first, chuckling. “don’t worry. like i told ya, my brother couldn’t hurt a fly. in fact, i’m pretty sure he likes you. you just gotta think of it more like a duel, y’know?”

But Frisk only begins to shake their head, harder and harder, their messy brown hair suddenly whipping back and forth across their face, and they begin to step backwards onto the bridge. When Sans realizes how pale they’ve gone, he feels the beginnings of concern. “what’s wrong, half-pint?”

Frisk takes another step back, one hand reaching out to clutch the rope railing tightly. “Can’t,” they whisper, trembling. “Can’t.”

Sans reaches out and over Frisk’s head, snagging them by the neck of the jacket and lifting them back onto the snowy ground. He’s not taking any chances that they’re going to panic themselves right off the side. One fall-scare is enough. “calm down, frisk,” he says. “i’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” He shrugs. “the only thing is, if you really wanna get out of the underground, there’s only one way forward, and i’m pretty sure my brother is gonna be waiting for you if you go. what’s got ya wiggin’ out, anyway?”

There’s a long, long silence as Frisk stares up at Sans, an intense array of emotions warring for dominance in the expression they wear. But if there’s one thing Sans has in spades, it’s patience.

At long last, the dam breaks - and how.

“I k-killed her… I killed her…!” Tears roll down Frisk’s face. Their narrow shoulders begin to quiver violently. “B… blood… her blood was…” They stare down at their palms as if their own hands are alien to them, the look in their eyes distant, seeing red where none remains. “So much blood… I killed her…!” Frisk sobs, dragging the sleeves of the winter coat against their now-blotchy face. “I couldn’t stop… I couldn’t stop it… Th… There’s something else… up here... “ They clutch at their head with one hand. “Something that… isn’t me. B-bu I saw her blood… her blood on m-my hands… I didn’t want her to be dead…!” Frisk hiccups a sob. “So I went back.”

Sans stares at the child, his mind slowly fading to an empty blackness as each word begins to feel like a nail being hammered into his skull. It’s like the beginnings of all his nightmares have been realized. “what d’you mean, ‘went back?’” he asks. He already knows, but the words leave his mouth automatically, mindlessly.

He already knows exactly what Frisk means.

“To before…” Frisk replies hollowly. Their voice is already sounding ragged around the edges, as if they genuinely aren’t accustomed to speaking more than a couple of words at a time. “To before I - It - killed her. I went back and I changed it. I knew what It wanted… what It was going to do… so this time I didn’t let It…” Frisk hangs their head. “But I couldn’t stay with her anymore. It… It’s still… up here… I don’t know how to make It go away… She wouldn’t be safe, I had to leave… I had to…” They scrub a sleeve across their eyes miserably.

Sans absorbs the blows of their words in silence.

The child has killed.

This child has killed the kind voice behind the door - the kind voice that made Sans promise to watch over and protect any human coming out from that very same door.

The child has brought her back.

The child can reset.

Sans feels numb. It’s the kind of numbness he knows will be short-lived, and when it disappears, what it leaves in its wake will be ugly and painful. “kid…” Sans says, and is startled to hear the gravel in his own voice. From the look on Frisk’s face, they hear it too. Sans clears his throat and tries again. “kid, i--”

“Help me,” Frisk says in a tiny voice. Sans’s mouth goes dry. “You can stop me, right?” A cold sweat begins to bead at the back of his skull. “In the woods, when you found me, I could tell. If… if I can’t… make It go away… if It tries to hurt someone again… you can stop me, right?” They put a hand on the cuff of Sans’s white turtleneck, gripping with an abnormal forcefulness. “If It makes me do things again to hurt people, and I can’t stop… you, y-you have to…” Frisk hangs their head, and their last words are so quiet, Sans only just hears them.

His skull turns an ashen gray color.

“uh… k… kiddo, i don’t…” Sans’s smile is tight. “listen… i promised someone i’d look out for you. i can’t just--”

Frisk’s fingers go white-knuckled on Sans’s sleeve. “Please,” they say in a whisper, staring up at him with a sorrowful gaze that is far beyond their years. “I… I don’t want to die… but I don’t want to live if It’s going to make me kill people. Sh... she... she wouldn’t want other people to get hurt… so please…”

Sans is silent, rigid. Not for the first time in his life, he feels an unshakable weariness in his bones, as if the weight of the underground’s cavernous ceiling rests upon his shoulders.

‘You have to kill me,’ Frisk had said, moments ago. Trembling, terrified, sad... but firm. ‘You have to kill me.’ The words seem to echo relentlessly inside Sans’s head, again and again. ‘You have to kill me.’

Regardless of what he might have done to the child in the beginning, had it not been for the restraint of his promise, Sans no longer harbors any desire to aid in their death.

“just, uh, gimme a minute, ok?” he manages at last. “stay, uh, stay right here. i need to make a phone call, ok, buddy?”

Frisk reluctantly eases the tension in their fingers, their hand falling from his shirt sleeve to hang listlessly at their side. They drop their gaze to the ground and nod mutely.

Sans turns to go, slipping his cellphone out of his shorts pocket. A tremulous whisper, as fervent as a prayer, drifts toward him from over his shoulder.

“Please don’t hate me…”

Sans can’t leave fast enough.

Chapter Text

Sans’s bony finger hovers over the last digit in a phone number he hasn’t used for ages. He’d really prefer not to dredge up old memories – but racking his skull for alternatives has yielded no useful results. There really is no one else more suited to this particular problem.

He completes the dial.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“… U-uhh… h… hello…?”

“yo, alphys, long time no hear.”

Chapter Text

Sans, as always, keeps his tone light and easygoing.

If there’s any trace whatsoever in his voice of the gravity of a small human child begging for their own death at his hands in the event that they lose control of their mind and body to a murderous spirit that dwells within them like a silent parasite…

Well.

The only person who ever read him well enough to notice anything beneath Sans’s grinning poker face is scattered across time and space.

“S… Sans?! I… I didn’t think you’d, um… Er, nevermind. S-so what’s up?”

Sans plucks at a bit of lint in his pocket with his free hand, his other hand tightly curled around the phone. “need to pick your brain on somethin’,” he tells her. He bends down toward the nearest hidden camera, knowing she can see it all on her lab computer. “you’ve seen the human kid, right?” The sudden coughing spurt on the other end tells him all he needs to know.

“thing is, we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“W-wow, that’s… I, I think I need to uh, re—wait, w-why are you telling me all this…?”

“i need your help,” he says.

A note of panic enters her voice. “But—”

“you know i wouldn’t ask if i thought i had a choice.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug, one eye closing.

“I-I know… it’s, just…”

“alphys,” he says again, and for the briefest moment, he lets the edge in his voice show. As much as he hates to be anything but a clown, he needs her to know he’s serious.

Alphys falls silent for a long moment.

“Sans… I… I really… really w-want to… but I…”

He’s losing her. “alphys, wait a sec—“

“I just can’t…!” she cries miserably into the phone.

Click.

Sans groans and flips the phone shut. It’s pretty much what he predicted, but that doesn’t make it any less disheartening. He’s going to have to use a slightly more roundabout tactic (after all, he never goes in without a backup plan), but that’s going to be a royal pain in the tuckus. Mainly because it involves more work. And if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s avoiding work. Or, more specifically, trying. At anything.

Then along comes today. First he has to - against his will, he might add - start caring about the new kid, and now he has to be productive?

Not a good day in Sans Land today.

The phone rings suddenly. Sans is so startled, he involuntarily POPS from his current spot in the snow to one two paces over. He glances at the caller ID in confusion. ‘what the…?’

He flips the phone open. “alphys?”

“S-sorry, it’s just, u-um… I… I, uh, I was checking on the h-human… and I…” She trails off momentarily, as if distracted. Sans wonders if one of her other cameras caught her attention. “I found it, but uhhh… s-so did your brother.”

Sans puts a hand over his eyes. “you’ve gotta be stirring my pasta,” he mutters.

“Uh? I mean, I know how much Papyrus loves spaghetti, but what does--” She cuts herself off with a squeak of alarm. “S-Sans, you, um, didn’t say the human had a kn... kn… kn-knife…”

Sans hangs up.

Chapter Text

Sans takes a “shortcut” back to the exact place he left Frisk – right next to the end of the bridge.

And yes, the sight before him is, in fact, exactly what it sounded like.

Frisk and Papyrus stand at either end of the narrow snowy road that goes between the bridge platform and the town entrance to Snowdin with the big WELCOME sign. Papyrus is in the middle of heartily bellowing something.

Frisk has a knife.

And it is most definitely being pointed at his brother like a weapon.

Welp.

“HUMAN!” Papyrus says, his fists on his hipbones. “YOU WERE TAKING A LONG TIME TO ARRIVE, SO I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, THOUGHT YOU HAD GOTTEN LOST AND DECIDED TO BRING OUR DECISIVE BATTLE TO YOU! IT IS ALL RIGHT, YOU MAY THANK ME LATER!”

Sans barely resists the urge to smack a hand to his forehead. He should have seen this coming – he really, really should have. Sans may have patience in spades, but Papyrus has… whatever the opposite of spades of patience is. Ordinarily, he’d probably find a joke somewhere in there, but with Frisk steadily advancing towards Papyrus – and Papyrus still blissfully unaware of the genuine danger he’s in – Sans is a touch more distracted than usual.

“HUMAN, ARE YOU PERHAPS ILL?” Papyrus’s voice suddenly booms again. “YOUR FACE LOOKS TERRIBLY STRANGE. LIKE IT IS ARGUING WITH ITSELF. I DO NOT KNOW HOW A FACE WOULD ARGUE WITH ITSELF, BUT IF IT COULD, IT WOULD LOOK LIKE YOUR FACE RIGHT NOW.”

This gets Sans’s attention. He remembers Frisk saying that, when they had been forced to kill in the Ruins, they had been unable to stop whatever was controlling them. But that meant they had tried to stop it. Did that mean they were trying right now…? As he considers this, he suddenly realizes that each step forward Frisk takes is shaky, unsteady – and that the knife is trembling in their hand.

“frisk,” he says quietly, testing the waters.

Frisk’s response is instantaneous. Their head whips around with an unnatural sharpness to look at him over their shoulder.

For once, Papyrus is absolutely right: Frisk’s expression is at war. Their eyes have taken on an eerie, glazed look, and their lips are twisted into an absolutely bone-chilling smile.

But the skin beneath their eyes is puffy and red, their brows are furrowed, and tears stream unfettered down their cheeks.

As they gaze at Sans, their mouth opens, just barely, and the corners of the nasty smile turn downwards. “Sans…” they say, and their voice sounds even more weak and ragged now than it did during their confession. “H… help me…” Then the grimace turns back into that murderous smile, and a bizarre, gurgling laugh comes out instead of words, sending a chill down Sans’s spine. He swallows hard around the sudden lump in his throat. How does something so vile and evil get a hold of an innocent kid like Frisk?

Sans doesn’t know that answer yet – but hell if he’s gonna let the thing stick around in the meantime.

He extracts one hand from his pocket as a blue haze begins to drift over the vision in his left eye; he flexes his fingers out wide, then subtly presses it palm-down toward the ground.

Frisk suddenly staggers, stumbling forward and then falling to their hands and knees.

Papyrus takes an anxious step forward. “HUMAN! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? YOU MUST WATCH YOUR STEP MORE CAREFULLY! I, PAPYRUS, CAN EVEN TEACH YOU HOW TO FALL. IF YOU FALL PROPERLY, YOU WILL ONLY HURT A LITTLE BIT AND NOT A LOT! EVEN IF YOU CANNOT LEARN AS QUICKLY AS I, DO NOT FEAR – I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!

Despite the fact that he spends at least fifty percent of his conversations talking about himself, Papyrus has always been someone whose heart for others leaves him eternally blinded to any danger to himself – and Sans loves him for it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch his brother put himself in a situation where he could get hurt. Or worse.

“hey, bro,” Sans says, taking his other hand out, winking and giving Papyrus a little salute. “thought I smelled somethin’ burning at the house. were you cooking fresh pasta for the kiddo?”

Papyrus appears to break out in a sweat. “SANS! IF YOU SMELLED BURNING, WHY DID YOU NOT GO INSIDE TO LOOK?!”

Sans shrugs, grin widening. “i thought it’d be faster for me to patella you about it.”

“OH MY GOD!!!” Papyrus throws his hands up. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD LET OUR HOUSE BURN DOWN SO THAT YOU COULD MAKE A STUPID JOKE! NO, WAIT, I CAN BELIEVE IT! WE WILL DISCUSS THIS LATER, SANS! HUMAN, DO NOT GET LOST AGAIN! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL RETURN SHORTLY! NYEH HEH HEH!!!” Then, in a blur of red boots and long leg-bones, he’s gone.

Sans lets out a light puff of air in relief, though his left hand remains purposefully pressed downward. He cautiously approaches the fallen child, walking around them and turning to face them from the front. “frisk,” he says again at last, crouching a few feet away. “can you hear me in there?” The child lifts their head and stares at him with that creepy smile still plastered in place, though the glazed look in their eyes has gone from empty to hateful. Sans feels sick. The expression is just so at odds with everything that he has seen Frisk to be since their first clumsy steps outside the Ruins, and that thought alone upsets him more than he’s comfortable admitting.

He reaches out and grabs the child’s wrist, lifting it from the ground and easily twisting the knife out of their grasp, flinging it past the road’s boundary to one side, right over the cliff’s edge.

The resulting cry of rage that wrenches from Frisks’s throat confirms that this is the only weapon they had hidden on them – that all they have left is the stick that Sans originally saw.

“c’mere, kiddo,” he says, giving them the easiest-going smile he can manage. He releases the hold of his magic on them.

When they immediately jerk upright, he pulls them into a hug.

Predictably, the spirit currently in control is less than pleased – they make another angry sound and begin beating on San’s back with their tiny fists. But Sans weathers the hits easily: Frisk remains experience-less, and their arms are as weak as one would expect of a child. Eventually, their wrathful blows begin to slow, until they finally stop, and their arms drop to hang at their sides. Then Frisk lets out a wail, and suddenly their arms are clenched as far around San’s back as they can go, their face buried in the neck of his shirt.

“s’okay, buddy, i gotcha,” Sans says, ruffling Frisk’s hair gently and letting them cry. It takes him a few moments longer to realize that Frisk is actually speaking amidst their sobs.

“Sorry…” they whisper, their fingers clenching into the fabric of his turtleneck. “Sorry…”

“i know,” is all he says, his grip on them tightening just the slightest bit.

Chapter Text

Sans does not half-ass anything.

No, sir - Sans barely-asses things.

His snow “sculpture” next to Papyrus’s magnificent self-portrait? Sans didn’t even bother to make it look like anything at all, much less himself. It’s a lump. A formless, unpleasing to the eye, almost unnoticeable lump, his name sloppily written across it: a perfect representation of his entire M.O. So if today is not gonna let him get even close to barely-assing things, well.

Sans still isn’t gonna half-ass anything.

Time to go full-throttle, dude.

He doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t want to. He’s spent years now perfecting the ability to not care about much of anything besides Papyrus (Papyrus, he continues to love more fiercely with every passing miserable day), because what’s the point in caring if it’s all going to disappear eventually anyway? Now suddenly he’s about to throw it all out the window to help the kid.

Still, to be fair, does he really have much choice? Yes, technically there is a choice - but when the option that involves not caring reads like a real bad time, Sans decides that there’s only one choice worth making. And he’s going to do everything within his power to do it right the first time.

When Frisk has calmed down enough from their almost-fight with Papyrus to give Sans a watery smile, Sans helps the child to their feet and slings an arm around their shoulders. He guides them into one end of a fold in space and out the other, right next to Sans and Papyrus’s house. The two of them listen for a moment, waiting to hear any tell-tale clanking or stomping that might indicate Papyrus’s presence, but it seems that the other skeleton has already confirmed that the house is not, in fact, on fire, nor is the stove on, and has gone back out to find the human.

Sans can imagine - perfectly, down to the last detail - the look on Papyrus’s face when he finds both Frisk and Sans gone (though Sans does make sure to at least leave a note at the house, and he’ll give his brother a ring on the cell later.) He can’t wait to have Papyrus blow a gasket at Sans’s false fire alarm, either. His brother’s outlandish tantrums are the best. It isn’t precisely because Sans likes making him mad - although what are brothers for if not for annoying the ever-living daylights out of each other? - but rather that he just loves seeing Papyrus lively in general.

It mostly makes up for the fact that Sans has all but lost his own spark.

After they’ve made their way inside, Sans gets Frisk settled on the couch with a cup of tea to let them warm up a little more (the skeleton brothers don’t partake, but Papyrus has a collection of teas and a full tea set thanks to Undyne’s frequent visits. She insists.) Satisfied that Frisk won’t go anywhere - and knowing that even on the off-chance his brother makes it back home before Sans and Frisk are out the door, he’ll hear Papyrus coming long before he has a chance to get into trouble with Frisk again, Sans disappears into his trash-vortex of a bedroom to nab a few things.

He swaps out his shorts for windbreaker pants - if there’s one interesting thing about air rushing between skeleton bones, it’s that sometimes you get very strange whistling noises at inopportune moments. Ordinarily, Sans loves it when that happens with the worst possible timing (for example, a serious conversation, especially because he’s never the one being serious), but in the event that he might need to be a little more stealthy than usual, he’d rather not take the chance. He also exchanges his favorite slippers for an old pair of blue and white sneakers that he hasn’t worn in ages. They aren’t as comfy as the slippers, of course, but they are happily broken in and fit him like a pair of gloves - and again, on the chance that he might actually need to run or otherwise move fast with the kid in tow, the sneakers are gonna stay on his feet a lot better than house slippers.

Besides which? Ordinarily he barely walks at all in the first place. He’s a relatively stationary guy: when he needs to get around, he mainly just takes his shortcuts. His slippers would never survive any significant amount of trekking even if they did manage to stay on, and he intends to preserve them for as long as possible.

They’re one of the best gifts Papyrus ever gave him.

The last thing he grabs is a hoodie that’s the same shade of blue as the winter coat he lent to Frisk. Sans, being a skeleton, is not terribly bothered by the cold, although he can certainly sense temperature differences - but much like Papyrus, he’s got a personal style to adhere to, and he feels bizarrely naked without that last baggy layer on top and a hood scrunched around the base of his neck.

For the millionth time, he’s grateful there’s no mirror in the room. He has a hard enough time looking at one on a normal day (it’s not much fun to look at yourself when all you can see in your eyes is how miserable you are), let alone a day where he’s adorned in visible references to the fact that he’s going to have to take a hiatus from slacking off.

Sans eyes the treadmill in the center of the bedroom for a moment. Honestly, it’s just there for pranking purposes… but the way he’s going, he might actually need it. It’s one thing to evade danger with his innate agility when he’s all on his own. He can get away with having barely any stamina to speak of. But with Frisk around to worry about, it adds an entirely new layer of complexity to responding to threats, and as much as Sans is absolutely loathe to admit it, he’s probably going to need to work up to at least enough stamina to weather a couple of blows - long enough that he and the kid can get the heck out of there if need be.

But for the time being, at least, he can put that off a little longer.

It’s about time that they head out to Waterfall.

Chapter Text

“all right, kid,” Sans says as they stroll along next to the river that flows from Snowdin into Waterfall. “this area here is undyne’s stomping grounds. she’s the one we’re gonna be keeping an eye out for. specially ‘cause there’s no way my bro didn’t tell her about you already. he gets a little phone-happy about these things.” Frisk flinches almost immediately at the mention of her name, oddly enough, and there’s a haunted look in their eyes that makes Sans turn away uncomfortably, pretending he didn’t notice. Losing control multiple times to a murderous personality is almost certainly taking its toll on the poor kid.

“listen, i’m gonna aim for peaceful negotiations, but i gotta be honest with ya, she’s really rarin’ to fight a human.” for multiple reasons, he thinks to himself. not the least of which is that we only need one more soul… To try and lighten the mood a little, he winks conspirationally and adds, “and i ain’t no diplomat. you uh, may have noticed with my brother, but i don’t have the best effect on people.” To his relief, Frisk giggles at this.

After their giggles have subsided, the child seems to actually consider this for a moment, and puts a hand on Sans’s pocket, patting his hand through the fabric of the sweatshirt. “Everyone still likes you a lot, though,” they say with a decisive nod. Then, as though they’ve said nothing out of the ordinary, they turn to look with wondering eyes at the soft blue glow and wisps of light coming from the Waterfall’s iconic flowers – the echo flowers.

Sans, for his part, has no comeback to this (and as soon as he realizes he legitimately doesn’t, he almost glances around to see if the world might be ending around him and he just didn’t notice). The weird thing is, the kid didn’t seem like they were offering him consolation or pity. It’s like they one-hundred-percent genuinely believe that Sans is well-liked.

Which makes about zero sense. Sure, pretty much every monster in the underground seems to know Sans – after all, he quite literally gets around. There’s pretty much no ground here he hasn’t covered. But after everything that’s happened, everything that he knows, Sans keeps people at arms’ length. He likes to stir things up, pull pranks, drive people crazy. If he isn’t telling a bad joke for the sake of telling a bad joke, he’s telling a bad joke to deflect serious questions. And when he’s not with Papyrus, he’s usually just napping life away. What about any of that is particularly likeable, he hasn’t the foggiest.

Shaking his head and deciding to just let it go for the moment – it seems he’s not the only one who’s good at being mysterious – he follows Frisk’s gaze to one of the flowers. “pretty neat little thingies, those. they’re called echo flowers, ‘cause they always repeat the last thing they heard.” Sans guides Frisk over to the one right beside his Waterfall sentry station, gesturing for the kid to try listening to it.

The patently unimpressed look on the kid’s face when they straighten tells Sans that the flower is, in fact, still replaying the same noise he hoped it would be. “You whoopee-cushioned the flower!” Frisk says accusingly, laughing.

Sans lifts his hands to either side, palms up. “what can i say, ya caught me cushion-handed.”

Frisk gives him another look and then wanders right over to his station. “Is this yours, too, Sans?”

Sans nods. “yep. those dogs really kinda stay in a pack, and undyne still won’t let my bro into the royal guard, so i gotta lotta ground to cover, y’know.”

Frisk tilts their head, one hand on one of the station’s wooden posts. “How come she won’t?”

Sans chuckles. “i think i’ll let her tell you that one, kid.” He watches curiously as Frisk wanders around behind the post. “whatcha doin’?”

Frisk goes “A-ha!” suddenly and reaches into the shelves behind the station, yanking out a bottle of ketchup, which they seemed to suspect would be there. Then they come back over to Sans and hold out their other hand expectantly. Sans looks down at them, perplexed, but willing to play along, and puts one of his hands in theirs. Frisk immediately flips his bony hand so it faces palm-up, then squirts a fat dollop of ketchup right into the center.

“uh…”

“Now I caught you RED handed!” Frisk says proudly, releasing their grip and leaving Sans to gawk at his ketchup-covered palm.

Sans stares at them. Then he snorts, and snickers, and at last starts to guffaw so hard he thinks he might crack a rib. “you… you sure did, buddy,” he says at last. “you sure did."

When he finally calms down enough to move again, he snags a couple of napkins from he station stash and uses them to clean off his palm. "all right, frisk, before we run into undyne - one way or another - there's someone else i wanna talk to."

Frisk looks up at him curiously as they start walking. "Someone you want to talk to?"

"yep. he's a funny old guy, i think you'll like him. he's been around a real long time."

"How long?"

"ehh, like since the dinosaurs, probably? actually, come to think of it, he kinda looks like a dinosaur..."

Frisk starts laughing again. "Nu-uh, nobody's that old, Sans!"

"oh yeah? how d'you know i'm not that old, huh?"

Frisk gives him yet another Look, one that Sans is quickly coming to appreciate for being as comedic as Papyrus's angry 'dear God why did you just make another pun' face. "Cause you talk like a kid," Frisk says, crossing their arms.

"heyyy, what's that supposed to mean?"

Frisk gazes at him pointedly. "'Really dude?'" they say, doing their best to imitate the lower pitch of Sans's voice. "'Those are for babybones!'"

Sans snorts out a laugh. "geez, all right, i guess you got a point."

Looking satisfied, Frisk resumes examining more of the incandescent plant life of Waterfall. "So why are we going to talk to a dinosaur?"

"i think he might be able to help us a little bit," Sans says, throwing an arm around Frisk's shoulders and guiding them slowly around the twists and turns, keeping to the shadows. "make things easier until we figure out what to do about your, uh, guest." He feels Frisk stumble slightly at the mention. "whoah, there, buddy!"

Frisk lifts a hand and curls it into the side of Sans's hoodie as they continue to walk. "How...?" they say in a small voice.

Sans lets out a faint puff of air. "listen... i don't want to make any promises, okay? i just know he's been around for some things that he might be able to teach you that could help you out when things get sticky, but i don't know anything for sure." He shrugs. "can't hurt to ask, right?" Then he winks at Frisk. "besides, help or no help, the guy tells some great stories! he'll talk the ears right offa ya." He playfully tugs at one of Frisk's to punctuate the statement, which ellicits a giggle, to his relief.

Frisk pulls his hand off their ear, but doesn't let go, instead wrapping their tiny fingers around Sans's larger ones as best they can. Those same flickers of warmth that Sans felt in the forest are now seeping into his ribs again. was i always such a sap? he wonders irritably. good job not getting attached, sans, ol' boy. well done. 'i'll just watch from a distance,' i said. 'just make sure they don't get in over their head,' i said. oi. joke's on me, huh?

"Sans, if he talks my ears off, you gotta put 'em back on, okay?"

Sans's grin widens. "sorry, kid, ears are all fleshy and stuff. i'm more of a bone doctor." Frisk makes a face at him. "yeah, ok, that one was lame even for me."

Chapter Text

“frisk, gerson. gerson, frisk.” Sans lazily gestures between the two as a means of introduction.

Frisk gazes up at Gerson inquisitively, taking in the crinkling of the reptilian monster’s skin, the slightly-off-kilter look to his eyes, the long silvery beard. Then they nod, step close to Gerson’s little shop-front counter, and stick their hand up towards him in greeting. Gerson grins, grasping the child’s hand firmly in his large clawed one, and opens his mouth to speak--

A rubbery wheezing noise fills the room.

Gerson and Sans both stare at Frisk for a few stunned moments, until Frisk lifts their hand free to show off the whoopee-cushion that rests there, now flattened.

Sans laughs so hard he almost falls over.

“Wah ha ha! You take on an apprentice, Sansy-boy?” Gerson cackles, giving the skeleton a friendly elbow across the counter.

“what can i say, the kid’s a quick learner,” Sans answers, and he feels an odd swell of pride – the sort of feeling normally reserved only for Papyrus. “where’d you even get that?” he says to Frisk, genuinely curious. Frisk proudly pats one of Sans’s pockets. Sans laughs and ruffles their hair. “you little sneak!” Sans really must be going soft with this kid if he didn't even notice the theft taking place. He is definitely in trouble. 

"Sans really likes whoopee cushions," Frisk tells Gerson in a terribly matter-of-fact voice, tucking the borrowed bit of pranking ammunition back into Sans's pocket. "And ketchup. And dogs."

Sans looks at Frisk again, startled. "uhh--"

Gerson is laughing again. "I think this whippersnapper's got your number," he says with a wink in Sans's direction, resting his hands on his hips. Then he turns back to Frisk. "He likes the stars, too, y'know. Has he showed you his fancy-pants telescopey-mabobber yet?"

Sans suddenly has the unsettling sensation he's being backed into a corner. This conversation was supposed to be about the kid, not him. "uhhhh--"

The sensation increases when Frisk turns their suddenly-bright eyes on him almost immediately. "You have a telescope, Sans?!" Their voice practically bubbles over with excitement. 

"i, uh, yeah," Sans flounders, grateful for the permanent smile plastered on his face. "it's not too far from here. i can show you later, if you, uh, want..." He honestly had intended to show it to Frisk - but now he doesn't know if he can, in good conscience, just use it as an excuse for a prank. Not with the way Frisk is looking at him right now. Frisk is just as good at the dang puppy eyes as Papyrus and is nodding their head so hard Sans fears it might bounce right off. He clears his throat and rubs his fingerbones along the back of his neck. "so, gerson. good ol' whoopee cushion gags aside, i do have an actual reason for bringing the kiddo here."

"Shucks, and here I was, thinking you'd come to shoot the breeze with this old geezer," Gerson says, crossing his arms on the counter and leaning on them. He continues grinning. "So what is it, Sansy-boy?"

Sans glances at Frisk, whose attention has been caught by the rune carved into the wall of Gerson's shop cave; they've wandered over to touch the part of it they can reach. "well, frisk here... seems to have a, uh, passenger of sorts. someone in their head who isn't them." He looks back to Gerson, shrugging. "i really don't get what's going on, but i don't think it's just frisk having multiple personalities. i've only seen it in action once, but it looked way more like there were legit two different people duking it out inside. i mean, i'd be the first to admit that i didn't study psychology at more than surface level, so i kinda have to go on instinct here, but..." 

Gerson's expression sobers. "Take it the experience wasn't pretty," he says, his leathery voice low. 

Sans shakes his head. "the passenger seems to prefer stabbing things to, uh, more traditionally accepted forms of social interaction." He lets out a breath. "and frisk is trying real hard, but they can't keep it from coming out to play when it decides it wants to."

The old tortoise runs his claws through his beard. "That's rough, to be sure... but why come to me, Sansy-boy? I'm no psychologist either, even if I've got a fair handle on people at this point." His eyes twinkle; he's certainly been around long enough to see it all. 

Sans chuckles, leaning his back against the counter. "yeah, but you're good with all that zen stuff, aren'tcha? find your center, sit under a waterfall, fight bears and whatever." He winks up at Gerson. 

Gerson snorts, crossing his arms. "You sound like Undyne when she was just a sprat."

"is that old-person speak for 'brat'?" Sans teases. 

"A sprat's a little fish, Mr. Wiseguy," Gerson tells him dryly. 

"pffffft. i can't wait to see the look on her face when i try that one."

Now Gerson starts to grin again, and gives Sans a wink of his own. "She doesn't take it too well. I wouldn't try it unless you're real good at dodging."

"i'll have you know i'm just as good at evading blows as i am at evading responsibility."

"Wah ha ha! Well, then, you'll be just fine." Gerson gives his beard another tug. "So you want me to give the runt a lesson in meditation, eh?"

Sans shrugs. "i just thought, y'know, maybe until i could find a more permanent solution, you could help them get things a little better sorted? help them with their own control or somethin'."

Gerson withdraws an old pipe from the loop in his belt, tapping it to his chin thoughtfully. "It's not a bad thought," he says at last, clawed hands flipping open a belt pouch to fill the pipe from. He pauses to light it, taking a couple of puffs from it before continuing. "Strengthening your sense of self can help with a lot of things..." he remarks thoughtfully. "All right, Sansy-boy, let's give it a shot."

Sans opens his mouth to thank him, but stops when they both notice Frisk suddenly coming back up to them. 

"What's that?" Frisk says, pointing at the emblem they were examining so carefully.

Gerson exhales another puff of smoke. "That, young whippersnapper, is the Delta Rune. It's the emblem of our entire monster kingdom!" He looks at the wall carving, talking around the pipe's mouth piece. "The thing's even older than me, believe it or not!" He bellows another laugh. "Even older 'n written history. We've mostly forgotten what it was supposed to mean in the first place. Those triangles, those are us monsters, deep down in the earth. The winged circle, though..." Gerson scratches his cheek. "Welp. Popular belief says it's the 'angel' from the old prophecy." Frisk tips their head inquisitively. "S'pose you wouldn't have heard about that old story yet, eh? Monster legend has it that angel will be someone who's seen the surface, descending down here to save us all." He inhales from the pipe, exhales again. "Though lately, people are gettin' a bit more cynical, what with things gettin' to be so bleak down here... sayin' it's really an 'angel of death,' and it will free us by destroying everything."

Frisk's reaction to this last statement is immediate and violent, the color draining from their face even as the strength seems to evaporate from their legs. Sans only just manages to catch them as their knees buckle beneath them. "whoah, buddy, you ok?" 

Frisk looks up at Sans, and the bleakness in their eyes takes him aback. They turn to Gerson, voice soft but desperate. "W... which one...?" they say, gripping Sans tightly. "W-which one is it...?"

Gerson hasn't missed the significance of the reaction, and he reaches across the counter to give Frisk a gentle pat. "Listen, youngin', I've lived long enough, I'm not much one for this 'legend' or 'prophecy' nonsense anymore. I just think the Delta Rune looks neato, personally! And y'know, lots of times, people start these stories in desperate times because they need something to hang onto... somethin' to believe in. Then the words become twisted over time, more and more, until it's all just mumbo jumbo." He slides his hand to Frisks's shoulder. "Your destiny is what you make it, little one. Don't you ever let some old story tell you what to do, you got that?"

Frisk swallows and nods, and though their muscles are still tense, some of the despair seems to fade from their expression. They take a slow breath, gently untangling themselves from Sans and straightening. Then, with a squaring of their shoulders and a lifting of their chin, they nod a second time. It's as though they've taken Gerson's words and funneled them into their very bones. Sans watches in both admiration and envy.

That sort of courage - to face your worst fears, the stuff of your personal nightmares, head on - is one he can only dream of. 

A sudden grumble from the direction of Frisks's stomach breaks the tension in the room in the blink of an eye, and suddenly they are all laughing again, Frisk's cheeks an embarrassed pink. 

Gerson reaches into a woven basket on one side of the counter, withdrawing a piece of fruit and extending it to Frisk. "Don't have much in the way of refreshments, I'm afraid, except the usual supply of crab apples!"

Frisk takes the apple and stares at it, looking to Sans and then to Gerson, eyes wide. "It LOOKS like a crab!" they say in astonishment, twisting the apple this way and that.

"Wah ha ha! Well how else d'you think they got the name, whippersnapper?" Frisk shakes their head, clearly deciding it too complicated to explain, and bite into the apple happily. Their face twists suddenly, and Gerson bellows another laugh. "A bit sour for you, eh? Well, I guess the shape ain't the only reason for the name." Frisk sticks their tongue out at Gerson, then shakes their head and takes a second bite.

Sans resumes leaning against the counter lazily, closing his eyes. Welp, that all went about as smoothly as could be hoped, thankfully.

Now he just has to figure out what to do about Undyne.  

Chapter Text

"i did not sign up for this," Sans says, sitting (reluctantly) cross-legged on the ground next to Frisk.

Gerson just laughs at him from his position a few feet away from the pair, facing them. "You're showing solidarity for your comrade," he says with a wink. "Besides, if you think a cantankerous old coot like me is gonna let you sit here and snooze around the way you do at them hot dog stands of yours, you'd best think again, Sansy-boy."

Sans attempts to think of an insulting joke as a retort, but it dies in his throat at the sigh of Frisk beaming at him contentedly. "i've already fulfilled my effort quota for the next three years," he says with a dramatic sigh, resting a bony cheek in one hand. "at the rate i'm going, by the time today is over, i won't need to lift a finger for the rest of my life." Something whacks him suddenly in the side of the head. "OW!" He slaps a palm over the stinging area, bone clicking against bone. "what--" Then he sees the crab apple rolling near his knee, and immediately shoots Gerson the dirtiest look he can manage with his stupid perma-smile. "dude, what was that for?"

The old tortoise looks at him with twinkling eyes. "For someone with no stomach, you sure are good at bellyachin'," Gerson says with a snort.

Sans is torn between irritation and instinctive appreciation of the joke. He settles for something between a groan and a laugh. "all right, all right, point taken. just don't blame me when i inevitably doze off anyway."

Gerson pats the basket next to him. "Oh, don't you worry, sonny. There're plenty more crab apples where that one came from." He cracks his knuckles. "All right, kids, time to empty your minds! If they aren't empty already, wah ha ha!"

Sans grumbles under his breath.

"i... did not... sign up... for this...!" Sans mutters breathlessly to himself, doing his best imitation of a sprint as another glowing spear flies past Frisk's head.

It just figures, honestly.

After their rather intensive first session with Gerson, Frisk had seemed somewhat more at ease with themself  - but also incredibly exhausted. Sans could only guess at how mentally taxing it was to attempt to separate themself from whatever was sharing their body, putting up a barrier bit by bit until they could hopefully retain control at all times. He had subsequently decided that he might as well follow up on his offer to take Frisk to see his telescope; he figured the kid had earned it with their relentless effort that afternoon. (That was what he told himself, at least. Truthfully, the urges to give the kid the world on a silver platter were becoming harder and harder to resist.)

So, they had left Gerson's cave and ventured on to the telescope, to gaze at the crystal lights that glittered in the walls and ceiling of the entire region of Waterfall. On their way, they'd bumped into - literally - the little dino kid that Sans recognized from back home in Snowdin, who insisted that they be referred to as "MK." MK had then struck up a gleefully enthusiastic conversation with Frisk on the subject of Undyne, and when Sans's phone began to ring in his pocket, he made made a gesture at Frisk, who nodded. Sans had stepped away for two minutes - two measly minutes - to talk to Papyrus and distract him with the usual bad jokes.

He'd returned to find Frisk fleeing along a dock over the water from the waves of magic harpoons that followed them.

this is karmic retribution for all the slacking, isn't it, he thinks, flickering in and out of shadows at the water's edge as he tries to keep up with the chase. He's struggling to come up with a plan; keeping one eye on Frisk, one eye on Undyne, running, and strategizing are seriously pushing his ability to multi-task. He genuinely doesn't know what to do, either - if he calls out, he might distract Undyne for a short moment, but he also runs the risk of distracting Frisk. On the other hand--

He suddenly runs out of time.

Undyne has leapt onto the dock a few feet behind Frisk, and as the child whips around to gaze up at her in alarm, one last wave of spears smash into the wooden surface of the dock. There's a sickening sound of splintering, one loud CRACK - and the end of the dock disappears into the dark maw of the pit below.

So does Frisk.

Sans feels a wave of dread flood his bones. In the blink of an eye, he passes through the shadow of a nearby boulder and out of the darkness beside a pile of garbage that lies at the bottom of the pit he watched Frisk fall into. The skeleton pauses for a brief moment. He almost can't bear to look. The thought of finding Frisk lying in a broken, crumpled heap is one that threatens to suffocate him. He forces himself to wade ahead into the murky waters, eyes darting to and fro amongst the blurry shapes.

Then he spots it: a strange cluster of golden flowers. There, at their center, is Frisk.

Sans splashes over to them like a madman, falling to his kneecaps on the bed of flowers and gingerly running a hand over the child, searching for any injuries. He's no doctor, to be sure, but at the very least, there are no obvious gashes or broken bones. Frisk is pale and unconscious, but breathing. Sans sinks back on his heels in relief, tipping his head back to gaze up the waterfall. Logically, he understands full well that Undyne has no way of knowing yet what Frisk is really like, and that she is only doing what she has been trained to do - that she is only doing this for the good of all their kind, and at the king's decree, no less. Still, Sans knows what Frisk is like, and he's having a difficult time not feeling more than a little upset with the Captain of the Guard for what she just put Frisk through - even IF she doesn't know any better. 

He reaches out and brushes Frisk's bangs away from their forehead, letting out a sigh. guess it's time to go home and see pap for a bit like i said i would. He gently slides his arms under Frisk and lifts them, grunting with the effort. oof. thank god for shortcuts, he thinks, cradling his charge against his ribs. man, i really gotta lay off the ketchup... 

And with that thought, he vanishes into the darkness. 

Chapter Text

"pap, I'm home," Sans says, entering without using the door (as usual.) Granted, he's not usally staggering when he steps into the house, the way he is now.

"SANS!" comes his brother's indignant voice, and some of the tension that has knotted up in Sans's joints eases immediately at the familiar sound of it. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

"oh, you know, the usual. bonedoggling." The resulting screech from his brother is priceless.

"THAT IS NOT HOW THAT WORD GOES AND YOU KNOW IT."

"sorry, bro. you're the wordsmith, not me."

"I SUPPOSE YOU HAVE A POINT. NEVERTHELESS, SANS, YOU--" Papyrus takes a humorously exaggerated step back, scarf-cape flapping about, as he spots Frisk, who is still cradled in Sans's arms. "OH MY GOD!!! SANS, YOU HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN???" Papyrus suddenly looks like he's about to cry. "I AM TORN BETWEEN TERRIBLY COMPLICATED EMOTIONS OF PRIDE AND ALSO DISAPPOINTMENT." After all, Papyrus had been banking on this particular plan to reveal his shining character to the monster world - and in particular, Undyne. "BUT NEVER FEAR! MY GREATNESS WILL JUST HAVE TO SHINE THROUGH ELSEWHERE!!! ALLOW ME TO COOK UP THE FINEST CELEBRATORY DINNER FOR YOU, BROTHER!!!"

"looking forward to it, pap," Sans says, panting slightly. "it's just, i, uh, need help putting them down." His arms are already shaking with the effort of holding Frisk, despite the fact that it's only been a couple of minutes. He'd set them down on the couch, but he's worried that if he tries to, he'll drop them in the process - and the quarters are too close to risk using the assistance of his powers in front of Papyrus. His brother may be naive at times, even oblivious on occasion - but stupid, Papyrus is not.

Papyrus is at his side immediately, lifting Frisk with a gentleness that has always come naturally to him. The fact that Papyrus is naturally good with children and (most) animals is one of the many things Sans adores about him. "IT IS BECAUSE YOU DO NOT TRAIN," Papyrus scolds him. He turns as if to make for the door. "VERY WELL. I WILL DEPOSIT THE HUMAN IN THEIR SPECIALLY PREPARED QUARTERS BEFORE I BEGIN THE SPAGHETTI!"

Sans taps his brother's thigh bone quickly. "uh, that's cool, just, could we put them on the couch instead, or something?" He'd ordinarily be willing to play along with his brother on this (the bars that make up the "cage" are too wide to keep Frisk penned in, anyway) but he's still worried about the child's condition after the fall.

Papyrus looks completely flabbergasted. "SANS, DO NOT BE RIDICULOUS! NOW THAT YOU HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN, YOU CANNOT ALLOW THEM TO ESCAPE!"

Sans shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.  "'s fine, pap. frisk won't go anywhere. and anyway--"

Papyrus's jaw swings open. "YOU... YOU ARE CALLING THE HUMAN BY NAME?! OH MY GOD!!! SANS... I DID NOT REALIZE THAT YOU TWO WERE THAT CLOSE...??? DOES... DOES THIS MEAN YOU ARE..." he looks left and right in a comedically shifty fashion, then lowers his voice fractionally, "... FRIENDS?"

Sans notes that there is something akin to envy in his brother's voice, and he can't help but snicker. "yep, we're buds - no bones about it." Before his brother can say something in outrage, Sans adds, "i bet frisk would love to be YOUR friend, bro. you're the coolest, after all." He shrugs. "all those puzzles you did together, that spaghetti they ate that you made just for them... you guys were havin' a ball." His eyes twinkle. "a snowball."

"I AM ABOUT TO MAKE A SNOWBALL OUT OF YOU!!!" Papyrus threatens, but Sans can see that his brother is pleased.

It is then that Frisk stirs for the first time. Papyrus's eyes are immediately glued on the child, and Sans finds himself holding his breath. The two of them watch as Frisk's face twists into a decidedly miserable expression, and a visible shiver runs through their body. Their eyes flutter, as if about to open, there's a sharp intake of air, and -

"Achoo!"

Papyrus is dismayed. "SANS, I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT CARING FOR A HUMAN, BUT THAT SOUNDS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE THE NOISES THE SHOP BUNNY MAKES WHEN SHE IS GETTING SICK. AND THEY ARE DOING THE TREMBLY THING AS WELL."

"aw, geez," mutters Sans. He motions for Papyrus to bend down and splays his fingerbones over Frisk's forehead for a moment, then tests a few other areas of exposed skin in comparison. He lets out a sigh. "well, i'm no expert, either, but i think you're right, pap - it feels like they might have a fever." 

Papyrus frowns. "PERHAPS THEY ARE LOW ON NOURISHMENT! I WILL COOK THE HUMAN SOME PIPING-HOT SPAGHETTI POST-HASTE."

Sans chuckles, leaning against the back of the couch. "i know you make a mean pasta, bro, but uh, i think sick people usually eat, like, soup."

His brother contemplates this with great solemnity. "I HAVE NOT YET ACQUIRED A SOUP RECIPE. PERHAPS IF I WERE TO ADD WATER TO THE SPAGHETTI..."

Sans is quick to nip that particular thought in the bud. "why don'tcha just ask the nice lady from the shop what she makes?"

Papyrus lights up at the idea, to his relief. "AH, YES! I WILL EMBARK ON THIS QUEST FOR SOUP IMMEDIATELY." He glances down at the child that is still unconscious in his arms, then back at Sans. "SHALL I TAKE THE SICK HUMAN ALONG WITH ME?"

The shorter skeleton shakes his head and pats the sofa. "nah, you can leave frisk here with me, bro. probably better to keep 'em inside where it's warm." 

Papyrus nods, but chews on the thought a moment longer. "WOULD THEY NOT REST MORE EASILY IN A BED?"

"i mean, maybe? but uh, mine's not very guest-friendly," Sans says, and for once he feels genuinely sheepish about it. 

His brother gives him a look and seems to roll his eyes, but says nothing about Sans's ball of sheets, nor the disaster that is the rest of his room. "I WILL TAKE THE HUMAN TO MY ROOM. MY RACECAR BED IS SO COOL, THEY WILL FEEL BETTER IN NO TIME, NYEH HEH HEH!" And with that, Papyrus tromps up the stairs in a less vehement manner than usual, careful not to jostle his precious cargo as he carries them into his neat and tidy little bedroom. 

Sans follows a moment later, skipping the stairs entirely (as usual) and padding through the now-darkened doorway of the room. "thanks, papyrus," he says, leaning on the door jamb to watch as Papyrus expertly tucks the sheets and comforter around Frisk's small frame. "you're the coolest brother ever." Sans will never stop meaning those words with all his heart, no matter how many times he utters them. 

"OF COURSE I AM!" Papyrus says proudly. He rises from the bedside and returns to the doorway, patting the top of Sans's head with a red-gloved hand. "BUT YOU ARE THE SECOND-COOLEST BROTHER EVER, SANS! I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL UNDYNE YOU CAPTURED THE HUMAN! SHE WILL BE SO PROUD OF YOUR EFFORTS!!!"

Sans winces reflexively at the words. "ah, yeah, about that - we should probably wait at least until we've got the kid back in mint condition, don'tcha think? undyne's not gonna be very happy if she ends up getting sick, too. you remember what happened the last time."

Papyrus immediately breaks into a visible sweat. He remembers. (Undyne couch-surfed at their place for a few days while ill, thanks to Papyrus's offer to nurse her back to health. The skeleton brothers' living room used to have an arm chair next to the sofa. It doesn't anymore.) "SANS... YOU HAVE A POINT, FOR ONCE. I WILL WAIT TO GIVE HER THE GOOD NEWS UNTIL THE HUMAN IS HALE AND WHOLE AGAIN." Looking pleased to have avoided a crises, he puts his hands on his hips. "AND NOW, ONTO THE SOUP QUEST! I SHALL RETURN SHORTLY, BROTHER!" And with a dramatic toss of his scarf, he heads down the stairs, out the door, and off into the night.

Sans breathes a sigh of relief, closing the bedroom door and hoisting himself onto the foot of the bed. He settles in with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out across the bed, just beneath Frisk's. He's just in time to feel another shiver run through the little body, and an unexpected pang of guilt strikes him. At first, it had struck him as oddly abrupt that Frisk had taken ill; they'd seemed fine before their fall from the dock. But when he actually thinks about it now - how closely has he really been watching? Looking for any signs that Frisk's evil parasite might show up, sure, but for signs of Frisk's own well-being? Not so much. And when Sans stops to consider everything Frisk has been through since coming out of the Ruins, it makes an unfortunate amount of sense - galavanting about in the snow for hours and hours with Sans's winter coat being the only winter-worthy item of clothing on them, going from an incredibly cold environment in Snowdin to an incredibly damp one in Waterfall, and eating... what, frozen spaghetti, a cup of tea, and a crab apple? He realizes that with as little as he knows of what actually happened in the Ruins, he has no idea when Frisk's last actual meal was, or even when they last slept. And of course Frisk, sweet little Frisk, hasn't uttered a single complaint. 

Sans groans and leans his head against the wall. He's accustomed to looking out for Papyrus, and Papyrus alone - and Papyrus is so good at taking care of himself in day to day life that Sans hardly has to lift a finger. Now, here he is, towing around a small human child after deciding that they can't be left on their own, yet he hasn't once stopped to fully understand the responsibility he's taken upon himself beyond acknowledging that it's a lot more work than he prefers to do. 

"i'm sorry, kiddo," he mumbles into the quiet stillness of the room, resting a bony hand on the shape of one of Frisk's legs.

"i... just... get well soon, ok...?"

Chapter Text

Sans doesn't even realize he's begun to doze until he's startled into consciousness by a sudden sharp movement from the bed. He bolts upright from his slouch against the wall as a burst of adrenaline kicks in, and he looks to Frisk immediately.

He does not see the tell-tale vicious expression he feared, but his relief is short-lived: Frisk seems to be writhing in their sleep, trapped within some kind of nightmare. Though their eyes remain closed, their expression is strained with misery and fear; one hand clutches the bedsheets almost convulsively. There is a sheen of sweat on their forehead and a high flush in their cheeks, and Sans realizes their fever must be slowly worsening.

He slips off the foot of the bed and shifts along the bedside until he can place a hand on Frisk's shoulder, shaking them as gently as he can. "frisk... frisk, wake up..."

The sound of his voice seems to have the exact opposite of the intended effect. Frisk's whole body goes rigid, and then tears begin to stream down their cheeks. "No... no, it's not - I'm fixing it...!" they say hoarsely. "I promise I'll do it right, so please don't...!" Their hand releases the bedsheets and extends out into the dimness of the room, as if reaching desperately for something. "Don't go...!"

Something in Sans's heart lurches with unease, and he catches Frisk's flailing hand in his own, gripping it tightly. "frisk, c'mon,it's ok... wake up, kiddo, please..."

Then Frisk wails "Sans...!" in a voice so filled with despair that the skeleton stops cold.

When the child repeats his name again, however, he immediately scrambles back onto the bed and scoops Frisk into his lap, trying for a soothing, rocking motion as he curls his arms tightly around them. "frisk, buddy, it's ok, i'm here..." To his relief, Frisk's eyes suddenly fly open. They stare up at him blearily for a few moments before abruptly bursting into a fresh wave of tears and latching onto him with all their might. Sans rubs little circles into their back, continuing to rock them as best as he can, helplessly repeating his reassurances over and over. "i'm here, kiddo, i'm here... it's ok..."

It's a long while before their tears finally subside into hiccups, and they rest against him exhaustedly, refusing to release their death grip on his sweatshirt. "you ok...?" Sans finally ventures. Frisk refuses to look at him, face buried against his ribcage, but nods faintly. "guess that was one doozy of a nightmare." Frisk nods again. "wanna talk about it?" They shake their head 'no' this time. "that's cool. i don't really like talking about mine, either." This seems to rouse them enough that they raise their face a little. "yeah, even a guy as lazy as me gets nightmares," Sans says with a laugh, answering their silent question. He lowers his voice conspirationally. "sometimes, i dream that my dirty socks turn into one giant sock monster that chases me all over the house, and then it eats me--" Sans tickles Frisk under the chin gently, eliciting a small giggle, "--like, it totally goes over my head so i'm inside the sock, and papyrus won't help me get it off because he says it's my fault for letting the sock pile get too big. and then, just when i think i'm gonna smell like stinky socks for the rest of forever--i wake up."

He pauses for a moment, gazing down at Frisk's now-smiling face. "all right, tell you what, kiddo. you really need to get some more sleep if you can, 'cause we're pretty sure you're getting sick." He puts his hands on their forehead again, and sure enough, it's even warmer than before. "but i know it's no fun to go back to sleep right after a nightmare, so why don't we pick out one of papyrus's favorite books and i'll read you a story until you doze off?" Frisk looks pleased with this solution, nodding. Sans feels his shoulders relax. "sweet. bedtime story it is! er, naptime story, i guess, heh." He gently pulls some of Frisk's hair back from where it's plastered itself to their sweaty skin. "and then when you wake up, hopefully we'll have some nice hot soup for you to eat." He glances at the bookshelf across the room. "so, what're you in the mood for, kiddo? bunnies, ducklings, or determined little engines?"

"engines," Frisk says softly, and Sans chuckles.

"shoulda figured that'd be right up your alley. all right, sit tight while i collect our entertainment." He deposits Frisk on the bed and retrieves the book, then resettles them both so that they rest against the trunk of the racecar, Frisk tucked snugly under Sans's chin. "the only difference between you two is that thislittle guy has to go over a mountain," Sans remarks in amusement. "all right, let's see... it's been a while since i read this one, pap's favorite is the bunny one."

He clears his throat and begins to read, and Frisk settles back against him with a contented sigh.

Chapter Text

Sans next awakens when the door to the bedroom creaks open, and he hears Papyrus say in a stage-whisper, "SANS, IS THE HUMAN ASLEEP?"

Sans yawns, stirring stiffly from his awkward position against the back of the car bed. He peers down at Frisk. Sure enough, the kid is still sleeping soundly. He feels another pang of guilt, knowing they must really have been exhausted. "yeah," he stage-whispers back. He shifts gingerly, carefully extracting himself out from under the sleeping child. Just as he's almost free, he realizes that Frisk's hand is still embedded in his sweatshirt. Somehow, the idea of prying their little fingers loose is completely unthinkable. Instead, he pops out of his sweatshirt and rearranges it into a lumpy bundle, tucking it under Frisk's arm like a teddy bear.

The visual of Frisk sleeping peacefully, taking up only a tiny portion of the racecar that Papyrus normally completely dominates, with the sweatshirt bundle cuddled against them, is so sweet that Sans thinks he feels every bone in his body slowly turning to mush.

He quickly turns away and vanishes from the room, hopping into his own bedroom long enough to grab yet another hoodie (he has gone through more of his wardrobe in the last twenty-four hours than he has in the last year ) before reappearing at his brother's side. "so how'd it go?" he asks with another yawn, scratching the back of his head.

"IT WENT QUITE WELL, BROTHER. SHE MADE US A LARGE SUPPLY OF SOUP." Papyrus frowns. "I DID NOT WANT TO TROUBLE HER, SO I OFFERED TO COPY DOWN THE RECIPE AND MAKE IT HERE, BUT SHE INSISTED...??? SHE IS A VERY NICE LADY. AH, I FORGOT TO ASK HER NAME AGAIN. SANS, DO YOU KNOW THE NICE SHOP LADY'S NAME?"

"uh, you talk to her more than I do, pap," Sans tells him, rubbing the back of his spine. "cottontail, i think maybe? patra cottontail? something like that. i donno, i remember her nephew better - y'know fufu, the little kid next door at the inn?"

"YES, HOW COULD I FORGET? WHEN UNDYNE DISCOVERED HIS NAME SOUNDED LIKE HER LAUGH, SHE GOT SO EXCITED SHE SMASHED MY SNOW SKELETON!" Papyrus sweats profusely at the memory. Then he brightens again. "WHOOPSIE-DOOPSIE! I ALMOST FORGOT!" He reaches into his scarf-cape and withdraws a small brown paper bag. (Sans has never been able to figure out how Papyrus does that - after all, the two of them made that scarf together, and Sans knows there isn't anything even resembling a pocket in it. Not that it really bothers him as more than a curiosity, though. If Sans can have "shortcuts," Papyrus can certainly have non-existant clown pockets.) "SHE GAVE ME MEDICINE AS WELL! SHE EVEN WROTE INSTRUCTIONS ON A VERY CUTE PIECE OF STATIONERY. IT HAS BUNNIES AND FLOWERS ON IT!" He hands the bag to Sans, placing his hands on his hip bones. "BUT FOR SOME REASON, SHE MADE ME PROMISE TO LET YOU GIVE OUT THE MEDICINE."

Sans chuckles lightly at this, but a bead of sweat forms at his temple. After spending a little too much time with Undyne, his brother has become the sort to conclude that "doses" are inefficient, and that simply consuming the entire bottle all at once is clearly more effective.

"don't worry, bro," Sans says, stowing the medicine in his shorts. "i'm sure frisk will need your help to eat the soup."

Papyrus lights up at this. "DO YOU THINK THE HUMAN WOULD ENJOY MY 'AIRPLANE'?"

"i think they'd love it, pap, but uh, i don't think it'll work as well with a spoonful of soup... soup's kinda slippery, y'know."

"HMM, PERHAPS YOU ARE RIGHT. I WILL JUST HAVE TO SAVE IT UNTIL THEY ARE UP TO EATING MY SPAGHETTI." He crosses his arms, grinning broadly. "NEVERTHELESS, I WILL HAPPILY TAKE UP THE CHALLENGE OF FEEDING THE HUMAN."

Sans lets out an affectionate huff, propping himself against the wall beneath the giant bone painting. "that's my bro." He pauses, then adds, "so, hey, i was thinking... frisk never really got to finish the rounds in snowdin. maybe when they're feeling up to speed, you and i could give 'em the grand tour? introduce 'em to people, show off our favorite places, all that jazz."

Papyrus looks positively enamored with the idea. He has always bemoaned the fact that his eyes do not shine with the same bishonen sparkle as Mettaton's, but Sans is pretty sure that no monster in the underground can hold a candle to Papyrus's eye sparkle. "AT LAST, I CAN SHOW THEM MY SNOW SCULPTURE."

Sans's grin immediately lifts higher on one side. "you mean your--"

"SANS, NO!"

"--snow skullpture?" Sans, yes.

Papyrus buries his head in his hands. "NOOOOO."

Sans snickers. "and you can teach them how to play snowball golf, even."

This successfully draws his brother right back out of his pun-induced misery. "NYEH HEH HEH! THERE IS NO BETTER INSTRUCTOR TO BE HAD! THEY WILL ACHIEVE A VERITABLE RAINBOW OF FLAGS IN NO TIME."

Sans winks at him. "color me impressed, bro."

"OH. MY. GOD." Sans suddenly finds himself with his hood being yanked up and over his head - and seconds later, Papyrus has him trapped under one arm, giving him the noogie of his life. "THAT IS IT. NO MORE MR. NICE SKELETON!!!"

The smaller skeleton lets out a yelp, grabbing at his brother's red-mitted hand. "uncle... uncle!" he says, laughing.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Papyrus replies immediately, and Sans can hear in his voice that despite his apparent indignation, he's enjoying himself. "YOU HAVE FAR EXCEEDED YOUR ALLOWABLE PUN QUOTA FOR THE DAY, AND I, PAPYRUS, WILL DOLE OUT YOUR PUNISHMENT ACCORDINGLY! NYEH!"

Sans almost manages to say something about "you mean PUNishment?" but Papyrus's fingers suddenly attack his ribcage, and the thought vanishes. "oh my god, no, wait," he sputters. "pap, wait...!" Any further protests completely dissolve into helpless laughter.

He's on the verge of glitching himself right out of Papyrus's grasp to escape, but the two of them come to an abrupt pause a moment later when Papyrus's bedroom door opens again. Sans spots Frisk hovering right behind the sliver of an opening, peering out of it anxiously.

"uh, hey frisk," he says, now dangling awkwardly in the crook of Papyrus's arm. "sorry, buddy, i guess we were being kinda loud, huh?" Frisk shakes their head and opens the door a little further, peering around the corner of it at the two of them.

"APOLOGIES," Papyrus booms, placing his free hand on the front of his chest armor. "MY BROTHER IS SUFFERING THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS HABITUAL PUNNING. I DID NOT INTEND TO WAKE YOU FROM YOUR NAPPING." There is a pause as Papyrus tips his head thoughtfully. Sans watches as an idea comes to him so vividly that the lightbulb over his head is practically giving off a tangible glow. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO ASSIST ME, HUMAN?" He transfers Sans to his other hand, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and dangling him right in front of the doorway.

"uh, pap, i don't think--"

"I WOULD BE HAPPY TO TEACH YOU HOW," Papyrus continues, completely undeterred. "IT INVOLVES ATTACKING HIS WEAKNESSES. WHICH ARE MOSTLY HIS RIBS, BUT ALSO HIS KNEES." To Sans's dismay, he immediately demonstrates. Sans lets out a garbled noise not unlike the mashing of a keyboard.

They both pause again as a tiny giggle drifts out from the doorway, the opening widening even further.

Papyrus beams at the sound, extending his brother forward again. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY?"

Frisk nods shyly, inching out into the hallway, Sans's sweatshirt clutched to them like a blanket. They gingerly reach up for his kneecap, gazing at him tentatively for approval.

Sans holds back a groan. He is 100% stuck now: Frisk's puppy eyes are far more dangerous than any weapon in existance. The worst part is, he can't even think of them as evil and manipulative because he knows for a fact Frisk doesn't realize they're doing it.

He so did not sign up for this.

Chapter Text

It's a couple of days before they can follow up on their plan to show Frisk around: after waking up long enough to have a bowl of soup and a spoonful of medicine, Frisk spends that night battling the fever that Sans and Papyrus had seen the first signs of. Sans hovers nearby in case Frisk has any further nightmares, and lets Frisk keep his sweatshirt hugged close to them - but it's Papyrus that remains at the bedside with a bowl of water and a cool, wet cloth for their forehead that he keeps refreshed throughout the night (yet more advice from Patra, he tells Sans.)

Sans can easily see that with every cough from their tiny lungs, every sneeze, every feeble smile offered up in gratitude for the care being shown to them... the thought of Frisk's "capture" is pushed further and further from Papyrus's mind.

"so," Sans whispers off-handedly at one point, a twinkle in his eye. "better than a pet rock?"

Papyrus scowls at him. "AT LEAST YOU ARE HELPING TO TAKE CARE OF THE HUMAN. I HAVE TO FEED YOUR LONELY LITTLE PEBBLE ALL BY MYSELF!" he replies in a Papyrus-whisper. Then his scowl shifts into a frown. "SANS, I AM NOT COMPLAINING THAT YOU HAVE FLIPPED A LEAF--" he ignores Sans's gentle reminder that it is, in fact, 'turned over a new leaf'--"BUT ARE YOU, PERHAPS, FALLING ILL AS WELL? YOU ARE BEHAVING VERY RESPONSIBLY, AND I AM... CONCERNED."

Sans's grin widens. "aw, shucks, bro - if it's making you nervous, i'd be happy to head out to my sentry post and take a nap instead."

Papyrus throws up his hands in exasperation. "NO! THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO!!! I AM JUST SAYING... IT IS VERY UNUSUAL."

Sans closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair he dragged into the room. "eh. you know what they say... first time for everything, right? i mean, you've been after me since forever to put some effort in..." Sans opens one eye. "thought i'd throw you a bone."

Papyrus, who is in the process of wringing out the cloth of its now-lukewarm water, twists it so hard it's a wonder it doesn't rip right in half. "ARGH!!!"

Sans simply closes his eye again, chuckling.

The morning finally comes when Frisk is well enough that the two brothers don't feel a pressing need to hover within two feet of the child, lest the worst happen (like, heaven forbid, Frisk sneezing too hard.)

They do, however, intend to make absolutely certain that the cold will provide no further interference with Frisk's continued well-being. Sans layers them up in two extra layers of pants and - of course - allows them to continue using his winter coat. Papyrus, not to be outdone in this little clothes-sharing-fest, insists that Frisk take his scarf-cape as well, and completely delights in winding it snugly around their neck and shoulders. The three of them even stop over to see little bunny Fufu and his mother at the inn, where they manage to procure an appropriately-sized set of hat and gloves and woolen socks (hand-me-downs courtesy of Fufu).

Frisk, by the end of all this, can barely see, peeking out of the narrow space between the thick winter hat's brim and the top of Papyrus's scarf. Even still, Sans can clearly see that their cheeks are raised beneath their eyes in a sincerely happy smile, and for the second time in the last three or four days, he feels his bones turning to goo. He clears his throat awkwardly, giving his hands an extra-fierce shove into his pockets. "well, pap, i think frisk's about ready for that tour."

"YES, HUMAN, LET US EMBARK ON A JOURNEY OF FUN AND EXCITEMENT!" Papyrus says, posing proudly. "WE WILL LEAVE NO SNOW POFF UNTURNED!" 

Papyrus and Frisk make good on that claim in record time. Sans just watches, amused - especially when Greater Dog pops out of the last one. He's interested to see how Frisk will react. With Sans guiding Frisk to and from each of Papyrus's puzzles all those days prior, none of the dog squad had bothered to approach. They had likely assumed that if Sans was involved, their services weren't required. If he allows himself to keep some distance this time, he's betting their curiosity will finally get the better of most of them - if not all. (And more importantly, he's anxious to find out whether Frisk will have any problems.)

Thankfully, Frisk seems just as excited to see Greater Dog as Greater Dog seems to be to have discovered them. They fish around in the jacket pockets for a moment and then - Sans hold his breath - they bust out a stick. The very same stick, in fact, that they'd carried through the forest when they'd first left the Ruins. They raise it high over their head and wave it a little. Greater Dog's tail starts going immediately, and he lets out an enthusiastic "WOOF!" 

Frisk throws the stick.

Greater Dog goes. 

He's back in the blink of an eye, of course: Frisk's little arm can't send the stick all that far. Still, Greater Dog doesn't seem to mind, eagerly presenting his trophy to the child that threw it for him, his spear completely forgotten. Frisk is more than happy to oblige with another toss. And another. Aaand another.

Soon enough, Frisk gets Greater Dog so worked up that he springs free of his suit of armor and knocks the child over playfully, licking every inch of exposed skin on their face. Sans feels an instinctive pang of worry, but he soon relaxes as Frisk erupts into giggles. When Greater Dog finally lets Frisk sit back up, they are content to scratch behind his ears and give him belly rubs and receive even more happy doggie kisses in return.

Papyrus, meanwhile, is attempting to look nonchalant in the background. Sans knows better, though. His brother's repeated exposures to one particular dog have very much colored his outlook on the rest of them. He's likely trying to come up with some kind of plausible excuse to persuade Frisk to move on.

Before he has a chance to prove Sans right, though, Frisk gets to their feet and turns their attention to Papyrus. They smile up at him, offering the stick to him.

Papyrus sputters for a moment, taken by surprise, then clears his throat. "VERY WELL. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL ALSO DEMONSTRATE MY STICK-RETRIEVING SKILLS. TRY NOT TO BE TOO IMPRESSED WITH ME, HUMAN! IT IS A SKILL THAT TENDS TO LEAVE PEOPLE SPEECHLESS, NYEH HEH HEH!"

Sans watches the look on Frisk's face transition from confusion to understanding to a mixture of amusement and excitement. They'd clearly meant to offer Papyrus the chance to throw the stick for Greater Dog; they'd never anticipated that Papyrus would so completely misinterpret the gesture. And they don't look like they mind at all. They turn to gaze at Sans across the field for just a moment with something almost resembling glee. Then they look back to Papyrus and raise their arm.

Frisk throws the stick.

Papyrus goes.

The sight of his brother snagging the stick in his mouth mid-air and then bounding back to Frisk through the snow is almost too much for Sans to handle. It tickles his funny bone so hard, he's afraid he might not ever recover from the laughter. It gets even worse (and by worse he means better) when Frisk moves the stick and Greater Dog gets up again, tail wagging. Papyrus glares at Greater Dog and sets his stance. This time, they race each other for the stick.

They continue competing, in fact, until Frisk reaches the point where they are clearly worn out from tossing (it ends in a tie).

Greater Dog gives Frisk a lick goodbye and hops back into his armor (upside-down, somehow, tail to the wind), clanking away to return to his duties.

Unsurprisingly, a similarly playful thread runs through all the rest of the dog encounters. Doggo is initially alarmed at Frisks' "invisible" approach, until Papyrus's familiar boisterousness calms him back down; Frisk is more than happy to go rolling and tumbling in the snow to become friendly with Dogamy and Dogaressa; Lesser Dog's neck may never be the same again.

Frisk is the happiest Sans has seen them since they met outside the Ruins, and something inside him feels like a knot unwinding at the sight of it.

Still, he hadn't initially intended on them spending so much time with the Dog Squad, and it's already late afternoon. "hey pap," says Sans. "we should probably grab frisk some dinner soon. anything you wanna show 'em quick before we head back for a bit?"

Papyrus considers this very seriously. "I DO NOT THINK IT WISE TO BEGIN THEIR SNOW GOLF LESSONS RIGHT BEFORE DINNER. THEY SHOULD NOT BE RUSHED."

Sans chuckles. "makes sense, bro."

"NOW IS A PERFECT TIME TO SHOW THEM MY SUPERIOR SNOW SCULPTING SKILLS," Papyrus concludes brightly.

"good idea," Sans agrees. "yo, frisk!" Frisk looks up from their work, ribbon in one hand and ornament in the other as they carefully undecorate poor Gryftrot. "wanna see what my brother looks like as a snowman?"

Frisk smiles and nods, gently tugging down one last strand of tinsel before plodding over to the brothers through the snow.

The walk to the snow-Papyrus isn't all that long, and Frisk looks suitably impressed by Papyrus's handiwork when they arrive. Even if Sans weren't terribly biased in his brother's favor, he is pretty dang sure he would still be impressed, too - Papyrus seems to have a knack for art. The bone painting in their hallway is a one-of-a-kind Papyrus masterpiece, after all.

However, when Frisk notices the little snow lump with Sans's name scrawled haphazardly across it, they glance at him with a quizzical frown.

Sans laughs, shrugs. "it looks just like me, don'tcha think? captures my inner essence and all that."

"NO IT DOESN'T!" Papyrus says irritably. "THAT LUMP DOES YOU NO JUSTICE AT ALL!"

Sans expects this reaction from his brother. What he doesn't expect is the very seriously appraising glance Frisk gives him. It's almost, strangely, like they can see right through him. They say nothing, however. Instead, they trot over to the little lump and kneel down in front of it. Sans isn't quite sure what they're doing.

Then Frisk shoves their mittened hands right into the snow lump and scoops upwards, and suddenly Sans does understand. "aw, kid, you don't have to do that," he says, affecting an extra layer of nonchalance to make up for his sudden self-consciousness. "we're about to go grab dinner, anyway." But Frisk refuses to be deterred. They scoop and scrape and roll and pat - and Papyrus even joins in on the fun. He observes Frisk's work closely and offers gentle, encouraging guidance.

When the two of them move back at last, a snow-Sans that almost rivals the craftsmanship of the snow-Papyrus stands before them - hands-in-pockets, perma-grin and all.

"Now it looks like you," Frisk says, gazing at Sans solemnly. Sans gets the feeling that there are layers of meaning to their words that go far beyond the sculpture's aesthetic accuracy.

He swallows a sudden lump in his throat. "aw, gee, guys... it's great." He moves up beside them to look at it, feeling a strange lurching inside his ribcage. "it's really great." The expression on Snow Sans is somehow soft around the edges, and he wonders if he ever really looks like that. But if ever there were two people who could potentially draw an expression like that out of him... 

"boy," he says, suppressing the urge to clear his throat. "now i really owe you two dinner, huh?" After a short pause, he draws out his cellphone and snaps a photo of the two snow skeletons togther, then turns back to face Papyrus and Frisk.

"c'mon, guys, let's go to grillby's."

Chapter Text

Sans gets approximately one and a half steps past the threshold into Grillby's before he's buried beneath a pile of fur and wagging tails.

"Sans!"

"(You're back!)"

"ARF. ARF."

"We haven't seen you at breakfast!"

"(Or lunch!)"

"Or dinner!"

"(Or snacktime!)"

"Where have you been?"

"WHINE."

Sans flails helplessly at the bottom of the dogpile, completely taken by surprise (he's accustomed to surprise being a novelty in his mundane life - Frisk is rapidly making it a regular occurence). "wh--"

"There has been no one to pat my head!"

"(Or feed us scraps under the table!)"

"Or tell us bone jokes!"

"(We LOVE your bone jokes!)"

"Almost as much as we love bones!"

"WOOF."

"(Grillby has been so worried! He's already broken two glasses because he polished them too hard.)"

The ending of this sentence is punctuated by the shattering of glass, ironically enough. Sans manages to get his head free of the tangled mess of bodies and twists to glance over at Grillby with one eyebrow raised. The fire monster is frozen (heh) in place, a glittering pile of shards on the countertop, his rag still clutched tightly in one flaming hand. Suddenly, the glow at the center of his face begins to brighten, turning first white and then faintly blue, and he scrambles to clean up the mess with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. Sans has never known Grillby to even be capable of blushing, but somehow, he gets the feeling that's what's happening right this very moment. He thinks he hears Frisk giggle off to one side.

"aw, i'm sorry, guys," Sans says, when he can finally get a word in edgewise. "i didn't mean to leave you all feeling bonely. i just had some stuff to take care of, y'know?"

"At least warn us next time."

"(We were all worried!)"

He gets an especially slobbery kiss from the big guy at this, right up the side of his bony cheek, and laughs. "i'll try not to disappear without warning again, okay?" Satisfied, the dogs all lick him soundly one last time and then help him back to his feet before they return to their usual table.

Sans turns at last to face Frisk and Papyrus, who stand expectantly off to one side. Well, Papyrus stands - Frisk is contentedly draped over his arms, their legs dangling. Papyrus must have scooped them up and dodged out of the way of the dog ambush, and apparently hasn't put them down since.

Frisk is also currently wearing an incredibly smug grin. Sans finds himself suddenly thinking back to that brief, strange moment in Waterfall - "Everyone still likes you a lot, though." He sighs, reaching up to muss Frisk's hair into a tangled mess over their face. "don't gimme that 'i told you so' look," he says with a good-natured laugh.

"SANS!" Papyrus scolds him, swatting his hand away. "HOW IS THE HUMAN SUPPOSED TO EAT LIKE THAT?" He immediately takes up the task of undoing the tangles, his red-gloved fingers running gently through Frisk's messy brown locks. Frisk suddenly gets an incredibly peculiar expression on their face - almost as though no one has ever run fingers through their hair before. The surprise and confusion soon melt into something infinitely happier, however, and soon the child has closed their eyes, quietly allowing themself to be groomed.

Sans doesn't know anything about human social behaviors, or even really all that much about the social behaviors of monsters who have hair to begin with (off the top of his head, Undyne and Asgore are all that come to mind). He does know, however, that at least amongst the furry critters in Snowdin, it's pretty standard practice among family members to pick and brush at each other's fur, out of both affection and practicality.

He wonders, uneasily, if this has any relation to Frisk's insistence that they were trying to get out, not home.

"arright guys, let's order some dinner," he says at last. "whatcha havin', pap?"

Papyrus snorts. "SALAD, OBVIOUSLY. THE FOOD HERE IS SO GREASY, EVEN A RACECAR'S ENGINE WOULD BE OVERWHELMED." He looks down at Frisk, still dangling them in his arms. "HUMAN, IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU, YOU WILL ALSO HAVE A SALAD."

"pff, seriously, dude? no way, frisk totally has to have a burger and fries. they can have a salad at home!"

Papyrus finally sets Frisk down and puts his hands on his hips. "SANS, JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE DETERMINED TO DEVOLVE INTO A BLACK HOLE OF POOR NUTRITIONAL CHOICES DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD ENCOURAGE THE HUMAN TO DO THE SAME."

"c'mon, you don't want that rabbit food," Sans says, ignoring the disgruntled sounds of protest from the actual rabbits in the room. "not when there are burgs and hot dogs to be had."

"NOOO, HUMAN, DON'T LISTEN! LOVE YOURSELF! CHOOSE THE FOOD OF LONGEVITY!"

Sans leans against the wall, chuckling. "well, kiddo, you're the tie-breaker here, after all. which one do ya want?"

Both skeletons turn to look at the child.

Sans is startled to discover that Frisk's face has gone pale and taut, and their shoulders are hunched inwards, their hands clasped tightly against their chest. It's almost, oddly, as though they fear there is no right answer to this question. As if the fate of the world rests somehow on such a mundane choice.

As if they're afraid of how the ones asking the question might react.

"on second thought, let's get 'em both," Sans says quickly, and though he stays the same distance away, he crouches down slowly so that he can look up at Frisk instead of down at them. "what d'you say, squirt? how 'bout salad and a burger?" He holds out a hand, palm up, keeping it close to himself instead of reaching out.

Frisk gazing at him for a long moment, then slowly risks a glance up at Papyrus, still seeming uncertain.

Papyrus crosses his arms. "VERY WELL, BROTHER, YOUR SUGGESTION FOR COMPROMISE IS... PASSABLE. LET US PLACE THE ORDER POST-HASTE, I AM FAMISHED FROM TODAY'S DISPLAYS OF GREATNESS!"

The shorter skeleton watches Frisk carefully. They seem to relax at Papyrus's assent, the tension melting back away from their shoulders and some of the color returning to their cheeks; they nod quietly at Sans. Sans grins wider at the pair of them and turns, shuffling away towards the counter and Grillby. "you got it bro. one burger, one rabbit food, and one double-the-fun comin' right up."

As soon as he's no longer facing them, however, his expression dims again, and a question that he hasn’t dwelt on in a long time drifts slowly back into his mind.

why does a child fall into Mt. Ebott in the first place?

Chapter Text

You promised

ised

sd

sss

[Cross my heart and hope to die!]

Y ou 

P R O M I S E D 

[hope to die!]

If you hadn't

n't

[die!]

If you'd just told me, I...

I

IIIiiii

[...no, I believe in you.]

I'd have ditched you!

you

uu

[I believe]

I'd have left you

behind

and done it m y s e l f

[I believe]

and you'd be...

be

[in you]

you'd be...

...

Why?

I believed you.

[We'll always be together, won't we?]

I trusted you.

[always be together]

You, above everyone else.

[always]

I knew you were worried about it, but I didn't...

[won't we?]

You should have told me.

[We can't do this!]

We... we could have...

I'd... 

[can't]

It would have been different!

[We can't]

Don't you see?

It's all wrong now.

[can't do this!]

It's all WRONG.

It was never meant to be this way.

And we can't even go back.

We can NEVER go back.

We can never go back...

...

You ruined everything!!!

...

[...no. I believe in you.]

...No...

...

[I believe in you.]

...

No.

I... ruined everything.

[believe in you]

And now I'll never see you again.

Chapter Text

Tonight, after tucking Frisk in the racecar bed once again, Papyrus settles cross-legged onto the floor beside it, and Sans reads the two of them a bedtime story. Papyrus then bids them both good night and heads downstairs to take his place on the sofa (he will not hear of Frisk using anything other than his bed, and he still refuses to set foot in Sans's room until Sans learns how to use a vacuum.)

Sans debates for a short while whether or not to move to his bedroom for the night. However, he soon settles upon staying beside Frisk - he still isn't sure how well they're coping with their body companion. On the one hand, it hasn't shown any recent signs of resurfacing. On the other hand, no one has challenged Frisk to any kind of combat since Papyrus, and the only times they've been asleep so far were when their body was too weak to do anything else. For all Sans knows, Frisk might well lose their bodily control when sleeping. At least if he's in the room, he'll hear any movement instantly.

It is one-hundred percent for all of these clearly logical precautions that he stays, and has absolutely nothing to do with the puppy eyes Frisk turns on him when it looks like Sans might possibly be getting up to leave.

"put those eyes away, those're dangerous," he grumbles through his grin, giving Frisk a gentle flick on the nose. Frisk giggles, then pulls back the covers, patting the bed beside them with a hopeful look. "do i look like a teddy bear?" Sans says in a mock-exasperated voice, putting his hands on his hips. Frisk nods immediately. Sans laughs. "guess i asked for that, huh. arright, arright, scoot over, half-pint." Frisk obliges, shifting closer to the wall and holding the blankets up for Sans to climb under. "hup!" The skeleton hoists himself over the side, landing on the mattress with a melodramatic flop. He haphazardly arranges the sheet and blanket over himself and then props his head up on one hand, looking at Frisk. "there, happy?" They nod again, beaming up at him from the pillow. Sans snorts and ruffles their hair - something that's rapidly becoming a habit, he's noticing. "now get some shut-eye, ok? pipsqueaks need lotsa sleep to grow up big and strong or whatever. probably."

Right on cue, Frisk yawns, rubbing one eye drowsily. "G'night, Sans..." they mumble, curling up comfortably on their side so that they face him.

"night, frisk," he says quietly, watching them for a few more moments before he allows his own head to drop onto the pillow.

This time it's Sans's turn to have nightmares.

It's the usual fare - hands grasping at people he can't reach, watching clocks unwind themselves and the memories fall away from him like sand out of an hourglass, photographs of dear ones he'll never see again suspended all around, the broken pieces of a machine that will never function, drifting to and fro as if caught in an invisible tide. There is a core of sorrow that still burns with the heat of mourning and despair, and all around a deep, dark, roaring silence.

He doesn't know how long he dreams, but when he jerks awake at last it is to a pair of tiny hands gripping his cheeks and a light weight on his chest. As his vision slowly clears, he realizes that Frisk is above him, leaning on him as they gaze down at him anxiously.

"Sans...?" they say uncertainly.

He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling slow and deep and then letting the breath out. "sorry, kiddo, didn't mean to wake you up. just a bad dream, 's all." He feels their fingers tighten against his cheeks, and then suddenly their warm forehead is pressing against his. His eyes fly back open. "uh...?"

"Do you wanna talk about it...?" they say softly.

Sans shakes his head, trying for a laugh. "nah, 's no big deal."

The look on Frisk's face tells him immediately that they don't believe him for a minute, but they smile anyway. "It's okay. I don't like talking about my nightmares, either," they tell him, and suddenly Sans realizes they've reversed their roles from only a few nights ago. He doesn't know how to feel about this.

He's even less certain moments later when Frisk insinuates themself into his arms and tucks their body right up against his ribcage, resting their head on his sweatshirt. "you gonna be comfortable, kid? i didn't think bones, uh, made the greatest pillows for you squishy types." Frisk simply pats the soft, plush fabric of Sans's sweatshirt in answer and closes their eyes, their hand coming to rest on his sternum. Sans falls silent as the warmth melts into him from their palm and fingers, softening the edges that define where Frisk ends and Sans begins.

Neither of them say anything more - but then, for once, Sans doesn't feel the need to fill the empty silence before it overwhems him. Perhaps it is because the silence, strangely, does not feel so empty this time.

Sans doesn't dream again that night.

The next day, Frisk seems intent on covering every square inch of Snowdin Forest. 

The stranger thing is that they purposely seem to be running into every monster resident the forest has to offer. 

In the morning, they are tentative, venturing timidly towards Ice Cap with a glance at Sans over their shoulder to make sure he is watching. Then their shoulders seem to square, and they march right up to the sharp-edged little monster, holding out a hand to it as if for a handshake. Unsurprisingly, Ice Cap's first reaction is to give them a suspicious scowl and release a flurry of icicles, along with one of its standard hat-themed quips. Sans feels the sweat breaking out on the side of his skull. He takes a step forward - but Frisk skitters sideways, plopping into a snowbank as the icicles fly harmlessly past. He quietly lets out the breath he was holding as the child gets back up and dusts themself off, facing Ice Cap once again. This time they point at the hat, and they say something in a voice so soft that Sans can't quite catch it, other than to hear that it seems to bear the inflection of a question. This seems to rile the little ice creature up further, and again the icicles burst forth. This time, however, Frisk is clearly ready for it. They quickly scramble sideways in the other direction this time, and after a moment's pause they gently pluck the hat right off Ice Cap's head. There's a loud squawk of protest and then - and then, suddenly, there is a large ice cube where Ice Cap stood only moments prior.

Sans stares. What in the name of the king of all monsters just happened?  

Frisk gingerly places the hat in the snow and crouches down beside the ice block, patting its head (???) with gentle fingers and murmuring something in that same soft voice. There's a sudden burst of little frosty spirals that curl over the front pane of the cube. Sans thinks, for lack of an explanation, that this must be the ice-based equivalent to a blush. The formerly-Ice-Cap creature says something that sounds suspiciously like a "thank you" and Frisk smiles, giving them a last pat. When they straighten, they look oddly as though some small measure of weight has been lifted from their shoulders, and if Sans was confused before, he's absolutely befuddled now. 

"huh. you're pretty good at this whole makin' friends thing, kiddo," he says. "but uh, you sure you're gonna be ok? some of these monsters are a little rougher around the edges than others..."

Frisk tips their head back to smile up at him. They give him a firm nod and tap his hand lightly with the pads of their fingers, as if reassuring him.  

However, as the day goes on, Sans is less and less reassured. 

He doesn't quite understand it at first. There's a bizarre nagging feeling at the back of his skull like there's something he's missing. It's as though he walked through the doorway from one room into another and can't quite remember what he came in there for. Even worse, the feeling seems to slowly pile up on itself as the hours pass, much like the gently falling snow of the forest - little white drifts of thoughts that evade his grasp like the shadows flitting around one's peripheral vision.

Then he begins to notice a sensation not unlike the sorts of dreams that leave you falling endlessly, only for you to jerk yourself awake right before you land. Ordinarily, Sans would just attribute it to his poor sleep habits and his resulting tendency to nod off during daylight hours. What gives him pause is that it only seems to affect him at the moment when Frisk walks up to a new monster to make friends, the way they've been doing all day. It doesn't happen every time - but it does only happen specifically during those times, and even more bizarrely, the frequency starts to increase as the day goes on. Still, what about those encounters would have such an odd affect on him? It's almost like--

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

He watches Frisk walk back to him from their latest little meet-n-greet, a sudden tension locking his bones in place. "frisk," he says tightly, and they turn their attention away from the Snowdrake they're waving goodbye to. 

Frisk senses his tone immediately and halts, their smile falling.

Sans takes a breath, working his hands in his pockets, and kneels down so that he can again look at the child from a less intimidating angle. "frisk," he starts again. "are you, uh... when those monsters pick a fight with you, are you--have you been..." he fights the urge to swallow, "...'going back'?"

The guilt-tinged look of alarm on Frisk's face is answer enough.

Sans struggles silently with the resulting onslaught of emotions. There is a long, uncomfortable pause as he sorts himself out enough to ask, "is it because they... because you've been, uh... 'falling down'?"

Now Frisk won't even look at him.

"kid," he says, and his voice has a strangely hoarse coating to it that he is unaccustomed to. "aw, kid. why?"

Frisk hangs their head lower, their hands tightly gripping each other, white-knuckled.

Sans breathes again. Closes his eyes. Opens them. "frisk, i'm not... i'm not angry, ok? but kid, if you've been taking hits that bad, why wouldn't you just, y'know, run? fights aren't my thing, but i can sure as heck get you out of them if you need help - so why?"

Frisk withdraws even further into the neck of their borrowed winter coat, their hands trembling now. "Have to," they say miserably, and though their voice is tiny, it is also terribly firm. "Have to."

Sans starts to ask "why" for a third time, but he can see from the set of Frisk's features that he won't get any more from them on the matter.

"ok," he says at last, heavily. "ok. but... i can only take so much of this, y'know? i'm kinda freakin' out right now. how many times has it been already?" He shakes his head. "nevermind, don't answer that." He points at Frisk with a single bony finger. "seriously, though. i still don't get why it's so important to you, but i'm not the kinda guy who's just gonna stop you cold turkey. that said, you get two more of those little 'redos' for today before i haul your butt straight home to papyrus. capiche?"

Frisk shuffles closer to him through the snow, finally offering him a tentative smile and nodding quietly at his stipulation. They reach out and curl their mitten into his sleeve, putting their other hand on their own chest. "I'll be careful," they say softly, gratitude in their eyes.

Sans gets to his feet again and takes them by the shoulder, squeezing it once. Then he turns them around, planting his hand on their back and giving them a light push. "all right, buddy, have at it." He sighs, watching them trot off through the snow again, fluffy white flakes kicking up behind them as they go.

This kid is gonna be the death of him.

Chapter Text

"HUMAN," booms Papyrus, his long legs moving with seeming effortlessness as he glides across the ice. Frisk wobbles along some distance behind him, looking about as graceful in their ice skates as a dog wearing booties for the first time. "I HAVE BEEN THINKING. YOU AND I ARE AT A STRANGE, COMPLEX, UNKOWN POINT IN THE RELATIONSHIP WHICH WE ARE HARD AT WORK RELATING WITHIN. WE BREAK SPAGHETTI TOGETHER. SANS TELLS US BEDTIME STORIES TOGETHER. YOU HAVE A VERY IMPRESSIVE WINK, WHICH APPEARS TO BE SECOND TO NONE BUT MY OWN. WE EVEN DO..." Papyrus blushes slightly, "...THE CUDDLE." He clears his throat and does an elegant pirouette on the ice before moving on. "THUS, IN MY SEARCH FOR AN ANSWER, I HAVE RESEARCHED INTENSELY. I HAVE LEFT NO STONE UNTURNED. SO OF COURSE I REFERENCED MY VERY SPECIAL GUIDE BOOK..." He suddenly whips a phonebook-sized novel out of his chest armor and skids to a halt in an impressive spray of ice, turning to face Frisk.

"I HAVE CONCLUDED, HUMAN, THAT WE ARE PROBABLY DATING! OR, PROBABLY WERE DATING. OR... ARE PROBABLY GOING TO DATE? THE TIME FRAMES IN THESE SCENARIOS ARE SADLY UNCLEAR. HOWEVER, ONE THING IS ICE CRYSTAL CLEAR--" From off to the side of this ice rink, cozily settled in his Frisk-crafted snowbed, Sans snickers. "--AND IT IS THAT DEFINITELY DATING IS FAR SUPERIOR TO PROBABLY DATING. WHICH IS WHY I, PAPYRUS, HAVE DECIDED TO TAKE YOU ON A PROPER DATE ON THIS FINE SNOWDIN DAY."

Frisk pauses in their determined wobbling for a moment, blinking up at Papyrus with an impressively blank expression. Sans can tell that they have absolutely no idea what Papyrus is going on about, but are both too polite to interrupt and too polite to tell him so.

"THE TIME HAS ARRIVED FOR US TO TEST OUR METTLE IN THIS BATTLE OF LOVE."

At the word "battle," Frisk's eyes seem to catch on something, and they reach up into the air curiously, making a tapping motion. All at once, there are lights and bright colors and charts and bells and whistles, and a tune playing in the background that sounds like something straight out of one of Alphys's romance sim games. Sans bolts upright in the snowbed, startled; he grows subsequently baffled as he tries (and fails) to make heads or tails of the strange interface. Still, Papyrus seems to know whatever the heck it is, a pleased expression lighting up his eyes, so Sans shrugs and resumes the position of "lounging spectator."

And spectate he does: the resulting "love battle" looks like something straight out of MTT.

Adding to the entertainment value is the sight of Papyrus growing flustered to comical extremes while Frisk remains completely unphased (if, perhaps, still confused). There is a multitude of strange gestures and flailing on both sides, the tempo of the apparently sourceless background music kicks up at least twice, and everything comes together in a big flashy finish when Frisk discovers a spaghetti present under Papyrus's cap (Sans still isn't sure when or how he even changed outfits). It is here that Papyrus makes a few last feeble attempts at whatever it is he considers "winning" in this scenario, before finally admitting defeat at the hands of Frisk's dating power.

"HUMAN," he says. "EVERYTHING YOU DO, EVERYTHING YOU SAY, HAS ALL BEEN FOR MY SAKE. YOUR HONEST LOVE HAS SHONE THROUGH AND TOUCHED MY SOUL. IT IS TIME THAT I, PAPYRUS, TOLD YOU MY TRUE FEELINGS AS WELL. I..." He pauses, tugging on the neck of his Cool Dude shirt collar and fanning himself gently. "I-IS IT HOT OUT HERE...? AH, I, THAT IS, MY FEELINGS..."

There is a much longer pause this time. Then Papyrus sighs. "...I... DO NOT LIKE YOU THE SAME WAY THAT YOU LIKE ME. I THOUGHT THAT YOUR FLIRTATIONS MEANT THAT I SHOULD GO ON A DATE WITH YOU, AND THEN I WOULD RETURN YOUR PASSIONATE ARMOROUSNESS. BUT I DO NOT FEEL THAT WAY ABOUT YOU - AND WORSE, I HAVE INSTEAD CAUSED YOUR HEART TO FALL EVER HARDER FOR MY HANDSOME VISAGE BY COURTING YOU! HOW COULD I CAUSE YOU SUCH SUFFERING?!" Papyrus seems to wallow in uncharacteristic agony for a few moments. Frisk reaches up, taking his large bony hand in their tiny one, and gazes at him quietly. Papyrus gazes back, then straightens abruptly, as if struck by lightning. "NO, THIS IS WRONG! THE GREAT PAPYRUS CANNOT FAIL AT ANYTHING!"

Frisk smiles encouragingly, squeezing Papyrus's fingers. "Friends?" they say hopefully.

Papyrus's eyes shine, and he hoists Frisk up into his arms, swinging them around in a circle as they giggle. "FRIENDS!" he agrees joyfully. "I WILL BE YOUR LOYAL AND TRUE FRIEND FOREVER, HUMAN--"

"Frisk," the child interrupts shyly.

"--I WILL BE YOUR LOYAL AND TRUE FRIEND FOREVER, FRISK." The tall skeleton looks as though he might bubble over with giddiness. "AND FEAR NOT! THOUGH OUR GREAT ROMANCE WAS NOT MEANT TO BE, YOU ARE STILL A WONDERFUL PERSON, AND SOMEDAY YOU ARE SURE TO FIND SOMEONE AS GREAT AS I! WELL, NO ONE IS AS GREAT AS I, BUT DO NOT WORRY, I WILL HELP YOU TO SETTLE FOR SECOND BEST!"

The little brunet tips their head to the side, a thoughtful expression crossing their face. "Papyrus?"

"YES, FRISK?"

"Why is there only one greatest?"

"AH, THAT IS BECAUSE GREATNESS IS LIKE A PYRAMID!" Payrus declares confidently. "AT THERE VERY TOP, THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE, AND THAT IS I, PAPYRUS! BUT YOU ARE VERY NEAR THE TOP, FRISK! SECOND ONLY TO I!"

"But why?" Frisk asks again, slightly more insistent this time. "I think you are very great, and I think Sans is also very great. I don't think either of you is more great or less great, just... different great. 'Cause you're a really good cook, and you're super brave and strong! And Sans is really smart, and tells the best jokes, and..." they pause, looking down as if embarrased, "...and I just like you both a lot, and you're both the greatest, to me..." 

Sans glances at his brother just in time to witness the closest facial mimicry of a bluescreen he's ever seen.

"I," says Papyrus. "THAT IS... AN INTERESTING QUESTION... WHICH YOU ARE POSING." He thinks for a few moments, Frisk still cuddled in his arms, an intense frown drawing his bony brows together. "FRISK. IT SEEMS I REQUIRE TIME TO CONSIDER THIS IN ORDER TO GIVE YOU THE PERFECT ANSWER!"

Frisk nods, then shyly bumps their forehead against Papyrus's in the cat-like way they've seen the skeleton brothers do with each other from time to time. "Will you help me skate, Papyrus?"

Papyrus's frown disappears immediately, and he lowers Frisk back down to the ice. "OF COURSE I WILL! AS YOU WELL KNOW, PAPYRUS IS AN EXCELLENT TEACHER! I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO SKATE LIKE THE MOST GRACEFUL OF SWANS!"

Frisk looks awed. "Swans can ice-skate?"

"THEY CAN IF THEY HAVE BEEN TAUGHT HOW BY PAPYRUS, NYEH HEH HEH!"

Sans looks on as the two of them glide (and wobble) away across the rink, Papyrus's voice ringing out with advice and encouragement. He watches for a few moments more before rolling onto his back in the snowbed, his arms folded behind his head, his gaze going distant as it lands upon their world's idea of a "sky."

He feels a strange itch in his bones. He thinks, too, that he has felt it before, but it hasn't fully registered in his conscious mind until this moment. It's a peculiar sensation, at once familiar and foreign, somewhat akin to the growing pains of his pre-adolescence. He can't entirely put a finger on it... but in a way, it's as though this moment in time, this scenario, is both new and old - not quite the same as deja-vu; rather more as though it's happened before, but perhaps not quite like this...

Then he realizes he can remember the first time he felt that peculiar itch.

It was when he met Frisk at the bridge.

Chapter Text

At first, Sans doesn't notice that the way Frisk looks at the library is different from the way they look at the rest of Snowdin - after all, the little town is full of twinkly lights and brightly decorated trees and the soft glow from the windows of the assorted buildings, just the right sorts of things to catch the eyes of a small child.

But as they stroll past the library on the way to Grillby's one lazy afternoon, and Frisk gaze lingers just a little longer on its windows than anywhere else, Sans registers the faintest touch of... wistfulness? Nostalgia? Sorrow? Just what, he isn't quite sure, but it's enough to give him pause.

He stops where he stands, scratching his skull thoughtfully. "you ever been in there, kiddo?" Privately, he reflects that Frisk generally sticks to him and Papyrus like a burr, and considering neither of them ever visit the place, the answer is probably no.

Frisk shakes their head.

The child wanders through the library in a daze, tracing their fingertips along the spines of the books, drawing a long and audible breath in through their nose.

They stop all at once, turning slowly to the book their fingers have landed upon - a dark, faded spine, a worn old thing in the children's section. They pause for a long moment, and though it may be a trick of the light, it seems their hand is trembling. They slowly withdraw the book from its niche and cradle it in their arms for a moment, just staring at the cover. They hug it to their chest, then, and turn to move again. It's as if they know exactly where they're going. Their feet lead them to a small, dark, dusty corner at the back, in a section of books that looks as though hardly anyone ever visits. They tuck themselves into the corner with their back against the wall, breathing in again. They spread the book - a picture book, evidently - open in their lap.

Sans, watching silently, hesitates. It's almost like the kid has forgotten he's here - do they want privacy? He takes a few careful steps towards the child, waiting to see if they will react - but they don't. He dares to venture the rest of the way over, shuffling so that he's just close enough to see the book, then props himself against the wall. Frisk still doesn't move, doesn't say a word.

Instead, they follow the lines of the image on the first page in the book with their fingers, a dazed look on their face.

"The Ugly Duckling," the title reads - or read at one time. In red crayon that's been pressed down so hard it left visible ruts in the paper, "Duckling" has been crossed off and replaced with "Human." Sans might say that the sloppy scrawl looks like that of a child's, but then, his own handwriting is hardly any better.

The red crayon artist doesn't seem to have left a single page untouched. On pages with the mother duck and the other ducklings, there are harsh, scraggly X's drawn across their heads; on later pages, there are also violent scribbles over the rest of the animals that bully and scorn the young duckling.

Then the duckling sees the swans for the first time, still not knowing that he is one of them, and here "swans" has been, with greater care than the rest of the crayon edits made, replaced with the word "monsters."

"He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had flown, but he felt to.. towa... towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world," whispers Frisk, and Sans startles out of his half-daze at the sound of their voice after the long silence, filled only with the sound of turning pages.

Some pages they read silently again, and others their whispering voice breaks free upon, especially at the ending, though they stumble over some of the words. "He had been per.. perse...cuted and des.. despised.. for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rust... rust-led his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, 'I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.'" 

Frisk grips the edges of the book until their knuckles turn white, and bows their head until their face is hidden. Sans thinks he can hear the faint sound of crying, and he bends in alarm, taking a closer look at the book.

On the blank face on the inside of the book's hardcover, a full crayon picture is drawn - and the art style is almost certainly a child's. There are four people standing together smiling; what makes Sans blink in surprise is recognizing two of the four. Standing tall behind the two smaller figures, unmistakably, are King Asgore and his Queen. Sans has never personally met the Queen, but her crown and her likeness to the King identify her easily.

This insight draws Sans to inspect the smaller two more carefully. One of the two is easily a miniature version of the two royals, and Sans understands that it must be their child. But the other of the two...

A human, he realizes.

The second one is a human.

In such a simple red crayon rendering, there is little to distinguish them from any other human, save for a sharp hairstyle cut in a bob much like Frisk's,  and a single wide stripe on their shirt.

He takes a few moments to process this; then he sets aside the thoughts for later and hunkers down to the library floor beside Frisk, moving quiet and slow so as to not startle them. "frisk?" he says.

The child still jumps slightly, as if having forgotten he was there, and swipes their sleeve across their eyes without looking at Sans.

Sans touches a couple of fingers to their arm, pausing to let them move away if need be; when they instead lean towards him slightly, he slides his arm around their small shoulders and leans his back against the wall. "you wanna talk about it?" he says, his voice just loud enough for Frisk to hear.

Predictably, they shake their head no.

"ok, kiddo. you need to get out of here?"

They shake their ahead again.

"ok," he says, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "well, no rush. i got plenty of nothin' to be doin', so we can chill here all day if you want."

Frisk simply sniffles and hides their face in the chest of his sweatshirt, one hand latching onto him as the other remains clutching the book.

i'm in way over my head, Sans thinks tiredly, letting out a long breath.

about six feet in over my head.

Chapter Text

"Sans," comes Frisk's soft voice.

The skeleton briefly considers feigning sleep; he is lounging in his bed at the moment. He's also fairly certain he knows what conversation is about to happen, and he really doesn't want to deal with it right now. Or, like, ever.

"Sans... I have to keep going," they say, and yep, he was totally right, he really doesn't want to deal with this.

Now that the child has befriended every single monster they can possibly find in the Snowdin region, the immediate vicinity has become relatively safe for them. Keeping the kid here with him and Papyrus has even become almost second-nature to the skeleton brothers - a routine part of their day - and routine means that Sans gets to relax again.

Well, inasmuch as he ever genuinely relaxes. Funnily enough, "slacking off on responsibilities" does not automatically equate to "relaxing."

It doesn't mean that the things that haunt him at night suddenly go away. It doesn't mean that the weight on his shoulders of being one of the only ones who knows what their futures look like gets any lighter. In fact, the only thing it DOES mean is that he has time to sleep during the day to make up for all those miserable nighttime hours (though, to be fair, those miserable nighttime hours have lessened considerably now that Frisk cuddles up in bed with him more often than not.)

Letting Frisk progress onwards through the kingdom means new dangers all over again - new traps, new monsters, and most specifically, in the immediate future? Undyne.

Frankly, as things stand now, this is already more involved than Sans had ever thought he would get when he made his promise to the kind woman behind the giant stone door to protect any human that came through it. He had long envisioned something far more hands-off: watching from a distance, playing it cool, intervening only where absolutely necessary.

Not practically adopting the child like some stray kitten.

It's just... there was something about the way Frisk looked at him, that very first time. All of his instincts had cried out that this was important in a way that managed to cut straight through the miasma of his apathy and despair and spur him into action.

But even with a feeling of underlying foreboding, Sans only has so much energy to expend. He only has so much in the way of mental resources to offer before he risks being unable to keep even himself afloat. And he knows damn well Frisk doesn't intend to stop after Waterfall, or Hotland, or the CORE, or any place that isn't the very end of their kingdom.

Does he really think he can see this child all the way through?

"SANS!" his brother's voice interrupts, stalling his train of thought. "I HAVE COME TO ANNOUNCE THAT I AM GOING ON A JOURNEY!"

The train of thought remains stalled.

"...huh?"

"THAT IS TO SAY, FRISK IS GOING ON A JOURNEY, AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE THEIR GUIDE! AS A FUTURE LEGENDERY ROYAL GUARD, THERE IS NO BETTER CANDIDATE THAN I TO TAKE UP THIS TASK!"

Sans glances at Frisk, only to discover that the child looks just as surprised and confused as Sans feels. It would seem this is news to both of them.

"hittin' the road, huh, bro?" he says a moment later, his voice as level as ever. "that's new."

Fearless, Papyrus may be, but he's always had a natural tendency to stay close to home. The concept of him venturing out of Snowdin for more than a day or two is an entirely foreign one to Sans, and though he knows his brother is more than strong enough to take care of himself, Papyrus's sense of self-preservation is also... somewhat lacking.

"I COULD NOT LET MY WONDERFUL FRIEND FRISK GO ALONE!" Papyrus declares, crossing his arms and nodding. "IT IS COMMON SENSE, AND HAS NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH FRISK'S STRANGE AND COMPELLING EYE POWERS."

Yes, the puppy dog eyes. Sans knows all too well.

"hey, bro?"

"YES, SANS?"

"what about, uh, undyne?"

Sans feels, rather than sees, Frisk flinch beside him.

Remembers how their last encounter with her went.

Suppresses a shudder himself, the memory flickering at the edge of his mind - the child lying in the bed of flowers, pale and unmoving, hair splayed out in all directions... like some kind of eerie painting you couldn't look away from...

Mercifully, his brother's voice cuts in again.

"I'M GOING TO INTRODUCE THEM, OF COURSE!"

"uh... huh..."

Sans scratches the back of his skull. On the one hand, they can avoid the delayed-inevitability-chase-scene this way. On the other hand... what.

"UNDYNE IS MY FRIEND, AND FRISK IS ALSO MY FRIEND. THIS WAY, THEY CAN BE FRIENDS, TOO! AS YOU CAN SEE, MY PLANS ARE FLAWLESS."

"heh... nix the f and your plans are illegal."

"SANS! DO NOT DISTRACT FROM THE TOPIC AT HAND WITH YOUR WORD TRICKERY."

"the topic's at hand, the game's a foot?"

It isn't long before Frisk is witness to yet another skeleton scuffle.

"BROTHER," Papyrus says at last, Sans in a necklock under one arm, "I AM GOING WITH FRISK TO VISIT UNDYNE, AND YOU ARE WELCOME TO JOIN OUR BAND OF MERRY MEN."

"is that why they say 'the more, the merrier?'"

Papyrus ignores him completely this time. "COME, FRISK, LET US PREPARE... PROVISIONS." He extends a hand to the child, who takes it, still looking as though they've been thrown for a loop, and the two exit the bedroom (presumably to prepare "provisions" in the kitchen.)

Sans gazes at the empty doorway for a moment, then flops back against his pillow with a groan. It occurs to him, briefly, that Papyrus being more hands-on with the kid means that Sans can be more hands-off. It also occurs to him, immediately after, that he's going to have to spend a lot more time making sure that Frisk's little passenger doesn't take issue with Papyrus again.

Here at home, everything is safe and comfortable and, most importantly, predictable. Sans has been sneaking the kid back to see Gerson for further meditation practice as often as he can summon the energy to do, and it really does seem to have paid off. Frisk hasn't shown any signs of that strange Other surfacing - or at least, not violent ones. Sans isn't entirely certain the peculiar day at the library isn't somehow related, but then Frisk still hasn't said anything on the matter, and Sans really isn't the prying sort.

When you want your own secrets left alone, you tend to leave everyone else's alone, too.

He rolls onto his side in the bed, reaching up to scratch the back of his skull. The thing he's most worried about, the reason he's so worried about leaving home behind, is the concern that throwing in too many new variables at once (Undyne is cause enough for concern all on her own, but new locations, new monsters, new obstacles?) could upset the internal balance Frisk has worked so hard to achieve for themself, leaving them right back at square one with the violent personality Sans still has nightmares about.

But he knows, all too well, that not everyone wants to preserve their life in perfect stasis the way he does. It's only natural that Frisk should want to keep moving forward - and given that the child seems to possess a burning desire to accomplish something only they know anything about, Sans knows that they will not be deterred. Not after they've already soldiered on ahead through multiple deaths at the hands of monsters.

If that doesn't scare them off, what possibly could?

He closes his eyes exhaustedly for a moment, allows himself a few of the carefully-measured deep breaths that Gerson has been teaching Frisk how to use. Then he heaves himself upright, shoving his hands in his pockets and sliding groggily off the bed to put his slippers on.

His final decision can wait for a little while longer, at least. He'll stall by popping into the kitchen to see what the other two are getting up to, help them out a little (and by "help them out" he definitely means getting in Papyrus's way as much as skeletonly possible), and maybe eventually, come to some sort of conclusion.

And, well. Frisk and Papyrus are giving it all they've got - full steam ahead, like always. As for Sans, he knows he doesn't have a heck of a lot to give.

But who knows?

Maybe, just maybe, what little he's got can be enough.