Chapter Text
Sans is a human.
Unofficially, of course. The realisation is one undeniable, and despite the fact nobody can quite recall how long ago the brothers had moved in, it’s long enough that the thought of contacting the king is hesitant. Sans is nice, not the merciless killer everyone knows humans to be- and yet what’s to say upon realising that his facade has fallen that such a fact will remain?
His blood, the substance alien to nearly everyone in the bar, drips from his nose. Sans doesn’t seem to notice, still picking at his fries, only eating the floppier ones like any trustworthy monster would. It should be an easy decision, moreso with the entire Snowdin Royal Guard Sentry unit in the same building…
It’s like someone has paused time, a silence thick enough that eyes debate between favouring Sans or the dogs. It’s not until Grillby moves, sliding into the backroom before passing the former several napkins. The silence persists, before finally Bird speaks up.
“Grillby says you have something on your face.” Her voice doesn’t wobble, but there is undoubtedly the quality of emotion. Sans, an uncharacteristic confusion managing to shine through his almost mask of a face. A napkin goes up white, and comes down red.
The realisation is clear the moment it clicks for sans, pupils shrinking before the blood is hastily wiped away as though it’d never been there. He doesn’t linger much longer, an almost rushed “welp, Papyrus is probably looking for me” his goodbye before he disappears from the space.
Nobody dares to say another word about it, all too keen to forget it’d ever happened. If Papyrus is… mad-ish, the next week, then the reason behind the unusual behavior is already forgotten.