Chapter Text
It’s all crumbling apart.
Coming undone.
Unraveling at the seams.
The party wasn’t something you’d wanted to go to. It was an exclusive, invite-only shindig that you knew all too well would get out of hand as soon as the evening dipped into night. You knew there would be booze, as most parties did in a college town, but knowing the person who invited you, it would be a heavy mix of human and monster alcohol. Alcohol that, when mixed, causes for easy inebriation and cursed hangovers, or so you’ve heard. Not to mention, by the time the host was drunk enough to really party, the other guests would be piling on plus ones, sneaking under the radar. That meant a mix of your colleagues and students, of whom you didn’t want to interact with outside of a professional setting, would be there.
You could feel it. This party would be a complete disaster.
Still, as the host wraps an arm around you, leaning back in his chair, you gulp.
All eyes were on you.
Dean was… well, popular wasn’t the word. You weren’t in high school, yet among the staff of the university you worked for, he was highly regarded as such. Whether it was due to him being the Chairman's son or not… well, you're not one to speculate.
Alass, Ticks, your best friend, a strange-looking monster mixed between a watch and a dog, pleads with you, blinking his big eyes. His gaze lingers far too long, and Dean leans in too close for comfort. A bunny girl and two other human coworkers start giggling as you eventually nod your head, agreeing to go.
The small group cheers, the two human coworkers from earlier giving you a sly smile. You try to ignore it, mostly focused on the fact that Dean has yet to remove his arm from your shoulders. You try shugging him off.
But of course, he just pulls you in further, chuckling low into your ear. Your breath hitches as a sense of fear prickles under your skin. You look to Ticks, hoping for some help, but the monster is unaware of your silent plea, instead taking a moment to stick his head under the lounge's faucet, snapping at the water with his neck twisted at a strange angle.
“Alright- remember, babe,” the word ‘babe’ makes you shiver and bite your tongue as not to lash out, “It’s tomorrow- make sure to wear something… appropriate, ‘k?” His words sound just as disgusting as you feel, and you take the opportunity to stand, making him drop his arm.
“Yeah, whatever.”
As you mumble out the words, your coworkers snicker again. Well, the humans, anyway. The bunny, who you're still forgetting the name of, just seems happy to be included.
Shaking your head, you sigh and approach Ticks, reaching over and turning off the faucet. He looks at you, once again with those big eyes of his, making you chuckle. His face is dripping wet. Planting a hand on his head, you ruffle his fur, making him yip happily.
***
Okay.
Yeah-
No.
Twisting and turning in front of the mirror, your face is flushed.
“I can’t do this…” The whine leaves your throat as you spin to look at your other side.
After work had ended, you had tried your hardest to avoid your coworkers, slipping down the more disjointed hallways around campus. Yet you still found yourself in front of Tick’s classroom, waiting for your friend like normal. Of course, this was a stupid decision, as your coworkers found you and grabbed you by the arms.
It was the two from before, who just let Dean do whatever he wanted. You neglected to learn their names as well, even as they had cornered you.
“So…” The woman with brunette hair giggles.
“Your actually coming to the party tomorrow, huh?” The ginger woman on your other side grins.
Slowly, you nod, “Y-yeah… but only because Ticks-”
“Oh hush!” The Ginger snaps a little, though her smile remains, “Always this and that about Ticks- what do you like him?”
“Oh, ew!” Brunette speaks again, “I’d hope not… you know how monsters are!”
“But-”
They cut you off again, “Common, leave the pooch behind-”
“I doubt you have any real party clothes, so were taking you out!”
“I-”
“Nope!” They interject, “Common! It’ll be fun!”
So now here you were, prancing listlessly in front of the mirror, tugging down at a red dress that was much too revealing for you. It was skintight, reaching mid-thigh, and with a wide open back. A velvet choker with a dangling red gemstone sits right between your collarbones, and your black heels are already making your feet ache.
Tonight could not be over soon enough.
Ticks arrive sooner rather than later, much to your dismay, parking in one of the apartments' visitor spaces. You watch as he makes his way to the building, and with how thin the walls are, you listen to him climb the rickety staircase up to the second story.
He finds himself inside your apartment after using his spare key, eyes widening as he looks at you. You turn away, embarrassed, tugging down the dress once more, “Does it look weird?”
Taking a minute to look you over again, Tick’s tail starts wagging very, very excitedly. Taking a few passionate steps in your direction with one of his wide grins, he jumps. With a wet movement, he sticks his snout right onto your cheek with a happy bark. A sign, you knew, meant reassurance and joy.
Relax eased its way into your gait as you reached a hand to his fuzzy neck, scratching it thoughtfully.
The two of you stayed like that longer than you should’ve, when suddenly, Ticks snaps his head up and runs in a small circle. His excitement is starting to rub off on you, you know, so you tilt your head at him, a signal to him that you're curious.
With a surprisingly smug expression, he lifts a hand-held carrier, one you recognize right away contains a shit ton of makeup. Why? Because he’d experimented with it on you so, so many times. He gives a happy yip as you sit down, nodding for him to do his worst.
The makeup turns out wonderfully, subtle colors painting your eyelids, cheeks, and lips. He even takes a moment to put up your hair, pulling out a black ribbon from god knows where to tie it with.
You have to admit, as you walk up to the party house, you feel an unusual sense of confidence, knowing you look the way you do. Plus, with Ticks by your side, you don’t feel so silly. Even if your dress was still much too short for your liking.
The party itself starts slow and easy, an hour before the sun goes down. It’s a mix of colleagues and some friends mingling. A ghost monster DJ’s off to the side, the music being something you're surprisingly into. You spend the first hour genuinely enjoying yourself by Ticks' side, barely drinking, sure, but dancing happily to the music as your friend runs around you in circles.
And then the sun sets.
There’s a terrible crash from the kitchen area, and peering over, you see Dean for the first time that night. He’s, as expected, already drunk, or at least very tispsy. And he grinned widely as some of your other colleagues. They are cackling, and you can see a glass bottle lying broken on the floor. No one seems to care, though, as the group rushes to move to a different room.
Now sweaty and worried about someone hurting themselves on the glass, you look toward Ticks' direction. Or- what you thought was Ticks' direction. The sweet boy had disappeared from your vicinity, and you could just barely hear his excited yapping over the increasing number of people.
Well shit.
Feeling the pulse of the music taking a turn, and feeling the increase of bodies hitting the dancefloor, you find yourself opting to get a drink. Also, your brain helpfully supplies, you can clean off the floor before someone goes and cuts themselves by accident.
The kitchen is still larger than you're used to– this house being a near mansion of sorts after all– and you find it enjoyably more comfortable. There's less heat from bodies, and more room to move. Plus, the music is not nearly as loud, giving you a moment to feel your own heartbeat.
A small mix of monsters and humans linger in the area, chatting low and having a good time. You even catch two of the humans making out, although you turn away pretty quickly from them.
It isn't long before you find the punch bowl, taking a big cup and downing it. It’s cool under your tongue, fruity and pungent. And, if you hone in on it, you can just barely feel the tingle of magic underneath. An interesting feeling, as you'd never really had monster food before, but it’s not unwelcome. You find yourself downing another full cup and refilling a third before you even try to find the paper towels.
Taking sips of your drink, you make your way to the broken glass. The scattered pieces glint in the LED lights that’d been set up around the area. It’s pretty. Mesmerizing even.
Right before you can lean over to pick up the shards with a paper towel, an arm, tight with muscle and laced with sweat, wraps itself around your shoulders. The feeling is all too familiar, and you tense under the weight. There's a familiar low chuckle in your ear, and for a moment, you are frozen. The music is still buzzing around you. There’s a giggle coming from a direction you can’t see. Your mind is suddenly fogging for a reason you can only speculate on. Your heartbeat quickens.
Twisting around as much as possible, you catch Dean’s eyes. They are looking down at you with a strange expression, his lips curled into an easy smile. His cheeks are flushed, and it’s clear he’s drunk. His breath stings the back of your throat. He’s too close.
“Hey, babe-” His speech is slurred, and you try to stumble away from him with a tight expression of discomfort.
Your feet don’t want to work.
My brain is fuzzy.
Shit.
“Shit-” Dean echoes your thoughts as he leans into you, “Don’t leave so soon, babe, common.”
He tries to hoist you back into his chest, which you try to resist, only managing to produce a small whine. You feel heavy. The punch must’ve been spiked.
“Shhh…” He hushes you, leaning way too close into your face, “You look real good in that dress. You- you look sexy even. God-”
You try to look away, try to find Ticks in the crowd, but you realize that the area has been cleared out.
“Why you always gotta avoid me, huh?” His slurring is getting worse, and you stumble again, “Just lemme- lemme…”
He trails off, looking down at your lips. At least you hope it's your lips and not anything lower.
As he leans in more and more, you find a surge within yourself to use your arms. Your cup, half-full of spiked punch, finds a new home, plastering all over Dean’s shirt. A shirt that you can recognize through the haze as a designer brand. You wince as he gasps, dropping you in favor of snagging the paper towels you were going to use to try to salvage the shirt. In so, you find yourself suddenly with no support, staggering once more, before falling.
You can feel it as your mind races. The stinging. The glass. The booze and blood mingling beneath you.
Tears prick your eyes as Dean looms over you, cursing as the pink liquid stains. Your legs and hands are cut from the glass, stinging and pulsating with the ongoing music. Your heart hammers in your chest. The punch had soaked through your outfit as well, sticky and sweet-smelling. Too sweet. Too much.
Your eyes stay focused on Dean.
He's mad. So mad you feel as though you might be in real danger.
"You're gonna pay for that-" He steps forward, crunching some of the glass beneath his shoe. The paper towels he’d just been using were tossed to the ground.
You can feel pinpricks of tears as he approaches. Fear and pain and regret all resonate at once, making you lose your godamn mind. And yet you're frozen stiff.
His hand is inches away from snagging your hair. You close your eyes, bracing for the oncoming pain.
But it doesn't come.
You can hear something. A rattling. It's soft and calming.
After a moment of careful deduction, you slowly open your eyes.
Before you is a hand. It’s human and outstretched, grasping for your head. You flinch away hard before realizing it's not moving. That’s when you notice it, right at the wrist, is another hand. It’s skeletal, and you can hear the bones scrape together as the grip tightens.
You can barely process Dean's whimper as you follow the arm, cloaked in a blue hoodie sleeve, all the way toward a face. It’s soft, is your first thought, for a skeleton. Nearly chubby-looking in its roundness. The skeleton has a lax smile on his face, little lights in his eyes– eye lights?– flicking over your frame.
Through your foggy mind, you wonder for a moment if the rattling is a defence mechanism, or for reassurance.
Once he sees that you're looking at him, his grin seems to widen, “this guy have a bone to pick with you?”
You tilt your head in a confused manner, eyes suddenly lidded as the adrenaline of the encounter wears off. You can see the skeleton hesitate before turning away from you and saying something you can't quite hear to Dean.
Dean merely nods, an odd look you can’t decipher spreading across his face before he’s let go.
You don't really notice much after, watching as the skeleton turns to you again and slowly offers you his hand. It’s a slow, deliberate choice; it makes you wonder if he even wanted to do it in the first place. But he does. And you take the hand, feeling yourself being easily hoisted upwards.
The cuts and scrapes on your hands and legs scream, and you can still feel tears running down your face. You wonder how long you’ve been crying. Oh. The skeleton is talking to you. Whoopse.
Swaying on your feet, you find yourself tipping over towards the skeleton, eyes fluttering as the rush of the night catches up with you.
The last thing you remember is surprisingly warm, bony hands catching you.
***
You wake up to an unfamiliar ceiling.
Weird.
Before you can think further, a pulsating, aggravating headache breaks into your skull like a bag of bricks. Flying upwards due to pain, of course, doesn’t help in the slightest, and you end up falling off the couch you’d been lying on.
“God dammit!”
Suddenly, you have more to worry about than a killer headache, as your legs start stinging just as badly, causing you to spit out more curses. You find yourself writhing on the floor just enough to get your legs put from under you. What a wake-up call.
Taking a moment with your eyes shut to keep out the light, you do your best to remember what the fuck had happened last night to get you in this much pain.
The party… Ticks had picked you up… Then you'd danced… Then there was the glass, and the punch…
And Dean.
Eyes snapping open, you grasp your top, pushing a thin green blanket off your legs. Your dress was intact, and you didn’t feel off anywhere other than your legs and hands, which, now looking at them, were bandaged. So… what had happened?
Eyes now open– though squinting through the morning(?) light– you look around this space you've been occupying.
It’s… something.
You had been on a sagging, green couch, which you can now tell had been covered in several layers of blankets, in a room with dark painted walls. There were a couple of kids’ drawings above the couch, and a small, dingy computer was pushed into the corner of the room. A mattress, with its pillow and blanket missing, was pushed into another corner and covered with several sheets of paper and books. There was a messy bookshelf, a side table, and for some goddamn reason, what seemed to be a tornado of sorts swirling lazily around the room.
The one window letting in any light was propped open, and you could smell the fresh air from outside. At least that was some comfort.
Taking in your surroundings, your headache still pounding in your ears, you went to turn back to the couch when you heard a noise. Was it almost like ‘vwoop’? Who knows.
But, turning your head, you suddenly came face to face with a skeleton. But not just any skeleton! You knew this one!
It all came flooding back: the stumble into glass, the tears, the bony hand stopping Dean.
And with the rush of joy to see your savior, the fear of what had nearly happened to you crept up right alongside it. You look at this monster before you with wide eyes, covering your mouth lightly as you remember.
“you good?” Now that you're fully conscious, your breath hitches.
“I- I almost-” Your breathing picks up.
The skeleton kneels, placing down two cups– how long had he had those?– on the ground beside you. Slowly, he reaches a hand out, and you don’t shy away like you thought you would. He grasps your shoulder, firm and steady, “but you didn’t.”
You nod, that's somewhat of a relief.
God, but what if you had?
What if-
Clearly, your breathing isn’t as stable as he’d like, as the skeleton monster digs the palm of his hand– if that’s what it’s called for a skeleton monster– into your shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to pull you out of your thoughts.
“here.”
Looking at him with a tilted head, he reaches down and hands you one of the cups from the floor. Taking it, you give him an odd look. He returns the favor, pressing the glass into your hands.
It’s a greenish liquid- though it’s also partially clear. There seems to be some sort of carbonation, as it's fizzing, and you wonder what it’ll taste like as you press the cool glass to your lips.
Chugging down the first half of the glass, you find it tastes nothing like you’d expect. Though it’s green, it tastes more like bubblegum than anything. Even better, it's not the chemical, disgusting bubblegum that comes in most medicines either, and yet as you finish off the glass, you feel the fizz of monster magic, and the swell of your headache alleviates. Weirdly enough, this is your first time having anything purely made of monster magic, and, although you're still dealing with many, many emotions, you marvel at how it seems to dissipate into your body before hitting your stomach. Weird.
But with the headache gone, you can finally open your eyes enough to get a good look at the skeleton, and actually think straight.
“I- I’m sorry…”
“nah, tibia honest, you were worrying me there for a bit.”
“T… Tibia…?”
The skeleton’s unfading grin now looks more real as you furrow your brows at him. Then it dawns on you. A pun.
Suddenly, you snort, quickly covering your mouth as his grin widens even more. Which– weird, by the way. How does his skull move like that…?
Letting out a breath, he carefully takes his hand off your shoulder, reclining into a sitting position of his own across from you. At the same time, he grabs the second glass, handing it over. This one is water, and you don't question it as you take a sip.
“So,” You clear your throat, looking at him, “You, uh saved me.”
“yeah, you could call it that.” He shugs half-heartedly, looking around the messy room.
“What your name?”
“uh-” The skeleton snaps his head back toward you, eye lights wider than before, “sorry, wasn’t expecting that. it’s sans. sans the skeleton.”
“Sans.” The name rolls off your tongue as he nods at you.
“that’s the name, don’t wear it out.”
You laugh again, this time more subdued in the face of everything that happened, “So… What happened after I… yaknow, passed out?”
Sans hums noncommittally, “well, i couldn't just leave you there, yaknow? so i looked around for anyone who knew ya, but couldn’t find anyone. And you were bleeding pretty bad there, so i… well i had to take you to my place.” He gestures vaguely.
You nod as he clears his throat and continues, “well, i found some human medical books, and checked the internet… i had to pick the glass out of your legs. then i wrapped them up. Same with your hands…”
Turning your hands over in your lap, you nod. Sounds about right, “Thank you, Sans. You really helped me out alot back there…”
“yeah, well…” He shrugs again, and you wonder if that’s just his way of being awkward.
“Well, thank you again, um, what- what time is it?” You ask, dragging your words. As you do, you look around subtly for your phone. Damn, Ticks must still have it.
“ ‘s around noon? I slept out in the living room, and have been watching the clock for when you woke up.”
The explanation makes sense, but noon is still a long time to sleep in. You sigh, thanking whatever was out there that it was a weekend.
Starting to really feel the knots in your hair and your morning breath, you opt to carefully ask, “So, you think I could use the bathroom before going home?”
Sans pauses for a moment, an expression you can’t decipher spreading over his face. Then, just as you think he’s going to reject you, he nods, “sure, all of my housemates are out today, so you have free reign. take a shower if you want as well, don’t worry about what towel or shampoo to use.”
You nod as he stands, following in suit. Right before he opens the door, though, he looks at you, “and make sure you rebandage your legs, at least.”
You nod like it was obvious before he leads you out into the foyer of the house. It’s a bright, open place, as you come out onto a balcony-like area. Below you can see a living room, specifically another saggy green couch and a large armchair. Sans’s room seems to have been the last door on the left, so you head to the right, where two more doors shut. One has several stickers plastered on its surface, stars, hearts, dogs… wow, a lot of dog stickers. Huh, and a lot of flowers too. The next had caution tape and a stop sign hung up. And a note that reads ‘No Girls or Boys allowed!” Weird.
Still, you walk down the stairs behind Sans, fully taking in the living area. Under the stairs is a small door, presumably a closet, and next to that is another door. This one is simple, with no decorations to speak of. Then there’s an extensive TV-bookshelf stand that amazes you. Across the room, on the far wall, is a large table in front of a sliding glass door. Four chairs surround this table, and you can only picture a happy family sitting there.
Before you can keep walking to see what’s beyond the table and chairs, you hear Sans pipe up, “here we go.”
Beyond the TV-bookshelf is another door (now that’s a lot of doors), and Sans is propping it open a little. Walking in, you thank him, smiling and shutting the door behind you.
It's clean here, and you can clearly see four sets of toothbrushes sitting on the edge of the sink as you go to peer at yourself. The night had taken a toll, and you rubbed your face, wondering how the hell anyone could smudge makeup so badly. On a shelf across from the toilet, four towels are folded nicely off to the side, in an array of colors and sizes. The purple one is huge. Maybe that's the one you’ll use. As you turn the shower on, you also notice four sets of different cleaning products.
The ‘MTT Bone Brand’ sets seem to cover shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, although you're not sure why skeletons would even need 3-in-1 with no hair. How odd. What's even odder is that one of the sets of shampoo is just a huge tub of pet shampoo. Did a dog monster like Ticks live here? Or maybe a cat monster? Surely something with a lot of fur.
Then you see it, plain and clear as day- human shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, specifically smelling like cherry blossoms. What a godsend.
Cleaning goes by quickly, drying even quicker than that. You ended up using the normal-sized purple towel instead of the oversized one, flinging it over the towel rack to dry. Sans had knocked about halfway through, leaving you some clean clothes outside the door that you happily took.
After rebandaging your legs and hands, you slid the clothes on. They were nothing more than a plain white shirt and some baggy grey sweatpants, but you still appreciated the change nonetheless.
By now, you could hear muffled noises outside the door, Sans’s chuckle being one of them. As you turned the knob, you imagined what he could be watching on the TV when it hit you.
You came out of the bathroom to come face-to-face with one awkward-looking Sans and a new group of faces.
“Uh- hello-”
“SO YOU MUST BE SANS’S GIRLFRIEND!”