Chapter Text
“How could you possibly feel comfortable living with a human?” Scratch asks incredulously, glowering in your peripheral.
You’re more focused on helping Blue make dinner than answering, letting the newest pair of skeletons get over the idea of living with you in their own time.
“They’re a kindness soul,” Red drawls from his spot at the island behind you. “Practically harmless. Hell, saw them go out of their way to save a fly the other day.”
“It was a crane fly,” you bud in, tamping down any bitter feelings at being called harmless. “They eat mosquitos. I don’t save house flies.”
“See. Long as you’re not a house fly, apparently, you got nothing to worry about.”
“They’ve actually been a very patient and considerate person!” Blue adds as he stirs meat in a pan, “Always willing to make quick trips for anything we want or need. It’s their savings that have helped pay for our clothing and emergency grocery trips.”
Scratch scoffs as he leans against the wall behind him, the back of his metal chest plate scraping against it. The noise catches your attention, and for a moment your eyes meet blazing cyan eye lights. A nasty looking gash is torn through his left socket, his sharp teeth sneering at you anytime he catches you looking at him. “Did any of you actually bother to pull the human into an encounter, or did you just assume its soul trait by taking its actions at face value?”
“I spar regularly with Paps and Boss.” You answer as you turn back to chopping lettuce.
Red chuckles, “Hardly anything I’d call sparing. More like this human’s a freak who enjoys being thrown around and used as target practice.”
“I like experiencing cool magic things!” You protest.
“How fun,” Scratch croons, voice dripping with sarcasm, “And here I thought Boss was almost someone one worthy of respecting. Turns out he spends his free time entertaining the human like a child.”
“I’d hardly call testing the limits of Boss’ stamina entertainment.” Blue argues.
“Ya. It took him a few encounters to stop holding back but he’s actually been improving his attack patterns a lot now that he has an actual human to test them on.” You add as you sweep all the chopped lettuce to a bowl.
“And you don’t realize that he’ll use those improved patterns to more effectively kill humans later? Are you actually a moron?”
You shrug. “What goes down in his world is not my place to judge.”
“Abstinence, of course.” Scratch cries sardonically. “Turns out ethical and moral dilemmas are trivial when you don’t actually bother thinking about them. Just ignore that you’re sharpening the skills of a killer and any uncomfortable feelings just melt away.”
“Do you mind grating more cheese?” Blue interjects, giving you a well needed escape. “The more I think about the math with our new pals involved the less confident I am that we’ll have enough. I’d do it myself, but I’m currently busy saving you from the onion’s chemical warfare.”
You give an affirmative as Blue snags the cutting board and knife from where you left them. You turn and set the lettuce on the island next to the other already prepared ingredients. Red is picking at his teeth with his claws, only giving you a momentary glance as his gaze stays trained on Scratch. Mutt sits beside him, or more accurately droops over half the island and two stools, taking up as much space as physically possible with his gangly limbs. His twin gold fangs seem to glint a little brighter as his smirks at you.
“You just don’t get it, M’lord.” Mutt calls out, “The human is so nice, they have no problem looking past murder. Maybe if you ask politely they’ll help you clean the dust from your boots.”
“I am not letting that thing anywhere near my boots.” Scratch snaps.
You sigh, doing your best to ignore him as you move on and pull the cheese back from the fridge.
Blue, unfortunately, is quick to defend your honor. “I get that you may not want like them, but that’s not an acceptable way to talk about them.”
“And what are you going to do about it, Baby Blue? Going to lecture me to death about the importance of mutual respect and kindness?”
“Under normal circumstances I would, but you’ve made it very apparent that such words are wasted on you.” Blue pulls the grater from the sink before you get the chance, his grin tight and brows barely hiding frustration. “Do you mind retrieving everyone else for dinner? It’ll be done by the time you manage to wrangle Boss and Vanilla from their tasks.”
You nod, letting Blue take over and make a swift exit. You pointedly ignore Scratch’s comments about running away as you pass him, bee-lining to the stairs.
Papryus’ door is still covered in caution tape despite having essentially given it to Boss and Red at this point. Everyone had hoped it would have been a week or two to fix this mess. When another addition had happened with little progress you had pretty much accepted that this would be something you had to hunker down for the long haul.
Anxiety blooms in your chest as you raise a hand to knock on the door, pressure in your throat rising. Thoughts swirl not about this newest addition, but the possibilities of the next. It’s probably just some dumb pattern recognition over reaching, but it’s hard not to see how Scratch and Mutt seem to compile the differences of the other two universes. It’s almost worse than something completely new and random being thrown in, your thoughts scrambling to make sense and anticipate the next set before they even happen. Will it be a pattern of niceness and violence going back and forth? Were Blue and Rus just a fluke? Will it just keep getting worse from here? How many do you have to put up with before it’s too much? How long can you keep things together before you fall apart?
You have to step back, leaning against the wall behind you as you try to take deep breaths. Your fingers feel cold against your neck, the rest of your body practically burning.
Boss slams the door open, making you jump with a yelp, frantically covering your mouth to block any noise before you can get a hold of yourself.
“Hey,” You say shakily, your breath still far too quick. He’s scowling, but you don’t know what about. Your mouth feels too dry, heart pounding in your chest as you fiddle with your collar. “Dinner ‘s ready. That’s why I… Came up to get you to let you know.”
Boss stares at you, his sour expression dropping for reasons you can’t even parse before he sets down the laundry basket you had missed. He takes a step forward, raising his pointer finger.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” He asks calmly.
Confusion causes the gear churning in your brain to stutter. Did he think you’ve gone blind? “One?”
“And how many eye lights do I have?”
You glance up at his eye sockets, two bright red eye lights stare back at you. They’re perfectly round, about the size of marble, a little to intense for you to look at for too long. “Two.”
“And how many doors in this hallway?”
You look around, two bedrooms and a bathroom. “Three?”
He holds out his hands, his matching red gloves making his fingertips look duller than they actually are. “And together, how many hands do we have.”
“Four. Why are we counting right now?”
“I’ll answer that after you find out something for five.”
You give him a confused look before scanning the hallway again. There isn’t anything that you can see at a glance that has five of anything. And most things on the body come in pairs so you can’t try counting limbs. You can’t think of anything except “Five fingers on a hand.”
“That’s certainly better than the time a kid said five holes in her dad’s face.”
You give a surprised snicker. “What? Do you just randomly do this to people? What is happening?”
“You were having a panic attack,” He replies coolly, “Calming people in distress is something I’ve become very adept at as a royal guardsmen.”
“That’s… really sweet.” You say softly.
The response is immediate, red flashing across his face as he scowls again. “It is far from sweet! It is nothing but clever manipulation to get civilians to give me critical information after disaster has struck. Any other moment and I am a great and terrible force to be reckoned with!”
“Oh, terrifying. Truly.” You say, smiling to wide for anything you’re saying to be genuine.
“I! Am electing to take what you’re saying at face value and get dinner.”
Boss storms off in a flustered hurry. You do him a favor and gently kick the basket of folded laundry back into the room and close the door before making your way back down.
Scratch gives you a glare but is otherwise silent as he eats in the living room. Rus hasn’t moved from his usual spot on the arm chair, having pushed the TV tray and your borrowed laptop back so he can eat. Boss is already fixing his serving while Blue warms tortillas, both Mutt and Red waiting till everyone else is served to grab their own.
You pass through wordlessly, slipping on a pair of shoes before exiting through the sliding glass door into the back yard. It’s a barely a walk over to the little shed tucked into the corner of the fence. Sans and Papyrus had always said it was just Sans’ random junk in there, and you had no reason to think otherwise.
You give a gentle knock.
Sans doesn’t respond.
You open the door slowly, trying to avoid startling just in case he’s working on something delicate. Sans doesn’t respond to the door opening either, sitting hunched over on the stool.
You give a soft smile, trying to be warm and gentle as you speak. “Dinner’s ready.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” He mumbles.
“You okay?” you worry as you step forward. As you foot connects with the shed floor, you heart a wet plap instead of the usual tapping on wood. There’s a puddle of some brightly multicolored something on the floor. It’s slowly crawling across the floor, and you take a considerable step to the side, turning so your still facing Sans despite being on his left now.
You catch a look at the machine, cracked open like a shellfish. The insides are blackened, several glass containers within have completely shattered, tubes still dribbling fluids, wires melted together.
Looking back at Sans for some kind of explanation you catch a glimpse of his eye lights. they’re almost milky, fuzzy around the edges like a halo of mold. He’s wearing some stained white T-shirt and boxers that you don’t think he’s changed in days, a single holed sock on one foot. Beneath his eye sockets has gone completely grey, the smooth clay like texture of his bones looking porous even at a distance.
“What happened?” You ask gently.
He looks at you slow, blinking once before sighing in defeat. “It’s been frying itself with each run. It finally caught fire on the last one. Didn’t realize until it started leaking.”
You don’t beat around the bush. “There’s no fixing this, is there?”
“Nope. The code stored on those motherboards was written by a guy who doesn’t even exist anymore and none of us can make heads or tails of it. If that’s gone it doesn’t matter if we perfectly remake every specialized one of kind part, there’s nothing to run it.”
“There’s some pretty impressive data restoration companies out there.” You try to offer, not wanting to completely lose hope. “Maybe we could get lucky and it’s salvageable?”
Sans says your name, quiet and flat. “There’s no way. One corrupted file, a few lines of corrupted code and things will fall apart and glitch in ways we won’t realize till it’s too late. It already has been, we’ve just been too stubborn to admit it.”
He’s right, but it’s hard to put that nail in that coffin when so many people’s lives are on the line. To push them on abandoning everything and truly starting from scratch with the people who, accidentally or not, pretty much kidnapped them.
“We should get dinner.” you offer instead. “Nothing much else to do in here but mope, and I think you’ve already got your daily dose of that in.”
Sans nods, turning to step down only to be greeted by the colorful puddle that is already about to touch your shoes again. He stalls quietly. It shouldn’t be an issue. He must have shortcutted into the shed, otherwise he’d have slippers for the grass. Either he’s to tired to think of short cutting into the living room, or he’s to shortcut at all.
“Want me to carry you?”
He limply holds his arms up to you, sockets half closed. His bones are thicker than a human’s, but he still feels too thin as you lift him by his armpits. He loosely wraps his arms around you neck as you shift to hold him in a princess carry. He’s not much heavier than a medium sized dog, and while Sans is a fair bit shorter than you, it’s always a struggle to suppress the part of you that insists he’s too light and that something is wrong. You’ve only held him once or twice in the few years you’ve known Sans, but for whatever reason he feels far warmer than normal as you carry him across the grass.
“There you are!” Blue greets as he opens the door. “I was hoping you might take a bit to grab them but I wasn’t expecting it to take this long. Though I suppose rousing this one from his frequent napping is no easy feet.”
“He wasn’t napping,” You correct before you can think to stop yourself.
“Oh, well-” Blue is confused for moment, but his eye lights vanish the moment he spots the open door to the shed. The liquids have began to dribble onto the grass by now. He knows that can’t be any good of course, being one of three people to work on the machine. “You… must have had a lot to talk about!” He chirps all too happily as he steps aside.
You pass through, looking for some place to set Vanilla down. Boss is leaning in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, eyeing both sides quietly. Otherwise everyone else hasn’t moved, simply in the middle of or just about finishing eating. The only real seats in the house now is on the couch next to scratch or in the dinning room. Isolating Sans in the dinning room is a no go, but you also don’t want to leave him alone next to Scratch.
“I also took the liberty of making your tacos for you, since you were taking so long.” Blue loudly announces. “Don’t worry, I’ve payed attention to the way you make them so they won’t be as… Bland as they were the first time I cooked for everyone.”
“Would you be willing to make a plate for ‘nilla as well? I don’t think he has much energy to make them himself right now.”
Blue enthusiastically agrees as you set Vanilla down on the arm rest of the couch, handing you your food before dashing off. You double check Sans won’t fall over as he droops over the back of the couch.
“How pathetic.” Scoffs Scratch. “Do you often carry him around like a baby? Do I get to watch you hand feed him too?”
You clench you jaw to stop yourself from responding.
“Nothing to say? Or are you to afraid to speak? That’s all right, not many can bring themself to speak in the presence of the malevolent Sans.” He continues, voice deep and proud as with each word.
“I think it’s more likely that they don’t want to waste their energy on a sadistic welp like you.” Boss growls.
“A welp?! I’ll have you know I am co-captain of my royal guard-”
“As if you’re the only one here with that title.” Boss snaps.
“I’m still wearing my armor, unlike a certain fool who’s let himself grow soft and plaint in the three months he’s been here.” Scratch snarls back.
Boss huffs, opening his mouth to say something as his eye lights sharpen, but you interrupt loudly before this escalates into a screaming match.
“So you’re going to be sleeping in your armor now?”
Scratch turns back to you with a scowl. “I- Of course! I’m not foolish enough to put my guard down even for a second.”
You glance at Boss as he backs off with a huff, stomping to the kitchen to clean the dishes. “Considering you’re going to be sleeping in the living room for the foreseeable future, good luck.” That’s what you were informed everyone agreed to when you got back from work at least, Rus was just going to join you in your room with Blue. “You’re not going to be getting a lick of good sleep and that’s just going to make that armor all the heavier as the days drag on.”
“I hardly have a need for sleep! Sleep is for the weak and lazy monster like my useless cur of a brother.”
“Considering you’re going to be spending a lot of time in a house with new people, on a surface you know nothing about, it might not actually kill you to try being a good pal for once.” Blue comments, far too chipper as he walks into the living room with a plate in each hand. His voice is too light hearted, each step a little too peppy. “Who knows, making a friend might actually save your skin. Though, I guess being a dusty old skeleton means you don’t usually have to worry about that, huh?”
It takes too long for Scratch to respond as Blue hands off a plate to Vanilla before sitting down next to his brother on the arm rest. Rus has desperately pulled the laptop back to him, but his hands pause each time he reaches for the keyboard.
“Am I really so scary that a weakling like you felt the need to take a swing at intimidating me?”
Blue responds with some friendly sounds but vaugly threatening thing again, but you’re all but tuning him out to think of something to actually get this to stop. Of course Scratch is posturing and being a dick, Red and Boss did damn near the same thing when they got here. Sans just told them off whenever they are saying actual threats and Papyrus never acknowledged when they said anything mean and it fizzled out in days.
But now there are so many more people. Everyone’s tetchy and there’s no way you’re going to convince all of them to shut up and keep their cool as Scratch continues to be a vile prick. no one is able to shut him down, and you adding fuel to the fire will not only make you look like shit but just risk escalating things again. You‘re not sure how you would exactly disarm him by being nice right n-
“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight, actually?” you ask randomly, interrupting whatever insulting thing Scratch was saying.
He freezes, anger slowly bleeding into bewilderment. He gives an uncertain laugh. “What?”
You stay calm, speaking plainly as if you were considering what the weather would be tomorrow. “You clearly aren’t going to be able to rest in an open space without throwing your self into a paranoid frenzy about us stabbing you in the back while you sleep. So, why don’t you sleep in my room instead? Blue and I can join Rus down here until you get settled in and feel more comfortable.” Space. He just needs space to breath and think without several different copies of himself telling him out to think and feel. It won’t fix his bad attitude, but it may be a step forward.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Blue worries. “You really trust them both around your things?”
“I’ve trusted you around them plenty from the day we met, Boss with all my laundry, and Rus with my computer. I trust that Mutt and Scratch are smart enough, and not vindictive enough, to not throw a temper tantrum and destroy all my things.”
“I don’t think destroying is the what you should be concerned about.”
“I have nothing interesting to find. Unless they really want to see what scandalous things I have hidden in my underwear drawer.”
“I would never!” Scratch declares, holding a gloved hand to his chest in offense, “I’m not some uncouth pervert.”
“Then as long as you aren’t doing creepy things with my stuff, we shouldn’t have any issues.”
He stares at you, still utterly confused, and it’s the one time since you’ve met that he hasn’t been glaring or sneering at you.
“I suppose if you’re so desperate to give us something close to acceptable accommodations I can accept.”
You simply nod, and he has nothing much to say about it. Blue and Rus of course look worried. Mutt is just staring at you with some kind of expression you can’t read from the island. You can’t see Red from where your sitting and Vanilla is just vacantly staring past his plate of food.
You eat while you have the chance, knowing that once Paps returns from getting another set of clothing and bedding all hell is going to break lose again. The news that no one is getting home is not something you want to sit on for long, nor something you want to break more than once.