20+ | he/him | Just a silly lil dude on the internet. | (More active on AO3 as [sillyguy_99].) (ACCOUNT NO LONGER ACTIVE FOR POSTING FICS. NEW ACCOUNT WILL BE SHARED LATER IN MAY 2025!)
“It's late, and it's raining,” you state, tugging his sleeve and halting his steps. The smell of smoke is strong, and it mixes with the earthy scent of the night. “Why are you trying to sneak away? You know you can stay for as long as you'd like.”
He turns around, his figure darkened by the poor lighting of the patio, plus the lack of a moon.
“solid suggestion, but you and i both know that's not a good idea anymore,” he replies, his voice sounding on the edge of exhaustion.
Far used to his behaviour – one you've been a witness and victim of for the past few months – you roll your eyes and fetch a candle and a match from your pockets.
“Oh, please. Don't be silly! You're always welcome here.”
And as the flickering flame brings about clarity into the deep darkness of the garden, you quickly draw back a comment on him being dramatic.
He's covered in dirt, and the injured body of a familiar face lays motionless on the floor.
“just to let you know," he says, chuckling, ”i was only gonna drop this off." He gestures at a small, black box he retrieves from under his suit. "but that was your last chance to reject me, so now the fault's on you, if ya didn't want this.”
Chapter Six: (woo-hoo) * and i know you're mine (His POV)
[Index | Previous | Next]
"I swear, I'm not doing this on purpose,” she says with a sigh, a hand on her forehead and a grimace on her lips. "Maybe it's best I follow Jessie's advice and refer you to another officer. If not, I'll just… keep pulling you into this mess."
She's a weird lady.
That's the initial thought to cross Sans's mind.
Why was she apologizing for something she hadn't even started, in the first place?
"And before you say I'm apologizing for him again, I'm not. It's my responsibility to handle what's become of our relationship, just as it's... my fault I made him jealous of every person I talk to or hang out with. And it's my fault I still ended up marrying him despite all that stuff. I- I was too stupid, weak, and I still haven't changed one bit."
The human leans over the counter, now unbuttoned shirt making him peak a bit too much under it.
How hot Grillby's establishment is makes even him start to feel bothered by the heat – that, or it's mainly the effects of not being able to speak his mind about what he's witnessed tonight, and how little he knows about the human and her situation keeps it that way.
While he understands where Jessie found charm in her – both in looks and not – he doesn't understand why he felt the need to go to such extremes as to harm her in the process of trying to keep her in the relationship. He also doesn't understand what she'd done for Jessie to react in such a way: threats, an affair, and stalking a monster that was only meant to be her job to research and get to know. Despite all that, he also can't yet determine if she's completely excused from the situation or at fault – again, due to how little he knows about her. And he most certainly couldn’t possibly ask her anything about this. That would be crossing far too many lines at once, plus taking on the risk of coming off as either nosy, imprudent, or outright disrespectful – perhaps, all at once.
"what makes ya think he'll stop after that?” he says, after some silence. “he accused us of havin’ an affair just 'cuz you were my customer here once, and then he did all that. who knows what he'll do next? i don't mind you hidin’ out here, and neither does grillby, if that's what you're worried ‘bout."
Her once faint frown deepens into a scowl, though it softens when she makes eye contact.
"I think it's best I just go along with it for now, u- until he finally agrees to a divorce without taking away anything I could… regret later.”
As she continues to lean closer over the counter, Sans feels she's too close for comfort. She doesn't seem to notice that detail herself, eyes drooping and casting down. Defeated – that's the only word he can find to describe the emotion present in her gaze.
Rather than bringing up proximity, Sans offers the human another water bottle.
And that simple technique appears to help her regain more focus on her surroundings, along with an awareness of her closeness.
She sits straighter, voicing another apology when she notices what she's done, and she promptly questions if he feels uncomfortable, to which he dismisses with a ‘not at all’.
"Can't you talk about this to your department?” he asks, reeling back into the subject.
"I did, but…. They say they don't have enough evidence." She pauses, tears dwelling in her eyes as her hand hesitates over the water bottle he offers to her, fingers shaking and gaze jumpy. "I'm… I'm sorry about all this. You barely know me, and yet here I am, c- crying 'cuz of some stupid trouble I got myself into. You really, really shouldn't bother yourself with me, Sans. Th- Thank you for your support, but I'll refer you to a new officer starting tomorrow."
Her hand retreats from the bottle, closing to a fist afterward.
She then pulls back and stands up, the stool creaking with how abrupt her movements are.
Sans doesn't have a chance to so much as comment anything more on the topic, seeing her place a fifty on the counter and a couple of fives in the tip jar.
"And please don't return the gift. Even if you give it to another monster, that's better than letting it all go to waste."
He meets with her gaze, though she quickly averts from him and frowns.
It's obvious she's desperate to leave the bar, how on-edge she looks speaking by itself.
"Hey,” he says, stopping her just as her hand reaches the door. “Calm down for a sec. I ain't askin' you to leave. Sit down for a minute and breathe. You're-"
She wipes a tear with the back of her hand and turns back around, an apology written blatantly on her smile.
"I'm sorry. I can't do that anymore. Maybe in the future, i- if we ever cross paths again… It'll be a different story. B- but right now, I'll just drag you down with me."
Sans doesn't get to comment anything else.
He sees her rush out of the bar with haste steps, not once looking back as she practically zooms past the open frame, quick enough that he can see her wait by the bus stop without the doors coming to a full close.
Reluctantly, he sets the untouched water bottle down, gaze moving to the gift – still waiting.
Sans feels an immediate urge to call her as soon as he checks the contents of the gift.
Not only are there permits for an educational, house property, and safety rights licence, but there are also detailed, handwritten instructions on how to get the permits approved, all three that would allow him to have an easier time with getting by at the Surface.
There's a note folded underneath all the contents, a brief paragraph cleanly composed with purple ink – contrasting with the previous formality the black ink and stricter vocabulary carried.
[ I hope this serves you well. As far as I've researched your background, you seem to be clear. That alone helped make this process much easier. If, by any chance, any of these permits are rejected, don't hesitate to contact my business number or come visit my office. Judging by your records, the meeting I had with my department, and the kindness you've shown to me, that should be enough to establish you as an honest, hard-working person who wants nothing more than to live life serenely at the Surface. ]
[ Take care, Sans. I wish all goes well. ]
He sets the note aside, a foreign feeling making his ribcage grow warm.
Weren't it evident she had gone as far as to block his number to prevent him from contacting her any further – her personal number, that is – he would call her right at this moment.
Strangely enough, he wants to keep himself loyal to his words – those he directed at Jessie when he tried to cross him.
Had things not turned out the way they did, he would've enjoyed the idea of having her around as a friend. Hadn't Jessie found all his contact info, social media, and – to top it off – workplace, solely to accuse him of 'boning' his wife, he wouldn't have minded getting to know her better, either. Had she not come across Jessie tonight, he would've imagined himself hanging out with her until late, sharing some time together and helping his shift go by faster and easier.
For now, all he can do's wait until the rest of the night ends – for dawn to break.
For now, all he can do's hope for her safety and Frisk’s well-being.
For now, all he can do's keep going himself.
As he clocks out and leaves, he notices her suit jacket's been left behind. A flash from when she leaned over the counter reaches his mind, how different she looked with and without the jacket causing him to feel that same warmth in his ribcage once more. He's reluctant to grab it, though when he does, he throws it into Grillby's lost-and-found at the back of the storage room – simply put: a plastic bin where he often puts things customers leave behind. He folds and secures it neatly in a corner, brushing off that warmth with the flare of his nose cavity and the shake of his head.
Had it seriously reached him, the thought of her being attractive?
He dismisses that question from his mind.
Jessie's accusations have been slowly getting to him – an issue most likely heightened with the accidental peek under her shirt when leaning over the counter. He's still trying to erase that image: a hint of black and red lace under all that formality. And he wouldn't dare to forgive himself for feeling so bothered by knowing just who she was wearing that for.
The heat of Grillby's is getting to him, no doubt.
It stains the carpet, as does your robe when you kneel and reach out for the victim.
He lies on the ground, what he'd worn to hide his appearance now gone from his face. What confirms him to be the same man you've been helping as of late is the medicine vial he's clutching, and which he saves in his pocket as he groans and rubs at where you've hit him. His jaw is clenched, and there's the faint scent of smoke emanating from his body.
“I'm so, so sorry,” you whisper, crouching before him and leaning in.
You've never seen a skeleton bleed before.
In fact, roughly about a month ago – when this same monster man had shown up at your garden with your lost child – you had not seen a living, breathing skeleton at all.
Your hand presses on his trembling shoulder, and you try not to recoil when you feel a faint warmth emanate from his body.
“I didn't think you would–”
You're cut off by laughter, and you look back to his skull to see he's opened his eye sockets.
He places a palm on his injury as he pushes you aside and stands up.
“my fault, i'll admit,” he says, grinning. “i’ve seen ya pour that sparkling wine before like it's been sent to you by god himself. the last thing i expected was you goin' for my head like you're a professional baseball player aimin’ for the world record.”
He laughs louder, so you have to stand up, rush back to him, and press a palm against his teeth.
And – wasting no opportunity – he immediately licks it, though you don't recoil.
“I've had snot smeared on my robe, vomit spilled on my chest and lap, and grubby hands cup my face just to say something to me,” you state, pressing harder. “I can assure you a little saliva won't-”
A hand grabs your rear, and the other holds the wrist of the hand you'd intended to smack him away with.
You still don't set his mouth free, and that seems to flash amusement into his gaze.
“Stoop that low, and I won't hesitate to shove my crucifix into your eye socket.”
His hand removes itself from your rear.
At that, you set his mouth free and step back.
“i came to say thank you,” he says, again reaching for his injury as he walks to your bed and sits in the middle. “we've been doin' alright, no – more than alright, since you've started givin' us all those medicines.”
“It's Frisk wish to see you thrive, is it not?” you comment, arriving at your dresser, where you fetch a first aid kit. “I assume hospitals want little to do with my child, if they're the reason for people's anger toward… your kind’s integration into our world, so this is the least I can do to help."
You take it, sit next to the monster, and retrieve some salve, alcohol, and cotton balls.
“If you ever need more, you can gladly visit even outside of the usual schedule, but…" You douse the cotton with alcohol and wipe it across the injury. “But not like this. It's late in the night, and you've sneaked into my room… as if you're a teenage boy looking for some action in a highschool flick.”
Next comes the salve and a gauze with two strips of tape.
“And then, to make matters worse, you show up in a disguise.”
You remove the coat over his shoulders and fold it, placing it on the bedside table when you're finished.
“I can hardly see you as is with the dim candlelight. What do you think was going to happen – You showing up at my bed like we're roommates with scarce living accommodations? I wasn't going to say: ‘Welcome home, darling!’, nor was I going to softly embrace you.”
When you look up to make eye contact again, you see he's grinning from ear to ear.
“Tell me what's so funny,” you ask, placing your palm over his chest. “You've been silent for a while.”
Instead of answering, a hand holds your chin, and his thumb traces over your upper lip.
“all this time,” he replies, trailing off with a fit of chuckles. “you've…”
Horror cascades onto your body when you see he wipes something white off your face and licks it clean.
“you've been talkin’ to me with a milk moustache.”
It's your duty to cover his mouth once more, his laughter further booming – giving you no time to shrivel up with embarrassment in a corner of your room.
“Why didn't you say so sooner?”
He shrugs, then licks your palm again.
“And please, stop that. If you want me to find it gross or arousing, it is neither.”
Be that as it may, the word ‘arousing’ flickers prominent brightness into his irises.
And now, you've come to the conclusion you've taken a terribly wrong step.
His hands reach for your hips, pulling you forward and onto his lap.
It's there that he faces an obstacle: the length of your skirt impeding him from parting your legs. He grabs a handful of the fabric and lifts it to your knees, then brings you close until you're straddling him. Your refusal to let his mouth free for the second time declares it more difficult to do anything against him, and yet you'd rather endure this than risk having him be loud and your Sisters finding someone unknown in your room.
He kisses your palm.
And after, his hands move toward your veil, slipping under it and stopping on the back of your neck.
“What do I need to do for you to stop that?”
You pull your hand back, though you keep it close – just in case.
“i wanna spend more time with you.”
Before you can shut him up again, he grabs your wrists and tugs you closer, until you're nearly pressed against his chest.
“...Why?”
“i think i like you more than i thought.”
He lets go, then places his hands back on your hips.
“i’m curious about you, and i wanna get to know you better.”
“Is that all? It doesn't sound like you genuinely mean that.”
Knock-knock.
For the third time, you press your palm against his mouth.
And he does the same, muting both the words you planned to respond to the person behind the door with and the gasp his actions draw out from you.
“shut up,” he whispers, after brushing your hand off. “don't say a thing, and they won't find out.”
Another set of knocks is heard, and footsteps fade when receiving no answer.
He pulls his hand back and removes your veil.
“if anyone asks, tell them ya don't know nothin’, and-”
Footsteps sound once more – quicker now.
“-and fake you've been sleepin’.”
The doorknob rattles.
He lifts you off his lap, straightens out your skirt, and the rest happens too quickly for you to take it all in.
His hands roaming your body as he puts you to sleep, and the whoosh of the wind as he's gone with the blink of an eye, messes caused by his abrupt presence and your reaction towards it cleaned right as the doorknob ceases rattling. A dresser once littered with a variety of items you’d set aside while searching for first aid is tidier than how you'd left it. The few items scattered on the bed have been put away, as well. Similarly, the wrinkled carpet has been fixed, and the glass shards from the broken wine bottle have all been picked up. Everything’s in its rightful place, and the only objects out are the empty mug of milk on the bedside table and your veil folded next to it. Evidence of there being anyone else before would be complicated to find for someone as skilled as a detective.
When it rattles again, an unknown force pushes you back to bed and closes your eyes.
“Sister!” a familiar tone calls out, accompanied by the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Are you alright? We all heard a man's voice, and Sister Gabriel said that she…”
Her footsteps come closer.
“She…”
Try as you might, you can't move an inch.
Something impedes from acting upon your thoughts.
“Sister Magdalene?”
There's the sound of her walking closer, along with the fabric of her robe shuffling.
Soon after, she rests her palm against your forehead.
“Oh, dear,” she exclaims, removing her hand and placing it on your cheek. “You're burning up!”
You can't move.
You can't speak.
You can barely open your eyes.
“Sister Gabriel, come- come quickly!”
There's the sound of more footsteps – incredibly rushed and clearly panicked as the one called bumps against the door, clattering whatever she carried into the room and sending it all to the floor.
“Forgive me, b- but we saw a shadow outside, and I… I can't seem to control my shaking.”
“Nevermind that. We need to take care of all this first!”
There's the sound of the two Sisters picking up the mess of broken shards while you drift off, fatigue forcing your slumber.
“What is this strange-looking garment?” is the last thing you hear, as you lose the remainder of your consciousness.
"Well, I'll be honest with you, officer," the robot says, propping one leg over the other. "You're better off arresting me on the spot."
He's not joking.
Endless questions fill your mind, the number increasing the more pages you turn past. There are all sorts of reasons Mettaton was meant to be behind bars, most of these related to his fame and the dangerous games he played with Frisk. While you could save yourself time by listening to his advice, you're still obliged to carry on with your procedure; you still have three whole months left to determine whether he truly needed to be sent to jail or not.
"I can't do that yet," you reply, sighing. "Not only have we just met, but… I need to be sure about why I'd be taking you in. It wouldn't be right to dismiss my research this quickly."
"If that's what you wish, I guess I can't stop you,” he retorts, frowning. “But I will say you're wasting your time with me. If other monsters are arrested daily for minor crimes, imagine what could be done with me if you turned in those records! I mean it when I say I want to come clean." There's a brief stutter to his tone, one you can barely grasp before he returns with a confident facade. "I did... awful things to get where I am now. My show having thousands and thousands of followers wasn't obtained as humbly as many of my fans think, and I want to seek change, so please… Allow me to make up for everything I did."
You stay silent, a debate taking place in your mind as you decide whether to be blunt with him or not.
You observe him from head to toe, trying to reach a decision.
"If you really do want to come clean, sir," you begin, bracing yourself with a deep breath. "Then why do you still continue with your show? Wouldn't it be a better option to cancel it until this problem is dealt with? And why have you chosen to look after Frisk, if your lifestyle is so… chaotic and dangerous, as you claim?"
"I owe them." The robot's answer is simple. He combs through his hair, closing his eyes as he faces down and lets out a heavy sigh. "Frisk was the one responsible for my career’s success, after all. Hadn't they freed us all from the Surface… I would have not been offered the technological advancements for fixing my body."
His response makes you take another glimpse of his body, how detailed the craft is making it easy for you to believe he could pass off as a regular human with minor adjustments and longer clothes to cover up some of the metal parts surrounding him.
"Alright, but what I said before still stands,” you state, smiling. “I will be contacting you shortly to determine our second meeting. Any doubts or questions you might have, sir?"
"Nothing for the moment. I'll see you soon, then, officer."
"Promise me you’ll have some good news next time we meet?" you taunt, a subtle smile showing through.
Surprisingly, that seems to lift Mettaton's mood.
He uncrosses his legs, stands up from his seat, and offers a hand out to you, his eyes and smile just as bright as his metal coating.
"Promise," he replies, winking. "I'll be awaiting your call."
• • • • •
"what's this for?" Sans asks, irises parting from the gift you set over the counter.
He looks at you instead, gaze furrowed.
"An apology," you reply, firm in your words. "I meant it when I said I feel sorry for what I did. Maybe this… doesn't take away the fact I got drunk, used you as a therapist, and then thought you were hitting on me, but… I do hope it's enough to get you started at the Surface – Y- You'll see what I mean when you open it at home."
"not that i don't appreciate this, but ya know what this looks like to outsiders, right?"
You don't dare tell him about yesterday and how much your life appeared to be crumbling apart this week. You wanted nothing more than to be free from Jessie, yet current conditions keep you stuck to him. What you once viewed as a dream has gradually become a never-ending nightmare, your hopeful and optimistic view over marriage turning continuously sour the longer Jessie continues to stay labelled as your husband.
"Please, take it,” you insist, voice finding strength. "Let him think what he wants to think. I know I'm being faithful, and I don't need his permission to make new friends."
"i get that, but-"
"I'll divorce him as soon as I-"
Without a warning, your body surrounds itself by blue.
You're leapt over the counter and held still by a thin veil of magic, rear meeting the floor and head ducked under the counter.
"this isn't a safe place for you anymore," Sans explains, pointing with his irises over to Grillby, whose fire now glows yellow instead of orange.
He looks distressed, his reason for it making your stomach churn wildly.
Jessie sits on a stool farther away from yours.
He doesn't notice your presence, kept busy by Grillby distracting him with recent additions to the nightly menu.
"he's been visitin' this place ever since he messaged me on overnet. tracked down where i work, and now he won't stop, always askin' to see me and questionin' 'bout what i did for you to end up interested in me."
Hidden behind the counter, you feel you've reached your lowest point in life.
Anger takes over, making you spout the first thing on your mind.
"So, he… He really dares to keep doing that even after he…" It vanishes quickly, Sans's gaze piercing you, the confusion in his irises and the concern in his body language stopping you from blowing up. "A- After he…”
Rather than commenting anything over your state, the monster walks over to a mini cooler, where he retrieves a bottle of water. He gives it to you, then leans back against the counter, attempting to keep cover. You take the water, thank him, and stare at Grillby from afar, noticing he's already moved on to his next customer, relieved from his task now that you're hidden behind the counter.
"This is a disaster," you mutter, huffing into your water bottle before taking a gulp. "I… I don't know what happened for things to end like this. W- Wasn't I just having a few drinks to unwind and stuff? How did that lead to all this?"
Having to tend to a customer, it takes the skeleton a moment to get back to your side and respond.
Once he's done, he leans back again, staring down at you.
“dunno about it myself," he replies, rubbing his neck.
A button snaps open when he does so, forcing you to focus your eyes elsewhere, feeling guilty despite knowing you aren't doing anything wrong, as Jessie so claimed, and not to mention, you're still with him despite him doing the same thing he had accused you of.
An eye for an eye never ends well – of that, you're fully aware of.
You don't want to stoop to his level.
Not today, and not ever.
Hearing him continue, you set those thoughts aside, determined to hear him out in spite of your mind demanding reclusion and no further embarrassment on your part.
"you gotta be more careful if you're not gonna divorce ‘im yet."
You bring your knees close to your chest, hugging your legs and leaving him more space to walk around.
The water bottle remains beside you, half of it gone.
"Still, he… He cheated on me. Why go through all the trouble of saying he wants me, i- if he's just gonna do that in the end?"
That's enough for Sans to stop what he's doing, the drink he'd been pouring for a customer almost spilling out.
"uh…. mind repeatin' that? don't believe i heard ya well, pal."
Nodding, you sigh, shuddering in the process.
"He cheated on me. With someone who looked similar to me."
"so he did that with his type – no surprise there. but from what he said to me these past few days here, i honestly didn't think he'd cheat. it's more like he’s… obsessed with you or somethin', so it's surprisin’ to hear that."
You raise an eyebrow, estranged by his words.
"You really think he's obsessed?”
“more ‘know’, than ‘think’, actually.”
Chills rise when you listen to Jessie's voice closer by.
Sans cuts off the conversation and remains the same, unfazed as he hands over the drink to a customer and tends to Jessie next.
"Have any water? Your boss says I've gotta buy something, if I don't wanna be kicked out of here."
"sounds ‘bout right. you've been here for way too long without payin’."
"That's 'cuz I'm trying to get the truth out of you."
"already told you i’m not–" Sans pauses for a split second, making air quotes before going back to a professional state. "–'screwing' your wife. i'm just a bartender here, buddy. ain't my fault i got assigned to her for my background check, in the process."
"That's bullshit. I know you must've done something."
"nothin’ aside from tryna be her friend."
"With benefits, I'm sure."
You stifle a laugh right as Sans rolls his irises.
That moment doesn't last long though, fear returning when you see Jessie focus his eyes on the gift you left for the monster.
"Are you two-timing even her now?" he asks, grinning. "That sure's low. Who's that for, anyway? Some other customer you want to screw with next?"
"that's a gift from a customer. wouldn't mind tellin’ you who they are, if you'd just drop off the subject 'bout me falsely sleepin' with your wife."
"I still don't buy it. That look on your face says it all. You're a two-timer, and I'm gonna prove it."
"suit yourself, then. here's your water, buddy."
"Know what? I'm gonna call her right now and tell her she's wasting her time with you."
"just take the water, pay up, and do whatever it is ya wanna do. capiche? you're holdin' me back from other customers, and your yappin' ain't helpin', either.”
Though it's become clear to you that Jessie's drunk, given by how persistent he is – more than usual – and the subtle slur in his voice, you still make haste to silence your phone and put it off vibrate, heart caught in your throat when you're done.
Your moment of calm is soon forced to end when you hear him speak up again.
"How about this? I tell her to send your background check off to another detective, and you delete her number. I won't bother you anymore after that."
"prove it."
"Prove what?"
"that you'll keep your end of the bargain."
Jessie laughs. To anyone else around, it would look like the bartender's joking around with a customer. In your eyes, it's everything but a light-hearted situation, how hidden you currently are being sufficient proof that there's no fixing whatever you once had with him.
"I don't need to prove anything to you, bonebag. Hands off my wife, else I'll make sure your background's tainted enough that she won't even need to waste a single damn month researching about you."
Beyond tired of hiding, you attempt to stand up.
Magic holds you back as quickly as you try to do that, challenge present in Sans's irises, still facing Jessie despite using a hand to hold you back.
"try it," he replies, tone dry. "dunno what the hell's goin' on with you two, but i trust it's not gonna affect me. this was your wife's rest spot, and you're ruinin' it. she's my path assigned for a better life at the surface, and now you're tryna ruin that, too."
There's a brief pause, followed by a rough change in the skeleton's tone.
“so either act like a normal customer, or get the hell outta my sight.”
Since tearing away her rosary a week ago, Sans hasn't been able to look her in the eye properly.
He'd been careless – mindlessly acting on the first thought that came to his mind.
And that led to him getting an eyeful of what was underneath her robe.
“truth be told, sister,” he says, leaning back against the wall. “when we first met, i was the least bit interested in gettin' to know ya. i didn't exactly like the idea of frisk bein’ sent off to a human we’d only heard stories about.”
She offers him a seat, yet he rejects.
He'd only snuck into her room to hide for a little while, and that's it.
Sitting down would mean he plans to stay here for longer than a few minutes, and he can't have that.
“the first thought i had was of you bein' a conceited old lady who wouldn't listen to what i hadda say, and part of that was right, but…”
He shrugs.
“not anymore,” he states, snickering. “here i am, hidin’ away in your room without givin’ you any explanation, and even though you hate my guts.” A pause arrives when he huffs. “you coulda called anyone for help, or you coulda kicked me out yourself, and yet…”
He stands up straight, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“you haven't.”
She frowns, hands folding as she stares at her feet.
“You said you wanted my help,” she replies, her voice faint. “Why would I reject you in a time of need?” The woman looks toward her dresser, where she walks to before stopping and continuing with, “And speaking of that, before I forget… Here you go.” From a drawer, she retrieves a thick and square package wrapped up in brown paper. “You informed me some monster children required this for their ailments, didn't you?”
“yeah,” he says, reaching for his wallet. “how much?”
“Do not insult me.” She glares at him. “It doesn't matter if you think I'm conceited, but I refuse to tolerate whatever made you believe I don't care to help whoever needs it.”
She sets a few packages down on the table, pointing a finger at a label.
“These are successful treatments I've produced so far,” she says, retrieving a reusable bag from another drawer. “Tell me which of these you need, and you can take them home with you. Or if you would like to take them all, say the word. I only require a sample of each, and I already have them in my storage room.”
He looks at everything offered to him with a wary gaze.
“are ya sure i can take everythin'?”
She nods, then finally cracks a smile.
“You provided me with the materials, so of course, you may.”
Then, she crosses her arms and twists her mouth back into a firm and stern line.
“And I would like to apologize for what you saw last week, after I… tested your patience, and had you act rashly.”
A sigh follows her words.
“I must have tempted you. If I had been just a little more understanding and listened to what you wanted to say about Frisk and their monster friends, surely... You wouldn't ha-”
“if this’s ‘bout me seein’ your bra and cleavage, that was my bad.”
He averts his irises when she widens her eyes, her expression far too forgiving for his liking.
“i don't think touchin' you like that and breakin’ the one thing you said that made you feel safe was in… any way appropriate. temptation's got nothin' on that. i acted before thinkin’, and that's that. it was my fault.”
“Are you saying you feel sorry?”
He furrows his brow.
“...yeah?”
His hands and forehead shed cold sweat.
“i’d, uh, be lyin’ if i said i didn't feel weird about what i saw, and that it left me kinda curious – to see what's under your veil, and to see how you'd look in regular clothes, but…”
Her eyes brighten when he brings his fist into view and opens it to reveal a new rosary.
“i crossed a line.”
Silence stays momentarily as she picks up the rosary and thanks him several times, her smile seeming almost permanent as she slips the rosary on without a single wait.
“and i'd also be lyin’ just as much if i said i'm not tempted to try it again – gettin’ to see more, and gettin' to touch you more.”
Rather than shock or disgust, the woman simply hums in thought, a trace of a frown slipping through.
“Well, while I do appreciate your honesty about your feelings…”
She huffs and rubs her temples.
“I unfortunately can't overlook what you've just confessed to me, even if you have stated you’re sorry. Repentance is one thing, but… You should still attempt not to do this again.”
Sans observes as she fixes herself up back in her seat on the edge of her bed, the space she'd left for him still available.
“Though I will admit you're not the first to… comment something like this.”
“yeah?” he grins. “tell me more.”
Her smile shows fully through, yet it twists as she grabs fistfuls of her habit's skirt.
“As you might know, now that you've met all the Sisters I’m familiar with..." There's a pause of uncertainty. "When I first came here, I did not immediately start out as a nun, since… You do have to wait until you're eighteen, but…” Her breath hitches as she sniffles and blinks away the wateriness of her eyes. “I was taught the rest of my highschool years here, and one of my teachers was a man in his twenties, who I… had a bit of a crush on.”
He already doesn't like where this is heading, so he simply taps his foot, waiting to hear more.
“I was apparently too transparent about my crush on him, so one day, he… invited me for a walk to the garden, at around six in the evening.”
She looks at him with softened eyes, her smile the same, even if trembling.
“I screamed for help the moment I understood what was happening – that he wanted nothing more than to… take away something that could never be given back. Just as he was busy touching under my skirt, two of those Sisters you met last week came to my rescue. The rest of what he did while I called for help has been… thankfully blanked out from my mind.”
Her voice is the only thing that hasn't faltered yet, as even her body rocks whenever she sniffles to prevent her face from becoming a mess of tears.
“But with you… It feels different.” She wipes a tear from her chin and stands up once more. “While I do acknowledge your threats to keep Frisk safe, and that you did touch me while I was clearly unwilling…” Her footsteps echo in his mind as she reaches his side. “I have this feeling that you will stop, if I tell you to.”
“where's that guy?” he asks, when she rests her head on his shoulder.
“In jail,” she replies, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“want 'im taken out?”
She laughs and nudges his ribcage, standing up straight again.
“Don't joke about that.”
“i’m not.”
He slips his hands out of his pockets and hooks them on the loops of his pants.
“you wanted me to be honest, didn't ya?”
The woman replies with a quiet ‘yes’.
“here goes…”
Sans closes his eye sockets and huffs.
The world around him seems to halt, as if it's been waiting for this particular moment.
“i'm part of an organization meant to take care of people who're irredeemable.”
“For how much?”
Despite being unable to pinpoint whether her question is serious or not, he decides to go through with it.
“welp…”
He knows she won't tell anyone, after all.
Or at least, not anyone that can bring harm to those he cares about.
“depends on the target, along with other stuff.”
He opens his eye sockets and looks at her directly in the eyes.
“for you, though? it'd be free, if you just keep givin' me the medicine you're makin’.”
Momentarily, her eyes broaden, revealing just a hint of what's going through her mind.
“That's-”
“and don't worry ‘bout me gettin' into trouble, cuz the reason i'm hidin' out in your room’s got nothin' to do with that.”
“Would you make him suffer?”
“now that depends on you.”
“Could I… think about it?”
“sure.”
She sighs, bursts with a shaky laugh, and – from what he assumes based on how she passes a hand across her face – appears in need of something.
“i’d ask if ya wanna hug, but–”
“–Would you, please?”
Whatever strength she'd kept to not let her voice break finally runs out. Tears drench her face, trembles take over her body, and hiccups and sobs make her shoulders jump. She's hugging herself, gaze cast to the floor. She would look broken if her face didn't appear so angry. Not just that, but the way she persistently wipes away her tears suggests she's unapologetic of what she's confessed.
“of course.”
And saying just those two words is similar to opening the Gates of Heaven. She smiles like he's told her the greatest news there is, and she giggles like he's told her a flirtatious joke. Her arms are slow in surrounding his body, and her chin rests idle on his shoulder as she hides her face against his neck.
“Thank you,” she says, each word bringing about the scent of mint. “Can I stay this way for a longer while?”
The skeleton grabs the back of her head and presses her closer to him, his other hand being careful not to go lower from her waist – being careful not to screw this up.
“Would you like something to eat?” she asks, once free from the hug. “Before you leave.”
Sans looks at his wristwatch, then takes her up on the offer.
“Anything you want, in particular?”
He shakes his head no.
“surprise me.”
A woman he can likely call his friend at this point, some steaming caldo de pollo, and a hot cup of chocolate.
What more could he ask for?
Any other day – when he couldn't find a place to hide – he'd be wasting his magic teleporting out of trouble, giving bruises that would come to bite back at him, and receiving ones he would need to give explanations for. Tonight, it's a different story, and he couldn't be more grateful for that. Weren't it crossing a line, he would ask the woman if she wanted to join him for a movie somewhere. Watching the late night news and sitting on the edge of her bed an hour later – and while she stands up and offers him a fresh cup of coffee – is the next best thing, and that brings forth a sleepiness he can't seem to shake off. Frisk's mother notices, yet she bites her lip to keep herself from smiling.
“Would you like to stay the night, Sans?” she asks, setting a hand on his forehead, as if to check his temperature. “You… have a bit of a fever, and it wouldn't do you good to wander this late – not to mention, how dangerous that is.” Her hand parts from his skull to land on some medicine she takes out of the same drawer from earlier. “I can come up with an excuse.”
He grabs the painkillers she offers and chugs them with the coffee – right before she reprimands him for not waiting for water.
“Honestly, you could've waited!” she exclaims, her lips almost pouted.
He laughs and waves her off.
“get yourself some sleep. i'll nap on the flo-”
She crosses her arms and points with her eyes to the far corner of the room, where there's an air mattress fully filled up and ready to be settled down, currently resting against the wall.
“You most certainly will not.”
Her expression eases to a more teasing look, almost smug.
“Now go freshen up in my bathroom. I left some spare clothes for you on the towel rack.”
“y’sure i can stay the night?”
“Yes, so long as you follow along with my excuse in the morning.”
He stands from the bed and walks off toward the bathroom door.
"I am not burdening you with my case until you relax for a moment, ma’am," Papyrus insists, narrowing his gaze at you. "You look sickly, if I am going to be honest. Have you had time to rest recently?"
You stare at yourself through your phone's screen, sighing when you see darker circles under your eyes, a greenish tint to your skin, and dry lips. You’ve had to wear your buttons all the way up today, the marks Jessie left on your neck this morning still visible to the naked eye. While it was fortunate Frisk intervened yesterday, you couldn't exactly save yourself from his grasp this morning. You allowed him to leave marks on you to declare what happened yesterday was now behind you – that you were still his.
"Thank you, but..." You trail off, incapable of finding an excuse right away.
Papyrus notices your reluctance, urging him to frown and intervene by placing a basket down on the dining table and offering a snack to eat.
“I…"
"Are you the person my brother met at Grillby's?"
Caught unprepared by his question, you stay still and nod, facing the floor.
"Did he… tell you what happened?"
"No," he replies, shaking his head once. "He said it is purely confidential. And I respect his reasons, as it seems this might be too personal." He offers you something to drink next, placing a cup down and filling it with your preferred choice to the brim. "He did tell me you looked quite… tired, however. He was afraid you would not make it home safely, if he left you alone."
"Ah…" you mutter, hesitating. "I- I wasn't planning to do anything wild, though! I have Frisk to look after."
"What do you mean by 'wild', ma'am? Were you just not fit for driving?"
Trapped by your own words, you realize Papyrus might be less informed about that type of situation than you believe. A text notification interrupts your conversation with the monster, so you excuse yourself while he goes off to tend to the kitchen. Then, you look towards your phone to see three unread messages from the same person you've been thinking of.
hey.
before i say anythin' else…
is it alright if i keep textin' ya?
Of course.
Why wouldn't you?
'fraid you'd think i'd be hittin' on you again.
Oh God.
Did my husband tell you anything?
heh.
somethin' like that.
how'd you know?
He… thought we were flirting, as you said.
welp.
ya don't need to answer this, but-
-did he look through your phone?
askin' 'cuz he called me personally with his own phone number.
Something like that.
you ok?
is he the one you were gettin' drunk for?
I can't answer that.
Sorry.
Thanks again for listening to me back there, but…
It was a mistake.
Not in meeting you, but in having been so careless.
I'm a married mother, and I'm supposed to act like one.
It doesn't say good of me if I…
Well…
don't force yourself.
ya don't have to explain everything all at once.
'cuz it ain't like we've known each other for long.
take it slow.
Thank you.
I'm sorry he confronted you like this.
Did he say anything? Insulted you in any way?
if i tell ya, you'll just apologize for him.
I won't.
So please tell me if he did.
aight.
so…
for starters,
he said i was a bony bastard.
What.
How'd he know you're a skeleton?
he looked me up on overnet.
said he didn't know what you'd seen in me to, uh…
wanna 'jump my bones' so badly.
Dammit.
I'm sorry.
yer apologizin'.
…Sorry you went through that?
heh.
good save.
downright bone-fide.
Thank you.
Guess I'm bone with it.
nice.
ttyl.
Talk to you later, sir.
back with the 'sir', huh?
damn.
thought i'd passed by that line already.
Gotta get down to business.
I've still got my job to do.
good luck, buddy.
"You seem a bit better now, ma'am," Papyrus comments, pulling you back to reality. "Did something good happen?"
You set your phone down and sigh, a frown showing when you notice you've left Papyrus waiting more than you would want to.
He doesn't appear troubled by it, though, a pair of mittens and a tray letting you know he'd gone to fetch some more food while you were texting.
"Have something more to eat," he offers, bringing the tray closer to you. "You still look faint. Have you been eating well? Pastries are not exactly my fort, but these are Muffet's. I heated them up for you!"
Thanking him, you grab a muffin from the bunch, a bit off-put by the spider topping – how realistic it looks urging you to pick it up and set it aside. Flavour blossoms in your mouth when you take the first bite, the warmth enriching its taste by double. The monster smiles when you do, offering you a different pastry as soon as you're done with that one.
"Thank you, but I'm fine, sir. We should get back to your case."
"If you insist, I will give you some of my files for you to handle at home and work at your own pace, but you should still bring some food with you. I would not forgive myself if I saw you in the same condition next week."
"I'm really fine,” you state, widening your smile. “My job requires a strict diet. It's... It's to keep me in good shape."
"Sickly is not a 'good' shape! You should search for a doctor, if your condition gets any worse."
Suspicions at Papyrus feigning his innocence begin to fade when you stare deep into him. How he smiles at you without faltering makes you confident about him being one of your easier cases to deal with. He's already prepared a paper bag full of pastries, and he tops it all off by refilling your drink.
"Even if you do not see me as a friend yet, I feel responsible for your well-being just as much as you are for mine. If you are here for my benefit, I should be there for you also!"
"It's my job, sir."
"I remain firm in my choice!"
Disbelief makes you shake your head, and you promptly slip a pen from your shirt's pocket along with a small notebook, slipping past a few names until reaching his
“Alright. Should we continue with your case, then? I promise I'll eat one more pastry before I leave, if we do."
"Certainly. We have ourselves a deal, ma'am!"
• • • • •
"You're no good," you hear Jessie say, heart racing at the sound of the bed creaking and a pair of footsteps stomp around. "Maybe you look like her, but you're not her. She knows me better than you."
You hear him groan as a full thud sounds next.
He mutters a series of insults and curses, though the other person interrupts him with actual words.
"You didn't tell me you were married? I thought this was a one-night stand!"
"And it is. I'm bored of you already."
Another thud.
"Well, I’m glad you are.”
You're quick to hide when you hear footsteps approaching the door, finding the nearest place to see the woman Jessie claims to look like you. She arrives like a storm, a mirror-image of you in skin colour, body type, clothing style, and facial features. What keeps you separate are minor details easy to overlook at a first glance.
As soon as the woman leaves, you feel arms wrap themselves around your waist.
Jessie's scent reaches your nose.
He places his lips on the back of your neck, using his teeth to nip at your skin.
"You- You have the balls to do this, even after I heard all that?!"
Your words are like an explosion, actions the same.
You snap out of his hold and meet face-to-face with him, a glare refusing to fall off your face.
"We had a deal! I've slept with you twice already, ev- even though the week's barely started, and yet you still go off and find yourself a one-night stand?!”
"Whoa there," he intervenes, chuckling. "Calm down, Judy Hopps. You might just hurt my feelings."
"Your feelings? What about mi-"
This time, the thud is loud and clear, and it's not directed at the other woman.
You're faced with a panting Jessie, gaze lost in fury as he reaches for your throat, holding it tight.
"Did you forget who keeps this house standing, or do you need a reminder?”
"Now's not the time to bring that stuff up. It's my turn to ask what the fuck you're doing."
He's on the floor seconds after you say that.
You keep him in a rough arm lock, pressing his cheek against the floor.
"You wouldn't dare try anything else, would you?” he taunts, smugness in his tone. “Domestic abuse is easier to track more than cheating. Don't you think so? You could go run off and yap aaalll about what happened here, but I'll be the one with the marks, Hopps.” He stops to huff. “Figured someone like you would know better, though you still have a chance to back off.”
You remain in place, firm in your choice.
He's kept pressed to the ground, yet your hold falters the longer you stare at him.
"You've got everything to lose, honey. A traitor, a negligent mother, and a power-abusive detective. Add in those texts you get from that boney dude, and you'd be labeled as the one who cheated first."
"I never did anything with him, and you know it."
"Really?" He squirms under your hold, making you let go to allow him some space and pick up some crumpled papers from his pocket. "I'd say these pictures tell a different story."
He grins while you snatch the pictures off his grasp, unveiling them to see wrinkled, grainy captures of your drunken night at Grillby's, displaying the worst timing possible for each of all four pictures. In the first one, Sans has his hands placed on your shoulders, keeping you steady while you rest your face against his neck. It's clear by the distance he keeps between you it's not an affair by any means, although its poor quality is enough to create second opinions. The next picture displays him placing a jacket over your shoulders. The third and fourth ones are you getting off his brother's convertible with him, and of you heading towards his home, walking side-by-side with him.
"Does he do it better than me? You were never desperate enough to come over to my place for that kinda stuff. Does his magic swoon you over or something?"
"Y- You know he only helped me get home safe," you insist, voice strained with how much it raises. “I can tell by that look on your face.”
"Did he, really? I bet you've been screwing every monster you've got as a client.”
And with that, you let him go.
He stands up, brushes himself clean, and walks off to the exit.
“I'll be waiting for your apology,” he says, as the door closes. “You have until tonight. Make it count.”
There's the sound of him starting the car, then him driving off.
Peace – though momentary – allows the hard strain in your chest to fade with a soft breath.
An elderly nun – likely in her seventies – sets a cake decorated with white icing and colourful, round sprinkles on the coffee table. Her habit seems a size too big, and her hand shakes as she grabs a knife. A few silver hairs have escaped her veil, falling flat on her forehead, and her brown skin shows a couple of darker spots across her exposed arms, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She makes each cut slow and precise, and once she's done, she takes a seat. Brown eyes stare directly at him while another nun busies herself with serving the slices.
“Well, isn't this perfect timing?” Sister Theresa – the one responsible for baking and cutting the cake – says, wrinkles showing near her eyes and mouth as she smiles at Frisk's mother. “You introduce us to a new friend… Right on your thirty-secondth birthday!” She then looks back at him. “What is your name, young man?” she asks, keeping her smile.
The youngest of the two already seems to notice just how uncomfortable Sans currently feels, as she bites back a wobbly smile of her own, just as he rubs behind his neck and avoids the older woman's gaze.
“...sans,” he replies, attempting a polite nod. “pleasure to meet you.”
“Fourteen years,” Sister Gabriel – the one setting slices down for each person to take – says, joining in with just as much merriment. “Quite a feat, don't you think so? She has contributed plenty to our convent since her family left her in our care seventeen years ago!”
The woman appears at least a decade younger than Sister Theresa. Hints of colour in her hair are part of the evidence that suggests her age, adding to that the simple jewellery she wears on her wrists and neck, plus the subtle makeup on her face. Salt and pepper locks can be seen behind her ears, and the reddish tint to her pale skin reveals she has been outside without any sunblock. The colours of her habit are far more vibrant, and contrary to the other nun's clothing being a size too big, this one looks a size too small, as the length of the skirt displays part of her legs. Her smile shows she doesn't seem bothered by the concerning amount of information she's provided in one go, much to the great displeasure visible on the other two women's expressions.
“...Gabriel,” Sister Theresa says, frowning, while Frisk's mother sighs in approval. “Please, control yourself.”
“Oh,” the one in question replies, placing a hand on her cheek. “But… Does it not feel like he already cares deeply for this place? He called yesterday, asking if Sister Magdalene was doing alright!”
“i only wanna know ‘bout the people frisk sees every day,” Sans states, against letting this drag on or having assumptions made about what he wants. “that's what i'm here for, and nothin’ else.”
“But you asked about Frisk, and how their mother was doing,” Gabriel insists, smiling wider. “Perhaps, you refuse to admit it, but… You are being motivated to worry about Frisk and Sister Magdalene, even if you are trying not to let that happen.”
“Either way, sir…” Sister Theresa frowns. “You have made it here, and that is what matters most. Could I ask what prompted you to return… apart from learning about who Frisk associates with?”
“they've been sick, so i brought this.”
Sans slips out a paper bag from the inside of his jacket, and he tries not to chuckle when he notices Frisk's mother seems just a little too curious about what that could be, her wide gaze following each movement he makes.
“What is this?” a new nun asks, appearing from behind him and taking the item from his hands. She looks at the heart-shaped locket she pulls out of the bag, suspicion clear in her gaze. “...A protective charm, perhaps?”
“sorta like one, yeah.”
And – as if arriving in order of age – she seems to be the youngest of the three women he's greeted today, likely in her fifties. Black bangs decorate her forehead, and there's a mole at the left corner of her chin. Her clothing fits just right, and though her face shows maturity, there isn't a hint of a wrinkle anywhere around. The sharp scent of sterility hangs in the air as she stands before him, and blue gloves protect her hands. She has brown skin a shade darker than the first nun he'd met, along with eyes of a similar colour.
“...I’ll be studying it, then.”
She secures the locket in a tight fist, slips it into her habit's pocket, and – finally – walks off to where the two oldest nuns are sitting.
“Are you married?” she asks, her question far too blunt for her to be looking so stern.
Caught off guard, Sans remains silent for a few seconds, until he processes his answer.
“no, uh…”
He looks left, and he looks right.
All three nuns – minus the one he’d met before today – stare intently at him.
The one not staring at him seems busy with the tea leaves she's gone off to inspect, these dropped onto the coffee table with the arrival of the new nun.
So, he takes that as him needing to answer in a way that will keep the group interested, at least until the one responsible for dragging him into this messy introduction finishes doing whatever she's doing with those tea leaves she won't stop shuffling through.
“but i used to be,” Sans says, trying his best at a sad visage through the dimming of his irises, the lowering of his droopy gaze, and the deep fall of his usual grin. “she passed away two years ago, and that's why i wanna look after frisk a bit more, since they're like a siblin’ to my own kid.”
Heavy silence and worried expressions ensure things are already moving in his favour.
Though, he can't allow himself to let that show, no matter how his skull itches to be permitted a triumphant grin.
“and cuz the two of ‘em haven't been feelin’ well since they got to the surface… i've been wantin’ to ask sister magdalene if she can help me with the situation.”
Everyone's gazes turn toward the one he's mentioned.
In response, she slips the tea leaves into a bag, sits back down, grips the bag in her hands, and clenches it like it's her lifesaver.
“You know how to make monster medicine?” Sister Evelyn – seemingly the second youngest of the four Sisters present – asks, a frown on her face.
“U- Um…”
At the sight of Sister Magdalene being unable to reply, Sans decides it's best to carry on with the act.
“she's been givin’ it a shot,” he intervenes, sitting up straighter and glancing at her side. “…ain’t that right?”
She meets his eye sockets, then nods – once, and slowly.
“...Yes.”
A harrumph follows, and she fixes her posture before sparing another glimpse at him.
Then, she breathes deep, looks elsewhere, and closes her eyes.
“Very few hospitals accept monsters into their facilities, so I have been… trying to make up for that.”
Her chest rises and falls like a hammock against a soft wind.
“It- It doesn't feel right to do nothing, when I am aware I can do at least… something. Or anything.”
“Is it truly necessary for you to get involved with something so dangerous?” Evelyn intervenes, her sorrowful voice deepening. “You should let professionals deal with this issue.”
“Even if guilt stops me from living peacefully?” A glare forms on Magdalene’s expression. “Trying to help is better than not trying at all!”
“You aren't prepared enough for this, and you know it, Sister Magdalene.” Evelyn scoffs. “You would be better off facing a horde of hungry wolves than dealing with something so… reckless.”
And then, she scowls.
Magdalene, contrarily, smiles and walks off to the monster's side, propping her hands gentle yet firm on his shoulders – the way she squeezes leading him to believe she wants him to follow along.
“Even if I'm not, Mister Serif and I made an agreement,” she says, leaning closer, until she's almost resting her chin on top of his skull, though she shows she knows better than to do something like that with a stranger. “He will offer me safety and resources, while I will use that to perform the needed experiments to make effective medicine for humans and monsters alike.”
Still, the closeness her actions bring reveals that not only is her heart thumping like it wishes to be set free, but that she wants this to end, judging by how much her hands tremble as she tries to let him go.
And it's at this precise moment that he's reminded of the day after he first met her, when he was in the garden with her, and when she confessed she believed he looked like trouble.
“If my research were found out by people who are in disagreement… then the trouble would not be as worrying as it would be, if I were to focus on both species, instead of just monsters.”
The idea of her being threatened by him brings about an uneasy feeling in his soul, like he can't figure out whether he wants that or not.
“Our agreement…”
She had been the one to confront him first, after all.
And despite the reasons for her anger having a sound basis on her worry as a mother, that doesn't mean he isn't against entertaining the idea that he can act dangerous, just to mess with her.
“...Our agreement is beneficial for both of us. For everyone.”
So far, she hasn't mentioned to her Sisters what he told her the day of Frisk's arrival.
Nor does he believe her Sisters had been witnesses of her angered outburst upon that revelation.
In their eyes, he's simply an odd monster man who had been kind and caring enough to bring Frisk back home safe and sound, and who she welcomed into the garden with open arms – excluding from that narration the part where she slammed him against a wall and shamed him for how blatant his confession had been.
“Where will you be making these… experiments?” Evelyn asks, after an extensive silence from everyone around, the sole thing to keep calm being the sound of water boiling close by and birds chirping in the distance.
“Here,” Frisk's mother replies, finally walking away from him to tend to the boiling water. “I won't be going anywhere,” she carries on, giggling. “...If that's what you're so worried about.”
The eldest of the two huffs while the other laughs again, the disclosure of Sister Evelyn's true intentions seeming to lighten the mood.
“With Frisk being the Monster Ambassador and their health not being the greatest, Mister Serif offered that solution, so that we can both… overcome certain obstacles.”
Her voice breaks at that last line.
“Surely, if you've… r- read the news since their arrival last week…”
Even from the distance she's at, Sans can still see how her body shakes as she picks up the boiling water and pours some into each cup she's set on the counter.
“You've…”
She sets the empty pot on the stove, then grabs a pair of cups, only to set them back down on the counter.
“You've seen what they plan to do with my child… Don't you?”
And as he saw coming from a mile away, she slips in her actions and burns herself with the stovetop.
In response, she hardly flinches, wet eyes and a shaky smile divulging her primordial concerns.
“They will be taken for questioning,” Theresa says, a grey, grim look on her face. “So that we may understand their reasons for freeing monsters from the Underground, even though they were treated poorly?”
Seemingly fatigued, he sees Magdalene rest her back against a counter, slouch, and cover her face with her palms, nodding into them – once and firmly.
“That is what brings into my attention just who are we letting into our convent as of late…” Evelyn says, her disagreement returning. “Undoubtedly, if most monsters brought harm upon them, you must be no exception, Mister Serif.” A brisk pause arrives with a sigh. “And though I'm sure you must mean well, you have yet to repent for what you've done. Right now…”
Her trailing off is accompanied by her standing up and pointing a finger at him.
“You are the chief of sinners,” she says, anger manifesting in her eyes and tone. “Frankly said… You are a wolf dressed as a sheep, trying to make yourself fit into a rigid mould you cannot possibly ever force yourself into – no matter how much you try, and no matter how much you attempt to redeem yourself for it.” Another pause arrives. “And… That is without bringing into this how you treated Sister Magdalene the day after Frisk's arrival, with you yanking her rosary away and… exposing her the way you did, even after she offered you an apology you did not deserve, and even her friendship, despite your questionable background.”
She walks to the door and opens it, gesturing for him to pass through the frame, sunlight blinding his gaze.
“Do yourself a favour, sir, and leave while I am still feeling merciful.” She scoffs. “You can keep your agreement with Sister Magdalene, but I sincerely do not want you here. Bring her whatever resources she may require, but stay away from her and this place. We will protect her the way we always have.”
Birds rush toward the seeds you throw at the ground, and the sun falls heavy over your skin as you pick up a sprinkling can and pour some water over the droopy flowers nearby.
The skeleton man watches throughout, only breaking the silence to ask if you need help with gardening – if he can make himself useful instead of waiting.
And yet, you dismiss his offer, then tell him to stay by the picnic table under the cabana, stating you'll be there with him soon.
The midwinter breeze helps in cooling the prominent heat on your skin, and the brisk but thorough wash of both your hands and face when you're finished with work further assists in refreshing your body. A creaky faucet complains when you shut it close with a towel, the same one you use to wipe the rest of the area clean. Finally, it ends with a quick stretch: arms lifted up to your head, and an elbow bending over an arm, then following the same stretches for the other, until you've fully flexed your muscles and deemed yourself ready to settle down.
“Pardon the wait,” you call out, upon approaching the picnic table. “After Frisk got home yesterday, I… couldn't sleep. The excitement kept me awake, and I'm pretty sure I read through my entire bookshelf, trying to find a wink of rest.”
“well,” Sans says, sitting down when you insist him to. “figured as much.” He snickers. “i could see the lights under your door when i went for a drink in the middle of the night.”
Having him say that sounds… off.
Unfitting, even.
Being aware a strange man of a different species had spent a night in one of the empty guest bedrooms feels…
Odd.
Unnatural.
Like it's something you never imagined would happen, despite the sole purpose of those empty bedrooms being to shelter those who need it, no matter who they may be.
And then, you're reminded of how similar each room is from the outside, and how many doors he must've passed until reaching the guest bathrooms.
Surely, he hadn't recalled the exact location of yours.
“...You remembered where my room is?”
Judging by the curve to his smile, he immediately acknowledges your suspicions.
“hard not to, when it's got frisk's scribbles all over the door.”
You pick up a steel pot from the doily set on the table and face down at the liquid, still steaming despite how much time has passed.
“Oh,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up. “Right. I forgot about that… particular detail.”
Sans watches as you swirl the contents around, add some sugar from the little jar at the edge of the table, and finally, pour equal amounts on a pair of porcelain cups.
“May I ask…”
You set his cup down in front of him, then set the pot back on the doily.
“What’s your occupation? I… don't mean to be rude, but-”
He grabs your arm before you can retreat to your seat, then grins.
“let’s cut to the chase,” he says, flaring his nose cavity. “y’think i look weird? like bad news?”
You avert your gaze and resist a frown.
“...Somewhat.”
His shoulders shake with a chuckle when you glance over at his attire in the most obvious way possible.
“Your entire... appearance, I mean. It… screams you are trouble, though your personality seems more calm and approachable.” You take a breath and promptly let it out. “And there's… your scent, too. Strong of cologne and smoke, as if you're trying to hide something.”
The skeleton man lets you go, the scents you'd spoken of lingering on your nose.
“yeah?” He snickers. “ya think i gamble, binge-drink, and stay out ‘til late doin’ god-knows-what – stuff like that?” There's a pause, filled with the sounds of the breeze picking up. “...ya think i hurt others for a livin’? make ‘em pay for what they've done?”
Your breath runs short, as if you've been submerged underwater with nothing but swimming goggles and a flimsy swimsuit on.
“Not exactly.” You twiddle your fingers and pick at your nails. “You simply don't look like the type to… be interested in caring after someone like my child, while knowing others are unable to, and that there’s no other option at your disposal.”
Sans nods for you to sit on the chair across from his.
When you do, he leans back and shrugs.
“well, whaddya know, doll.” He sighs. “you’re spot-on, cuz i don't like havin’ this responsibility thrown at me, at all. if it were up to me…” Then, he laughs, loud and hoarse. “i'd rather be out doin’ whatever instead of lookin’ after a kid. even goin’ grocery shoppin’ for the things they need sounds better than that.’
“...Doll?”
He laughs louder.
“out of everythin’ i said, is that really the thing that bothered ya the most?”
He's good at pretending to be offended through his tone of voice, you'll give him that.
But the glint of his irises hardly covers the amusement he appears to be gaining purely from you asking him questions pertaining to his identity.
“Please, don't call me that,” you say, folding your hands over your lap.
It's like he's leading you into a trap – one you're getting yourself too tangled up in.
“In return, I apologize for being invasive, but I hope you'll understand this is crucial information for me to… trust Frisk under your care.”
“cross your heart ‘n’ soul?”
“Why else would I want to know more about you?”
Sans notices the error in your wording before you do, the brighter light to his irises revealing it all.
“ouch.”
Rashly, you stand up and place your hands on your waist.
“You… You know I didn't mean it like that! I meant it when I said we could be friends, just as long as you keep your promise.”
Talking to him feels like wrestling an animal into taking its medicine.
And – just like the dog that had thoroughly licked at your face when you tried to shove some antibiotics into a piece of bread – you don't like it one bit.
“guessin’ you're more of a rough talker, then. or did i get it wrong, sister magdalene?”
You wrinkle your nose.
“Strangely enough, hearing you say that name feels unfitting... Despite what I said. I cannot imagine you talking so formally like this.”
He shrugs, lays back, and places an elbow on an armrest, resting a hand on his forehead.
“not like there's much i can do ‘bout that.”
And consequently, he sits up straight, takes the hot chocolate, and chugs it like it's an ice-cold drink.
“tasty,” he says, winking. “properly sweet ‘n’ warm, just like this place.”
“You find this place… comfortable?”
“well, yeah. the garden looks nice, and you look…”
Sans trails off and averts his gaze.
“...approachable?” he continues.
A sudden drizzle makes the roof of the cabana jingle and thump.
“dunno what it is, but despite everythin’... i feel good bein' 'ere.”
Right as it seems like he's meant everything he's said, his grin stretches at the sides and his irises flicker with more brightness.
You face down, take in some courage, and only then look up, brow furrowing on par with the quiver of your lips as you try not to show alarm.
“Could you not make fun of me, please?” A sigh accompanies your words. “I'm trying my best to understand all this, and…”
His gaze feels off – like he's focused on something else.
“This is all new to me. Monsters, magic, and… Frisk being your kind’s ambassador. I want them to be free to choose their own path without me intervening too much, since they accomplished wonderful, unbelievable things, but… I can't dismiss my worry.”
Following that statement, there's a sudden change in mood – inexplicable, if you think about the fact he should be satisfied with how thorough your words have been.
“where are they?” he asks.
“In bed, still asleep,” you reply.
That uneasiness stays – like something's bound to go awry at any moment.
Sans stands up and starts closing off distance, two steps at a time.
“how did ya find ‘em?”
That confirms you've ticked him off.
“They were left in our care, by someone who requested to remain anonymous.”
Now, how are you ticking him off?
That's a question you hope can be answered soon.
“I've been taking care of them since eleven years ago,” you add, sensing that brief answers will only make the situation worse. “Almost twelve, as… they arrived shortly after my twentieth birthday.”
Two more steps.
“what were ya doin’, for ‘em to end up wanderin’ ‘round a mountain all on their own?”
Again, you stare elsewhere – at a tree with an empty nest on it.
And yet, you're still aware he's looking at you.
“We had an argument, and they…” You feel hot, in spite of the breeze’s strength and the chill temperature that overcomes the garden. “Th- They ran off, shouting they wanted to be left alone.”
Two more steps, and his body is hunched over yours.
His hands lay on the armrests, forcing you to keep your body squeezed into a tight spot.
“any reason you're avoidin’ my face?”
“I could ask the same as to why you're so close to me.”
The second a hand falls on your chest and slips under your habit's guimpe, your stomach churns wildly, and you start shedding cold sweat.
Until you realize he's after the rosary he yanks off, and then, your body shivers for entirely different reasons.
“this thing,” he mutters, showing you the broken accessory. “why do ya wear it?”
You stare at your wrinkled clothing, fixing it to hide what he's made visible with his actions – almost pulling your veil and guimpe right off.
“Partly because I want to… And partly because it makes me feel safe.”
The monster says nothing else, only nodding and choosing to throw the rosary on the table, letting the loose beads scatter on the wooden ground.
“what ‘bout a heart-shaped necklace? did the kid give ya anythin’ like that?”
“No, they haven't.” A glare unintentionally forms. “Like I said, they've been sleeping this entire time, and I've had to take care of a fever that… doesn't appear to go down.”
“so… they're not wakin’ up?”
You shake your head yes.
“That's why I'm asking you all this,” you state. “They have looked ill since they went to their bedroom, so I need to know just what exactly happened where you lived, and… And who exactly are you, so I can try to understand what your kind wants to do here, and why my child is so drained.”
Sans steps back.
And after, he covers up a chuckle – devoid of actual humour, in this instance.
“wanna leave this talk for another day? we should go see how the kid's doin’, and maybe i can show ya this isn't our fault.”
“I did not say you are at fault for that.”
“then why the impatience?”
He offers you a hand.
“maybe I dunno what's goin’ on with the kid, but rest-assured, you'll have your answers for everythin' else soon.”
You stare at his palm for what feels like an eternity.
“...Thank you, but I refuse.”
Incapable of drinking just a single drop from your cup, you get back on your feet, pick it up, and start clearing everything out.
“Could you bring that pot over to the kitchen? I'll be in Frisk's room once I handle the rest.”
Sans nods.
“the doily and the sugar, too?”
“Yes, please. I'll take care of the cups.”
A moment of stillness falls on the garden, occupied by the noise he makes as he picks everything up. Even the breeze calms down, though the rain threatens to pick up, an earthy scent wafting through the air. And then, that stillness breaks as he excuses himself out of the garden.
Now alone, you reluctantly pour the contents of your cup into the sink, then wash both his cup and yours.
An empty, uncomfortable sensation rests on your chest, though you quickly dismiss that feeling as your rosary no longer being there.
How you'll explain why it was broken would be an issue you would need to work with later, unless you choose to hide that particular incident altogether and find a temporary replacement without any of your Sisters noticing.
Chapter Three: * what did we ever do to these guys?
[Index | Previous | Next]
Note:
(Domestic Abuse + Mild Non-Con warning. )
• • • • •
You hold Frisk in place, frowning when they wiggle out of your arms.
"I am so sorry this happened, Miss Alphys. My husband got called over for an emergency shift and-"
"It- It's okay," the woman intervenes, dismissing your apologies with the wave of her hand. "I understand you're busy. They can just… s- stay in their room, while we talk.”
"Thank you, I-" You're cut short when Frisk runs off. "I can assure you this won't happen ever agai- H- Hey! Don't do that, dear." You stop them right as they're about to poke at a dog snoozing off at a corner, fluffy body vibrating upon sensing them nearby. "As I was saying… They'll be left with a relative next time this happens."
"Are you okay, th- though? You look tired."
"I'm okay. It's just been a busy month."
Although she appears unconvinced by your words, Alphys nods all the same. She stands up from the dining chair and gestures for you to follow her, taking two turns down a long hallway to reach what looks to be a toddler's bedroom. Given Frisk's older age, you find it strange there are toys and colour schemes fitting for a five-year-old around.
"I, um, don't exactly live in this house, but I do stay here with my girlfriend when it's time to look after Frisk," Alphys explains, flicking on the light switch for a better view of their room. "Her n- name's Undyne. I'm- I'm guessing you've already spoken with her?"
"Yes," you reply, smiling. "We agreed to meet later this week."
You both sit down on smaller chairs while Frisk goes to rummage through the toy box.
Wood hitting wood interrupts the brief beat of silence as they build a house.
"So…" you continue, clearing your throat. "I would require to see your records within the next few months. I was informed you were engaged in dangerous lab work at the Underground. Were you one of Asgore's Royal Scientists, by any chance?"
"I was. But, um… I- I have some things I would… I would need to c- confess to you."
"Like what?" you press, raising an eyebrow.
While she does seem to stutter quite often, you don't imagine the reptilian woman would be that quick to reveal her past to you.
She shrinks in her seat, similar to how you had done when at Sans's home.
Her yellow complexion pales as she looks down at her lap, twiddling her fingers and bouncing her leg.
"I, u- um... I did experiments on others."
"What kind of experiments? Were they considered illegal?"
"N- No, but I... I screwed up really bad." She sweats hard and quickly. “And that might actually be a- an understatement.”
A deeper frown settles on your face when you see her shaking turn worse. Sweat trails down her forehead while her breathing turns shallow, driving out Frisk's attention just as much as yours – the former, who approaches her side and hands her a piece of candy from their pocket as an offering. She calms down only slightly, hiding her trembling body by forcing a smile and thanking your child, then encouraging them to resume playing.
"Pl- Please don't take them away,” she whispers. “I- I know I hurt a lot of people, b- but just take me to jail instead! I promise I- I'll never talk to them again, but please don't take them from-"
"I don't know enough about you to establish a fair judgment just yet," you interrupt, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Breathe, Miss Alphys," you continue, words careful in their delivery. "I am only here for basic questioning today. We have three months to figure this out together."
Alphys huffs and later smiles, tears running down her cheeks as she takes her glasses off and wipes them clean with the end of her shirt.
You try not to do the same, vision blurring as you blink a few tears away, unable to rub your eyes due to having worn contacts today.
"Th- Thank you, ma'am," she says, clearer this time. "I'm sorry. I- I just don't... I don't want anybody else to get h- hurt because of me."
"I can assure you that won't happen. In any case, you will be put under probation, if your actions were as grave as you say."
The woman nods, relief presenting itself on her face.
She spares a look at Frisk, a brighter smile showing through – replacing her worries with warmth.
• • • • •
If time machines were a thing, you would use one right about now.
Trusting the monsters enough not to employ your work phone for calling them, your husband has the device in your hold, questioning you over every new name he reads.
"Toriel? Papyrus? ...Alphys?" Jessie shouts, scoffing. "The hell are these names supposed to be? They foreigners or somethin’?”
"They're… the monsters that will be looking after Frisk," you explain, clenching your jaw. "It's for my job – I'm meant to investigate their backgrounds to see if they're innocent people or not.”
"Is that really our best option? Why the hell are you even doing this? Just call that daycare number I sent you. I'll squeeze in an hour on Thursdays to pick ‘em up and drop ‘em off.”
"They're being kind enough to look after them while we work."
"So what? My own mother can do that better than any of them. All we need after I tell her about it is someone to babysit them for four days a week, and that can be solved with a call to the daycare. Just hand everyone over to your department, and be done with it already."
Aware this conversation has been lost since it started, you breathe in and try to keep your cool, failing when you see he clicks on the name 'Sans' next, revealing your chat history with him.
• 1 day ago:
Hello again.
This is _____, the detective in charge of Frisk's custody case.
I'm at the park now. Where should we meet?
heya, pal.
go back to where we first met.
pick you up in 5 mins.
• 10 hours ago:
yo.
you at alphys's place?
Not currently.
I was told to meet her someplace else.
aight.
think we can meet next week, then?
i have all my records with me already.
Of course.
At what time?
uh, dunno yet.
but do ya think it can be at my place?
papyrus wants to share somethin' with ya, too.
Yes, it can.
As long as he's really there this time.
heh.
y'know you can put that behind us, right?
ain't like you shoved your problems to me without askin'.
'cuz i was the one who asked about 'em in the first place.
It's still embarrassing.
Please don't make me try to forget.
Frankly, it only… makes me remember more.
you're hilarious, buddy.
first time i've ever read somethin' like that.
It's the truth.
I made a horrible first impression.
look at the bright side, tho.
What bright side?
ya didn't throw up all over me.
most people do that when they're drunk.
I didn't? :o
Thank goodness!
that's cute.
never thought a detective would type a ':o' face.
There's no other way to describe the relief I felt at knowing I at least didn't screw up that badly.
heh.
didn't think you'd be that worked up over it.
but i get it.
ttyl.
Talk to you later, Sans.
You hear a crack, the phone's screen glitching on par with the appearance of a slit on it.
"Who the fuck is this guy? Why're you even flirting with someone who's supposed to be part of your job?"
"We're not flirting.”
"Really? Even after he called you cute? You even typed a face, and you barely do that with me."
"You think it's childish when I do."
"Then why do it with him?"
The phone is shoved back to you. Hands shaking, it nearly falls off your grasp, yet you catch it before it can reach the floor. You inspect the damages, a nasty crack almost splitting the screen in two.
"I only did it 'cuz he's nice and he helped me out one time. I wasn't... feeling well that time we made our, uh, agreement, so he gave me some advice and stuff to get by."
"But why at the bar? Why were you drunk? Is that why you smelled like cat piss when I dropped Frisk off with you? Do you have to be drunk to have sex with me? Is that it?”
"...Maybe," you mutter, looking away and crossing your arms – as if to shield yourself from him. "...It sure helped last time."
Hell breaks loose right as those words leave your mouth.
Jessie shouts a 'what', grabbing you by the collar and slamming you against a wall.
He keeps you trapped between it and his own body, panting as he glares down at you.
"I dare you to say that again."
Heart racing, you begin to feel faint, eyesight hazy despite having used contacts to make up for it. Stress has been eating up whatever clear vision you had left – each day becoming worse to adapt to. Held still between him and the wall, you're thankful for a second chance.
You gain a slither of courage, clutch Jessie's arms, and bring these back down to their sides, freeing yourself from him.
"I- I'm only joking, dear. I-"
"You better be," he shouts, chest rising and falling as he takes ragged breaths to calm himself. "You're no good when you're drunk. You gotta be sober to show you really mean it when you moan my name. I want you to scream it when you're clear in the head – not when pretty much anyone can take you if they're up for it." You look away and squirm under his touch, suppressing a shudder when he slides a hand under your skirt. "And it's obvious you're not drunk right now."
"I haven't showered yet," you blurt, voicing the first thing that comes to mind. "Let's do it tomorrow. It- It's still only Tuesday, and you said-"
"Forget about what I said." His words come off in purrs; he presses his body close to yours, undoing a button off your work uniform. "I want you to-”
"Jessie, please, I-"
"C'mon – Just this once, babe. I promise you'll feel good, too. Take it as my apology for getting worked up, and I'll fix your phone right off the bat tomorrow.” He caresses the back of your neck, sighing against it. “How's that sound?"
"I really don't want this!"
You've shouted that too quietly for him to hear – that much is clear as he kisses up and down your neck, leaving marks all over.
"Mom?"
At the sound of Frisk's voice, you slump when being let go of and fix your clothes as soon as Jessie turns his attention toward them.
You watch in silence as he questions what's wrong, unsure whether to sneak off to the bathroom or remain for the whole thing.
"I had a bad dream," they state, tugging at Jessie's sleeve. "Can I sleep with you guys? I'm... I'm scared."
While it's not a permanent solution to your situation, relief arrives.
You stay in place, remaining hopeful over an agreement and waiting in case an intervention is necessary.
"Of course you can," Jessie replies, smiling. "Mom here needs to wash up first, but we'll wait for her." He looks toward you, expression changing entirely. "You should get going. Don't make the kid upset."
"...I'll be right back, sweetie.” You finally speak up, directing your words at Frisk more than at him. "It'll only take a few minutes, alright?"
You reach the bathroom without looking behind you, sitting down on the floor when you lock the door behind you.
“Wanna watch TV?” Jessie calls, his voice muffled.
“Yeah!” Frisk exclaims, their voice sounding closer than his.
As soon as the sound of an action movie fills the silence of your bedroom, you hear a knock.
“I’ll throw some water on the bed next time you need help,” Frisk whispers, tapping on the door. “Okay?”
You introduce yourself to the goat lady and offer her your business card.
She takes it, the tremble of her hand made clear when brushing with yours.
“I’ll be in charge of your case for the next three months,” you state, smiling. “I look forward to us getting along.”
Before you stands a monster clad in purple, white, and blue, her composed posture conflicting with the wrinkles in her brow. She nods once and brushes an ear back, as if to keep it from obstructing her face. Next to her sits your child, the one responsible for having freed monsters and letting them roam the Surface – the one who made you lose countless nights of peace, and who popped the last screw of patience off your husband upon their disappearance.
“It is lovely to meet you," she replies, returning your gesture, though with more stiffness. “You've talked plenty about her, have you not, Frisk?”
Frisk shakes their head ‘yes’ – excitedly so.
Then, they smile and do a ‘love you’ sign with their left hand.
"I was informed the social worker had a bit of an… issue with you,” you continue, trying not to frown. “Is it true that you kept Frisk under your care while I was occupied with the closure of their Missing Persons Report… Even though you've no legal custody of them yet?"
The goat lady frowns instead, eyelids drooping and eyes dimming as she faces her lap.
"Yes.” Her tone and expression now match in solemnity. “They persisted in saying they did not wish to see their father, and… With how strongly they begged for that until they felt ready to face him, it would… simply not sit right with me to ignore their request, when they have done so much for us."
You try to brush off the clench in your heart.
Not only do you need to keep pushing on, but…
There's truly nothing you can do about that particular matter right now.
"They’ll be having more than one guardian watching over them, while my husband and I are working. Is that also true?"
"Y- Yes," she repeats, looking up. "Undyne and Alphys will look after them on Mondays, Sans and Papyrus on Tuesdays, Mettaton on Wednesdays, and Gerson on Thursdays. Fridays are with me."
You try to keep your cool when you hear a familiar name on the list, memories from the night at the bar from two weeks ago reaching your mind. It's a vague memory, yet it's still one you carry close to your heart. The rookie bartender had offered you a figurative ear to listen – his name, one you archived deep in your mind when it was time to say goodbye.
"...I see," you mutter, hiding your stutter. "Then I would be required to have each of those people on my contacts to further research their backgrounds. Every person who looks after Frisk must have a clean record, else we are obligated to take them from your hands – Or simply remove that person from the picture, if the department allows us to."
Toriel voices an agreement and shuffles through her purse, taking out a small notebook from its contents.
"Very well," she states, her smile returning. "I will write each of their numbers and addresses down for you. Would that be sufficient information to start with?"
"More than enough."
You wait and watch as she tabulates all six names onto two pieces of paper – half in one, and half in the other.
She hands it over, her own nervousness showing again by the more prominent trembling in her hand.
"Thank you."
You sign a ‘see you soon’ toward Frisk and say your goodbyes to the goat lady after a few more questions.
While freedom isn't yet definitive, Toriel appears more relieved when it's time to leave, as so does Frisk when they wave and throw you a kiss.
• • • • •
Had you chosen to make your calls in the confinement of your home, your sanity would have been put on a rough test.
Sitting on a park bench with the sun warming your face and the breeze cooling the heat helps greatly with getting all your meetings settled and not dwell too much on your situation.
"Friday at ten? Alright. Thank you, miss. And yes, please inform him about it, too."
"Wednesday at nine? Noted. And no – Thank you , sir. I'll be contacting you again soon."
"Would tomorrow be alright with you? I have a space open at three."
"Thursday noon? I'll let you know beforehand."
You arrange meetings with five out of the six people involved in Frisk's care, the last name left unmarked on your list one you wish to avoid in case he were to recognize you from the night at the bar.
Although you've contacted his brother, you're a little more than reluctant to call him separately. You don't know what's worse: to eventually let him meet you in your office, or to meet him today and be done with this, once and for all. Papyrus had informed you over his schedule, so – if you weren't mistaken – the monster would be working a different job aside from bartending. He's a cleaner for the town’s local park, tutoring children in math and science simultaneously. It's a service mostly monster parents searched for, the low cost and the skeleton's skills when it comes to teaching being more than enough for him to carry on with that business.
"how's it goin’?"
Startled from those thoughts, you turn around with a sharp move.
And then, you come across the skeleton you'd been reluctant to approach.
He reacts by taking a step back and holding you still with a thin shield of magic.
A faint light settles between you, this being the very same thing that keeps you from bumping into each other.
"sorry 'bout that," he says, pulling away. "thought you were gonna fall."
You stand idly before him, at a loss for words.
"It’s- It's okay, sir. Thank you," you manage to say, breathing out.
You gesture at your badge and introduce yourself – as awkwardly as can be.
"...You'll be acting as one of Frisk's guardians, correct?"
"yeah. the name's sans, though i figure ya know that by now, pal."
Despite his words coming off light-hearted, it's impossible for you to feel at ease knowing you had shown him one of your most vulnerable sides barely two weeks ago: drunk, tired, and complaining all about your husband and your unwanted intimacy with him.
Embarrassment shows quickly on your face, though you try to stay firm with your reasons for being here.
"R- Right. Again, I… apologize for how I acted that night. I really wasn't my best self. Must've talked all your patience off – carelessly complaining about the stuff I had going on.*
"it's all good," he replies, shrugging. "i offered myself for it. wouldn't've done that if i didn't wanna listen to ya."
Tense, you toy with your engagement ring, its gifter reaching your thoughts.
"Still, I stand by what I said. I rambled about a certain… someone a little too much back there, so – again – I'm really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable." Aware your pointless rambling won't stop unless you force it to, your instinct is to take out the note Toriel wrote for you. You then show it to him immediately, just to try keeping your mouth thoroughly shut about that night. "I, uh, have your number and address written here already. Miss Toriel gave these to me this morning, but frankly... It didn't seem appropriate to speak with you on the phone first, a- after what happened before."
Again, you catch yourself bringing up that night.
As your second attempt, you slip out a ballpen and prepare yourself, reminding your inner thoughts not to bring that up anymore.
"What days are you available, sir? I would need to carry out a three month-long background check on you to determine whether you're, um… eligible to be one of Frisk's guardians."
"how about today? i'm free after three. a parent cancelled on me, so i've got two hours off.”
The universe is against you.
That's the only excuse you can find for him saying that.
While this is supposed to be your job, you're not ready to be alone with him.
You're still bringing up unwanted subjects every few seconds, and it's hard for you not to feel awkward around him.
"Well, I- Uh, sure? If it's not an inconvenience, should we meet at my office? Or did you have another place in mind?"
"my place’s pretty close by – about a fifteen-minute walk,” he elaborates, his smile growing. “i'm guessin' you'd also need to see my brother, don't ya? that's a two for one chance, i'd say.”
The park's surroundings become much more interesting to you, and that makes you hope you're not being too obvious about how uncomfortable you feel right now.
Your urge to escape shows through how you focus on the trees swaying wildly with the wind, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the raucous sound of children playing around.
"Of course," you reply, breathing in. "I'll see you at three, then. Should I use the address written down, or would you like to meet here first?"
"here first. you came by foot, didn't ya? i’ll drive us to my place, 'cuz you're not lookin' too rested."
His comment makes you take a peek at your reflection on your phone's screen, displaying your face in its unholy glory: dull skin, baggy eyes, and a cut lip – the last one of those three the most unwanted, considering its background.
A product of your husband's hasty kisses last night, his teeth clashing with your mouth on the first try, with how desperate his approach had been.
"Thank you.”
Finally, you speak up, managing a smile.
"I… definitely should be getting some rest soon."
• • • • •
You're not sure what to do.
Of course, you didn't schedule a meeting with Papyrus today for a reason: he had errands to run!
And you failed to mention that to Sans, not knowing how to intervene earlier ago.
With that obvious screw-up in mind, you take a seat on the only couch available. How small the house is makes it fitting for only one person – the sheer maximum being two. It takes all your composure to sit up straight and not shift in place every few seconds, feeling as if the skeleton were judging you at every turn.
"looks like he's not here," Sans comments, sitting next to you. "did he tell ya anythin', by chance? he's not usually out at this hour."
You shrink to a corner of the couch.
Sans's presence is discomforting, despite how willing he’d been to listen two weeks ago.
Because – now that you're sober – it doesn't feel all that easy; far from it, if you are to be true and honest.
As if taking in your silence, the skeleton harrumphs and rubs the back of his neck, sneaking a glance at you.
"sorry if this looks like the wrong thing. i, uh, have no ulterior motives, if that's what you're wonderin'. dunno if you remember what i said, but that's really not what i'm tryna do."
At the arrival of an unneeded, half-drunken memory, your head hurts with how far back it's been pushed away.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~
"whoa there," the bartender says, holding your shoulders tight. "i ain't hittin' on ya, buddy – you being drunk's enough of a reason for me not to try anythin’, and that ring on your finger only adds to the cause."
With a sniffle, you lean back against your seat, close your eyes, and sigh, reminding yourself you have to be out of this place soon.
"Sorry, I… I thought maybe you were looking to hook up,” you reply, frowning the kind of frown that would repel anyone around: the kind of expression where you're trying to smile and not cry anymore, so it ends up a big, messy mess: sweaty, tear-stricken face, leaking nose, and trembling lips. That's… That's what people usually want, anyway, right? Do I still look too drunk? I can't go anywhere like this. My husband will come here complaining about it!"
"take a breath, eat somethin' warm, drink some water, and then hail a cab when it's time to leave. i can let you borrow the employee’s bathroom to wash up before ya go. buses aren't really the safest option if you're still feeling dizzy.” He offers you some painkillers and another water. "just tell your husband you're not feelin' well – He should understand."
He won't.
You're certain of that, yet you can't possibly tell that to the guy you've relentlessly spilled your deepest regrets and sorrows to, and who you'd confused with someone looking to woo you for a one-night stand.
You’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one day.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~
"Oh- Oh God, no!" you exclaim, shifting to gain a proper angle. "I didn't think you were. We already discussed that before."
"that's a relief," he states, chuckling. "cuz i kinda wanna get to know ya better, now that you've been in my life twice – more so… since you're gonna be dealin' with my own problems for three whole months."
You feel a full smile return, a weight – though small – being lifted off your shoulders.
(To those who read Chapter One, please be aware that a few minor but crucial details of the story have been changed, such as the Reader's age and Sans's height and description.)
(You can re-read the chapter for those details, though you can also wait until Chapter Four and Five, where those details will be highlighted!)
• • • • •
With a soft push forward, Sans breaks free and steps aside.
Yet – unlike what the woman before him has demanded him to do – he doesn't move from where he's standing.
"i know this is… difficult to take in, but you gotta let me explain."
She scowls, then clenches her jaw and steps forward.
"What is there to explain, Sans? Your kind hurt my child, and now you're waltzing into my life, saying you're free to do as you want, only because they've-"
"please. everythin'll make more sense if ya hear me out. i can promise you that. i'm not tryna justify anythin'; i just wanna talk to ya 'bout what happened."
She steps back, eyes easing into a calmer expression of distrust: from hatred to impatience.
"...Speak."
Her voice, though mellow and tremulous, establishes both authority and patience, and her posture follows the same route: straight and courtly.
He needs to be severely mindful of what he plans to do next – that much is obvious.
The opportunity is a rare one.
"well…" He can barely manage to speak, her gaze too alert for him to not feel judged with each choice he makes. "frisk-"
And speaking of the devil, Frisk barges into the garden.
Despite being sleepy-eyed and them sporting a full bed-head, their concern is unmistakable in both their posture and expression. They've overheard their mother raise her voice, and it's not too complicated to figure out what consequences that will bring. Sans still being cornered is another factor that will likely make the situation more difficult to explain. He can only imagine how they would've reacted had they stepped in when she was holding him by the collar. Either they would act in favour of her, or him, or as their last-case scenario: search for a middle ground.
"What happened?" they ask, looking back and forth between him and their mother. "I heard mom screaming!"
"uh…"
Finding himself between a rock and a hard place, Sans looks toward the woman in question, hoping to receive help – no matter what kind.
In response, she frowns, then looks at Frisk.
"Dear…"
She rushes to their side and places her hands over their shoulders, a patient smile showing through.
"We're okay. I just…"
Her gaze goes back to him, as if asking for help in return.
And, improvisation being his expertise only when it came to matters not as serious as this one, he delays far more than what he's accustomed to. There's a pause far too long and far too uncomfortable for his and – noting by the look on her face – her liking. Frisk is the one who remains waiting, expression unchanged.
"i was showin' 'er some of my magic, and she got surprised," he says, huffing.
That last part wasn't supposed to happen. Sans truly shouldn't be huffing if he wants that already awful lie to be somewhat believable, so he pretends that huff has to do with him wanting to apologize for waking them up. His apology is weak, yet that doesn't seem to be their primary concern. Frisk's eyes brighten at the same time they widen. They appear to care little about him being sorry and more about what he was expecting: more context on just what kind of magic he was performing.
"Really?" they ask, breaking free from their mother's hold to run off toward him. "Like the one you used when a man tried to-" They stop, seeming to have noticed their mistake in letting themself speak before thinking. "Um…"
Their mother catches on quick and sends suspicious eyes his way before returning her focus on Frisk.
"When a man tried to do what, dear?" she asks, gaze narrowing.
Sans feels the urgency to intervene, though Frisk's droopy posture and downcast expression suggests it won't be that easy to escape from the trouble they've gotten themself into.
So, he waits.
"I, um…"
Frisk twists and turns their shoes, and they avoid her gaze like they've already pleaded guilty.
"Sans spooked some bad guys away with his bone magic," they exclaim, their change in mood as sudden as the light rain that starts to fall.
And while their mother tries to protect them from the rain by rushing through her belongings to find cover, Frisk shakes their head and states they have to do something before they go to their room.
"You just had to see it! I was gonna get taken away, but Sans was like…"
They recreate the bone attack scene with a stick they find on the ground, including into their impromptu dramatization sound effects and facial expressions worthy of recognition. And they act it out well: with proper opening, climax, closing, and all. Using two different voices – one for the human man and one for Sans himself – they couldn't have put more effort into an action-packed play had they actually tried to rehearse beforehand. It even ends with them recreating how they themself reacted to having been saved, and with how they imitate their own voice in a more exaggerated tone, they hit one of their mother's weak spots. As they conclude the recreation, she resists a laugh and clears her throat, yet still ends up snorting far louder and covering her mouth when they imitate police sirens and them running away with Sans as they leave the unconscious man behind.
"...And that's what happened," they say, each word bursting with contentment. "Maybe we saw and treated each other a lil differently when I was trying to leave the Underground, but… But now we're friends, and they all helped me find you!"
The amusement she allowed to slip past ends as she ushers them to her side.
Sans can only stay quiet and watch as she places her hand against the back of their head, then moves it across their hair and pulls them closer, hugging them tighter than she had at the beginning.
"That's…" She sighs and closes her eyes tighter, though it's not enough to keep a tear from breaking free. "That's great, dear. You'll have to tell more about that later, but…" Her body is visibly shaky, and she covers that with a smile. "We'll have to talk more about this later, alright? …About everything."
"Sure," they state, grinning. "You want me to go back to bed, don't you? I can tell from the look on your face!"
The woman chuckles and nods.
"Yes, please," she replies, kissing their forehead. "You know me well."
• • • • •
Fast-forward to a few hours composed of awkward silence as he receives a tour of the convent and dinner prepared by an elderly nun, and Sans is wiped out despite it still being early in the night.
Now, he finds himself in her room, this one small yet tidy. The decor is simplistic: a family picture hung on an empty wall, a few potted plants in a corner, and knick-knacks on her dresser. What space isn't occupied by the bed and the dresser is taken away by a desk and a nightstand. There's no closet around, but one simple glance at another corner to see an ironing board explains the neatness of her clothing after having washed up. The bulb fixed to the ceiling hardly helps fight against the dark, though she lights up a candle and opens the window and curtains to let the moon's glow seep into the room.
"They were put in danger, and yet… This is the happiest I've seen them in a while."
The woman says that without a hint of a smile on her face. Her lips are a straight line, there are creases on her forehead, and she has her hands firmly folded over her lap. Her posture's rigid, and he can see the tension in each movement she makes.
"So, with that said, I…"
She picks at her nails, then stops herself when her skin bleeds, something she quickly takes care of by taking a wet wipe from her dresser and cleaning her hands with it.
"I'll be observing you for some time, until I'm sure Frisk is in good hands."
The aforementioned child has thankfully fallen asleep. Albeit, Sans isn't sure whether he would've preferred having them around or not. The idea of being alone with their mother for the rest of the night is an unwelcome one. No matter how much he appreciated Frisk for all their help, there are still a handful of limits he can't bring himself to take away. He can gladly show her his potential, but having to confront her like this is something he wishes to avoid. She could react in a way he wouldn't be prepared enough for, and that could lead to more trouble along the way. As such, he decides it's best to leave her room as fast as politely possible – the sooner, the better. He could apologize later for ending the conversation so abruptly.
"Where are you going?" she asks, the very second he tries to reach for the doorknob.
She sets her hand over his, and it's then that he regrets not having simply used his magic to end his bind.
"Are you alright? Your body feels hot."
It's either his recent lack of sleep getting to him, or he's let the pressure of being alone with Frisk's mother get to his head and mess with his common sense.
"i'm, uh… i'm overwhelmed. sorta," he replies, avoiding eye contact. "i have a feelin' i'll disappoint you, and that i'll make frisk more upset, in the process."
Her fingers lace with his, and she tugs with caution.
"Is that why you've been… silent, this whole time?"
His hand sheds cold, cold sweat, and he stops right where he is, the door left ajar.
"yeah."
She closes the door and makes him turn around with a nudge on his shoulder.
"Then rest-assured," she says, smiling. "I will allow time for you to get adjusted, while I ask Frisk about their journey."
Soon after, she leads him off to bed and gestures for him to sit down on the edge.
"...Meanwhile, I would like to get to know you better."
The room dims as the wind blows out the candle, so she excuses herself to light it again.
"Because, for better or for worse, I talked to them before they went back to bed, and… " A winded breath leaves her mouth. "They told me you hadn't… intervened much in their journey, neither to help nor harm them."
The scent of lemon enters his nose cavity as she retrieves some lip balm from her nightstand.
He looks away, until he hears her close the drawer and sit next to him.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but…" She faces her lap, and with how gloomy she looks, it's not farfetched to believe she's judging herself at the same time she's judging him. "Both not hurting someone and actively choosing not to intervene when they are being hurt – though different – are bad in their own ways." A pause accompanies that statement as she tries to recover from the shakiness of her voice. "And with what they said about you helping them with some men who wanted to take them away, it… wouldn't be wrong to say you're now doing more for them than I have through these… past few months."
The woman stands up and walks off to her nightstand, where there's a jug of water and two cups placed on top of a doily.
"I've failed them more than once, so while I try to make amends, I hope you prove to be a good caretaker, and…"
She pours some water into both cups and hands one out to him.
"Perhaps… We could be friends?"
Sans stares at the water like it's a mana potion – a quest item waiting to be picked up.
And, noticing his uncertainty in taking up the offer, she giggles.
"You can decline if you want to, and you can still take the water, if you're thirsty."
He chuckles, stares at her, and then at the water.
"thanks," he says, taking the cup. "for the water, and for askin' to be friends."
With one movement forward, he chugs the water and sighs.
Chapter One: * what's with these homies, dissin' my girl?
[Index | Next]
Notice:
(This story is nearly 5 years old, and though it doesn't show my best work, I decided to post it, just because I stopped it at chapter 18, when there were only 2 more chapters left to finish it. So... I'm gonna give it another shot – making minor edits to make the plot less dramatic and angsty, lol.)
(***Also, since Tumblr has a more limited format: italic texts are from you, the reader, and bold texts are from others.)
• • • • •
You've changed.
The best thing your boss did was to give you that warning.
You shouldn't keep working for the law if you're just gonna be a traitor.
How am I a traitor?
You work 9 to 5, sometimes 8 to 6, for the benefit of monsters.
Now, all of a sudden, our sex life goes down the drain.
I haven't slept with you since you got that promotion, and that was two whole months ago.
I'm supposed to be your husband, but you've left me in the dry.
I'm tired.
And I refuse to sleep with someone who won't support me in my new job.
Or should I remind you said I wasn't a real detective?
That my degree's 'worth shit', simply because of the field I'm working in these days?
The rest is an ongoing, fruitless conversation you can't bother yourself with.
Through reading those texts for what has to be the twentieth time today, you sigh, hiccup, and close your eyes tight, lifting your face slightly to avoid letting tears fall.
Barely two hours are left until he comes home to drop off your child, and the mere thought that you have to sleep with him five hours after that makes your stomach twist and churn. You don't want to imagine him naked: panting, heavy, and on top of you again, doing whatever he pleases with little regards to your own limits. Nausea takes over – violent, making you open your eyes and suppress a gag.
You really, really don't want anything to do with him anymore.
Yet, he insists you should remain married until your child reaches their eighteenth birthday.
“At least wait until they're grown up,” he said. “Cuz what's six more years? Be honest with me.” Then, he chuckled. “As ugly as you frown when you see me, I doubt you hate me that much.”
That had been a year ago.
Would you really have to wait five more years until your freedom?
The thought sends chills down your spine.
While he was a good father, that adjective didn't really fit next to husband.
At the beginning of your marriage, yes – he was the best spouse you could ask for.
Now?
You'd rather eat drywall than have to spend a single second near him – without your child around, of course.
With your newest agreement, it felt more as if your husband were a client, his payment being not making your life hell, and your service what he claimed was something a wife should be willing to give twenty-four seven.
You shake your head and search for a distraction amongst the people surrounding the bar, aware you can only end up worse if you continue to dwell on the subject. The air presses down on you hot and heavy, a feeling that only increases the more time you stay seated without doing anything for your growing aches. Your sole companion is your mind when you realize you're too overcome with emotions to talk to someone without scaring them off. Chatter drowns out coherent thinking and sensory overload begins to show by how difficult breathing becomes. Seeking an escape route, you hold the bartender back with a raised hand and an 'excuse me'. Then, you ask him for some bottled water – the only kind he could touch willingly. Small embers flutter around the air as he turns around, leaving you alone with burning cheeks and a pounding headache.
Groaning, you pinch the bridge of your nose and blink through your blurry vision. Then, you adjust your glasses – despite knowing the excess shots have pretty much screwed you over already. The hour marked on your phone surfaces a sigh. How fast time seems to be going makes you notice you currently only have around an hour left before your husband arrives with your child. They would be staying with you while he went off to work, and the least you wanted was to look washed up for his arrival.
"need somethin' else, pal?"
You jolt at the new voice, deep and hearty.
Reluctantly, you cast your gaze up to see a skeleton monster standing behind the counter, now glossy with polish. His face is tough to make out with the blurriness, yet you can tell he's looking at you. From the way he stands behind the counter and the stuffy look his suit gives off with its pristine and exaggerated formality, you figure he's a new employee. His newbie appearance doesn't erase the warm and welcoming aura most bartenders appear to carry by default, however. Instead, it makes his smile and words more genuine in his approach.
It takes you a while to respond aside from shaking your head – mind hazy and disoriented. You thank him and sweep the water bottle off the counter, then turn the lid open, breathe in deep, and take a series of long, greedy gulps. Finally, you set it back down, more than half of it already gone.
One more screw up, and you were out of your job at the law department for good.
It doesn't help that you're currently hanging out at a place strictly and utterly forbidden by your boss: a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill establishment open to all, kept family-friendly during the day and becoming more daring during the night. It has been long since you ever drank alcohol of any sort, and it's beginning to show. You can hardly sit without tumbling pitifully to the side.
“hey.”
You're snapped back toward reality through the feeling of someone resting their arms over the counter, facing you and waiting for your return.
You frown and look up from the water bottle to see the same skeleton – his previous stuffy appearance appearing more natural now that he's taken off his tie and left two of the shirt's buttons unfastened.
"i’m no expert on humans, but you look like you could use someone to talk to."
You feel hazy again.
And whether due to the drinks or the heat, you're not too certain of.
But – right now – you're positive about one thing.
“U- Um…”
As you wipe a tear off your cheek and burst out half a sob and half a laugh, you realize you really could use someone to talk to.
(The reader has a nun name, meaning: a holy name given to be used by others in place of a real name, such as “Sister Magdalene” instead of just “(Y/N)”, in this specific case.)
(Also, if this work seems familiar, that is because this is the definitive version of Pray that you will not fall into temptation, since I merged various, similar plot ideas for a Mafiafell fic into one, in order to make the story more fleshed out + provide more consistent, weekly updates!)
• • • • •
"Mom!"
The watering can falls from your hand at the sound of that voice. It clatters and the little water left splashes your shoes as it hits the rocky floor, yet you can't care less about picking it up when you see Frisk running towards you, their arms outstretched, smile radiant, and eyes glossy. You push yourself off the ground, though with struggle as your legs shake and give in from anticipation. It takes a few more seconds of stumbling until you're finally able to stand up straight, and – by the time you do – they're already in your arms, their light weight barely making you budge regardless of your current, weak self. Everything around you: the garden, the fountain, the picnic table, and even your own body feel unearthly, and you're certain it'll all end the moment you take too long to blink.
"Words can't describe how much I've missed you, dear," you state, almost in a whisper when you fail to raise your voice, sorrow making it difficult to do without breaking.
You hug Frisk as tight as the knot on your chest. Tears rush down, staining your arms until you hide your face against their shoulder and squeeze all your distress away. They feel fragile in your grasp, and fleeting, too – like letting go will cause them to crumble, then disappear. As much as you don't want to, you still begin to loosen up bit by bit until your embrace is a gentler touch, almost ghostly. Then, you pull back and wipe your face with a handkerchief you retrieve from your pocket, and offer your child another when you notice they're in a similar state, although not as bad as your own. Even if it isn't real, the last thing you wish is to let them see you somber. That's about the least you can do to make up for how many faults you've found while analyzing the reasons they went missing under your care.
"hey, kid. where'd ya run off to? ya can't just-"
Your arms act instinctively at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, these wrapping firm around Frisk again, like a snake with a hamster, minus the intent to cause any harm.
"oh."
The person behind that voice stands at the entrance of the garden, and – while you try your best not to – your mind ends up jumping to negative conclusions when you see just what type of monster he is.
"Stay back!" Fearing the dream has become a nightmare, you close your eyes and squeeze Frisk harder, yet you soon loosen when they gasp for a breath. "And state your reason for visiting first."
"well…"
You hear footsteps, but you refuse to look at him.
"i'm sans, one of your kid's friends from the underground," he says. "frisk told us they couldn't stay with tori, since they've got another mom up here, and now here i am. they gave me your address, we gathered some info to make sure you were still around, and then i drove us here. the rest of the convent interrogated me before they told me to go straight to the garden, so you can ask 'em if you're suspicious." There's a brief spell of peace and quiet as you hear him debate about something with himself. "sorry if this's kinda nosy, but…" There's a long pause in his words. "how does that work, exactly? you havin' a kid, i mean. aren't nuns supposed to be married to, uh, god, and not, well… a husband?"
You scoff and feel your face form a glower on its own. "I'm not married, and Frisk isn't my biological child, though… I don't really see that detail as relevant to my love for them." Your fingers bury into Frisk's hair as you stroke their bangs away and kiss their forehead. "It matters not whether they're biologically mine."
They shift, kiss your cheek, and push you aside, then tug at your sleeve persistently, insisting without a word for you to address the elephant in the room.
You sigh, breathe back in, and open your eyes.
It's impossible not to flinch when you take a better look at the monster: far less daunting than you were expecting, but still the most unnatural thing you've witnessed since having to interfere with a violent human at the front of the orphanage. The skeleton wears a black suit with hints of red, and the grin he carries appears shielded with dishonesty, contrasting with his direct and unwavering stare. Though the feeling of uneasiness differs from peering into the eyes of someone who has no fear of taking a life away, gazing into his irises still brings about uncertainty. You can't digest how detailed his body is, and how what little bones are exposed from his suit move in sync with each step he takes. It's like watching the most realistic, computer-generated creature in the real world rather than in film. What makes it a chilling experience is that he's actively acknowledging your presence, and that his irises follow your movements as you dust your clothes and fix yourself up after the messy hug.
He's not much taller than you or even Frisk, and yet...
You feel small, and how broad his body seems contributes to that.
"They had gone missing three months ago, and I…" You bring your hands together and bite back another tear, then face the ground to avoid meeting with what looks like Death, but formally dressed. "I can't express how much I grieved over their disappearance." Momentary courage allows you to look at him directly. "Who are you to my child? And… Who is this 'Tori' person?"
A chilly breeze of awareness arrives when you unclasp your hands and stare at your palms to see traces of soil smeared on your skin, most of it you believe is now wiped off on Frisk's attire.
"Frisk!" you exclaim, eyes broadening as you look next to you. "I forgot I-"
They're already standing in front of the skeleton, with their arms fully extended as they wait while he searches through his suitcase.
He retrieves a full set of clothes, a hair pin, and a stuffed teddy bear, then pats their head before they run off inside the church.
If you were jumpy before – even with the company of Frisk – now being alone with the skeleton leads to your body turning awfully rigid, and for a stiffer silence to build up between you.
"do ya have some time to spare, miss?" he asks, zipping the suitcase closed and throwing it over his shoulder. "i needa talk to ya 'bout Frisk."
This has to be a dream, at least.
There's no way you're staring at a breathing, moving, talking skeleton who'd somehow been left in charge of sending Frisk off towards you.
You should've known today wasn't real since the local news announced that a large crowd of monsters of all shapes and kinds had emerged from the Underground, like some sort of Halloween Horror film.
"It's my first time seeing them in months," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. "Of course, I do!" You stare at your hands again. "But... Could you allow me a minute to wash up?" Then, you glance at your uniform. "I've been gardening since early morning."
Whether this is all a dream or a nightmare, you should at least look presentable for either outcome.
"sure." He shrugs. "take your time."
• • • • •
You throw half a strawberry at a bird in your garden, lured by the sweet scents of the food you've set up on the table.
It flies off back into a tree when it picks up the treat, and – when you're positive there's no other hungry animal waiting nearby – you throw the other half on the flowers and watch as the leaves rustle and stop when reaching the spot.
Your next chore is to wash your hands by the faucet near the garden and continue setting up the rest of the table when you return.
"ya know," Sans says, sitting on the chair you gesture him over to. "from what frisk told me about you, i was kinda expectin' a lady older than tori herself."
You finish pouring tea to look at him and lift an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
Although left without an answer, you push on by arranging some shortbread cookies and thinly sliced fruit on a pair of ceramic plates while you wait for him to say something.
He's observing your every move, and there's a limit to how much of that you can tolerate, but fear causes you to keep your mouth shut and carry on.
"and it makes a lotta sense."
"...Care to elaborate, sir?"
Still being out in the garden is what has kept you sane this whole time. Were you in an enclosed space with the skeleton, you wouldn't have lasted a second. There's just something wrong about looking at him and being aware he's a living creature – that he has a human's level of intelligence, and that he's judging you for acting like an old lady in spite of being in your twenties. You want this to end, yet if this is your punishment for not being a good enough mother, then you're bound to push on. You just have to be patient. And you just have to try not to… widen your eyes every occasion you figure out anything new about him. The basics – while covered – are already overwhelming on their own, but actually seeing him laugh and joke around like any other human drives you mad.
"you're makin' me tea, servin' me cookies, insistin' ya do every little thin' yourself," he says, touching a finger from his right hand with his left index finger for each observation he lists, "you're good with birds – probably other animals, too, and you're wearin' a type of dress only someone over her sixties would wear," he remarks, unwinding with a breath out when he shows all those statements take up his entire hand, "that's already five things, and i'm barely just gettin' to know ya. when did ya start out as a nun, anyway?"
Porcelain and ceramic clink as you set what's now unneeded away and leave only the cookies, fruit, tea, and communion items out on the table.
"Since my eighteenth birthday. It's been thirteen years."
You prepare the communion, first by setting aside a piece of sacramental bread, and then a small portion of grape wine in a paper cup.
"whoa." He whistles. "since that early?"
You ignore his comments while you finish setting everything else up, the last thing being to bless both the food and the communion. You then stand up, pick up the tray with the bread and wine, and offer it to him. How fast your heart races makes it so that your fingers shake as you grab the bread.
"Open your, um…" You frown. "How does your skull work?"
"you can touch, if you wanna."
Your eyes glue to his face, and inordinate curiosity fights with basic decency. He's a stranger, and yet he's being as casual as you would expect an old friend to be. You want to ask him to stop – that his existence alone as a skeleton is still something you're barely getting adjusted to, but common sense and more than enough years of your work in the convent have taught you better than that. Just as you're adjusting to him, he's likely doing with you and Frisk. Expecting him to act all formal would be rude, as would be him asking you to be casual around him. That's for friends, not strangers. Though if this really isn't some sort of Telephone game version of the classic Alice in Wonderland tale, then you hope you can both get used to one another later on.
"I shouldn't." Your gaze stays on his face. "But, then again…"
He chuckles, and his irises lighten up, something you've now associated with him being either happy or amused.
"Are you sure?"
"go wild."
You touch his cheekbone and press your thumb against it. The texture's similar to semi-hardened clay, and you leave a mark on his skull, though it fades after a few seconds. Worry stays at the thought of hurting him, so you brush your fingers at that spot again, softer this time.
"That's…" You pull back. "That's... interesting?"
He winks. "and you're great at describing it."
You stay quiet and shake your head, at a loss for words for what you feel to be the third occasion today – and it's still only one in the afternoon!
His teeth part as you move on to what you were doing. Despite physical contact, your heart's calmed down more, and you can stare at him for longer without questioning reality and science. With a long and steady breath, plus the reminder to keep calm, you pick up the bread again and drop it on…
…his tongue (?), then watch as he chews it and passes it down with the wine.
This is normal.
You're not delusional.
And the news report is completely legitimate.
What you have to do is convince yourself to believe all that.
"thanks for sharing a part of your world with me." He grins. "and for the blessin', too."
"It's not much, sir." You smile. "I'm... only thankful you've brought Frisk here, safe and sound."
His expression glooms on par with his posture.
Meanwhile, you set the tray back down and sit on the bench across from him.
The garden feels too calm now, as if nature itself has sensed the monster's shift in mood. You're tempted to ask him directly about what's brought about such a sudden change, yet you know you're in no place to do that. Frisk is sleeping off the exhaustion from their journey in the security of their bedroom, meaning that asking them to do it is completely out of the question – not to mention, you don't want them to do the work for you, nor impose anything as complicated as this on them. Growing restless, you pick up a cookie from your plate and munch on it during your wait. The amount of time that passes on is sufficient for you to eat two more, and even drink your first cup of tea.
"uh, yeah…" he says, mumbling. "'bout that…"
His gaze lifts from the grass to your eyes.
"frisk might've technically... died a few times during their journey through the underground. the only reason they're still alive is cuz of how things worked down there. didn't wanna pull that sorta bandage off so quickly, but i figured you should know this first before they tell ya about their experiences."
"...Wh- What?" you snap, standing up. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"afraid it isn't."
The last thing you can register as anger overcomes your heart is the sound of the tea cup hitting the ground with a crash, sending shards flying across the floor.
You march off towards him, stand in front, and point at the door leading out of the garden.
"Get the hell out of my church, you sick-minded beast!"
"please, let me explai-"
"Get. Out."
All you see is red as you lunge at the monster and grab him by his shirt's collar, lifting him off the chair.
Him weighing no more than Frisk allows you to take him to the nearest wall and slam him against it.
"...A bandage?" You cackle, disbelief manifesting through the noise. He doesn't struggle, so you pick that up as a sign for you to tug at him harder. "My child died, and you call that ripping off a mere bandage?" You press yourself against him when he starts to shift.
"there's more i-"
You cut him off again by tugging his tie along with the rest of his shirt.
"Shut up," you shout. "If this is a nightmare, you're more than welcome to disappear and let me go back to sleep. I... I want you out of my damn sight the second I release you!"
PTYWNFIT Poll
(Take 2, since I'm dumb and didn't notice I could select the time duration of the poll.)
Out of the following options, please select the one that you prefer.
Option 1: Irregular updates, posting once a week whenever I can.
Option 2: Weekly updates, either Fridays or Saturdays.
Pray that you will not fall into temptation (Mafiafell | Sans x Reader)
Chapter 1: Night Visit
Notice:
(The reader has a nun name, meaning: a holy name given to be used by others in place of a real name, such as “Sister Magdalene” instead of just “(Y/N)”, in this specific case.)
~ • ~ • ~ • ~
Blood drips from the remnants of the bottle.
It stains the carpet, as does your robe when you kneel and reach out for the victim.
He lies on the ground, what he'd worn to hide his appearance now gone from his face. What confirms him to be the same man you'd helped recently is the medicine vial he's clutching, and which he saves in his pocket as he groans and rubs at where you've hit him. His jaw is clenched, and there's the faint scent of smoke emanating from his body.
“I'm so, so sorry,” you whisper, crouching before him and leaning in.
You've never seen a skeleton bleed before.
In fact, before last week – when this same monster man had shown up at your door begging for human medicine – you had not seen a living, breathing skeleton at all.
Your hand presses on his trembling shoulder, and you try not to recoil when you feel a faint warmth emanate from his body.
“I didn't think you would-”
You're cut off by laughter, and you look back to his skull to see he's opened his eye sockets.
He places a palm on his injury as he pushes you aside and stands up.
“my fault, i'll admit,” he says, grinning. “i’ve seen ya pour that sparkling wine before like it's been sent to you by god himself. the last thing i expected was you goin' for my head like you're a professional baseball player aimin’ for the world record.”
He laughs louder, so you have to stand up, rush back to him, and press a palm against his teeth.
And – wasting no opportunity – he immediately licks it, though you don't recoil.
“I've had snot smeared on my robe, vomit spilled on my chest and lap, and grubby hands cup my face just to say something to me,” you state, pressing harder. “I can assure you a little saliva won't-”
A hand grabs your rear, and the other holds the wrist of the hand you'd intended to smack him away with.
You still don't set his mouth free, and that seems to flash amusement into his gaze.
“Stoop that low, and I won't hesitate to shove my crucifix into your eye socket.”
His hand removes itself from your rear.
At that, you set his mouth free and step back.
“i came to say thank you,” he says, again reaching for his injury as he walks to your bed and sits in the middle. “frisk's been alright, no – more than alright, since they took that medicine you gave them.”
“They're the Monster Ambassador, are they not?” you comment, arriving at your dresser, where you fetch a first aid kit. “I assume hospitals want little to do with them, if they are the reason for people's anger toward… your kind’s integration into our world.”
You take it, sit next to the monster, and retrieve some salve, alcohol, and cotton balls.
“If you ever need more, you can gladly visit, but…" You douse the cotton with alcohol and wipe it across the injury. “But not like this. It is late in the night, and you've sneaked into my room… as if you're a teenage boy looking for some action in a highschool flick.”
Next comes the salve and a gauze with two strips of tape.
“And then, to make matters worse, you show up in a disguise.”
You remove the coat over his shoulders and fold it, placing it on the bedside table when you're finished.
“I can hardly see you as is with the dim candlelight. What do you think was going to happen – You showing up at my bed like we are roommates with scarce living accommodations? I was not going to say: ‘Welcome home, darling!’, nor was I going to softly embrace you.”
When you look up to make eye contact again, you see he's grinning from ear to ear.
“Tell me what's so funny,” you ask, placing your palm over his chest. “My veil… Is it crooked?”
Instead of answering, a hand holds your chin, and his thumb traces over your upper lip.
“all this time,” he replies, trailing off with a fit of chuckles. “you've…”
Horror cascades onto your body when you see he wipes something white off your face and licks it clean.
“you've been talkin’ to me with a milk moustache.”
It's your duty to cover his mouth once more, his laughter further booming – giving you no time to shrivel up with embarrassment in a corner of your room.
“Why didn't you say so sooner?”
He shrugs, then licks your palm again.
“And please, stop that. If you want me to find it gross or arousing, it is neither.”
Be that as it may, the word ‘arousing’ flickers prominent brightness into his irises.
And now, you've come to the conclusion you've taken a terribly wrong step.
His hands reach for your hips, pulling you forward and onto his lap.
It's there that he faces an obstacle: the length of your skirt impeding him from parting your legs. He grabs a handful of the fabric and lifts it to your knees, then brings you close until you're straddling him. Your refusal to let his mouth free for the second time declares it more difficult to do anything against him, and yet you'd rather endure this than risk having him be loud and your Sisters finding someone unknown in your room.
He kisses your palm.
And after, his hands move toward your veil, slipping under it and stopping on the back of your neck.
“What do I need to do for you to stop that?”
You pull your hand back, though you keep it close – just in case.
“i wanna spend time with you.”
Before you can shut him up again, he grabs your wrists and tugs you closer, until you're nearly pressed against his chest.
“...Why?”
“i think i like you.”
He lets go, then places his hands back on your hips.
“i’m curious about you, and i wanna get to know you better.”
“Is that all? It doesn't sound like you genuinely mean what you say.”
Knock-knock.
For the third time, you press your palm against his mouth.
And he does the same, muting both the words you planned to respond to the person behind the door with and the gasp his actions draw out from you.
“shut up,” he whispers, after brushing your hand off. “don't say a thing, and they won't find out.”
Another set of knocks is heard, and footsteps fade when receiving no answer.
He pulls his hand back and removes your veil.
“if anyone asks, tell them ya don't know nothin’, and-”
Footsteps sound once more – quicker now.
“-and fake you've been sleepin’.”
The doorknob rattles.
He lifts you off his lap, straightens out your skirt, and the rest happens too quickly for you to take it all in.
His hands roaming your body as he puts you to sleep, and the whoosh of the wind as he's gone with the blink of an eye, messes caused by his abrupt presence and your reaction towards it cleaned right as the doorknob ceases rattling. A dresser once littered with a variety of items you’d set aside while searching for first aid is tidier than how you'd left it. The few items scattered on the bed have been put away, as well. Similarly, the wrinkled carpet has been fixed, and the glass shards from the broken wine bottle have all been picked up. Everything’s in its rightful place, and the only objects out are the empty mug of milk on the bedside table and your veil folded next to it. Evidence of there being anyone else before would be complicated to find for someone as skilled as a detective.
When it rattles again, an unknown force pushes you back to bed and closes your eyes.
“Sister!” a familiar tone calls out, accompanied by the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Are you alright? We all heard a man's voice, and Sister Gabriel said that she…”
Her footsteps come closer.
“She…”
Try as you might, you can't move an inch.
Something impedes from acting upon your thoughts.
“Sister Magdalene?”
There's the sound of her walking closer, along with the fabric of her robe shuffling.
Soon after, she rests her palm against your forehead.
“Oh, dear,” she exclaims, removing her hand and placing it on your cheek. “You're burning up!”
You can't move.
You can't speak.
You can barely open your eyes.
“Sister Gabriel, come- come quickly!”
There's the sound of more footsteps – incredibly rushed and clearly panicked as the one called bumps against the door, clattering whatever she carried into the room and sending it all to the floor.
“Forgive me, b- but we saw a shadow outside, and I… I can't seem to control my shaking.”
“Nevermind that. We need to take care of all this first!”
There's the sound of the two Sisters picking up the mess of broken shards while you drift off, fatigue forcing your slumber.
“What is this strange-looking garment?” is the last thing you hear as you lose the remainder of your consciousness.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~
(Testing posts on Tumblr by publishing the 1st chapter of PTYWNFIT!)
PTYWNFIT Poll
Out of the following options, please select the one that you prefer.
Option 1: Irregular updates, posting once a week whenever I can.
Option 2: Weekly updates, either Fridays or Saturdays.
