TW for blood!
oh look, it's l o r e and some writing under the cut!
He never knew that Humans could look so...pathetic.
They're supposed to be more powerful than the entire Monster race combined, aren't they? They've even killed a huge part of his race, something like a third. So why are they in his hands now, bleeding out and motionless?
Why are they in his hands at all?
Sans had taken in Frisk when they fell. On the run from the Dreemurr family, they hadn't had much choice. They were cold to Sans and his sister at first, but they became like another sibling to them in due time. Their face hardly moved from that blank expression, but Sans had learned the slight telltales of emotion. They'd gotten so close that Sans almost thought Frisk was going to stay forever. He was like their older brother. He was supposed to protect them.
Their corrupted red soul, stained with black, weakly hummed. Sans didn't want to touch it.
He wonders why Frisk went on a rampage. Why they came to the mountain. Humans are weird, he always thought. Those plates hung up in Waterfall were right, then. That pains him to think about.
He'd once adored Humans. He loved all their weird little contraptions that he never understood why they would throw out. He loved their weird video games and TV shows they would entertain themselves with. He'd loved the incorrect depictions of Monsters like Humans had never seen one before. Their books with writing he could never tell was fiction or historical. The food that they created that was too soiled by the dump to eat but still was a creative dish. They threw away a lot of stuff that ended up in the Underground, to the Monsters they had also thrown away. That was the only connection Monsters had to Humans, and it still only went one way.
Although Human may have imprisoned his kind, Sans always wanted to meet one.
Look where that got me, he thought.
He let go of Frisk's collar and repositioned them onto his shoulder. Their blood and black eye goop sunk into his jacket, but he didn't mind all that much. Sans stared blankly at the soul in front of him. He can't touch it. Sans can't use magic, either. That would just shortcurcuit and explode him and he can't take another one of those.
He suddenly had an idea, it was kinda stupid but...
Eh.
------
Sans buried Frisk in Hotlands.
He doesn't know why but they always liked Hotland. Out of every part, even the city with a giant amusement park occupying most of it, they chose Hotland. This steaming, quiet land. Behind him, the soul followed, tied on the ribbon that would normally be connected to the back Prim's jacket, like a pet.
He told you it was dumb.
Sans doesn't know what to do with it. He could turn it into the royal family, who called for the soul when Frisk killed their first Monster. He couldn't keep it, though. That would just be twisted after killing them. But it also felt dirty to turn in Frisk to the people they were running away from the entire time they were down here. In any case, he can't keep walking it around a leash in plain sight; Monsters were still looking for it, after all.
Sans heard a whisper coming from the soul. He couldn't understand the gibberish but be could certainly understand the message.
Okay, Frisk, He responded. I trust you.
The next day, the Kingdom announced their victory over their Human tormentor. The start of a new war.
Sans' sister hadn't spoken much, even after he explained everything. She wasn't doing well. Neither was he. Especially not now, when the King and Queen of all Monsters have ordered his presence.
Sans was nervous. The family was scary, all of them. The king was cold, tall, prone to anger. What you saw was what you got with him. The queen was caring and warm to cloak an evil, calculating side to her. The prince was a violent child. He was one of the first people Frisk attacked, having barely survived for the simple reason of Frisk retreating. Frisk was a Determined soul, for them to retreat was serious business.
He was definitely not excited for anything, and he almost considered skipping.
He wished he took that path as he stood in the walls of stone.
"Sans," The queen called out his name. "Sans Dallas. The Monster who did the one thing no one else could."
Sans couldn't put his finger to it but being called 'Sans' just didn't feel right. Not with his sister and not with her.
"You killed a Human."
He shivered.
"It's clear you have some talent to you." The queen approached him while he stood his ground quietly. Oh, what he wouldn't do to leave right now.
"How would you like to work for us?"
...
"You'll be paid well enough to live like a king."
It's scary how much they know about him.
As much as he wanted to refuse, having money waved in front of him like a carrot on a stick was too tempting. He needed it.
"Would be an honor, Queen Toriel."
That left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Wonderful. Truly wonderful," Her praise of this decision was more so a threat than genuine praise. "Welcome to the family. You will now be known as..."
Sans swallowed his fear away.
"The Primordial Justice."
The queen explained all the power he would have over the Royal Guard, the work he'd be able to do with the Royal Scientist, the missions he would be assigned to, his pay... All of it. He just kinda...spaced out. He simplified everything in his mind. It would mainly be about protecting Asriel, with some other things mixed in here and there. Taking this job would take up all his time. Currently working under Undyne, Sans would have to quit that before anything else.
"Your work begins now."
Ah. Of course, it did.
How was he supposed to explain this to Undyne now?
He was escorted to the prince's room. Silently taking in everything around him so he wouldn't forget where he needed to go.
'Primordial Justice.'
That's not a title befitting him.
The little prince looked towards him as he arrived, a nasty scar across his face.
"Hi." He meekly waved at him.
"What it do?" Sans greeted back.
The guards left the two alone in an awkward atmosphere. Sans' parenting-sibling skills left his body.
"So, what are you?" Asriel asked.
"What d'ya mean?"
"Are you a guard?"
Sans thought about jokingly telling him that he's his nanny, but it'd fly over his head. "Some 'Primordial Justice' junk, I dunno."
"Fancy name," Asriel commented absentmindedly. "Oh, yeah, names."
Right. "Sans."
"No."
Did this kid just refuse his name.
"You're Prim now."
"Why?"
"You don't feel like you'd be named Sans. Just cuz your font is Comic Sans doesn't mean you need to..." Asriel muttered about his name, getting quieter at the end.
"Okay, I'm Prim." He introduced himself again, with Asriel's preferred name to get him to stop whispering to himself.
The prince didn't smile. He didn't frown or cry. But his eyes softened.
Maybe this Dreemurr wasn't all that bad. For who his parents were, Prim got the impression that he's actually a good kid.
"By the way, we need to work on your greetings. C'mon, 'what it do' is not cool. Friend-repellant, more like."
"Stop grilling me or I'll tie your ankle to a moving horse."