Chapter Text
A small, involuntary twitch of your face was the only sign of your regaining consciousness. You were vaguely aware of your eyes already being wide open, but as usual, it would take a few moments for your vision to return. You automatically began filing through your other waking senses, neatly tucking away the notes into a corner of your mind.
Taste – the easiest to identify. A strong metallic flavor coated your tongue, mixed with the bitter dryness of chalk. It felt impossible to swallow, the muscle sticking to tissues like glue. You recognized the familiar sting of bile clinging to the back of your throat.
Sound. The mechanical drone of freezer fans mixed with the gentle rhythms of viscous fluids dripping from several sources. Everything sounded muffled and far away. Pause… and give it more time.
Smell. The piercing scent of blood dominated the recognizable smell of freezer air. You quickly identified the lesser scent of chalk and ozone. Familiar. Pieces of the puzzle began to click into place, forming the outline of an incomplete memory.
Sight still has yet to catch up to you, so you chipped away what you could discern from touch. You took note of what you could. You knew you were restrained by the wrists and ankles, sitting upright in a chair… You figured you were in a working freezer but the cold just couldn't register to your nerves. Not yet, at least. You weren’t able to identify any other sensation in your body so you placed a bookmark between your mental notes.
Finally, your sight started to peel back and you slowly, carefully focused in on the haze. You were slightly slumped forward in the chair waiting for the fuzz to clear when you heard something shift in the freezer. It was barely audible over the droning fans but the change in rhythmic stimulus was enough to make your sensitive head spin. You would probably be dry heaving if you didn’t feel almost completely paralyzed. Your concentration shifted back to sharpening vision.
Your lap was completely soaked in blood – dark and going stale. Your pants looked like they had been run through a wood-chipper, with deep holes, cuts, and gouges tearing through the skin and muscle of your legs.
“heya pal, you finally awake?” a deep voice suddenly sounded out, tumbling around in your head. You finally awake? You awake? Awake? The words echoed around enough to confuse you – what was it you heard? Freezer fans and dripping blood. Yes, you know where this is. You’ve been here before.
Ever so slightly, your eyes shifted to the left and right of your lap, taking in the sight of your arms strapped down to the metal chair by worn leather cuffs. The cuffs were embedded with a familiar magic sigil. Your arms weren’t as shredded as your legs, but you noticed a couple of fingers missing on either hand. You tried to curl your mangled phalanges. They barely twitched in response.
“yeah… ‘bout that… i was startin’ ta get nervous there. butcher gonna be fine, pal. don’ even worry ‘bout it, kept all yer pieces right over ‘ere.” It took a moment for the words to sink in, but the familiarity of the situation almost made you huff out a laugh. Sans. He knew just as well as you that he didn’t need to ‘keep’ anything of yours anywhere. It’s the thought that counts.
Your eyes drifted further past your arms to the area immediately off to the side of you. Blood and viscera – yours – was painted, caked, and chunked all around you like a grotesque painting. The excess gore suggested an attempt more desperate than usual. Despite the current emotional numbness that blanketed you, a trickle of surprise still managed to make its way to your awareness. Your eyes felt heavy, so you drooped back down to stare at your shredded legs. He had cut down to the bone in some spots. There were more wounds just below your diaphragm, shallow enough to prevent your intestines from spilling out. Another dark stain noticeable from your peripheral alerted you of the wounds near your left shoulder. A tickle shifted beneath your skin, through your abused veins.
…You waited. This was always the worst part.
“yeah i… yeah. you was out for a bit longer dis time, is all. honestly, yer more healed over now than ya was before,” Sans chuckled nervously. Stressed. “i like da freezer, i think. more than da shed. helps keep all dis shit from stinkin’ up da place. uh… y’know. more’so. whatever.” He was rambling. Your head was still spinning, but you refused to close your eyes. “but it’s cool, heh heh, ‘cause it’s easier ta clean up when it’s frozen. less runny and gooey… why was we usin’ da shed again? these last couple times ‘ave been a walk in da park–”
A sudden, loud wheeze escaped from you as your lungs forced all the remaining oxygen out. It was your only warning before – finally – the lost senses of your butchered body made a violent return. Your body painfully convulsed, pulling itself taught. Your head bent backwards as far as it could go, eyes following to roll even farther back. The leather restraints creaked in protest as your limbs uncontrollably resisted against them, the sigil flaring in response.
“hey, hey, it’s alright pal. jus’ give it a minute.”
You could barely make out his voice over the loud ringing in your ears.
“…sssssssnnnnnnnnn…” You tried to say his name but your jaw was locked like a beartrap, teeth aching from how hard they were gritting together. You were barely aware of the saliva foaming at the corners of your mouth, and the skull-splitting ringing prevented you from hearing the shaky sigh that came from your friend. An agonized groan broke free through your clenched teeth as the convulsions continued to roll through you.
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You were slumped over in the chair, forcing yourself to take deep breaths of the icy cold air. Sans had undone your restraints once the convulsions stopped and started toddling around the freezer to try and clean up the remaining gore. He hadn’t said a word since your fit, giving you space to collect yourself. Your eyes followed him idly as he moved. Sans is lucky that the meat Grillby kept in here was sealed up in bags, otherwise the fire monster would have turned his bones to napalm for causing contamination. The regulars probably wouldn’t have noticed or cared though. Grillby was just stubborn and refused to drop his food safety standards, even after all this time. Hah hah. When was the last time anyone gave a fuck about bloodborne pathogens?
You’re not sure how much time has passed. Judging by the way your wounds started to close up, you estimated about twenty minutes. At least you had all your fingers back. You just had to wait a bit longer for them to all go back to working properly.
Sans had finished cleaning up the area around you and was now sitting across the small room on a stainless steel meat-prep station. You would rate his work… 2.5/5 stars. His brother would be pissed. You let out a huff of laughter, despite yourself. Sans perked up at the sound, his sockets cracking open a little to look over at you with fuzzy white eyelights. He was covered in your blood and looked completely exhausted. He already anticipated the mess and had taken off his hoodie beforehand, leaving him in just a white long sleeve t-shirt, black cargo pants, and his favorite sneakers. He was a small skeleton, the top of his skull coming up to the middle of your ribs, but he seemed even smaller without the extra bulky layer. If this was a time from before, his seeming frailness would have made you nervous for him.
It didn’t matter anymore.
You exhaled slowly. You’ve been in here long enough for your breath to barely form a vapor in the chilled air. At that thought, your eyes flicked over to the window of the freezer door before returning to Sans.
“Is Grillby– shit. Is Grillby fine with us bein’ in here?” You voiced your own surprise at how hoarse you sounded. Sans snorted in amusement.
“i mean… he’ll let us know when he’s not fine wit’ it. last couple times ‘ave been fine. it’s fine.” His sockets slid closed again. They opened right back up when he heard you shifting in your seat. “you good?”
You grunted as you hauled yourself up, legs trembling. The deeper wounds you had were still present and you felt blood slowly gush from them as you stood. “Always am, thanks to you. ‘ppreciate it, bud.”
He gave a lazy salute.
“It seemed pretty bad this time,” you pried, “how long was I…”
His eternal grin thinned, signaling his distress. “uh… longer than usual. you… yeah. you was just extra unresponsive this time. kinda freaked me out so i started snippin’ ya fingers.” He reached into one of his cargo pockets and dangled a crumpled plastic sandwich bag containing your old digits, which had already begun to liquify into a disgusting black soupy mixture. “seemed ta do da trick. ya woke up soon after.”
You looked down at your new fingers. They were frozen and stiff from the prolonged exposure to cold and the… snippin’. You looked back to the bag, the obvious question plain on your face.
“hey, ya never know. just lookin’ out for ya,” Sans chuckled. With a wink, the bag containing your unneeded remains disappeared from his loose grip with a pop of his magic. He hopped off of his perch and strolled to the freezer door. “let’s get outta ‘ere before ya bleed where i already cleaned. les’go vermin, march!” He playfully hassled you out of the cold.
The hallway leading out from the freezer was unbearably warm. The heat was nothing out of the ordinary for Grillby’s saloon, but your frosted, injured body didn’t appreciate the sudden temperature change. You staggered and leaned on your uninjured shoulder against the wooden wall panels, trying to overcome the stabbing of pins and needles on your nerves. Sans had kept walking and was already out past the swinging doors leading to the front of the saloon, leaving you to steady yourself. You could hear a cheer erupt from the other patrons at his arrival, followed by the startup of a new ragtime piece on Grillby’s piano. You stayed put for the moment, your eyes falling closed. Focus.
You could hear tonight’s patrons laughing, chattering, and arguing away, highlighted by the jovial musical number that one of Grillby’s employees was playing. The mouth watering scent of freshly cooked food wafted from the kitchen located to your immediate left. Tempting… but you knew better than to eat right now. You can only imagine Sans' withering look of displeasure if you vomited on his shoes again. You stifled a small laugh. It’s so stupid, since he didn’t give a shit about blood stains! You could go for a beer, though. Your mouth was so dry and still had a strange chalky residue in it.
You pushed yourself off the wall and started stumbling over to where your skeleton friend disappeared to, ignoring any blood you might have left trailing behind. Surely, it has nothing to do with you…
The dividing doors swung open and you staggered your way to where Sans was draped over the bar counter. A cheer erupted while you moved out from behind the counter and a tired smile spread over your face. Your senses were starting to blend together again from the extra stimulus. Same as it ever was.
“Heyyy, there she is! You look like shit!” A dog monster’s familiar loud laughter greeted you.
“Smells like it too!” Another dog monster shouted. Rowdy laughter filled the bar as others joined in on picking on you. Currently, your voice wasn't strong enough to carry over the noise of the saloon, so you just winked and flipped everyone off.
“Got in another scrap with Sans, didja gal?” A bunny monster you vaguely recognized called over to you. “Looks like he laid you flat on your ass!” Another round of hearty laughter while you gave a dramatic ‘What can ya do?’ shrug. You forced yourself to play into the theatrics.
Woshua, one of Grillby’s employees, instantly took to cleaning up the blood you were still dripping everywhere. It was starting to slow down. “You need wosh,” it griped. “Get out.”
You huffed out a laugh and continued your trek around the counter to where Sans and Grillby were chatting about something. The joints of your limbs felt stiff and unnatural. You could feel the weight of Grillby’s blistering gaze the second you stepped out, and he had stopped polishing the glass he was holding as you got closer.
“mornin’ sunshine,” Sans said cheekily, side-eyeing your shredded, bloodied clothes. Even without eyes, it was obvious Grillby was doing the same. You gave a very pointed look to Sans’ own blood stained clothes, before ignoring him altogether. Instead, you pulled back a stool and perched your head on the back of a hand over the counter, giving Grillby an expectant smile. An ember popped in question before he went back to polishing his glass.
Your smile fell and you dramatically let your head – slowly – fall to the countertop. How cruel, he knew you wanted beer!
“grillbz may or may not be a bit heated ‘bout da whole freezer thing. i already says ta him that ya’d be good again for awhile and dat i even cleaned up,” Sans complained, despite the big grin on his face. “but da man’s a hothead, what’s a skeleton ta do?” He leaned further over the counter and wiggled his brow bones at Grillby, who was now pretending neither of you were there. “how can i make it up to ya, hot stuff? need a… favor?” You snorted at Sans’ flirting, head still resting on the countertop. Once again, you found your eyes slipping closed, still able to see the gentle golden glow of Grillby’s flame from behind your heavy lids.
Grillby had quietly replied, but you couldn’t hear what he said over the sudden explosion of noise from somewhere behind you. Over the ragtime melody, the telltale sounds of glass breaking and tables being knocked over were enough for you to piece together that another fight broke out at the saloon. Colorful language was shouted and a couple of dog monsters broke out into laughter again. Grillby barely spared the fight a glance, before he turned and procured an empty beer glass. A long time ago, from before, Grillby would have stepped in to break up brawls like this before someone got hurt. But now, even he just couldn’t see a point in it anymore.
You flexed the fingers on your hands.
All ten digits.
A cold glass was gently nudged against your forehead, making you crack open your tired eyes. Beer…
You carefully took the glass from Grillby and flashed him a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks, hot stuff,” you rasped. You weren’t sure if he had heard you over the fight happening in the background, but the small tilt of his head suggests he did. Grillby then turned to Sans and not-so-gently slammed a ketchup bottle in front of him. They exchanged more words that you couldn’t make out while you gratefully sipped at your drink. Grillby took one more look at you before turning and walking off through the swinging doors. You hoped Woshua had cleaned up the rest of the freezer by now… You clutched your beer protectively, feeling yourself start to thaw out.
Sans had turned to chat with another patron; the both of them seemed to be joking about the source of the fighting. ‘Were they really still going at it?’ Your head twinged in pain from the sound of more dishes clattering to the ground. Still, you refused to look over. The motions would surely be too dizzying for you to follow, and then you would throw up. On Sans’ shoes, of course. Just to annoy him.
“Heya gal.” A voice gently addressed you from your left. The bunny monster from earlier was perched next to you, holding a margarita, purple eyes looking at you with friendly mirth. You smiled at the bunny and tilted your head in question. Her fur was a soft, cottony mint color with a few blue stripes along her head and arms. The cute yellow sundress she was wearing complemented her colors very nicely.
…You always found yourself drawn to the bunnies, and your own predictability threw you for a loop.
“Let me know if this is a bad time, and I’ll piss off,” she started, glancing at your current state. You took another sip of your drink, which was now halfway gone. She continued. “I’ve heard from a friend of a friend that you’re a reliable hire. Very capable.”
You allowed her to lean in closer to you, speaking even softer. “There’s something I want. From the Siren’s Nest. Are you interested? I’ll pay you well.” Your eyes sharpened with interest. The Siren’s Nest. A very well protected stash of wealth and hoarded valuables, deep out into the ocean. After the rising water levels swallowed most of the land on Earth, and more-so after the world went to further shit following the final interspecies war, a mass exodus of water monsters and human-monster hybrids abandoned the land and made a new civilization for themselves. They got their kickstart by robbing a large chunk of the land-dwellers blind and hauling ass before any of them could get caught. Rumors say that anyone who goes near their territory is never seen again. It made you wonder who they could possibly be trading with – they had clearly needed the money for something.
The treasure wasn’t what excited you, though. You were far more interested in the rumors of a leviathan dutifully guarding their underwater kingdom. But…
“I’m not really equipped to handle the ocean. Whole ‘nother beast in itself,” you murmured to her. Grillby had returned behind the counter, setting a hot plate of burger n’ fries in front of Sans.
“That’s totally fine, gal. ‘Cuz the nest is actually on land. On a lil’ island, tucked all nice and neat in a cave. That island is actually right in the center of their kingdom, damn near exact to how we’re all set up here, and they use it for farmland. Or are trying to. Everyone’s still struggling to get shit to grow around here – you know how it is.”
You hummed. The fight behind you seemed to finally sort itself out, if the sudden spatter of blood on the countertop was anything to go by. Woshua could be heard protesting the mess, to your amusement. The back of Sans’ skull and shirt got sprayed, and some blood had landed on his burger. He didn’t acknowledge it as he dumped an obscene amount of ketchup on his plate and dug in. He caught you staring and winked. You lifted your glass in cheers as Grillby started wiping down the counter.
You turned in your stool so that your body was fully facing the bunny, with your back to Sans. The goof was distracting you.
“Tell me your name, darlin’,” you said to her.
“You can call me Emilie. What about you, gal?” She asked sweetly. “I think… I’ve heard people calling you… Anima, was it?”
You snorted. “Yeah. Seems to be a popular nickname these days. Short for ‘animosity’, ain’t that cute?” You gave her a wolfish smile. For a moment, you almost felt like you were yourself again.
“Well, if what I’ve heard about you is true, then I’d say it’s fitting.” Emilie giggled, once again looking over your person. Your bloodied clothes have now fully dried into an uncomfortable crust in the warmth of the saloon. Nearly all of your wounds were gone, only leaving behind a phantom ache deep in the muscle. You laughed easily at her comment, finishing off the rest of your beer and placing the empty glass on the freshly cleaned counter. Grillby immediately took the glass and glanced at you. You shook your head. He nodded and moved to wash the dirty dish.
“Anima is just fine, darlin’.” People had stopped using your real name after the war. You were fine with that. Things had changed. You leaned closer to her, head resting on the palm of your hand. “Tell ya what, give me a little bit to think it over and I’ll let ya know my answer. We can discuss further details then. If I take too long to make a decision, my feelings won’t be hurt if you find someone else for the job. Sound good?” It felt easier to speak, but your voice was still a little hoarse. A flash of pain split across your skull, and you tried your best not to wince. You wanted to go home…
Emilie nodded, looking pleased to hear you would consider it. You were slightly intrigued, but…
“Thanks for hearing me out,” Emilie said, finishing off her margarita and handing the glass to Grillby. “You should really head home, gal. Sans really chewed you up.” She winked at you before walking off.
You turned in your seat and saw Sans fully leaning towards you with rapt interest, his plate of food long since polished off. His pose reminded you of a gargoyle.
“whuzzat? ya talkin’ ‘bout me?” he questioned you with a cheshire grin.
You turned to Grillby, who had turned to you at the same time. “This guy thinks everything is about him, can ya believe that, hot stuff?” You jabbed a thumb in Sans’ direction.
“I can,” Grillby gravely replied.
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You and Sans went your separate ways soon after departing from Grillby’s saloon, the pleasant music eventually disappearing behind you both. You let him know again that you appreciated his help, and that you would buy him dinner one of these nights. As expected, he brushed off your gratitude. “don’ mention it, pal. what’re friends for?” he had said, his voice soft from exhaustion. He looked delighted at the prospect of dinner though, likely already trying to decide what he wanted.
You had sent a sharp grin in his direction. “Budget depending.” You patted your tattered pockets for emphasis.
He just rolled his eyelights at you. “cheap-o.” Sans shortcutted home with a little wave, leaving behind the faint smell of ozone.
Humming, you turned and started walking in the direction of your apartment complex. It would only take about thirty minutes to get there at the pace you were going, which was fine. You barely paid the streets around you any mind, having already seen it all a thousand times over. There was hardly a soul out and about right now, everyone was still in the bars and restaurants getting fat, dumb, and happy. In about two more hours people will start moving around again, laughing and fighting in the roads as they always did.
You breathed in slowly and deeply, ignoring the remaining ache of your body.
The air in the city was foul. The stench of pollution and decaying blood, shit, and viscera was always a punch in the face anytime you left a better home or establishment. If the wind was blowing just right, you could instead choke on the putrid odor of bloated, rotten fish that perpetuated the watery hellscape you were surrounded by. Most folks had gotten used to it, though some still wore their gas masks whenever they had to move around outside. Hell, even you still wore your mask on days that were especially bad.
Out of all the shit that went ass-up in the world, you think you missed the fresh, crisp air the most. A fragment of a memory floated through your mind. You, alone–strolling through a lush green forest, taking notes of all the pleasant scents of nature, listening carefully to the little twitters of birds and the gentle motions of the babbling brook. The sky had used to be a bright, beautiful blue back then. At night, if you were outside of the city, the stars would stretch across as far as the eye could see. The vast expanse of the sky had always made you feel small, surrounded by endless possibilities. You found comfort in that feeling. The freedom to move, stretch, and disrupt your way through life without ever hitting any existential corners was exhilarating. You could act because you were free.
Over the years, the sky had turned into a hazy cage of sickly green, veiling the sun in a warbling, misty visage. The night was not better off, its figure permanently bleached a smokey gray from light pollution, eclipsing the stars entirely. The moon was long gone, leaving not a trace of herself behind. Forests were a thing of the past, taking most of the diverse wildlife with them. A wistful sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it. Normally you weren’t so sentimental, having gotten used to the world closing in around all of you. There was a lot everyone had needed to get used to. But… everything just felt too cramped together now. You didn’t feel as free anymore. Control had slipped from your grasp.
Decay was persistent, but nothing was permanent anymore.
You forced another large breath in, and exhaled slowly, making sure your sparse feelings exited your lungs with the carbon dioxide. Sans had just helped knock you out of an episode, you weren’t about to spiral again so soon after. It made him nervous. But… You couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty. He had willingly signed himself up to be your keeper, for lack of a better term. Him and his brother both had made that decision. More power to them, or whatever. One day they would have to admit to themselves that it was a losing battle.
‘you… yeah. you was just extra unresponsive this time.’
You would just enjoy the fun while it lasted.
‘don’ mention it, pal. what’re friends for?’
‘Nothing’s permanent,’ you chuckled at your own shitty joke, continuing your evening stroll home.
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A week later, you and Sans got together in a unified call to action. The mission: annoy Papyrus enough to convince him that stepping away from work to get dinner with the both of you would be less of a headache than dealing with the two of you kicking up dust in his office. Sans had finally figured out what he wanted you to treat him to – there was a pseudo-Italian-inspired restaurant at the Eastern edge of Ebott Island. The pasta was affordable, so you had mentioned it would be nice if his brother was able to come with. Also your treat. Papyrus had been really busy with work lately and you hadn’t seen him in awhile. Sans, of course, was on board with the idea.
Smart skeleton. He chose pasta for a reason. You decided not to call him out on it.
Mt. Ebott stood tall directly in the center of Ebott Island. The pillar of steel scaffolding around the mountain seemed to extend the length of its height, even though the tip of it ended just three-fourths of the way up. The scaffolding was there to support the Shelf, where monsters and hybrids had built many of their Royal Offices and Laboratories. There were also specialized training grounds installed for the soldiers of each of the seven Royal Factions. Mt. Ebott itself was converted to a mole hill of different factories and various facilities, a lot of them run off of cheap prison labor. The deepest depths of the mountain was the Prison. Holes had been tunneled out along the outside of the mountain to allow for the smokestacks to properly vent.
The whole thing was a steaming fucking eyesore. No matter where you were on the island, the giant structure would take up a huge chunk of the background, casting a dark shadow over the island like an arm on a clock-face.
Ebott’s own Panopticon.
There were soldiers stationed around every entry point of the Mt. Ebott structure, either to let people into the Underground or up to the Shelf. A much higher clearance card was needed for those looking to travel down below, but that wasn’t where you and Sans were headed. Papyrus’ office was above, so you both were heading over to one of the mechanical shuttles. Straight shot up, like a vertical train. And horrifically crowded.
A soldier stood closely next to the card reader that Sans swiped over, eyeing the both of you with a scowl. The little gate opened for Sans, letting him through before closing shut again. You cheekily smiled at the soldier before hopping the gate, trotting after Sans like a loyal dog. The soldier grunted in disapproval but let you pass.
Most of the soldiers knew who Sans was, the older brother of THE GREAT PAPYRUS. Papyrus was the leader of one of the seven Royal Factions, and the soldiers around here didn’t want to piss off one of their bosses by hassling his brother and his brother’s friend at the shuttle entrance. They were also made fully aware that you had a clearance card of your own. You just liked to be a pain in the ass and never used it. You also liked to act as suspiciously as possible around anyone who looked important.
Yeah, most of the soldiers knew who you were, too. Much to Sans’ amusement.
You and Sans moved over to the line of people who were quickly filing into the shuttle. It was around nine in the evening, and a lot of third-shift people were getting ready to head into work for the night. Once everyone slotted themselves onto the shuttle, the giant door slid close with a horribly grating, rusty sound. The shuttle was a glorified bird cage of metal beams, with recycled, rusty fencing the only thing keeping people from tumbling out. You were glad it was open to the air though, otherwise it would be a rotten, dripping sauna of a five minute trip. It already kind of was.
You had wedged yourself off to the side so you could peer directly through the fence as you traveled your way up the mountain. Sans had followed after you, letting you split the sea of bodies with your taller stature and make a spot for him. Smart, smart skeleton. You had asked him countless times before why he didn’t just shortcut his way up, and he always replied something snarky along the lines of ‘just want ta annoy ya’. You think he just didn’t want to admit out loud that the promise of another tomorrow had inspired him to be less lazy. He put a lot more effort into… most things now, compared to what he used to be like. He took long walks regularly, napped less, cleaned up after himself (shittily, but it was so much better than before), and he would volunteer himself to more tasks. He didn’t shy away from responsibility anymore. Mostly.
It only took the end of the world for him to decide to pull himself up by the shoestrings and make something better out of his life. Everyone came around at their own pace. Papyrus was proud of him. You were too, but you didn’t ever mention it. The praise would make his stupid face bloat from the smugness.
In a time before, Sans used to have an unusual hangup regarding the… past. You never pried too deeply into the reason behind it, concerned you would make his situation worse. But he was obsessive about it, like the past could spring up and mangle him at any moment. You got the feeling he was scared to let the future actually mean something to him, and remained unmoving in the sea of possibility you had thrived in.
Now, though, your roles felt reversed. Time was stupid like that.
A bony elbow gently nudged your side. You side-eyed Sans in question.
“didja ever get back ta dat bunny? were ya takin’ her job?” Sans quietly asked you.
“I forgot about it. Maybe.” Your mild intrigue about Emilie’s request sort of withered and died after you showered and went to sleep that night. You didn’t end up thinking it over at all. “You’re too nosey for a skeleton.”
You were almost halfway up the mountain now. One would venture a guess that the air would be of slightly better quality the higher you rose above the city, albeit thinner. This was not the case. The smell was more tolerable, but the surrounding atmosphere was unbearably smokey. Every breath felt like taking a drag from a dirty, stale cigarette. This was precisely why the buildings on the Shelf needed to have excellent ventilation, otherwise the sheer amount of bitching from everyone working there would level the entire mountain. They were right for it, too. You pulled your phone from the pocket of your jacket and opened your Inventory.
Sans had chucked at your joke, his gaze still lingering on you.
“sounds like a job right up yer alley. you love explorin’ places ya shouldn’t be in. folks talk ‘bout some bigass fish swimmin’ ‘round those parts, too. would be fun ta see in person, yeah?” He spoke even quieter, mindful of the people around you. None of them would have given less of a fuck, but he was just used to secrecy.
You hummed, pulling your gas mask from your Inventory. You pocketed your phone and secured the mask to your face, fixing a couple locks of hair that had gotten pinched in the straps. Sans looked delighted at the appearance of the mask. His affinity for it never made sense to you.
‘makes ya look big an’ strong an’ scary,’ he had looked up at you with a stupid grin. ‘nobody will mess wit’ da lil’ skeleton when yer around, wearing dat. you should flip yer hood up too,’ he had cackled while you flicked his forehead.
Nobody was gonna mess with the “lil’ skeleton”, at all. Ever. Even if he was completely alone, using a firehose to spray liquid shit onto residential buildings, no one would lift a finger to him.
There was a reason humans ultimately lost the Final War. It was currently looking at you with a goofy smile.
“The leviathan? Yeah, it would be cool to see if it’s true. Maybe get a picture…” your voice had a muffled echo now.
“…” A pause.
“I just don’t see the point in sending someone like me over there. I’m a better fit for land, not water.”
Sans let out a silent sigh, his gaze finally shifting to peer through the fence as the shuttle reached its destination. He remembered a time where you would jump at the chance to do anything anyone threw at you, no matter how impossible the job seemed. You knew how to make shit happen, get results, even if the odds were stacked against you. You’d get excited in the face of impossible challenges.
…It had been a while now, since he’d seen you take on a job.
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“I HEARD YOU HAD ANOTHER EPISODE LAST WEEK,” Papyrus commented, refusing to acknowledge you and Sans throwing down in the middle of his office. He flipped open another file from the mountainous stack on his desk, being careful not to knock over the mask you had placed near the corner. “HOW ARE YOU DOING, MY FRIEND?”
“Never better, Paps,” you wheezed, disoriented. Sans had shortcut the both of you in rapid-fire successions after you dove at him. He managed to flip the both of you over in the stuttering absence of gravity, clinging to your back like a monkey as you tumbled to the ground. Both his legs were wrapped around your ribs, heels digging in painfully, and he had you in an almost-headlock with a sharp bone attack pressed to your throat. “We wanted to party it up. Come get pasta with us.” You forced the sentences out with each exhale. “My treat.”
You kicked yourself up and twisted violently, trying to dislodge Sans. He held fast, the bone cutting into you with your thrashing. You threw yourself forward at an angle, quickly grabbing hold of the back of Sans jacket and yanking at him while gravity shifted. Your use of force sent the little bag of bones flying into one of Papyrus’ metal filing cabinets with an obnoxiously loud clang of bone on metal.
“I APPRECIATE THE INVITATION. YOU’VE CAUGHT ME AT A BAD TIME, UNFORTUNATELY. THESE PAPERS AREN’T HERE AS DECORATION. ALSO UNFORTUNATE.” Papyrus continued, not sparing either of you a glance. “PERHAPS ANOTHER TIME, MY FRIEND. I’M GLAD YOU’RE BETTER.”
Sans had righted himself and launched at you again. You predicted his motion, quickly moving a step to the side, your hand shooting out to grab his ankle to swing him like a bag of rocks against the edge of another filing cabinet. Another obnoxiously loud clang sounded out upon impact. Together, you and Sans successfully made the world’s most hilarious or the world’s most morbid gong – the final verdict was audience dependent.
The back of Sans skull had managed to perfectly clip against the corner of the cabinet and his eyelights completely guttered out. He slumped and collapsed onto the marbled floor, motionless. You could see where he hit, a decent hole with the likeness of a broken eggshell stood stark against his smooth cranium. You kept an eye on him from your peripheral as you walked over to Papyrus, taking the chance to catch your breath.
“Paps,” you breathed out, leaning against the edge of his fancy darkwood desk, “I haven’t seen you for awhile. I miss ya.” Papyrus was writing something down before he paused, finally looking at you. His gaze lingered briefly on the shallow cut on your throat, which was lazily oozing a couple streams of blood down the skin of your chest. The neutral expression he skillfully wore masked whatever thoughts he might’ve had about the situation. “Come eat with us?” you softly pressed. Papyrus said nothing as he turned back to his paperwork, the movement of his pen continuing.
You were lost in thought as you admired his person, still perched against his desk. It was not a secret to anybody left in this world that Papyrus was the subject of your absolute adoration and respect. He had you completely captivated, ever since you first met. You had never before met anyone who carried as much strength, grace, and optimism as he did – even the very combination of traits he possessed were foreign to you. He had definitely matured over the years, his excitability significantly mellowed out, and his overflowing optimism became acutely paired with a razor-sharp edge of realism. The changes in his personality didn’t compromise his overwhelming desire to help. He always believed that someway, somehow, there was a way to make things better, even if just by a little bit.
He had quickly learned – before, during, and after the Final War – that it was not possible to keep everyone happy. Not everyone could come out of the other side as a winner. A kind, soft soul like him had to adapt to survive. Prioritize, plan, execute. He blunted his words, speaking to the point, not allowing for question or misunderstanding. Kind, flowery language could no longer be prioritized over the truth. Pacifism was no longer a possibility when his people were being slaughtered. Monsters needed to come before humans. He steeled his will and overcame his past reservations, allowing no room for hesitation. His precision, effort, and diligence carried over into everything he set out to do. He was so, so strong. He made you want to be better. He really, truly believed you could be.
…Your will just wasn’t as strong as his.
You liked getting to see him in his work clothes, they made him look especially handsome and sharp. He was wearing a long white overcoat, similar to a lab jacket but more stylish and tailored to his form. Underneath, he wore a simple cream colored turtleneck paired with dark brown pants, held up by a plain black leather belt. His black gloves and scarf were a pleasant visual contrast, along with the black military hat and steel-heeled boots he wore for his uniform. Military-chic is what you jokingly called his style, and he had only replied with delighted laughter. When he was wearing his heeled boots, the top of your head only came to his shoulders, which delighted you. You were taller than a lot of the population, so it was amusing whenever the tables were turned on you. Papyrus was roughly seven and a half feet tall, give or take. There was maybe a little under a foot of height difference between the two of you. Sans was a shrimp, maybe five foot something.
The sudden reminder of Sans' existence snapped you out of your ogling at Papyrus, who was still dutifully making his way through his current file. Your stomach felt like it could have fallen through your ass when you heard the telltale squeak of a sneaker dragging on the floor. You were a second too slow when you whirled around, vision suddenly impeded by Sans as he dropped down from a few feet above you. He quickly and heavily struck the spine of a thick book down onto your head, your scalp splitting open from the force he used. The room spun as you collapsed onto your hands and knees, feeling a river of warm blood running down the front of your face. A nap sounded like a good idea right now…
Sans was saying something but you couldn’t hear him very well over the… bullshit happening to your head right now. Guess it was only fair. You cracked his shit open too.
A large hand grabbed the scruff of your fur lined hood and hauled you up. Your feet were planted on the ground, but you couldn't hold yourself up. They knew to give you a minute, no one was necessarily in a hurry. Your eyes automatically landed on Sans. He was right in front of you, holding up the book he swung at you like a trophy. The spine was spattered with your blood now. Whatever stunned expression you were wearing made Sans laugh in your face, hands coming to clutch at his non-existent stomach as Papyrus reached his other arm around you to yank the book from his brother’s grip. Papyrus whipped his arm back to sharply throw the offending object across the room, pages fluttering violently before slamming into the far wall.
“I SUPPOSE I CAN SPARE TIME FOR PASTA,” Papyrus’ voice came from over you. You perked up, despite yourself. The hand holding you up loosened its grip slightly, but tightened again as you started to sag. “THE REST OF THE PAPERWORK WILL GET DONE EVENTUALLY. IT NEVER ENDS.”
“how’s dat going, pap? anythin’ promisin’?” Sans had grabbed your mask off of the desktop and handed it to you. You carefully took it in your hands, staring at it blankly. The blood was dripping off your face and onto the floor. No one paid attention to it.
The brothers had a conversation about how work was going, giving you a moment to sort yourself out. Papyrus had been hard at work assisting with bridging communication between one of the Laboratory branches on the Shelf and a team of agriculturalists on the land. One of the major projects right now revolved around figuring out a solution to the crops on Ebott Island. They knew that magic could produce a continuous yield regardless of season. However, magic seemingly couldn’t compensate for the nutrient-barren soil. New crops just weren’t able to grow anymore, and the crops that they still had were slowly shrinking. The Laboratory branch assigned to this project was looking into genetically modifying the plants to better suit the new environmental challenges, they just needed to figure out exactly what traits needed to be altered. They were also looking into the state of the microbe diversity within the soil, hoping to find and nurture a more sustainable symbiotic relationship between the plants and microbes. Papyrus helped take the load off of both teams by being the middle man. He was so cool…
Papyrus finally let go of you amidst his conversation with Sans once the room stopped spinning and you were able to carry your own weight. You fixed the mask back over your face, one of the straps covering the split skin of your scalp and applying a soothing pressure. You didn’t bother to wipe off the blood, there wasn’t a point to it until the wound closed. You tilted your head this way and that, until you heard and felt a satisfying pop in your neck. Sans looked unimpressed with you. Too bad he couldn’t see your smug grin.
“Pasta. Now.” You demanded, cutting off whatever Sans was saying and turning to Paps. You needed to get him outta here before he changed his mind.
Papyrus quirked a brow bone at you.
“yah, what she said,” Sans hyped you up. “march, soldier!” He gave a lazy salute.
The three of you filed out of the office. Papyrus walked ahead in long relaxed strides, heels clicking on the tiled floor, hands neatly clasped behind him. A picture perfect figure of authority. Meanwhile, you and Sans were stumbling around a few strides behind, bickering like fence fighting dogs. It was sometime after eleven now, but the night was just getting started for the people of Ebott Island. A lot of folks preferred to move around at night to avoid the sweltering heat of the hazy daytime sun. Others didn’t mind, it was just up to job and preference.
The long hallway was empty, most of the workers in Papyrus’ branch having left for the day already. ‘He’s really been putting in the hours…’ you thought, inspecting the area around you.
“lookin’ for another soldier ta terrorize? poor you,” Sans snarked.
You gave an overly dramatic sigh, making him snicker. “I guess you’ll just have to do, shorty.”
Sans reeled a fist back like you knew he would, and you quickly distanced yourself from him with a loud bark of laughter through your gas mask. If the little shit punched your gut you wouldn’t be able to enjoy a full dinner. It was just too funny to rile him up. You held your hands up in surrender as he determined your fate. Papyrus was at the end of the hallway, looking back at the two of you and waiting patiently for you to catch up.
“You would strike the wallet that buys your dinner, bud?” You shook your head in disbelief.
He squinted at you in suspicion before relaxing his stance. He continued walking forward, side-eyeing you as he did. What a brat. You huffed in amusement and followed after him. Not wanting to test his patience, the both of you quickly caught up to where Papyrus was waiting, instantly adorning a very obvious faux air of innocence. He tried to look unimpressed but the crooked smile on his face betrayed him.
Papyrus turned and once again took to leading the way through the empty halls.
…
…Something very… Strange.
Something very strange had happened, at that moment.
Far too quickly for you to react–it felt as if something had abruptly hooked itself directly to your long forgotten soul. The split-second sensation made you freeze on the spot, before another, even more powerful force suddenly yanked.
It was as if the entire world had lost power. Your senses vanished as everything cut to black.