Chapter Text
There was a time when Sans would have killed to see the sun, to bask in it every day and live life on the surface. He might have once made something of himself, either helping Grillby or opening his own restaurant for him and Pap, or maybe getting his degree verified and spend his days studying the stars he had so fervently wished to see.
But that was before the resets. Before Frisk. Before starvation, survival, and that nasty hole in his skull, before he had lost all sense of self and motivation.
Now the sun could go fuck itself.
He liked it inside. Inside was safe. He could keep track of himself, and of Pap, inside. There was nobody inside his house that he didn't want there, ever, and it calmed him.
Outside was messy. It was loud, obnoxious, and worse--full of humans. They disgusted him, milling about as if everything was normal, accepting monsters into the fold and pretending it wasn't their fault they'd been down there.
He didn't want to eat them, no, that urge had waned after the first few months of a blessedly full belly, and he no longer saw them as food. No, now they were just annoying. They'd knock on his door and ask all sorts of questions about his electric bill, or his cable company, or if he had “found Jesus” yet. Normally he would growl and slam the door in their face, but he was lucky now--Papyrus had found some sort of sign that kept them away.
He'd never seen it, of course, because he hardly stepped onto the porch long enough to look, but it did the trick. The doorbell stopped ringing, humans stopped bugging him about lawn maintenance, and he was happy enough in his solitude to begrudgingly allow Papyrus to leave the house for short periods of time without him.
And yet…
...here he was, dragging his bony coccyx off the couch with a grumble to answer the door for the first time in months.
“what?” He snapped through the door. “ain't there a sign or somethin’?”
“Uhm…” The voice on the other side sounded female, roughly about his height if he was hearing correctly. Not like the businessmen who normally stopped by. “Well, yes? But it says you want me here?”
“what?”
“Yeah. ‘Unless you’re selling girl scout cookies, buzz off!’ And, uh, I am?”
Ah. So that's what the sign says. Well, when you put it that way, and also have food to offer? He can't exactly say no.
He swung the door open, frustration knocking at his temples as the sunlight poured in, burning his eyelights and causing him to blink a bit.
“Oh, yay! So it wasn't just for show!” You said happily as he tried to focus in on you.
When his vision returned, he found himself looking at a young adult human female, with bouncy curls and...generous curves. Well-fed...that made him really happy, for some reason. He doesn't think you're what humans consider “fat”, but you had an appropriate amount of meat on your bones--and a bit of chub that he honestly preferred. If he, uh, were to have a type, that is. Which he doesn't.
Because he hates humans.
*you wouldn't have lasted ten seconds underground
*you would have been prime prey
“...cookies?” He asked.
“Girl scout cookies,” you confirmed, eyes boring into his skull.
He looked you over again. Weren't girl scouts usually little kids? You're definitely not a kid. Not that you look old, just that you have several tattoos visible, plus he'd seen enough different human body types to know when someone was in their early twenties versus anything else.
“...little old, ain’tcha?”
Oof. He didn't mean for it to sound so harsh. Something just doesn't connect in the ‘polite' part of his brain anymore.
You don't seem to take it the wrong way, though.
“Oh, I know. It's not for me, it's for my sister, but she’s home sick so I thought I'd help her finish out her route so she's rested up when we go to the shops.” You explained flawlessly, flashing him a smile so dazzling that he almost thought it was the sun in his eyes again. “Uh, anyway...would you like to buy some cookies?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug, and you handed over a flyer so he could check out the flavors.
You watched the skeleton monster with rapt interest as he looked over the flyer. Were you being rude? Probably. But he was just so...interesting. You wanted to know how he worked--does he need to breathe? How does he move with no muscles? Does he have to brush all his bones with toothpaste or just his teeth? You supposed that was the engineer in you--always wanting to know the intricacies of how someone or something worked.
And besides the “mechanical” side, there were other questions.
For instance, you had no idea you lived three doors down from a skeleton monster, even though from the look of the place he had clearly been here a while. Monsters had been on the surface for roughly two years, and if the beautiful garden you had seen grow inch by inch in the yard was any indication, he had probably been here just as long.
Another intrigue was how he managed to look so grumpy and worn out despite being made of bones. You chalked it up to magic, but even with the differences between his and your physical bodies, you recognized a hermit when you saw one. His t-shirt was stained, despite having been washed, and there weren't any shoes laying near the door, only the dirty slippers on his feet, which means leaving the house is probably a very rare occasion.
That, and he had quite literally cursed the sun, out loud, when he'd opened the door, though you weren't sure he realized that.
“they all sound pretty good, honestly,” he shrugged, handing you back the flyer. “m’brother ain't here, either, so i don't know what he might want. six’ll be safe.”
“Six boxes, got it,” you said cheerfully, turning to your cart. “Uhm, what ki--”
“nah, nah. six boxes of each.” He corrected, causing you to turn and gape at him. He chuckled, but didn't amend his order.
“Uh...well...I don't have that much on me right now…”
“bummer.” He sighed, and suddenly you had a great idea.
You've never been one to let people be hermits without a fight.
“But when we're out at the supermarket later, I’ll have seven times that much,” you needled, and his red light contracted in what you felt was a happy way.
“...really?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. I can set aside your order for you, but only if you come pick them up. Mr…?”
“...sans. the skeleton.”
“Alright. Six boxes of each for Sans the Skeleton. We’ll be at the Safeway on third, at 4 o’clock.” You said, scribbling two notes: one with his order and one for him, which you handed over. His phalanges brushed your fingers as he took it, and you felt a chill down your spine...but not an unpleasant one.
You gripped the paper a little tighter so he couldn't quite take it, and he looked up at you in confusion.
You smiled. “I can't wait to see you. I hope you’ll make it.”
He seemed to lock up, giving a curt nod as you released the paper. There was a long moment of silence as he stared at you, a soft blue glow growing over his face...and then closed the door without another word.
You blinked, taken aback slightly. Was it something you said?
This was a terrible idea.
He should have just sent Papyrus. God above, why the fuck did he feel compelled to do this himself?? He was sweating, and the place was so loud it rang in his skull unpleasantly, and he found his fingers poking around his empty socket almost immediately.
It was all your fault, of course. He might have sent Papyrus, if you hadn't said that. If you hadn't made it clear that you wanted to see him, that you were excited to meet him again. He didn't know why, but that made him...so happy. There was a...light in your visage that he had seen when talking to you, and he had been more than content to bask in it momentarily--more comforting than the sun, healthier than the dim light of his room. But with that one sentence, he had tumbled head over heels into an obsession.
That's all he could think to call it. He wanted your light, the lilt of your voice. He hadn't even learned your fucking name, which was something he had beaten himself up plenty about the last few hours since you left his doorstep.
Name or not, he had already figured out plenty about you. For instance, you live three doors down, in the quaint purple house that Pap always talks about whenever holiday decorations start going up. This close to St. Patrick's Day, there's a large, friendly leprechaun….thing waving at passersby. He also knew that you were the gardener in the house, because there was a mess of tools outside too big for a child, and the size of the house indicated you didn't live with your parents--which brings him to the next thing he knows, which is that you're raising your sister on your own, just like he'd done with Pap.
He could have spent all day in your yard deciphering your life, but he hadn't wanted you to flip and call the cops. Besides, he knew he'd be seeing you later at the store…
...which brings him back to the present.
*get yer fingers out yer socket ya idiot, she’s gonna think you're crazy!
He forces his hand into the pocket of his (blessedly clean) basketball shorts, thankful that Papyrus had swiped his dirty laundry to wash yesterday. If he hadn't, he would still be wearing those gross, stained clothes, and not his favorite shirt: light blue, with a picture of a skeleton in a leather jacket and the phrase “bad to the bone”.
...oh, God, what if you don't like funny t-shirts? What if you think he’s an idiot?
No, no, calm down. You probably love puns. And the shirt you were wearing earlier had had a little cartoon face, so maybe you did like it.
...he's over thinking. His fists are clenched tight in his pockets to keep them from shaking, shoulders locked in an effort to do the same there. He knew he was walking too stiffly, but he couldn't help it. This Safeway is attached to a mall, and its crawling with humans and monsters alike. He hadn't been social in...months. Maybe over a year now.
He was about to consider turning around when he spotted you, and everything else melted away. You had pulled your curls into a messy bun, and you were chatting with a customer as you swiped their card through a little thing attached to your phone. Your smile was even more radiant when you weren't aware he was looking, and he stared for a long, loooong moment before he realized he could just...talk to you. That's a thing he can do.
Sure, Sans. Go talk to sunshine incarnate. No problem.
“Would you like to buy some girl scout cookies, Skele-dude?”
...or be totally caught staring by the cheeky looking teenager next to you. She had a knowing smirk on her face, her sash littered with badges of all kinds. It was beige, and he struggled to remember his hasty research earlier. Beige could be either Cadettes or Ambassadors, but...she had a pin near the top that marked a decade in scouts, so he supposed she must be an Ambassador. That was the highest rank, right?
...had you been a girl scout when you were younger? Did you still have the uniform somewhere?
….nope. Nope. That train needs to stop at the station, he's got a suspicious teen to derail.
“uhh...yeah. order. six of each.” He grunted out in response, and that's when you finished with your customer and turned to finally see him.
“Oh, Sans! You made it!” You said cheerfully. “Astrid, this is our neighbor I was telling you about, the one I met today.”
“Figured.” The teen said, flicking her hair back a little bit and coughing politely into her elbow. “Not every day you see a walking, talking skeleton.”
Ah. So this is the sister. Just his luck. That means he definitely can't do anything to scare her away, which is a shame because he hates that look she’s giving him--the ‘I see you’ face.
“Can you get his order, bug?” You prodded, and your sister finally broke her stare to comply as you thankfully glided in to fill his vision. “Hope it wasn't too much trouble coming out here.”
Hope it wasn't too much trouble coming out here.
There's a sincerity in your words that makes his soul flutter in his chest, and when he dares to look at your face as you take his card, he's shocked to see a sweet pink blush spreading over your face.
That's it. You're going to be his, he's decided--you would be his, and he would be yours, and he'll do anything for you, and that smile, and that blessed pink blush. Maybe it's an obsession, maybe it's love at first sight, maybe it's a fluke of a feeling...but his mind's made up.
He wants to bask in your light a while longer.
Huh....You have freckles. They're adorable.
“nah, it was alright ‘cause i got to see you.”
*holy stars thank the lord some part of my fucked up brain still knows how to flirt