Chapter Text
And from the dark, into the light
I saw a star burst into life
And in the corner of your eye
I saw a dream that never died
Speak to me, speak to me
With love in your words
Make for me, make for me
A soft universe
Soft Universe by AURORA
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Chapter 1
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…breathe…
…mustn’t…
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…why…?
…what…?
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Huh…?
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It encompassed them, heavy and yet weightless.
They see nothing, and yet they see everything.
Sightless yet nothing escapes them.
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From within that darkness comes a pull, leaving that comforting darkness behind, they rise up and up and up.
Then—
—Light.
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“aaa…aaah…”
Something round appeared when they heard that strange…noise. What was it?
“aaah...” more round things appear, they go up and up and up before vanishing from sight.
So…so strange and yet—
“aaah..”
—more.
But what was the strange noise?... What does noise mean? What does anything mean? What…
What?
The strange thing that touched them, yet they couldn’t—hold? swished, pressing against them…
What was them?
White.
A colour—they didn’t understand how they knew it was a colour, nor did they understand what a colour was.
But—white.
It moved!
…why won’t it move again?
Move!
It moved!
“aaaah!”
More round things.
…was…
Were they doing it?
Was this them?
Something glowed below them, they see more white, it was so strange.
But inside…them, yes, the white thing was them! Was something else, it was…it was not like the white thing, it glowed, seeming to pulse softly, expanding then deflating…
Like a lung!
…what was a lung? How did they know the word and what was it?
Then they feel a strange sensation, it tingled along their body (up their spine) and they raise their head with curious eyes to see…something.
“aaah.”
More round things.
The thing on the other side of the strange liquid stared at them, deep purple glowing eye against black was surrounded by white too! What was it? Who was it?
They…who were they? What were they?
So many things they couldn’t even begin to comprehend…
But they stare at the figure, at the large being as it slowly raised—they had that too! A strange formation of the white, each part moving all separately! —and placed it on the thing that keeps the liquid in.
“aaah…”
They mimicked what the purple-eyed being did, raising their own strange white things. Smaller, their own was much smaller! Why was it smaller?
Another, a different sound escaped them, it was them making the sounds, this time.
The purple colour went fuzzy and expanded.
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It was the painful thudding of their soul, like it was trying to escape their sternum that roused them. They whimpered and clutched at their shirt, pulling and tugging at the fabric—papa had said pulling their ribs would hurt them—it did hurt them.
They slipped their legs off their bed, feet touching ground and for a long trembling moment where they rattled, they are paralysed with pain. The back of their mouth tastes like saltwater—they don’t know why they know what saltwater tastes like, but it doesn’t matter.
(It happens a lot. Sometimes they know things they don’t think they should. They don’t remember learning it, or papa teaching them it—the knowledge is just there. Like it was buried deep within their non-existent brain, that fact at first had sent them spieling into a confused panic—whywhywhywhywhy? Whyshouldtheyhaveabrain? They’re a skeleton. Skeletons don’t have a literal brain inside their skull.)
Sans isn’t sure how long they clutch at their bed, slumped over but when their eyelights focus, they’re not where they remembered. Instead, papa had them curled up on his lap, his own frame cocooning them, so they are as close as possible to papa’s soul.
The deep thrumming soothes and slowly their rattling trails off.
“s’hurts.” Their voice is slurred, sight fuzzy with blue tears.
“I know, Sans.” Gaster whispers gently, stroking their skull. His voice is trembling too, he blames himself for the pain in their soul, but they know he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry you’re suffering, and I can’t do anything.”
Sans whimper and they kneed his sweater. “soul,” they whisper, nuzzling into his shirt to listen to it, “soothing, nice. helps.”
A soft wet chuckle is his response before Gaster rumbles deeply and Sans sighs at the vibration, the painful pulses slowly eased into a dull thumping and before long, they’re back to sleep.
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Sans turns the page of the book, eyes hungry for knowledge. This time it was the History of Monsters, Sans had not met another monster before, not beside papa. They’re not…they are not, bothered? Yeah, they are not too bothered about the lack of other monsters, not when they have all these books to read and learn from.
But—Sans supposed they would not know if they were not bothered if they have never met another monster before: what if they meet someone and realise that they are very much bothered with not talking to more people than just papa?
A quiet noise of annoyance escapes them at the way their thoughts had gone—they were trying to read about Monster History!
But…Sans wonders what other monsters there are. Gaster had said they were both the only skeleton monsters, so they know no one else will look like them, so what?
A cat? A dog?
A rabbit? A bear?
Sans isn’t too sure what those are…
Pouting, Sans closes the book after marking the page, knowing at this rate they wouldn’t get around to reading what they wanted.
Still, this wasn’t the first time Sans remembered strange things—when they think of them, they picture fur. Rabbits are… tiny? Small? Cats too! Bears are large… lots of different colours…
Whining, Sans flops back onto their bed, browbones furrowing as they let themselves follow this train of thought, it sometimes—
(“I dunno, Kris.” They hear a familiar voice, tone teasing. “I’m thinking we should get a cat, I’m too lazy to want to walk a dog.”)
…a dog—you’d walk a dog! Yes! Is a dog a pet? It seemed…right? Was a cat a pet too, then? What about bears?
…no, Sans thinks bears are too big to be petted. They—just know. They’re confident in that thought.
They’re confident in that thought like the fact they know fire is dangerous, deep water is dangerous, heights can kill—kill…kill…
Their soul hurts.
It’s…it’s not the normal pain, this time their soul feels too heavy for them, feels like someone had wrapped a hand around it tightly but not enough to squeeze, just uncomfortable.
They rub their sternum absently.
(“What’re you doing?” Confused laughter followed.
“Ah, c’mon! Don’t you wanna get closer? Don’t be a chicken!”
“I’m not a chicken!”
“Bwak, bwak, bwakbwakbwak!”
“Stahp!” more laughter.)
(“Wait, hold on a sec. Luke, please.”)
Sans exhales, uncurling their fingers when they realise they were clutching again. Bad Sans! No grabbing!
But—what was that?
They sometimes hear that voice—always accompanied by another different one, but… strange. (Sans had heard that voice for as long as they could remember, and while it sometimes worried them, it must be normal, right? Why else would they be hearing it?) It was strange today; nervousness was a common one to hear from them. The other voice…Luke? was something—someone?—Sans had become familiar with.
What were they doing? Why had the voice sounded so… nervous?
Sans sighed and rolls out onto their side, staring at the History Book with—someone’s figure on the cover.
(“Honestly? Kinda prefer Asgore to Toriel.”
“But why? Goat mum?!?”
“Kris!” a whine, “People grieve differently, and yeah, okay, it was a bit extreme but he lost his kids, he wanted his peoples' freedom, all Toriel did was divorce his ass and move to the ruin where she did squat shit in the end. She didn’t even try and properly prepare the children! So, yeah, Goat dad!”
Kris huffed playfully.)
“Ehhh???” Sans squinted at the book. They didn’t have a single clue what that was—but goat, the Monster figure on the front of the book was a goat.
What a strange trigger.
(How did they know what a goat was?)
(They choose to ignore that fact for now.)