Chapter Text
Missed Notifications
Mail, 48 m ago
Robert Klein
Re: ACTION NEEDED - RESCHEDULE
Mr. Serif,
Of course we are able to reschedule! Please let us know wh…
Messages, 5h ago
PAPYRUS: i really hope you’re ignoring me
Messages, 5h ago
PAPYRUS: oh so now you’re ignoring me, is…
Messages, 6h ago
PAPYRUS: hey do you have a minute to ta…
Messages, Yesterday
HUMAN: I left a message but I’ll be at the café…
Phone, Yesterday
HUMAN
Missed Call
Mail, Yesterday
Palma
Your Time Off Request
Good morning Captain Sans Serif,
Your time off request has been approved for M…
-
He’s late.
You really hadn’t pegged Sans as the type to be late—for anything.
…But in his defense, you suppose he never technically said he was even coming.
Not for the first time since you sat down, you wonder if this was even a good idea, calling up Papyrus’ brother and asking him to meet you to discuss…things you’d been pretty vague about, intentionally.
It seemed to you, though, that it was pretty important to…well, to try to talk things out with Sans, and to get on some kind of civil footing.
You didn’t really like how things were right now, and if you and Papyrus were going to be dating…
You can’t quite help your smile at the memory of that conversation—Papyrus reluctantly pulling back from your first little necking session to promise, “i am gonna date you so hard, it’s gonna be great…”
And then, after a moment of thought, “actually…i don’t…i don’t really know what m’gonna do yet, so, uh…lowered expectations, please? if you can… it’ll be better if you think it’s gonna suck an’ then it doesn’t.”
You’d laughed, promised you’d like it no matter what it was, a real first date with him sounded great—“oh thank god, you already have no standards,”—and then you’d laughed a little more.
You were going on your date tonight, and the thought alone makes you a little giddy.
But business before pleasure and you really wanted to get this whole thing out of the way as soon as possible.
You’ve really learned the value of communication and the kind of (dumb, frustrating, downright silly) misunderstandings it can avoid when one actually…communicates.
And no offense to your…boyfriend?
(Was it too early to be calling him that if you haven’t technically had a date yet? You’re not sure… it’s been so long since…)
Well, no offense meant to him, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure he’d think to mention this latest life-development to his brother—not if Sans had resorted to paying people to check up on him—and the absolute last thing you wanted was for him to find out about this months down the line.
No, best to be upfront.
And there was the other thing, too, the matter of the resolution you’d come to, and for about the third time you’ve convinced yourself that this was a good idea, meeting to talk things out with Sans.
…If, of course, he showed up.
You check your phone, seeing that it’s only ten minutes past the time you’d said in your message, and resolve to wait another twenty.
You don’t make it more than five.
You don’t even see him come up on you (but then again you never seem to), just suddenly jump to find Sans there in front of you, taking a seat.
“Oh! You made it!”
“YES, YES, APOLOGIES,” he murmurs, almost distractedly. “THANK YOU FOR WAITING.”
Sans looks…harried, in a word.
He’s sagging in his chair the moment he sits down, breathing heavily like he ran all the way here. He’s not even in uniform this time, and maybe that’s why he seems less put-together; less everything-in-its-place…?
You…don’t think you know Sans well enough to comment.
Ultimately, you conclude that Sans must just be busier than usual today—he certainly seemed the type—and elect to let it go.
“It’s fine,” you say. “The important thing is that you’re here.”
And those seem to be the magic words to get things right on track.
“YES,” Sans breathes, “I HAVE TO ADMIT, I WAS… I WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED TO HEAR FROM YOU…” A wide eye(-sockete)d look of concern flits across his face. “IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? ARE YOU…?”
You shake your head.
“Oh, no… I mean, yes! Everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong,” you quickly assure him. “Things are…things are good. Yes. All fine.”
Sans just looks at you skeptically.
“I just! I wanted to…to talk to you. Just, quickly, I won’t take up much of your day, I promise!”
“…ALRIGHT.” Sans places his hands on the table, folded politely. He’s not wearing gloves this time and the way his claws slot neatly against each other is on full display. “WELL, AS YOU SAID, I’M HERE. YOU CAN…SAY WHATEVER IT IS YOU NEED TO SAY.”
It’s an invitation, and one you don’t hesitate to take.
“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “And I…I really didn’t…don’t…feel comfortable accepting money from you. Whatever the reason.”
Sans frowns.
“OH?”
You hasten to explain. “It’s not that your…gift…was unappreciated! It was, really, and it came at…” You clear your throat. “At a very convenient time for me… So, thank you, for that, but going forward…anything else… I just wanted to tell you that I’d…really rather not that be the…the way we do things.”
“OH.” Sans’ skull shifts back to an expression of concern. “JUST TO BE CLEAR, IT’S… YOU KNOW IT’S NOT A MATTER OF INCONVENIENCE, YES? IF YOU…IF YOU TRULY NEED THAT SORT OF HELP, IT’S NOT THE KIND OF THING THAT PUTS ME OUT TO PROVIDE…”
“I know,” you say. “It’s not about that. It’s just…”
You struggle for the words to explain it, to this skeleton who probably won’t even get it anyway, and you remember the Encounter you had with Papyrus.
Your Integrity soul, bobbing before you in deep and luminous blue.
“It’s not…who I am,” you settle on. “So, in future, just…just to be upfront… I wanted to say that.”
Sans stares at you a moment—gauging your sincerity, trying to think of a comeback to make you change your mind, you have no idea and opt not to fathom a guess.
Eventually, he sighs.
“WELL. THAT’S…YOUR CHOICE, I SUPPOSE,” he says slowly. “I DON’T INTEND TO PUSH YOU ON YOUR…MORALS…BUT IN THE INTEREST OF BEING UPFRONT, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT EVEN SO, I’M…AROUND. IF YOU SHOULD NEED ME.”
“I don’t intend to,” you say, but Sans chuckles.
“AH, WHO INTENDS TO NEED ANYONE?” he asks rhetorically. “THESE THINGS HAPPEN TO THE BEST OF US. LIFE RARELY WORKS OUT SO PERFECTLY AS ALL THAT… BUT YOU’RE AN IMPORTANT PERSON TO MY BROTHER, SO IF YOU NEED ME, I’LL BE THERE.”
…Oh.
You’re not sure you’ve heard Sans speak so…candidly, before.
It’s…weird.
Vaguely heartwarming…but also weird.
And with a perfect segue into the other thing you wanted to talk about, too.
“Thank you,” you say, first and foremost. “And…about your brother—”
“IS HE ALRIGHT?”
It’s a struggle to keep your lips from twitching at the automatic response that cuts you off.
“Yes, Papyrus is fine, too. …Better than fine, maybe? I, uh…ahahah, he seemed pretty happy earlier…”
“THAT’S…GOOD.” Sans tilts his skull at you. “ANY…ANY PARTICULAR REASON, OR…?”
………Oh boy, is…is it hot out here, or is it just you?
Heroically resisting the urge to tug at the collar of your shirt or fidget nervously, you take one solid breath and try to tackle the elephant in the room.
“That’s, uh… That’s the other thing, actually. I thought, it…seemed like something you should…find out right away, i-in person, and not, y’know, from somebody else…”
The more you speak, the more wary Sans looks, like he’s expecting you to drop a huge bomb instead of a minor relationship status change, and that is not at all your intention.
You cut to the chase.
“Papyrus and I…we’re a thing, now.”
It’s…
It’s actually a little eerie, how fast Sans’ expression blanks—completely empty, like your words did a hard reset on him.
“………I’M SORRY,” he says at length. “A…A ‘THING’? CAN YOU…?”
You don’t see the harm in being a little clearer.
“We’re dating,” you say. And then, “Well…we’re going to be, anyway. We, um…we like each other, so that’s…y’know, that’s the direction we want to take things. Thought you should hear it from one of us, so that’s…that’s that.”
There!
You’ve done your courtesy! You already feel a little better, even as you wait for Sans’ reaction.
Of all the things for that to be, though, the last thing you’re expecting…
…is a smile.
“AH, CONGRATS,” Sans says, sounding like he genuinely means it. “THAT’S… WELL, HEHEH, I CAN’T SAY I’M WHOLLY SURPRISED, BUT… THAT’S GREAT!”
“…It is?”
“OF COURSE! IF YOU LIKE EACH OTHER, THERE’S NO REASON YOU SHOULDN’T DATE.” His grin broadens a little. “AND IT’S NICE TO BE IN THE LOOP FOR ONCE, TOO, SO THANK YOU FOR THAT!”
Ah jeez…had you really built yourself up worrying about this for nothing?
It certainly seemed that way.
You feel a little silly now and laugh it off.
“Well, I just figured…in case Papyrus didn’t tell you himself, haha…”
“VERY KIND OF YOU,” Sans notes. “I CAN ONLY HOPE A LITTLE OF THAT RESPONSIBLE ATTITUDE RUBS OFF ON MY BROTHER.”
Sans pauses, scoffing at himself.
“WHAT AM I SAYING, IT ALREADY HAS! IF ANYONE COULD GET PAPYRUS TO SETTLE DOWN AND ACTUALLY DATE, OF COURSE IT WOULD BE YOU!”
Your smile drops, just a little.
“What do you mean?”
Sans blinks at you a second.
“OH…NO, IT’S NOTHING, FORGET IT!”
Like you’re going to let that go.
“No, hang on,” you protest, “what…what do you mean, ‘actually date’?”
You watch as Sans’ eye-lights dart to the side, almost nervously.
“…IT’S… WELL. NOT TO TELL TALES, OR…OR TRY TO MAKE PAPYRUS SEEM LIKE… IT’S ALL IN THE PAST FOR HIM, I IMAGINE,” he tells you hastily, “SO PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!”
Now, you’re frowning.
“Sans.”
And now, Sans looks nervous.
“Just tell me,” you demand, and the skeleton across from you sighs, drooping a little in defeat.
“PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY,” he begins and you feel your shoulders tense. “I…OBVIOUSLY, I’M VERY FOND OF MY BROTHER AND YOU… YOU’RE GOOD FOR HIM, AN UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN WHO I’M SURE WOULD DO VERY WELL AS HIS DATEMATE! BUT……NO, YOU’RE RIGHT, YOU DESERVE TO KNOW THAT…”
Sans’ claws come up to tap contemplatively at his teeth.
“WELL, UNDERGROUND, LET’S JUST SAY THAT PAPYRUS HAD A BIT OF A…REPUTATION.”
“…A reputation.”
“YES,” Sans says, “WITH LOVERS.”
Your frown deepens and Sans rushes to clarify.
“NOTHING UNTOWARD, OF COURSE! IT WAS ALL…YOU KNOW, PERFECTLY CONSENSUAL, MUTUAL UNDERSTANDINGS, THAT SORT OF THING… AS FAR AS I COULD TELL, AT LEAST,” he admits as an afterthought. “THERE’S ONLY…HAHA, THERE’S ONLY SO KNOWLEDGEABLE ONE WANTS TO BE ABOUT THEIR SIBLING’S…PRIVATE LIFE… BUT IT’S HARD NOT TO KNOW A LITTLE BIT ABOUT IT WHEN IT’S… WELL, WHEN IT’S YOUR HOUSE ALL THE NO-STRINGS-ATTACHED, NIGHTLY COMPANIONS ARE STROLLING IN AND OUT OF, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.”
“I am…catching the drift, yes,” you say, and for a long moment, that’s all you can say.
Your first thought is that Sans is lying to you.
He doesn’t like that you’re going to date his brother and he’s making things up to scare you off, with that uncanny way he has of zeroing in on exactly the thing you’re afraid of the most.
But your second thought…is of Papyrus, that night at the bar.
Drunk.
Effusively complimentary.
Utterly sincere and unhesitating with every word and every touch he laid on you, to the point that if you hadn’t been so twisted up about lying to him, it kind of startles you to think of how easily he might’ve seduced you to go home with him.
Papyrus with a string of lovers is an incomprehensible concept.
Drunk Papyrus with a string of lovers, however…
That sounds like it could be…very, very real.
Sans tsks suddenly, and you glance up again to find him watching you apologetically.
“NOW, SEE,” he says, “THIS IS WHY I DIDN’T WANT TO TELL YOU. PAPYRUS IS… HE LIKES YOU, THAT MUCH IS OBVIOUS. I REALLY DON’T THINK YOU HAVE TO WORRY THAT YOU’LL… I DON’T KNOW, FIND HIM OFF WITH SOMEBODY ELSE. IT’D TAKE MORE THAN ANOTHER PRETTY FACE TO TURN MY BROTHER’S HEAD, ESPECIALLY NOW THAT HE’S FOUND SOMEONE LIKE YOU!”
A ‘talent for reading faces’ Sans had told you once, ‘sometimes more than he realized’…
Was he really just that good, or did he…
Was this on purpose?
You’re not sure.
………
You’re even less sure it matters what Sans’ intentions are in telling you all this if your… if Papyrus really was some kind of…love ‘em and leave ‘em type of person.
You hadn’t even considered the possibility of that, though you damn well should have—Papyrus wanted to date you, but what did that mean?
You know Papyrus isn’t the type to lead you on or hurt you intentionally, but…
Was it a casual kind of dating? Was it going to be serious, like you’d thought, or was it more just for fun? Was it going to be exclusive, or…
…Or open?
You don’t know.
You hadn’t talked about that yet.
And no small part of you is getting pretty pissed at Sans for making you think about it.
There are other parts of you—hurt ones, scared ones—but the indignant annoyance is easier to hold onto.
Aloud, you tell him, “I…appreciate…the warning,” in a tone that probably very clearly says you don’t, “but…honestly. No offense intended… I think my love life is actually…none of your business.”
Sans…huffs.
That’s the closest word for the noise that he makes, and when you meet his eye-lights…
You’re struck by how very, very…weird they look.
The bright ultraviolet rings seem…thinner, somehow, less solid and almost…almost wobbly?
You don’t have long to puzzle on the meaning of that.
“WELL,” he says airily, “AS LONG AS YOU’RE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF, GOING SLOW. IT ALL SEEMS FAST TO ME, BUT IF IT’S NOT TOO SOON FOR YOU, I SUPPOSE THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS.”
Your eyebrows crumple in confusion.
“Too soon…?” you echo.
Helpfully, Sans clarifies.
“AFTER YOUR DIVORCE.”
And your blood
runs
cold.
How the fuck does Sans…?
……
No.
No, you don’t care how.
Not with the sudden shock of ice-water in your veins turning your anger cold and hard, making you absolutely certain that true or not, Sans is definitely trying to screw with your head again.
You decide, quite abruptly, that you’re very much done here.
You stand up and revel in the naked look of shock on Sans’ face. With quiet words and an unapproachably firm tone, you tell him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And this is over.”
“WH—”
“No,” you snap, “I’ve said my piece already—I kept you in the loop on this one last thing as a courtesy, and that’s all. Feel free to delete my number, actually, because I think I’m going to lose yours as soon as I get home.”
You know you’ve done something unexpected because Sans is obviously thrown by your reaction. His eye-sockets are wide and there’s even a faint purple flush across his cheekbones as he tries to stammer out a response.
“WELL, IF…IF I DO THAT, IF YOU…TH…THEN YOU…IT’S…GOING TO MAKE IT FAIRLY DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO, TO REACH OUT, IF YOU EVER N—”
“Fuck you.”
Oh, it seems Sans wasn’t expecting that, either, shocked fully silent by the calm, matter of fact statement from your lips.
You take full advantage of the quiet.
“Fuck you,” you reiterate, “and fuck your money. Let me be clear: I don’t need anything from you. I’m not going to ask for anything from you. And if you ever try to corner me again with any more of these shitty little mind-games of yours, I absolutely will get the human authorities involved.”
Sans just…stares at you.
You only have one thing left to say to him.
“I can be civil if we have to talk to each other. I care about Papyrus and I’m not an asshole, so that’s the very least I can do. For your brother’s sake…?” You scowl down at him. “I hope the same is true for you. Goodbye, Sans—please continue to make yourself scarce.”
And with that, you storm off, not letting any emotion show on your face.
Not your satisfaction at having stood up to him and told him off for what he had the nerve to say to you, and not your fear, either, that…that the things he’d said about Papyrus could be just as true.
As soon as you’re out of sight, you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down.
You…are an adult.
You’re going to handle this like one.
-
You: Hey, Rus, can I come over a little early? I want to talk to you about something.
Rus: yeah sure whenever!
Rus: i’m making question dials
You: ???
Rus: queso idols
Rus: ducking autocorrect
Rus: QUESADILLAS
Rus: please still date me, i swear i’m cool
Rus: i lied i’m not cool but date me anyway
With your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud on the bus, you suddenly know one thing for certain.
You and Papyrus are gonna be okay.
All you gotta do is talk.
-
Sans shortcuts straight home and immediately does the very thing he’d been wanting to do from the moment he sat down across from you.
He drops to his knees in front of the toilet, doubled over in a dry heave strong enough to make his spine pop.
It’s the waiting that’s the worst—to find out whether the nausea deep down in the pit of the stomach he didn’t even have was going to stay there, or graduate into full-blown vomiting.
…Although the vomiting was never fun or pretty, either, not for a skeleton.
Sans is lucky today and the nausea stays only nausea, and though it doesn’t pass it lessens enough eventually that he decides to risk getting up.
It’s a decision he regrets almost instantly.
Everything hurts and it takes all the resolve in his bones to keep going with the searing heat in all his joints, literally having to claw his creaky, aching body up to the mirror above the sink.
What he sees makes him grimace.
Stars above, he looks like shit.
…which, frankly, would be a step up from how he felt right now.
His white skull is flushed with fever, already beginning to show beads of sweat. The shadows beneath his eye-sockets seem all too noticeable to his critical eye-lights, too— eye-lights gone fuzzy and out of focus with pointless fatigue.
Toriel’s horns, he’s a mess, how did he get away with this, even for a few hours?!
“COME ON,” he growls at his reflection, “COME ON, GET IT TOGETHER! YOU’RE…YOU’RE ONLY SICK BECAUSE YOU’RE WEAK, YOU CAN’T BE WEAK, THAT’S HOW YOU GET DUSTED, IDIOT! FOCUS!”
As if in some misguided attempt to obey him, Sans’ magic spikes and flares, bursting outwards in an uncontrolled shockwave that cracks the towel rack behind him in half.
He hangs his head for a second after that, bracing himself hard on the sink as his knees try to buckle under him in a sudden rush of faintness.
FANTASTIC, he thinks when he regains his senses long enough to look at the sad little pile of towels and broken metal on the floor. JUST WHAT I NEED AFTER THAT SPECTACULAR FUCK-UP WITH…
…With you.
Sans shouldn’t have left the house today.
He shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed, that Monster Candy he’d hastily swallowed was a bandage at best and he knew that—just enough stable magic in his system to level him out, to make him look a little less like he felt and keep the magical outbursts to a minimum, just for a little while…
Clearly, it hadn’t done anything for his mental state.
That meeting…it wasn’t supposed to…he hadn’t meant to………
Sans is more than a little furious at himself for bringing that up.
That’s what happens, he supposes, when you don’t actually think, when you just thoughtlessly, stupidly, emotionally react, as if you’ve never heard of the concept of restraint.
The thought of you, elbowing your way into Papyrus’ life, making yourself some kind of, of fixture, had just…just…
Sans still wasn’t sure he could trust you enough to be completely okay with that.
How could he after…whatever the fuck had happened the other night? Whatever it was that made you ditch Papyrus alone and drunk and…and sad at some crappy dive bar?!
He hated that because it frightened him, and in that one moment of conversation with you, he’d let that control his words.
To clearly marvelous effect.
It was heavy-handed. It was clumsy. It was downright cruel, and…
Absolutely nothing he should’ve given voice to, just the kind of deeply emotional, stupid things meant to be kept locked away, thought but never spoken.
But Sans spoke them.
And now, he’s thoroughly pissed you off, which…was really not his intention, at all.
Your words seem to echo in Sans’ lack of ears.
I care about Papyrus and I’m not an asshole, so that’s the very least I can do. For your brother’s sake…? I hope the same is true for you.
He deserved that.
Hell, he probably deserved worse than that from you and it…
It galls him, actually.
But Sans knows damn well that the only thing he can blame for this is his own sloppiness; his pitifully ham-fisted efforts to protect Papyrus from a human who…clearly didn’t mean him any intentional harm.
A human Papyrus was undeniably fond of.
A human Papyrus absolutely did not want to be protected from in the first place.
Sans exhales shakily, looking up at his own pathetic image in the mirror.
“FUCK,” he breathes aloud.
He’s…he’s going to have to figure out how to fix this, isn’t he?
He’s going to have to…make a real apology to you, somehow…
Later, ideally—when his skull felt a little less like someone was trying to hammer their way out of it, maybe.
FUCK, Sans thinks even more emphatically, and when he tries to take a step back from the sink, he…
He…
………
His…abrupt lightheadedness has…absolutely nothing to do with his decision to stagger into lean against the wall and slowly slide down onto the floor.
It is also a conscious choice to lie down there on his side: the tiles are refreshingly cold against his burning skull and his aching joints, and the fallen towels are…basically the same as a blanket.
This is a much better place to lay than his way, way, way too far away bed.
It crosses Sans’ muddled mind to take another Candy…but he shouldn’t have even had the one this morning, he’s supposed to be rationing them—even small healing items are difficult to get ahold of, and lately, he’s been blowing through his stash of them like they were…
………
“HEHEHEHEH…WELL, FUCK,” he mumbles to himself, “THEY ARE CANDY, AREN’T THEY? HEHEHEHEHEH…”
Luckily, Sans is already too far gone to realize how delirious his own laughter is.
The amusement doesn’t last.
He feels weak. He feels pathetic, he should be stronger than this, he shouldn’t have to be wasting his Candies after all the trouble he’d gone through over the years, hiding them from…
……Well. Papyrus and his incorrigible sweet-tooth weren’t here anymore…were they?
And if Papyrus was here, Sans probably wouldn’t even need so goddamn many in the first place.
(It was that fucking stunt at the bar that did this, Sans is sure of it, watching his baby brother wander off drunk and alone with a knot in his chest and a lump in his throat… What a mess.)
(Sans has no idea if he’s thinking about his brother or himself, at this point.)
(He’s not sure it matters.)
But at least…
At least Papyrus has…somebody.
That’s…that’s better than him being alone, right…?
Sans spares one final conscious thought to you—to the conviction in your tone, the way you’d calmly, fearlessly stood there and told him off, with ice in your words but fire in your eyes…
He miscalculated.
He really underestimated you.
You weren’t a pathetic human at all—you were a lot stronger than you looked.
For probably the first time in his life, Sans actively hopes he was wrong about someone, because if you really were as strong as you seemed, then…
Maybe you could be the one to take care of Papyrus.
Sans decides to pass out for awhile on the bathroom floor.
His dreams are empty.