Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’d been working at New Ebott Prison for a month and you finally felt you’d conquered those new job jitters. You knew almost everyone now. You could get from one side of the prison to the other without getting lost. Or, at least, not too badly lost. You’d figured out how your boss likes things done. All in all, you’d found it easier than you’d expected it to be. 

Probation period over, you were given more responsibility, seemingly overnight. It made sense, the prison was chronically understaffed. Particularly in the medical wing. Your duties as Nurse were far more wide-ranging than they would be at a hospital. That suited you fine.

You’d just arrived Monday morning, already dressed in your pink scrubs and hat, when the Head Nurse, a sharp-faced woman called Terry (but who most called Nurse Terror) walked in with the daily schedule. 

“From today, you’ll be taking over the regular weekly checkups,” she said, without so much as a good morning. You were used to it. Nurse Terror didn’t have time for niceties. It was only 8am and there were already two patients being seen by your new work friend, Nurse Cynthia Able. 

“Thank you, Nurse Terry,” you said dutifully, taking the clipboard she proffered with the patient information.

She gave a thin-lipped smile, which was probably the best she could manage. It had taken you a few weeks, but you finally thought you’d won over the old warhorse. You’d always had a gift of knowing how to talk to people. Nurse Terry wanted a no-nonsense, obliging Nurse who’d be professional, courteous and, above all, to the point. And so with just a few questions regarding the day’s patients, you took up your station.

The medical wing was made up of about six rooms, but most of the work was done in the Infirmary, a large space that was divided up by curtains and partitions. Today, you set yourself up on the far end of the room, a space segregated by a frosted glass partition. It's a space where patients could have some privacy from the rest of the Infirmary. The space only contained an examination table, a medical supply cabinet and two security doors. Once which led out to the rest of the Infirmary and one which led into a holding area.

As you began wiping down the examination table, the door opened and a prison guard entered. You’d spoken to him on occasion, though not often. “Officer Harris, right?” you asked. “Nurse y/n”

Harris nodded. He was the battle-scarred, silent type who permanently had one hand on his taser gun. “First one’s ready to go when you are, Nurse.”

You kept half an eye on Harris as each patient entered. You could tell a lot from how guards reacted around the prisoners. You saw your job as a health professional first and foremost. It didn’t matter what they were here for, what they’d done, or how they behaved out there in the prison’s general population. If they were well behaved here, they were your new favourite patient. 

But the way Harris’s grip would relax or tense over his taser told you everything you needed to know.

The weekly checkups were routine for those who needed them, so most of the appointments went off without a hitch. It was a mix of Humans and Monsters with ongoing medical needs that needed monitoring and you found your general knowledge and skill enjoyably tested. There were only a handful, compared to the hundreds of inmates. 

One of the human patients had been frustratingly handsy and you’d had to dodge a hand trying to grab your behind. Harris had put a stop to that quickly. Another had been angry, glaring at you as though you’d insulted his mother. The Monster patients had been a mixture of unimpressed and whiny. One muttered accusations almost constantly, calling you a Monster racist in one breath and a Monster fancier in the next. 

It didn’t bother you. You took it all in stride and most left you in a slightly happier frame of mind than when they’d arrived. That’s all you could really hope for.

You were surprised when Harris took his hand off his taser. “Got the next one waiting. Would you mind if I take five? Just want to grab a drink and have a cig break.”

You wanted to say that, no, actually, you wouldn’t like your only protection to step out for a cigarette break while you were treating unshackled patients alone in a room. But you didn’t. Harris sensed your hesitation and smiled in a crooked way. “Trust me, Nurse. This next one’s completely harmless. Smartass and a grouch, but harmless. You won’t need me.”

You still weren’t happy, but you forced a smile. “If you say so.”

Harris opened the door and gestured. “Come in, Sans.”

You were flicking through the medical notes as your patient walked in. He was a skeleton Monster, about half a head shorter than you. He stood, relaxed, his hands in his pockets, his eyes half-lidded. His perpetual grin was loose in what was likely, for a skeleton, the closest he could achieve to expressionless. He wore his orange prison jumpsuit as per regulation but managed to affect some atmosphere around him which made him look like he’d just gotten out of bed. 

“Be back in five, Nurse,” Harris said, walking out and closing the door. 

You felt yourself tense momentarily, before taking a breath. “Good morning,” you glanced down at the paperwork, “Mr Sans. I’m Nurse y/n and I’ll be doing your checkup today. Would you please jump up on the examining bed for me?”

Sans was already doing so before you’d finished speaking. “not my first time, nurse,” he said, tersely. He had a nice voice, surprisingly deep and rich. You smiled at his comment - it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that today and you didn’t imagine it would be the last. 

“How are you feeling?”

“fine.”

“Good. Is there anything you’d particularly like me to have a look at today?” 

“nope.”

“Have you been feeling weak, dizzy or nauseous lately?”

“nope.”

Ah, he was one of those. He was chilly, clearly didn’t like you and wanted you to know it.

You pull out your Checker - a flat, shiny box that has a screen visible at the front.  Holding it up, directed at Sans, you saw the numbers light up on the screen. HP1     AT1     DF1

You cringe in sympathy. This guy could be dusted by a badly aimed kick. How had he survived so long in a prison like this? New Ebott Prison was where some of the worst criminals went. The violent and the insane. There were other, lower security prisons for a patient like this.

Then again, New Ebott Prison was the most effective prison for housing Monsters. It’s magic suppressant medication regime and barrier enchantments built into the stonework were second to none. Maybe Sans had just got a bad judge whose philosophy was to send all Monsters here.

You glance up and realise Sans’s eyelights were full upon you. There was a little smirk around the perpetually grinning face now, as though he could see your sympathy for him and found it amusing.

You clear your throat. “I’d like to do a quick check if you wouldn’t mind taking off your shirt, please.”

He tilted his head. “and if i would mind taking off my shirt?”

“Then I won’t be doing a quick check,” you said, with a shrug. “I can’t make you.”

He smirked again, pulling off his shirt and moving to lie down. He’d been having weekly checkups since he’d arrived at the prison… you checked the notes again. Six years now. He knew how this worked by heart and was obviously just trying to be difficult.

Well, you could manage difficult. You’d take difficult and grouchy over angry. 

You ran your hands over the bones in his chest quickly, before feeling the joints in his arms and shoulders. Your mind quickly shuffled through the medical training you had for Skeleton Monsters. It wasn’t a lot. 

Skeletons were the rarest Monster type out there. Fortunately, they were similar enough to other Monsters in important areas like Soul magic, health stats, etc. And dissimilar in less risky areas. If their Soul was weak or damaged, the effects on a Skeleton could first be seen in bone colour. They’d start turning a dusty yellow, like the fingers of a nicotine addict. Bone degradation would follow, so more cracks would appear and they’d become more vulnerable to injury. If left untreated long enough, they’d shatter into dust and die.

Sans wasn’t showing any signs of this and his bones felt healthy. Joints, spine, ribs… you checked the mobility in his knees as well and nothing seemed stiff. All in all, he seemed healthy, despite his condition.

“are you new?”

You jerked, surprised he’d broken the silence. He was looking at you and you felt something had shifted. He didn’t seem so frosty anymore. “Actually, I’ve been here for a month now, but I was mostly training and on observation. This is my first round of checkups.”

Sans made a little uh-huh noise. “you’ll be doing them regularly?”

“That’s the plan,” you say, filling in the last of his chart. “Well, Mr Sans-”

“just sans,” he said.

If he were human, you’d have insisted on calling him Mr. You wanted to be friendly and personable to your patients, but professionalism came first. On the other hand, he was a Monster. Most Monsters didn’t have last names and most didn’t use the prefix of mister, missus, etc. You’d long ago decided that Monster sensibilities were as valid as any Human one.

“Sans. You seem to be in good health. I’m not seeing any discolouring, any stiffness or degradation in your bones. Your stats are… as they always have been, which obviously hasn’t had much effect on your general wellbeing which I’m glad to see.” You glanced back down at the file. It looks as though Sans wasn’t on magic suppressants or any other kind of medication you needed to distribute.

“And I see you’re due for magic infusion therapy in a couple of days. That’s… once monthly? I’m not sure if I’ll be doing that or another Nurse. But I can see in your notes here that your weekly checkups are mandatory, so I’ll certainly be seeing you again next week. Is there anything you’d like to ask or raise, before you’re taken back to your cell?”

“what’s a kid like you doing in a place like this?”

“Excuse me?”

“why did you want to be a prison nurse, of all things?” His demeanour had definitely changed. He’d loosened up, relaxed with a soft smile plastered across his face. His legs swung from the examination table, his hands resting at his sides. He was watching you with apparently rapt attention. 

You’d had a lot of patients make you the focus of their interest, anger, resentment, reassurance in the short time they were there on the table. But it was the first time you felt a little flattered by the interest. 

You shrugged, blushing a little. “Not a lot of nurses leave school wanting to work for a prison,” you said. “There’s a real shortage of people willing to work here.”

“so you stepped up?”

“I want to help people. It seems to me there’s no place better.”

“a real people pleaser, aren’t you?”

You laughed, a little uncomfortably. “I suppose.”

“not a safe thing to be in a place like this.”

The door opened. Harris was back from his five-minute break which had actually been twenty minutes. “You ready, Sans?”

He’d asked the prisoner if he was ready to go back to his cell, not the Nurse attending him. You might have been a tad put out if you weren’t also a little convinced that it wasn’t you or Harris in charge at this moment.

“yeah,” he said, jumping down from the examining table. He gave you a smile as he left. “see ya next week, kid.”

Chapter Text

It had been a quiet day on general duty - though no one would ever admit that out loud. When you were on duty, no one ever said ‘it’s quiet today’. Not unless you wanted to be immediately inundated with patients and go into double overtime for the second week in a row.

All medical professionals know this. It wasn't a superstition, it was fact.

As you were catching up on some paperwork, you heard the bang of a door and raised voices at the end of the hall. It sounded like a scuffle. That wasn’t too unusual. Some patients were less than happy about going to the medical wing. Whoever was coming was cursing like a sailor and you felt your face blush, despite thinking you’d already heard the worst before.

Whoever this was they were going to be… colourful. 

You moved out the way as the Infirmary doors opened and a prisoner was wrestled onto a hospital bed. To your surprise, it was another Skeleton. Even in a prison this size, one was unusual. Now you have two to look after. You really needed to break open those old textbooks and brush up on Skeleton physiology.

Once the Skeleton was handcuffed to the railings around the bed, he stopped fighting but didn’t seem any happier about the situation, hurling abuse at one of the guards who clearly had a broken nose.

“teach you to fucking-oh…. hey sweetheart.”

You raised an eyebrow. The Skeleton had spotted you mid-rant. His face had turned from a contorted mask of anger to a lecherous smirk.

Great. Another one. As though you couldn’t get enough prisoners trying to grab you or look down the top of your uniform. Well, at least he was tied down. 

You plastered on a professional smile. Cynthia rushed over to tend to the guard - she’s always preferred working with Humans. Because that’s where her specialism lies, you remind yourself, avoiding thinking too badly of your work friend. No one is expected to be able to treat both Humans and Monsters equally well, they’re two very different areas of medicine. 

You walked over to the Skeleton. Compared to Sans, Red was just… more. He was taller, a clear head or more taller than you. He had sharp teeth, one of which was gold. He wore his orange jumpsuit the way most of the prison population did; sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top open so you could see his white undershirt.

His bones were thicker, broader. If he’d been human, you could easy picture the sheer dense muscle that would go along with a shape like his. That owed a lot to magic. In reality, a Skeleton Monster should really just look like a skeleton. Like the dozens you’d studied in medical school. 

The magic that surrounded Monsters also went some way in allowing Humans to understand them. After all, there were only so many expressions a Skeleton, Loox or Hand Monster could make with - what appeared to be - limited physiology. Magic made up the difference. You could look at this Skeleton and see the bulk of physical strength that wasn’t there, feel the magical power, see the licentious smirk on a face which shouldn’t really be able to pull any expression at all.

You glanced at the accompanying guard and saw his taser was out and ready. He seemed to catch your eye and gave a shrug. “It doesn’t usually attack the medical staff,” he said, reassuringly. “Just the other prisoners and the guards.”

“yeah, maybe because it thinks you’ve got it fucking coming,” the Skeleton said. 

There was a difference between never and usually. But you felt a little safer. You’d met plenty of patients who viewed the medical staff as more ‘on their side’ than the guards. Which, strictly speaking, wasn’t the case. Your only job was to keep them alive which, at the end of the day, was pretty much the guard’s responsibility too. Only they had the expanded role of ‘keep them alive AND in the prison’.

“name’s red,” he said. His voice was a dusky baritone. Huh. Maybe all Skeletons had sexy voices.

No, not sexy. That wasn’t professional.

“what’s yours, sweetheart?”

“Nurse y/n.”

“you new? i’m sure i would have noticed a pair of legs like that around here.”

“Neither I, nor my legs, are new, Red. I’ve simply thus far avoided the pleasure of your company,” you said, drily.

Red chuckled. “i like you.”

You resisted rolling your eyes. “And what’s happened here?”

Red shrugged. “nothin’.”

“It broke a chair over a human prisoner's head,” the officer said. He didn’t seem angry, or surprised. He spoke like Red was just something that happened, like a hail storm. “Knocked down three other and headbutted the Prison Priest.”

“he’d also had it coming,” Red said without remorse.

Frankly, you’d met the Prison Priest on a few occasions… let’s just say he’d likely not not had it coming. His tendency to preach fire and brimstone at the violent prisoners, condemning their Souls to hell was enough to wind up most. And his dismissal of the Monster prisoners as ‘demons incarnate’ did not win him any friends there either. 

“Are we expecting anyone else?” you asked, but even as you do, prisoners start to arrive under guard in various stages of beaten up. 

One accidentally catches the eye of Red who snarls. They quickly look at the floor. Red chuckles throatily as they’re led away. “morons,” he muttered. The tone wasn’t vicious so much as it was disappointed. 

You do a quick once over. His knuckles are covered in blood, which obviously wasn’t his. It had splashed up across his cheek too. You glance over to the other beds. A lot of split lips, torn ears and mild head injuries, but nothing looked too serious. Those were the kind of injuries that bleed a lot but didn’t do too much damage. This was looking more like a messy fight than a brutal one. 

But somehow, you didn’t think Red was averse to a brutal fight either. He was built for it.

You pulled out a wipe and start cleaning him up, checking for cracks in his bones as you go. 

“you a campfire, sweetheart?”

“Am I a what?”

“must be, because you’re super hot an’ i want s'more.”

You were stunned, horrified at the corniness, and a little flustered. You notice his eyelights had a red tint to them, unlike Sans’ pure white ones. It took you a moment to get back into your rhythm. 

“Are you feeling any discomfort? Anything you’d particularly like me to have a look at?”

“i got plenty ya can look at, nurse,” Red snickered.

You walked away, ostensibly to retrieve Red’s file, but mostly to give yourself a moment to gather your wits. It’s not as though you didn’t get this kind of behaviour every other day working here. But there was something so damn charming about this thug that it had rattled you more than you’d be willing to admit. 

Red… Red… where had you heard that name before?

His file is thick. He’d clearly got into a lot of fights here and was semi-frequently pulled into the Infirmary after a brawl had broken out. Though it seems these had all been precautionary visits - you couldn’t see any record of him being seriously treated for any major injuries.

New Ebott Prison had an abysmal record. Prisoners died here. More than in any other prison in the country. Some had claimed more than anywhere in the world, but the numbers hadn’t been reliable. Still, that was the reputation it had. 

The papers had called the place feral, unfeeling, vicious… and that was just the staff. It had been eight years ago when things had gone really, really bad. Known as the West Court Massacre, no one spoke about it, but it hung like a specter over the heads of senior management. The overhaul had been extreme and had involved a lot more work for the medical staff. The prison had to reduce the number of deaths or the political fallout would be extreme.

So, now prisoners like Red were seen by the medical staff, whether he wanted to be or not. You looked down at Red, who managed to affect a relaxed slouch, even while being handcuffed.

“I can see from your records that you haven’t had a proper check-up in six months. Lots of visits after fights, but they all seem to be patch and returns.” What the staff here called it when you slapped a bandage on a prisoner and sent them back to their cells. “I’d like to do one now, if that’s okay.”

“go right ahead, sweetheart.”

“Nurse y/n,” you corrected. You use your Checker on him. HP18/20     AT60     DF20

“like what ya see?”

The stats of a brawler. All power, not much defense. If Red was a smart guy, and you suspected he was, with stats like these his best option was to hit first and hit hard. And maybe hit them a few times more when they were on the ground. 

“I’d like to do a quick physical examination too. Would you mind if I lift your shirt?”

“are ya this polite in bed too?” 

You felt the heat in your cheeks. Ignoring it, you raise his shirt and do the quickest check around his bones as you can manage. “Any stiffness?”

“getting there.”

“Alright,” you said quickly, turning to the guard. “He’s good to go back.”

“no wait,” he said. “actually, nurse, i got this pain in my head. real bad. would d’ya take a look?” 

You were almost positive he was lying. On the other hand, if he went back to his cell and passed out from an unchecked head injury, you’d be fired. You sighed and moved to the top of the bed. You took his head in your hands, manipulating it carefully as you examined the surface. 

“didn’t mean to scare you or nothin’,” Red said, in a conciliatory tone. “‘m just a flirt.”

“Obviously,” you muttered, focused on your work. There were a few cracks but they were surface level and pretty old. Still, there wasn’t any reason they needed to linger. It was the kind of thing the monthly checkup would have fixed had he been willing to go. “I’m going to get some healing balm for these cracks.” You move his head around to look into his eyelights. There wasn’t much you could tell from a visual check, not without the proper equipment, but you could at least check for wobble or stutter. “Can you follow my finger and stop looking at my chest?” 

Red’s eyes snapped to your finger and followed it back and forth. “’s a nice chest.”

You came back a minute later with the healing balm and rubbed it over the cracks at the base of Red’s skull. “Alright. That should be all that’s needed. It’s pretty superficial. And here, have some Monster Candy to patch anything I can’t see.”

You tipped the paper cup with the candy into his mouth, as his hands were still tied to the bed. You watched it disappear as soon as it passed his teeth. Magic was a strange thing.

“thanks, nurse,” Red said, “you’re nicer than nurse terror, the old hag. tons better to look at too.”

“No more fighting,” you called after him, as the officer marched him back to the cells. 

Red just chuckled.

Chapter Text

You’d hoped this day wouldn’t come for a long time. If at all. And yet, only a few weeks out of your probation period, you found yourself signing the liability waiver and undergoing the mandatory training to attend to… it. 

The New Ebott Prison had what could be called a maximum-security wing closed off behind secure doors and a guard checkpoint. It only had one prisoner residing there, known by all as The Horror Show. It was not a well-kept secret. In fact, the looming, unseen presence of this ultra dangerous prisoner was the stuff of urban legends. You were almost certain you’d heard a radio play based on the Horror Show when you were in school. You’d had nightmares for a week.

The truth was more complicated, and difficult to piece together as the stories seemed, to you at least, to be overblown. It was a Monster. A big one, too. Isolated from the rest of the prison population. Ordinarily, the general medical staff didn’t have to worry about it. There was a small team of people who specialized in its care. But you all shared the same breakout space and you’d gotten to know a few of them quite well… not that they ever stayed in the job long. You’d notice the bite mark scars on their arms.

However, they were short-staffed. Today, even more so, as the last nurse had called in this morning and quit without notice. So what was management to do but find a willing victim and unfortunately, you were someone who just didn’t know how to say no.

You really did have to learn how to say no.

You’d heard the stories, of course. Back before people had realized how incredibly insensitive it was, you’d been raised on the idea there were monsters under the bed. Not Monsters, obviously. You’d grown up in a small town, but there had been plenty of Monsters, much to your parent's dismay. One had been a beloved old Bunny Monster who’d run the local store. She’d once let you have a cinnamon bun for free, a treasured childhood memory. Monsters weren’t monsters. Monsters were just people. 

But monsters, small m, were what you got under the bed. Monsters were the ones who were just waiting for you to let your guard down. The ones that wanted to grab you and kill you and eat you.

Monsters were what Little Red Riding Hood had had to contend with on her trip to grandma's. 

The training was thorough. Do not enter the cell without a guard. Do not unmask the prisoner without wearing the proper arm coverings. Do not touch the prisoner. If you drop something, back away. Do not attempt to pick it up and allow any part of you to come too close to the prisoner's unmasked mouth. You were shown reports and photos of staff who’d been attacked. A mauled arm, lost fingers and ears. One nurse who’d been attacked had lost half her cheek.

The Monster’s name was Skull. He’d been originally arrested for attacking people in the street. No one had been badly hurt, but the massive hole in his head had, obviously, been cause for concern. While he was held at the hospital, the police investigated. They’d found his hut out in the woods. Then they found his shed.

Your eyes involuntarily skimmed passages you really didn’t want to read. But the gist was there was evidence of at least ten people’s remains at various stages of… of butchered, stored and… well, eaten. All Humans. There wasn’t evidence of any Monster dust except for some which had been stored in something like an urn made of human bone. 

He’d been brought here fifteen years ago. In all that time, he’d not said a word, other than to identify himself as Skull. 

You took a deep breath. 

The signed liability waiver meant you couldn’t sue the prison should you get attacked through your own negligence, but also ensured the prison would cover your medical bills or compensate your family. So that was something.

You wondered if there was a way for you to specify which family member. If getting killed by the Horror Show wasn’t bad enough, you’d roll over in your grave if you knew money was going to your father.

Funny what your brain chooses to focus on under severe stress.

All too soon, you were being led to the cell by Officer Huxley. Huxley was considered the Horror Show’s primary guard and had been on this duty since he’d started at the prison years ago. He wore heavy armor and carried a tranquilizer gun which looked more like a shotgun. 

“Can I ask,” you said, hoping small talk would calm your nerves, “why did the other nurse quit this morning?”

“She found out she was pregnant,” Huxley said, simply. “So, how did you get picked for the dead man shift? You piss off management or something?”

“Dead man’s shift?”

“It’s been a week since it was fed. The first time someone tries again after an attack, odds are good it’ll go for you. Almost always does.”

You shiver. “Well, we’d all get a little hangry if we’d not eaten for a week.”

Huxley stopped dead in the corridor, pinning you with a glare. You took a step back under the weight of this man’s intensity. You weren’t sure even you could end up liking Huxley. “I’m not letting you in there if you think this is a game. This isn’t funny. I’ve watched peppy girls like you get their arms chewed off. Take this seriously or get out.”

You nodded, gazing at the floor.

Huxley waited until a second guard had joined them before opening the door. The three of you walked in. The cell was small, padded and windowless. The lights overhead were bright and buzzed incessantly. The Skeleton Monster was strapped upright to a gurney and was unlike any you had ever seen before, here at the prison or in any medical textbook. His arms were restrained by a straight jacket, his face bound in a muzzle that locked his jaw in place. He must be well over seven-foot tall. You had to look up to see his face. He was broad. Most of his bones looked thicker than your fist, from the little you could see.

His bones had a dusty yellow and grey tint like he’d been smoked. He looked very ill. A wave of sympathy and frustration washed over you. He wasn’t being properly attended to. He hung limply. There were no lights in his eye sockets. He didn’t seem to be really awake, not really asleep either. It was almost as though he was a puppet whose strings had been cut.

This was the Horror Show? All you felt was pity.

You placed the tray on the table in the middle of the room. Turning back, you almost jumped out of your skin. It was like he’d suddenly come to life, standing straight. It made him seem even taller and his gaze was locked on you. You shivered. Skull had one great glowing red eyelight which followed your every movement. His other socket was empty. That was some pretty severe damage on a Skeleton. Not to mention the massive hole in his head, reminding you a little of a cracked eggshell.

You walked slowly up to him, keeping your hands away from your body to show you weren’t carrying anything. You swallowed. “Hello, Skull. My name is Nurse y/n. I’m here to give you your dinner. I’m going to start by taking off your mask. We’re going to do this slowly and carefully. If I’m bothering you in any way, or if you’re uncomfortable, I want you to make a sound and let me know. I’ll back off and we’ll try again when you’re happy to. Okay?”

There was no response.

You distractedly fingered the heavy arm protectors you were wearing. They would stop him from chewing off your arms, they told you. Your fingers were still up for grabs, though. “Okay,” you breathed.

You very slowly raise your hands to Skull’s mask. His eyelight tracked your hands with a terrifying intensity. You carefully start unbuckling the clasp, but it’s fiddly. It finally came loose and you sucked in a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Stepping back, you cross over to his other shoulder. That was something that had been repeatedly drummed into you during training. Whatever you do, for god's sake, don’t lean across him to undo the other clasp. That’s how people lose ears.

You shivered again, fingers fumbling as a pulse of fear ran through you. You got the second clasp off finally and pulled the mask back. You expected a snap, a growl, a shout. Something. Your hands were trembling. There was nothing. Skull just stood there, watching you with the same, unblinking intensity.

“Great, that’s great,” you said in almost a gasp. You didn't know if you were talking to Skull or yourself. You picked up the bowl and took a spoonful of the food, raising it to his mouth.

Nothing happened. The room was eerily quiet. Well, apart from the guards behind you muttering to each other. You could barely hear them, your heartbeat still pounding in your ears. You knew they were carrying tranquillizer guns which you guessed would be a comfort… if you weren’t standing between them and their target.  

Blame it on the overwhelming stress, the copious caffeine you were on, or just the bizarreness of the situation you found yourself in, but you gave an involuntary laugh. He was just standing there, jaw firmly shut. Watched you as you held up his food on a spoon. Maybe you should be making airplane noises, or here comes the choo choo train, open wide! Or any number of the tricks you’d once played on your nieces and nephews to get them to eat when they were babies.

The Monster in front of you was not a baby. He’d killed and eaten at least ten people.

You forced the laugh down, suddenly sober. 

Skull’s head had tilted to the side at your laugh. You wished you could read him better. Unlike Sans and Red, you just couldn’t see any expressions in that wide, round face. You wondered if all the medication and tranquilizers he was on were messing with his magic.

“I’d really like you to eat, Skull,” you said, surprised at how tender you sounded.

There was another pause. Skull’s mouth opened. You fed him the first bite carefully. When that didn’t result in an attack, you fed him another. After ten minutes of almost silence, you’d fed him the whole meal. The guards behind you were muttering again, but you didn’t care. You wanted to jump up and down in joy. But also run away as quickly as you could, please.

“Brilliant,” you said. “That’s great, Skull. Thank you for cooperating. Now, I’m afraid due to protocol, I'll need to put the mask back on you.” Skull didn’t move as you manipulated the mask over his jaw. He even turned his head, giving you better access, as you again struggled with the clasp.

You felt a little thrill of success. Of pride. You couldn’t help it. It felt like a validation of your skill as a nurse, and your philosophy of treating all patients with patience and respect. “Once I’ve got this comfortable for you,” you said, “I’m going to leave-”

CRACK.

The sound of metal and ripping leather filled your ears. You felt the pressure of an immense hand close over your forearm. It all happened so fast. You yelped, tried to rear backwards, but Skull’s other hand was free and had grabbed you around the waist, pulling you up and close against him. Your feet were dangling off the floor. One arm pinned. The other held up in the air. You kicked, tried to buck, but it was useless. Held like this, you were completely helpless. 

The mask hadn’t been fixed yet, so it hung down uselessly. You knew your head and neck were in reach of his mouth. You were cringing away involuntarily, your skin crawling. How had you not noticed how sharp and fanged those teeth were before? 

You were still screaming. The guards behind you were shouting at Skull, but you knew you were in the way of the tranquilizer darts so they couldn’t fire until you were clear. The stuff in there would knock out a herd of elephants. A single dart would kill you outright.

Then you heard it.

It was a small sound. But you felt it rumbling in the gigantic chest you were held against. “shhh.”

The sound confused you. You stopped screaming. You were panting, almost blind with panic. You looked up cautiously. The large, red round eyelight was fixed on you. You saw a crease in his brow. 

“shhh. shhh. shhh.”

Arms grabbed at Skull. Huxley was wrenching him off of you, using a baton to club Skull’s arm. The other guard was trying to pull you away. Between them, they succeeded in getting one arm to let go, but Skull still had a death grip on your forearm. He was bellowing now, thrashing, trying to claw the guards with his free hand. A swipe almost took Huxley’s head off, but the man was experienced and ducked with startling reflexes. Skull was making a wild, roaring sound. It was low, deep, and sounded like a demonically possessed bull screaming from the bottom of a well.

He held on, he wouldn’t let you go. You felt his grip tightening the more the guard pulled. You gasped in pain as Skull's sharp fingers managed to puncture the arm protector and were now pressed against your skin. He hadn't drawn blood yet, but his grip was still tightening.

“Please,” you screamed, “you’re hurting me!”

The red eyelight snapped to you. The bellowing stopped. 

He let go.

Chapter Text

Two hours later, after you’d been checked over by Nurse Terror and had run away to have a cry in the bathroom, you were sitting in the break-out room with a hot cup of tea and something chocolatey one of the nurses had baked and brought in. 

Cynthia was rubbing your back. Talking softly. “You did great, really. I’ve seen people come back so much worse after dealing with that thing,” she said, over and over again. “Least you’ve still got all your fingers.”

You pressed your face into your hands. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” you moaned. 

It had all been going so well. All you had to do was put his mask back on and leave. Was it the mask? Did he not want it back on? No, it couldn’t have been that. He’d been so patient, moving his head to the side to let you get that first fastening on. Had you accidentally touched him? You were sure you hadn’t.

Damn it, where had you screwed up? 

“You did great, don’t beat yourself up.”

“I know, but-”

“Nurse y/n.”

You looked up. Nurse Terror was standing in front of you. You cleared your throat. Sat up straight. “Yes, Nurse Terry?”

“Go home.”

“Yes, Nurse Terry.”

~*~

You would have preferred to stay at the prison. The Infirmary was always busy, there were always things to do, people to talk to. On the fifteen-minute bus ride back to your small apartment where you lived alone, you had nothing to do but think.

It started dark. He almost killed me, he wanted to eat me, I could have died. But once you’d pushed past the terror, had a shower and were now curled up with a blanket, your perspective shifted. 

Skull had been trying to soothe you. The shushing noises. It had been so quiet you suspected you’d been the only one to hear it, but he had tried to calm you. While also dangling you off the floor and pressed into his chest.

Maybe he didn’t like noisy food. You wouldn’t like it if your snack started screaming at you.

You cringed, realizing you were being needlessly nasty. He could have hurt you. Hurt you badly. He could have bitten you, torn your arm off. 

He hadn’t. He’d held you. He’d held you and shushed you. 

You’d been so screwed up by the reports and photos of previous attacks, you’d gone in there expecting the worst. You’d gone in there expecting to find the Horror Show. But what you’d found was a very sick, very scared and very angry patient. You'd been so sure you could help him. You'd been so sure you knew what to do.

Well, look how that had turned out.

But that was you, wasn’t it? You always knew what was best, didn’t you? You always, always had to put yourself in situations which were none of your business, completely out of your depth, because you could somehow right every wrong.

Stupid. You had no business trying to treat someone like Skull, you didn’t have the background or training. 

But… even now, you couldn’t help it. After a moment, you walked over to the bookshelf. Pulled out your battered and well-loved copy of Gibson, the primary textbook for Monster medicine. You’d read case study after case study in medical school of the dangers of conflating Human medicine and Monster medicine. Psychology too. In the early years of Human-Monster interaction, common Monster behaviour was viewed as aggressive or downright attacks by Humans.

Well, that had been a very long time ago. Skull certainly should know that grabbing someone like that wasn’t polite. 

But he was insane. 

Even the insane, though, had reasons for their actions. Not reasons most people could understand, but reasons.

You thumb through a few chapters, but you couldn’t find anything that related to Skull’s condition. Other than the confirmation he was clearly suffering some severe damage. Both physical and psychological. When it came to Monsters, those were usually the same thing. 

He hadn’t tried to hurt you. In fact, you started to think he’d only hurt you because the guards were trying to pull you away. He’d held on and wouldn’t let go.

Dinner was a microwave meal lucky dip. You reached into the freezer, grabbing the first one you touched. Today was… eugh, chicken pot pie. Crappy end to a crappy day. It was somehow fitting. You watched the container spin in the microwave until the ping, reminding yourself that the prisoners you looked after arguably ate better than you did.

What if the guards hadn’t jumped in? Could you have extracted yourself without stressing Skull out? Let him work through the episode, then slowly calm him down again. You didn’t know what level of intelligence Skull was operating with. Maybe he was thinking, but couldn’t express it appropriately. Maybe he wasn’t thinking at all and it was all emotion. Either way, he’d needed time to work through what he was feeling and he hadn’t got it.

What were you thinking? You were attacked! Were you supposed to feel sorry for the Monster now? Damn it. You did.

You wanted to talk to someone. But it was almost half ten at night now and you’d been ostracised from your family after The Incident. Your only immediate friends were work friends and the last boyfriend you’d had was during nursing school. You’d sooner jump in the river than call him.

You smiled. There was only one person in your life you could call at ridiculous o’clock. 

You take your blanket and meal over to the phone, pulling it down, untangling the cord. Cuddling up against the wall. 

“Whoever this is, something better be on fire,” you heard the voice on the other end of the line say.

“Is that my only option?” you asked.

“Ooh, is someone dead? Please tell me your father’s dead.”

“Afraid not.”

“Dear Uncle Ellis, the old grinch will outlive us all,” sighed your cousin. “So, what’s up, darling?”

Don was the last of your family who’d speak to you. He'd also been banished from the family circle - just a year or two before you had. When he’d heard about The Incident, he’d swept in like a fairy godmother to take you under his wing. 

You liked to think of it as The Incident. With capitals. It sounded exciting and dramatic. Far better than just ‘I had a row at my sister's wedding which took on epic proportions and I’ve been disowned until I admit I was wrong. Which I wasn’t.’

You were honestly a little jealous of your cousin. Your father had tried to convince you Don was the devil’s offspring, living in a den of sin and indulging in the worse vices of life. Such family fuss over the fact that Don had a boyfriend, not a girlfriend. And, what’s worse, a Monster boyfriend to boot. 

Well, Don may or may not be the devil’s offspring - though that was the only thing Don and your father agreed on. You had no idea - Uncle Roddy had died before you were born, as had his mother, your father’s sister. But Don and his boyfriend Angus’s den of sin was a penthouse in the city and a two-bedroom beach house outside New Ebott. His vices included a perpetually stocked minibar, a hookah pipe and an inordinate love of expensive cheeses. 

You told Don about Skull. He was intrigued, but you could hear the edge in his voice. “Will you be going back?”

“After that, probably not. I messed up.”

There was a sigh. “Of course you want to go back. You really are a masochist. You can’t fix everyone, you know.”

You’d normally argue. Don was one of the few people you could argue with. Teasing and taunting was just the way he spoke to people he liked. You’d heard how he spoke to people he didn’t like and, yeah, you much preferred the teasing. But you just couldn’t summon the will today. 

He noticed. “Aw, darling. You’ve had a rough one.”

You covered your face with a hand. Felt the tears start to form. 

“You want me to come over?”

“No,” you say, quickly, clearing your throat. “No. It’s fine. Thanks Don. I just… I just want to get some sleep and start again tomorrow.”

“Alright. But if you change your mind, call me. Any time.”

“Don’t you have a thing tomorrow?”

“Who needs to be awake in court? The judges aren’t, I can tell you that.” Don went silent for a moment, before asking, “Do you want me to look into Skull? See if I can dig up some court records?”

“I think I’ve read everything in his report that I really want to know,” you said, feeling a little sick again. You push away your meal. “You’ll know this - there’s another Skeleton in the prison called Red. I know I know the name, I just can’t quite-”

“Red? As in Red and Edge? The Skeleton gangsters who basically run organized crime in the Monster Districts?”

Your head thunked back against the wall. Of course, that's where you’d heard the name. He’d been in prison for some years now, since before you went to nursing school, so he wasn't in the news much anymore.

“So, what’s he like?”

Colour swept into your cheeks as you thought of Red. God, you were just a mess of emotions today. “He’s a thug. He’s an out-and-out thug, rude, a bully and a flirt. But he’s my patient, so…”

“Drama!”

“No, Don. No drama.”

“That’s two Skeletons in one prison. What are the odds?”

“Try three. There’s another called Sans.” You waited. Don had gone quiet. “Hello?”

“Still here. I’d forgotten he was in New Ebott Prison,” said Don. His tone surprised you, suddenly devoid of all his put-on sass. You suspect this is what he sounded like when he was in the courtroom. This was his serious lawyer voice. “Keep away from him if you can, y/n.”

Oh, he used your name. Not darling. Drama.

“Why, what… actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what he did. It’s not important. Sans is my patient. That’s all that matters.”

“You can’t fix everyone, y/n.”

Chapter Text

On your next day in, you were asked to do Sans’s magic transfusion. It was a last-minute request by Nurse Terror and it surprised you, until Cynthia confided she’d been asked first. “But, you know, touching Monster Souls,” Cynthia made a retching face.

You fought the urge to tell her off. After all, everyone had something, right? Some nurses hated dealing with blood, or waste, or touching eyes. It’s only human. Most of the time, you got over it after a few years in the business. You were sure there was nothing that scared Nurse Terror anymore. And Cynthia had made it clear from the beginning she preferred treating Human patients.

“It’s okay,” you assured her. “I’ve got it.”

“That’s why you’re the best, y/n.”

After your encounter with Skull the other day, regular patients were a relief. You'd been told by Nurse Terror that management had drafted a specialist from Asclepius General, New Ebott's foremost hospital, to fill in with Skull while they interviewed new nurses. Thank god that meant you wouldn't have to go back... unless there was another last-minute emergency. You weren't exactly thrilled to hear you were now assumed to be willing to step up every time they had a dropout.

"It's your own fault for agreeing to the first one," Cynthia said. You supposed that was true.

You were setting everything up in the private examination room when Sans stepped in, the security door closing behind him. You glanced around nervously. “Morning Sans, I'll be doing your IS transfusion today. Um, is Officer Harris...?”

Sans shrugged. “think he’s on a smoke break. we can wait for him, if i make you nervous.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly. He had an air of stoic understanding which made you feel ashamed of yourself. After all, he'd so far been civil - unlike some of the prisoners you had to deal with. “Please.”

Sans pulled himself up onto the examination table. He had a box with him. You realized it was a chessboard. “You play chess?”

“yeah, do you?”

“Well, I’m not very good. But I really like those little chess problems they put in the papers. I do them in the break room during lunch.” Officer Harris had spotted you doing one the other day and asked you if you liked chess. You’d been worried it had been some sort of overture, but it hadn’t come up again. 

You put the magical IS fluid up onto its stand. Humans had intravenous fluid - you know, for veins. Monsters had intraSoul fluid. Except it wasn't strictly a fluid, but that was a whole other headache to explain. When it was like this, it was clear like water. But you knew it would change once it interacted with a Soul. Sans pulled off his shirt while you prepped the connector. 

A Monster Soul looked like an upside-down cartoon heart. You’d thought that completely adorable when you’d found that out. It sat in the middle of the chest in most Monsters and for those who were a little more solid than a skeleton, it could be pulled from the body to hover a few inches in the air. Either by Encounter magic or by a special machine that forced it out. It was reportedly an unpleasant experience which is why patients were encouraged to do it themselves. But if an unconscious Monster needed an IS, it was really the only safe way to do it.

It was easier with a Skeleton. His open chest meant you could get direct access to his Soul as it pulsed softly beneath his sternum. Initially invisible, you watched as Sans went still for a moment, focusing. Soon, a little blue upsidedown heart, the size of your fist, shimmered into being. 

“i prefer not to bring it out,” Sans said.

You nodded, understanding. If you had the ability, you’d be equally unwilling to pull out a vital organ and leave it unprotected outside your body. “That’s no problem. I can get it hooked up where it is. It might just take me a moment though, so please stop me if it’s uncomfortable.”

It was difficult getting the connector attached to Sans’s Soul. You hadn’t done this on a patient since nursing school and you were surprised how nervous you were. But Sans was so patient with you, moving slightly to help you get a better angle. You tried not to touch the inside of his ribs, as you knew that they were sensitive, but you brushed them a few times without meaning to.

“Sorry,” you muttered as he shifted.

“no problem, kid,” Sans said, his voice a little tense.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” 

You were surprised when Sans laughed. “heh heh. no, kid, you’re just killing me.”

You weren't sure what he meant, but you tried harder to avoid touching him.

"knock knock."

You were exasperated. "I really need to concentrate, Sans. I've could do some actual damage to you if I'm not careful."

"knock knock."

You knew Sans wasn't going to let up so you gave in. "Fine. Who’s there?"

"Déjà."

"Déjà who?"

"knock knock."

You laughed, you couldn't help it. As you finally got the connector in place, you realized his joke had helped you relax a little. You wondered if he'd done it on purpose. You ran the tubes up through his ribcage, resting them over his clavicle so they were comfortably out of his way and opened the line. You watched the liquid react to Sans’s Soul magic, flooding back up the tubes.

One of your old teachers had described it as holding a coloured flame to a flammable liquid. The minute the flame touched the liquid, it would travel up the path of least resistance until it was all alight. The magic in the bag changed to reflect the magic it was being influenced by, turning it into a glistening, swirling mixture of yellow and blue.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

Sans blinked up at you. You saw a dusty blue light settle over his cheek bones. He was blushing. 

You cringed. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional.”

“not complaining,” Sans muttered. He shook his head and smiled his lazy smile at you. “well, this thing always takes an hour.” He opened the board, showing off the black and white chess pieces. “wanna play?”

“I’m sure you’d wipe the floor with me. Nurse Terror said you prefer to sleep during the transfusions?"

"not sleepy."

"Besides, I should really-”

“what? sit around watching the drip, writing notes? doesn't sound like a lot of fun. besides, you gotta keep me calm and relaxed or the transfusion might not take, right?”

“You’ve done this plenty of times before,” you said, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“maybe, but i’m starting to feel a little restless, you know? like a guy who wants to play chess but hasn’t got anyone to play with. hey, you know, once I saw a bird playing a game of chess alone. I told him, ‘toucan play that too?’”

You snorted. That was it, he’d made you laugh. Game over. “Okay. But just one game.”

Sans started laying out the pieces. “huh, i must have misplaced the queen. i’ll need to check.”

You giggled, but you’d seen him palm the piece as he was laying it out. “Check your left hand, mate.”

“rook -ie mistake,” Sans held up his left hand. It was empty. He handed you the white queen from his other hand. 

You pulled your seat up to the examination bed and put the chessboard on the patient table between you. “Why do you like puns so much?”

“they’re punny. white starts.”

Both of you made the first few moves in amiable silence, until you got to a point where you needed some thinking time. You glance up at the IS bag. The transfusion was progressing well and you checked his HP again. It hadn’t shifted from 1. You were disappointed, but not surprised. His file notes said no amount of IS therapy had been successful in boosting his stats. 

The treatment had been mandated by Dr. Whitglass some years ago in an attempt to control Sans's ‘episodes’. Apparently, there had been times when he’d just slept non-stop for weeks on end and it would frighten the hell out of the medical staff. Since the IS therapy, those episodes seemed fewer and far between.

“you got any family, kid?”

You hesitated, but what was the harm? “My father’s still alive. I have two older brothers and a sister,” you said. “They all live away from New Ebott, though and I don’t see them much anymore.” 

“boyfriend?” Sans glanced at you and shook his head. “sorry, i’ve made you uncomfortable. forget i said anything.”

“Don’t apologise. No, I don't.”

Would you have let any other patient get away with that? That was personal information, the kind they make very clear that you shouldn’t go around sharing with convicts. You were a nurse, a professional face, not a person. 

There was something about Sans. You felt like you could trust him.

“why’s that? a kid like you.”

“Honestly, it’s not much to tell. I work here, don’t I? The hours are long and I don’t exactly have much of a personal life.”

“so who do you talk to? you’ve got to have someone to talk to. or so they tell me.”

“I have a cousin, D-” you stop yourself. “He’s basically my go-to guy. More of a brother to me than my real brothers. What about you? Any family?” You see Sans tense. “Is the drip hurt-”

“no, it’s fine. check.”

“What?” His bishop had snuck up to flank your king without you noticing.

It was an aggressive play and you would have thought it a pointless one, except Sans was clearly better at the game than you were. There must be a reason. After staring at the board, worried you were somehow missing something, you moved the king out of the way. 

Sans didn’t check again and the game continued. You’d forgotten what you’d both been talking about, so you wait for Sans to speak again. “nice to have a nurse who hasn’t got a problem with monsters.”

You frowned. “I don’t think anyone on the staff has a problem with Monsters. Everyone just wants to do the best job they can.”

Sans gave you a withering look. “uh-huh.”

You thought of Cynthia and Huxley. You shrugged, uncomfortably. “Everyone has their issues.”

He chuckled darkly. “i’ll agree with that. and most of the time, a human’s issue is with us existing at all.”

“I think that’s a bit of a generalization.”

“do you?” Sans’ tone was harsh. 

Don’s warning came back to prod you in the hindbrain. Keep away from Sans. You decide to drop the subject. 

Sans sighed. “i’ve made you uncomfortable again.”

“It’s okay,” you say lightly, moving a piece. It’s not as though every member of the medical staff hadn’t warned you he was grouchy. So far, he’d been a breeze, but, well, everyone has their issues. Maybe Sans’ was Monster Racism. You couldn’t blame him for that.

"hey, why did the chess player bring pencils and a sketch pad to the game? in case there was a draw. heh heh."

Sans won the game, of course.

Chapter Text

“Red, let me get this straight. The Whimsalot was… humming?”

“yeah. constantly.”

“Okay, he was humming. Admittedly, annoying. So you went over to him and you demanded-”

“politely.”

“Politely demanded... well, no, politely informed him that if he didn’t stop humming, you were going to…?”

“put his head through a wall.”

“Did he stop?”

“no.”

“And?”

“i put his head through a wall.” Red shrugged. “he’s a monster, he’s fine. can take more of a beating than an ex-ape.”

“A what?”

“ex-ape. humans.”

“Are you calling me an ape?” you ask.

Red looked horrified. “no! not you, sweetheart! you’re what would happen if an angel and a kitten had a baby.” 

As ludicrous as that sounded, Red looked sincere. That somehow made it all the more hilarious. 

“An angel and a kitten. Great, thank you,” you said sarcastically, pushing his head back against the examining table so you could check, what in a Human, you'd have called his cervical vertebrae. The bones that made up his neck.

“love it when you’re rough with me.”

“Red,” you scolded under your breath.

After the Whimsalot’s head had gone through the wall - drywall, you were reassured by the attending guard, the Whimsalot's friends had jumped Red. They'd grabbed hold of his neck and tried to bend his spine back the wrong way. They had been unsuccessful, to put it mildly.

You can still hear the unfortunate friends moaning in pain from across the Infirmary. 

“Ex-apes, huh?" you asked. "You don’t like humans, Red?”

From what you could see of Red’s face, he looked confused. “what? i dunno. guess I like ‘em as much as i like monsters. i don’t really like anyone. ‘cept my bro. and you.”

You felt a little warmth in your heart, but chastised yourself immediately. You handed him a Monster Candy. “You’ll live.”

“don’t sound so disappointed. i like your perfume. what’s it called?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fully aware of how uncanny a Monster’s sense of smell is. So I know, that you know, that I’m not wearing perfume. So this is just a setup for another flirt.”

“... you’ve ruined the moment now, sweetheart.”

“Excellent. You should expect a whole load more ruined moments in the weeks, months and years to come.”

Annoyingly, Red’s sharp-toothed smile only broadened. “lookin’ forward to it.”

“Nurse y/n.” You looked over your shoulder. There was a guard there who hadn’t come with any of the most recent patients. “The Warden wants you in his office.”

~*~

The Warden's office was high up in the prison, overlooking the west courtyard. It wasn’t a long walk, but you realize you’d been dragging your feet since leaving Red and the Infirmary.

When were nurses called to the Warden’s office? Not even a nurse, a junior nurse. The Warden was your boss’s, boss’s boss. You reported to Nurse Terror who reported to Doctor Whitglass who reported to Warden Spratt. Spratt was so far over your head you might as well be going to meet the Mayor of New Ebott. 

Were you fired? God, you didn’t want to be fired. Over these last months, you’d started to get to know the prisoners you regularly treated. Some were good people. Some not so much, but they at least respected the job you did for them.

Sans had become the highlight of your week. He was a chance to breathe, he was funny and sweet and calm in a way no one else was. And Red’s visits were always hilarious, even if he hadn’t given up on flirting. He kept you on your toes, but somehow, you never felt in danger when you were treating him. Things were going well, you felt like you belonged here.

What could you have done wrong?

Maybe you weren’t getting fired. Maybe someone had filed a complaint against you. You didn't know which one was worse. Complaints were usually anonymous so you’d have to live with the knowledge that a prisoner or staff member thought you were doing a bad job.

There was a room outside of the Warden's office door where his secretary sat. She gave you a brief nod as you lingered there. You felt your heart so badly in your chest, you were worried it was audible. Finally, you heard the summoning bark from behind the door.

You entered and introduced yourself. “Nurse y/n. You wanted to see me, Warden Spratt?”

Spratt was tall for a human, thin with a long, lined face and silver-haired. He’d been at New Ebott Prison since before the West Court Massacre. In fact, he'd gotten the job straight after the Massacre when his boss had been ousted from the office in disgrace. You’d heard Spratt described as firm but fair. You hoped that was true. 

“Nurse y/n.” He glared at you, eyebrow raised. “How old are you?”

That wasn’t a great start to any conversation. You'd always firmly been in the 'why should age matter?' school of thinking. You were annoyed, but your natural deference to authority forced you to answer. 

He gave a grunt of thought and gestured in a peremptory fashion for you to sit down. He opened a file in front of him. “I’ve got the report here from your visit with Skull.”

That was it. You were fired. 

You held your breath, waiting.

“I want you to explain how you did it.”

A flood of pre-rehearsed excuses and justifications jumped to your lips. It wasn’t my fault. It really wasn't. I did everything the training told me to do. It wasn’t fair to put me into that situation before I was ready. I’m only a few months out of my probation. I haven’t been a qualified nurse for even a year yet. Respectfully, I’m pretty sure that the waiver they made me sign is illegal. Suspect at the very least, and my cousin's a lawyer, so...

Your brain whirred to a halt as you realized none of them answered the question. In fact, you didn’t actually know what the question was... “How I did what, sir?” you asked, cautiously.

He gazed at you critically. His eyes were narrowed as he leaned back, folding his arms over his thin chest. “Do you have any background in dealing with violent or mental patients?”

“No, sir. This is my first post after graduating. I did a couple of secondments in my third year as part of my training. One for a hospital and another at a prison-”

“Which prison?”

“Highgate Correctional?”

“Is that a question? Are you asking me where you worked?”

“No, sir. It was Highgate Correctional.”

Spratt scoffed. “The inmates they get there are corrupt bankers, politicians, and jaywalkers. They’ve got an indoor swimming pool and a bar. And the entire facility is Human only. It’s not a prison, it’s a summer camp for white-collar criminals. Keep talking.”

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong about that. It was one of the many reasons why you hadn't even considered applying there after nursing school.

“I just… what I mean is, I’ve only ever worked on general wards, so nothing, you know… nothing extreme.”

“You didn’t want to go work at a children’s hospital? Spend all your time with cute babies like a normal girl. Instead, you come here and treat murderers and rapists and thugs?” He didn’t wait for you to answer. “I want you to explain how you were able to handle Skull.”

This whole conversation was rattling you. But... handle Skull?! It had been nearly two weeks since your encounter with Skull, but the memory was burned into your brain. It woke you up at night. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. Skull attacked me.”

“Yes,” Spratt said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It attacks everyone. But it didn’t maim you or kill you. You walked away with barely a bruise.”

Barely a bruise? Quite a large, black and blue bruise, actually. “He grabbed my arm, but... he did stop.”

“No, you asked him to stop. And he did. I’m going to need you to explain that too,” Spratt said. “It doesn’t listen to anyone or anything. But it stopped because you asked it to.”

“I… I really don’t know what to say. I-”

“If you have some insight into how we can replicate your handling of Skull, we want to make it protocol immediately.”

“Sir, I’m not sure what the report says, but I really didn’t-”

“‘Prisoner was silent and compliant',” Spratt said in a loud voice, reading from the file in front of him. He looked up. “Huxley actually uses the word ‘docile’ here," he tapped the word. "I almost choked on my coffee. I wouldn't have thought it possible - that Skull was docile or that Huxley knows the word. 'Prisoner ate without attempting to bite Nurse y/n.’ It doesn’t do that. Even on its best days, it snaps. The nurses who regularly do that shift develop fast reflexes or they don’t go back. This is my favourite part: ‘Prisoner turned head to allow Nurse y/n to refit muzzle. To allow Nurse y/n to refit muzzle," he repeated, jabbing the file with an accusatory finger. “Explain to me how you did it.”

You still couldn't figure out what was going on. “I mean, yes... but he attacked me straight after that.”

“Any broken bones? Bites? Lacerations? No? Explain.”

“I… don't think... well, sir, I’ve always done my best to be understanding and approachable to my patients,” you say. You could tell he wasn’t impressed. “While maintaining a professional attitude, of course. I do my best to see them as people first. Then patients.”

“And where does ‘prisoner’ come on that list?” Spratt asked, drily. Again, he didn’t wait for an answer. “So you managed to get Skull to behave… because you were nice ?”

“With all due and possible respect, sir, has anyone else tried that before?”

Spratt raised his eyebrows. “Fine. You’ll be rostered for its daily feedings and checkups going forward. And you'd better go today, now. It attacked the temporary nurse yesterday so badly she's refused to come back in. It hasn't eaten since your last encounter with it.”

Oh crap. “Oh, no, sir, really, I don’t-”

“You know, I’m going to be frank with you, Nurse. I’m not giving you a choice. You want me to get you the incident list detailing every attack this Monster has made on the staff? I can’t. I’d need a haulage truck to get it over from the Records Room. Do you want to see the budget that's spent on this Monster? Do you want to know how much the medical expenses are? You came out of that cell unharmed. I’m not going to waste this opportunity. And, you know what, Nurse, you should be jumping at this chance. For the good of the prison and your colleagues. Now go, work your magic.”

Chapter Text

“Round two,” you muttered, walking into the padded cell.

Skull was immediately aware you were there, this time. He made a muffled noise, fighting against his restraints. It immediately set you on edge and you had to resist the urge to run back out.

“I’m not coming any closer until you calm down,” you said, sounding a hell of a lot calmer than you felt.

Slowly, Skull stilled. His great red eyelight was fixed on you, but he stopped straining. He was still making muffled… honestly, pathetic little sounds. 

You put the bowl on the table and walked over to him. “Listen to me, Skull,” you spoke carefully, watching the giant’s face. “I’ve been put in charge of overseeing your care. But if you attack me again, I’m not coming back…” whatever Spratt says. “Understand?”

There was a pause. Then Skull gave a single nod.

"Good. I'm scheduled to attend to you in the evenings, but I'm here now because I was told you were being difficult with the other Nurses and not eating. I’ll be back again this evening with another meal and we’ll start the new routine properly from tomorrow. Is that okay?”

A single nod.

“I’m going to take off the mask now.”

Skull moved his head again as you worked, allowing you access. The mask came off quickly, your hands were shaking far less than last time.

You fed him slowly, spoonful by spoonful, without a moment's fuss. His gaze was fixated on you, not even glancing at the food you were giving him.

When you were done, you considered him, cautiously. 

He’d been calm. Behaved. Yes, in a word, docile. You were starting to see more and more expression in that face, the longer you stared back at him. Maybe you’d been so convinced he was a monster - small m - that it had somehow warped your perception of him. Monster magic was funny like that. One Monster could appear warm and friendly to one Human observer and a scary demon to another. 

The last time you were here, you’d expected to find the Horror Show. So that’s what you’d seen.

Skull seemed different now. His face was open and softer this time. The eyesocket with his only eyelight seemed half-closed in a sleepy way. He was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world. You remembered the small shushing notes he'd made. That moment of tenderness had been the only reason you hadn't come in here a nervous wreck. Was that really enough to make your view of him change so drastically? Why had you been so scared of him last time?

Oh yeah - because of his unpredictable nature of attacking and eating people.

You swallowed.

Well, you were a Nurse right now. You could be a total scaredy-cat in your own time. You pulled yourself together. “Skull, it’s been a long time since someone’s given you a proper medical examination. Will you allow me to do one now?”

“That’s not on the schedule for today,” said Huxley, quickly. He sounded angry. 

“I know,” you said. “But he needs to have one done. He’s not well. Skull, can I examine you?”

There was another long pause. Skull gave a nod.

You were certain now you were dealing with a processing time issue. There was something there, some intelligence at work, but he needed time and space to think.

That's okay. You could work with that.

“I’m going to do a Check first, then give you a physical once over. That means I'm going to be touching your bones. I’m going to do everything slowly, so if you don’t like what I’m doing, just make a sound." Please don't bite me. "Does that sound okay to you?”

You waited for the nod.

The screen of the Checker flashed and stuttered, then the figures came up.

HP ERROR           AT ERROR             DF ERROR

Welp, you’ve never seen that before. You tap the pad, annoyed. Against your better judgment, you tried to be your own tech support. You failed miserably. No matter what you did, it just came up with the same result, until it just stopped working altogether. You should have known better. Honestly, you were sure you broke electronics just by being in the same room as them. 

There was a small sound.

You looked up in surprise and slight alarm. 

Skull had just laughed. 

It was muted, subdued. More of a chortle than a laugh. His head was tilted again as he watched you and... he was actually smiling. It was a dopey grin, matching the rest of his lazy expression. It hadn't sounded like a malicious laugh and it didn't seem like he was about to become aggressive. He just seemed... well, amused.

You could see his arms strain against his straight jacket again. You waited nervously until the movement stopped and he relaxed again.

"Have you ever seen this before?" you asked Huxley, trying to show him the Checker.

Huxley refused to engage. "Just do whatever it is you want to do and get out."

The Checker was useless, so you put it away. You hesitated for a brief second, but you had to treat Skull like any other patient. "Have you been feeling any stiffness or discomfort?" you asked.

Unsurprisingly, Skull stared at you in silence.

You sighed. Probably too much to hope for. “Okay, I’m going to feel your chest first,” you say. It was pointless, though, the straight jacket was too bulky for you to get a proper feel of his ribs. You felt around carefully, ready to jump away if he showed any sign he wasn’t happy.

But again, you heard his little laugh. 

“I'm glad I'm so amusing to you,” you said, with a small smile. You didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one. He just gazed down at you like you were doing something interesting. Hey, if it kept him calm, you were totally on board with him finding anything about this situation funny.

You were able to get to his legs much easier, pulling up the dirty orange prison trousers. You moved slowly. After all, everything you'd been told suggested he didn't like being touched. But he'd not kicked off yet... you had to believe he wasn't set on hurting you.

You carefully placed your hand on his bones and glanced up. Skull didn't react at all. Relaxing slightly, you started your examination but immediately grimaced in anger as you felt his tibia. Skull had extensive and severe bone degeneration.

People always asked you what you were feeling for, but it was tough to explain. Healthy Skeleton bones felt like smooth marble, but warm and with some give to it. Like the skin of a melon or a firm orange - hard, yes - you wouldn't want it thrown at your head. But it was still softer than stone or metal.

You'd never felt a real Monster Skeleton's bones before Sans, but during your training, you'd become familiar with the replicas, which had been fairly accurate.

Degeneration in Skeleton bones made them feel like... well, like dead human and animal bones. Brittle, porous, and cold.

There was also a set course that bone degeneration followed, like an infection. For it to be in Skull's legs to this extent, it was definitely in his chest too. And his neck. Poor guy, he must be in so much pain. You found it difficult to manipulate Skull's joints too, so he must also be stiffened.

All that was concerning enough, but you knew you’d never be able to give him a proper examination while he so restrained, so god knows what else you were missing.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" you asked, softly.

Skull blinked. Then he nodded, slowly.

You tried not to let the overwhelming emotion you felt show on your face. "I'm going to do everything I can to get you all better, okay?" You cleared your throat, standing back up. “When was the last time you saw him walking around?” you asked Huxley. 

Huxley made an exaggerated face of remembrance. “Let me see… that would be when the last new guard hadn’t double-checked it was completely unconscious. It charged him, smashing him up against the wall before trying to rip off his arm and eat it. He was unconscious for a week and I don't think he's regained full use of his arm yet.”

“Did you notice Skull moving especially unsteadily?”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, lady,” Huxley muttered.

“He needs an intensive course of IS therapy and physical exercise,” you persisted, though his words had stung and made you feel ashamed of yourself. But as awful as what had happened was, the guard wasn't your patient. Skull was. "Skull, can you pull out your Soul for me, please?" You waited, but nothing happened. "Can you pull out for Soul for me, please?" you asked again, patiently.

There was another long pause. Eventually, you saw his bulbous red eyelight move over to Huxley, then slowly back to you. Skull shook his head. 

"I understand," you said, reassuringly. You frowned at Skull's straight jacket. “How am I supposed to get an IS connected if I can’t get to his chest?”

“I’ve got a hatchet somewhere,” Huxley said.

You glared at Huxley, who returned it without flinching. Behind you, a low growl started to rise from Skull, making you shudder. It reverberated in a way that only sound made by magic (and nothing so mundane as air) could do. You felt that sound in your very being. 

“Skull, stop it. Calm down,” you said, firmly. It took a few seconds, but the growl eventually died away. “He understands, you know,” you said, reprovingly to Huxley.

Huxley snorted. “I had dogs growing up who understood more than this thing.”

“He processes thought to interaction slowly, but I think he understands just fine.”

“It didn’t seem so slow when it tried to kill you.”

“There’s instinct and then there’s intention,” you argue. “Monsters have a strong instinctual drive - what in Humans we'd call the flight, fight or freeze response. I think instinct is what's driving Skull most of the time. Whatever is going on in his conscious, intelligent brain, it just can’t keep up, so instinct takes over. Let's face it, no one is going to operate well under these conditions.”

Huxley laughed nastily. “God, listen to yourself. You’re a Nurse, lady. Stick to feeding monsters and changing bandages.”

You didn’t answer. Because… because Huxley wasn’t exactly wrong. Skull had been seen by dozens of experts, both Human and Monster, over the years. You were sure you hadn’t come up with any grand new theory and equally sure you were massively underqualified. 

On the other hand, you'd started to realize you had one quality that made you unique amongst the staff. The only reason you had that made you feel even slightly justified in jumping in and doing everything you could for Skull.

You alone, it seemed, actually cared whether or not Skull got better. 

Chapter Text

Another day, another seemingly never-ending shift. Today, the day after your first official shift with Skull, your morning started with a meeting with Doctor Whitglass.

You didn’t mind Doctor Whitglass. In fact, you liked him in a lot of ways. Whitglass, like Spratt, had been here since before the West Court Massacre and had seen it all. He was old and traditional - didn’t care much for new schools of medicine, and thought mental health support was a fad, but what he knew, he knew well. And he actually cared about his patients, even if he had a distant way of showing it. He'd never allow anyone needlessly suffer.

You thought he could be an even better doctor if he wasn’t so bound by prison regulations and out-of-date thinking.

“We’re at the three-month mark of your employment here,” he said, resting his hands on the desk and peering at you over his glasses. He’d always given you the distinct impression of an old mole in a white coat. “How do you feel things are going, Nurse y/n?”

“I’m enjoying myself, doctor. And I feel like I'm learning a lot.”

The impersonal conversation went back and forth. It was a review meeting, you thought. You hadn’t known you’d be getting one. No one had mentioned one was coming. You guessed it wasn’t unusual, but you'd already been doing these sorts of check-ins with Nurse Terror. She was your direct manager, after all.

Whitglass asked you about your workload, your hours, all that sort of thing.

“You seem to prefer treating Monster patients over Human patients," he said. "Is there a reason for that?”

He didn’t sound accusing or anything, but the question made you nervous. You could have told him it’s because two-thirds of your shifts were with Cynthia Able who refused to treat Monster patients if you were there to do it. But you thought you might get her in trouble.

“I don’t suppose I have a reason other than I find Monster medicine pretty fascinating.”

“Certainly less messy,” Whitglass said, blandly.

That was true, certainly. Monsters didn’t bleed, didn’t need to use the bathroom. Bodily fluid just wasn’t a big thing in Monster medicine. But that wasn’t the reason you preferred it. You mentally crossed your fingers, deciding to go for broke. “I prefer Monster medicine because it’s as much to do with the mind as it is to do with the body. An unhappy Monster can never be a healthy Monster.”

Whitglass made a grudging sound which suggested he knew this to be true, but didn’t like it.

After all, Whitglass would labour for hours to save a dying patient, long, long after most doctors would have given up. He’d bend every rule to make sure patients like Sans were well cared for - his push to get Sans regular IS transfusions had not been popular with the Prison Board, but he'd done it anyway. But if a patient were to tell him they were depressed, Whitglass would tell them to buck up, don't think about it, and send them back to their cell. Human or Monster patient alike, Whitglass had no time for mental health. 

“There were a few reasons I called you in here today," he pushed his glasses back up his nose. "The first is to let you know that Nurse Greta will be leaving us at the end of the week. So we’re going to have to extend everyone’s shifts again.”

“Yes, doctor,” you say. Nurse Terror had already told everyone that this morning during the staff meeting. “I'm more than happy to, of course.”

“That is appreciated. Next, it occurred to me that no one had yet congratulated you on your excellent handling of Skull. If you are willing to carry on with his treatment, you will get the support you need from myself. If you are not, please do let me know and I’ll speak to Spratt on your behalf." Whitglass gave you a half-smile. "I’m sure there are plenty of other people in your life to tell you you’re making a terrible mistake, putting yourself at risk like this. I, however, have my patients and my staff to look after. If you have some way with Skull, I know that I, like Spratt, am not going to waste this opportunity.”

“Thank you, doctor.” You thought for a moment, appreciating Whitglass's pause to let you think. "In my opinion, Skull need IS transfusions urgently."

"Yes, he does," Whitglass agreed.

"But he's not getting them?"

"He tore several fingers off of the last Nurse who tried. And, frankly, I will not treat him anymore," Whitglass glanced at his arms, briefly. "I can't react as fast as I once did. I'm too old and have too many scars."

"But I could," you said, feeling emboldened.

"You could certainly try. But we will have to get sign-off from Spratt and the Prison Broad, which will take some time. Let me start the process."

"Thank you, doctor."

“Finally, I'm sure Nurse Terry has already addressed this with you. But I would like to add my opinion on the matter, for what it's worth to you. Red and Sans..." Whitglass took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. "Red likes to… pursue the nurses. Many of the inmates do, but Red has a better success rate than most. I think he's had equal success with several guards over the years, though that is not my department. You appear to be a sensible young woman who wants to do well at her job, so I would encourage you to keep him at a distance. Do not hesitate to make your disinterest clear, consistent, and repeated. I would not call Red quick on the uptake, though I suspect that may be intentional on his part. Neither would I say he was particularly intelligent. But he is remarkably savvy. He's stubborn, violent, and direct, but not needlessly unpleasant if treated with respect. And he'll grow bored with an unsuccessful pursuit eventually. I would hate to have to fire another nurse for being caught in a compromising position with that Skeleton.”

You swallowed, not sure what to say. It didn't help - it really didn't help that in the office was a life-size skeleton anatomical model just staring at you. It was a Human skeleton, of course. With your medical eyes on, you knew that there were numerous differences between that and a Monster Skeleton. But it still didn't help.

“Now Sans... Sans is a highly manipulative Monster who gets his way in almost all things. I'll be honest - I like him very much. Most of the staff here do, from the medical staff, to the guards, to management. He's even taken up a regular correspondence with a member of the Prison Board, I believe. Sans makes sure that he is liked and because of that, he has his own cell, can make requests for reading material and other items. His company is enjoyable, he's well mannered, well behaved and exceptionally intelligent. Far too intelligent. Sans plays the comic too well and I fear people have grown too comfortable around him. Everyone has seemingly forgotten that he is in this prison for a reason. Have a care. Do not fool yourself into believing you handle him as well as you handle Skull, because it is not the case. While I have no fears for your safety - I can't imagine what value a junior nurse could have to him - I would be remiss if I didn't make the situation clear.”

You swallowed. “Yes, doctor.”

"Nurse y/n, everyone in this prison is dangerous. But our three skeletons are particularly so and if I were to pick one out as the most dangerous, I would say it was Sans. Red and Skull are obvious dangers. If they are the raging fire you can see from miles away, Sans is the slow gas leak. Do you understand?"

Yes, and what happens when a flame meets a gas leak? It was a powerful image and you wondered if that's where Whitglass's mind had been. "I understand, doctor."

“Excellent. Well, I think that’s all. Please attend to your duties.”

~*~

You tensed slightly as Sans walked into the examination room. Clearing your throat, you ask in a brisk tone, “Harris on another smoke break? He must have a lot of faith that you're not going to try anything.” You pull out Sans’s notes, avoiding his eyes as he seats himself on the table. You felt a little strained, nervous, fumbling slightly with the clipboard.

When you looked up, Sans was gazing at you with a big, goofy smile. “knock knock.”

You shouldn’t indulge him. You didn’t indulge Red’s flirting and you shouldn’t let Sans draw you in on any subject other than his health and wellbeing. 

He had such an adorable little face. 

You bit your tongue. It’s just a joke, right? What was the harm? “Who’s there?”

“needle.”

“Needle who?”

“needle little help with the door.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Haha.”

"don't look so nervous. a little joke when you're under the weather never hurt antibody."

"Stop it."

"can't help it. you always tickle my funny bones, nurse."

"Sans," you almost pleaded, fighting with all your might not to smile. 

You’d admit Doctor Whitglass’s warning had rattled you. Whitglass had been here for years and understood far more than you did. Hearing it from Nurse Terror was one thing, but being called into the doctor's office to be told you were dealing with dangerous Monsters... that had been a bit too real.

But… you looked back at Sans again. He was gently swinging his dangling legs with a far-off expression like he was in his own world. It was sweet. You sighed. Whitglass was an amazing doctor. Truly. But you were convinced he didn’t know much about people.

You pulled out your Checker, but remembered it was still showing the error message from yesterday with Skull. “Damn,” you muttered. Sans looked at you curiously. “My Checker’s broken,” you explained. “It started playing up yesterday when I was Checking a patient.”

“you were seeing that skeleton they’ve got in the east wing, weren’t you?”

You were surprised. Sans shrugged and said, “i hear things. i've never seen him, but i’ve heard what happens to the medical staff who treat him.” He gave you a grave look. Which you can imagine, on a skeleton, is pretty grave. “you should keep away from him, kid.”

Good grief. Don wanted you to keep away from Sans. Whitglass wanted you to keep away from both Sans and Red. Sans wanted you to keep away from Skull. Weren’t you allowed to have any friends? 

Patients. 

Patients, not friends. 

“It’s my job to look after my patients,” you said, trying to brush off his intensity. “I don’t get to pick and choose. Not that I would.”

“no,” Sans muttered, “course you wouldn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“means you’re a good-hearted kid who can’t say no and wants to fix everyone you meet. and you’re in exactly the worst place you could be,” Sans said. He sighed and held out his hand. “give me your checker.”

You found yourself obeying before you’d realized you’d done it. You really can’t hand out medical equipment to prisoners. But it’s not as though he’d have much use for it. Monsters could ‘Check’ naturally. The Checkers were made for Humans.

Sans snapped the back case off.

“Sans!” you exclaimed. God, you were in so much trouble.

“see here?” Despite yourself, you leaned in, curious. “magic detector. and this little thing here?" He pointed to a little black mark on the circuit board nested inside the Checker. "think of that as a magic resistor. it's connected to the magic detector and restricts the flow of magic moving through the device. it's been shorted out, that's why it's blackened. your people eater must have overloaded it. though not intentionally, i’m guessing.”

“So he’s that powerful?” you asked, awed.

Sans scoffed. “no, that’s not how it works,” he said. Then muttered, “humans.”

“Humans again, is it?” you challenged.

Sans expertly put the Checker back together. It didn’t even look as though it had been tampered with. “look at this checker,” he said, holding it up. “it’s medical issue, right? it’s only used by doctors and nurses. the only bit of medical information on here is hp. health points. important to know, especially when treating monsters, as humans can’t do it by eye.” 

“Right. I need to know if you’re suffering from damage I can’t see. Monsters can do it by eye and that’s why they’re completely invaluable as paramedics and in accident and emergency centres.”

“so why does this checker show attack and defence stats?”

“Well, because…” you draw a blank. “I… I guess… I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“you check the hp of your patient. then you look at the other stats. high attack, must be dangerous. low defense, must be vulnerable, right? helps you figure out how to kill us.” He held up a bony hand as you made a squeaking noise of offence. “not you, kid. but that’s not the point. humans are eternally compelled to reduce monsters to numbers. these stats don’t mean anything, it doesn’t tell you anything about the monster or the magic. you don’t ask how much a human can deadlift, or their iq, or how fast they can run when you’re deciding who they are or how to treat them, do you? because humans are more complex than that. but monsters are stats.”

You felt the heat of embarrassment in your face. You’d honestly never thought about it before. Sans caught your eye. He suddenly looked a little guilty and said, “don’t feel bad or anything, kid. it’s just the way of the world.”

“You really don’t like humans much, do you?”

Sans held your gaze. “you really don’t know what i’m in for, do you?”

“Should I?”

“figured you’d ask around.”

“I choose not to. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“no, i don't like humans much," he said. "but i like you, if that means anything to you.” Sans looked as though he was going to say something else, but stopped himself. “anyway, horror show must have a pretty high level of magic to short out a checker, but no control over it. you could have all the magic in the world, but not blow up magical devices if you know how what you're doing. so you’ve got a very powerful skeleton locked up back there with zero control over himself. like i said, i’ve heard about this guy. a freak like that doesn’t happen naturally."

“Please don’t call my patient a freak. I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak about you like that."

"i guess it feels good, too."

"I'm sorry?"

"to have someone that powerful behave for you," Sans said. His tone was neutral. 

A shiver of discomfort ran through you. "No. It's not like that."

Sans shrugged and smiled again. "trust me, you can't trust him. heh heh."

You couldn't understand it. If Sans was so anti-Human and pro-Monster, he should at the very least be sympathetic to Skull's condition. Or was that a racist thing to think? You weren't sure of anything anymore... but that wasn't unusual after speaking to Sans for more than ten minutes. The Skeleton always managed to leave you completely confused but somehow grateful for it.

Maybe Whitglass was more right than you liked to admit.

"Skull is on a ridiculously high dose of magic suppressants. He's not able to use magic to hurt himself or others.” You rubbed your temple slightly. “I know Gibson back to front and I have the Townsend Manual, but they’ve only got a chapter or two on Skeleton physiology.”

Gibson’s Monster Anatomy and the Townsend Manual were the two primary textbooks on Monster Medicine. Anyone who worked with Monsters in a health setting had to know those works back to front. 

Sans nodded. “yeah, we’re rare.”

“Can you recommend anything else I can read?”

“you curious to know how I work, kid?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever know how you work,” you say, honestly.

Sans gave you an unreadable expression. “well, there are some medical journals which had some articles worth reading. let me think and i’ll get back to you.” 

“Thank you, Sans, I really appreciate it.”

Sans smiled at you. That one felt genuine.

Chapter Text

Sans walked slowly to the prison library, hands in his pockets and his head down. Guards passed him in the hallway, sometimes giving him a nod, most of the time barely registering he was there. 

The library at the prison wasn’t exactly what anyone would call well stocked, with a laughable science fiction section. Sans had read everything of interest in his first year here. But due to his impeccable record of good behaviour and his ability to remain friendly with everyone, Sans was able to make requests.

“afternoon, grayson,” Sans said, walking up to the desk. “hey, what did the librarian tell the guy who checked out 100 books? don’t overdue it.”

Grayson sighed, but a smile twitched on his lips. “Hilarious, Sans. What do you need?”

Sans could see the sins which laid heavy on a person, their karma, the colour of their Soul. He was the Judge, after all. Grayson’s Soul was orange for bravery. Sans had wondered how the trait of bravery served a librarian... until last year, when there had been a hostage situation in the library. Grayson had knocked out the offending inmate with an encyclopedia. Grayson's sins were few and far between. He was innocent enough. For a Human.

“can you get these in?” Sans handed over a list. 

Grayson looked the list over. “these are all medical journals.”

“yeah. i’m boning up. heh heh.”

“If I order these for you, will you stop?” 

“tiba honest, no.”

Grayson rolled his eyes and turned back to his paperwork. “I’ll let you know when they arrive.”

Sans could have given you the list of journals and articles from memory, but he hadn’t wanted you to go and find them yourself. He wanted to show he could help you. It was hard to show someone you could provide and protect them while incarcerated. But Sans had a few plans brewing. Things would have been so much easier if he'd met you on the outside. Though if he had, he might have been too lazy to put the extra effort in... Finding you here made it more of a challenge, but for the first time, Sans wasn't resentful of the fact.

You were his. His girl. His kid. Sans closed his eyes for a moment, picturing you. It wasn’t hard. You’d seemed to have taken up residence in his mind. Dangerous. Sans wasn’t completely oblivious to his own failings. He knew he had an alarming ability to obsess. To fixate.

But on you? Some random nurse? And a human one, at that. Given why he was in prison in the first place, the fact he was feeling like this for the first time and it was for a Human... the irony wasn’t lost on Sans. 

He’d been angry with himself when he’d realised just how deep his feelings went. The anger hadn’t lasted long. It was… stars, it was just so damn comfortable to love you. It was easy. It probably wasn’t sensible. It was definitely dangerous. But it was comfortable and easy and warm. 

You were warm. You were warm and soft all the places he was cold and hard. He’s always needed that in his life. Someone who was open when he was closed, kind when he was harsh. Someone who looked at the world with a kind of rose-tinted vision that Sans had never been able to do. Sans has always needed a reason to crawl out of bed in the morning. 

Your Soul was green, for friendliness. Beautiful, bright and bold. Even the creeping dark of this place hadn't managed to dim you. Yet.

Sans groaned. When had he fallen in love? Why had he been so careless? Had it taken a week? A day? An hour? Heh heh. Why lie to himself? Even as Harris had walked him back to his cell after the first checkup, he’d asked the guard to keep an eye out for the kid. 

Harris was a useful and obliging resource for Sans. Harris had seen too much shit in this place. He'd been one of the first guards at the West Court Massacre to fire live rounds into the crowd. Harris's Soul was blue for integrity, but it had been damaged beyond repair. He probably didn't even feel the sting when he went against his nature anymore.

That wasn't the case with Monsters. Like Harris, Sans's Soul was blue and just as scarred and battered. But Sans could still feel the sting every time his actions or thoughts went against the nature of his Soul. Just one of the joys of being a Monster, Sans supposed glumly. Monsters can't ignore their nature as well as Humans could.

Harris's sins were crawling on his back and the guard knew it. So now, he’d become inclined to stick it to his bosses by doing the bare minimum and keeping on the good side of his preferred prisoners.

So thanks to Harris, Sans knew you liked chess and reading. You were also committed to reading as many medical and psychological textbooks as you could. Mostly about Monster medicine. Though you were happy to treat either Monsters or Humans, you gravitated to Monsters - even when Nurse Cynthia Able wasn't being her usual racist self. You had a sweet tooth, you liked chocolate. You loved the rain. Good thing you lived in New Ebott, then, where it rained or snowed most of the year. You sometimes cried in the third-floor bathroom in the East Wing after a bad shift. You didn’t make personal calls on duty. You voluntarily worked a ludicrous amount of unpaid overtime. You rarely went to the local bar with the rest of the prison staff after your shift. You lived alone, never talked about your family or friends, other than a cousin called Don.

Sans frowned. Donald Galbraith. Sans hadn’t been pleased when he’d found that tidbit out. You and Galbraith had different surnames, after all, so it had taken Sans a while to make the connection. Don was a problem Sans hadn’t figured out a solution to yet. 

And then, of course, Grillby - that pal of pals - had done Sans a solid by following you home one evening to get your address.

The checkup today had given Sans something to think about. You didn’t know what he was in for? Huh. So you’d not gone looking for the information and you’d not indulged in gossip.

Sans had assumed your cousin would have filled you in immediately, but maybe Sans' thought too little of the man. Maybe you hadn’t mentioned Sans to him yet. Maybe Galbraith didn’t remember the case - it had been six years ago and Humans had short lives and even shorter memories. During the run-up to Sans's trial, it had been common knowledge that the young, up-and-coming lawyer Galbraith had been pushing for a murder charge. Fortunately, there hadn't been enough evidence for a murder charge. But still, it frustrated Sans, even six years later, how quickly the boy had put things together, despite getting zero help from the Monster community.

Sans had never seen him in person. He'd been far too junior to be in the courtroom during the trial. But Sans had every intention of tracking the lawyer down someday. It would be interesting to see what sort of Soul Galbraith had... 

Maybe Galbraith had wanted to tell you and you’d refused to hear it. Sans liked that idea.

But he didn’t waste much more time with the maybes. He'd deal with your cousin if he had to. The point was, you didn’t know and apparently didn’t want to know what Sans was in prison for. And Sans had been a model prisoner for so long, he’d successfully become unremarkable. Just a powerless, sleepy, grouchy but pun-loving Monster. It made things easier for him. 

Sans would prefer you not find out. Ideally. Not that he was ashamed of his crimes, he’d never felt any remorse for the lives he’d taken. But was he worried about what would happen when you found out? On balance, Sans didn’t think so. 

Sure, it would probably lead to feelings of betrayal, and distrust. Maybe even fear. Someone had clearly said something to you today. Sans pressed a hand over his ribcage as he relived the momentary panic when he'd realised you'd been scared and tense when he'd walked in for his checkup. He made a mental note to get Harris to ask around. Find out who was putting what into your head.

But Sans was confident in his ability to weather whatever came. He’d talk you back around again. He’d make you laugh and watch you relax, just like today.

In fact, Sans was sure that far from his past crimes putting you off, you’d take it as a challenge. A chance to reform him. Fix him. Save him. 

Sans smiled fondly, though it had a sad edge. He had no intention of giving up being the Judge. But if it made you happy, he’d pretend to see the light. 

You and he belonged to each other, Sans was sure. And when Sans finally got out of here, he was taking you with him.

~*~

Red watched a scrap kick off in the courtyard with a bored gaze. Just a couple of hotheads blowing off steam, so he sat back and watched. Better they get it out of their system now before lights out, or else some idiot would go and shank another. When that happened, the screws got called in, everyone got searched and it would kick up all sorts of concealed contraband. That’s when things would get really nasty. So let them settle their differences now while Red kept an eye and ensured it didn’t spread. 

Red had spent the last eight years managing New Ebott’s Prison population. The guards knew it. Hell, Warden Spratt knew it, but no one said it. It was an embarrassing fact of life for the prison staff, but no one dared rock the boat unless they punctured the relative calm.

Not that he’d intended to all but take over the prison. When he’d first arrived here, Red had dealt out a few borderline fatal beatings and now his fellow inmates were more afraid of him than the guards. After all, the guards had rules. Red had no rules and he'd cowed the former top dogs here in a matter of months. It wasn’t his fault the fuckers here were all a bunch of weak-ass posers with no substance. They could dance around, waving their pointy shivs and cussing each other out, but at the end of the day, Red would just fracture a rib or three and that was it. 

Then had come the infamous West Court Massacre.

It happened not long after Red had been incarcerated. A Human prisoner had been beaten to death by a guard in Cell Block C. Such deaths hadn't been uncommon in those days. It hadn't even been the first one since Red had been incarcerated. But this time, the dead man's friends had decided enough was enough. The next time they'd been let out into the courtyard, the ringleader had thrown a rock at one of the guards, knocking him off the elevated gangway. The guard had fallen into the courtyard and had been beaten to death. The other guards had raced in, attempting to save their colleague, and had been set on by the prisoners. Unused to such a well-coordinated attack, the guards had reacted with violence, immediately escalating the situation. It had been a chain reaction. The more inmates who were knocked down, the more joined the fight. And guards are always outnumbered in a prison.

Between the revolt in the courtyard, the guards who'd shot with live rounds (killing both prisoners and fellow guards) and the subsequent fire in the Infirmary, the only prisoners who’d really come out of the two-day riot unscathed had been the ones Red had protected. Seeing which way the wind was blowing, Red had herded as many as he could - both Human and Monster - into the prison kitchens and barricaded the doors until the army had arrived and taken control. 

Red had never and would never be afraid of anything… he told himself. But even he would have to admit, that had been one shitty day.

“Red.”

Red looked up. Sig, a Bunny Monster Red considered his right-hand man, was standing there with another Bunny Monster. There seemed to be more and more of them lately. The fuckers must breed like rabbits. Hahaha.

Red had found a lot of loyal followers after the riot. Humans and Monsters who'd thought they were goners in a place like this or had been waiting for someone like Red to come along. Red hated a suck-up, but he understood loyalty. He was a crime boss, after all. And even behind bars, he'd fallen into old habits. He'd found his inner circle quickly, and started a protection racket, of sorts. It basically boiled down to 'do what I say or do it without my protection. Let's see how long you last.' It kept everyone in line.

Edge was grudgingly pleased with the arrangement. Because when Red's loyal followers left the prison, a lot of them would gravitate towards Edge and become part of the Serif Brothers' gang on the outside. 

But mostly, when all's said and done, Red has always had a soft spot for the little guy. It was no fun beating up someone who couldn't defend themselves, after all. And there were plenty of Humans and Monsters who just didn't belong here. It hadn't taken Red long before he was sick of watching them being torn apart by the thugs and perverts.

“what?” he said.

“This is my buddy, Macky. He just arrived.” Shorter than most of his kind, Macky's eyes were wide and he was shaking. He looked green and delicate. Definitely not a gangster - probably got roped into something, or just plain framed. Or, who knows, maybe he got a parking ticket. Human judges were getting real bitchy these days. 

Without intervention, Red was pretty sure that if Macky didn’t get killed his first week here, he’d probably wish he had been. “‘right,” Red said, gruffly. “fine. you just tell ‘em I’m watchin’ out for you, macky. they’ll leave you alone.”

He ignored the stuttering words of gratitude and returned his attention to the fight. They’d mostly punched it out now, but Jimmy the Nose had managed to get in a nice right hook with something sharp hidden in his knuckles. Blood sprayed out and Boots stumbled, falling back heavily. Red reckoned he wasn't getting up again. 

"who had their money on boots? pay up," Red called out to the watching crowd. Half the spectators were triumphant, the other half mumbled bitterly and handed over the cigarettes they'd wagered on the fight.

"Humans. That bastard's not going to stop until he's gotten himself killed," Sig said, bitterly.

"which one?"

Sig chuckled. "Both, I guess."

Boots was moving, but he was bleeding bad enough that he’d be taken to the Infirmary. 

Red smiled, his sharp gold tooth glimmering. He wished he was heading to the Infirmary. He thought about you, his sweetheart. You had everything. Nice smile, nice hair, nice legs, nice… other things too. You’d think that would be enough, but hell did you go and compounded it by being a damn angel too. Red longed to know what you felt like with his arms around your waist. Your big eyes staring up at him. Red badly wanted to know what kind of sounds you'd make when he kissed you.

Red hadn't exactly been reticent about his crimes. He was a gangster, smuggler and murderer. After all, the names Red and Edge were legendary, it’s not like he could hide who he was from you. Red wasn’t the hiding sort - people had to take him as they found him. But you didn’t seem to care, not his sweetheart. 

Red had a good track record with the nurses at the prison. After all, Red reasoned, the nurses stuck working here should be allowed to have a little fun. Ones like Cynthia Able who persisted in treating him like he was a cockroach were rare. Most of the time, he could charm them. Bring them around. Hell, even the old hag Terror didn’t scowl at him as much as she used to. 

Red didn’t tend to plan further than the end of the day. He’d never seen the point. But at night, with no warm and soft company to keep his mind busy, his thoughts would wander. Still, you were hard work. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him. You obviously did, how could you not? Though Red would admit, Humans always initially found the whole skeleton body thing a turn-off. No, in your case, Red didn’t have to get you to want him, he had to get you to accept that you wanted him. 

The bell rang and the inmates began trudging back into the cells. Red listened in as everyone gossiped about the fight. As he’d guessed, it had been gang-related. Red found the Human gangs damn adorable, sometimes. He and his bro had been in business for longer than these idiots had been alive. Longer than most of their fathers had been alive. He’d seen all these Human gangs with their stupid names come and go yet here they were, still trying to kill each other to prove they were something. 

Red might have felt sorry for them, if it wasn’t fucking hilarious. 

“Where’s Boots gone?”

“infirmary,” Red called over his shoulder, still eavesdropping. “he was bleedin' like a stuck pig.” Red laughed. He could hear the resentment burning behind him, but the two gang members didn’t dare retaliate. 

He heard a snicker down by his elbow. A Loox looking up at him with its huge eye.

“you got a problem, squinty?”

“That’s where you’d rather be, right?” the Loox asked, snickering again. He must be new, and too damn stupid to realize everyone around him had gone silent. “In the Infirmary, nuzzled up to that soft Nurse? That one acts like she cares, but she’s really just a Monster fancier. Maybe I should go and give her-”

Red smiled.

The Loox’s voice died in its throat. He gulped. 

In the end, it took four guards to wrestle Red off the Loox and a barrage of tasers to knock the Skeleton out. But Red went down happy. He knew where he’d be waking up.

~*~

Skull shifted as he woke, wincing as his joints locked from stiffness. 

He’d been tranquilized and put on the gurney once more. 

For the first time, the thought didn’t fill him with fury.

Because he knew that when he’s put on the gurney, you were coming.

Skull felt excitement again. Before you, he'd only felt anger and loneliness and fear.

He could still remember the feel of your soft hands on his chest. On his legs.

His Soul had shuddered and flared like it had the last time he'd felt your skin. 

He remembered the little frustrated face you’d made at the broken Checker. 

The way your nose crinkled when you thought. He’d wanted to touch it.

The loathed straight jacket hadn't allowed him to.

Hells, he wanted to touch you so much. Hold you.

You’d screamed last time he had. Your Soul shrinking away from him.

It had made Skull feel all torn inside.

But you didn't seem so scared of him, recently.

Skull felt… hope? He was content. For now.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Red, again? Twice in a week. This is a record, even for you.”

“i didn’t start this one, sweetheart, i swear.”

Red didn’t look good. His knuckles were cracked, which wasn’t unusual, but there was a fuzziness to his eyelights this time. He had new cracks in his skull and jaw. He’d clearly been beaten pretty severely by the guards. You thought about writing up a report… but what was the use? You’d written up so many reports now. Though you refused to name names, making them as general as possible, you had pointed out the excessive violence on the part of the guards. Nothing had changed. 

“a loox looked at me funny,” Red said, casually. “then these fucking clowns tried to electrocute my balls off.”

“Red!”

“fuckers.”

“Why can’t you just control your temper for once?” you asked, annoyed. You bent over him as you checked him over for any other injuries. Realizing that Red had gone uncharacteristically silent, you glanced up. Red was staring at your ear. “What?”

“ya got this little lock of hair which always comes out of the bun,” he said, reaching up to touch the rebellious strand of hair you’d tucked behind your ear. 

You immediately pushed his hand down. Not aggressively, but with finality. “Please don’t touch me,” you said firmly.

“sorry, sweetheart. couldn’t help it.”

You used the Checker on him and winced. 6/20 HP. Those were the worst stats you’ve seen for him yet. There was no excuse for that level of violence. “Okay, we’re going to get you hooked up to an IS bag-”

“no.”

The short, sharp refusal took you by surprise. “No, what?”

Red wasn’t looking like his usual, cocksure self. “no thanks.”

“No, I mean, what do you-”

“i don’t want an is.” Red said. He sounded stubborn and a bit…  

“Red," you said, gently, "you’re not scared of the IS, are you?”

A flash of anger crossed his face. “not scared," he said, roughly. "just don’t wanna have one, okay?”

You Checked him again. His health was low, but it was steadily climbing back up. The sign of a healthy Monster. If it wasn't increasing, or worse, still dropping, it was an indication of damage you couldn't see. Or that the Monster had given up the will to heal. But the fact that Red was already at 7/20 HP made you deeply concerned at how low his hp was when he'd been dragged into the Infirmary.

But he was recovering. And you couldn't in good conscience force him to accept an IS transfusion.

"Are you sure you won't let me give you an IS?"

"yes."

"Even if I say pretty please?" you asked, with a smile.

Red's big red eyes looked up at you with a pained expression. "aw, hell, princess. no. but now you're making me feel bad about it."

"I guess that's something." You gave him a piece of Monster Candy. “You’ll need to stay here until you’re at 15. At the very least. And I’ll be checking your eyelights again before I release you - there's some stutter there I'm not happy about. Let's start patching you up.”

As you started rubbing the balm over all the cracks you could find, you muttered, “I just wish you didn’t end up here so often.”

“don’t wanna see me anymore, nurse? thought i was your favourite patient.”

“Everyone’s my favourite patient, Red.”

“tramp.”

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. Across the room, you noticed Nurse Terror give you ‘a look’. You forced a professional face back on. You remembered Whitglass’s warning. Honestly, did the man think you were just going to throw yourself at Red just because he’s a flirt?

Red’s eyes wandered over your face thoughtfully. “wish i’d met you outside.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean in between smuggling drugs and guns and killing the members of rival gangs?”

“i'd have made time for you! i’ll absolutely make time for you, sweetheart. buy you flowers and chocolate and dresses. everything a girl wants.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a romantic, Red.”

Foul-mouthed and violent, Red had the redeeming quality of being one of the most honest people you’d ever met. Brutally so, at times. You believed he liked you. But he liked you now. Red was immediate. He liked you now but as soon as he’d… liked you, he’d forget about you. Red was just a kid with a new toy. 

And sure, if you were completely honest, you liked the flirting. Just a little.

It was professionally interesting because… psychology.

But at the end of the day, he was a thug and a gangster and had another twelve years left on his sentence. You honestly doubted Red would still be into you by the end of the year, let alone in twelve years when you were all grey and old and almost into your forties. You weren’t going to jeopardize your career over a one-and-done kind of guy.

“what do you want?”

You were pulled out of your reverie. “Sorry?”

“what d’ya want, sweetheart?”

“Er, world peace? A pair of comfortable heels.”

“seriously.”

“Seriously, right now, I want a cup of tea and a chance to put my feet up. Thanks to your impromptu visit, I’ll have had a hat trick of skeletons before the end of the day and I really need to sleep.”

“what’s that then?”

“A hat trick? Means three in one go.” 

Red was quiet. You realized he had the same abstracted expression as Sans had earlier today. Your curiosity got the better of you. “You know them? The other two Skeletons here?”

“know? nah. i’ve seen the soft boy shorty around and i’ve heard about horror show. that freak's been here longer than i have. when i got here, they were convinced i’d be a biter too. not that i’m averse to that, i’ll give you a nibble if you’re into it.”

“Please don’t insult my other patients. Given how rare Skeleton Monsters are, don’t you think it’s weird to have three in the same prison?”

Red shrugged.

“Do you know any other Skeletons?”

“only other skeleton i know is my bro.”

That would be Edge. While Red wasn't mentioned much in the papers these days, Edge provided a constant wealth of gory sensationalism for the press. Eight-foot tall, loud, mean... though surprisingly stylish. Or at least he thought he was. A brutal crime boss, singlehandedly controlling the criminal underworld of the Monster Districts without his older brother. Unsurprisingly, as gang bosses often were, the brothers were loved by much of the Monster communities in their domain. After all, the vast majority of law enforcement was still Human, so it wasn't surprising they stuck to their own for protection. But Edge sounded like a nasty, dangerous character to you.

You had to admit, Red’s expression always seemed a bit softer when he mentioned his brother. “What’s Edge like?”

“self-centered, thickheaded bastard. just like me,” Red said, without hesitation. “you’re gonna love him.”

As though you were ever going to meet him. No thanks. "What about your parents?”

“that's complicated, sweetheart.” You got the sense he didn’t want to discuss it. You could easily understand that. “what about you? any family?”

You laughed. “It’s complicated too.”

“then fuck ‘em. you don’t need ‘em. you’ll have me an’ my bro. we’re all the family you could want.”

~*~

Later that evening, you were at home in the bath, trying to rub the ache from your feet. You’d barely had a chance to sit down today, let alone stop for lunch. You used that as your excuse to eat a large takeaway pizza with garlic bread all by yourself. 

It wasn’t the most thrilling of lives, but it was your life. Could things have been different if you’d just apologised after The Incident? Probably. 

But your father would sure as hell not have allowed you to work in a prison. Not one of his children, oh no. Off to a prestigious hospital you go, my girl. Find yourself a handsome doctor who has the potential to become Chief Cardiothoracic Surgeon. We’ll have three grandchildren please, with a side order of a family dog called Toby.

You shuddered.

You’d realised pretty early on that ‘the normal route’ wasn’t for you. You’d picked up the game of life and decided on hard mode. So you’d become a chronic people pleaser who also wouldn’t be badgered into doing what her family wanted her to do. So you got to feel you weren’t good enough for anything, but also convinced you were right. Worst of both worlds. Thanks, I hate it.

Skull had been okay during his checkup today. He'd eaten without fuss and let you do another examination. You don't think you'd gotten any more information than the first time. But you wanted to acclimatize Skull to being touched again. His file said he'd always go into a rage if anyone touched him, but he hadn't done that with you.

You wondered why as you lay in the bath, until you shook your head, frustrated. Why were you still thinking about the Skeletons? Leave your work at the door. 

Sans’s knowing expression, like he could see straight through you. 

Red’s leer, like he could see you naked. 

And Skull’s gaze, like he only saw you.

Chapter Text

Spratt read over the paper you’d given him with a piercing glare. In return, he handed you a thick file on his desk. “Go on, read it. A selection of attack reports. All of which occurred while staff were attempting to provide medical treatment to Skull. Before you go running off to the newspapers, complaining we don’t look after our prisoners, I thought you’d appreciate some background information,” Spratt said tersely.

You flicked through the file as Spratt reread the proposal. You were confronted with a photo that almost made you retch. You closed the file quickly, sure that the sight of that torn face would haunt you.

"D-Doctor Whitglass," you said, shuddering as you forced yourself not to think of it, "said this request was put to the Prison Board already."

"The Prison Board defers to my judgment when it comes to Skull," Spratt said. "And I'm not convinced. Officer Huxley is concerned that you’re going to get yourself killed. Do you have any idea how much that would cost us?”

Resisting the urge to ask how much Spratt considered you were worth dead, you said, "Skull’s never killed anyone.” You paused. “Since he was incarcerated, I mean.”

“And I'd like to keep it that way.”

“Doctor Whitglass's proposal lays out every step of the procedure-”

“And I got another twenty-eight like it from the last fifteen years, firecracker. And each of those twenty-eight carefully planned proposals is helpfully stapled to its resulting attack report. All lovingly packaged in that brick of a file you’re holding. Mrs Johnson did a lot of hard work pulling that altogether this morning before taking the rest of the day off with a headache.”

You were infinitely glad to have a job patching up murderers, cleaning up blood and other bodily liquids, rather than ever, ever being Spratt’s secretary. 

"Don't think I don't know you're the one pushing for this. Whitglass, god love him, won't even go into Skull's cell anymore."

“Sir, Skull needs a course of IS transfusions. He'll die if he’s not treated.”

Spratt held her gaze. “It would be political suicide for me to suggest that may be the best thing for it, so I’m not going say that. Understood?”

“I know I can keep Skull calm.” You meant, you hoped you could keep him calm. “This will work, you have my word.”

“I’m sure as hell not going to be in the room. So if it goes wrong and you get your neck torn out, don’t come crying to me, firecracker.”

~*~

You left Spratt's office feeling disheartened. Yes, the Warden said he’d consider it. You convinced yourself that Spratt wasn’t unfeeling. You believed he knew what was going on with Skull was wrong. He’d just never had a real alternative before now. Well, you were the alternative. Who knew how, but you’d gotten through to Skull. He listened. You knew you could help him.

“Er, Nurse y/n?” It was one of the guards. You weren’t sure you remembered his name, but he’d started here a little after you had. The newbies. You wondered if he was having any better time adjusting to life at New Ebott Prison than you were. 

“Yes. I’m so sorry, I don’t-”

“Nolan. Nolan Greene.”

“Pleased to officially meet you. Sorry, I know we’ve seen each other around a bunch, but-”

“Well, you’re busy. I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you."

"Oh, thank you," you said, pleased.

“I mean, it's true. You work harder than any other nurse here. So hard, I thought you deserved a break. Maybe I could take you out this evening for a drink?” He was confident and had a schoolboy charm that anyone would warm to.

You smiled but felt uncomfortable. “I… I mean, I’d like that. But I should probably say upfront, I’m not really looking for…” Your voice petered off. You were jumping ahead of things. 

Nolan laughed. “It’s just a drink, y/n. That’s all.”

“Well, then I’d love to. Shall we go to the Blue House? I’ll wait for you in the breakroom when my shift finishes.”

He smiled at you and felt your heart skip a bit. "I'll see you later then."

You watch him walk away. He seemed nice, and it was just a friendly drink between colleagues. It might be nice to talk to someone who understands life at the prison. You didn’t like telling Don most of what went on in case you worried him. And you couldn’t exactly vent to the prisoners or your bosses. 

You felt a little more optimistic. Who knows, this might actually be fun.

God knows you could do with a break.

You had a Bunny Monster waiting for you when you got back to the Infirmary. His fur was grey and there was an old, large scar across his cheek. But other than the sense you wouldn't want to get on his bad side, he had the feeling of a quiet but fond uncle. He gave you a small smile, though he was obviously in pain. He was pretty banged up. A quick Check showed that someone had taken a good bite out of his hp.

You introduced yourself. The Bunny Monster nodded like he already knew, though you were sure you'd not treated him before.

"Name's Sig."

"Pleased to meet you. Now-" you pulled out the healing balm but Sig raised his hand.

Chapter Text

You were on medication distribution duty which is the short straw no one wanted. You’d actually managed to avoid it since you'd started working here. Often out of pure luck, your days off happen to coincide. Today, not so much, so off to the hole in the wall you went. 

Fortunately, Cynthia offered to take some of the work off your hands, which was nice. 

Unfortunately, what she took were human patients. Unsurprising.

The majority of the human inmates at New Ebott Prison didn’t need regular medication. And those who did were almost all in Cell Block B, where the vulnerable and low-security prisoners were kept. That's where Sans's cell was. However, over two-thirds of the Monster inmates had to take magic suppressants, so darling Cynthia had only reduced your three-hour workload by about fifteen minutes. How wonderful of her. You were starting to think Sans was right about her. 

Great, now you felt bad for thinking that.

The Monsters were grouped into batches of thirty and led up to the hole in the wall where you handed out the little containers. Every now again, you slipped some Monster Candy in there too if the patient was looking a little under the weather. You weren’t supposed to, but you figured it would save them a trip to the Infirmary later, so who’d complain?

Contrary to what you’d been expecting, your patients were as good as gold. You were delighted at how easily the whole thing went... Suspiciously so…

An hour later, Red appeared at your window, leaning on the counter with a silly smile. “hey sweetheart.”

“Get off the counter, Red,” you said, refusing to smile back.

“everyone behaving for ya?”

“I knew it. I was wondering if I had you to thank for that.”

Red looked pleased, but shook his head dutifully. “nah, don’t know what you’re talking about. everyone just thinks you’re a fantastic nurse, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Take your medication, please.”

“how did your date go?”

You were annoyed. Red had found out, somehow, and had been asking you about it for the last week. You’d refused to answer any questions - not that there was much to say. 

You’d just had a few drinks with Nolan. You’d laughed, you’d gossiped about your bosses. Though it had been a bit of a shock to find out that he was Spratt’s nephew, you relished the opportunity to hear what the terse Warden was like outside of prison. Apparently, he was pretty much like he was inside the prison, except he talked about fishing more. 

All in all, it had been the most fun you'd had in a long time, outside of hanging out with Don. You still weren't sure you were ready for a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. On the other hand, Nolan ticked all those boxes. He was funny, handsome, and had honestly listened to you. He was a nice guy and the fact that it hadn't... inspired any want in you was almost frustrating. You hadn't felt that way since the big heartbreak of the last boyfriend.

Still, he was a lovely guy and you weren't going to devalue this developing friendship. You’d made plans to see him again and he'd even suggested making it a regular thing.

But Red’s constant badgering about it was really getting on your nerves.

“Take your medication, please.”

“you in a rush? i’m not in a rush. are you in a rush?” he asked the next Monster in line. The Snowdrake took one terrified look at Red and shook his head violently. “see? all the time in the world.”

You raised the paper cup to his mouth. “Open.” You tipped in the magic suppressant. “Next!”

“shouldn’t you check i ain’t hiding it under my tongue?”

“I’m 99.9% sure you aren't,” you said. 

“i have got one.”

“Yes, thank you, I understand Skeleton phys-eugh,” you groaned, as Red stuck his long, glimmering tongue out at you. 

Skeletons could manifest a tongue when needed, though what evolutionary need had required- no, you were thinking like a Human again.

Skeleton tongues were made of magic so you weren’t surprised to see it glowing red. Same as his eyes. Though dark, it was a lighter shade of red than Skull’s. If Skull’s magic was blood red, Red’s red was more… rose red. It was pretty.

It wasn’t just the glowing which marked out a Skeleton tongue from a Human tongue. Human tongues, though a very flexible muscle, were still firmly connected to the lower jaw. A Skeleton tongue wasn’t connected to anything so had a mildly disturbing range of movement. 

“Put. It. Away.”

Red did so and leered. “i got something else i can manifest for ya. bet you ain’t seen it in any of your textbooks.”

“I’m calling security. Right now.”

“it also glows.”

“Leave, Red!”

Red winked at you and left. God, your face was so hot. You didn’t know if you hated him or lo- Eugh, he was so infuriating! You swore his aggressive style of flirting had gotten so much worse since he'd found out about your evening with Nolan. You didn't know if it was jealously or just bullheaded one-upmanship. Men were men, you decided, regardless of species.

The Snowdrake shuffled up to the counter. “Ice to meet you.”

You held up a frustrated hand. “Just… take your medication. Please.” 

~*~

Skull had been tranquilized ahead of the procedure. His sleeping body was heavily strapped down to an examination table which had been brought into his padded cell. Fifteen years in the same room. He hadn’t even been allowed a change of scenery.

You watched miserably as every part of him was restricted. Even the mask was put in place. God, if you woke up like that, you’d kick off too.

Well, if you didn’t first die of fear.

The thought gave you pause. You wondered how much of Skull’s reactions were born out of fear? You’d mostly just considered him angry. So angry he wanted to kill and consume. What if he wanted to kill and consume out of fear? What kind of fear would drive a Monster like Skull?

You realised Huxley was talking to you. “I’m sorry?”

“This really isn’t the time to be off with the fucking fairies, lady.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, embarrassed. You walked over to the IS stand and started sorting the tubes. Skull’s shirt had been removed and you winced at the bone degradation you could see. His bones were tinged a dusty yellow-brown and pitted like chalk. Bone degradation was something you felt for. It shouldn't be something you could see. It must be so extensive. How Skull was able to do anything was beyond you. 

Was this because he had a lot of magic? His magic was keeping him going despite the fact, by all logic, he should have turned to dust years ago? Or were you thinking like a Human again?

Will was also a driving factor - Skull must not have lost the will to live. In his situation, you knew you'd have given up the will long ago. 

You considered hooking up the IS bag while he was unconscious. You didn't need him to willingly make his Soul visible. After all, the Soul was still there. You'd just have to feel around for it. But you thought that was a little too invasive. Monsters considered their Soul a lot more sacred than a Human does their heart or liver. 

You sighed, sitting down in a chair and pulling out your Gibson textbook and a brand new notebook. You were going to create your own, personal Monster medicine guide. It was going to be a collection of useful information you regularly needed. Just so it was all in one place. But mostly, you were going to keep a record of what you were learning by working with the Monsters here. And Sans. 

Sans was being so incredibly helpful. You’d mentioned the project to him, blushing as you thought it had sounded stupid, or worse, arrogant. As though you somehow thought your silly notebook was somehow going to be better than the work of dozens of far more intelligent and qualified people. That's not what you thought at all, but you were certain it would at least be a touch more practical.

Sans's eyes had glittered when you told him. He couldn't have been more supportive, promising to help you any way he could. He'd thought it was a brilliant idea. He'd praised you for wanting to understand Monsters in a more active way than just believing what you were told.

It had made you blush even more.

You were halfway through coping a page about IS fluid ratio to Monster sizes when you felt, rather than heard, the atmosphere in the padded cell shift. You didn’t have time to wonder about the cause.

Suddenly, every strap and metal joint on the examination table screamed under the force of Skull’s struggling.

“Skull! Skull, stop! Skull, listen to me, I’m here. It’s all okay.” You were holding his arm, one hand on his rib cage as he bellowed and fought to get free.

It scared you, a little bit, as you felt the tremendous strength under your hands. The knowledge of what he could do to you, to everyone, if he broke free. But you were sure - you hoped - that all Skull needed was time.

It took a minute for Skull to register what was going on. When his eye finally fell on you, he calmed, going still. You could see he was still twisting his arms against the restraints, but he wasn’t trying to force them anymore.

“There we go,” you breathed, relieved. “Do you remember what's going on? We talked about this earlier before they tranquilized you. I'm going to be giving you an IS transfusion to help repair your bone degradation. Remember? I'm sorry, it still must have been a bit of a shock waking up like this. But everything's okay. You don't need to struggle.”

Skull had relaxed now, watching you. “Good. Thank you, Skull."

Here came the part you were dreading. If Skull didn't like his bones being touched, god knows... oh well, only one way to find out. You knew Huxley was on the same train of thought as you, because when you picked up the IS tubes, Huxley raised his tranquilizer gun. 

"Okay, Skull, could you manifest your Soul for me?" You held your breath.

For a long time, Skull didn't do anything. You asked again, slowly and carefully. Skull frowned this time. 

"I'm going to hook this up to your Soul," you said, showing him the connector. "It's going to allow this magic fluid to pass into your Soul. I'm hoping it's going to give your body a kickstart on healing. Clear up your bone degradation. I promise you, after a few sessions of this over the next few weeks, you're going to feel so much better."

Skull was still and quiet for a bit longer.

You could do it without him making his Soul visible. You might have to. But you really didn't want to. "I know this might be scary, but I promise I'll be gentle. I really want to help you, Skull."

Skull's body shivered slightly. You stared as a large, dark red upside-down heart appeared in Skull's chest, just under his sternum. You let yourself be a little excited. After all, he wouldn't have shown it to you if he wasn't comfortable with you doing this, right? 

"Thank you, Skull," you said. 

Even though the straps were an added obstacle, it was easier to hook up the IS drip to Skull than it had been to Sans, just because you had a lot more room to maneuver. The Skeleton was huge. As you touched the Soul, you started slightly as you saw the colour flare up. Skull groaned softly

You flinched, ready to leap back if you'd accidentally hurt him, but he stilled again. It was probably better just to push through and get the bag hooked up than stopping to play twenty questions.

When the connectors were in place, you opened the line. It wasn't a surprise to see the liquid light the bag in a blood-red glimmer. You squint, shaking the bag a little. You thought you'd seen another colour there, for a moment... Had it been blue? But if you had, it was gone.

Monsters, you knew, put a lot of weight in Soul colours. Human scientists had concluded that Soul colour meant no more than hair colour, but this flew in the face of Monster culture. You didn't know much about it to be honest. Other than most Humans and Monsters had a single coloured Soul, though some could have dual coloured Souls.

Sans had told you about Soul colours and their meanings over one of your chess games. He'd told you he had a rare Soul type - dual coloured, blue for integrity and yellow for justice. He'd tried to explain to you how important Souls were to Monsters. He'd told you about Soulmates. Slightly different from the Human idea of Soulmates, it wasn't necessarily a love or sexual thing - though a lot of Monster Soulmates did fall in love. It was more about Soul compatibility, instinctual bonding, and... well, frankly, you didn't understand a lot of it.

You'd mostly smiled politely, enjoying the sound of his voice in lecture mode. Souls were obvious an incredibly important subject to him. Red, on the other hand, never spoke about Souls at all. And while you tried to keep your mind open to Monster culture, it had mostly sounded romantic but not exactly scientific. Besides, whether it was true or not, it didn't matter much to you what colour a Monster's Soul was. It didn't make a difference to how you treated them as a patient. 

"You're doing great, Skull, thank you. We're going to do two bags today, because you're such a big Skeleton. It's going to take a couple of hours, so I can let you sleep, or-” you stopped.

Or, what? Or he could stare at the ceiling for two hours. He was strapped down to a table and couldn’t move. Couldn't speak.

God, you felt awful.

“Or… well, I guess I could read to you. I have a book with me.” Reaching down into your bag, you pulled out the fiction book you were reading. “It’s called The Last Hope For Man. It’s by this old Human author and… well… a lot of it is pretty boring. And it was written and set long before Monsters came out of the mountains, long before electricity even, so I can’t vouch for its political correctness. But it's one of those seminal murder mysteries. Lots of twists and turns. Mostly, I’m reading it because it explores, er…” you stop, glancing at the ever looming Huxley. You didn’t want to be caught talking to an abused prisoner about prison reform. “Politics and stuff.” 

The prison reform debate started later in the book, after they’d actually caught the murderer, so you were safe to read it out loud for an hour at least. “I don’t know if I’d just be annoying you, though. Do you want me to read to you?”

Skull nodded. You smiled. 

Chapter Text

“Stop calling him that.”

Nolan looked surprised, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Stop calling him The Horror Show," you said. "His name is Skull." It wasn’t Nolan’s fault, you knew. You’d just heard it too many times this week and it had gotten under your skin.

You and Nolan had started having lunch together in the staff breakroom when you could. It was time out during the day, something you so rarely indulged in, and got you off your feet. You were more inclined to keep to your lunch breaks if you knew someone was waiting for you.

It was nice to have a new friend to add to your stunning list of four whole friends. Two were Don and Don's boyfriend, Angus. The other two, Alice and Joane, didn’t live in New Ebott. You didn't speak to them much, but you all wrote to each other at least once a month without fail.

But they were part of your old life. The person you'd once been before you'd split off from your family. Speaking to them was hard. Alice was married with a baby boy and another on the way. She still couldn't understand why you'd 'given up your life' to work at a smelly prison. She was kind and warm, but hadn't travelled outside of the town you'd grown up in. The traditional friend.

And Joane... well, Joane had always been the wild and cool one. She'd done her degree, walked to the airport and taken the first flight at random out of the country. She'd ended up on the other side of the world where she'd become, what she called, a 'lady detective'. Whatever that meant. You'd always known Joane had been destined for something. You know the feeling, when you hang out with someone and you know you're a secondary character in their story. As the years had gone on, you'd found less and less to talk about with Joane. But it meant a lot to you she still sent letters and remembered your birthday. 

And there it was. Your four friends. Your cousin. Your cousin's boyfriend, who was likely only friends with you because you were his boyfriend's cousin. A friend who thought the most exciting day of the month was the Residents Association meeting. And another whose life was so infinitely more... more everything than yours, you might as well be on a separate planet. And now Nolan.

You felt Nolan’s hand on your wrist. He smiled at you with soft brown eyes. “I’m sorry. Of course, his name is Skull. Horror Show is just what I’ve always heard the other guards call him.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m… I’m just having a long day. I didn’t mean to take it out on you or anything.”

“I know. Hey, this probably isn't the best time, but I did want to talk to you about something. And I don’t want you to get upset or anything. Next time Red kicks off and gets dragged in, leave it to one of the other nurses to treat him, okay?”

You were stumped. “Why?”

“The other guards say Red is kicking off more lately just to be seen by you.”

You laughed, a little uncomfortably. "Red doesn’t need an excuse to kick off. Besides, I’m not exactly responsible for his actions.”

“I mean, you are in a way,” Nolan persisted. “It’s like you’re leading him on.”

You felt yourself cringe even as your hackles were raised. A dozen different responses jostled to be said. I’m not responsible for the behaviour of people around me. I’ve made it clear to Red that his flirting is unwanted. It’s not like anything is going to come of it. What business is it of yours, anyway?

Somehow, you felt like you couldn’t say any of them. 

Nolan patted your arm. “I’m just looking out for you. You know that, right? No one's told my uncle about it yet, but... you know.”

You weren't sure what to say. It all felt a little... changing the subject, you asked, "What's the rest of your shift looking like today?"

"Same old thing. After lunch, I'll be observing the courtyard until the animals go back to their cages. Then we're inspecting Cell Block C today." 

"I get the impression that Prison Guard isn't the culmination of your life's ambition?" you asked, teasingly. You ignored the 'animals' comment. Most of the prison guards talked like that. 

Nolan smiled broadly. "No, but I need the money. Jack - I mean, Warden Spratt, got me this post. Just until I have enough to launch my own business."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to be a photographer."

"Ah, so you're an artist at heart?"

"Nah, I just want to spend all my time with gorgeous ladies," he said. You laughed. "You'd make a lovely model. Brilliant eyes, nice teeth, perfect bone structure."

"You're making me sound like a poodle at a dog show."

"With a wet nose and glossy hair?" he teased back. "I'm serious. When I've got my studio, I'll give you some free headshots if you let me use them in my portfolio."

You murmured something you hoped sounded supportive. You'd rather die than go on a modelling shoot. So you just sat back and listened to Nolan talk about his future life as a famous photographer of movie stars. It was what you enjoyed most about these lunches. Nolan was a talker. It left you time to sit quietly and relax.

~*~

When you got back to work, it was to find there had been a brawl in one of the cell blocks. The Infirmary was heaving with Monster patients. They weren't from Red’s cell block though. Amazingly, it looked like the Skeleton hadn’t been involved with this one. No, this seemed to have broken out exclusively amongst Froggits. 

As you and the medical team tended to the patients, you tried to ask them what had happened. But to a man, or, rather, to a frog, they refused to say. Even the guards didn't seem to know. From the angry looks they were throwing the other Froggits across the Infirmary, you could tell tempers were still running high.

One of your patients had not been happy at all. Struggling as you tried to treat him, cursing, calling you all sorts of names. None of them were new, though. You had to duck away from his long tongue as he tried to knock you in the head with it. That's what had tipped the balance from 'disruptive' to 'violent'. A guard drew his taser, walking over to intervene. As usual, you were torn between not wanting the prisoner to hurt you, and wanting to protect them from the agony of the taser. You'd seen it too many times now to ever want to standby and let it happen.

Just in time, the angry inmate's friend in the other bed spoke up. “Massimo, stop,” he croaked. “That’s Red’s nurse!”

The truculent Froggit immediately went still.

You bit your tongue as you patched him up. Seriously, you were going to need to talk to Red about this. You weren’t so blind or dishonest not to admit that having someone like Red looking out for you in a place like this was both comforting and flattering. But it was becoming increasingly clear that it had been noticed. It was getting embarrassing.

What if someone did mention it to Spratt? You shuddered. That's not a meeting you'd want to go to. 

Not to mention, when Red finally got bored and turned his charms on the next nurse, you were going to be in for a rough time as your patients no longer felt as though they had to be on their best behaviour. You'd rather have the worse of it now and learn to deal with it like everyone else. You liked to think some of your patients respected you without the heavy hand of Red, but how would you ever know?

God, you were counting down the days until you saw Sans again. At least you had one easy and reliable patient. Even your other favourites (not that you had favourites) like the Hoppit Brothers - Bunny Monsters, all three of them in for forgery - would occasionally have their off days and decide you were the enemy again. Understandable, of course, and you never took it personally.

Sans… well, Sans had made it clear that he didn’t like Humans. Which, given you didn’t have much of a choice in that, you'd come to accept. But he’d never raised his voice with you.

The final Froggit you had to patch up appeared much older than his friends. There was a crown floating over its head. It was weird and obviously magical as it was clearly attached to him. If magic suppressants hadn't done anything about it, it was physically part of him, rather than being magically conjured. You’d admit, this one baffled you. You couldn’t remember seeing this type in any of your texts. But from all appearances, he seemed to function as the other Froggits so you treated him as you'd treated the rest. But you made a mental note to double-check your Gibson later.

He seemed more chatty than the others. “Heed not the young ones, nurse. Their blood runs hot with ire.”

“What happened? It wasn’t gang-related, I hope?”

“Froggits do not have gangs. Froggits have families.”

That sounded like another word for gangs. After all, the Serif Brothers, Red and Edge, were popularly known as a ‘family business'. You gave the Froggit a stern look. “I hope this family dispute doesn’t go on for much longer,” you said.

“It is finished,” the old Froggit said, calmly. 

You glanced around. It didn’t feel finished to you. “What was the argument about?”

“What are all family arguments about?” he countered. “Too much love. Not enough trust.”

You thought about it. While love was not a word you’d associated with your father, your siblings on the other hand… yes, you supposed. A lot of love but little trust had been the tinder on the fire. But not the match. 

“Trust can be difficult,” you agree. “Okay, I think that’s everything. Is there anything else you’d like me to look at while you’re here? Any dry patches? Any questions? Concerns?”

The final Froggit patient shook its head, its bulbous eyes like two huge, glass balls. “Unless Sea Tea has been acquired, I seek no other remedies.”

“Sea Tea?”

~*~

Red and his three cellmates waited outside their cell as the guards searched their bunks. It was a semi-regular "random" occurrence and was an annoyance more than a concern. Red wasn't harbouring any banned items (this time) and he knew his cellmates weren't either. Red had made them get it all out of the cell yesterday. They'd get it all back tomorrow. 

While they waited, Red made idle conversation with the senior guard on duty, Horace Ledbetter. Red had no beef with Ledbetter. He'd been a prison guard most of his life and knew how to keep order without breaking bones. He treated the inmates with a certain level of respect that most begrudgingly returned. He wasn't overly sadistic and he'd not fucked up during the Massacre. All in all, the kind of guard Red wished there was more of.

Of the four guards, only one was turning over the cell. Usually, it would be two with the other two outside to keep control of the four prisoners. But this time, the guards were leaning back against the railings watching the one inside work a malicious air. Red clocked the situation quickly. These guys didn't like the guard in the cell.

"Next time you see McAddams in the courtyard, could you have a word with him about his table manners?" Ledbetter asked. "If he shanks one more person because they wouldn't give him their bread roll, he's going to solitary on a permanent basis."

Red nodded. "done. outsourcing the discipline again?"

"If you break his ribs, it's a hell of a lot less paperwork for me."

"Ledbetter." The young guard Red didn't know stepped out of the cell, holding something. "Found it in the Skeleton's bunk."

Red blinked, confused for a moment. If one of his idiot cellmates had left something in his bunk... He saw it was one of those dull, wooden-handled knives from the chow hall where they ate their meals. Red chuckled darkly. 

The guard turned to him, his sharp-angled face and hazel, golden eyes glaring. "Something funny, convict?"

"ahh..." Red sneered, putting two and two together. "you're spratty's nephew, ain't you? spratty junior."

One of the accompanying guards laughed openly.

So this was Nolan Greene? Red had a preference for the soft curves of women, but he wasn't oblivious to the solid and strong lines of a man. He could easily see what his sweetheart might see in that face. He was a pretty picture for a Human. Just a shame the pretty face had to be connected to a prick like Greene. The golden boy strutted around like he was too good for the place. Unlike most at the prison, Red's issue wasn't the nepotism. Spratt looking after his family was a-okay in Red's book. It was the fact that Junior was clearly a dickhead. He'd made no friends amongst the prisoners. Stupid. After all, there were more inmates than there were guards. That's a lot of hate coming your way if you weren't prepared to play ball. Most of the new guards came to pay their respects to Red sooner or later. 

That would be bad enough. But Greene's zero respect for his fellow guards or his job had been the final nail in the coffin. He was a pariah now. And so quickly too. Oh, if Junior got himself attacked, the guards would all still pile in to save him. No one wanted to think his colleagues wouldn't be there for him in a place like this, no matter how much of a shit he was. Prison Guard code and all.

But short of Greene being physically assaulted, Red reckoned he'd not be getting support. 

"Red's bunk?" Ledbetter asked, sceptically, turning the knife over in his hands.

"Is there a problem?" Greene asked, imperiously. 

Red chuckled again. That wasn't the tone to take with Ledbetter.

The older guard stepped toe to toe with Greene. What Ledbetter lacked in height or bulk he made up for in a steely gaze that could make a rampaging Bear Monster rethink his life decisions. "I've never known Red to hoard knives, or shivs," Ledbetter said. "Premeditation isn't his style. When he's angry, he's angry. He uses his fists and anything close at hand. I've seen him knock four people out with a dishtowel. Even if he's decided to shake things up, I doubt he'd leave something like this where a newbie could find it."

Greene had taken half a step back, but remarkably, didn't give in. "I just found a banned item in Red's bunk. Are we going to do something about it, or do I have to tell my uncle that we're allowing prisoners to hide weapons?"

Ledbetter glared but relented. "Red, you're going to solitary."

Red shrugged, squaring his shoulders and cracking his knuckles with a gleeful smirk. "fine by me. one at a time, boys. let's dislocate some jaws."

"Don't make this difficult," Ledbetter said, wearily, as the two other guards who weren't Greene pulled out their tasers with a frustrated but resigned expression. One shot a furious look at Greene for getting them into this situation. 

"yeah, i know you've got a hot date tonight, ledbetter. so cos i like ya, i'll not aim for your face or ya balls. but you never know, might help. the ladies do love to kiss a war wound better, don't they?"

Behind him, Red heard Dave, his only human cellmate, mutter to Jerry, "Two cigs on Spratty Junior crying like a girl when Red's done."

"Ka-SIGH," Jerry groaned, trying to shuffle away from the oncoming storm.

Ledbetter checked his watch. Only twenty minutes left on his shift. If he committed to bringing Red into solitary, it was going to be an hour. And he was going to end up injured. "Let's just agree that you accidentally brought this from the dining hall, you're sorry and we'll call it a day."

"do i have to apologise?"

"That might be nice."

"fuck you."

"Good enough." Ledbetter put the knife into his pocket and gestured with his taser. The four inmates walked back into the cell and Ledbetter closed the cage door after them. 

Greene was furious. "That's it? Seriously?"

"Put a sock in it, Greene," Ledbetter said, walking away with the others.

When they'd gone, Greene turned a dark look on Red through the bars. "You think you run this place, don't you?"

"yeah, i do." 

Greene took a deliberate step forward, crossing over the white line painted on the floor. The line that indicated arms reach. Red's fists twitched. Now in reaching distance, Red could easily knock the fucker on his ass. Ledbetter might have plans tonight, but Red had no qualms about heading to solitary for a couple of days. It would be worth it. He could break the pretty boy's jaw with one swing.

Red paced slowly up to the bars, watching the guard with a dangerously tiger-like expression.

Greene seemed disinterested in his impending death. "You actually think you're still some big-time gangster, don't you?" he laughed derisively. "Red, you're a joke. Here's a news flash: the world's moved on without you. If you seriously think you're getting out of here at the end of your sentence, with the chaos you've caused, you're an idiot. Unsurprising - I don't exactly see a brain-rattling around in that thick skull. You're going to spend the rest of your life here, you overgrown, tacky Halloween decoration. And it's probably only a matter of time before your flagpole freak of a brother is in here too. He'll go in Cell Block D with the rest of the oversized. You'll be lucky to even see him in the courtyard. But maybe if you're good and grovel and say your pleases and yes sirs, we'll let you wave at each other occasionally."

The tunnelling darkness had fallen over Red's vision as his eyelights narrowed to pinpricks. He felt every fibre of his being screaming for violence. He was ready to see this fuckers blood all over the floor. His body shook with pent up fury, teetering on the explosion. All he could see was that smug face. Red wanted the man's bones cracking under his fists. He wanted to pull the fuckers Soul out of his body and skewer it, but as the magic suppressants wouldn't let him, he'd settle for tearing the skin off his bones.

Red had a red Soul for determination. When a red Soul went all-in on a fight, they didn't stop until someone was dead. Red didn't care if he got a year in solitary. Life in solitary. Whatever. He was going to strangle this prick with his own intestines.

From out of nowhere, Red's own voice echoed back in his thick skull.

Ladies love to kiss a war wound better, don't they?

It was like getting hit in the head with a steel bucket of icy cold water. Red's temper was dosed, drenched by the cold certainty. The rage shrank back, still hissing, back down into his Soul where it could bide its time. So that was Greene's game...

Planting the knife, winding Red up...

Greene wanted Red to attack him. Greene wanted Red to attack him, so he could limp back to the Infirmary. All busted up. He'd go back injured to Red's own sweetheart, covered in blood and bruises... look what the horrid Monster did, hurting your friend...

Look at the price of anger. 

Along with the voice of Red's better judgement, and the truly painful image of your disappointed - or worse - your scared face, Red could almost hear the furious voice of his brother.

DON'T BE A MORON FOR ONCE, BONEHEAD!

Red growled, turned his back on Greene and hauled himself up onto his bunk. "fuck off, junior. we're done here. for now."

~*~

In the evening, you went to Skull’s cell with his meal. As usual, Skull was mute, but you thought you could tell when he was happy to see you. Which, well, seemed to be all the time. Not that it meant anything - if you’d been stuck in here for fifteen years, you’d even be happy to see your father.

You took off the mask efficiently and did a quick once over, checking his jaw, his chest and his arms. It was obvious he was starting to feel better. The regular IS therapy was strengthening his bones. The yellowy colour had started to fade. There was more expression in his features and he didn't have that sense of barely contained anger about him anymore.

“You’re looking so good,” you said, unable to stop smiling. “I went to see the Warden again. He said that given your good behaviour, we’re going to reevaluate your restrictions. I’m hoping this means no more gurney and no more mask.” 

What you didn’t say was Skull would most likely be shackled by the legs to a fixed point in the ground, so he couldn’t approach the door. You hoped the freedom of not being tranquilised and strapped down for three hours or more every day would compensate. You could at least get him to start moving more. You could pump his Soul full with all the IS fluid the prison had, but it wouldn't do anything significant for him if Skull lay on the floor for twenty plus hours a day.

You were amazed by the smile that formed on Skull’s face. He strained suddenly against his bindings, the sound of leather and metal creaking. 

“Not yet,” you said, as soothingly as you could. “I’m hoping this will all happen in the next few days. But you’ll have to be patient a little longer.”

Skull made a sound. It sounded frustrated.

“I know,” you say. “I know. But just a couple more days, okay?”

Chapter Text

At Sans's next check-up, you found yourself asking, “I was talking to Red the other day. It got me wondering if someone's either a city person or a country person. Do you want to live in the countryside, away from everything, surrounded by trees and stuff? Or do you want to be in the thick of it, with the crowds and the noise and the lights?”

“dunno. where would you be?”

You felt a blush start, before scolding yourself. He didn’t mean it like that, y/n, get a grip.

“Oh, the city, for sure.” Your family home had been in the middle of freaking nowhere. After your first year in New Ebott, you'd gone back and found the darkness and silence of the night disturbing.

“in an apartment?”

“That’s the downside I guess. If you live in New Ebott, it’s always going to be a small living space,” you said... before remembering you were talking to a Monster who literally spends more than two-thirds of his time in a tiny cell. 

“but ideally," he pushed, seemingly unaware you were kicking yourself. "if you could have whatever you wanted. do you want an apartment or a house?”

You thought about it. “I guess it would be a house then. Room to breathe, you know? I wouldn’t want to be right in the centre. I'd go for somewhere a little greener, like near Olander Park. I love it around there.” 

“so, in the city, but not too in the city.”

“Yes, alright smartass.” Well, that wasn’t professional at all. Wincing, you turned away from Sans’s smug grin.

What was it about Sans that made you forget you were talking to a patient? Not only a patient but a convicted felon.

You still weren't sure what Sans had done to be sent to prison. With his intelligence, you’d wondered if it was some white-collar crime, like bank fraud or something. Or maybe an international heist and he’d been the criminal mastermind. That was probably a bit too romantic. Besides, you found it difficult to imagine Sans getting caught under those circumstances.

Whatever it was, you knew you shouldn't be discussing fantasy futures with him. You shouldn't be talking like this at all, you were in the middle of his checkup. You grudgingly reflect it wasn't the first time you'd spent ages gossiping with him before realising you were running late. Though Sans's slot had been moved to the end of the check-up schedule, so you had more time with him. Something about cell block management...? You had no idea, whatever Office Harris had been on about had gone straight over your head.

"Please sit back so I can do the physical examination," you said, putting your professional voice back on.

"yes ma'am," Sans said, playfully.

You rolled your eyes. It was hard to describe, but Sans liked to... prod people into reactions. He did it to you, to Harris, to Cynthia, to Whitglass. To everyone from what you'd seen. He liked to say things he knew would get some sort of reaction. Like a scientist running tests on an environment. You weren't going to let him draw you into another conversation.

Sans let you work quietly... for about four seconds. “i like olander park. i used to run a hotdog by the north entrance.”

You were surprised. Sans never revealed much about himself, and this wasn't the sort of thing you'd have ever guessed. Not a banker or jewel thief but a hog dog vendor? You thought about it as you checked his ribcage for bone degradation. “You ran a hotdog stand?” 

“a few. all around the city. it's a good way to watch people. maybe i saw you at the park, once."

"I wasn't in New Ebott six years ago. I only came here four years ago to train as a nurse and never left."

"you're so young..." Sans said, dismally.

"For a Monster, maybe."

"knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” you said automatically as you held up a finger, watching Sans’ eyelights move, checking for stutter or wobble.

“etch.”

You frown. “Etch who?”

“bless you.” 

“Oh god,” you muttered, painfully resisting a smile. “That one was awful.” 

“knock knock.”

“Look, we shouldn’t-fine. Last one. Who’s there?” Didn't you literally just tell yourself two minutes ago you weren't going to let him distract you again? Now he's telling knock-knock jokes. A clever way of telling a joke, you'd always thought, as it forces the listener to be an active participant. It was a covenant; you couldn't be an unwilling victim of a knock-knock joke because, without your responses, the joke isn't told. As opposed to a pun which is something inflicted upon the listener. In your opinion.

“cash.”

“Cash who?”

“nah thanks. i prefer peanuts.”

You cough to cover up a laugh. Why does he have to be so funny? “Sans, stop trying to make me laugh.”

“i like hearing you laugh.” He had such a round-faced, innocent look. He’d always seemed so… cartoony. Until you looked into his eyes. All the intense seriousness he was possessed of seemed to be in those eyes… eye sockets. 

“Can I ask you a Monster medical question?”

“shoot.”

“Are the healing benefits of Sea Tea proven? Or is it like Humans taking cider vinegar because their grandmothers told them it would protect them against colds?”

“no, it’s the real deal. it’s what most monsters use. healing balms and monster candy are expensive.”

“Why don't we use it at the prison, then?”

“all the official studies into the benefits of sea tea were done by monsters, so…” Sans shrugged.

The prison doesn't authorise the use of any medication or equipment that isn't certified by the National Medical Advisory Board. NMAB, apart from being a terrible acronym, was a Human organization that didn't recognize the validity of Monster-led studies. Sans was right. Humans really are dicks sometimes.

“Thanks. Another question, does the IS hurt? I’d always compared it to an IV, but...”

Sans thought about it. “no, i wouldn’t say it hurts. it feels... funny, i guess. like being warmed from the inside. the connector feels heavy when it’s first hooked up. a bit like someone tugging you. but no, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Why would a Monster refuse to have one?” You were still thinking about Red’s refusal, back when he'd needed one. He’d been massively uncomfortable about it. Maybe it was a phobia. Like people were afraid of injections. 

Sans chuckled. "that's not uncommon. some monsters see it as invasive. being intimate with your soul out there is one thing. having someone, a relative stranger, touching your soul in a clinical setting is another. it's exposing.” He chuckled again, this time at your concerned expression. “not me, kid. i've got no secrets from you.”

Your conversation was cut short when Cynthia began banging on the glass partition. At least, you guessed it was Cynthia. All you could see through the frosted glass was the fuzzy outline of someone your height in the pink nurse's uniform. 

You opened the door. Cynthia looked harried and close to tears. “That disgusting bas-” she cut herself off. She’d noticed Sans watching. “There’s a Monster demanding you be the one to treat him.”

You could hear the yelling in the distance. You regrettably knew the voice all too well. “I’m sorry, Sans. Please wait here for Officer Harris to bring you back to your cell.”

You shut the door behind you, crossing the long Infirmary floor with quick steps. You’d heard Red shouting bloody murder the moment you’d opened the glass door. Now you could see the Skeleton being held against the bed by three struggling guards.

Doctor Whitglass was just getting to his feet. It looked like he’d been knocked in the mouth. You helped him up on your way past. Nothing bleeding or broken, he just seemed a bit dazed. Knowing Red's consideration of the medical team - at least those who showed him equal consideration, you guessed Whitglass had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Red!” you snapped.

Red stopped fighting, though he gave the guard who’d been wrestling with his arms a foul look. Red’s HP was fine, only a point down, but he looked a mess. His orange uniform was torn and bloody. He had some superficial cracks, though they would have easily healed without any medical intervention. Compared to what you usually had to deal with, it seemed like a lot of fuss over nothing.

“What's going on?”

"fucking nothin’,” Red snarled, his eyelights glinting dangerously. "i don't need to be here, but it weren't like i was given a fucking choice!"

"He's covered in blood," one of the guards justified.

"shit-for-brains, i ain't got no blood!"

"How should I know how you Monsters work? I'm not a doctor."

"Alright, enough," you said, firmly though with some little caution. The room was unnervingly tense. It was a fraught feeling like something... or someone was about to explode. The guards were wound up. Red was wound up. It was starting to scare the other patients. "You're right, officer. It's better for patients to be seen at the Infirmary if there's ever any doubt."

"she's being nice cos you're a fucking idiot and she doesn't want ya to feel bad," Red growled.

"Red-" you started, but he turned blazing eyes on you. 

"shut up!"

You glared at the stubborn Skeleton, who returned it unrepentantly. It was the angriest he'd been around you. Or at you. There was always a low level of fury in Red, just simmering away under the surface. Usually, the trip up to the Infirmary was enough time for him to shed a lot of it. But this time, you could feel that clawing oppression in the air that you always felt with Skull. That sense of expectation before the big bang.

The years you'd spent on tiptoes around your father, never sure what was going to make him explode. Everything would be fine one minute, then you'd say something, or drop something, or breathe wrong and it was like the sky had fallen down on your head. It made you feel stupid and small again. 

Whitglass on the floor. Cynthia almost in tears. 

Without consciously realising it, you stepped slightly away from bed. 

Red jerked, his eyelights skidding away from you like he was in pain. Maybe he was more injured than you thought. 

"Alright," you said, placatingly, taking advantage of his sudden still and quiet demeanour. "Let's just take-"

The Infirmary doors banged open again. Spratt and Nolan were striding across the floor towards them. Unbidden dread crept up your back. You swallowed and moved to the other side of the bed as Spratt came to a stop in front of the Red. Nolan was looking darkly triumphant. Spratt and Red exchanged glares. You got the impression it wasn’t the first time they’d met. 

“Guard Greene here tells me he saw you using magic,” he said.

Red sneered. “junior doesn’t like me."

"No one here likes you, Red," Spratt snapped.

You were horribly conscious of a few eyes darting in your direction. Oh god, you just wanted to curl up and die.

"can’t use magic thanks to your fucking suppressants, can i?”

“Which is why, I think, Greene found it alarming enough to run all the way to my office and barge into the middle of a board meeting.”

“the fuck do i care about your board meeting?” Red was obviously still emotional, but you felt the shift. He'd moved from outrage to irritable alertness. It was subtle. Almost all of Red's emotions were shades of anger, but he'd definitely calmed down and gone on the defensive.

Spratt turned to Doctor Whitglass who’d composed himself. “Can you tell if he’s used magic?” 

Whitglass peered at Red, who put up a boney middle finger. You were embarrassed. Why on earth were you so embarrassed? It’s not as though Red’s stupidity was your problem.

“It depends on what magic was used,” Whitglass said, thoughtfully. “I would say likely not. If you want my professional opinion, if Red could use magic, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“Why not?” Spratt demanded.

“cos i’d be fucking up the place.” 

“Indeed," Whitglass agreed, drily. "But if you’re worried, Spratt, we can up his dosage of suppressant. Other than that, the enchantments built into the prison have never failed us before.”

Spratt turned to Nolan. “What exactly did you see him do?”

“He jumped!”

There was silence.

Until Red audibly snorted, "fuckin' genius."

Spratt threw a dark look at Red before turning back to Nolan. “Jumped?”

“I know what I saw. It’s not physically possible. He was breaking up a fight between Ritchie and Munro. Then that crazy Bear Monster threw a chair across the room and Red was suddenly left of where he’d been. It was like he just appeared there and the chair missed him. It must be magic.”

There was another silence. It wasn’t just Red sniggering now. The other guards looked like they were deriving a great deal of satisfaction at Nolan’s misfortune. That was strange, you thought. They were usually a tight-knit group in the face of the prisoners.

Your mind whirred, but you just couldn’t think of anything that would fit Nolan's description. Some Monsters had terrific reflexes. Some could accomplish physical feats beyond any Human. A Dog Monster you'd been treating the other day had stretched his neck almost to the ceiling. Incredible and impossible for a Human, but it still wasn't strictly magic. It was a physical attribute of the Monster, like the floating crown on the old Froggit had been. Magic was flashy. Hard to miss. There wasn't much 'subtle magic' in the Monster world.

Even Whitglass was relieved now. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. As I said, due to Red’s... disposition, he's been on a high dose of suppressants since arriving as an additional security measure. But we have leeway to up the dosage without doing any long-term harm.”

“If he's using magic despite all your precautions, he should be permanently locked up in solitary,” Nolan demanded.

Your stomach lurched. No, no. Panic crept up inside of you. Nightmares of Red turning into the next Skull. You couldn't let that happen. Say something, anything. Fix it! Even as you gathered the courage, you saw Red shift slightly. Glancing down, you saw him shake his head. It was such a small movement, you were sure no one else had seen it. Everyone was focused on Whitglass and Spratt. Red's shake of the head was meant only for you.

You closed your mouth. 

“Up his dose,” Spratt said to Whitglass. “And I’m warning you, Red. I’m going to be keeping a closer eye on you from now on.”

“what, you mean ya weren’t before?” he said, with his classic, leering smile in place. "'m hurt."

“Jack," Nolan objected, "you can’t just-”

Spratt's glare silenced Nolan immediately. “Greene, go to my office.” For the first time, Spratt suddenly seemed to realise you were there. “You seem to have a way with Skeletons, firecracker.”

You blushed, not knowing what to say. But he left without another word. 

Breathing out in relief, you turned back to Red. His smirk morphed into a surprisingly demure expression in the face of your glare. “Do you have any idea how close you were to being put in solitary? What?” you demanded, as he smiled at you.

“i just love how worried ya are for me, sweetheart. makes me feel all mushy inside.”

Whitglass approached, handing you a suppressant pill in a small paper cup. "I'm going to update his file now, but here's his top-up dose. Make sure he takes it."

"Yes, Doctor."

"sorry about the knock, doc," Red said. He didn't sound very apologetic, but the fact he said it was something for Red. 

Whitglass sighed. "I don't move as fast as I once did." He gazed at Red over his glasses. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me whether or not you did use magic?"

"not if keeping it to meself keeps ya up at night."

"It will."

"good."

Whitglass raised an eyebrow, gave you a brief nod and walked away. 

Red looked at you questioningly. Of course, you wanted to know, but you shook your head. "Not job, not my problem. And probably best you don't tell me either way. I'm here to make sure you're healthy and pain-free until the end of your sentence, that's all. Now," you gestured at the Infirmary door Spratt and Nolan had left through. “What was all that about?”

Red scoffed. “no idea, darlin'. ask junior. he’s made it damn clear he doesn’t like me.”

“I can’t imagine why when you're such a model prisoner."

"just keeping 'em on their toes."

“Were you really trying to break up a fight?”

“yeah.”

“Why?”

Red shrugged. “only so long a guy can watch a pair of idiots dance around each other before it gets fucking tedious.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer you’d liked to have heard, but it was something. “You’re a hero,” you said, sarcastically.

Red chuckled at your weary face. “damn straight. i’m your favourite, right?” he asked. 

Maybe it was something in his tone which stuck out. Almost as though he wanted you to say it, even more than he regularly did. Like he was making a point... Then you realised that although he was talking to you, he was looking at someone behind you. Frowning, you turned around. Your heart stopped.

Sans was standing in the middle of the Infirmary, his arms folded, scowling at Red.

Chapter Text

Your heart was in your mouth. You’d just left Sans in the examination room, without a guard. Breaking so many rules and regulations, without a second thought. Hadn’t you at least locked the door? You were so sure you’d locked the door. That's it. You were fired. For real this time. "Sans, you need to go back to the examination room and wait for Officer Harris." Your voice sounded strained, even to your own ears.

Sans wore a concerned and suspiciously innocent face. “i heard shouting, kid. i wanted to check you were okay.”

“well ain’t you a prince,” Red sneered.

Sans turned his full attention back on Red, his eternal smile sharper than you've seen it before. “you must be red.”

"and ya must be the fucking soft boy i've heard too much about."

"sans. sans the skeleton," Sans said.

"no fucking kidding?" Red said nastily.

Sans was deliberately needling Red. He wanted a reaction. Given Red's threshold, it would be a bit like hitting a rabid tiger with a water balloon. It took almost nothing to set Red off.

"Okay, the pair of you-"

“funny i’ve never seen you in the courtyard, shorty. what’s the matter? scared of me or somethin’?”

“oh shivers down my spine. i just don’t have the stomach for it.”

“That’s enough-”

"they weren't kiddin' about the 1hp, were they? hell. wouldn't even be a challenge."

"are you saying you wouldn't have the heart for it, or you're just bone idle?"

“are you fucking laughing at me, wise guy?” Red demanded, swinging his legs off the bed, ready to stand. 

“Stop! Enough!” you snapped, pushing Red back down by his chest. “You two are not having a scrap in my Infirmary!” 

You moved quickly, grabbing Sans by his shoulder and leading him away. “What are you doing, picking a fight with someone like Red?” you demanded. "You have 1HP. One knock and you’d be dust. Why would you deliberately put yourself in harm's way like that, what's wrong with you?”

You glanced around nervously, but no one, not Cynthia, Whitglass, Terror or any of the guards seemed to care that Sans was there. By all rights, he should have been dragged out immediately and reprimanded. Prisoners weren't allowed to just wander around, particularly in a room full of drugs and pointy things. But he'd just ambled through the Infirmary with his classic half-asleep expression and got barely a glance.

"he shouldn't have yelled at you like that, kid. it wasn't right. are you ok?"

"I'm fine, that's just Red," you said. You didn't really want to think about it and you definitely didn't want Sans changing the subject. "Look, I'm serious. You should have stayed in the examination room."

“y/n,” Sans said, soothingly. “i’d never do anything to jeopardize your job here. if you got fired, i might never see you again. did you know that guard?” Sans didn't give you a chance to speak. His voice suddenly flat. "the one who was talking to the warden. he’s the guy you’re going out with tonight, right?” 

“Sans,” you objected, awkwardly. How does everyone seem to know everything in this prison?

Sans gave you a sad little smile. Then he walked back into the examination room and banged on the other door. He was led out while you stared, still a little dazed. You’d really lost your grip on the day.

~*~

Sans walked stiffly back to his cell. He was starting to get real sick of the restrictions prison imposed. It hadn’t been a problem before. Not once he’d become Mr Harmless. The 1HP Monster. The comic. He’d got basically all the freedom he wanted. Now he had you to look after, it wasn't enough. His hands felt tied in a way they hadn’t been before.

That bloody idiot. Why the hell did Red have to be so damn careless? Almost getting himself caught.

When Sans had arrived at the prison, he’d worked hard to convince people he wasn’t a hothead gangster like Red or a wild animal like Horror Show. All this time spent redefining what everyone considered a Skeleton Monster to be. Sans had put in a hell of a lot of work to subvert everyone's prejudices. If Red drew too much attention... if he was caught teleporting.... Sans didn't want to imagine it, but his mind ran on ahead as it always did. It was Sans's greatest strength, being able to mental play out the situation to its logical end.

Red gets caught teleporting. Prison management re-evaluates their handling of Skeleton Monsters. Sans would inevitably be put on magic suppressants in the fallout. Maybe even sent to solitary. It didn't matter how much he convinced them he was harmless, their hands would be as tied as his. Spratt would be in trouble if he did anything else. And all of Sans's hard work and planning would be for nothing.

And as though that wasn't enough to worry about, now there was another problem. Worse. Nolan Greene.

Sans felt a revolted shudder rattle his bones.

Sans had to get rid of Greene and fast. Harris reported a month or so ago that you and the Warden's nephew were spending a lot of time together. Sans hadn't put two and two together. He hadn't realised it was that guard. He spent a full minute envisioning breaking every bone in Greene's body.

Harris, who was intensely aware of Sans's moods (as all employees were of a volatile boss) had been reassuring. He'd put his money on the relationship being platonic. At least on your side. Sans was inclined to trust his judgment, despite partly suspecting Harris had only said it to calm him down. Sans had forced himself to take a step back. You were young. He could barely remember being as young as you are now. He didn't want to get in the way of your relationships or fun... up to a point. As long as you never fell in love with anyone else, Sans was content to wait. He wasn't exactly in a position to claim your time right now.

Sans paced his cell.

Besides, you'd complained that Red had been bugging you about it. Leaving Sans with a prime opportunity to be the supportive friend you could rely on and say anything to. If anyone ever did hurt you, you'd tell Sans before you ever told Red. You didn't trust his temper. 

It had also been... something like a challenge to Sans. He'd wanted to prove to himself he could resist his darker impulses towards protective- no... possessiveness. If he couldn't figure his shit out, what hope could he have for a semi-normal future with you? But he couldn't stand by to wait to see what happened. Not again. Damnit. He felt the sharp rebuke lance through him. He couldn't afford to be lazy when he had someone to protect again. Why was he like this? Erring towards inaction until something gave him a kick up the ass. In Sans's weaker moments, he did blame his intelligence. His ability to look ahead and see the inevitable outcome. If everything is fucked no matter what he does, why bother? That was a good excuse. But it didn't absolve him of his failure. And the only person he'd ever loved, before you, had paid the price. 

Why couldn't you tell what Greene was? Any Monster would be able to pick him out as a rotten egg. But slap on some nice manners and a handsome face, and Humans just couldn't tell. Or maybe you could. But your Soul driven instinct towards people-pleasing and acceptance persuaded you to disregard your better judgment.

After all, that was what Sans was relying on, wasn't it?

Sans felt a twist of guilt but buried it quickly.

His fists were clenching and unclenching. Concentrate.

How could he get rid of Greene? 

The only reliable way of stopping a Human was ending them.

There was no way to do it without getting caught and put on suppressants. That would throw a wrench in his plans and would be years before you and he could leave. If you’d even go with him after he'd killed Greene. Sans knew in his cynical way that Humans didn’t care for the death of others as much as they pretended to. Unless, of course, they'd known the deceased. Sans could probably confess to the murder of a dozen faceless and nameless strangers - especially if he could give you justification. But if he killed someone you knew…

You were big-hearted and kind. Accepting and all too trusting. 

What you weren’t was an idiot.

Sans had spent so long alone, that the loneliness had stopped hurting. Like he'd frozen over inside. But then you'd just had to appear out of nowhere, didn't you? Discovering the universe wasn't done taunting him with loved ones had been agony to Sans. He'd hoped, prayed even, that with everything taken from him, he'd never be vulnerable to grief and loss. Fate had other plans, it seemed. And when Sans had realised you were his Soulmate, that rarest of people, that one in a million chance, a Soul's whose vibrations resonated with his own…

Sans couldn't bring himself to wish he'd never met you. But things would have been damn simpler if he hadn't.

Several times now, Sans had cautiously broached the subject of Soul types and Soulmates. Trying to gauge your reaction, so he'd know how to tell you when the time came. Depressingly, like most Humans, you thought anything to do with Souls was a cultural idea, rather than the fact it was. Just a quirk of Monster language. You understood Humans had Souls, naturally. But you thought of them the same way as your liver or spleen. Just something you had which served a function. And you thought the idea of Soulmates was silly. You hadn't said so, respectful as ever. But it was written clearly on your face.

Sans had been disappointed, but not surprised. It wasn't an unusual attitude in Humans. Humans had blown up the idea of Soulmates into this predestined, unbreakable bonds, ultimate love nonsense. And they call Monsters the romantic ones. The truth was far more complex. But he knew that persuading you was going to be an uphill battle when the time came. Sans could only hope that when you were ready to hear it, you'd think differently. You were opening up to Monster culture at an astonishing rate; you genuinely want to know. Some of the questions you spontaneously asked him were delightful, hilarious and sometimes plain embarrassing. It was adorable. Sans could not jeopardize the trust you had in him. He'd need every bit of it to get you to leave with him when the time came.

But you were in danger now. Greene's Soul was laden with sin, fractured and dark. Red for Determination. Without proof, you’d likely give Greene the benefit of the doubt. You'd argue that no one could be truly bad. That the Soul was biological, not spiritual; that it couldn't reflect sin. Sans could hear your protestations now. You might even confront Greene, and Sans didn't dare risk that. He didn't know what Greene had done. He saw the stain of sin, not the sin itself. But for a Soul to become so deformed... Sans was afraid of what he might do to you. 

Sans growled under his breath. Why did everyone out to hurt the people he loved have determined Souls? They never went down easy. They couldn’t be reasoned with. It was in their nature, like an overwhelming need to stick by his principles was in Sans's and a need to care about everyone was in yours. It was almost impossible to change the mind of a determined Soul, they had to change it themselves. No outside pressure or persuasion would do it. It was pointless to warn Greene to back off.

And Sans couldn't warn you. Not without revealing his ability to see the Souls of others. That was a non-starter.

He pressed his hands over his eye sockets. A flash of panic rattled him. His Soul was painful in his chest, heavy and spiked. This wasn't the pain of a Soul trying to act against its nature. This was the pain of Hopelessness. This is what Monsters like Skull experienced. But unlike most, the freak Horror Show just refused to do the decent thing and fucking die and get it over with.

Sans winced as pain lanced through him.

He could see the red scarf.

The pile of dust. 

Fragments blowing away in the wind.

He fell to his knees. Feeling his HP drop.

"no," he hissed. Neither anger nor determination was in San's nature. What drove Sans was his dual Soul of Integrity and Justice. Integrity was what he clung to now. He was not indulging in this pathetic self-pity party and leaving you behind when you were in danger. "i am not falling down today," he told himself, firmly. "i am not falling down today."

With every ounce of strength he had, he forced himself to pull back from the void. 

When he finally relaxed, he Checked himself. He was at 0.8 HP.

Hold on…

Sans blinked. Then he smiled. That wasn’t a bad idea...

When the guards came to check the prisoners before lights out, they found Sans unconscious on the floor of his cell. His HP was at 0.3.

Chapter Text

Relief flooded you as Sans's eyelights reignited, flickering back into his eye sockets like little stars. He looked groggy and confused, but he turned to you and smiled a little. “hey, kid.”

“Sans! God, you gave me- you gave us all such a fright.”

The guards had rushed him in on a stretcher just as you were finishing up for the day, ready to go find Nolan. You’d dropped everything. Rushing over to the bed. You hadn’t believed your eyes when you’d Checked him. You'd never seen a Monster's stats drop so low. You would have thought it impossible for a weak Monster like Sans.

You were the only one there who could, or would, connect an IS bag. Your hands had shook so badly, but you'd got him hooked up.

That's when Whitglass had arrived. "Another episode?" he'd asked. "We may need to consider altering the IS fluid concentration for his future transfusions. Make a note in his file, Nurse. Let's see what he's like tomorrow."

"What can we do?" you'd asked.

Whitglass's pale eyes had fixed on you intensely. You'd felt the heat in your face rise. "Nothing, Nurse y/n. Sans just needs to sleep it off. He'll be fine by the morning. There's no need to be so concerned."

"It's Hopelessness, isn't it?"

Whitglass had raised an eyebrow curtly. "That's one of those rather fanciful Monster ideas, Nurse y/n. I would remind you, you are a trained medical professional. Not a monsterologist. No, I theorize that these episodes are the equivalent of a coronary artery spasm. The involuntary constriction of the Soul, leading to the disruption of a Monster's magic. The Soul, of course, is the 'organ' that pumps magic around a Monster's form, as a heart pumps blood. This leads to prolonged episodes of unconsciousness and eventual death if untreated by a course of IS fluid. I have observed these spasms in several patients over the years."

You'd wanted to argue. The stress of seeing Sans carried in like that had rattled you worse than you could have imagined. You'd wanted to complain that Whitglass's need to force everything to fit with Human knowledge was absurd. That the heart and the Soul, though perhaps analogous, were fundamentally different things. You'd wanted to point out that, despite there being plenty of evidence for Hoplessness, it wasn't recognized by official medical bodies. That, while you absolutely respected him, you thought he was an old fart who couldn't open his eyes to save his life.

You didn't. 

But you were convinced that Sans's episodes were related to Hopelessness. It fit with the medical articles Sans had given you. It was a serious part of Monster medicine and well documented. There was a large amount of real-world data as well as several studies done by Royal Scientists, before and after Monsters going Underground. You glanced worriedly at the delicate round face in the hospital bed. Was Sans hurting? Would he tell you if he was? It broke your heart.

Now alone with your patient, you checked the IS bag again, gazing at the swirling blue and yellow lights. It was almost empty.

"you look awful," Sans muttered, a playful smile peaking through his exhaustion.

"You moron," you chuckled. "Sans... Do you remember what happened?”

Sans shook his head carefully. “sorry, kid. must have blacked out.” He sounded so weak, not like the Sans you knew at all.

You considered asking him straight out, but... you didn't feel qualified enough to go making diagnoses. Especially if you needed your own patient to confirm it. Besides, if Sans did want to talk to someone, you doubted a prison nurse would be first on his list. Instead, you said, “I’ve spoken to Doctor Whitglass. You're staying in the Infirmary overnight, so I’ll be here until the next shift starts.”

Sans frowned. “thought... you had plans?”

Before Sans had woken up, you'd slipped out to find Nolan in the breakroom. Whitglass had been running some tests so you weren't missed. You'd told Nolan you wouldn’t be able to go for drinks this evening. Last-minute emergency in the Infirmary. He'd been annoyed. After the ticking off he’d received from Spratt over the whole Red thing, you guessed he’d been looking forward to the company. He’d accused you of… well, a lot of things. You appreciated he’d had a bad day, but he didn’t have to take it out on you.

“I’m a good guy!” he’d spat. “I don’t deserve you blowing me off for a Monster!”

Not a Monster, a patient. You hadn’t said it though. You’d watched him storm off, feeling like crap. Feeling small and vulnerable again. You'd complained to Nolan about your bad days and now, when he'd had a bad day, you weren't there for him. You felt ungrateful, but...

You shook your head, fussing unnecessarily with Sans's bedcovers. “Never you mind that. What’s important is we get you back on your feet.”

Prison protocol called for Sans to be handcuffed to the bed overnight. Officer Harris had said he'd be back with the restraints... an hour ago. You'd decided he probably wasn't coming back. You weren't keen to follow it up, either. What was Sans going to do? Escape? He could barely speak. What you wanted to do was put Sans on a second IS bag, fill him up with as much magic as you could, but you weren't allowed to. Prison bloody regulation.  

Sans closed his eyes, wearily. “think i'm going to sleep,” he slurred.

“Of course,” you said. Your arm twitched as you realized you'd been about to reach out and tenderly smooth a hand over his skull. Talk about unprofessional. “I’ll close the curtains so you’ll have some privacy. Just call out if you need me.”

~*~

Red was in the middle of a very, very lovely dream about you when he felt something hit him in the head. Here’s an interesting fact: Red is the only Monster in New Ebott who could go from fast asleep to absolutely livid in just under two seconds. “what motherfucking fuckface just-”

“shut up, red,” snapped a voice in hushed tones. 

Red sat up in his bunk. His other three cellmates were all still asleep, amazingly. They were well used to Red's seemingly random outbursts. The square cell was small. Most in this block were. Barely room for the two bunk beds crammed in. On one side of the cell was the large cage door. On the other, there was just a toilet for Dave to do his weird Human thing. And there, standing in the darkness between the two bunks, was the face of Sans looking back at him. In Red’s cell. Wearing a stupid smirk. In punching range.

Red didn’t stop to think how the hell Sans could have gotten into the cell. Especially after lights out. Instead, he threw himself out of his bunk, ready to ram the skull of the other Skeleton into the concrete floor. Repeatedly. There was only room for one Skeleton in your life, and that was going to be Red.

But before he could get his hands on the little fucker, Sans had vanished. 

Red spun round. Sans was outside the cell now, leaning on the bars with an amused expression.

Red stared in shock for a moment... before his anger, inevitably, overwhelmed any other emotion. “oh, okay shorty,” Red hissed, “i see how this is going to be.”

Red teleported out of his cell. But Sans had already teleported to the far side of the cell block. 

“phew,” Sans said, and Red could hear the sarcasm dripping from across the room, "that was a marrow escape.”

Red growled and teleported again. But Sans was already halfway down a corridor. It was a frenetic, stop and start chase through the prison. Sometimes Sans would be at a distance. Sometimes he’d just be within arms reach, teleporting only inches away every time to avoid Red’s swinging fists. And all the while, he smiled like this was all some funny joke.

“what’s the matter, buddy?" Sans chuckled. "you got a bone to pick with me?”

Red was going to kill the fucker. But he had to admit, it was… it was fun! It made his Soul pound again for the first time in years. It was probably the most fun he’d had since being locked up. Admittedly, that wasn’t a high bar to clear. 

“stay, fucking, still!” Red grunted as the two ping-ponged across the prison. 

On the outside, he’d used his shortcuts to give him the upper hand in a fight. Red had always inclined towards an all-out brawler style, but he'd never had the HP to justify it. Back where Red and Edge had come from, Red had been laughably weak compared to the rest of the Underground. So a shortcut in, hit first and hit hard, usually settled most disputes. Of course, since coming to prison, he'd learned all sorts of new tricks. But still, he’d never been up against someone who could also teleport.

As Red pushed himself to move faster, think quicker, he realised how much he’d needed the challenge of fighting someone worth the damn effort. 

“you’re slowing up a bit there, pal," Sans said, "getting tired?”

“i am fucking not!”

"heh heh."

Sans was at the top of the staircase as Red appeared at the bottom. But even though he teleported to where Sans was within a blink, Sans was already at the end of another corridor. And the little fucker was still smiling. “how did the skeleton know the other skeleton was lying?”

“don’t ya dare finish that, shorty!”

“he could see right through him.”

“i’m gonna tear every rib off ya an’ use ‘em as salad tongs!”

“i would have gone for a spare ribs joke.” 

This continued for a good five minutes. How they didn’t get caught was something Red would wonder about at a later date. Right now, Red was just blind with rage and thrilled with a dark delight, unable to stop himself from chasing down the fucking comedian. 

It wasn’t until he found himself outside that he understood the other Skeleton had been leading him like a dog on a leash. But Red didn’t care where this went down, only that it ended with his fist through this guy’s skull. They were on the roof of an outer building. One which was clearly unmanned. They were still within the perimeter walls of the prison though. As powerful as both Skeletons were, neither had the ability to get past barrier magic. 

Sans was standing a little way back, watching him. Red squared his shoulders. “come on then!” he snarled. “i’ll even let you throw the first punch, mr 1hp. let’s see you break your knuckles on this ribcage!”

“do you ever shut up?” Sans said. “you’re worse than undyne.”

Okay, Red could forgive a lot of things. Well, not really. But being compared to the mouthy, self-righteous Head of the Royal Guard was a low blow. He teleported and swung. His fist went through midair. He turned to see Sans standing at the point Red had left.

“i’m not going to fight you.”

“why the fuck not, shorty?”

“heh heh heh.” Sans’s eyelights disappeared. “B e c a u s e  y o u ’ d  r e a l l y  h a v e  a  b a d  t i m e.”

Red took half a step back, feeling a shudder of the emotion he’d spent a lifetime suppressing. The worst of all the weaknesses. Stars, he’d publicly proclaim his love before he ever, ever admitted to being… being… afrai- “ya think you’re scary?” Red spat, hiding his uncertainty. “you ain’t scary, motherfucker, we can all turn our eyelights off.”

Sans returned lethargy, hands buried in his pockets, eyesockets half shut. Little white eyelights gazing out lazily. For all the world like some harmless soft boy. But Red wasn't buying the act anymore.

Sans gestured with his head, “over there.”

Red hesitated for a moment. Keeping half an eyelight on the other Skeleton, he looked the way Sans indicated. His Soul leapt in that painful, joyous way it always did. Directly across from them was the prison Infirmary. And there you were. Sitting at a small desk, reading a book with a light on. Red wanted to reach out and touch you, push that lock of hair back behind your ear. It was physically painful. There you were, alone. No one around to get in the way. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He scowled at Sans. “what is this?”

“you like her.”

Red stayed silent.

“me too. it’s humerus, if you think about it. but you know what? i’m willing to see who wins in a fair fight.”

“fair?” Red spat. “if you’re only gonna fight fair, then you don’t deserve her. i’m going to fight dirty if it means getting her away from you.”

“heh. ok. but we’ve got a bigger problem than each other.”

“what d’ya mean?”

“greene. the guard you let catch you teleporting.” 

Red grumbled. “what 'bout him?”

"what about him?" Sans repeated, confused by the question. He went quiet for a moment, before asking, "you can teleport. can you see souls? without pulling them out, i mean.”

“what kind of fucking question is that? course i can't see souls.”

“i can.”

Only a handful of Monsters in this world could see Souls without an Encounter. It disturbed Red that a Monster as powerful as Sans had been out there for fuck who knew how long without him hearing about it.

Unless… Unless, of course, this soft boy was...

Realization dawned. Red’s head whipped around, staring at Sans with renewed interest. And a small, very small, amount of respect. “you’re the fucking judge?!” Sans didn’t reply, but Red knew he was right. “hells and stars. i don't believe it. i can’t believe that the judge is some soft boy shorty-”

Red’s flew through the air, crashing into a wall. He hissed in pain, feeling every bone crunch. Fuck that hurt. He scrambled to his feet. Or tried to. His whole body was heavy. It felt like one of Edge’s magical attacks, but not quite. The magic was blue, not red. Eww, it felt sticky. Vaguely like peppermint.

Sans was standing over him. Still as calm as ever. “call me shorty. one more time.”

Red growled, still wrestling against the invisible weight on his back. “smug son of a bitch. you just got the drop on me because you had me chasing you through the whole damn prison!”

“yeah,” Sans said, walking away.

The weight lifted. Red clambered to his feet. “pissy shit,” he muttered, walking back over to the edge of the building.

You'd just stood up, stretching your arms and yawning. Stars, you had a great body. You walked over to a curtained bed.

“hold up, i’ll be right back.” Sans disappeared.

A moment later, Red watched you pull back the privacy curtain to see the other Skeleton tucked up in bed and apparently fast asleep. Red grumbled more profanities under his breath as you leaned over him to check him. Red had to fight the urge to hop over himself. In truth, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to manage it. 

Damn him, how the fuck did the little bastard have so much control over his magic? 

When Sans was back, Red rounded on him. “you ain’t on suppressants, are ya?”

“i was deemed not to be a security threat.”

Red wasn’t surprised. Human understanding of Monsters was hilariously bad. Sans must have been playing up his low stats to make the Humans think he’s harmless. All that 1AT and 1DF meant is that Sans couldn’t throw or take a punch. And that 1HP meant that he’d be dust if he received the slightest damage delivered with intent. That was only a problem if anyone could land an attack on him in the first place. The way this guy moved, Red doubted it. Sans had teleportation down to an art, Red didn't mind admitting it. 

“why so grim? it’s not as though the suppressants have slowed you down,” Sans said, in an almost conciliatory tone. 

“they have,” Red objected. “if we’d been out there,” he threw an arm out at the city. From here, Red could see it clearer than he'd done in a long time. It made him ache for his old life and Edge. Not something he dared to let himself feel often. “if we'd been out there on the streets, i’d have wiped the floor with ya.”

“if you say so.”

Red had discovered within a month of his incarceration that while he couldn’t manipulate bones, move living Souls with telekinesis, summon Gaster Blasters or any of his other magic skills while on suppressants, he could still teleport. Why that was, he had no clue. Even Skeletons didn't understand a lot about Skeleton physiology. 

Of course, the first thing Red had tried to do was teleport out of here. Screw you, fuckers, I'm out. It hadn’t worked. It hadn't worked big time. The attempt had drained him of magic so badly, the barrier had just absorbed everything he'd put out. He’d ended up in the Infirmary. A fraction of a point from death.

Stupid in retrospect, Red reluctantly admitted. If only to himself. After all, if it hadn't worked in the Underground, why would it work here?

The staff hadn’t known what had happened. And it wasn't like Red was going to enlighten them any time soon. But to add chronic insult to injury, they'd gone and contacted Edge, believing Red was on death's door. When he'd admitted to his brother what he'd tried to do, Edge had forbidden under pain of death (which seemed counterintuitive) for Red to ever, ever try it again. Cranky bastard. 

Short distances were still doable. So long as they were within prison walls. Red avoided shortcutting at all, these days. Why run the risk of getting caught? Red didn't want to end up a permanent resident in solitary. Strapped and muzzled like Horror Show. That would be enough to drive anyone mad. And it would severely limit his action; he'd be lucky to find anyone that kinky.

But, fuck it, sometimes Red forgot. Shortcuts were a conscious decision. So was swinging a fist. Sometimes, the anger took over and it just happened. He wasn't as careful as he should be.

Today was the first time he’d almost been caught, though. He shivered.

Red gazed at you as you sat down at the desk again. You'd been that close to speaking up for him, right there in the Infirmary. When Junior had tried to get him a permanent place in solitary. Red had seen your face, how the idea had scared you. You beautiful angel. Now here he was, on the outside, you all the way over there. An invisible barrier between you. Otherwise known as a glass window. So close and yet so hilariously oblivious. Red was sure that was some fucking poetic shit right there.

“alright," he said. "what about spratty junior?”

“greene’s soul is heavy with sin. he’s bad news and he’s zeroed in on her.” Sans pressed on, his tone sounding a little desperate, “i’ve got a lot of freedoms, but there are things i can’t do.”

“what do ya want from me?”

“a truce until we get him out the way, for a start,”  Sans said. He was looking at Red’s chest. “i don’t like you and i don’t want you anywhere near her. but you aren’t half as bad as he is.”

Red whistled. How bad was Spratty Junior then? “guess that’s sayin' somethin’. what else?”

“greene needs taking care of...” Sans left the idea hanging. 

Red saw where this was going a mile off. The short bastard must think he’s an idiot. “fuck no,” Red said. “no, i ain’t going to kill junior if she’s sweet on him. i only got your word for all this, and i don’t trust you, pal. i kill him, i’m the jealous, murdering psycho inmate and you’re the soft boy shoulder to cry on.”

Sans’s face broke into a barely contained smile. “you know what, red? i’m not even going to pretend that wasn’t exactly what i hoped would happen.”

Red grudgingly respected the balls on this wise guy. Even if he was a manipulative shit. "if you’re so worried, why don’t you kill him? you’re the judge, after all.”

“i’m not risking suppressants,” Sans said. "we've got to be smarter than that."

"we?"

"yep."

The two Skeletons watched you nod off where you sat. Starting awake again as your arm slipped off the desk. You blinked like a new fawn and rubbed your eyes. Damn, you were so cute. 

Red got an idea that made his Soul throb. “what colour is her soul?” Sans was silent. “you hear me, comedian?”

“i heard you.” Sans shrugged. “figure out a way to deal with greene and maybe i’ll tell you.”

Red burned, holding onto his temper with a herculean effort. He didn't have a lot of patience when he wanted something. But this... this was different. Hell, he hadn’t even kissed you yet, but already he wanted to know what colour your Soul was. It had suddenly become an itch in his skull. It meant something to Monsters.

Unless you were someone like Sans, Encounters were the only way you could see a Soul. Fighting, or sex, either worked for Red. But he didn’t think a dainty girl who blushed a pretty shade of pink at his tongue would be up for jumping into bed with him just yet. An Encounter could happen without it leading to anything physical. On the streets, Red had frequently done it as a warning and a threat. Showing them exactly what would happen if they took on a guy like him. For Humans, especially ones who didn't believe in Souls, it could be traumatizing. Red lived for the look in their eyes when their newly discovered Soul was ripped out of their chests and displayed like a target. That moment of sheer terror warmed Red's bones.

Red shivered again. He'd gladly give any bone in his body to never see you scared of him.

He'd fucked up a bit today. Maybe a lot a bit. The way you'd taken that step back... As though Red would ever, ever even raise his hand to you. Yes, he barked and growled and shouted and cursed, but Red would never... not you.

He'd make it up to you, somehow. 

Red understood Soul colours like all Monsters did. But so fucking what? A patient Soul could be impatient. A brave Soul could be a coward. In Red's opinion, only babybones and delusional idiots believed in the whole 'defining aspect' thing. People like Sans. Needing an excuse to judge, to kill. Red didn't need the excuse, he'd happily kill someone no matter the state of their Soul if he wanted to.

Nothing as stupid and weak as a Soul dictated Red's actions. He was his own Skeleton. And when goo-goo-eyed couples started banging on about Soul colours, it made you want to hurl. Oh, my darling Leeha has a perfect cyan Soul, blah blah. Learning your partner's Soul colour was one of those big milestones. It made their stupid little relationships seem meaningful.

No Soul colour is going to tell you how good someone is in bed, you had to suck it and see. It was just a way of selling valentines cards and shit. Red wouldn't have even thought about it if he hadn't realised there was a way of finding out without initiating an Encounter. Red wanted to know. He needed to know. He needed to know your Soul colour so badly so he could dream about reaching out and touching it. When had he ever been this invested before? What the hell was going on?

Red was starting to worry he might just perhaps be slightly, maybe, getting a little too soft...

“do you still run your gang?” Sans asked, interrupting Red's increasingly desperate and spiraling thoughts.

"what?"

“are you still running your gang with your brother?”

“why?”

“souls like greene's don’t just happen. no one's born like that. he’s done things. maybe one of your lot could find out what.”

“why not get your pal grillby to follow him around?” Red sneered. He felt the warning crackle of magic radiate off Sans. “jus’ a joke,” he muttered.

“heh heh,” Sans said, without inflection.

He'd found that out from Edge who, after Red had asked fucking nicely, had put a tail on his sweetheart to see where she was living. Turns out it wasn't too far away, but the bad side of Clarken. Red hadn't been pleased. With all the money he had and she was living in the shitty end of town. The rats charged the cockroaches rent there. Red had been forced to accept, in one of his more perceptive moments, that throwing money at you probably wouldn't go down well. And you were the sort that if money just appeared in your account, you'd dutifully go to the bank to report an error. But that wouldn't stop Red from figuring something out.

Then one day, their guy had reported you'd been followed home by a Flame Monster. It hadn't taken them long to find out who he was and to who he was reporting.

“grillby is the last friend i've got who'll answer my calls," Sans said. "you've got an army."

"i got a family. and ain't you the lonely one. don't expect me to feel sorry for ya. what d'ya do to piss everyone off?"

Sans shrugged again. "you know why the skeleton went to prison?”

“cos he was bad to the bone,” Red finished. There was silence. Red was surprised at how… companionable it felt. Maybe that knock against the wall had done more damage to his skull than he thought. “this whole fair fight thing? it ain’t just between you an’ me, ya know.”

“what do you mean?” Sans asked.

Red gazed over towards the East Wing. “reckon we’ve still got horror show to contend with.”

Chapter Text

It had taken longer than you'd hoped for the Warden to enact the new protocols for Skull's care. Nurse Terror told you that a change like this was a laborious process involving the whole prison board and even a government committee. Eugh, you hated politics. So it was only today that Skull would be off the gurney and unmasked for the first time in... well, for the first time since coming to the prison, really.

You took a long, low breath in and out before nodding to Huxley. The door to Skull's cell had a security panel - a small viewing window covered with a metal grid that could be opened and closed. You pulled it open now and called, “Skull, can you please move to the other side of the room?”

Skull had been curled up on the cold stone floor, but he jerked up at your words. A moment later, he was getting to his feet and shambling to the back wall. Skull was chained by his ankles to the floor. It meant he couldn't get within arm's reach of the cell door. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn't pretend it wasn't safer for the staff this way.

You felt cautiously optimistic. He was responding faster now he wasn’t tranquilised. 

He wasn’t tranquilised... that gave you a moment of hesitation.

You shook your head. Again and again reassuring yourself that Skull didn't want to actively hurt you. You were almost completely positive about that. Almost. You turned to Huxley with an artificial smile. “Okay, I think we’re ready.”

Huxley glared with a mixture of disbelief and dislike. “Your funeral, lady.”

Huxley had made his opinions clear. Repeatedly. Skull shouldn’t be out of his mask. Shouldn’t be off his gurney. Preferably, Skull shouldn’t be alive at all - or, at least, that's what you suspected the guard was implying. You'd forced yourself to see it from his perspective. He’d seen a lot of people get brutally maimed by Skull. Skull hadn't killed anyone since he'd been incarcerated, but the worse injury he'd ever inflicted had happened during Huxley's time. He'd spent years watching people’s lives change forever, while Skull just sat in his cell and rotted. And the Skeleton hadn't shown a moment's regret or improvement.

But it didn’t have to be like this. If you could reach Skull, get him back to some semblance of 'normal', it would make everyone's lives better. Skull's life, the guards, everyone. You were convinced they’d been going about this in the wrong way this whole time. Skull was a person. An ill and damaged person. Not some urban myth-made real, nightmare monster - small m. Skull just needed the right motivation to start pulling himself back. If you were, for whatever reason, that motivation, you’d use it to get him well again.

Or, as well as he ever could be. Realistic expectations, manageable goals. No dreams. 

You'd found out that there was a betting pool going on. Several of the prison guards were waiting to see when you finally got attacked to the point of injury. Nolan had told you about it and after you'd challenged Huxley on it, you'd confirmed it was true. That had hurt, badly. You'd called Don that evening. He'd told you to get in on it, bet big and worry the hell out of the other participants. Of course, Don would. He'd spent a life time dealing with people who thought less of him for being gay, or for being smarter, or just for being himself. He knew a thousand little ways to smile in someone's face while kicking them in the teeth. You didn't have the nerve for it.

At least you were sure that, while Huxley knew about it, he wasn't in the pool. Huxley took his responsibility as Skull's primary guard way too seriously to participate in something which would naturally imply he'd failed at his job.

You walked in and put the tray down on the table. Skull was standing with his back against the wall, watching you in that all-consuming way.

Consuming.

Damn it, brain, knock it off.

"How are you this evening, Skull?" 

Unsurprisingly, Skull said nothing. But his head tilted slightly in response. Maybe he was thinking, I've been trapped in a cupboard for the last fifteen years, mad and half-starving and treated like an animal. How do you think I am?

You'd found it hard to find any comprehension or real personality in those wide but vacant features before. You had to admit, today, he was seeming a little more together. 

"The Warden is showing a lot of faith in you by lifting the more restrictive aspects of your care routine. I hope you don't let us down. I'd really hate to see you back on the gurney," you said.

Skull blinked.

You hoped some of this was getting through. 

"So from now on, you're going to feed-" Language is a tricky thing. When Skull was trapped on the gurney, seemingly more animal than Monster, feeding Skull felt like the obvious phrase. Now it felt uncomfortable. "You're going to eat your meals under supervision. Come over and sit down."

You’d had two chairs and a table brought in, while he’d been tranquilised. Tranquilised hopefully for the last time. One chair big enough for Skull from the oversized cell block and one for someone of human proportions. Again, Huxley hadn’t been happy. It was giving Skull weapons, he’d said. But you’d argued Skull was never going to be able to reintegrate back into the world if people kept treating him like an animal. Obviously, he wasn't getting a reservation at the five-star Bonum Cibum Restaurant any time soon. But he could at least sit at a table and have dinner like a person.

Skull moved obediently. You edged out the way slightly as he passed, appreciating once more how massive he was. Part of you had hoped he'd look more manageable off the gurney. But no. He was still a rugged giant. You took the seat opposite him once he’d sat down.

"It's curry today," you said brightly. You'd long ago mastered the ability keep talking merrily despite the room being icy and oppressive and to do it without any awkwardness. You'd grown up as the peacekeeper amongst your siblings, after all. But that was usually amongst people who where either ignoring you or too caught up in their own troubles to care. What you couldn't get over was Skull's absolute fixation on you.

"Why don't you give it a try and let me know what you think."

Skull blinked at you for a bit. You kept smiling but boy was it hard. Finally, he turned his attention to the food.

You felt unearned pride as he picked up the spoon in his massive hand and started eating. He used it like a spoon too, held properly, not like a shovel to dig with. The first time he'd fed himself in over a decade and he remembered.

There was a person in there. He’d lived a life before the prison, he hadn’t always just been some chained creature.

And yet, he ate in a way that suggested he’d never eat again. There was desperation in his movements which broke your heart to watch. He shifted in his chair, shielding his bowl from Huxley.

You watched, curious in spite of yourself, theorizing if that had been part of the outbursts. Maybe while he was being fed, he’d somehow got the impression they were withholding or trying to take away the food? That’s why he’d gone for their hands. After all, if he really was beyond the taboo of eating Human flesh, then a meal was a meal - whether it was being given to him on a spoon or... or the hand that fed him.

He'd never tried to bite you, though. You wondered what you’d done differently to the others?

Skull's arm shot out. Fast.

It took everyone by surprise. You'd started in shock, ready to jump out of your chair. Huxley swore and raised his gun. But Skull was just holding out a spoon full of the rice and curry.

The spoon bumped your lip gently.

“Stop, stop, it's fine,” you told Huxley. Huxley didn't move for a moment, before slowly lowing his gun. You released a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding in.

"That's... very kind of you, Skull. But this is your dinner. You don't need to share.”

The spoon bumped your lip insistently.

There were times to be professional. Then there was getting through encounters with Skull which required so much more than they’d ever taught you in nursing school.

You ate the curry offered. For prison food, you’d tasted worse. Not much worse. Someone needed to go down to the kitchens and demonstrate the wonders of salt.

Skull's impassive face finally split into a broad smile.

Well, that was your food guarding theory out the window. 

For the rest of the meal, Skull shared it out spoonful by spoonful between you. And, damn it, he’d get such a hurt puppy look when you tried to say no again. So you stopped saying no and ate what he offered. It was a bizarre but quiet scene.

“Skull, I want to ask… can you talk?”

Skull chased some curry around the bowl with the spoon. It was a long moment before he nodded. 

“Do you find it difficult to talk? Or do you just not want to?” Hum, that was probably going to be a hard one for a nod or shake of the head. You rephrased. “Could you say something now?”

Skull finished the curry, giving you the last spoonful. When you'd eaten, he dropped the spoon and reached out. You froze, Huxley raised his gun, but Skull just ran his boney fingers through your hair.

He spoke in a baritone purr that made you shiver. “y/n.”

~*~

Skull fought with himself, resisting the urge to grab you as you gathered everything onto the tray and left. It wasn't easy, but he managed. The last time he’d grabbed you, you’d screamed and hadn’t been back for a very long time. Between your fear and your return had been twelve lights off and on.

Skull shivered. He never wanted to experience that amount of time without you again.

So he didn’t grab you. He watched the door close behind you.

You might as well have disappeared from the world.

After a while, Skull wandered back over to his favourite corner and sat down heavily, his legs splayed out in front of him. His sharp phalanges rose and curled into his empty eye socket. The pain shot through his head like lightning, calming him down.

There was so much he wanted to say to you.

He was thinking better. Now his days weren’t a haze of tranquilliser fog, his thoughts were returning sluggishly. But he still couldn’t form the words he needed. His fingers curled tighter, the weight of his arm pulling his head down in a deranged tilt. The familiar pain helped him breathe. His sharp and fanged mouth smiled involuntarily.

Skull had stopped talking in the forest. 

There’d been no one left to listen.

Skull winced. You wanted to hear him speak. You’d looked so happy when he’d said your name. But it had only been the barest fraction of what he'd wanted to say. Every time he tried, the words would get stuck. Like Skull was on one side of a great divide and this hulking body was on the other. As hard as he screamed the words, his mouth wasn’t listening.

An idiot. A trash bag. A shambling monstrosity.

Once upon a time, Skull hadn’t cared how far he was falling. The void had been a welcomed escape from hell. How much of himself had been lost? There hadn’t been a reason to pull himself out of that darkness before. He'd taken comfort in the fact that he was so far gone as to be lost forever. Where no one could find him or hurt him anymore.

Now there was a reason to come back. A desperate reason.  

And Skull was terrified there was nothing left of himself to save.

Skull growled, his body shaking with the futile, directionless rage that never left him.

It would be easier if you didn’t keep leaving. You had to stay. You had to stay and give him time. The words didn't come fast enough.

Skull wished he’d found you in the forest. 

You wouldn’t have been able to leave him then.

Chapter Text

The Blue House bar was about a three-minute walk from the prison gates and had a long and sordid history. Since the prison’s construction, it had been where staff would regularly go after their shifts to blow off steam. Had its fair share of ghost stories too, it was that sort of place. You’d been a few times, but it wasn’t really your style. You preferred bars that cleaned their floors regularly and served cocktails.

Besides, you didn’t have the time or the money to go on the fun nights out you’d done in nursing school. Which wasn’t altogether a bad thing. You tend to get a little… you were an emotional drunk, let’s leave it at that.

You and Nolan were chatting over drinks this evening. His disappointment about you cancelling the other night had been forgiven by the morning. He’d even left you a touching note in your locker, apologizing for being so snippy. You’d decided to act like it hadn't happened. Everyone has bad days. Especially working in such a high-stress environment. And let's be honest, Red really did go out of his way to make everyone's lives harder.

When Nolan had given you such a hopeful look, asking about drinks tonight, you’d given in, despite being exhausted after your shift. After all, you’d let him down the last time. You didn’t feel like you could do it twice. 

Nolan had been excited. You’d wondered if he’d had good news to share or something. But as the evening came to a close and he’d not mentioned anything, you wondered where this energy was coming from. 

It had been fun, on the whole. He'd made you laugh and listened to your stories from the Infirmary. The only sore spot of the evening was your refusal to drink, sticking to lime and soda. He’d been pretty peeved about it, as people tended to be when someone refused to drink at a social event. But you had an early shift start tomorrow. You weren't risking getting dinged on a random breathalyser test. The medical staff hadn't been tested in a while, but if you were sure if you came in with a hangover, there'd be a test. You knew your luck. 

Nolan put the last drinks of the evening. His third beer and another lime and soda for you.

“Thank you,” you said, toying with the tumbler as you gazed over the room.

It was a colourful mix of people tonight. Not just prison staff but locals too. But the place was starting to get the slightly loud, rowdy edge that suggested the clientele had tipped over that happily drunk to dead by morning drunk. You glanced at your watch surreptitiously. You really wanted to get going soon.

“You don’t want to work at the prison forever, do you?” Nolan pressed.

“Nurse Terror has.”

“Yeah, and she has the face to show for it,” Nolan laughed. “You don’t want to look like that at her age, do you? She’s a lonely old woman with no children and no husband. She’s basically wasted her life mopping up after inmates. You’re way too smart and beautiful for that.”

Well... he called you smart, at least. “I’m not really planning my life too far ahead at the moment,” you said by way of explanation. And to remind yourself of the fact. “I just want to take life as it comes.”

"What would your Dad say if you ended up old and alone?"

You knew exactly what your Father would say. "No idea," you lied. 

“Come on, drink up,” Nolan said, eagerly. “You said you wanted to be home by ten.”

As you reached for your drink, the table lurched sideways. Your lime and soda jittered across the table and overturned even as you clumsily tried to save it. You managed to prevent the smash, though. Nolan’s beer fell too, covering the table in a sticky brown flood. You reared back instinctually, just about avoiding it spilling on your home clothes. The glass rolled off the table and shattered on the floor. A few heads turned to stare.

Embarrassed, you snorted with laughter as you shook your hand dry of your drink. Klutz. You honestly had the reflexes of a brick.

“Sorry about that,” a passing patron said. “I can’t see anything in this hood sometimes.” 

She was a Dog Monster. You didn't see Monsters a lot in this part of the city. You could imagine living so close to the prison purpose-built to contain Monsters was a bit of a downer. She was indeed wearing a heavy black coat with an expansive hood that virtually covered her face. It made her seem all the taller, and she was already a head taller than you. All you could see of her for sure was a large white muzzle and an almost friendly canine smile. But you couldn't help but a few glittering ivory teeth as long as your thumbs. 

You laughed, still embarrassed by your own clumsy fumblings, “Don’t worry about-”

Nolan had jumped to his feet with such force his chair clattered back across the floor. Now the bar was silent as everyone sat back to watch the show. Nolan was nose to nose with the Dog Monster. “Watch where you’re walking, bitch!”

The outburst shocked you. Stunned, you weren't sure what to do. God, why did you remember this? Not this, but something... Your mother holding back your father as he bellowed at a waiter for mixing up an order and not apologizing 'enough'. What you remembered mostly was your brothers staring at their hands, or the ceiling. Your sister starting to tear up. 

The Dog Monster smiled at Nolan. “You’re going to want to back off, smelly human, before I do some damage you’re not walking away from.”

“Woah, okay,” you said, stumbling to your feet and grabbing Nolan’s arm. You absolutely did not want to find yourself in the middle of a barroom brawl. “Come on, Nolan, it was an accident.”

There was a long moment. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. 

"Fine," Nolan said, hollowly.

As tensions began to diffuse. Their watching audience turned back to their drinks and a low buzz of conversation began again. Though people were still throwing surreptitious glances their way. The Dog Monster took half a step closer to Nolan and murmured something you couldn’t hear. She turned around and walked away.

He glared at the departing back of the Dog Monster. “Drunk bitch."

"Nolan," you said, uncertain.

Nolan's face changed in a second. Smiling broadly. "That's what she is, isn't she? A female dog."

"I don't think Monsters use the word..." you paused. You didn't actually know if they did or didn't. Maybe you were just imposing your Human sensibilities onto the situation. But still... if felt like it should be inappropriate. At least, the way he'd said it.

"Forget it. I don't want to have another of your epic debates on Monster culture. Let me buy you another drink.”

You reached for your coat. Your uncertainty had vanished. You wanted to remove yourself from the situation. Now. “It's okay, really. I need to get home. I have an early shift tomorrow. And a ton of paperwork to do. Honestly, I think I spend more time filling in charts than I do-”

“I want to have another drink,” Nolan snapped.

You started. Forced yourself not to show it. As best you could. Finished putting on your coat. “That’s okay,” you said, slowly. Unconsciously, you were using the same soothing tones you used for violent prisoners. “Don’t let me hurry you out. But I need to hop on the night bus before it leaves.”

Nolan laughed, rolling his eyes. “You really are a madam, aren’t you? Alright, alright. I’ll drive you home. The bus isn’t safe this time of night.”

"But you've been drin-"

"Come on."

~*~

Back at your apartment block, you were alarmed when Nolan insisted on following you up. You guessed he was trying to be a gentleman, in that rather hamfisted way men had rather than simply asking what you wanted or needed. But outside your apartment door, he lingered even as you wished him goodnight.

“I thought I’d come in and look at your broken radio,” he said.

You’d mentioned it in passing earlier. The damn thing had been busted for weeks, but you just hadn’t had the time to bring it to the repair shop.

You shivered. Smiled. "Oh... thank you, but I think it's a little late tonight to-"

“Wow, okay, I’m just trying to do something nice for you. No need to act like I’m being so out of line.”

"No, I know. I'm not saying-"

"How ungrateful-"

Your apartment door swung open. Both you and Nolan jumped back in surprise. Relief and exasperation almost floored you. Don standing in the doorway. “Hello, darling,” he said, in playful husky tones. "You've kept me waiting for such a long time."

The look Nolan gives you makes your face go scarlet.

“He’s my cousin,” you said, in an apologetic rush. "My cousin. Don, this is-"

“Nolan Greene, I presume,” Don said, without a shred of shame. You immediately regretted telling Don a single thing about Nolan.

Nolan righted himself quickly. “I am. Pleased to meet you…?”

“Donald Galbraith. Y/n's cousin and one of the many hardworking people keeping you and your dear uncle employed.”

“He’s a prosecution lawyer,” you translated, feeling like you wanted to crawl under the floor and die.

Nolan held out a hand. 

Don didn’t take it. Gazed at Nolan like he was something interesting but contagious in a Petri dish. He smiled. If Nolan had known him, he'd have known that was a very dangerous smile.

"I've got to ask, how much does being a lawyer pay? I've always thought about becoming a lawyer," Nolan said. "Though you must earn less as a prosecution lawyer than a defence lawyer. But I'm guessing you'd say it's not about the money?"

"Oh it's entirely about the money," Don said. Liar. This is why people found it so hard to like him, he'd say anything to 'win'. As though every conversation had a winner and a loser. "That and the power, of course. You'd know about power in your job, wouldn't you?"

"We're basically on the same side. We're keeping bad guys off the street. You send them to us and we make sure they pay for what they've done."

You balked at that. You should have kept out of it, but you couldn't let that one go. "Prison is about rehabilitation," you said.

Nolan tried to give Don the 'women, right?' look. Don stared at him impassively, as though he didn't understand. 

“As delightful as this conversation has been," he said, not even attempting to mask his sarcasm, "darling, are you going to stand there like a lemming all evening? Chop-chop, in you come.” 

You exchanged goodbyes with Nolan once again and step into your apartment. Through the tangled mess of emotions that battled within you, you could see Don had been rearranging your things again. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind when you saw he hadn't closed the door yet.

He was watching Nolan walk down the corridor until he was out of sight. You could hear the creaking as Nolan descended the stairwell to the ground floor.

“Gosh,” Don said, finally closing the door. “I hate him.”

“Don't be ridiculous, you can’t hate someone after speaking to them for two minutes. I didn’t ask for your opinion. Why are you even here?”

“I’m here because I had something to give you that I can't leave lying around. My opinions are - and will forever be - my gift to this world. Free of charge. And no, darling, you can’t hate someone after two minutes. You can’t hate someone after two minutes, two weeks or two years. I don’t believe you’re physically capable. I, on the other hand, hated him within thirty seconds. And that's not even my best time.”

“I’m sure that measured, level-headed approach is what makes you such a great lawyer.”

“I’m off the clock. I can be as judgemental or downright prejudicial as I like. That man is a rotter. I’ve seen too many like him not to know the type. As dear Angus would say, 'pretty face, ugly Soul'.”

You frowned. "Is that basically the Monster equivalent of 'don't judge a book by its cover'?"

"So he claims."

“Yeah, well... the advantage of hanging out with colleagues,” you said, tersely. “Everyone’s been background checked.”

“I can name you two dozen ways to get around a background check. Including but not limited to being the Warden’s own nephew. Even if that wasn’t the case, that prison is crying out for employees. Their background check is limited to making sure the prospective employee hasn’t come directly from one of their cells.”

“Oh please.”

“They'd had to at least go for a walk around the block first.”

“Don!”

“Just spare me the sleepless nights and promise not to be alone with him again. Anyhoo, I have two files here. Highly confidential, hush-hush. I’d probably get fired if anyone knew I’d brought them out of the courthouse. Here they are.” He handed over two files. You took them unthinkingly. It was all the court paperwork involving Skull’s prosecution.

The other was on Sans.

“No. Take them away,” you said firmly, pushing them at Don.

But Don held his hands behind his back. “Burn them if you like. I just thought you ought to know. Now, I’ve been here longer than I was expecting, so I really must get back to Angus. Deadlock your door tonight and no drinking. Oh, and while I was waiting, I reorganized your wardrobe and put everything you should throw away immediately in that bin bag over there.”

“Don!”

When your mad cousin had finally left, you hesitated. Giving in, you put the chain on the door. Not because he'd told you to. But because... well, just because.

You glared at the files. Skull's was an inch thicker than Sans's. It was an effort. Being honest with yourself. Were you curious? Obviously. But Don should never have put you in this position. It wasn't your business. Not to mention it was pretty illegal. 

After a long struggle with yourself, you put Sans's file away. Hiding it in the bottom of your wardrobe. That was one breach of trust you just couldn't force yourself to make. You'd be betraying him, in a way.

But Skull's file... that was different. You sat down, despite the time, and started to read.

Chapter Text

As though this week hadn’t sucked enough...

The very next evening, you arrived home to discover a note on your door.

You were already tired and a little teary. It had been a bad shift. An inmate had nearly died after an accident in the workshop. Whitglass had saved him, but it had been a near run thing. The whole thing had been an emotional rollercoaster, and the hour it had taken to clean the examination room afterward hadn't helped. 

What's worse, you'd found it hard to keep your mind on your work today. The evening before was weighing on you mind uncomfortably. Nolan had spent the day treating you like you were invisible. It made you think you'd done something wrong, but you weren't sure what you were supposed to do. The whole thing was an awkward, uncomfortable mess and a big part of you would frankly be happy to never go near Nolan again.

You hadn’t seen Sans, Red or even Skull this shift. Skull had lunged at Whitglass when the doctor had gone to check on him earlier in the day. Despite the Skeleton still being chained to the floor and incapable of getting near the cell door, it was enough for Whitglass to decide he needed to be tranquilised and his meal cancelled. For the safety of the staff, was the official line.

After a long and rotten day, all you’d wanted to do was go home, cry, eat chocolate, read and listen to your radio for a bit. But your radio was still busted, you didn’t have any chocolate because you hadn’t had the chance to go to the shops.

And now there was an eviction notice on your door. 

You marched down to the landlord's room on the ground floor.

“You’re evicting me?” you demanded, voice shriller than it needed to be. 

The landlord, a portly and balding man was not one of your favourite people on this planet. He was lazy and rarely did anything he didn't have to. His tenants usually only saw him if they were late with the rent. Which would have been motivation enough had you not already been very diligent about paying on time. As usual, he hadn’t bothered to put any trousers on before opening the door. Standing in his underwear and a bathrobe, he scratched his backside and said, “Noise complaints.” 

“Noise complaints? I’m never home! I leave 7:30 am and I get back at 10 pm. If I'm lucky.”

“Maybe you’re a loud snorer.”

“This is because my apartment’s rent-controlled, isn’t it?" you said. He'd done it before to some pervious tenants and you'd been dreading this day might come. "You’re evicting me so you can increase the rent. This is completely unfair. I've not done anything wrong. And I have another six months on this lease."

He shrugged.

You scrambled, trying to think. "Look, maybe I can up my rent a bit." God knew how. "But I’m not paying what you’ve got apartment 19 paying.”

“Then you can leave and find somewhere cheaper, can’t you?”

“This is-” you faulted. “I can’t believe-” You ran out of momentum. Retreat and regroup. You couldn't deal with this right now.

“Hey,” he called after you as you left. “There may be other ways you pay me, sweetheart.”

"Go to hell," you muttered, under your breath. 

~*~ 

Red made an appearance on your next shift.

“Notice how his little scraps don’t happen on days you’re not in?” Cynthia asked.

You jerked a little at her snide tone. “I didn’t know that,” you said.

“Sure you didn’t," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Between that asshole in here every other day, Nolan hanging around like a pining pup, and that psycho cannibal in the East Wing going gooey over you, I’m surprised you actually get any work done.”

You were sure Cynthia was teasing. Almost sure. 75% sure. But it still stung all the same. You weren't sure what to say, but she walked away in a huff before you had to think of something.

With some trepidation, you walked over to Red. He was already watching you keenly, so it's not like you had the option of pretend you weren't there.

Bracing yourself, you put on an artificial smile. But the moment Red said it, sweetheart, you felt an involuntary shudder. You still couldn’t shake your landlord’s words. 

Red caught it immediately, his leer dropping. So many people delighted in pointing out how stupid Red was. Though never to his face, you noted. A thick-headed, simple thug. You had a very different opinion.

Sure, he wasn't intelligent. He'd likely never read any of the classics. Probably didn't care much for self-development or big philosophical ideas. His most well-versed subject was gang politics and crime, where he had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge. But in all other matters, his understanding scaled up or down depending on his interest at any given moment. And given he had the attention span of a five-year-old, that wasn't saying much. And, of course, he had the emotional range of a thrown brick.

But still, in many ways, Red was one of the savviest people you'd met.

"you 'right, s-er…” he cleared his throat. “nurse y/n?”

Your heart warmed a little. Somehow, that concerned face, which was desperately trying not to look concerned, made you feel better for the first time in days. “Everything’s fine, Red,” you said. “Thanks for asking.”

“someone hurtin' you? i’ll kill ‘em.”

“No,” you said, rolling your eyes.

You were already sat by the bed, cleaning blood off his knuckles. Rubbing the healing balm on. It had become routine. You were used to holding his hands like this. But it surprised you to find there was something a little tender about it this time.

Red was unconvinced. “you know… you can talk to me. ‘bout stuff.”

“We talk all the time. I’m just lucky if you ever stop.”

"give me a break, 'm new at this. what do ya wanna talk about?"

"What, you want me to bear my soul?" you asked, sarcastically. At Red's alarmed but excited expression, you blushed furiously. "I... sorry. Human expression. I just... I meant. Eugh."

You considered for a moment. In the silence, the boney hand you held gripped yours, slightly. Skeleton fingers curling around you.

“My job is important to me,” you said, running the cloth over his fingers again. “I'm good at it. To the determinant of everything else, sometimes. I don’t make time for the people around me. But then, I don’t have many people in my life to let down. My only real family is my cousin and he’s got a career and a boyfriend. It’s not like we depend on each other or anything. We can not talk for weeks when we’re busy, but pick up a conversation like we’d spoken yesterday. My two oldest friends I write to once a month and that's just about manageable for me. But the minute I try and make room for anyone else...”

Red hadn’t spoken. When you came to a halt, he said, “so things ain’t going well with spratty junior?”

“I- that’s none of your business. I mean that in the nicest way, Red, but I’m not discussing my personal life with you.” You winced. “Anymore.”

“aw you can tell ol’ red. i keep bigger secrets than who ya doing the horizontal tango with.”

“We’re not-” you blurt, but stopped yourself. “We’re not… dancing, thank you very much.”

“which one of you ain’t brung your dancing shoes? or is the music just not playing?”

“Red, I don’t even know what that means.” 

“i’m a pretty good dancer myself, ya know.”

“Oh shush. The point is, I get to help people here. I can make a difference here. That's important to me. Not to mention the thrilling opportunity of patching your moronic self up once a week. I haven't got time to pretend I know how friendships work anymore. Besides,” you shrugged. “I’ve got a lot going on right now. I'm getting thrown out of my apartment. Between the bad reference that's going to give me and my wage, it's going to take weeks to find anywhere halfway decent.”

“what? why?”

“Noise complaints. Apparently. My apartment is rent-controlled, so-.”

“landlord's kicking you out to get higher-paying tenants.”

“How did you-”

Red nodded, understanding. “used to happen a lot, my side of the city.”

“Used to?”

Red smiled. “it don’t anymore.”

You snorted. Then felt awful that you were essentially sharing a laugh over what was likely a lot of landlords sent to the hospital. 

"find somewhere better. you shouldn't be living in a crappy apartment in the shitty end of town."

"Who's says I am?" you objected.

"jus' guessin'."

"I like my apartment. I found it. I negotiated and signed the lease. I pay for it every month without fail. And I did it all by myself without my family pitching in or anyone doing anything on my behalf. I'm proud of that," you said. You'd had this conversation with Sans too, who also hadn't liked the sound of where you were living. Not that you'd told him specifically, just the general idea. He'd gone so far as to offer to make some calls. Apparently, he had some friend... Gilly? Grillby. Apparently he might have an apartment over one of his pubs. You'd said no thank you, shutting that conversation down immediately.

You weren't keen on having the same discussion again with Red.

Neither of them understood how important it was to you. After being ostracized from your family, it had been your first... well, adult moment. You'd worked two jobs while at nursing school and viewed apartments all over the city. Your apartment was proof you could do it. Even if so often you seemed to fold under pressure, you knew you could step up when you had to.

“want me to stop calling ya sweetheart?” Red asked.

“I’m your nurse," you said. "You shouldn’t be calling me sweetheart.”

“duh… but do you need me to stop callin' ya sweetheart?”

You thought about it, surprised to find the whole nasty conversation you’d had with your landlord had stopped feeling quite so horrible. You weren’t any happier about the idea of having to deal with him again, but you didn’t feel the same creeping disgust as you had this morning. 

“No,” you said, on reflection.

Again, Red’s hand gently gripped yours. You blinked. Even the whole unpleasant evening with Nolan didn't seem so awful anymore. You felt safer and calmer now than you'd done in days.

“sweetheart it is, then,” Red said.

This is ridiculous. How many people had Red killed with these hands? It was general knowledge that Red had been officially sent away for the murder of three rival gang members, plus some various smuggling charges. Those were the only crimes they could get to stick.

Why was everything in your life so backward? You shouldn't feel more comfortable with the prisoners than you do with the guards.

“you scared of me, sweetheart?”

You gazed into Red’s eyelights. “Yes," you said, truthfully. "A little bit.”

“don’t want ‘cha to be.”

“Okay, I’ll work on that then,” you sighed, sarcastically.

He reached out to push the lock of hair back behind your ear. You don’t stop him this time. “you know the trick to wooing a nurse? ya gotta be patient.”

“Haha," you said, drily. "Well, I have found that being a prison nurse has more cons than pros.”

“i’m a pro, sweetheart. i’m a real pro.”

~*~ 

It was only a couple of days later when your landlord knocked at your door. He was sweating, wide-eyed and panicked. Apologising profusely for his behaviour. He rescinded the eviction notice, repeating again that he was sorry.

He'd even offered to lower your rent. Hell, suspend the rent if you wanted. But you'd been wary of him asking for 'favours' in return, so you'd said no.

"I'll pay you if you stay," your landlord said, words tripping out of his mouth.

"Erm, no thanks, bye," you said, alarmed, closing the door on him and bolting the chain.

You heard him call through the door, "So, we're good right? Right?"

"Yes, we're good," you called back. You weren't sure if you needed to get your trusty baseball bat or call an ambulance. He'd looked like he was about to pass out. You checked on him through the peephole as he walk away. You couldn't stand the man, but you'd feel awful if he had a heart attack right outside your door.

At the end of the corridor, he stood by the stairwell. He was talking to someone just out of sight. Then he left. 

Strange man. At least he'd been fully dressed this time.

If you’d been your usual self, you'd have questioned the situation a bit more. Maybe you'd have thought about the suspicious convenience of this happening only days after your chat with Red in the Infirmary. But you had other things on your mind.

Back at the prison, you'd accidentally walked in on Nolan and Cynthia. His hands were all over her, kissing furiously in what they’d probably thought was a deserted corridor. 

You'd escaped unseen. You hoped.

Cynthia had grinned all day after that. 

The whole incident seemed unaccountably bizarre but... honestly, you couldn’t help but feel you’d somehow had a very lucky escape. 

In the cold light of day, you'd known the whole evening with Nolan had been... well, your skin crawled. You hated thinking badly of anyone, but the universe was going out of its way to challenge you on that. Where had they all come from? You were certain you'd not encountered half this number of unpleasant people back at nursing school. Or maybe you'd been blind, back then. Sheltered, Don called it. An optimist's view of the world.

Well... why shouldn't you be positive? Should you walk around seeing everyone and everything as a threat? Was it better to be like Sans who read conspiracy and nastiness and judgment in everyone around him? You couldn't understand how anyone could get up in the morning if they believed everyone and everything was out to get them. You'd rather see the good, the funny, the sheer bonkers side of this world. You wanted to be able to smile. You saw how people lit up around you when you smiled at them. It made them feel better, and that made you feel better. Why was that wrong?

But still, something lingered in the back of your mind. It was a looming presence over everything you did. A going sense of unease.

Cynthia... someone had to tell her...

You'd learned the hard way not to stick your nose in other people's relationships. The Incident showed you that. Your messing around in other people's business had been the catalyst to the explosion. The match to the gasoline tank. With all your good intentions, you tended to rush bull-headed into matters that didn't concern you. Trying to help people. Fix things. Whether they wanted you to or not.

You'd do better to keep your head down and not interfere.

But...

Nolan was overbearing, temperamental and clearly had anger management issues. There, I said it. He was unlikely to be a great catch for anyone. But Cynthia was an adult. She knew what she was doing. She had far more experience in this arena than you had. And you knew she'd been after Nolan for a while. From her perspective, she'd just hit the lottery. The fact that you didn't want anything more to do with Nolan didn't mean that no one should.

You wished there was someone to talk to about this. Some of that motherly advice you'd heard so much about might be nice right now. You couldn't remember much of her, but she'd been the one to tell you to smile, to understand, and forgive. You couldn't tell Don. Don's philosophy was pretty much the exact reverse. Smile with extreme prejudice. Besides, he'd worry about you. And he was as much of an inferring a busy body as you were.

It wasn't something you should write to your old friends about. Though Joanne was amazing at this stuff, putting it down on paper, condemning Nolan when you only suspected... it didn't feel right. Hum... if a hypothetical guy followed a hypothetical girl back to her apartment, even though she was clearly uncomfortable with the situation... 

No. You could have told him you were uncomfortable. You could have just said, please don't come up. You didn't. Now you were blaming him for not reading your mind? How much of this were you blowing things out of proportion? 

Nolan didn't lack self-assurance, that's for sure. Maybe no one had ever explained to him that he couldn't charm or intimidate his way into getting anything he wanted.

Nurse Terror would see things clearly. You trusted her opinion in almost everything. But if you even hinted Nolan and Cynthia's relationship was anything more than a work friendship, you'd get Cynthia into serious trouble. There were no specific rules against colleagues dating, but that was just the official prison rules. Nurse Terror's rules were something completely different. 

You couldn't talk to Sans about it because... god, he shouldn't even be on the consideration list! What's wrong with you? He's a convicted felon, not your life coach! 

God, how did you get yourself into this mess?

You'd told yourself from day one you weren't going to date anyone you worked with. And you hadn't. You'd wanted to be friends with Nolan, and now... now you felt like you were getting all the downsides of a messy workplace break up with none of the initial benefits.

At least you still got to live in your sucky apartment. That's a win.

Chapter Text

Visitations at New Ebott Prison were held in a large room at the prison. Filled with a dozen small tables, inmates and their families, friends or lawyers would meet. Guards would be stationed around to observe and all the usual checkpoints and searches you'd expect on the way in and out.

There were usually three a month, depending on the temperament of the prisoners. Sans would maybe get one visit every other month, but it was becoming increasingly rare. Skull, of course, got no visitors.

The vast majority of the inmates were exceptionally well behaved for these. The threat of visitations being cut off was a real one. That and the threat of solitary were the two most powerful weapons the guards had against the prisoners.

It was different for the Serif Brothers. Given Edge’s reputation and magical-combat ability, their visitations were conducted in a private space with heavily armed guards and additional magic suppressing enchantments. 

Red knew Edge hated it. Hell, it wasn’t as though he was shy about telling Red so, along with the continual promise he’d never again put himself through this hassle just to see his waste of space, lazybones brother. 

Despite the protests, Edge still arrived, punctually, for every visitation Red was allowed.

After the traditional insults were traded and the glaring match concluded, the brothers spoke business. It was done in such an abstract way, it was almost code. Nicknames and suggestions took the place of real details. Red and Edge knew each other so well, that neither needed to reveal much to know what the other was thinking. And while Edge gleefully boasted that he'd been able to maintain the entire organization singlehandedly, both knew, without it being said, Edge needed Red's guidance on many matters. Edge's ability to puzzle out a scheme, or coordinate an attack, or organize a business deal was second to none. But he didn't have his brother's sideways thinking, Red's ability to read the room or manage an unexpected, out of hand situation. They were two halves of the one ultimate crime boss. 

The brothers knew the guards were under orders to listen in and report back to Spratt. Spratt would relay information back to the police. Edge had yet to be caught in a crime that could be used to incarcerate him. Even though everyone knew the Serif Brothers were gangsters. Having one of the brothers locked up and the other reliably at the prison like clockwork, the authorities had believed it was only a matter of time before they got Edge too.

Fat chance. Red and Edge had more than once used this setup to lead the police on a wild goose chase. Fuckers fell for it every time. 

Despite the disruption of Red being in prison, everything in the 'family business' was going well. Their power base was still strong, their people still loyal, the money still rolling in. Red burned with jealousy that his brother was out there, having all the fun. But he kept a lid on it. 

“what ‘bout the other stuff?”

Edge’s long skeletal face grew darker with moody frustration. He had two score marks over his left eye socket he'd gained in their childhood. Two red eyelights, same as Red's, flicking with a barely subdued fire. The shark-like, jagged toothed mouth scowled. “THIS CHILDISH OBSESSION IS DISTRACTING YOU.”

Red's eye sockets narrowed. "there ain’t exactly a lot to do here, edge,” he snapped. 

"I BELIEVE YOU'RE GOING SOFT."

"say that to my face, you fucking lampost."

"THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I AM DOING. WHERE ELSE WOULD I SAY IT TO, BONEHEAD?"

"ya can tell it to my ass!"

"DO NOT BE VULGAR!"

"i ain't going soft, alright? it's a distraction, okay? a distraction from going fucking crazy from boredom.”

“I OBJECT. I AM THE BOSS OF A-” Edge threw a nasty look at the guards. He continued, at an even louder level his usual fog-horn, “REPUTABLE ORGANISATION. I HAVE MANY IMPORTANT DEMANDS ON MY TIME. AND YOU HAVE ME THREATENING TINY PANTSLESS LANDLORDS AND DIGGING THROUGH FILTH. ALL BECAUSE OF YOUR LEWD ENDEAVOURS.”

Red doubted if Edge had ever indulged in a lewd endeavour in his life. If he did ever find a girl or boy who met his impossible standards, hell stars help them, he probably wouldn’t know what to do with them.

Red was not going soft. He helped little guys out, didn't he? You helped the little guy out and they showed you loyalty. Well, who's more of a little guy than a little nurse in a scary world? Red gives you a little something, maybe you'd give him a little something. Only when you were ready. He wasn't going to push you. He wasn't soft. Shit. It was a distraction. Just a bit of fun. He didn't really care what your Soul colour was. Only sappy lovesick idiots cared about that anyway. 

“didn’t ask you to do any of it yourself, boss," Red muttered, placatingly. "what d’ya mean, filth?”

Edge threw a large envelope over to Red. “THE MORE I DISCOVER ABOUT EX-APES, THE LESS I CARE ABOUT BREAKING THEIR SPINES." Edge glared around again. "HYPOTHETICALLY.”

The envelope was full of black and white photographs. Red felt the repulsion in his Soul. Anger, sure, but Red operated on anger like Humans needed oxygen. Repulsion was something he thought he’d never feel again after so long in New Ebott. Guess he was wrong.

Red was a killer. He was a smuggler, a thief. A thug. Red didn’t care much what label people threw at him. He knew where his lines were and he never crossed them. Sure, there weren’t a lot of lines. Not in his world. But there were some things he’d never do. There were some crimes in this world that corrupted the Soul faster than murder, and Red was looking at it.

Red wondered if he should be surprised there was a mix of Human women and female-presenting Monsters. But not really. It wasn’t about that. It was about power. The fact that this pervert had been anywhere near you… Red shuddered.

“thanks, bro.”

"I INSIST YOU NOT DO ANYTHING STUPID, BROTHER.”

Red wished. By the fucking stars he wished. “the comedian’s going to sort it,” he said, dully. He held Edge’s watchful gaze. “but once this guy's out...”

Edge nodded.

Red smiled. His brother was so cool. 

“THOUGH IT IS UNLIKELY I WILL HAVE THE DISPLEASURE OF BECOMING PERSONALLY ACQUAINTED, HOWEVER TEMPORARILY, WITH THE CREATURE.”

“why's that?”

“AFTER YOUR PHONE CALL, I SENT DOGARESSA TO THE RENDEZVOUS. SHE SAID SHE SAW WHAT HE ATTEMPTED TO DO. SHE DID NOT TELL ME WHAT THAT WAS, ONLY THAT SHE PREVENTED IT. SHE HAS MADE IT CLEAR THAT SHE WOULD LIKE A WORD WITH THE CREATURE THE EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY.”  

Dogaressa had it out for him, did she? Spratty Junior was about to have a very, very bad time soon enough. 

"she'll have to be careful when. and how. his family ain't powerful or nothin', but they are well known."

"YOU NEED NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE SOME SOLIDER SCRUB. I AM WELL AWARE. IT WILL BE DEALT WITH AT THE APPROPRIATE TIME."

"unless, of course, he goes anywhere near her." Red didn't need to specify which him or which her. 

"AGREED."

"did anything happen? after the rendezvous?" Red asked, carefully. He kept a tight hold on his temper. Prepared for the worse. He couldn't kick off while Edge was here. It was all the excuse they'd need to detain his brother. Giving the law ammunition against the Serif Gang.

But Edge shook his head. "HE DID NOT HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY. DOGARESSA FOLLOWED, BUT THERE WAS SOMEONE WAITING FOR YOUR HUMAN AT HER APARTMENT."

Red flinched. "who?" he demanded.

"THE COUSIN, I BELIEVE."

Red relaxed. "oh yeah. heard about him." He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. There were a fair few inmates here thanks to the lawyer, Galbraith. Fair and square, from what Red could figure. Either Galbraith knew his stuff or was he was remarkably lucky.

Edge hadn't been pleased to find out. He disliked it when Red's pets came with complications. Red hadn't cared; he didn't particularly like many people anyway. And your cousin being a lawyer obviously hadn't stopped you from wanting him.

"IS THIS NOT PROOF ENOUGH THAT YOUR OBSESSION IS MISPLACED?"

"we can't pick our family, can we?" Red pointed out.

Edge glared. “OBVIOUSLY."

You'd been wise not to mention your cousin's name to any of the prisoners. But if you'd asked Red, he could have told you that's not how prisons worked. People gossiped. People were bored and restless with too much time on their hands. It had only been a matter of time before someone heard something and told someone else. That's how it worked. From what Red could figure, the staff had been the first to gossip. An inmate had overheard. It spread like wildfire through a significant chunk of the population before Red could slam the breaks on it. Particularly those who held a grudge against the lawyer.

But slam the breaks on it Red had. He'd made it absolutely clear what would happen if anyone acted on or further spread that information. By the time he was done, he'd been given two weeks in solitary, a formal reprimand by Spratt with a threat of increasing his sentence time if he does it again.

Apparently, the comedian had done something similar (though less outwardly violent) in B Block where all the delicate princesses were housed. This had all been back before he'd met the other Skeleton. Since then, Red had been a little more aware of gossip coming from B Block. It seemed that, if Red was king of the prison population, then Sans was at least the mayor of B Block.

At the end of it all, anyone who'd found out who your cousin was, was now too afraid to mention it. Too afraid to even think about it. The gossip mill ground to a halt. On that subject, at least.

Even better, sweetheart hadn't figured out what it was all about. She's assumed it was another of Red's 'outbursts'.

It frustrated Red to hell that he couldn't deal with Greene himself. Edge had it easy. Out there, one big example and word got around. The gangs of New Ebott were surprisingly well run and organized. Grudges and glory and big paydays were all well and good. But most understood the value of keeping to a code. So when you drew a line and said 'here but no further', mostly, the other gangs respected that. They moved on. Found better things to do. Troublemakers who couldn't learn were dusted. It was simpler that way. Cleaner. There were rules.

In here, Red felt like he was eternally putting out of dozen fires at once. Like being trapped in a kindergarten with a thousand rowdy kids and no home time insight.

Inmates from dozens of different gangs, side by side. Small-time crooks trying to make a name for themselves. Experienced thugs with no affiliation. And a whole bunch of people who didn't belong here were caught in the middle. Red had his work cut out for him most days. People just aren't supposed to be penned up. On the streets, you could walk away. On the streets, you can get distracted by the next pretty thing that walked past. In here, things festered. 

At the very least, Greene would be out of this prison. He'd been a disruptive pain in the ass, so no one would miss him. Then, when the time was right, Edge and Dogressa would deal with him. They'll recount all the gory details to Red later.

But Red still sulked. It's not the same as doing it yourself. Red felt cheated. You just want to get in there with your hands, you know? Feel the pounding heartbeat in your tightening grip. Feel how the little bones of the fingers resist as you push them back, so slowly, one by one, until finally cracking and snapping-

"YOU SHOULD TAKE THIS MOMENT, BROTHER, TO BASK IN MY GREATNESS. I REFUSE TO PUT MYSELF THROUGH THE INCONVENIENCE OF VISITING YOU ANYMORE.”

Red chuckled, correctly not believing a word of it. “i’m basking, bro. i’m basking.”

Chapter Text

“Not seeing anyone for visitation?” You asked as you hooked Sans up to the IS bag. 

“nah, not me kid. i'm just a bonley skeleton.”

“Aww, well, you got me as a consolation prize. Red’s seeing his brother today, so that should keep him out of my hair.”

Sans set up the chessboard as you worked. Once everything was in place, you joined him for a game. As you played, you felt the urge to confide in him. You resisted for as long as you could.

But Sans’s eyelights flicked to your face between moves. “something up, kid?”

You resisted. For about ten seconds. “A complaint has been filed against me,” you muttered. 

“a complaint? why?”

“Someone on staff says I’m 'acting inappropriately' with a prisoner.”

“what prisoner?”

You laughed, feeling disappointed with yourself. And embarrassed. “I don’t know. Red? Skull? There’s a Madjack in C Block who's a recovering addict. I’ve been working with him on his plan for when he leaves. Whitglass found out and gave me a lecture. Told me I'm not qualified for that. But it’s not as though he’s going to do it. Red and one of the Hoppit Brothers are sweet on me. It’s cute, nothing more, but Terror doesn’t like it. A Dog Monster in B Block gets migraines so I bring him painkillers. But it’s outside of medicine distribution times so that’s against the rules. The bureaucracy is so stupid! The only inmate I can be sure it’s not about is you, thanks to the private room and the frosted glass.” You sighed, rubbing your hand over your eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I should quit, I can’t do this job anymore.”

“what are you talking about?" Sans said, soothingly. "you’re a great nurse and i’ve seen a skele-ton over the years.”

“Aren’t you always the one telling me I shouldn’t be here?”

“only to get you to toughen up a bit. that’s all you need to do, for now.”

“My father was right. I should quit and go to one of those fancy hospitals or into private nursing. Being here, being forced to do the sheer minimum to keep a patient alive, disregarding mental health... it’s harder than I thought it would be. And there’s so much politics.” You sighed. “You know, I used to think I was a people person. That I always knew what to say and how to say it, but here... I feel like I just get steamrolled by everyone. Spratt and Huxley and Whitglass and..." You stopped again, tired. "I think I'm just an idiot."

"no, you're not," Sans said, kindly, but firmly. "would you trust me? you're not an idiot. you just... you see the world the way it ought to be."

"Rather than how it is?" you asked. You didn't need him to answer. "I'm not a child. Whoever it was, they're allowed to raise a report. I just wish I’d had an opportunity to fix whatever they think I'm doing wrong before getting written up. That’s going to sit in my file now and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“you didn’t think it was going to happen eventually?”

“What do you mean?”

“you go out of your way for monsters. that wasn’t ever going to make you popular.”

You’d had a feeling it was going to get you in trouble one day. But that was you, right? It wasn’t about who was better, Monsters or Humans. Monsters needed more help, so that’s where your focus was. Because you had to be the martyr, right every wrong, stick your nose where it didn’t belong, every time… your sister had been right about you. They all had. 

“hey,” Sans said as you glared moodily at the chessboard. “try not to think. that's what happens when you can't thwim.”

That one took you a moment. “Oh, god, Sans that’s awful.”

“you loved it.”

“I did not.”

Sans correctly didn't believe it, but he let you retain your dignity. "is that all that's been bothering you? you've not seemed yourself for a while."

You moved your knight out of range of his rook and watched as he reached for his bishop. "What would you do if you felt like someone was trying to manipulate you?"

Sans paused. Putting down his bishop. "erm... for instance?"

You stared at the board. Glancing up at Sans's face. "Did... did you mean to leave your queen exposed?"

Sans glanced down at the board. Then back at you. You decided there and then you'd never play poker against Sans. "you tell me."

You considered. Tempted. You might lose a knight, but you'd take his most powerful piece off the board... "I'm probably paranoid, but I get the sense that this guy I know is trying to... I don't know. It feels like he's being manipulative."

"then he's not very good at it."

"Yes," you said, with a roll of your eyes. "That's the part I was worried about. Thanks."

In the last week, Nolan's attitude had shifted. Again. Honestly, it was starting to be a severe headache. Asking to start up your shared lunches again. When you'd hesitated, he'd accused you of being jealous of him and Cynthia. 

"your instincts aren't wrong. you should have more faith in them, listen to them."

"But what if I just want to believe he's a bad guy because he..." reminds me too much of my father. "I don't want to make assumptions before I have any proof they're a bad person."

"we are talking about greene, right?"

"It doesn't matter who we're talking about," you said, taking his queen with your knight. He took your knight and was now threatening your bishop, but it had been worth it. You were still going to lose, but it had been the first time you'd ever made any significant dent in Sans's game. "And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

“how’s skull?”

That was a subject you loved talking about. You happily told Sans all about Skull’s progress. And how confident you were that you'd be able to help him. Sans listened patiently. When you’d finally talked his metaphorical ear off, he suggested some other journals which delved into Monster psychology and Soul damage.

He’d got the first lot of journals to you a while ago and you’d devoured them. It had given you a lot to put into your personal book of Monster medicine. He’d been right. As obvious as it should have been, reading Monster work on Monster medicine was eye-opening. It had taken you a while to get your head around it. Monsters had a different way of viewing and phrasing things. They had odd capitalization thrown into their language like Soul, LV, Hopelessness. But you began to regret how reliant you were on Gibson and Townsend and how... well, how you were sure now a lot of what you'd been taught was entirely wrong.

“alphys has written tons on soul damage, but i don’t think most of it is published,” Sans said, thoughtfully.

"Alphys?"

"royal scientist to the king and queen of monsters. i'll see if she'll send anything... if she’s still answering my calls.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” you ask with a laugh. Before remembering that other than the intelligent, caring and often goofy Sans you knew and loved, you had no idea what his relationships were like with anyone outside these walls.

“er,” Sans said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. You got the sense he hadn't meant to say that last part and was regretting it. You were about to change the topic, when he said, a little quietly, “i guess it’s more to do with her wife. she and i had a... disagreement... before i got locked up. the whole thing puts alphys in a difficult position.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you said. You hadn't realized the circles Sans had travelled in. Friends with the Royal Scientist and her wife, huh? It also made you happy that Monsters obviously didn't have the same hang-ups about certain relationships that had driven your cousin out of his family.

“i’ll try, all the same. the new inmate in b block worked for a manga publisher. i’ll see if he’s got anything i can use to bribe alphys with.”

“I love manga!”

“you’d get on just fine with her. and i’m sure she’ll have something that’ll help your people-eater.” 

You could tell Sans still disliked Skull intensely. Sans had a big heart… well, a big heart for other Monsters, at least. And maybe some Humans. He did seem to like Officer Harris. Whenever you saw Sans outside of the Infirmary, he was usually in the company of Harris. Sans was such a sweet and laid-back guy, so why...

"Why don't you feel sorry for Skull? After everything he's been through?”

“because he’s got soul damage?” Sans shrugged. “he's not the only one. we don’t all go around indiscriminately killing and eating people.”

Sans’s emergency trip to the Infirmary. Half-dead from a constricted Soul.

You thought of the unread file Don had left at your apartment. It wasn't the right thing to do, reading the file. At least, not in Sans’ case. Sans was right here. If you wanted to know about his past, you could ask him. You didn't because... well, because either it wasn't your business, or because you were a coward. Take your pick.

Skull was different. You couldn’t ask him. He wasn't exactly talkative. You may even risk a breakdown, forcing him to talk about something he wasn't ready to talk about. He may not even know or remember. And on your last day off (which felt like it had been years ago) you'd hit the local library for clippings on Skull. But they hadn’t told you much more than the bloody, sensational bits which were already the stuff of urban legend.

“I truly believe there's a good person inside of him,” you insist.

"yeah, he probably ate one or two."

"Sans," you said, warningly. “When he’s calm, he’s… well, he’s sweet. I honestly don’t believe he’s responsible for his outbursts.”

“lucky him,” Sans grumbled. “the rest of us are.”

“You wouldn’t want to change places with him, I promise you.”

“i don’t know about that. you spend more time with him than you do with me.” 

Okay, over the last few months, you'd managed to ignore a lot of his comments. He was joking most of the time, right? But that wasn't just your imagination. Your face went red as you said, "Sans, are you-"

“isn’t it your day off tomorrow?" he said with a smile. "doing anything fun?” 

You sighed. Yeah. He was probably just yanking your chain for a reaction. “Hanging out with my cousin and his boyfriend.”

“how is don?”

You laughed. “Fabulous as ever.” 

After Sans had been taken back to his cell, you worried about that. When had you mentioned Don’s name to Sans? You were sure you hadn’t. You'd thought you'd made a point of not mentioning Don's name. You really needed to not share so much. Sans was really just too easy to talk to.

~*~

As the officers walked through the prison that evening, checking everyone was tucked up in their cells for lights out, Officer Greene happened to be passing Red’s cell. Usually, he’d throw a snide comment at Red through the bars. A nasty insult. Hoping to provoke Red into using his magic so he could get the shit locked up in solitary once and for all.

Today, however, he was deep in thought and barely registered where he was walking. Too distracted to realize he was most definitely over the white painted line on the floor... 

As he passed the cell, a Skeleton hand shot out. Grabbed him by the collar. Yanked him so violently back into the cell bars, Greene was knocked out cold for a good ten minutes.

Red was carted off to solitary for an unspecified amount of time. Told he’d just lost visitation privileges for two months.

Totally worth it. 

~*~

Officer Harris played messenger between Edge and Sans after visitation had come to an end. Now he handed over the envelope, breaking about six different rules in the process. 

Sans’ hands shook as he looked through the photographs. If only, if only he wasn’t stuck in this prison.

One of the Monsters in the photo looked young. Too young. 

When he finally got out of here…

"you looked at these," Sans said. It wasn't a question. He knew Harris too well.

"Yeah," Harris said, shortly. To Sans’s cynical surprise, he saw the turmoil in Harris's Soul as it tried to remember how to act with integrity. If he'd been a Monster, he'd be in agony right now, battling against his Soul damage. In fact, Sans did spot the tale-tale grimace on Harris's steady features.

"any thoughts?" Sans asked, drily.

Harris shrugged. "Some people don't deserve to live."

Sans agreed. He couldn't tackle Greene head-on, but he could at least get him out of the prison. Then, Sans would get a message to Dogeressa... He knew he was putting her in a spot. He'd appreciated the risk she'd taken, passing on the word to Grillby after what had happened at the Blue House. She was a faithful cog in the Serif machine, but the old ties from the Underground were strong. She and Dogamy had been his friends long before the Serifs had arrived. She'd keep watch over the kid, he knew.

Sans waved the envelope. "i'm doing this tonight."

Harris nodded, not needing to hear more. "We're in luck, for once. Tonight is my scheduled shift on watch duty. So I won't need to trade shifts again to get into the security room. They're going to start getting suspicious if I do that too many times. Let me know what footage you need wiped or looped."

It was your day off tomorrow. You wouldn't be around for the fallout. Sans was glad of that. He wanted to spare you as much of the drama as he could. You already seemed close to burnout. This place had started to get to you, as he knew it would eventually. Stars, he wanted to protect you better, but he just didn't know how. 

At least he was certain he wouldn't be trampling any of your feelings. You'd obviously soured towards Greene. You wouldn't be torn up when he got chucked out of this place. It would be a relief. Maybe you'd even be a bit more cautious after all this, too.

The urgency wasn't over. Sans didn't believe for one moment that Greene moved on. Most likely, he was trying to use Nurse Able to make you jealous. A thousand places to hide in his prison, and Greene got that girl up against the wall in a corridor? Sans wasn't buying it.

Hilariously, it had been a terrible move on Greene's part. Even if you had been sweet on him, you'd have folded immediately at the sight of him and Able. Far from stepping up to fight for him, you'd have quietly backed off. Convincing yourself that to do anything else would be getting in the way of someone else's' happiness. The kind of reaction Greene had wanted was usually displayed in a Red, Orange, or Purple Soul.

A Green, Blue or Cyan Soul wouldn't fight in that situation. They'd bow out and quietly deal with the heartbreak. Thank the stars you hadn't been all that smitten with him in the first place.  

As though he'd needed more proof, it showed Sans that Greene didn't have the wit or skill to play this game. As a manipulator himself, Sans despised watching a ham-fisted amateur. Particularly one after his own girl.

But it was only a matter of time before Greene would switch tactics once again, trying to figure out how else to draw you back in. No, the sooner he was out of here in disgrace, the sooner he could be dealt with. 

And, as much as Sans disliked Nurse Cynthia Able, he wouldn’t allow something like this to happen to anyone. Not even a Monster racist.

Chapter Text

Skull's court file had been super chunky, but disappointedly devoid of the information you’d actually wanted. It was obvious that most people truly believed the story of Skull began when he'd charged the side of a bus and bit a few bystanders. Admittedly, before that, there had been no record of his existence, with Human or Monster authorities. Like he'd just been dropped into the world.

The file had a lot of witness statements. Useless. Psychologist and doctor reports. Interesting, but nothing more than what you’d read in his prison folder. Though you did keep a note of the specialists who’d treated him in the early days. You jotted them down in the back of your Monster Medicine book.

There was one interesting detail in the file. Something that hadn’t been in the prison report. Apparently, the only other word Skull had spoken, other than to identify his name was Skull, was the word 'Crooks'. He’s said Crooks almost constantly for the first three days of his confinement at the hospital before he’d stopped. The hospital had assumed that was his name, until it had become clear it wasn’t. Who or what Crooks was, no one seemed to know.

Worse than that. No one seemed to care.

Your dissatisfaction with the lack of information is what motivated you to put together today’s road trip. First thing early morning on your next day off, Don (badly hungover), and his boyfriend Angus had arrived in their car to pick you up. It was a massive car with the ability to put the roof down, which was the only way Angus could be in it.

The three of you were heading out of the city into the dense woods between here and Mount Ebott, known as the Whispering Woods by locals. If nothing else, it was going to be a quiet day in the sun with a picnic and good company. But really, you were hoping to find Skull’s old cabin.

The location was in the police report, as well as a collection of crime scene photos. But it was clear that once the police had found the shed, their investigation had switched from finding out who Skull was and how he'd been injured, to putting him away for life. After that, no one seemed to care who he was. So you hoped you might look at the place with fresh eyes.

Because you’re now an investigator too? As well as a doctor, counsellor, prison reformist… You shook off your nasty, critical voice. You were curious about the cabin, that’s all. You weren’t the only person in New Ebott who’d gone for a snoop around the infamous murder shack.

This. This is what your life has become.

Your father would be so proud. Not.

It took a while to find the place. It was off the beaten track. Way, way off the beaten track. The beaten track was ancient history before they were even halfway there. Even the closest road you could find left a good long hike on foot into the dense, oppressive forest. Don was still pretty grumpy with his hangover and absolutely not wearing the right shoes for this. So you chatted with Angus. 

Angus was the most patient, laid back person you’d ever met. Maybe with the exception of Sans. Physically an intimidating Monster, he was as tall as Skull and far broader, with two great ox-like horns and a blueish tint to his dark fur. But he was soft-spoken and unshakably calm. The exact reverse of Don who perpetually gave off the energy of a ping-pong ball in a tumble drier. You guessed opposites really did attract.

“Did you read that other file I didn’t get you?” Don asked, butting into your conversation with Angus.

You noticed Angus looking pointedly up at the trees, as though he couldn’t hear anything.

“No,” you said.

“Why not?”

“I just…” you shrugged. “I don’t feel right about it.”

Angus made a little um-hum sound. Don looked at him angrily. You didn’t read too much into that. Don loved to bicker and Angus enjoyed teasing him. “She doesn't want to know," Angus said, "and you could lose your job if anyone found out you were distributing confidential information about old cases."

Old cases. Had Don been on the prosecution team for Sans's case? That would explain a lot. But he'd have been a pretty junior lawyer back then, so maybe not. He absolutely couldn't have been on Skull's case, though. He'd have still been a schoolboy back then.

"You tell her about Sans, then. You weren't involved in the case,” Don prodded.

Angus shook his head. “I’m not talking about Sans.”

“You know him?” you asked, painfully curious. 

“Most Monsters who began life in the Underground know each other. By reputation at the very least. Sans and I have never met, but I saw his stand-up routine at the MTT Resort. He was good.”

“Groupie,” Don muttered.

Angus smiled patiently. “Sans is… a difficult subject for us. Ask three Monsters about him, and you’ll get five opinions. None of which agree. He’s a hero, he’s a villain, he’s a misunderstood vigilante, a tragic victim... We’ve had this conversation before, Donnie.”

“Robin Hood,” Don said, tersely, “didn't kill people.”

“Donnie?” you snickered.

“Shut up, darling."

Don and Angus constantly butted heads over these issues. Don was a prosecution lawyer and specialised in violent magical crimes. He'd also been raised in the same prejudicial, conservative household you'd been. Like you, he battled with a lot of internalised Monster-phobia and Human-centric thinking.

Angus was a defence lawyer who exclusively represented fellow Monsters. The political and legal debates at their table were something to watch as two of the best legal minds in New Ebott duked it out, citing case law that went back centuries.

“I don’t want to know about Sans,” you said. “If I wanted to know, I’d ask. But I don’t.”

"He's a murderer."

"Don!"

"Donnie..."

"Don't you think it's better to know?" Don asked, annoyed.

"I've rarely found that to be the case," you said coolly, trying not to snap back. It was useless when Don was on one of his high horses. "I don't need to know what Sans did or even who he was on the outside. I'm his nurse, not his girlfriend."

“Best thing,” Angus agreed. “If I were you, I'd just stay away from him.”

“Look!” you said eagerly. As though the universe had heard your prayers to change the subject, you'd suddenly caught sight of it, appearing behind a tree. “I think that’s the cabin!”

It was a dark, wooden shack off in the distance. It looked lopsided. Like it was about to collapse. But it had been there for more than fifteen years. Glancing around, you took in the forest. From here, you couldn’t hear the city. The closest road was too far away for the sound to travel. You couldn’t see any sign of life for miles around, apart from rabbits, birds and the odd deer. This place wasn't even under the flight path of planes.

You could almost believe the three of you were the last people left in the world. 

What you could hear was the gurgle of running water nearby. The rustle of wind through the trees and birds doing their bird thing. You were surrounded by nature at its finest. And yet all you wanted to do was head back into the noisy, smelly city for some ramen noodles. 

You glanced at Don and knew he was thinking the same thing. You were both such city people. 

As you walked through the heavy brush, you pulled open the police file. There was a map in here somewhere... “There’s a sort of formal path, leading up to the cabin,” you said, finally finding the rough pencil-lined map. “We should find it, to be safe.”

“You have no sense of adventure,” Don drawled. As though he hadn't been whining like a child that there was no road just ten minutes ago. The hangover was making him deliberately contrary. Clearly, the painkillers still hadn’t kicked in.

You rolled your eyes. “I just think-”

You yelped as Angus’s huge hands grabbed you around the waist and lifted you clear off the ground. A fraction of a second before the rusty bear trap slammed closed. Thunk! Missing the end of your shoe by half an inch.

The metal clang rang out through the forest, echoing back in the distance. 

Still held aloft in Angus's secure grip, the three of you stood in stunned silence.

“Maybe we should find the path,” Don said in a small voice.

“You think, genius?” you snapped, your voice about three octaves higher than it should be. The damn thing had been hidden by the brush covering the forest floor. Thank god for a Monster's superior hearing and reflexes.

Angus sighed. It must be hard being a century-old Monster amongst two humans in their 20s. He lifted you up onto his shoulder. You squeaked, grabbing one of his horns for support. He held your legs securely with one hand and with the other, he grabbed a protesting Don by the waist and hauled him up under his arm.

You got the sense from Don’s protests that not only wasn’t this the first time, but he also wasn't as averse to it as he was pretending to be. You sniggered. You weren’t going to let him forget this for a while. 

With Angus doing the heavy lifting, you all got to the cabin unmolested by bear traps. It was always a good day when you got to keep all your limbs. Angus put you both down.

“Careful,” Don said, nervously, as you walked to the door of the cabin.

“The police were in and out of this cabin for weeks,” you said. “It’s safe enough. Unless the roof caves in.”

“What about the bear traps?” 

“And that’s why I said we should have found the path,” you muttered, opening the door.

You braced yourself, but all that met you was the smell of must and a hollow silence. The cabin was small, made up of three rooms. A living area with a kitchen, and two bedrooms. No bathroom, so either this place had been built by Monsters and for Monsters, or by cheap Humans who longed to pee in the great outdoors.

“This is super creepy,” Don said.

You weren’t so sure about that. Well, obviously, an empty, dilapidated cabin. Covered in cobwebs. Almost falling apart from disuse and age in the middle of the woods. It was naturally creepy. But if you imagined the place fifteen years ago, while there were still people living here, it would have been quite cosy.

“Do you think there are still dead people in the fridge? Eugh. I am not looking,” Don said.

You swallowed. “I think all the… the... you know. In the shed outside. Probably only prepared and… you know... brought here.”

“Skull slaughtered his innocent victims in the murder shed outside before bringing the prepared meat here to the stove. Honestly, darling, you do know how much I hate euphemism and equivocation.”

“Not when you’re losing,” Angus murmured, loud enough to hear. 

“I beg your pardon?” Don demanded. 

You left the love birds to squabble as you moved into the bedrooms. The first was pretty bare, but for a large king mattress on the floor and a pile of messy sheets on top, rolled into a ball. You wondered if the police did that, or one of the occupants. Didn't look like a comfortable way to sleep. There were books everywhere, but the mould that had taken over the cabin had made most of them un-saveable. You bent down to read the spines. Science fiction… some science textbooks. A lot of cookery books too. That made you shiver. 

You crossed back through the living room, half-listening to Don citing the case Bracks V Hitch (you had no idea what that was) and into the other room. 

In this bedroom, there were two single beds pushed together, head to end. You’d have wondered if the police had moved them while investigating, but a neat sheet covered them both suggesting they were meant to be like that. There were lots of plushies piled in a corner. Glass eyes staring at you. Fur mouldy and faded. There was actually a skeleton plushie in the mix. You reached in and pulled it out gingerly. You don’t know why.

Maybe you just had a thing about saving skeletons.

The only other furniture in here was a table. It was bare, but you could see marks that suggested the absence of things. Opening the file again, you dug through the photographs. Ah, you remembered now. This was the room the Monster dust had been found in. In the urn made of human bone. You shivered. The urn and the faded red fabric it had been wrapped in had been taken away as evidence. The report with the evidence number was in the file and it said it was stored at the Hambleside Police Lot. 

Now you were here, looking at the room, you realised the urn on the table had been... almost like a shrine.

So the other room was probably Skull’s, then. 

Monsters could live for centuries if they had the magic and the will. How old was Skull? How long had he been alone? How long did he have this other Monster for? Had their name been Crooks? You wondered who Skull had lost and felt so sorry for him.

Something moved in the corner of your eye.

Horrified, you watched as the plushies moved... and something equally furry emerged. 

You screamed. 

“Rat! Rat, rat, oh my god,” you ran out of the room as Angus and Don came dashing forward. When Don realised what you were running from, he quickly spun on his heel and followed you away from the door. Angus just chuckled. He couldn’t get into the bedroom. He’d had enough trouble getting into the cabin at all with his horns, but he checked from the doorway.

“Just a small one,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t! It was the size of a chihuahua!” you snapped, illustrating with your hands just to drive home the point.

But even as your thumping heartbeat wound down to normal, something occurred to you. You walked back to the front door. Measuring it with your arms. 

“Darling, why are you trying to hug the door?”

“I’m not hugging the door. I’m measuring the door.”

“She’s officially lost it. I’m going to have to ring Uncle Grinch and tell him his youngest is off to the insane asylum.”

“Skull would have to really squeeze to get through,” you said.

“So?” 

“So..." So what, detective? You thought for a moment. "So... he and his friend found this cabin and decided to live here. Or they built the cabin and Skull wasn’t always the size he is now.”

“Or he’s a bad cabin builder,” Don added.

Angus scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Just after The Stand, a lot of Monsters took to the Whispering Woods and other out-of-the-way places. Started building homes off the grid and as far away from Humans as they could get.”

“The Stand?”

“It’s what Monsters call the Monster Riots,” Don clarified for you. “That’s history for you. It depends who’s telling it.”

“That was about twenty years ago, wasn’t it?" you said. You didn't really remember it, you'd been too young at the time. You gazed up at Angus. "What were you doing during the rio-The Stand?”

“I was not, nor will you ever prove, that I may or may not have been throwing a park bench through the window of an anti-Monster business,” Angus said, blandly. Don chuckled. “And afterwards," Angus continued, "I was helping monsters find representation as their cases came up in the courts. I wasn’t an officially registered lawyer back then, obviously. The law allowing Monsters to become qualified lawyers only passed nine years ago. But there was a group of us who did our best to help Monsters figure out the legal system.”

"The Cenacle of Concerned Monsters," Don said. You could hear the pride in Don's voice, even as he attempted to sound snarky.

"As we were once called," Angus said. 

“A lot of Monsters died during the riots,” you said.

“Yes,” Angus said simply.

“Should have stayed under the mountain where we put you,” Don said, mimicking your father’s snide voice. “Teach you to think of yourselves as people. Is that a plushie skeleton?”

You hadn’t realised you'd been hugging it to your chest. “Oh. Yeah. Thought I’d get it cleaned up and brought back to Skull. He may not be ready for it now, but it’ll be something nice for when he is.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend will appreciate it.”

“He’s not-”

“Right!" Don said, with a clap of his hands. "Onto the murder shed, shall we?”

You blanched. “No. I’m not going in there.”

“Why? Afraid that Skull may be more complicated than cookbooks and teddy bears?”

“I-”

“Or is it that you'd just rather not be forced to face the fact that your murdering, human-eating patient is a murdering, human-eating patient?”

Don really was a bastard sometimes.

Chapter Text

The three of you stood outside the murder shed.

Something which, yet again, you felt that nursing school had woefully underprepared you for. 

Don gestured his head at you.

You folded your arms. “I’m not going first.”

You both looked at Angus. Angus eyed the door, then pointed at his horns. “Not happening.”

There was nothing but the sound of birds and the wind in the trees. 

“Fine,” you snapped.

You pushed open the door in a burst of bravery... then fell back gagging. The smell had been overpowering. Don held your shoulders as you tried not to vomit. “‘m fine, I’m fine,” you said, brushing your arm over your mouth. “Just… ‘m fine. Just caught me off guard.”

In truth, now the space had a chance to air out, it wasn’t too horrendous. You’d brought a scarf in case the weather turned and now you put it over your nose and mouth. The smell wasn’t all the smell of death. This place had rampant mold too. 

You stepped inside, carefully. As though you were afraid to wake the dead.

It was a small space. You could see pretty much everything from the doorway. Which was great, because you weren't going a fucking step further. There was a wall of tools, butcher knives and meat hooks. A blood-stained table. A cage, its floor covered in decaying straw. A winch. Underneath, a stained tub…

~*~

Sometime later, Angus came to sit next to you. You were sitting with your back to a tree, staring at your fingers. He didn’t say anything. He just sat with you, shoulder to shoulder. Or as much as you could, given his size.

The sound of birds in the trees penetrated your haze. You imagined it could be nice to live out here, for a while. If you could get groceries delivered.

“I…” You fell silent.

Angus didn’t prod you to continue. He waited patiently.

“I… I knew. I've... read all the doctor reports. All the police reports. All the… all the everything. I knew on a… factual level, but… and he’s not… he goes into a rage. A blind rage. I don’t think he has control... or... he has to fight for control. And after fifteen years in a tiny cell, why would you? Why would you fight to stay Human - I mean, stay Monster. Retain your Humanity-eugh! You know what I mean. Why would you fight to stay sane when everyone thinks you’re an animal anyway? When you have no hope? It's Hopelessness. Severe and complete. He should be dead. He doesn't mean to hurt people, I'm sure of that. Skull is... he's... he's good! He's good. But…” You gestured wildly towards the shed. “That’s premeditated! That’s a guy with a system! He's not just killing outright because he's furious, there's a cage! There's a... people were in that... That’s the shed of someone who traps... captures… butchers… This… this…” you fell back against the tree, deflated. “I can’t reconcile the Skeleton I know with the one using that shed.”

You thought about how close your leg had come to getting caught in the bear trap.

If this had been fifteen years ago, and you’d decided to go on a walk through the woods… Say a trap had got you, closed over your leg... the pain of it, all alone. And Skull had found you... Would he have taken you back to the cabin, or locked you in that cage? Would he have cooed and fussed and stroked your hair, or winched you up by your legs and opened your neck?

You shuddered.

Angus sighed. “I don’t usually like talking about Monsters as though we’re one homogeneous group. We’re not. But let me tell you a few things. When a Monster goes through the kind of emotional and psychological strain you'd hope never to survive, it warps their Souls. And with a Soul warped, the body follows. Not always. Plenty of Monsters out there still look the same as they ever did with a warped Soul. Skull obviously isn't one of them.”

You nodded. You knew this, but you didn’t want to interrupt. Angus's mellow, slow voice was calming you down.

“But everyone forgets that the mind goes too. When that happens, we can get… stuck. Stuck in a moment. In a way of thinking. It’s not so dissimilar from Humans, I think, when they undergo trauma. We call it the Void. It's a poetic description more than anything else. The dark place your mind keeps trying to return to. Give in, and the Monster shuts down. They can’t be convinced whatever awful thing was happening isn’t still happening.”

“He’s starving,” you say, understanding what Angus meant. “He’s starving and he’ll do anything to survive.”

“Too much determination is as dangerous in Monsters as it is in Humans. It's entirely possible he doesn’t know he’s not starving anymore. He may never. I doubt he even understands that he’s in prison or what for.”

“But he doesn’t attack me,” you protest.

Angus shrugged. “Then maybe there’s hope.”

“But I don’t know why. I don’t know why me and not someone else.”

“We’re pretty good people-readers, as a rule. Most of us can’t see Souls. Not without an Encounter. But we can feel them. Skull must like what he feels.”

“Can you see Souls?”

“No.”

“What do you feel about me?”

“You’re good people,” Angus confirmed. He smiled at you, gently. “But you need to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt just because they’re the underdogs. Give us some credit. Monsters can be petty and evil and dangerous too.”

“Not as often as Humans are,” you muttered sulkily.

Angus hummed. “Oh, and Don feels awful. You may even get an apology when you’re ready to talk to him. He wanted you to face what was in there, but I don’t think he guessed how badly you’d take it.”

You rubbed your face into your hands. “He was right, though.”

“Don’t tell him I said so, but Don usually is. He just has a terrible way of getting what he wants.”

“It’s a family trait,” you mumbled. “We’re not good at being told we can’t do something.” You looked up at Angus, brushing tears out of your eyes. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still going to help Skull. He's spent years half-dead in that cell being treated like an animal. That’s punishment enough. Now he can spend the next decade working on the redemption and rehabilitation bit. He used to read science fiction novels,” you say, horrified as your voice cracks suddenly. 

You cough, forcing the emotion back. You were done crying for now.

“Come on,” you said, standing up and brushing yourself down. The Skeleton plushy was snuggled under your arm. “I’m going to go get my apology.”

Chapter Text

It was obvious you couldn’t leave the prison even for a day.

You'd returned this morning to discover that Red had been dragged to solitary for two weeks for assaulting Nolan. Why, you had no idea. Other than the fact it was likely Red being Red. 

Skull had thrown a wobbler when he’d seen it wasn’t you bringing his meal. He usually did on your days off, but he’d normally just growl from a corner. This time, he’d lunged at the nurse. Unfortunately, the nurse was Cynthia. On the plus side, he'd seemingly deliberately not touched her. Progress! On the other hand, he'd frightened her so badly she’d thrown the soup and rolls at him and run out screaming.

Huxley had then tranquilised Skull for no reason. You were livid about that. 

At least you could rely on Sans keeping out of trouble.

The big news, though, was Nolan himself.

Nolan had arrived for work yesterday. He'd been sent straight to Spratt’s office, summarily fired and told to leave the prison immediately. As Don would say, drama! Apparently, there’d been a shouting match in Spratt’s office. Fortunately, Mrs Johnson, the Warden’s secretary, was a nosey cow and could be bribed for information with baked goods. So the staff had discovered it had been something to do with photos. Photos and a threat that they’d be sent to all the newspapers in New Ebott unless Nolan was fired immediately. The reputation of the prison was at stake. And presumably, the reputation of the Spratt and Greene families.

That’s all anyone knew.

Except for Cynthia.

You’d been watching her face as everyone gossiped in the break room. She knew something. She looked like death. Later, after some gentle prodding, she confided that one of the photos had ended up in her locker. Like someone had specifically wanted her to know.

"Nolan deserves to rot in hell,” Cynthia said, tearfully. 

“What was it?” you asked, unable to stop yourself.

“A woman. She was half-naked and definitely drugged and he was just all over her,” Cynthia said. She looked nauseous. You felt nauseous now too. Your skin was crawling. “What's worse is it's obvious he's the one holding the camera. Who… I mean, who does that?”

You were sickened. "Are you going to bring it to the police?”

Cynthia shook her head, violently. “I threw it in the incinerator in the basement. Should have chucked him in there too.” She barked out a sad laugh. “I was actually going to meet up with him. After I’d heard he was fired. Thought he could do with some cheering up. That could have been me.”

You shuddered. It could have been you. “Who the hell are they hiring?” you wondered aloud. 

“Anyone who can hold a taser,” spat Cynthia. 

She walked away, still angry, heading out of the Infirmary. You figured she was going on a smoke break. You let her, she needed it.  

That left you and Nurse Liza to deal with the influx of patients. You liked Nurse Liza. She wasn't exactly a friend, but she was experienced and didn't have any issues working with either Human or Monster patients. She'd also been the one to give you the tips and tricks to dealing with Nurse Terror, so you were grateful for that.

"What was all that about?" Liza asked.

It didn't feel right to say anything, so you shrugged.

Liza snorted. "Probably sulking that her boyfriend's been fired." She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Sorry. You and Nolan were..."

"No," you said, quickly. "No, just... colleagues." Your skin crawled and your stomach squirmed.

Liza obviously didn't believe you. She gave you a sympathetic smile. "He'll regret it when he realizes what she's actually like," she said, with a bit of malicious glee. "I almost feel sorry for him."

"That’s ridiculous, Cynthia is a wonderful person.” Right now, you'd have defended Cynthia to the death.

"She's a racist princess," Liza objected. "She's only here because she's failed her Tier 3 qualification more times than I can remember, so she can't work at a hospital."

Currently, on staff, it was really only Terror, Liza and yourself who were here expressly because you'd wanted to work with the inmates. Believing they deserved the same level of respect as any patient. Liza had come here ten years ago on a temporary basis. But she decided to stay permanently after the West Court Massacre. You had an infinite amount of respect for anyone who did that. You were pretty sure if you ever experienced a riot here, you'd run for the hills. 

"I hope the pair of you aren't gossiping," came Terror's stern voice, projected clear across the Infirmary as though she'd been standing next to you both. 

You worked solidly through the rest of the day, thinking things over.

So, someone had discovered Nolan was some sort of date rapist and brought proof to Spratt. They'd threatened to tell New Ebott that the prison employed guards who’d be better off in the cells. Okay, you could believe that. But no one in the prison had received a copy of one of the photos except Cynthia. Suggesting that someone knew she and Nolan were dating. And worryingly, someone who could get to the medical staff lockers.

Clearly, Cynthia hadn't raised this with anyone. That sat badly with you. He should be reported to the police if this was all true. If it was as bad as she’d said, then he wasn't just a danger to Cynthia, but to anyone else who crossed his path. But with the evidence destroyed… And Spratt sure as hell wouldn't hand something like that over to the police. Not on his own nephew. 

Would Nolan have… no.

No.... murderers knew people they didn’t murder. Presumably, date rapists went on normal dates?

God, you felt sick. Stop thinking about it.

You remembered that Dog Monster knocking over the table at the Blue House. Your lime and soda spilling everywhere and how angry he’d been. There was no reason to think… 

But you swore if you ever saw that Monster again, you were buying her a drink. 

~*~

“Knock knock,” you said, walking into the cell.

“sweetheart. ain’t you a sight for sore eye sockets. what’s that?”

You held up the little box on a cord around your neck. “Panic alarm. In case you get handsy.” 

“not unless ya want me to.”

“Red.” The door closed behind you and you opened your medical bag.

The small cell in solitary was grim, even by this prison’s standards. Whitewashed walls were cracked, yellowed and moldy. There were obviously old bloodstains everywhere. Delightful. Red didn’t seem to mind, stretched back on the bench like it was a throne. He looked bad, though. For the first time since you'd known him, his bone colour appeared a little ashen. It was the first time you'd been allowed to visit Red in solitary. No Monster lasted long alone without showing some physical sign of Hopelessness, even if it was on the milder end. Red was obviously the sort of Monster who couldn't heal properly if alone.

“didn’t know they had panic alarms,” Red said.

You guessed most of the medical staff wouldn’t willingly choose to be left alone in this tiny cell with Red, so they wouldn't have needed them. They'd have had an armed guard with them the whole time. You didn’t say that though. 

“Why?” you asked instead, exasperated.

Red knew immediately what you meant. “spratty junior was walking too close to the bars. i was givin’ him a lesson in why that ain’t safe.”

“Right. Because you’re so concerned with helping the officers do their jobs better.”

“he’ll never do it again,” Red sniggered.

“Not in this prison, anyway,” you said. “Greene’s been fired.”

“oh yeah? what for?”

“They don’t tell nurses things like that,” you said, walking over with a wet cloth. You wipe down the dirt he was covered in. He'd been dragged through the courtyard to the cells. Likely fighting all the way. There were cracks in his hands, arms, legs. A lot around his head.

You checked him and winced. 5/20. You knew his healing speed was something special, so the fact he'd been sitting at this for longer than a day was the final straw. If this wasn't a clear-cut case of Hopelessness messing with a Monster's healing ability, you didn't know what was.

“I want to give you an IS," you said, firmly.

"nope."

"I'm giving you an IS."

"nah."

"Red, please."

"no." He was smiling at you, but his gaze was steady and firm. "not even if ya beg me, sweetheart."

You pulled open your bag violently, pulling out the healing balm and a couple of Monster Candy. "Why couldn’t you have just gone quietly?” 

“not my style.”

“I’m getting sick of patching you up, Red!” you shouted. “I’m getting sick of seeing what they do to you. God, I'm just so fucking angry with them and I’m angry with you because it’s not like you even make an effort to-” you bit your tongue. Painfully.

Where the hell had all that come from?

You feel Red’s hand close around your wrist. He was gazing up at you with those big, round rose-red eyes. “you’re okay, sweetheart,” he said, softly. It was a statement and a question.

“Yeah,” you said, dully. His thumb was gently rubbing over the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. The warm smooth bone gliding over your veins. It felt nice. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just been a stressful week, that’s all.”

Red made a soft noise. You sighed. Started patching him up the best you could.

~*~

Skull was next. As always, he looked happy to see you. “y/n.”

You started, the tray rattling dangerously in your hands. Skull had spoken spontaneously as you'd arrived. He sounded… alert. You wouldn’t say confident by any means, but it hadn’t been hesitant or forced either. Both you and Huxley probably looked like you’d both been electrocuted. 

“Hello,” you said, trying to cover your shock. “How are you today?”

But he didn’t reply. He smiled though. As you set the plate down, you jumped as you realised he was already walking towards you. 

A winch. A blood-stained tub. Oh god.

You forced yourself to smile. 

Skull stopped moving. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “y/n?” 

“I’m sorry, Skull. You startled me.” You turned away quickly, sitting down. Hoping to hide whatever it was he was sensing. “Though you’re still in trouble, you know. I wish you’d stop scaring the other nurses. I can’t be here every day and you still need to eat.”

Skull took his seat. He was watching you, worry on his face. “Everything’s okay," you reassured, as soothingly as you could. "Come on, let’s eat, I’m star- It’s lamb casserole today.”

The pair of you ate from a large plate with two spoons. You'd weened Skull off of feeding you. It really wasn't appropriate. But he'd sat there moodily and refused to eat until you did. So two spoons and a bigger plate had been the solution.

You’d developed a rhythm of eating which meant Skull ate more than you did. But you were convinced he'd noticed and begun slowing down too. It was a game of wits between you and the giant. Who could make the other one eat more without appearing to? You found it hilarious, usually. 

Today, you just felt sad and drained. You'd just come from visiting Red in solitary, where you'd completely blown up at him for no reason. God, it was so embarrassing.

You were an awful nurse and moron. You'd been this close to letting yourself be browbeaten into dating a truly horrendous man. Despite part of you knowing there was something wrong with him from the beginning. You'd all but begged to be allowed to attend Red in solitary. You massively cared about Sans, even though Don had made it pretty clear the Skeleton was a murderer. And despite your wobble, you were still happy to be sitting here with a human-eater. There was something wrong with you.

You chatted to Skull gently. You never spoke about anything in particular. After all, anything you said, you were also saying to Huxley too, damn the man. He refused to leave the room under any circumstances. Skull never responded, but you were convinced he was listening intently.

You eyed his dirty orange uniform. There were obvious soup stains from yesterday where Cynthia had thrown his meal at him. You’d see if you could get him another set ordered so he could change. But according to the protocols, that would mean another tranquiliser. 

“How are you feeling after being tranquilised?” You ask, trying to keep your tone breezy while throwing a dark look at Huxley.

Skull processed the question.

You were about to move on, when he spoke. “Tired.”

You stared. That was the second word he’d ever said to you. You smiled. He perked up at your expression, finally smiling again too after you’d worried him.

“I’m pretty tired too,” you sighed, though your excitement at Skull’s apparent ‘talkativeness’ had chased away a lot of your weariness. You glanced around the cell, trying to keep the momentum of the conversation - such as it was - going. “I really wish we could do something about your cell. We could start by getting you a proper bed. Maybe move you to a cell which has a window so you can see the flowers outside-”

“no.” The word was harsh, firm and cold. 

You were surprised and a little alarmed. Skull looked surprised too and ashamed. You waited patiently. Skull did seem to be trying to speak. But the silence stretched on until eventually, he seemed to give up and look miserable.

You hesitated for a moment, then said, "No, what? Take your time."

Skull looked grateful. Eventually, he spoke again. “no flowers. no.”

“Okay,” you said. So Skull didn’t like flowers. Good to know. 

You pushed the finished meal away and made space on the table. “I’ve bought you some books,” you said, pulling them out of your bag and laying them out. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I’ve brought a selection. What would you like to start with?”

You held your breath as Skull slowly looked at the books, one in turn. You’d brought five from the prison library. There were all Monster-written books. A history, a romance, a horror, a murder mystery, and a science fiction.

Skull reached out and picked up the science fiction novel.

Your delight was only marred by Huxley’s vicious little scoff. “It probably can’t even read.”

“He can read,” you say, firmly. Skull already seemed to be reading the blurb on the back. “I’m pretty sure you won't have read it before because it was only published five years ago.”

Skull made an agreeing noise. “space,” he said. He tapped the cover with a sharp phalange. “andromeda.” 

You almost cried, you were so happy. 

Well, as they always say, two steps forward, one step back...

As you followed Huxley to the door, Skull lunged.

The tray you carried clattered to the floor. You yelped, the worst of your scream getting caught in your throat, as you were dragged back into the corner of the cell.

You raised a hand to Huxley, “No, don’t!” you screamed at him as he raised his gun. In retrospect, it was hilarious that the colleague with the tranquiliser gun and not the almost eight-foot, Human eating Skeleton, was your bigger concern. Where the hell was he going to aim? You were covering Skull's chest.

Your other arm was pinned. His arms were tight around you, holding you close like you’d hold a child. His face was in your hair and he was… You blinked, feeling the rumble emanating from him through your own body.

Skull was purring.

So, Skeletons purr. Huh.

You spent a good three minutes trying to untangle yourself. Trying to persuade, bribe and downright demand he let go didn’t work either. At one point, you literally placed both of your hands over his face and tried to push him away, which for anyone else would have resulted in no hands. Skull only chuckled like it was a game, nuzzling into your palms. Cute, but come on. All the while, you were very conscious of the increasing tenseness in his body. The more you struggled, the more the purring was interspersed with mild sounds of protest. And his grip slowly tightened the more you squirmed.  

You gave in as it began to border on painful. “Fine. Fine. Give me the book.”

Skull was reluctant to let go, but he did eventually shuffle things around so he could pass you the book. You opened it up as Skull relaxed again, face buried in your hair. “Right. Voyage of the Polaris by A.R.Tigerwood. Chapter one.”

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Huxley barked.

You were tired. You were tired and the shed had scared you and Nolan had made you feel icky and Red was going to get himself killed and… and… and you were being cradled by a surprisingly comfy, though bony, purring Skeleton.

Skeletons purr.

This was your life now. 

“It’s storytime, Huxley,” you said. “You can stay and listen, or you can go outside.”

You started reading. 

Chapter Text

Sans didn’t usually leave his cell for exercise time. He preferred to sleep or read while everyone was out and the prison was quiet. But today, he’d been summoned outside by Red. Actually summoned. Sans chuckled. Despite himself, he had to admire Red’s nerve.

Sans's cell was in B Block with the other low-risk prisoners who had medical conditions. Or they were those who other inmates would kill on sight. This was where ex-police, ex-politicians, and ex-guards ended up. From Sans's perspective, they were the most useful people to know. And by the time they left the prison, all of them owed Sans a favour or two. Or if not, Sans now knew stuff about them they wouldn't want to appear in the press.

The status and vulnerability of B Block inmates meant they had their own fenced-off area of the west courtyard, keeping them apart from the other inmates. But they could still talk to each other. 

Sans saw Red waiting there on the other side of the chainlink fence as he approached. It looked like he’d gone and worked himself up over something. Knowing Red, it could be anything from being recently attacked, to someone whistling off-key.

“you got bone to pick with me, red?”

“reusing your own material already, comedian?”

“heard you were in solitary. were you bonely?”

“nah, sweetheart came to visit,” Red said, with a smirk. “soon we’ll be visiting the bone zone.”

Sans let Red laugh at his own joke. There was nothing quite as satisfying as letting a bad joke die in the air. Red started to look uncomfortable. Sans smiled. “fuck you,” Red said, defensively. “we had a deal.”

“deal?”

“my bro and i did the hard work, getting the photos out of his place. what did you do with them, anyway? i ain’t heard much about it. i just got out.” 

Sans had heard Red had gone to solitary for knocking out Greene. It was perhaps the only reason why he was indulging Red’s demand to meet him. It hadn’t meant anything in the long run, but knowing that Greene’s life had been made just a little bit worse was enough for Sans to feel a tad more kindly towards Red. 

“i left them in spratt’s office with a demand that they fire greene immediately. or see one of their officers being outed as a pervert in the press.”

“spratt’s office, huh? you really do have the run of this place.”

“that’s what happens when you’re not a bonehead who picks fights every five minutes. you should try it sometime.” Sans rolled his shoulders thoughtfully. “i stuck one of the photos in nurse able’s locker.”

Red looked surprised. Sans was surprised he’d even mentioned it to the other skeleton. He didn't usually hand out information, and he wasn't looking for a confessor.  

“why?”

“she was hanging out with him," Sans said. "thought she should be warned.”

“wouldn’t have thought you of all people would care,” said Red.

Sans shrugged. “what’s done is done. and when i get out of here, i’m going to find greene. i’ll be having a word with him.”

Red chuckled. “you won’t get the chance. cos when i get out of here, i’ll be having a word. but thing is, my bro wants a word too. and he ain’t currently stuck behind bars. there’s a line, comedian. you can’t cut in front.” Red smiled, his gold tooth glimmering in the morning sun. 

“why would your brother bother?”

Red snorted. “don’t worry. ya ain’t gotta worry about a fourth skeleton joining this ‘fair fight’. he’s the one who found the photos. let’s just say, he weren’t impressed. and my bro, well… my bro has standards. call us thugs all you want, but we have rules.”

“wouldn’t have thought you of all people would care,” Sans said coolly, echoing back Red’s words. 

Red looked like he was going to explode but suddenly thought better of it. “yeah. so. guess we’re both complicated. anyway, doesn’t matter, cos a pal of ours, well... she has several fucking words for greene. and she can sniff out a single fart across a pigsty. there’s nowhere in new ebott he can hide now. so, cough up on your end of the deal.” 

“deal?”

“yeah, deal, bonehead. where i figure out a way to deal with officer pervert and you-”

“said maybe i’ll tell you about a certain someone’s soul type.”

“exactly!”

“yeah. maybe .” Sans turned on his heel and walked away. “and maybe not.”

Sans took about three steps in silence before Red finally exploded behind him. Sans could hear the rattle of the fence as he shook it, yelling after him. “you’re a fucking mooch, comedian! get your bony backside back here, we’re not done! you do not go back on a deal with me! if we were on streets now, i’d pop your skull off like a cork and use your dust to season the fucking lasagna!”

“but we’re not on the streets,” Sans said over his shoulder, smiling broadly. “spaghetti is better than lasagna, anyway.”

“you motherfucker, you’re grinning, aren’t you? somethin’ funny about this, comedian? huh? you’re a welcher, you’re a moocher, you’re a-”

“next time you want to make a deal,” Sans called as he got back to B Block's doors, "make sure you get them to spine on the dotted line.”

Even as he stepped into the cool corridor, he heard Red’s last yell. “and i’m going to fucking kill you just for that joke!”

~*~

At Sans's checkup that day, you made him blush. Sans sighed. You had an annoying habit of doing that. He loved that about you, but it worried him how easily you could throw him off his game. You didn't even know it either. He was almost certain he'd hidden that from you, but sometimes, he was convinced you could see through the facade. Something about the way you smiled, glancing up at him, made him weak and convinced you could read every thought going on in his head.

You couldn't, though. You'd probably run if you could. 

Sans gave himself a moment to compose himself, watching in amusement as your face turned into a mortified expression.

"I've just asked something hideously inappropriate for Monsters, haven't I?" you asked, your face an adorable pink. "Sorry, just, forget I asked, okay?"

"it's okay," Sans said, reassuringly. He meant it. He'd rather you came to him, rather than someone else. Or worse, Red. He repeated your question, slowly, "do skeletons purr?"

"If I shouldn't have asked..."

Sans smiled broadly, even though inside he was seething with fury. His eyes skimmed briefly over your face. He was intensely alert, as always, to every inch of your expression. Your face told him he was hiding his anger. He'd seen you around angry people. Like Red and Spratt. You retreated, shirking in. It scared you to your bones, but you hid it well. But not from Sans.

It wasn't a leap to suggest your ingrained fear was related to your childhood. Someone like you wouldn't abandon a family on no provocation. Your father was likely the family tyrant, but that was speculation. An interesting problem to mull over, but what it meant in practical terms was ensuring you never saw him angry. He didn't want you making any unconscious connections to whoever it was who'd scared you. Let Red fill those boots. Sans would be the steady, reliable one. 

Do Skeletons purr, that was your question. Damn that bloody Horror Show. Sans hadn't met the guy, but he wanted that freak dead. Badly. Sans considered lying for a moment but brushed the impulse off. He'd so far never directly lied to you. He wanted to keep it that way. Lies of omission were fine.

"heh heh. well, i wouldn't go asking any other skeletons. but sure, if they're purrfectly happy. but i wouldn't call it purring. it's the sound of a soul vibrating. all monster's souls vibrate when they're happy. but because of the open ribcage," he tapped his own chest, "it sounds like purring."

Your face was still red, but to his annoyance, he could see you weren't unhappy with the idea.

"Well," you said, trying (and failing) to sound professional, "good. I'm glad he's happy."

Pretty fucking happy, he thought, darkly. The kind of happiness that went far, far deeper than reading a good book, eating a Nice Cream or winning a million gold. 

Sans didn't ask who you meant by 'he'. He knew who he was, and Sans didn't want to hear you say it. He preferred you think of him as oblivious than jealous. 

That twisted Horrow Show obviously loved you badly. Sans wasn't exactly surprised, given their... unique situation. But he was vexed. Frustrated too. How that a fucking freak had no problem opening up in a way Sans could never hope to do. Sans was too guarded. Too scared to ever let himself go and just... just feel. His head was too busy, his thoughts were too loud. He couldn't stop thinking long enough to feel.

Feeling was pain.

It didn't mean he didn't love you, any less than the freak. You were his Soulmate, stars damnit. But he'd never... he'd never be able to purr for you like Horror Show. Sans tried to imagine it. Tired to feel it. He could only picture it in a clinical way. He wanted it, so badly it was a physical ache when he was near you. Like his Soul was trying to vibrate, but it was too frozen over. He couldn't feel that mindless joy. Paps had.

Sans's knowledge that you were his Soulmate came from his ability to read and understand Souls. It was a factual statement. For the rest of Monster kind, they'd know from the deep-seated, instinctual connection. The sense that your Soul was crying out to its mate. The way Skull was obviously experiencing it. 

Red on the other hand... moron probably hadn't worked it out yet. With the sheer amount of determination that creature ran on... all those little scars in his Soul... Maybe he'd eventually figure it out if Sans didn't get you away from him in time. Sans felt the familiar hollow agony as he thought about it. Red probably would purr too. If you finally gave in and had sex with him. That would likely be the only time Red was able to purr. Show that level of vulnerability. He'd let you in just that little bit so you could feel his Soul call out to you.

Sans would never be able to do that. His broken and frozen Soul didn't know how to make that connection anymore. It didn't matter what level the relationship reached, physically or emotionally. He'd never be able to be that vulnerable. And knowing that hurt him so badly.

It didn't matter. You didn't even believe in Soulmates. You wouldn't resent Sans for the lack of something you didn't believe was real in the first place. And Sans was better than the others. Red was a womanizing thug and Horror Show was a dangerous animal. Sans was real and could keep you safe. You weren't just a body to him, like you were to Red. Or a comfort blanket, like you were to Horror Show. Sans loved your mind, your Soul, your quirks. You were the only woman for him, and he didn't deserve you but he didn't care. He'd just need to work so much harder to show how much he loved you.

Now you were talking about Skull and his love of science fiction. Or course Skull loved science fiction.

Sans rubbed the back of his head, wanting this conversation to be over. Eventually, he sighed and said, reluctantly, “get him a copy of the ophiuchus triology. it’s a science fiction series published by a hotlands monster. back from before we came to the surface. he’ll like it. i’m guessing.”

You perked up, eager. “Is it good? What’s it about?”

“it’s about a lone space sherif solving crimes, stopping wars, saving the day, that sort of thing. and yeah, it’s my favourite.”

“You like Sci-Fi too?” 

Sans wanted to grumble something ungenerous. He stopped himself. "yeah. i love it."

You were so happy. Sans felt a mix of pleasure and hollowness again. Damn that fucking Horror Show.

"Thank you, Sans. I really owe you."

"heh. don't mention it, kid."

Chapter Text

One morning, you were summoned to Whitglass’s office. You found the doctor sitting at his desk, speaking to an elderly Cat Monster. He had streaks of grey in his fur and a somewhat rotund belly which was held at bay by a tight waistcoat.

Like with most Cat Monsters, the urge to pet was real. But incredibly inappropriate in almost any circumstance, so naturally you resisted.

“Ah, Nurse y/n, this is Doctor Koshkin,” Whitglass said, introducing you. “He’s come here from Asclepius General to evaluate Skull.”

The name rang a bell. You remembered there had been a Doctor Kat Koshkin in Skull's records. He'd done Skull’s initial evaluation, back when he'd first been found. Koshkin was officially a psychologist, but mostly because he was a Monster. Most Monster doctors were considered psychologists, given the way Monster Medicine worked. You assumed this was the same person. It was hardly a common name.

You didn’t say any of that, though. You weren’t sure if it was something you could have known without Don’s help.

Knowing the doctor came from Asclepius General, New Ebott's foremost hospital, gave you hope. Asclepius General was an institution committed to research and progression, as well as treating patients whether they be Human or Monster.

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor Koshkin,” you said, accepting the seat Whitglass indicated.

“Nurse, please talk Doctor Koshkin through your interactions with Skull and answer any questions he has.”

It took a while, but you walked both doctors through as many significant encounters as you could, as well as Skull’s general behaviour during meals. You tried to keep your personal opinions to yourself, just sticking to the facts. You stopped, finally, waiting for questions.

Koshkin, however, didn’t seem to have any. He turned to Whitglass, without a word to you. “Shall we head over?”

You supposed he was just eager to see his patient. But still, it seemed rude. 

The three of you walked the familiar route to the East Wing. Once you’d gone through the security checkpoint, you lead them towards Skull’s cell.

“A moment,” Koshkin said, before you'd got to the door. “You will not be required, nurse.”

You started. “Oh. I- as I’m sure you’ve gathered, I’m the primary member of staff Skull deals with. It’s usually expected that-”

“I am aware, but you will not be needed. We are not here for his meal,” Koshkin said, briskly.

“I…” you glanced at Whitglass, who returned your gaze without emotion. Hesitating, you continued, “I think it would be best-”

Doctor Koshkin gave you a patient smile. “My dear,” he said, as though talking to a child. “I’m aware you have been very lucky thus far in your dealings with this patient-"

Lucky? Lucky?!

"However," he continued, unaware of your internal screaming, "as Skull has shown great progress, even becoming vocal once more, it is time for him to receive real help. Human medical assistance is simply not good enough. It is time for him to be cared for by his own kind.”

As though his own kind had cared about him up until now.

No, you, the silly Human nurse, had done all the work even getting this far. But suddenly you weren’t good enough for Skull. You were angry, but you couldn’t voice your frustration. 

"We've done a great deal for him," you said. "The care he's received here is the reason he is vocal again."

"On the contrary, Monsters are well able to look after themselves. We have done so for many hundreds of years. Long before we came to the surface. Even at my initial evaluation of Skull's condition, I have always believed that he would regain the use of his faculties given enough time."

So locking him up in a tiny cell away from all contact was the best way to achieve that?

Your eyes darted to Whitglass again, but he seemed to be in full agreement. In his dry tones, he said, “Doctor Koshkin is an expert in his field. If he says this is what’s best for the patient, Nurse y/n...” You heard the unspoken warning in his words. 

You were hurt. You were angry. But you nodded. “Of course, Doctor Whitglass. Doctor Koshkin. I’ll… I’ll wait by the security room. Should you need anything.”

“We will not,” Koshkin said, shortly. 

"You may return to your duties in the Infirmary," Whitglass said. 

You walked away slowly, not turning around. But listened intently to every sound.

There was the snap of the door lock.

The sound of people walking into the cell.

You waited....

You didn’t hear Skull react.

You supposed Koshkin was right. Of course, he was right. He was the doctor. You were just a nurse. And after all, everyone around Skull since his incarceration had been Human. Given his... inclination to snack on Humans, this may be the first time in years Skull's would see someone he considered a real person. He'd probably be a hell of a lot calmer with another Monster. It was likely better for him too, psychologically speaking.

God, you were jealous.

You were jealous that Skull’s treatment could and should be handled by someone other than you. You know, someone actually qualified! What was wrong with you? Didn’t you want Skull to get better? You were appalled with yourself. 

Forcing yourself to suck it up, you shook the thoughts from your head and rolled your shoulders. You'll do whatever you have to do to see Skull get better. You brush a half-formed tear from your eye. Even if that means walking away. Skull's recovery was all that mattered.

You opened the security door back to the rest of the prison.

Behind you, you heard the familiar furious bellow. 

You sprinted back as fast as you could.

A high-pitched scream came from the cell. An angry shout. The bang of a tranquilizer gun. When did the corridor suddenly get so long?! Furniture being smashed. As you reached the cell, Whitglass ran out, collapsing into the opposite wall in shock. You threw yourself in through the open door.

Huxley was unconscious. It looked like Skull had thrown a chair at him. You had to hand it to Huxley, he had been right about giving Skull weapons. A tranquilizer dart was embedded in the padded back wall. Skull was looming over Koshkin, making a growling, hissing sound you’d never heard before. He held the tranquiliser gun like a club over his head, ready to bring it down on Koshkin.

“Skull!” you snapped. “Put that down!”

Skull jerked. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter. Even through your fear, you were amazed. He actually looked guilty, gazing at his boots. 

“Go on,” you said, gesturing to his preferred corner. 

Skull shambled over. Sitting down heavily. Looking miserable. You heard him mumbling to himself. “idiot doctor.”

You slapped your hand over your mouth as a borderline hysterical laugh tried to escape. You turned it into a coughing fit. Koshkin got unsteadily to his feet. Without a word, he walked out. Hesitating, you wondering if you should follow... but no. Your patient came first.

You gingerly kicked the tranquiliser gun out of the cell with the toe of your shoe. Just as more guards arrived. Huxley's unconscious form was dragged away and you firmly closed the door behind them. 

You gave Skull what you hoped was a reproving look. “Why did you do that, Skull?”

Skull was silent for a long time. You had a lot of patience for him, you knew how hard he found it to speak. But you weren't going to allow him to 'silence' this one away. You weren’t going to let this one go.

“Come on, Skull. I know it’s difficult. I’ll wait here for as long as it takes. I'll stand here all night if I have to. But you are going to tell me what happened.”

There was another long silence. You realised this was the first moment you and Skull had ever been left alone together. You weren't half as scared of that thought as you should have been.

“cat said… no more… y/n.”

You were so happy. 

God, you were such a terrible person.

“I’m not going anywhere, Skull,” you said, soothingly. “Not if you don’t want me to, I mean. But Doctor Koshkin is going to help you. He’ll be able to help you so much better than I can.”

“no.”

“I think-”

“no.”

“Skull, you need to-”

“no.”

He was the most talkative he'd ever been, and he was being stubborn. You couldn’t help but smile. You’d take this sulky, petulant Skull any day if it meant he was talking.

“I want you to want to get better. Do you want to get better?”

“i’m trying,” Skull ground out through gritted teeth. He sounded so sad and so tired and so frustrated. Your throat went tight and your eyes prickled. “i’m trying,” he said again, desperately. “don’t leave.”

“I’m not, Skull. I’m not leaving.”

Skull looked up at you. Held out his arms. His eye was big and pleading. You walked over and let him hug you around the middle. You resisted the urge to run your hand over his poor, shattered skull. That felt like going too far. He was a patient who needed reassurance, not a puppy. You rested your hands on his shoulders and felt his shaking slowly subside.

You stood like that for a while before gently but firmly pulling the clingy Skeleton off. “I have to go now, Skull. But I’ll be back this evening for your meal. We’ll talk more then, okay?”

Outside, you found Whitglass and Koshkin speaking. Whitglass gave you a brief nod before walking away, still a little unsteadily. You had to remind yourself that although you'd inexplicably become Skull's favourite, the rest of the world still saw him as some deranged monster. Small m. Whitglass had seen it all before. He'd been caring for Skull since the Skeleton had arrived at the prison. But he was too old now to deal with Skull's outbursts.  

Koshkin beckoned you over. “Clearly, reports of Skull’s progression were inaccurate,” he said. “Hardly surprising given he's in the care of Humans. Whitglass has completely misunderstood the patient's situation.”

You opened your mouth to object, but Koshkin held up a paw. “Skull will not do any better under my care than he will here in yours. On the contrary, removing him now would set his recovery back by decades. We must heal the Soul, before we can see to his body or, indeed, his mind. He is not at the appropriate phase for psychological therapy. There is little good I can do for him for at least another year. Good morning.”

With that, he left. You were stunned and angry. Koshkin could have told you something, anything! Why was Skull better with you? What could you be doing better? What had Whitglass misunderstood? What did Skull's Soul need? The IS transfusions? He could get those at a hospital.

You decided to take Angus’s advice and not force yourself to like Koshkin just because he was a Monster. In fact, you thought he was a prick. 

Red was really rubbing off on you.

~*~

You headed back to the Infirmary. Your temper had finally abated and a thoughtful mood had replaced it. 

When you arrived, you found a Monster type in the Infirmary you'd never dealt with before. A massive, nine-foot, green and red-scaled dragon.

You tried not to stare, but it was hard. Monsters had emerged from the mountain just under fifty years ago. That meant your Father remembered them arriving, but you'd always known they'd existed. Even so, you'd still been raised on stories of mythical flying dragons who’d indiscriminately leveled ancient cities. And guarded hoards of treasure. 

Part of you could well believe it. This guy was frightening. He was bellowing at the guards and generally making a nuisance of himself. The other part of you scolded yourself for your reaction. The majority of prisoners you dealt with, Human or Monster, were angry. And they were usually angry because they were scared. When people were scared, they made bad decisions. It wasn't your place to judge them for that. Most only needed to be shown respect and a kind word. The fact he looked like a dragon shouldn’t make any difference. 

Red was here too. He was watching the Dragon from one of the Infirmary beds with a critical gaze. He was sitting up, unbloodied and unshackled, though there was a guard standing close by his side. He caught your eye as you stepped over. "he's new," Red said, nodding towards the dragon. "and pissy."

You checked Red over but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him. "You seem fine?"

"headache," Red said with a toothy grin.

You threw an incredulous look at the guard. You seemed to remember him... Ledbetter? He was old, but the steady sort who'd been working in prisons man and boy. "You brought him up here for a headache?"

Ledbetter shrugged. "If it means he’s going to sit quietly and not try to smash my face in, I'll take it."

"see? everyone wins," Red said indulgently. 

You rolled your eyes. But you guessed it was better than him deliberately causing a fight. "Okay, stay here. I'm going to deal with the Dragon Monster first. Then I'll come back and… give you a Monster Candy or something. You really are a nuisance, Red. I don't suppose you know the Dragon’s name, do you?"

Red shook his head. "nah, he only arrived yesterday and he’s over in d block with the rest of the oversized.”

The Dragon was getting increasingly combative. You did your best to calm him down. One of the guards trying to carole him told you his name.  “Scale? Scale, listen to me, I understand you’re not happy. My name is Nurse y/n. I’m going to help you in whatever way I can. But first, I’m going to need you to calm-” 

"Touch me and you die," Scale snarled. Your entire head could easily fit in that long, sharp-toothed mouth. 

Your mind's eye helpfully supplied the image of being burned alive. Taking a deep breath, you said, "Please, Scale, I just want to give you a quick examination to check you're okay. That looks like a nasty cut on your snout and you’ve obviously got some scale-rot on your back. I can only imagine how itchy that is. I have everything you need to feel better, but first I need you-”

"Fucking racist judge, fucking racist jury, I'll fucking slaughter all of them when I get out of here!"

"Scale, please, sit down and-”

Suddenly, you were physically lifted off the floor. Thrown.

Your head crashed against brick.

Sharp light.

Pain blazing in your eyes.

The rest of you crashed into the wall too, but it was only the pain in your head you could think about. It was agony like you'd never felt before. You were on the cold floor. Fingers gripped compulsively, nails digging into vinyl. You hissed. Shifted. Hurting. Your chest stung. Your pink uniform had patches of red blossoming like little flowers. Bleeding from where Scales' talons had grabbed you. Lights flashing in your vision. A mess of noise everywhere. He must have tossed you like a rag doll. Your ears rang, your head pulsed... you were going to vomit.

You blinked back tears of pain, gazing up through your blurred vision. You must have blacked out. Even though it had felt a moment, it couldn't have been. The Infirmary was in chaos. An alarm was blaring, making you wince in pain.

There was blood on the floor. It wasn't all yours.

The guards had been attacked too. The two who'd been trying to control Scale were unconscious. Ledbetter was crawling for the exit. You realized with a horrid lurch in your stomach that his legs were obviously broken.

You saw Nurse Liza running for the private examination room, putting a door between herself and the chaos. Terror was being busily efficient, rounding up the other patients and rushing them out the way Liza had gone.

In the middle of the Infirmary, Red and Scale fought.

You watched, enthralled and terrified as two incredibly powerful beings traded punches. It was clear that Scale was the more physically powerful, but being newly on magic suppressants was hampering him. You could tell he kept trying to use magic attacks and getting thrown off balance when they didn't work.

Red, on the other hand, had eight long years of learning to fight without magic. His face set in a grimacing snarl. He was breaking Scale down slowly and surely, like taking a sledgehammer to a wall. But Red was not a high HP Monster, certainly not compared to most with his power. He dodged Scales punches well. But you knew it wouldn't take too many direct hits to kill him. 

You had to do something. You had to help.

Red dodged another blow from Scale. Ducking under his arm. Coming back up like a prize fighter, but in the same movement, reaching for something. It happened too fast to comprehend, especially in your bleary state. But when Red dodged backward, you saw he'd stuck a medical scalpel into Scale's neck.

Scale was in pain. Furious. But vulnerable, trying to shield his injured side as Red reined down fists like concrete with abandon.   

You had to help...  

Arms were suddenly dragging you up. Your feet wouldn't cooperate at first, until you finally remembered how to stand. Nurse Terror, with astonishing strength for her age, practically lifted you off the ground. "You're alive," she said, firmly. "Now move."

Heads down, you both ran past the fighting Monsters and through the examination room.

You felt yourself drop onto a bench, cradling your head.

The front of your uniform was red with your blood, but it was the agony in your head you just couldn't escape. You could feel saliva filling your mouth and you gagged slightly. Pressure building in your head. Pulsing. Throbbing. Deafeningly loud. Ringing. You just couldn't get your mind to settle on anything. But you at least registered that you were in the holding area where prisoners waited for their checkups. This is where Sans waited for you before his checkups... 

Someone nudged your shoulder. A bottle of water and painkillers were being handed to you.

Office Harris, the B Block guard, gave you a thin-lipped smile as you took them.

"T-thank y-" you whispered, wincing at the volume of your own voice.

"Don't thank me," Harris said, grudgingly. "I have to tell Sans I did something for you, or he'll kill me when I tell him about this."

You weren't listening. You just couldn't. Hands pressed over your ears. The light and the noise. Too much. The room. Too much.

You threw up.

Chapter Text

Gossip is a fascinating thing. It moves faster the more people there are to hear it. And in a confined environment like the prison, gossip takes on a life of its own. Gossip spreads news - particularly the news people shouldn't hear. It defined hierachies. Gossip starts riots. And while Sans wasn't always the first to hear it all, being somewhat isolated as he was in Cell Block B, he was most definitely one of the few people who knew what to do with gossip. What to spread, what to bury and what to weaponize.

Sans was a very good listener. He preferred to listen if given the choice. People tended to talk and talk too much to Sans. Maybe he had that sort of face you could trust. Maybe it was his wide-eyed stare. But with very little effort, he had a gift of being someone people easily liked. And with that ability, he gained more freedoms than anyone else in the prison. Including the privilege of wandering over to the prison library when the fancy took him.

Chapter Text

Much later, Red was brought back to his cell, after having somehow managed to avoid being thrown in solitary. He was pacing up and down the small space with mounting fury. None of the mother-fucking screws would tell him what had happened to his sweetheart. He was burning with fury and fea- moderate concern.

When he'd seen you thrown across the Infirmary like a rag doll Red had - ha ha, seen red. Launching himself at the Dragon, he realised he hadn't even considered stopping to check if you were okay. It hadn't crossed his mind. Kill first, talk later. If there was anyone left to talk to. His anger had been all-consuming, as it always was. The narrow focus, the pulsing of his Soul, driving him foward. Never back. Never stopping to think... he hadn't stopped to think.

Red... Red felt bad. He felt like he probably wasn't a very good person.

Red had been a baby bones the last time he'd wondered whether or not he was a good person. The underground had driven that kind of triviality out of him years ago. Right or wrong, good or bad, it was all words. What mattered was strength. You didn't build a criminal empire from the ground up crying about tom, dick and harry you sent to the morgue. You didn't surive in this world if all you thought about was being good. And he never stopped to philosophise on whether the victims of his anger were good or bad people. People were either in his way, or not in his way.

But he was someone who looked after those he cared about and today, Red felt like he’d failed.

Were you okay? 

Red knew all too well how fucking fragile Humans were. And, being a skeleton and all, Red was particularly sensitive to the sound the crunch of bone makes... 

Would the fucking comedian have stopped to help you? Yeah. He would have. Of course, he would have. Been all understanding and caring, even if it was an act. Manipulative asshole. Sans had so much control over himself. Red had very little control. His reputation for having a tiny fuse was an asset. People would do a lot to avoid annoying Red. And if he did lose control, truly lose control, Edge had always been there to pull him back.

Edge was one of the meanest bastards out there... but he didn't seem to lose control like Red did. 

Red couldn't remember seeing you leave the Infirmary.

Had you walked out or been carried out? What if you were...

No. No.

No!

Red punched the cell wall hard, feeling the concrete crack around his fist. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Red."

"you wanna make something of it, you fucking screw?!" Red wheeled around furiously to confront whoever had spoken.

Ready for another fight. Begging for another fight.

Anything to stop him from thinking.

Stars, Red hated thinking.

It was Officer Harris. Sans's pet guard. He didn’t look impressed, but said, calmly, "Rather than have you tearing up your cell tonight, I swung by to tell you Nurse y/n is alive and recovering well. She has a nasty concussion and a few cuts. But a family member was called and took her away to rest for a few days."

It was like he could suddenly breathe again. Red fought not to show how relieved he was.

Frankly, he tried very hard not to admit to himself how relieved he was.

"right. fine. good. fuck off."

"I thought you'd be pleased," Harris said, drily. "And if you're curious, it's thanks to Nurse Terror- Nurse Terry, excuse me, that you're not locked up in solitary. She explained to Spratt how you came to the aid of her staff."

Red smiled at that. He knew that old tyrant had gone soft on him. "what about ledbetter?"

Harris's hesitation made Red's metaphorical stomach drop. Red had never quite got his head around it, but fifty was considered old for Humans, go figure. Injuries like that weren't brushed off. Sweetheart was young, though. She'd be fine. She'll be fine.

"Ledbetter's a titan," Harris said, with feigned confidence. "Nothing keeps a man like that down for long. And Scale-"

"who fucking cares."

"You didn't quite kill him. But he'll be in hospital for a few weeks."

"i'll have to try harder when he's back."

"He'll be going straight to solitary and about as far away from you as the prison can manage," Harris said. He sounded matter of fact. It was obvious he didn't especially care, almost as if he was play-acting what he thought a guard at a prison should care about, but he'd long since given up the will to give a shit. 

"i can still get to him," Red promised, darkly. "i fucking run this place."

Harris shrugged. Then he glanced around cautiously before passing him something through the bars.

Red took it. "what's this then?"

Behind him, one of his cellmates said, "It's an envelope, Red."

“how about you keep your fucking nose out of the reach of my fist, jerry?”

Harris shrugged. “Sans said to bring it down to you. That’s all I know.”

~*~

Later in his bunk, Red opened the envelope suspiciously. Coming from the comedian, Red wasn't taking any chances. But there didn't seem to be any contraband in it. And the short bastard was too smart to write anything that could link back to him.

Inside was a small piece of folded green paper.

Red frowned, plucking it out and staring at it. It looked like a flat teardrop. The fuck was this? 

Wait.

He opened it up with boney fingers. Into a heart shape.

It was a green Soul.

Red took a long, low breath. A broad smile settled over his face. His Soul raced, pounding against his ribs. He let his arm fall back, resting the small, upside-down heart on his chest, right over his own Soul in a moment of sentimentality he'd never forgive himself for.

Your Soul was green. Your Soul was green.

Of course it was, sweetheart. How could it be anything else?

Red heard a snigger from one of the other bunks. “Did the other Skeleton send you a Valentine?”

Red chuckled, still on his emotional high. “maybe the ol’ comedian's feeling bonely. and you know what? i'm in a good mood. so I ain’t going to break your four ugly legs until the morning. sleep fucking tight, jerry.”

~*~

Skull paced his cell, fear making his bones rattle.

You hadn’t come back. You’d said you were going to come back.

Why weren’t you back? 

Were you angry? Were you scared?

You’d said you’d come back, that you weren’t leaving.

The growl Skull wasn’t aware he was making grew louder the longer he paced. He could vaguely hear movement outside his cell, but it wasn’t you. Wasn’t your smell, wasn’t your voice, wasn’t your Soul, so he ignored it. He didn't even consciously ignore it. Most of his life was white noise to Skull. 

Faces, sounds. Everything had been a haze of white noise until you'd come.

An hour later, Skull had broken the table and the remaining chair. His phalanges were curled into his eyesocket again. He was grinning and growling and whining. All reason was leaving him again. He felt himself being dragged down into the Void. 

For the first time… the first time since before he could remember, Skull fought against it. Begged himself not to lose what little control he’d built up. You’d never let him hold you again if you came back and found him more animal than Monster.

Was this because you’d been to the cabin?

Skull knew you had, the first day you'd been back.

The scent of that mould he knew well still clung to your hair, even though you'd showered. The smell of peaches was always so gentle on you.

You’d been frightened of him when you’d seen him after the cabin. Skull had felt your Soul cringe away from him. He’d wanted to fall to his knees and scream. But it had only been for a moment. Just for a moment. Your Soul had calmed, like a panicked, flapping bird finally relaxing in his massive hands. Or like a frightened kitten curling up and purring.

Too easy to crush.

Skull was trying so hard. 

Though his understanding of right and wrong was so screwed up as to be unrecognizable, he'd vaguely put together that the shed was why he was in this room. Skull didn’t understand. Honestly, he'd not cared much. Until he'd met you. Now he knew whatever he’d ever done that might upset you, he’d never do again. He didn’t care what that meant, just don’t leave, please.

You’d stayed.

You’d stayed. Brought him a book about spaceships. Skull had felt little pieces of himself returning as he’d held it. Remembering words and ideas he'd thought he'd lost. Losing yourself in a good book. Better than losing yourself in the Void. It had made his Soul pound. For a moment, Skull was himself again. You’d been there. You’d still looked at him with those beautiful eyes.

He didn’t feel your Soul cringe again. You felt warm. 

The overwhelming gratitude was hampered by the fear you still might change your mind. The sudden flash of panic was what had made him grab you. Grabbing you, pulling you away from the door that leads to nothing. Keeping you safe in his arms.

You’d struggled. Made sounds like you weren’t happy. But Skull had felt your Soul purring like a soft kitten. It was the only excuse he’d needed to hold on, despite your struggles. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he'd known it wasn't right to hold on if you were struggling. Obviously trying to get free. But your Soul was happy and Skull was weak.

You'd settled down eventually. Read to him. 

It had been the best day of his life. Since Crooks had left. He’d wanted you to read to him again tonight. He'd been working himself up to ask you when the idiot doctor had arrived.

Skull’s grip on his skull tightened. Pain lancing through his head. 

The Cat been so smug. So condescending. Skull had tried to talk. The doctor hadn’t given him time. He’d just kept talking about what was best for Skull. What he needed. Talking and talking. Smiling all the time. Just like he had done. Skull had felt his rage growing. He just wouldn’t shut up and listen. Skull didn’t need this. He needed you. 

He’d managed to hiss your name through gritted teeth.

The Cat had chuckled. “Nurse y/n will no longer be attending you, Skull. She is ill-qualified-”

The next thing Skull remembered was you shouting at him. He saw Koshkin gazing up at him with terrified eyes. He felt something long and thin in his hand. He’d dropped it. Whatever it was, it hadn't been his axe. That had confused Skull. He wondered where his axe was.

Time was difficult for Skull.

There was a time before the room, with his axe. A time with Crooks, before the axe. A time underground. Now, the time with you. Sometimes, Skull wasn't sure when he was. The cell was dark. Sometimes he thought he was underground again. Sometimes, when you hadn't been for a while, Skull was afraid he was in the time before you. Skull never got time with Crooks again. He had to remind himself constantly that he was in a time with you.

Skull lived in constant, aching fear of the time after you. 

Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave.

The doctor was an idiot. He hadn’t understood. Skull wasn’t getting better because his mind was getting better. Skull was still insane. His body still warped. But for the first time since Crooks had left, his Soul was being fed. His Soul was getting all the positive, stabilizing emotions that it had been desperate for, for years. It was balancing his magic again. 

Maybe in a few years, he’d be ready for therapy. Maybe after a decade or two, he could pass for a functional eccentric. But without you, that would never happen.

Skull froze as the lights went off. 

That meant you weren’t coming.

Skull barged the door again and again. He kept going, again and again, the metal of the door starting to scream under the pressure. Again and again. Determined to get out. Past the door. Past the barrier. Where were you?

He felt a pain in his chest.

He collapsed to the ground, finally falling into a drug-induced asleep.

Contrary to what you believed - and Skull would never correct you, because you were perfect and right in every way... but Skull actually liked being tranquilised. 

When he was tranquilised, he didn’t have nightmares. 

And when he woke up, maybe you'd be there.

Chapter Text

You were dizzy and ill and everything ached. Curled up into a ball under the bedcovers, you pretended not to exist until you heard a soft knock at the door. Don walked in with tea and scrambled eggs. It was only when you smelt the food, your stomach growled. 

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“Like I’ve got the worst hangover in the history of hangovers,” you muttered, sitting up. Don sat with you while you ate. You noticed he was in his court suit. “Shouldn’t you be heading to work?” you asked. 

“I’ve just come from work,” Don said. “I’ve got to head back in a minute.”

You groaned. You’d had to stay up half the night to avoid any ill effects from a concussion, so you’d pretty much slept half the day away. “How are you so awake?”

He’d been there too, annoying you enough to wake you up every time your eyelids had started feeling heavy. 

“Years of law school," he said.

He left you sometime later, with a promise that Angus would be here in a couple of hours to check on you. They seemed to be doing shifts between them. You were touched and embarrassed. It was so mortifying. Every member of staff at the prison had some war story from their time there. But you’d managed to go all these months without anything like this happening.

God, Ledbetter. You hoped he was recovering at the hospital.

You went over it again and again, trying to figure out if there was anything you could have said which might have calmed Scale before he'd lost it. But honestly, it felt like Scale had come looking for a fight. It hadn’t been about you. You’d just been the closest. Chalk it up to another of your stupid decisions. 

You groaned as you heard the phone ring.

Ignore it, ignore it.

It stopped. Phew. 

It started again.

Bastard.

You grumbled. Pulled yourself out of bed with effort. You were wearing Don's silk pajamas and damn were they the most comfortable thing you'd ever worn. You had to remember to steal them when you left. He owed you for bin-bagging half of your clothes. Besides, he could afford a different set every night. You wouldn't lose any sleep over your theft. You'd probably actually gain sleep, haha.

God, your head hurt so bad.

Stumbling slightly, you walked out into the living room and picked up the receiver. “Angus and Galbraith residence,” you murmured, surprised how together you sounded when you’d actually wanted to spit out a barrage of curses. 

“This is Jack Spratt, Warden of New Ebbott Prison. I need to speak to Nurse y/n.”

Your fogginess cleared with a sharp start. Like getting a bucket of ice water thrown at your face. “Oh! Er. Sir. It’s me.”

“Glad you’re up and about, Nurse. We need you here now.”

No. No, no, no. No. No, I’m sorry, but no. No. That’s not fair. No. Fuck that and fuck this and fuck you. No, no. No, no, no. No.

“Er… sir… I mean... I’m still not feeling that great-”

“I’ll send a car. Skull is trying to claw its way out of its cell. You’re going to get over here, now.”

Your lagging mind suddenly filled in a lot of yesterday's events. It had all been a bit hazy after your head wound. Dr. Koshkin. How scared Skull had been that you were leaving. You told him you’d come back, but you hadn’t gone back.

Fuck.

~*~

Thank god you kept a few things at Don’s place for the occasional impromptu sleepover. Leaving a brief note to Angus, you were dressed and ready to throw yourself in the car the moment it arrived. You were dosed up on painkillers and holding a flask of coffee in an effort to wake up faster. You were still muzzy and achy, but fear kept you moving. 

At the prison, you virtually ran from the main doors to the East Wing, not stopping to change into your uniform. You barely noticed the few askance looks you received. Outside the security door that led to the East Wing, you could see Whitglass and Spratt waiting for you.

Spratt gave you a quick rundown of the situation. It sounded bad. Strike that. It was bad. Inside, guards were waiting on either side of the cell door with tranquiliser guns. But they’d already put four darts in Skull and nothing was slowing him down. He was trying to break through the metal door. He seemed to be doing more damage than anyone could account for. 

“Did you get-”

“The thing you wanted from your locker?” Spratt cut you off, glaring at the bag he handed over with distaste. “I don’t care what you throw at it, so long as it works.”

Whitglass didn’t look like he approved at all, but fuck him. He wasn’t the one going in there, was he??

You headed quickly toward's Skull's cell. You could hear him bellowing. To your ears, after so long working with the giant, his anger sounded more like pain than fury. The sound of tortured metal and concrete cracking as he forced the door was chilling.

Outside the cell, you stopped, trying to calm your breathing. You were scared. Not of Skull, exactly, but scared of what he could do in this state. You were half convinced he could kill you and not even know he was doing it. 

“Skull,” you called.

The bellowing didn’t stop. He didn’t stop forcing the door. It sounded like there were a hundred angry bulls in there, all of whom were on fire. The guards around you tensed with every thump against the door. You forced yourself to stand calmly. If you didn't freak out, you might be able to convince the guards not to either. More violence wasn't the answer here.

“Skull,” you called again, patiently.

The sound started to peter out. You waited until it had eased off into a low growl.

“Skull, it’s me,” you said.

The growling stopped.

You had to really struggle to pull back the flap on the door’s security grating, which would allow you to look into the cell. Skull had damaged it, so it was stuck. With some wrenching, you finally managed to lever it back. 

“Oh my god!” You yelped, starting backward like a panicked rabbit.

Skull’s huge unblinking eyelight was pressed up against the grate, staring at you.

You gave a nervous laugh, pressing a hand over your heart like it might try to escape. Nothing like a good old fashion jump scare. “Oh my god, Skull, you gave me such a heart attack."

So he'd broken his chain again. Spratt told you he'd done that last night, so they'd tranquilized him and replaced the chain. When he'd woken up, he'd immediately started attacking the door again. No one had been sure if he was physically free or using magic. Despite him being on enough magic suppressant to virtually labotomize him. They hadn't dared look through the grate. They were probably going to upgrade the security around him, again. God damn it. You just prayed he wasn't destined to go back on the gurney. 

"Skull, please step away from the door and go over to your corner.”

You had to repeat your order patiently three times before the huge glowing eyelight finally disappeared. You watched Skull walk, unsteadily, to the far corner and slump down. He looked exhausted. You hoped the tranquiliser effects were starting to kick in now he was calming down. Ordinarily, you didn't like the insane frequency Skull was tranquilsed. But right now, it was the safest for all concerned that he went to sleep for a bit.

Spratt and Whitglass came around the corner. Now everything seemed safe. And they say chivalry is dead.

"Tranq it," Spratt ordered a guard.

Before you could object, Whitglass cleared his throat. "Ideally, we should avoid that, Spratt." Spratt glared at Whitglass. The doctor gave a small smile. "We need him calmed. Not dead."

Spratt rolled his eyes.

"I'll go in," you said. "I'll give him a once over and make sure he sleeps. He's most likely going to pass out very soon, anyway." The fact that Skull had taken four already was concerning. You didn't want anyone giving him anymore.

You waited for an objection. Then you realised Huxley was absent. He was likely on medical leave after being knocked out by Skull hurling that chair yesterday. God, was that only yesterday? 

Whitglass looked like he approved. Spratt was hesitating.

Maybe it was thanks to the concussion, but you heard yourself say, "I promise not to sue if he kills me."

"That's what the waiver was for, firecracker," Spratt snapped, but he looked mollified. He waved a hand airily. "Do whatever you think medically necessary."

It took the combined strength of three guards to force the damaged door open enough for you to go in. As you approached Skull, you saw with a nasty jolt that none of the guards had followed you in. Staying just outside, tranquilser guns raised. You supposed for all Huxley's faults, he was probably the only person brave enough to be in the same room with Skull on a regular basis. 

“Skull? Can you say something? Anything? I just need to check… to check how you’re doing.”

To check how much of him is still there, you thought. And how much danger you were in.

Skull was panting. His bones rattled with a soft clacking sound. Of course, it wasn’t ‘panting’, strictly speaking. It was a result of so much determination being used. The sheer raw power pulsing through his Soul. 

“Skull, can you talk-”

“y/n.” 

You sighed in relief. You knelt down, a little way out of arm's reach. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back yesterday. There was... an incident at the Infirmary, and-”

“bleeding.”

You paused. “Oh,” you said, remembering the cut to the back of your head and the bandaged wounds from Scale’s talons on your chest. The injuries had been tended to and you’d showered, but Monster smell being what it was, he was still able to tell. “Yes, I was. Not anymore.”

The last thing you were going to do was tell Skull that you were attacked.

He reached out to you, childlike.

You didn’t move. “Not yet, Skull. I want you to calm down a bit first.”

“cabin.”

“Cab-” you froze. Swallowed. Your eyes darted to the door, but Spratt and Whitglass were nowhere in sight. In fact, even the guards seemed to have backed off. “Cabin?”

“don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Skull. There was a problem yesterday, so I couldn’t come to visit you. I know that might have scared you, but Skull - you cannot kick off like this. Do you understand me? You simply cannot kick off like this. You scared everyone.”

You waited, to see if he’d say anything. He didn’t.

"You scared me."

"no."

You waited again. When he didn't say anything, you began to worry. Not sure if you were interpreting him right. “Are you upset? That I went to your old cabin?”

Skull shook his head violently. “no. stay.”

He might have meant 'stay here' or 'stay at the cabin'. You couldn’t do either. 

You opened the bag. “I… I thought I’d bring you something.” You held out the cleaned and fluffed skeleton plushy. “I… hope you don’t mind. I thought you might like a little reminder.” 

Skull was still. Slowly, you watched as his head tilted, staring at the plushy. He gave a small laugh. Reaching out, you watched him run a phalange over its head. He took it from you and held it, looking at it curiously. 

“Do you remember it?”

“crooks’s.”

The rumble of Skull’s baritone voice confused you for a moment. The tranquilisers were starting to kick in now and he was getting slower. Sluggish. You weren’t sure if he’d said ‘Crook’s’ as in, belonging to Crooks, or had called the plushy itself Crooks. Not wanting another of your theories to be wrong, you guessed, hopefully, “The plushy belonged to Crooks?”

Skull nodded. That confirmed that then - the Monster he'd lost had been Crooks.

He put it down, gently setting it up against the wall like it was sitting next to him. He'd calmed now. You moved forward. He took your wrist and pulled you into his lap. You could feel the beginnings of his purr.

“Are you calmer, now, Skull?”

“yes.”

“Would you like to talk about Crooks?”

“no.”

“Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

“no.”

Today wasn't really the time to push him. But you couldn’t help yourself. “I saw your shed. Is that where you killed people?”

“yes.” His tone hadn’t changed from the mellow, emotionless answers he’d already been giving. He was still purring.

“Do you regret killing those people?”

The purring stopped as Skull gazed down on you. “yes?”

He’d said it because he thought that's what you wanted to hear. You sighed. “Why did you eat people?”

Skull thought about this a little longer. “it's kill or be killed.”

You stared. A full sentence. There was something about his tone. Even through the effects of the tranquilser, you could hear the firmness. Like he was speaking from rote learning. As though he’d said it again and again. Or heard it again and again. Some excuse he’d lived by?

“No, Skull. That’s not true.”

Skull frowned for a while, before apparently deciding to ignore it. He pulled you closer, hugging you tight to his chest. “read.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s the magic word?”

“please, kitten.”

You laughed. “Kitten? You’re calling me kitten? You’re the one who purrs.”

“soft.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching out and picking up the book which had managed to survive the rampage. “Fine. Where were we…”

Chapter Text

It was your first time visiting one of the Monster Districts. Given you had another few days off for medical leave, this seemed liked the best time. Now you were here, you'd realized you’d never known what it was like to stick out like a sore thumb. In a room full of humans, you were the invisible one. You were either the girl in the overlarge sweater trying to keep away from the crowds or the one in the nurse’s uniform with their head down, doing their work. There was no one more overlooked.

In the Monster District, you were watched constantly. 

That's not to say that there weren't Humans living in the Monster Districts. There were more than just a few, in fact. They'd integrated into the area for a lot of reasons. It was cheaper, safer and cleaner. Most were here because they were part of Monster families, but you knew a lot of single women boarding houses were based on the outskirts of the Northern Monster District simply because it was a low-crime area.

But you didn't belong here and it was made obvious. It unnerved you. Your defence of compulsively smiling at anyone who made eye contact didn’t seem to be helping. 

There were three major Monster Districts in New Ebott. The Western District, the Southern District and the Northern District. Helpfully placed where you’d expect to find them around the city. You'd noticed Monsters were like that with their naming conventions. It was always rather... on the nose.

The Northern Monster District, which was basically where Monsters had first settled when leaving the mountains, was the biggest. That's were the Palace was, along with most of the civically important buildings for Monsters. It was so big it had sprawled back into the Whispering Wood. You wanted to go there one day, it sounded beautiful. But the parts that Humans could get into easily sounded touristy and that hadn't been what you wanted.

You’d decided to keep away from the Western District for now. That’s where some of the worst wars between Human and Monster gangs happened. That was the primary haunt of the Serif gang, with Red's brother Edge. You'd go there one day, maybe with Angus, but you didn't want company today.

So on this, one of your rare days off, you'd decided to go to the Southern Monster District. It still had gang crime, but it was considered the more relaxed Monster District, where most of the inhabitants were just trying to live their lives. It had taken over an hour to get here, but it would be worth it. You hoped.

The Monster Districts were spottable streets away because they had beautifully colourful buildings and extraordinarily clean streets. They had pride in their homes. It put the majority Human area you were living in to shame. A lot of Monsters were standing or sitting in chairs around the entrances of cafes, shops and restaurants. That’s where all the glares were coming from.

You checked every shop front as you went, feeling completely lost already. There were food stores, record shops, and a place that sold radios. Basically everything you got on a Human street. You saw a crude sign over a store saying The Tem Shop, and another at the end of the road. You wondered if it was a chain.

Deciding it was time to suck it up and be a big girl, you hesitantly approached an old Bunny Monster sitting on a chair outside her house. “I’m looking for an apothecary,” you said, apologetically. You were relieved when she smiled and pointed you in the right direction. There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Even if most of the Monsters around her were still staring at you, they were still basically good people.

Even at this point in Human-Monster relations, you knew that unknown Humans walking into Monster Districts never led to anything good, so you could hardly blame them for being suspicious.

The apothecary she pointed you to was called ‘The Apothecary’. You really needed to ask Sans one of these days why Monsters did that.

You walked in and felt the room go quiet. It was an uncomfortable feeling. There had been several Monsters in here. Two behind the counter and a few sitting at the front around a few tables. It looked like an apothecary/slash café. Weird.

You smiled compulsively and walked nervously up to the counter. “Erm… I’d like to buy some Sea Tea, please.”

The person you spoke to was a large Lion Monster who did not seem delighted to have a customer. “This is a Monster store,” he said, shortly. You had a feeling that in this store, the customer was not going to be always right. You were very conscious that you'd be doing this all with an audience behind you, watching with unmasked interest.

“Yes. And you sell Sea Tea?” You could see a box labelled Sea Tea directly behind the Lion.

“We sell Sea Tea to Monsters,” he said.

You pulled out the money. “I’d really like to buy some, please.”

The Lion glared at you. Then he turned around, picked the box off the shelf and threw it down on the counter. “That’s 20 dollars in your money,” he growled. And when a Lion growls at you, you know it. 

You really should have just paid up without fuss, but… “um… the label says 15 gold.”

"Yes. And?"

"10 gold is 2 dollars, so 15 gold is-"

"20 dollars or go to another store," he sneered. Wow, okay... that was a lot of teeth. “There’s a mark-up for Humans who don’t belong here." 

“Oh, knock it off, Bennie.” The other person behind the counter, a female Lion, was glaring. “The girl just wants to buy some Sea Tea. Try not being an ass for five consecutive minutes.”

You resisted the urge to laugh.

“She’s a Human. She can go and buy any medication in the world with her money. But now they're coming here and buying the only affordable medication Monsters can use? What else do they plan to take from us?”

“Quit regurgitating that garbage and try thinking for yourself for a change. If you want to be a politician like mother, go get a job at the Palace. We run a store - that means we sell things to people who pay for them.”

“But you don’t question where the money comes from, do you? Oh no, it’s all about money to you, no principles,” Bennie spat. “This is why our parents don’t love you.”

Oh god. You physically couldn’t deal with any more family drama in your life. You could barely cope with your own. You wanted to remove yourself from this situation and fast. “It’s fine, no problem, here, thank you,” you said frantically, handing over the money. “Thank you,” you said again, taking the Sea Tea and leaving the store at something approaching a run. 

You were almost at the end of the road, dashing back into the bus which would take you to the second bus which would take you to the streetcar which would drop you off a twenty-minute walk from home... when you heard someone shouting for you. Actually, what you heard was “Human Woman!” which you guessed was you.

You turned, nervously. Bennie was jogging towards you, his mane flying back, his tail swinging for balance. Majestic and downright terrifying. You did your best not to look like you wanted to run away.

“You paid too much,” he said as he stopped in front of you, passing you back a 10-dollar bill. You must have thrown 30 at him, you were so desperate to leave.

“Oh. Thank you,” you said, putting it back in your pocket.

He stood there, awkwardly. You realised he wanted to say something and you felt like it would be rude to walk away. Damn your people-pleasing ways. Finally, he said, “I… apologise if I seemed…” he paused, shrugged and finished, “politics is a big thing in my family.”

“I can understand that,” you said. “Actually, it took me a while, growing up, to separate myself from my family’s politics.”

“Who says I want to?” Bennie said with hostility.

Other than the fact that he ran down the street to give back money the evil Human overpaid? “I didn’t say you did," you said, slowly. "But I did. I just wanted you to know that, I guess.” You were leaving a lot unsaid, but somehow, you thought he understood.

“Do you know how to use Sea Tea?” he asked, in a conciliatory tone of voice. 

“No, but I was going to ask some friends of mine,” you said.

The Lion pulled out a leaflet from his pocket and handed it over. “Here. And if you need more… just remember The Apothecary, I guess.” He walked away.

“Thank you,” you called. He didn’t turn around.

~*~

Back at your apartment, you boiled the kettle and read the instructions. It seemed simple enough. The tin container of Sea Tea - which was actually a gorgeous dusky blue that you were going to keep after the tea was gone for bits and bobs - had a little ladle inside which did the measuring for you. 

For one Monster, use one ladle of tea to ten ladles of water. For a Human, half a ladle of tea to fifteen ladles of water. That told you that Humans needed half the strength of a far more diluted mixture of this stuff than Monsters did. You supposed that made sense. The Sea Tea wasn’t going to top up your magic reserves. You didn’t have any. So all it was doing was fixing injuries.

You didn’t have any injuries, but you were going to try it anyway. Why, you weren't sure. You’d been gripped with this idea ever since you’d heard about Sea Tea from that Final Froggitt. You wanted to know. You wanted to understand more about the Monster world.

Sea Tea was one of those medications which could be used by both Monsters and Humans, so it felt like a good place to start. It was also the most common, which meant every one of your Monster patients knew Sea Tea and had likely used it before. It bothered you that you had no clue it existed until recently.

The Sea Tea looked like flaky sea salt. Except it was a dull sea green colour and sparkled like flaked diamonds. You thought it looked pretty. Then you wondered if Monsters looked at medication like Pepto-Bismol and thought it was a pretty colour.

You dumped the tea into a mug and poured in the water. You watched as the flakes bubbled and glittered, dissolving into a cloudy green mixture. Taking an experimental sniff, you winced - it smelt like the sea, salty and old. You were starting to sense a theme.

Were you a Monster fancier? It was a deeply unpleasant label that people used for Humans who had a fascination with Monsters. It was usually a sexual thing. Or were you just a Monster tourist, walking into their world with a ‘look, how quaint.’ You didn't think you were either. Angus had never been shy at calling people out on stuff like that - even Don when he slipped too far into old ways of thinking. You were sure he would have mentioned if you were… 

He had pointed out you had some sort of blind spot. Instead of just accepting Monsters were equally complicated beings.

You sighed, rubbing your head. Not even a year out of nursing school, out in the real world, and you found a lot of what you thought was right and wrong had changed. Nothing seemed clear anymore. The world wasn’t as open to the idealistic hopes of a young woman as you’d once hoped when you were… like, eighteen.

The world seemed easier at eighteen. Fixable.

Nothing about this shit seemed fixable anymore. 

You thought about Sans and Red and Skull. Your heart ached a bit. For god's sake - it had only been a day without you seeing them and already you were desperate to go back into the prison. And it wasn’t because you wanted to be the bested best nurse you could be. You didn’t know what you wanted to be anymore. 

All you could do was keep working. Keep your head down. Hope you’d eventually figure it all out.

Drinking a mouthful of the Sea Tea, you immediately had to throw a hand over your mouth to keep from spitting it up. Oh. My. God. It was literally like gargling seawater with a side order of seaweed and clam and… driftwood? What did driftwood taste like? It had to taste like this.

You forced yourself to swallow. It was staying down, but the sheer amount of salt (or what tasted like salt) must be forcing your blood pressure through the roof.

You downed two glasses of water and another of orange juice, and coughed until you felt better. You left the Sea Tea on your table, walking away from it like you owed it money. 

Half an hour later, you realised the pain in your lower back and neck you’d had all week had disappeared. Grudgingly, you forced yourself to go back and finish the rest of it. It was a painful experience, but by the morning, you’d never felt so good.

Or, at least, you would have. Except that…

~*~

There was a knock at your door. You glanced at the clock as you walked over. It made you pause mid-step in disbelief. It was just after midnight. You hadn’t realised it was that late, you’ve been so involved in your reading. Hesitating slightly, you cautiously slipped the chain on the door and stood on tiptoes to check the peephole.

Chapter Text

It was not a good day. 

You’d arrived at your shift to hear that Red was in solitary. Again. From what you were told, he’d had a pretty severe beating from the guards. So you wanted to finish up with the patients in the Infirmary and get down to him as quickly as possible. 

Then, your key card to the East Wing hadn’t worked so you hadn’t been able to visit Skull this morning. 

It had been a few weeks since Skull’s last outburst. After Scale's attack. And Skull was coming on so well. Not being able to see him this morning was making you horribly anxious. You'd come to understand Skull had problems with time. He'd be convinced you'd been gone for days, when it had only been the evening before. So talking him through when you were going to see him and how long you'd be gone was essential. Skull needed routine and structure. If you told him you’d see him tomorrow morning, you had to see him tomorrow morning. If you told him you wouldn’t be there tomorrow but you would the day after, he was content.

That kind of reliability was key. It meant he’d stopped kicking off on days you weren’t there. He'd also stopped being so clingy, now he was sure you were coming back. On his own, he’d eat and read and, apparently, mutter to the skeleton plushie. You were slightly worried about that one, but you supposed as long as he never expected it to talk back, that was fine. People talked to inanimate objects all the time. 

As though being locked out of the East Wing wasn’t bad enough, you’d then found out that Whitglass had moved all the weekly check-ups to tomorrow, so you wouldn't even see Sans today. 

Eugh, this whole day was a mess and it wasn’t lunchtime yet.

Now you were standing inside Spratt’s office after being sent here by Terror. She hadn’t told you why. You'd been so wrapped up in your bad day, you hadn’t begun to worry until you got here. 

But now you were. 

Spratt was sitting at his desk with Huxley standing on his left and Whitglass, a little ways off on his right, sitting in a chair. You were not invited to sit down.

“Nurse y/n,” Spratt said. “Your time here has had some exemplary stand-out moments, but I’m afraid concerns have been raised-”

No. No, damn it.

“-over your conduct with several of the prisoners.”

“My conduct?” you ask, hollowly. Already, you could feel tears starting to prickle in your eyes, your throat getting tight. You'd always been like this when you thought a teacher was telling you off.

“Your work with Skull has been extraordinary. However, Officer Huxley has noted a troubling intimacy which is highly inappropriate between a nurse and her patient.”

You opened your mouth to object. Spratt held up a hand and you felt the words die in your throat.

“Doctor Whitglass has also raised concerns about your behaviour around Red. We've had trouble with Red in the past. Several times. A young and impressionable girl like yourself is an easy target for him. In other circumstances, we’d simply reassign you. However, you do not seem to like the way things are run here at New Ebott Prison.”

You blinked. “You mean… my reports?”

“Yes. Six of them, in fact, over a five-month period.”

“I… I didn’t mean them as complaints or… I just wanted to bring it to light... I thought... ways in which the patients could be treated better.”

Whitglass cleared his throat. “You are a junior Nurse with virtually no experience of how a prison operates. Do you believe you’re in any position to comment on what you think should or should not be changed?” 

You always think you know better than everyone else! Your sister’s voice screamed in your head.

You jerked. Thanks for dredging up that memory right now, brain, very helpful. 

Spratt sighed. “You’re a promising young nurse, y/n. Nurse Terry has made it clear that she intends to be an advocate for your talents to any future employer. However, you will need to leave. Perhaps you would be better off finding a hospital that specialises in Monster Medicine as that’s clearly where your talent lies.”

“Sir, with respect, I have to stay to work with-” you start, but Whitglass cut you off.

“Skull’s behaviour has come on a great deal in the last few months. I believe he has now turned a corner,” Whitglass said. “In fact, if last month’s incident is anything to go by, you may be doing him more harm than good. He must eventually learn to deal with your absences. You will not be around forever. The level of emotional attachment he displays is deeply troubling.”

“Doctor Koshkin said-”

“With all due respect to Doctor Koshkin, who is an eminent fellow doctor," Whitglass said, "I personally found his theories on Monster Soulmates and his analysis of Skull’s behaviour to be rather… fanciful and bizarre, in truth. It would certainly make no sense to me if Skull were Human and I’ve always found that is the best way to approach Monsters.”

“But he’s not hu-” 

“This decision is final, Nurse y/n,” Spratt said, cutting you off again. “We would request that you not speak of your dismissal with any of your patients. You will be paid until the end of the week, but we'd like you to write up any remaining notes and clear out your locker immediately.”

“Sir, I have to speak with Skull. We have to give him time to understand that I’m not coming back. It’s important.”

“Now that Skull has begun showing an advanced level of comprehension and restraint,” Whitglass said, “this conversation can be had with any member of staff.”

“This isn’t-”

“Thank you, Nurse y/n. Huxley here will escort you to your locker and see you out. We’ll even arrange a car to take you home, if you like,” Spratt said.

Tears threatened to escape, but you held them back. “I’ll take the bus,” you snapped. “Thank you.”

You walked out, followed by Huxley.

You weren’t sure you could take much more of Huxley’s smirking, ugly face as you walked back to your locker. Fortunately, Nurse Terror was waiting there and ordered Huxley back to his post.

“Spratt ordered me to-” Huxley began. At Nurse Terror’s expression, he backed away and left. This man faced Skull down on a regular basis, but Nurse Terror was too much for him.

You watched him go and finally, without your determination not to cry in front of him gone, felt a wave of tears wash over your cheeks. You gasped and hugged yourself.

Terror patted you gently on your shoulder. “There are hospitals, community outposts, health centres, private nursing agencies and nursing homes all around New Ebott. With the reference I’m going to give you, you’ll walk into any one of them you want. For far more money and fewer hours too, I’m sure.”

“I thought I was doing a good job, Nurse Terry,” you wailed, feeling betrayed.

Terror’s tone was cautious. “I shall not pretend that your relationship with Red wasn’t concerning. I’ve lost too many nurses to that lout. But I was confident you wouldn’t act on Red’s advances, even if you enjoyed them. Soon enough, he’d move on and you’d be able to get your mind back to work.”

You gazed at her through your tears, confused. “Then why are you firing me?”

“I’m not firing you,” Terror said, sharply. “I’m not going to find another nurse like you for years, I’m sure. Someone good at what they do. Who wants to do it. Who wants to be here not and not simply because this is the last place that will hire them. It was not my decision.”

“Is this because of Skull or Red or my reports or what?” you demanded.

“All of it. Though I believe your intentions have been good, you’ve caused trouble here. Now the annual review is coming up, they’re keen not to have any young and idealistic members of staff around who can criticise the prison’s policies. Don’t think you’re the only one. A few of the new guards who have raised complaints over the handling of prisoners are also being let go today.”

“What about Skull? I need to speak to him.”

“They won’t allow you to and I certainly can't demand they let you in. The East Wing is entirely in Doctor Whitglass’s domain.”

“I wasn’t being inappropriate with Skull. He just needs a kind of support that the other patients don’t.”

“I won’t pretend to understand and frankly, I don’t approve. Not simply because I’m an out-of-date so-and-so who’s never believed it’s appropriate to hug a patient. But also because I have lived in dread of seeing you brought back to the Infirmary with something necessary bitten off. But I’ve seen you work wonders with your patients so I’ll accept there are things I don’t know.”

You opened your locker and pulled on your coat, brushing your eyes with your sleeve. “This isn’t fair,” you complained, packing your bag.

“I understand it’s hard being fired, but your ambition isn't to work in a prison, is it? It’s to become a first-rate nurse. Trust me, this is going to be a wonderful thing for you, y/n.”

Terror was right. You wanted to be a nurse… right? Yes, becoming a prison nurse had felt… worthy. But there were other prisons in the city. Hospitals in the middle gang war zones. Understaffed community centres. Any number of places where you could also feel like you were doing good. A community centre in the heart of a Monster district would be perfect for you. They were crying out for nurses. You knew that, rationally. And yet... 

Damn it. When had your focus shifted from becoming a great nurse, to just being a nurse here? Not at a prison, but at this prison? You didn’t want to leave New Ebott Prison. And it wasn’t about being a nurse. Something in your chest was hurting. It didn't feel right, but you couldn't place the feeling. God, please don't let me have a heart attack in front of everyone. 

“I want to be as good a nurse as you are, one day," you said. "I really respect you. But right now, this fucking sucks.”

Terror smiled understandingly. You think it’s the first time you’d ever seen it. “I know, y/n. I know.”

Chapter Text

After leaving the prison, you’d done something you hadn’t done since nursing school. You found the closest bar that looked like it had clean glasses and drank until you didn’t remember what your last drink had been.

And yes, you probably had sung all the elements of the periodic table. You couldn't quite remember, it was all a bit fuzzy.

Stumbled home. Officially becoming a noise complaint. Yelling at your door for not opening. Stupid keys stuck. Landlord should be paying me to live here. Crappy apartment anyway. Fell in through the suddenly open door. Eventually. Floor spinning. Breathing deeply not to throw up. Where are the keys? Still in the bloody door. Sometime after midnight, that's not too late. You called Don.

Seemed like the obvious thing to do at that moment.

Don, always up for drama, got himself kicked out of bed by Angus for answering the phone and having a laughing fit at your drunk ramblings. Apparently, you’d been very keen to explain to him how rotten your door was. So, at one o'clock in the very early morning, he’d driven to your apartment to find you half undressed and unconscious on the couch. All so he could make sure you didn't drown on your own vomit during the night.

And that was the end of your first day of unemployment. Not your finest hour.

No, actually, it wasn’t even your first day of unemployment. It had been your first half-day of unemployment. 

When you’d finally woken up the next day, feeling like death warmed over, Don had all but fed you black coffee. Relishing this opportunity to see his straight-laced cousin hungover. There was a hole in Don's knowledge of you. He'd been kicked out of the family a year before you'd gone to nursing school. And you hadn't reconnected until after the Incident. Meaning he missed your two wild years of drinking in your early twenties.

Once you were ready, you poured out the whole sorry story of your firing to him in waves. Over lots of, “they never!”, “oh darling” and “what a bastard. Shall I go beat him up for you?” Don managed to pull you back from the hysterical breakdown you were on the verge of. 

“Beats me why you’re so upset about it,” Don said when you'd finally calmed down. “They sound like a bunch of bastards to me.”

“I’m going to miss them.”

“You are a masochist.”

“Not them. My patients.”

“You mean your Skeletons?”

“Not just them!” you snapped, angrily. “But, fine. Them a lot.” 

You’d now missed three meetings with Skull. How was he reacting? You didn’t want him to kick off, you really didn’t. Maybe once you'd been guilty of that, but not now. Skull had been doing so well. The thought of him slipping back into one of his blind rages would undo so much of his hard work. Skull had to fight for every inch of sanity. You didn't want to be the reason he failed.

Isn't that what Whitglass had said? A dark voice reminded you traitorously. Skull can't base his mental well-being on whether or not you're in the room. That's not real progress, that's just dependency.

Now you thought about it, you also knew why Whitglass had rearranged the weekly check-ups. You hadn’t even had a chance to see Sans one more time. Just because they'd pointed to Skull and Red as the reasons you were terminated, that didn't mean Whitglass wasn't also thinking about your time with Sans.

The Skeleton Nurse.

God, it was embarrassing. Of all the reasons to be fired.  

And what about Red? Last you'd heard, he'd been beaten severely. Had anyone gone down to solitary to patch him up? Red didn't recover well when he was isolated. He needed to be brought up to the Infirmary where he was around other people. Maybe you should call Terror at the prison and tell her...

You swallowed, feeling a fresh batch of tears threatening an appearance. 

“You can always go and visit them," Don pointed out, rubbing the small of your back. "The prison does do visitations. You’d have to do one at a time, of course. Unless you’re allowed to do a visitation threesome.”

“Don! I’m not in the mood. And don't be stupid, of course I’m not going to visit them.”

“Why not? Not that I'm disappointed to hear you say so. But if you're really upset about it, then why not? It would definitely be a far safer way of seeing them than you've been forced to so far."

You were incredulous. “The ex-nurse visiting the ex-patients she was fired for getting too close to? How would that look?”

“Who cares what it looks like? You’ve already been fired.”

“I care!” you objected.

Oh god, you were going to miss your Skeletons so much. You felt like you were getting torn up inside. You’d never been fired before, but it shouldn’t feel like this, surely?

This is not the end of the world. Repeat. This is not the end of the world. With the reference Terror was going to give you, you were heading for a better job. Any job you wanted. More money, fewer hours. Probably a hell of a lot more respect. You could move out of this apartment - no reason to stay this close to the prison. Go find a job at a Monster Community Clinic. You had every reason in the world to see this as one of the best things that had ever happened to you. 

God, you felt like every part of you was getting shredded. Something in your chest was aching again. Maybe not a heart attack. Panic attack? No, you'd had those before. Something else. Something deeper.

Don patted your head, but it made you think of Skull and your throat tightened threateningly.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. 

“You look like you’ve been through a car wash. Backward.”

“Fuck off.”

Don snorted. “Where did you of all people learn language like that”

Don’t think about Red. Don’t think about Red.

“I worked in a prison, moron.”

You still had Sans’s journals from the prison library. Your stomach dropped again. You’d been halfway through making notes. You were going to have to send them back with an apology and they’re going to ask how you got them and you’d have to tell them Sans gave them to you and it’s going to look so awful-

“Hey, breathe.”

You took a gasping breath. “This really sucks, Don.”

“I know. I know, darling, I know.” 

“I’m not going back to father to admit he was right."

“Oh, stars no,” Don said, heatedly. “And I won’t let you. I'll tackle you to the ground first. Outcasts together, remember?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a deep breath.

“Look," Don said, rubbing your back, "come to the beach house with us. Angus won’t mind. No phones, no televisions, just the beach and your books and whatever it is you do as a hobby these days.”

“I don’t have a hobby. I’m always working.”

“Excellent, then now’s the time to cultivate one. You could knit.”

You blew a raspberry.

“Bake?" Don suggested. "Rock climbing? Calligraphy?”

You were lucky to have Don, you knew. Even if you wanted to throttle him sometimes, he was the only person in this world you could call in the middle of the night because you were still angry at your front door and the fact there were now no skeletons in your life. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed him for hanging up and taking his phone off the hook. Most normal people may be a little resentful of a cousin whose life was a mess and continually needed you to keep them alive. Not Don.

“These are all terrible ideas.”

“I’m just getting warmed up," Don said. "Come on, we’ll brainstorm on the way.”

Which is how you came to be out of the city and incommunicado for a week. When you came to tell this story in the years to come, you’d blame the front door.

~*~

Sans stepped into the examination room to find Nurse Cynthia Able waiting for him. It was a nasty shock and he grimaced. He'd left the photo in her locker to protect her from potentially being assaulted by Greene. It was the right thing to do. But she was still an unpleasant creature Sans had little patience for.

Besides, something had... happened yesterday. A twinge from your Soul had set Sans on edge. He'd been increasingly anxious to see you. Just to know you were okay. It was the third time he'd felt that twinge. The first after Scale's attack, another a few days after that. At least after both times he or Harris had seen you soon after. Reassuring him. But you weren't here now. And you never missed a shift without having a concussion. 

Nurse Able pointed and said, shortly, “Table.”

“correct, nurse. that is a table.”

“Very funny. Up."

"i'm not dog, nurse able."

Able breathed in slowly like he was trying her patience. "Please get on the table so I can proceed with the check-up.”

“where’s nurse y/n?” Sans asked, with all the practiced respect he’d honed for these situations. 

Nurse Able made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I’m not discussing that with an inmate. Now, come on, I haven’t got all day.”

Sans considered, before taking up his place and watching her. She was more focused on the medical notes than on him. In fact, she'd yet to make eye contact with him since he'd stepped into the room. That was something that had marked y/n out for him the first time. She'd looked directly at him. As nervous as she was, as uncertain of his Skeleton appearance as she was, she'd not let that stop her from being respectful. She looked her patients in the eye. Treated her patients as people. Most of the nurses looked at the charts.

“Any discomfort, pain?” Able asked.

“a pain in my ass, but i'm hoping it's temporary.”

He saw her ears redden but she acted like she hadn’t heard him. Sans watched her Orange Soul flicker. Her Soul didn't bear the marks of sin, but there was a small fracture line. It looked years old, but hadn't healed or even scarred. It was open and painful. Meaning whatever caused it hadn't been emotionally dealt with. Sans wondered what happened to her, but knew he didn't care enough to find out.

She used the Checker, filled in a few details, and said, “I’m not going to do a physical check because frankly, I wouldn’t know what I was feeling for. I’ve never treated a Skeleton, so you’ll have to wait until Doctor Whitglass is available. Or Nurse Terry.”

“where is nurse y/n?” His tone was, yet again, respectful.

It was the last time it was going to be respectful.

“She’s off sick,” Able said.

That was enough. Sans's eyelights disappeared from his sockets. He held her in a dark gaze. He watched as the fear rose into her face as she took a step backward.

“that was a lie, nurse able,” he said, slowly and carefully. “if you lie to me again... you’re really, really not going to like what happens next.”

Chapter Text

Sans left the examination room, his fury only just under control. Sans had an incredible amount of control. He was a hard guy to rattle and his use of magic was scarily precise. Sans was the scalpel to Red’s thrown brick. But right now, it took a lot of concentration not to erupt into an indiscriminate magical bomb.

They’d fired you. His girl. They’d sent away his Soulmate.

Sans flinched as his brain threw up images of the abandoned red scarf. Dust blowing away in the wind. His Soul threatened to constrict, but Sans forced himself not to fall into the void. He pushed through with sheer, brute force of will. It hurt. Determination was not a quality his Soul was in tune with, but knowing that he could still feel that strain was important.

Sans didn’t have much left in this world. Just his magic, his vengeance and you. Soft eyes, soft mouth, so honest and so real. Sans knew he wasn’t worthy of you. In fact, he was probably bad for you, but he wanted you anyway. And now you are gone. 

No, no, not gone.

Sans forced himself to calm down.

Not gone. Just a setback. One he’d planned for.

Though, admittedly, not to happen at this stage. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready to break out yet. When he was, that would be the time for you to get fired. Cut your ties to this place before you both left, never to come back.

Again, Sans marveled at Human stupidity. It was hard to plan too far ahead when dealing with Humans. You expected - hoped, rather, that they'd make the logical, rational decision. Then they went and did something as moronic as this. What on earth had possessed Spratt? Given the kid was the only thing keeping Red and Horror in check, why would Spratt let her go? Of course, there was a risk that she'd not play ball during the annual review. Or, at least, Spratt would view it as a risk. Sans knew whatever grievances you had about the prison, you wouldn't have gone to the board unless you felt you had no other choice. And you'd been a while away from that.

Sans had been sure Spratt would have at least tried to reason with her. Bribe her, maybe. Not with money, but with promises of change. Then all Sans would have to do was gently talk her into agreeing and keeping her head down. For the greater good or something. Spratt hadn't even tried that, the idiot. 

Sans blamed himself. He'd been too hands-off. Letting things play out. Too sure of himself. Pain and panic flinched through Sans like lighting, brief but bright. Again, his laziness let down the people he loved. When was he going to learn? First Paps and now you.

No. No, just a setback. She's not gone.

Damnit.

He needed more time.

You weren’t ready to leave with him yet. You cared about him, Sans knew that. But not enough. Not yet. Humans were always so damn slow to follow their Souls. Were you feeling anything right now? Or had you not spent enough time around him, or them, to feel the connection? If you had, even if you didn't realise it, your Soul would be crying out at the loss. In a Monster, it would be physically painful. He could already feel the beginnings of that coil of pain. But Sans wasn't easily affected by pain anymore. 

It would wear off, eventually. In both Monsters and Humans, the Soul would readjust. Humans always shrugged it off quickly. Too soon, it would almost be like their Souls had never met. Sans wanted you back before that happened. 

He thought through one of his contingency plans, then discarded it for another. Then another.

It was a balancing act. He couldn't break out yet, so whatever he did, he'd still be here another year. At least. He couldn't risk anyone knowing he had his magic. He couldn't risk them putting him on magic suppressants. 

When Sans had finally settled on a plan of attack, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. It may get you back on an emergency basis, but they wouldn’t reinstate you. 

Sans gritted his teeth.

There was nothing for it. He'd have to ask the bonehead for help again.

~*~

During the next exercise session, Sans hung out by the connecting fence until Red finally ambled over. Bastard took his sweet time about it too, just to show who the big man was. Bonehead. Though Sans was grateful now he’d given in and sent Red that paper Soul. Confirming the colour of yours. In truth, he'd no intention of doing it originally. It made him happy to think of Red stewing in his anger.

But after he’d heard about Red protecting you in the Infirmary, Sans had relented. After all, there was no harm in rewarding good behaviour.

“ya waiting for me, comedian?” Red asked. “ready to admit she wants me more than you?”

Maybe this was Greene's parting shot. If Sans had had a stomach, it would have lurched. If Greene had let something slip to his uncle about his relationship with you, maybe Spratt saw you as too much of a loose end. Easier to fire you now. If you came out with any incriminating stories about Greene, he could claim you were just vindictive after being fired.

Maybe. Maybe not.

The blessed message had finally come from Dogeressa through Grillby. Greene was no longer a problem. As glad as Sans was, he still couldn't forgive Dogeressa for waiting so damn long. That little shit had literally been outside your door, from what Sans had heard. Sans had pleaded, cajoled, threatened, and almost begged Dogeressa to kill Greene the minute he left the prison. But Dogeressa was loyal. And while she still held a place in her heart for him and for Papyrus, she was part of the Serif Gang now. She followed their orders, not his.

With the bad blood that existed between Red and Greene, his immediate death would have been way too suspicious. Red and Edge had wanted to play it safe. As though Sans cared whether or not the Serif Gang was implicated, he just wanted Greene dead and as painfully as possible. Not just for you, not only because it was justice, but because there were some people who shouldn't be allowed to live.

Those idiots would have allowed it to go on even longer, had Greene not put your life at risk. Sans had been close to tearing his metaphorical hair out until he finally got the word. Finally breathing out a long-held sigh of relief. He'd debated whether or not to tell you. When he'd seen you after the whole business, you'd been... he knew you'd not dealt with it well. Your Soul had been a little battered by the whole evening. A fresh scar in place. But it was healing.

How could he tell you without revealing everything? Besides, it was clear you decided you didn't want to know. Sans respected that. There was plenty of shit in his life he wished he'd had the option not to know. But knowing Greene was gone... It had been Sans's first night without nightmares for a while. 

Of course, the minute the universe gives you an inch of breathing space, it goes for your throat.

Sans gave a tight smile. “fight's over, red. we’ve both lost. she’s been fired.” He saw the flash in Red’s eyes. Watched as Red's Soul reacted; violent and painful. An immediate reaction to the loss of a Soulmate...

That… that unnerved Sans. He'd convinced himself that Red only saw you as one of his bi-annual conquests. Red had admitted himself (in so many words) he didn't understand Souls. And meeting your Soulmate didn't inevitably lead to a relationship. Some were just close friends. Some couldn't stand each other. Sans had clung to the idea that Red's Soul was too scarred to feel.

Now, Sans wasn’t so sure. The pain in Red had been immediate, whereas his own was still trying to break through the frozen shell of his Soul.

Hell… maybe Red really did like her. 

Sans would have to deal with Red. But right now, he didn’t have a choice. He had to work with the bastard.

“what d’ya mean?”

“guess her bosses were worried she was too close to certain prisoners. you know, like the last nurse,” Sans said, pointedly.

“i wish. she’s too much of a lady. they ain’t got reason to fire her, that’s fucking bullshit. when?”

“yesterday.”

Red looked like something had just occurred to him. “that’s why the fuckers dragged me into solitary.”

“that’s why?” Sans asked, skeptically. 

Red growled. “listen, comedian, i know when i’m trouble an' i know when i’m not. and i don’t think i was doing anything in my damn sleep ‘cept snoring when i got dragged out of my bunk and knocked out.” 

Sans had to agree, even Red was unlikely to be doing anything that bad while asleep. Though his dreams would probably need censoring. 

Another flash of angry realisation crossed Red’s face. “ya think this is my fault, don’t ya?”

“yours and horror show, yeah,” Sans said, emotionlessly. 

“what ‘bout you? you’re after her as much as i am. maybe they thought she was getting too chummy with the manipulative fucking sociopath.”

“i’m smarter than you," Sans said. "and i don’t look down her front.”

“you just don’t get caught.”

"and horror show purrs whenever she's around," Sans said, hoping to wind up Red as much as he was feeling.

It didn't work. Astonishingly, Red almost bushed. "damn..." he said with a chuckle, shaking his head, "he does like her."

Sans couldn't believe how laid back Red seemed. "and that doesn't bother you?" he needled, incredulously. 

Red shrugged. "she'll pick me. ya think she's going to pick a shambling freak or a lying creep over this?" He said, sticking two thumbs up at himself.

Sans resisted the urge to lift him by his Soul and hurl him across the courtyard. Stars damnit, his emotions were too close to the surface.

“let’s face facts," Sans said, after a long, controlled breath. "it’s out now. even when y/n comes back, everyone’s going to know the three of us are sweet on her. i know whitglass suspects me. he's no fool and he's more aware of what goes on in this prison than he pretends. he'll know i'm set on her, even if that's not the official reason she was fired. so it's not about us convincing them we’re not sweet on her. it’s about showing them how much worse their lives are going to be without her.”

“we?”

“you want her back here or not?”

"you ain't done nothin' to prove you're trustworthy, pal."

"i held up my end of the deal, didn't i?" Sans said, innocently. "i sent you the paper soul."

"yeah, fucking weeks later. probably only then cos it suited ya."

Red folded his arms and thought.

Edge was always on about stuff like this. Allegiances. Long-term strategies. New Ebott gang politics, for want of a better word. Eugh. Red preferred the day-to-day scraps, the one-on-one meetings. There was no Monster in New Ebott who could control a bunch of drugged-out, violent gangbangers as he could. Red could control a room, a war zone, half the damn city on a daily basis. Just don’t bother him about tomorrow, it hadn't happened yet. 

“shit. fine. another truce. until she’s back.” Red shook his head, disappointed in himself. “fine. what’s your plan, comedian?”

Sans gave smug smile Red wanted to punch off his stupid skull. Red's fingers balled into fists, but he fought the urge. For my sweetheart back, he told himself, I’ll put up with anything. Hope she appreciates it. 

“i’ve got my plan,” Sans said. “with the annual review coming up, they can’t let me die. so tell me, what can you do?”

“'cuse me?”

“what can you do that i can’t do?”

Red mulled. “stick to a deal? take a punch? make a lady feel wanted?” Red was pleased to see that last one stung Sans. Good to know.

“no," Sans said, his careful veneer of calm slipping ever so slightly. "something that will get right up the warden’s nose." He hastened to add, “something which doesn’t involve the m-word.”

Red wasn't an fool. He got what the other Skeleton was driving at. But he recognized a guy barely holding his emotions in check. Red couldn't resist needling Sans just a little bit more. “mustard?”

“magic, you fuc-," Sans cut himself off. Blue magic crackling around them for the barest moment. Disappeared without a trace. Damn, Red thought. Shorty's got some impressive control. 

When Sans raised his head again, he was eerily calm once more. "do i really have to spell it out, bonehead? what can you incite that i cannot incite?”

~*~

Amongst all the planning, and it really wasn’t a bad plan, the only thing Sans and Red couldn’t have predicted was Skull. Well, Sans did try. Put in a whole load of provisions, actually. Including giving Harris some warning to preemptively lockdown the East Wing. But unfortunately, what Sans couldn't have accounted for was bad timing. Who could have?

The next morning, right before the two boys put their plan into action, Skull was about to be tranquilized by Huxley in preparation for his daily meal. 

Skull was scared and confused. 

You’d promised him that things were different now, but you weren’t here. You haven't been here for four lights out. You hadn’t told him you were going to be gone so long.

Something must be wrong.

There had been a time when you weren't here and he was being tranquilized... Was this the time before you? 

No.

Skull was annoyed with himself. No. Stop slipping. Think. He knew this wasn't the time before. That's not how time worked.

You were here a few days ago. Now you weren't. Something must have happened.

Skull had to use every scrap of focus he had not to fall apart again. You would be so disappointed. Skull wanted to show he was getting better. He wanted you to be proud.

The Voyage of Polaris. The USF Polaris have set up their first colony in the Andromeda system. But the crew have encountered problems with food production and now the Head of Security believed there was a spy from the Gilded Council onboard. Chapter twenty-five. You said you'd read another chapter the next time you were here.

This was not the time before you. 

There had been others, dropping off food. Most had spoken to him, but they hadn't mentioned you, so his attention blurred. Creeping back into his world of white noise. He'd tried to listen, but even though he was doing better these days, anything that wasn't you just didn't hold his attention. Like sand through his fingers. 

His vision had drifted when he'd tried to read. No matter how hard he'd tried. So he'd given up. Once again, stuck in his own private hell.

“she’s coming,” he reassured Crooks’s plushy. 

Four days. 

Four days, trashbag. She’s not coming.

Skull panicked as his thoughts began slipping again. 

Skull couldn't think. Had he done something and not remembered it? That happens sometimes.

He couldn't have hurt her. He wouldn't. Would he? Skull just didn't know, not for sure. He didn't remember things very well.

No. Stop, think. The Voyage of Polaris. Andromeda.

Skull was hungry. It had been creeping up on him the last two days. He’d eaten the food given to him. With you, that would have been enough. Not now. 

In an extremely rare moment of insight, Skull suddenly understood it hadn't been the food filling him up. It had been because you were bringing it. It wasn't about food. It hadn't been about food for a very long time. He hadn't killed those people because he was hungry. It wasn't about hunger.

As though that moment of blinding clarity had been too much for him, Skull's mind finally slipped, like a train lurching off its rails.

What had he done?

Why weren't you here?

Skull shuddered, his bones rattling.

He was hungry.

It’s kill or be killed out there, trashbag. A dog-eat-dog world.

Skull’s increasing agitation and lack of communication had resulted in Whitglass ordering a reversion to Skull’s original feeding routine. The staff just couldn’t take the risk. So from today onwards, Skull would be tranquilised, put back on the gurney, and fed. Just until he got over the change in staffing. He'd done it before, after all. Until then, no one had believed it was possible, so reasonably, he should be able to do it again. He was likely just being difficult. 

So as Huxley opened the door, ready to fire the tranquiliser into Skull’s chest, Skull heard a voice outside. It only broke through the white noise because he heard your name.

“-a great pity. But regardless of the work y/n did here, it was clear she couldn’t separate her personal feelings from her professional boundaries. In light of the review coming up, Spratt was quite right to terminate her-”

Skull lost control. 

Chapter Text

Angus had accepted your moody, hungover self into the beach house without question, helping you unpack in the guest room and distracting Don for long enough to give you some quiet time to feel sorry for yourself.

Chapter Text

Don really does like drama, so he invited himself into the car too. You were secretly glad to have him there as you approached the prison.

There were helicopters buzzing overhead. The police had cornered off the immediate roads. News crews were everywhere.

The inmates at New Ebott Prison were rioting.

Chapter Text

It took a while to calm Skull. Once he'd stopped sobbing, you led him back to his cell and settled him down to sleep. You felt numb, but your body worked on autopilot. Taking comfort in your role as a nurse, rather than... rather than whatever it was you actually were to Skull.

That felt like too big a thing to think about right now.

Snapped chain. Broken furniture. Bent tranquiliser gun. The fucking gurney. The mask lying on the floor where it had clearly been ripped off. No blood in the cell. Whatever had happened, it had all happened outside. The cell door was completely undamaged, so it must have been open when he attacked. Idiots.

The staff had become complacent since he'd started behaving. Even Huxley had let his guard down.

Was it strange to say, that while you wanted the world for Skull, you'd always respected the security measures? Not that damn mask and gurney. The less invasive ones. Yes, to keep everyone safe. But also to avoid this. This moment. Where, despite all the progress, all the fucking progress Skull had made... something like this was going to set him back.

It didn't have to come to this.

There were a couple of tranquiliser darts in the padded walls. One was still buried in Skull's leg. Must have been a panicked shot, there was no point shooting a tranquiliser into a Skeleton's bones. It had to be in the chest, where the densest magic resided.

Skull was quiet and obedient, blinking up at you rapturously, as you struggled with and eventually pulled the damn dart out. 

You’d taken all the blankets and pillows from the storage cupboard and given him a change of uniform so you could get rid of the bloodied set. You'd had to walk past Whitglass again. You'd put a sheet over his head out of respect. He didn't deserve... none of them had. 

"I'd like you to sleep, Skull, if you can," you said. "When I've dealt with everything else, I'll come back and check in on you. Okay?"

When you’d left, your big boy was making what looked like a nest of blankets and pillows. The plushy was tucked up in the middle, somewhere. There were still tear marks on his cheekbones, but he wasn’t shaking anymore.

"Please be good for me," you murmured under your breath as you closed the cell door.

~*~

You met Spratt’s gaze coolly as the security door to the East Wing was finally opened. You couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or grudgingly impressed you’d survived. Maybe both.

"Report," he demanded.

Go fuck yourself.

"Skull's back in his cell." Your voice was hollow and professional. "He's locked in again and calm. But Doctor Whitglass, Officer Huxley and a nurse-"

"I'm aware," Spratt said, shorty. "We've got the camera feeds back on. Tell me you seriously did not leave that thing in there with enough blankets to hang itself twice over?"

"You're welcome to go remove them," you said, softly.

Spratt glared but didn't respond to that. Instead, he walked away, muttering, "Protocol's out the window today, folks, so why the fuck not?"

You followed, biting down on your tongue hard. You wanted to know who the nurse was. By now, they must have done roll call. Recovered the prison schedules. They must know. Spratt must know. But you didn't. You couldn't. That pressure was pushing down on you again, making you feel sick. Please, god, let everyone be okay.

You'd forced yourself to look at the nurse's uniform. It was pink, not white, so it wasn't Nurse Terry. That was something, at least.

What were you hoping for? That it was some temporary nurse you hadn't met who'd been killed? Really? Was that really the kind of person you were? A hot shame filled you.

"This is a nightmare," you said out loud.

"You're telling me, firecracker," Spratt spat.

~*~

Next stop.

You were marched to a cell in B Block you’d not seen before. It looked like this cell block had escaped the worst of the riot. There were blueprints of complicated machinery up on the walls. Piles of books and papers on a desk. A chessboard. A single bed for a single inmate - a luxury the prison didn't offer most of its guests.

You didn’t have to be told whose cell this was, even if Sans hadn't been here.

The small Skeleton was lying on his bed. His bones were discoloured. He was too still. Still as the grave. Ha. Ha.

“What happened?” you asked, unemotionally.

“He refused to be treated by any other nurse,” Spratt said. He handed you a checker. Sans’s health was around 0.08. "I've been waiting for him to die, but so far, he's denied me satisfaction."

Spratt wasn't serious, obviously. But there was a harsh edge to his tone which suggested he'd have liked to have been. He'd called Sans's bluff, and lost.

"I've got one Skeleton on what basically amounts to a hunger strike, another eating my staff, and a third who's brought the entire prison to a standstill," he said. "All because of you."

You didn't reply as you checked over Sans. His limbs were stiffened but... but not in quite the right way.

You gazed down at the little face. Anger was starting to make your vision blurry. 

You stood sharply. Breathing in. “Bring him to the examination room in the Infirmary," you said. "I’ll treat him there.”

“If you think I’m going to take orders from-”

You turned, holding Spratt’s gaze. You kept seeing Whitglass’s head gazing up at you. Maybe it was reflected in your face.

Spratt’s eyes dropped to the floor. 

You left for the staff locker rooms and the Infirmary. The long walk was exactly what you needed. Space to breathe, to think. To put it all together. To finally make yourself see what was there, and not just what you wanted to see. What a fucking mess.

On the way, you saw the damage which had been done to the prison. Knocked out windows, garbage was strewn everywhere. Blood splattered on the wall in places. You dreaded seeing the telltale pile of glittering dust, but so far, the only death you'd seen was in the East Wing.

This was going to take a lot of cleaning up. Everything in the Infirmary would need to be resantized. Someone would need to do an inventory of the supplies. They'd need to put in a check-up for the entire population too. Probably a lot of cuts and bruises to deal with. Broken bones... Your brain spun off into checklists... and you were so grateful for it.

In the locker room, you changed into a spare uniform. One of Cynthia's. God, Cynthia. Please let her be okay.

You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You'd touched your face too many times... you were covered in...

You washed up in the sink. Cold water splashing your face. You used a brush to get it out from under your nails. Watched the rust-colour going down the drain.

This was the bathroom you'd cried in after the first time you'd met Skull.

When had that been? Six, seven... eight months? Where had the time gone? Less than a year.

How the fuck could those idiots do this, after less than a year?

There were windows broken in the Infirmary, but the examination room was left unscathed. It felt like a little sanctuary. A calm place in the storm. Pity it was about to be invaded, you would have happily just curled up on the examination table and cried for a few hours. You were just mounting the IS bag on the stand when Sans’s stretcher was brought in. He was deposited on the bed by the guards with little ceremony.

The guards glanced at you. Spratt wasn't with them now.

You waved them out, "I've got this. Thank you."

They left you with the 'unconscious' Sans.

"You're good," you said, messing around with the connectors unnecessarily, "you're good. But the way your joints moved was wrong."

When you looked over at him again, you saw his eyesockets open, little lights peering out from that unknowable darkness. 

"hey kid. welcome back,” Sans said.

In fairness, he did still sound pretty rough. And the obvious damage was impossible to fake. But...

You felt the anger in you shift, like someone had kicked up a riverbed. But you pushed it back down. Apparently, yelling at an ill patient, even one hamming it up for all it's worth, is still something you couldn't quite let yourself do. 

“I’m going to get this on you,” you said, not meeting his eyes and pulling up his shirt. As you worked, you said, “Red’s sent everyone to bed. The guards are rounding up the last few holdouts. Huxley and Whitglass are dead,” you said. “A nurse too, but I couldn't tell who from what was… what was left…” you faulted into silence.

Sans watched you. “the hor-skull. yeah. i heard. i'm sorry, kid.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said. Once the IS was connected, you pulled up a chair and sat. Watching the magic glimmer and Sans's colour slowly clear. “He wasn’t in control of his actions. He’s a good boy. He’s just so damaged and I don’t know how to save him. But none of what happened was his fault, he wasn’t in control. Unlike you.”

Sans was still for a moment. You waited, not speaking.

"i... may have let things get a little out of hand," Sans said, with a small smile. "what can i say? you're my favourite nurse. they had no reason to fire you. i protested. in the only way i can."

"And the prison riot?"

Sans shrugged. "that wasn't me, that was red."

"Did you tell him-”

"you've seen how much we can't stand each other."

You took a moment to think about that. It was true, Sans and Red didn't exactly get on. You'd seen it for yourself. And maybe Red had kicked off the riot and Sans had just taken advance. But you didn't believe that. Not really. Everything was just too neat.

"No," you said, "you're dodging the question. Did you and Red plan this?"

Sans frowned. "this?"

"The riot, Sans!"

“no,” Sans said, firmly. “i didn’t tell him to start the riot.”

Bullshit. You were calling it right now. Bullshit. He probably didn't tell him, he... suggested, inferred... or maybe Red had told him what he was going to do and... God, your head hurt.

Skull was the only thing that wouldn't make sense in this plan and Skull was his own force of nature. You doubted Sans or Red had anything to do with that. 

You felt… you felt complicit in this crime.

None of what the boys had done had been on your orders, with your knowledge or approval. But you wouldn’t rat on Sans. You couldn't. You wouldn’t turn your back on Red. And you wouldn’t allow them to take Skull from you.

So the four of you were bound together, in a way.

"if skull hadn't done what he did..." Sans said. He didn't finish, instead saying, "you have to believe that i'd never want you to come back to this."

As furious as you were, you knew Sans hadn't foreseen you'd be returning to dead colleagues. He was smarter than that.

If Skull hadn't done what he did, things wouldn't have been so bad.

If you'd still been in New Ebbott, you'd have been brought here sooner.

If Spratt hadn't fired you, the boys would never have come up with their stupid plan.

And maybe if the big bang hadn't happened, then none of us would be in this sorry, stupid mess in the first place.

If, if, if. Ifs were useless. What mattered now was figuring out how deep this shit went. 

"Did Red murder that guard?" You cut Sans off before he could reply, "and don't lie to me."

Sans seemed to slump slightly. "no." There was a tone of grudging resignation in his voice. "no, i don't think he did. but i'm not entirely sure what's been happening over the last few days. i may have been playing it up a bit, but i've still been in and out of consciousness for the last day or so."

"You poor thing," you said, sarcastically. 

That was probably true, though. Sans would have preferred to drop Red into more trouble. If that were possible.

Months of interactions swept over you. Months of Sans staring you in the face with an open honesty... all fake. All of it? Dodging questions with sideways answers, changing the subject. Damn knock-knock jokes. He'd made you feel special... cared for. As much as he'd scared you, he'd been so attentive to your thoughts, your feelings... You couldn't understand.

You sat, trying to process these large and angry thoughts. Anger didn't come naturally to you. You avoided it because you just couldn't deal with it well.

You suddenly thought you knew a little of what it was like to be Skull. All the emotion, thoughts, words, everything you wanted to say got stuck and twisted as you tried to say them.

"easy," Sans said, gently. "take your time. i'm not going anywhere."

You let a harsh breath out, like you'd been holding back all the pain. Sans watched you, watched every little flicker of expression and movement.

“Why? I mean... for the love of fuck, Sans, why?"

“why did i do this? why do i want you back? or why do i like you?” Sans chuckled. “guess it’s all the same. you’re mine.”

“And Red?”

“guess he likes you too.”

You glared at him. There must be something really scary about your face right now. For the second time, you watch the person of your attention look away.

Maybe you were developing the Nurse Terror gaze a few decades early.

“There's something wrong with me," you said, your voice a little hollow.

Sans shook his head, his eyes large. "no, y/n, i promise you. there's nothing wrong with you. you're just in shock, that's all. it feels bad now, but you've had a lifetime learning to deal with shit. you'll push through."

You were baffled. "I've never had to deal with anything like this!" you objected.

"no, not this. but you've learned to take the punches. you've learned to see the darkness and hope for better. small things. little moments, throughout your life. it's gotten you ready for the big things. for this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you spat. Angry, confused. But knowing what he meant. Hating that you did.

Sans paused a moment, then said, "your father hit you, didn't he?"

"We are not talking about that!"

"you learned not to let it hurt. to keep seeing the good and block out the bad."

"If you're saying I learned to be fucking delusional-"

"not delusional. not delusional. you did the only sane thing you could and kept your soul safe from damage, however it was you had to do it. that's why i know you'll be okay. and none of this is your fault, okay? kid, do you understand? none of this, not the riot or what happened in the east wing, is your fault."

You weren't listening.

"There's something wrong with me," you repeated. "I should be more afraid of you. Of all of you.”

Sans sighed again, sitting back on the table. He was still ill, and as much as you wanted him to be purely faking it, you could see the slight involuntary shake in his bones.

"i think we all should be a little more afraid of you,” he said, with soft smile. 

You took another deep, controlling breath. “People are dead. People have been injured. Lives have been ruined. And because of what? Because you and Red think you like me? Am I really worth all that?”

“yep.”

“And what if I decide to leave because I just don’t want to be here anymore?”

Sans didn’t answer for a moment. There was a calculating look in his abstract expression, as though he was checking his figures. Finally, he said, “you could... but you won’t.” He wore his old, lazy smile that hid so much. “i wouldn’t have taken a gamble like this if i wasn’t sure. you'll stay. and i'm going to look after you, y/n. i promise."

~*~

It was still too dangerous to go down to the C Block, or solitary. Besides, you didn’t have the mental capacity to see Red right now. So once Sans had been returned to his cell and you’d sent a message to Don with your secret code word, you went back to the maximum-security wing.

Why? Because fuck you, that's why. I'm going.

The bodies had been cleared away already. The floor was being cleaned vigorously, puddles of rust-tinged water moving in ripples, swept along by floor cleaners. You walked past the cleaning crew and noticed them staring after you, muttering to each other. You didn't catch any words, but the inflection... 

You guessed that's what it was going to be like now.

There was a showy four guards on duty outside Skull's cell. Spratt was clearly out to make a point. All of them looked as though they'd literally rather be anywhere else. You didn't recognize a single one from Skull's usual security roister, so this must be their first time on duty here.

That made things easier.

When one made a move to stop you, you looked him square in the face. "Skull gets angry if he doesn't get his bedtime story."

The guard looked flummoxed. "Bed-bedtime story?"

You nodded, all seriousness. "Do you know what he did to the last guard who interrupted his bedtime story?"

You shouldn't be doing this. The guard was young. Not much older than you. Though today, you felt about a thousand years old and nothing but a frightened child again, all at the same time.

"I think he's back on solids, but that arm..." you shook your head.

The guard swallowed, then stood aside. You opened the door, noticing the men outside take a sharp step back and raise their guns. You were about to close the cell door when you thought of something, leaning back around to lock the viewing window.

"And don't open this," you said. "He gets angry if he sees people after lights out."

You closed the door on the wide-eyed guards.

I mean, you'd been fired already. Not like you could be more fired than you were now.

Bedtime story.

Huxley would have laughed in your face. 

Oh, Huxley. You hadn't liked him, but no one deserved...

Skull had indeed made himself a pillow and blanket nest. He was curled up in a ball, tucked right into the corner of the cell. When you closed the door, his eyelight lit up. He made an urgent, rumbling sound. A massive hand reached out. 

You really should be more afraid. 

You crossed the cell and let Skull’s hand close around you. He pulled you, oh so gently, into his lap and cradled you like a child again. You could hear his soft, shushing noises. He hugged you tight.

You closed your eyes and rested your head on his chest. You felt like your brain was starting to unravel. It wasn't a nice feeling. Tears prickled your eyes. You forced yourself to focus on the feeling of Skull's Soul against your cheek. It felt like a small motor, or a purring cat. Soothing, calming. Soft. Constant. 

“i’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” you said, not opening your eyes. “I know.”

If you’d wanted to head off any rumours about your inappropriate relationship with inmates, falling asleep in the Monster’s arms wasn’t your wisest course of action.

But, fuck it. It had been a long day.

Chapter Text

Red’s board grin faltered slightly. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sound charming. “miss me?”

You closed the door on the solitary confinement cell, cutting off the objections of the guards outside.

“Get that grin off your face. Whatever you think is happening here isn’t or you wouldn’t be so happy about it.”

“sweetheart,” Red protested, soothingly.

Red had clearly been worked over by the guards. He was covered in slowly healing cracks. They'd obviously decided to show him what happened to inmates who started riots. Of course, only once he was cornered in a tiny solitary cell. And there had likely been half a dozen of them and one of him. They must feel so proud of themselves for 'teaching Red a lesson'. Brutes.

God, you couldn't decide who or what you were angrier at anymore. It was just one ball of anger.

"got your little panic button there, in case ya get scared of me," Red teased.

You knew what he was doing. You were not in the mood. You didn't want his flirting or his joking or his stupid, adorable, stupid charm. You pulled off the panic button, a small box on a string around your neck, and threw it onto the bench, away from you. 

"They wouldn't let me come in without it," you said, simply. "A riot, Red? Why?"

“why not?" Under your glare, Red shifted uncomfortably. “hey, no one died on my watch. unlike with that horror show freak-”

“Don’t you dare speak about Skull like that!"

You rubbed your head, trying to reign it back in. This wasn't how you'd wanted this to go.

Sleeping in the arms of Skull had been a surprisingly comfortable night. A bit boney, but warm and cozy. In the arms of a cannibal. Don was right, you really should write a book.

In the cold light of morning, you’d been, frankly, horrified with yourself. Skull hadn’t minded, grinning and purring like a giant cat as he rocked you. It had taken quite a bit of scrambling and bribery to get him to let go.

Spratt must have told the guards not to disturb whatever was going on. Maybe he'd finally realised that it was better for everyone to allow you to care for Skull without interference. Maybe he was just accumulating evidence for your trial. He'd sent strict instructions that you weren't allowed to leave the prison until he'd met with you.

You knew the morning staff had talked. Eyes followed you everywhere.

Part of you had stopped caring. In fact, you were so far up ‘fuck it, who cares?’ street, that you’d stolen a painkiller or two from the medical cabinet. Anything to help with this pressure headache. And there hadn't been enough coffee in the breakroom to make life worth living, so you'd resorted to the vending machines for chocolate. Breakfast of champions.

Cannibals, coffee and chocolate, what a world we live in.

"i didn't kill that guard-"

"I know," you said, still rubbing your temples. "I know."

You'd found out the full story.

It had begun with Skull losing control, killing the staff who were there to tranquilize him before his meal. Tragic and regrettable, but the prison had spent years refining the security protocols around Skull. It should have ended there. 

It had all gone wrong because there had been another guard on duty that morning. 

Skull had gone for Huxley first, out of the blue and without provocation. Apparently. You weren't sure you believed it. Skull had made so much progress; he didn't go from zero to murder spree anymore. There were signs. Growling, jerking, suddenly going still. Lots of little things to indicate he was about to throw a tantrum. Huxley knew that all too well, he should have seen... You supposed you'd never really know what happened.

The other guard had seen Skull rush at Huxley. He'd got in a shot - maybe that had been the dart that ended up in Skull's leg. But Skull still got him, slashing his claws out. Catching the guard across his lower stomach and... well... the Human body is basically a bag of meat and blood waiting to spill.

The injured guard had rushed to the exit in panic. Out of blind fear, or selfishness or who knew what, he'd activated the deadlock, sealing the security door behind him. Locking Skull and everyone else in. Leaving Whitglass and Lisa to die.

Oh, Lisa. Nurse Lisa had still been alive when the door was sealed. She must have been so scared. If only she'd just stayed hidden, maybe...

You were too tired for maybes and what-ifs.

Fleeing had done no good, in the end. The injured guard bled out quickly. By an awful stroke of luck, he'd fallen off an uncovered gangway, into the West Courtyard. He was dead before he'd hit the ground. 

So... here's the point where people started making things up. Most retellings were a confusing hodgepodge of assumptions.

The popular view of the incident - the one the papers reported - cited the dead guard as the inciting incident. When the guards rushed in to save their fallen colleague, the inmates (being dangerous, unthinking animals, obviously) attacked them on sight. Interfering with the rescue. The guards had merely been defending themselves and trying to restore order.

Even better, the guard hadn't fallen at all. He'd been murdered by Red. A lot of people still believed that version, despite evidence it wasn't true.

The security footage, though it had cut out just before the riot, had recorded the guard already bleeding out before he fell.

But, given Red is Red and people love a bad guy, leaving him out of the story just didn't sell papers. 

Another version, popular with advocacy groups and prison reformists, said that the inmates had merely banded together. Management had failed to communicate the situation and so when the prisoners saw the dead guard, they panicked. After all, there was no way they wouldn't be blamed for this. An indiscriminate beating would be inevitable. So they'd protected themselves. This version shifted the blame onto the inadequate procedures in place to prevent unrest. 

The fact the riot began because a nurse was fired wasn't common knowledge, and wouldn't be for a long time. Few knew that the inmates had been whispering since the night before. The riot was going to happen no matter what.

Here's the truth, then. Red had stood in the middle of the courtyard, staring at this dead body that had landed splat out of the blue. Needless to say, he was pretty baffled.  

The other inmates had watched him intently, waiting for his orders.

Apparently, he'd blinked, shrugged, and said, "fuck it. we'll start it now."

Admittedly, the minute the guard had fallen, Red's options had been limited. If the body was recovered, everyone would be sent back to their cells. There would have been a lockdown to investigate, aborting the riot altogether. If he'd let the guards into the courtyard to retrieve the body, that risked the crowd getting impatient and kicking off the riot early. Then there would have been a handful of guards surrounded by organized prisoners ready to attack - those men would have been as good as dead. 

Red could have tried hiding the body... but he hadn't.

Red had decided to kick the riot off there and then. And the fallout had been worse for it. It resulted in far more injuries than hoped for by Sans. If it had started in the afternoon, as it was supposed to, there would have been fewer prisoners inside the prison. They would have all been in the courtyard. Contained. Manageable.

As it was, when the riot started, it erupted everywhere. In the gym, the kitchens, the library, and infirmary. 

The staff had been overwhelmed in less than an hour, caught in areas of the prison they couldn't escape from. There had been no clear escape routes, as there should have been if things had gone to plan. They were just lucky Red's control over the inmates was strong enough to hold back any deaths. Though a lot of guards were now in hospital in dire conditions.

Unknown to you, Office Harris had been put in an impossible position. The premature start had given him no time to protect the staff. He'd barely managed to shut off the security cameras in time. So a deal was struck. Some of the staff were allowed to leave, and some remained as hostages. Harris had insisted on remaining as a hostage, doing his best to keep everyone calm.

So had Nurse Terror. You needn't have worried about the medical staff. Despite the 'fun' the inmates were having, most had too much respect... or were simply too intimidated by Terror to try anything. And most of the other nurses had been allowed to leave peacefully, including Cynthia. Terror had spent the riot doing the usual rounds, patching people up (staff and inmates alike), and trying to convince Sans to take his IS like a big boy and stop fucking around.

Hadn't worked, obviously.

Spratt had been lucky. Of course, he had. This was real life, not a fairytale. People don't always get what they deserve. Spratt hadn't been at the prison when the riot started. He'd come back from a fishing trip to find his prison a warzone. His colleagues injured, or dead.

It didn't have to be like this.

If you hadn't been sent away, Skull wouldn't have kicked off. He wouldn't have killed, he wouldn't have caused that guard to rush out. The guard's death wouldn't have triggered the riot to happen sooner. And fewer people would have been injured.

The riot wouldn't have happened at all if Red wasn't so caught up in this ridiculous fantasy. 

“you ‘right, sweetheart?” Red was staring at you. He clearly didn’t know what to do, and... oh god, you were.

You were crying.

You hadn’t realised it until you’d seen Red’s panicked face. You pulled out a tissue and brushed the tears away, quickly. 

“I'm serious now," you said, your throat tight. "This has to stop. Nothing is going to happen between us. Ever. You can stop… god, you can stop whatever insane campaign you’re on and go turn your charms on another nurse." You gulped down another threatened showing of tears, but anger was slowly outpacing the pain. "There’s going to be a fresh batch, I'm sure. No one on staff is going to want to stay after this. What the hell were you thinking, you moron!"

Red frowned. “don’t want another nurse. don’t want ‘a nurse’. i want you.”

“You’re a big-time gangster, Red!" you shouted. You'd held it off for a day, but you couldn't a second longer. "You've got cash, cars, nightclubs waiting for you! God fucking damn it, Red, what do you want from me?! You’ve got twelve years here, that’s a sneeze for a Monster. Do you understand I’m going to age and you're not? At this rate, I’m going to age so badly, I'm going to look like Terror when you’re finally out. You don't want me-"

"i d-"

"You only think you do because I don't want you! Like the one fucking toy in the toy shop you're not allowed! The minute another nurse came along, you would have completely forgotten about me!”

Red’s eyes flashed dangerously. “that’s not-”

“It is!”

“that ain’t true!”

"I don't fucking believe you!" you screamed. "You're a lecherous thug with the attention span of a ferret and you'd hump a tree if it were up for it!"

Red took a step back, taking a deep breath. You could see his fists were clenching and unclenching.

"I'm not the first, I won't be the last, and if you'd had me in the supply closet the day we met, you wouldn't have given a shit that I was fired!"

Yet again, you knew you should be more afraid. You were surrounded by incredibly powerful Monsters. You'd taken it for granted, but Sans, Red, Skull... you should be more afraid. You were yelling at a mob boss who once ruled the Monster Districts with lethal rage and unrecognized cunning. But you weren't afraid.

You almost wanted him to hit you.

No. No, not at all, not really. Stupid thing to say. Insane. Of course, you didn't want to get hit.

But... god would it made things easier. If he could just for once show you... something irredeemable... something you couldn't forgive. Something which proved he was no better than the awful, awful men who seemed to wriggle into your life. It would be so much easier to walk away. You walked away from your father, your ex, Nolan... you could walk away from Red too if he would only scare you enough. 

"yeah…" Red said, breathing hard. "yeah... i... i thought..." You saw him relax, his hands finally going still. "i dunno what the attention span of a ferret is, but ya probably ain't far off. you’re a pretty girl. cute. funny. distracting. and yeah, i thought it was just fun... and," Red suddenly frowned. "don't fucking say that. ya do want me. wouldn't have flirted with ya if you didn't. wouldn't have gone anywhere near ya. you believe that, right? i wouldn't have. i don't do that shit."

Fuck. Yes, okay. That had been unfair. Red was many things, but he wasn't the kind of guy to push if someone clearly wasn't interested. As much as he'd embarrassed you, crowded you, wound you up... you could have easily refused to treat him. Both Terror and Whitglass had allowed you that space to refuse. You could have easily stayed away from Red, just as Cynthia had done. Trouble was, you'd started caring about him within a couple of weeks of meeting him and he knew it.

And be honest with yourself, if to no one else... you would have been disappointed if he'd stopped flirting. 

"drove me crazy you wouldn't let me touch ya. but in a fun way," he added, hastily. "made ya... i don't know. untouchable. i would have got you in that supply closet and it would have been a hell of a lot of fun, sweetheart. but i wouldn't have just... i like the way you smile at me. i like the way ya talk to me... ya make me feel like... i can be more. like everyone in my fucking life has held me to a standard i can't fucking meet and i don't even wanna fucking try. but when you do it... i wanna try. i don't give a shit about many people, but the ones i do, they're family. you're family."

Red cleared his voice, still uncomfortable. "i don't know what the fuck i'm talking about. i just know i want ya to be happy. i like you. like... soul colours and flowers and sappy songs kind of like you. i didn't really get it until i thought i’d lost you, but i felt it in my damn soul," his hand pressed over his ribcage. "you’re my soulmate, y/n, i know ya are. and i know it's fucking sappy, and i don't believe in it, but it's true. i know ain't never felt this before."

Red's attitude shifted like he was suddenly on safer footing. You saw him unconsciously draw his shoulders back, all cool confidence and charm. "an' i had two choices. i could get you back here, or break out and find ya out there. figured if one didn’t work, i’d do the other.” He held your gaze. “and i made sure no one got too badly hurt.”

A silence stretched out between you. Again, like with Skull, like with Sans, the calm certainty you were safe seemed to surround you. But you really weren't safe. Right?

“Anything else?” you asked, your voice a little hoarse.

Red hesitated. “well… for the sake of… ya know. i want you to know you can trust me. that i care. that i’ll protect ya and be honest and true and all those other kind of sappy bull-”

“Just spit it out.”

“i sent my bro round to have a word with your landlord. that’s why you weren’t evicted.”

“What do you mean, have a- how did you know where I live?” you demand.

“got a guy to follow you, it ain’t hard. an’ my bro found those photos of spratty junior. we gave ‘em to the comedian, so can’t take all the credit on that one.”

“The who?”

“an’ i’ve been causing trouble on purpose so i could go to the infirmary and see ya.”

“No shit?” you snapped. 

Red grinned. “i love your mouth.”

“Who’s the comedian?”

“sans. smart fucker. got spratty junior fired. but you’ll wanna watch your back around that skeleton, he’s dangerous. in fact, you should be watchin’ your back in general, you’re real trusting. didn't anyone teach ya to watch your drink? i can look after you, sweetheart, i swear it. you just gotta give me a chance. i can take real good care of you. hey, i can teach you how to lose a tail, if ya want?”

He was so eager. You felt your icy anger melting. “I’m sure there are all sorts of things illegal you could teach me,” you said, dryly.

“oh yeah. sex stuff aside, i can teach ya to fire a gun, lose a tail, pick a lock, anything you want.”

“I still don’t believe you,” you say, quietly.

The room went still again.

Red sighed. "yeah. yeah, i know, sweetheart. barely believe it myself. but i know i’m right. i ain’t never felt this way before. i’m gonna do everything i can to prove it to ya.” 

Red must have decided now was the time to be bold. What on earth possessed him was a mystery you'd never solve. Slowly, a little cautious, but still, he stepped up to you. Wrapped his arms around your waist. Pulled you into him.

Your heart thumped in your chest. Red's grip was that perfect balance between comfortingly strong, but relaxed enough that you knew you could push him off if you really wanted to. You probably should.

No, you really should.

You raised your hands, placing them on his ribcage, feeling the soft thrum of his Soul. Stronger than either Skulls or Sans's, it almost felt like a heartbeat.

Red leaned in, slowly. You swallowed. Your head was too busy to stop him (is what you'd claim, later).

All thought left you as he nuzzled against your neck, your jawline. The hard edge of his nasal bone tickled you slightly. And the smooth bone against your suddenly too warm skin felt good.

"ya mine, sweetheart. an' i always look after what's mine."

"If you're going to kiss me, just shut up and do it."

Red chuckled.

~*~

"Angus and I have been waiting with bated breath to find out if you've been arrested or not."

"Not yet."

"Pessimistic, darling."

"Am I wrong?" you asked.

You hugged yourself, leaning against the cold corridor wall, cradling the wall-mounted phone against your cheek.

There were a group of guards a little ways off, standing outside the staff break room. You could tell they were talking about you.

"Hum, I'm not sure I like your chances. But if Spratt has any sense, he'll be doing his damndest to metaphorically brush this all under the proverbial rug. Look at his options. If he has you arrested, people will say this was an organized riot with an inside man. Rather than a bunch of naughty inmates kicking off. That would be very bad for him. And if he doesn't at least appear to be complying with the Skeletons' demands, more riots. Best bet, he'll offer you your job back. Take it, without argument. You can quit once this blows over. If he reinstates you now, he can't have you arrested later without looking like a complete fool."

"I'm so sorry you and Angus had to cut your holiday short because of me."

"Darling, don't apologize. I got to see a prison riot up close. Positively thrilling."

"I kissed him," you said, quietly.

There was a momentary silence from the other end of the line, until Don said in his artificially bright tones, "Oh yes? Which one?"

~*~

You’d been dreading your meeting with Spratt. But wishing time would stop only makes it go faster. An hour after lunch, you were summoned to the Warden's office.

As you walked, you found yourself remembering the first time you'd been imperiously summoned to Spratt's office. You weren't half as nervous now as you'd been then. On the other hand, right now, you didn't feel much more than tired. 

He was in his office, alone. Which was a good sign. Warden Spratt glared at you from across his desk with a dark fury, even as he spoke emotionlessly. Due to extenuating circumstances, blah blah. Unprecedented decisions had to be made, blah blah. Given half his staff had quit because of the riot, he currently found himself shorthanded in the Infirmary. 

Don was right. As he almost always was.

You were rehired with the sole responsibility of putting the three Skeletons first. The story would be that due to recent events, they were lacking nurses with Monster experience, so you'd been asked to come back to your old post with a token pay rise. You’d have other duties to attend to, of course. No one got a free pass at the prison. But it meant daily interactions to ensure their ‘compliant wellbeing’. Seven days a week, with reduced hours to compensate.

Make the Skeletons behave, Nurse. No longer a medical professional, but a nanny slash babysitter to three of the most mental people in existence.

Spratt had made you sign a lot of paperwork. You'd refused until he'd given you copies to bring back to Don. He'd also made you promise to say exactly what he told you at the annual review.

Who knew the truth? Only Spratt and one other member of the prison board. Oh, and Terror had pretty much worked out what was going on. The rest of the staff were gossiping. And while everyone had suspicions, no one was really sure what had gone down and why. Even the prisoners only knew that Red had wanted to make Spratt's life a nightmare for a couple of days. They hadn't exactly argued. 

Sans had made his demands abundantly clear. He'd scared the current nurses so badly, those who had stayed now refused to go near him now. And you were sure he'd do the same to any new hirers soon enough. 

And, of course, he still had that friend on the prison board. A friend who'd been furiously calling the office every day, demanding to know why Sans had been left without medical care for so long. After all, it looked suspiciously like the Warden wanted him dead, didn't it? What did Warden Spratt have to say for himself?

Spratt had ensured Sans’ cooperation with the committee... on the condition that you were the only nurse to treat him from now on.

Of course, Skull was a usual no-go for most of the staff anyway. You assured Spratt that you wouldn’t breathe a word of his mistreatment, on the understanding that you were now solely in charge of his care. Everything from creating and enforcing security measures, to medication, to feeding schedules. Daily care.

That left Red. Nobody argued with what Red wanted. Certainly not anymore.

Red had told Spratt he didn’t give a fuck about politics. He'd happily take sole blame for the riot, as long as you remained employed. But, Red had still committed a crime. A biggie. Incitement at a prison was no laughing matter. So his prison term had been extended as a result. He now had twenty-two years to go. And he'd been sent to solitary for a month (at least) and lost visitation rights for an indefinite amount of time. 

Twenty-two years. You'd be in your early fifties before he got out. The best years you could potentially have with Red, you'd have it in this whitewashed, barred, and stinking prison. Years of patching him up because Red couldn't stop being Red. Could you really bare stay here and watch that happen over and over again? And that was the best-case scenario. For all his bravado, Red couldn't survive solitary. It was the last and ultimate punishment Spratt could inflict on him and it would happen. You knew Red and his idiot temper would ensure he'd end up in solitary on a permanent basis. And you'd have to be here to watch him shatter to dust, it was almost inevitable. 

Skull was never getting out of here as long as he lived. You could move mountains for him, but in the end, you'd be gone eventually and he'd be left alone again. Still locked in that padded cell. Skull would never make the progress he needed to at the prison, you knew that for certain. How could he, when he had nothing left to hope for?

And Sans... he was so screwed up. You could spend years trying to help him, but what was the use? He didn't want help. Probably didn't even recognize how much he needed it. But you had to believe there was something worth saving. He cared about you. It was dark and scary sometimes, but there was something in there worth saving, you knew it.

You watched Spratt lean back in his chair. Breathing a sigh of relief. His job was finally secured once more. "Or you could quit," he said. "You could just go ahead and quit and walk out the door."

"Who will I be reporting to?" you asked, ignoring Spratt's goading.

"Your pet psycho murdered your last line manager, so you'll just have to cool your little behind, firecracker, until I find another one."

"I'll report to Nurse Terry until I'm told otherwise," you said, standing up. "If that's all, I'll return to Red in solitary. He seems to have tripped over on the way to his cell, so I should patch him up before I finish for the day."

"He was my friend," Spratt said. "Whitglass."

"This is your own damn fault," you replied. But you'd never escape the deathly gaze of Whitglass's head.

You had your hand on the door handle, so close to leaving, but Spratt just couldn't resist one last dig. He must be as worn out and exhausted as you were, because it was a nasty one, even for Spratt.

"You know, I have no idea what it is you've been doing with those Skeletons, but I hope your parents are proud of their Monster-fucker daughter."

In the end, you'd know it as the straw which finally broke the camel's back.

"Maybe you should deal with your piece of shit nephew before you talk about me and my family," you snapped.

Spratt flinched. He said nothing. 

You left.

You were furious.

You knew Spratt had just been angry. He was grieving. But he was getting everything he wanted. He'd won. You'd not done too badly out of it yourself. It could have been worse. Much worse. If anyone had made a case that you'd encouraged the Skeletons, you could have been prosecuted. Ended up in prison. As bad as things seemed, you had to remind yourself that this really was the best possible outcome. You should happy. 

You weren’t happy.

You didn’t want to work in this stupid, corrupt, violent prison anymore. You didn’t want to have to watch people you cared about being hurt anymore. You wanted to leave.

You were leaving.

And you were taking your boys with you.