Chapter Text
A few days had passed since the incident.
He walked on eggshells around his brothers for a while, they had chilled out only recently. He also came to some both unfortunate and fortunate realizations, per usual.
His magic was evolving. Maybe maturing is the correct term in this case.
Sometimes he forgot that he was still growing. All over again. Like doing it once wasn’t enough.
At first he wasn’t conscious of it. Had he become rusty? Sans had always been very conscious of his own magic, having had it active almost at all times. He tended to be even more conscious than most other Sanses. In his previous life, anyways.
The magic he had in his body now was different than what he had before. Not just because he was apparently a classic variant now. His magic felt like how humans feel about their breathing. Muted? In the back of his mind? It was hard to describe. But well, not overly purposeful, a passive thing. Humans didn’t track their own breathing, weren’t aware of the circulation of their own blood. But he had been. Monsters didn’t need to breathe, not in the traditional sense of it, and they didn’t have blood, not really. Monsters were all magic. Every single part of them. From the outside to the inside. It was much easier, much more common, normal, really, for monsters to be aware of the flow of magic ‘breath’ and ‘blood’ that coursed through their bodies.
The truth was, monsters could always tell if something was wrong with them. They went to healers and doctors not to know if something was wrong but what was wrong. Check ups were a thing in certain AUs, only because everyone was self-sacrificial, suicidal, or emotionally stunted. Not that he can fucking talk. Of course some didn’t go at all either way, even if they were not optional in certain places. Knowing something was wrong didn’t mean one would necessarily do something about it, after all.
That’s why it was strange. Strange that he didn’t realize his own unbalance as clearly as he should have.
It wasn’t because he was younger now. No. He had somehow become out of touch. Been out of touch since he awoke here until- well now.
He shuddered at the thought that he had spend the last years in a human-like ignorance.
However, this latest incident helped him reconnect. He confirmed the problem. He had failed to recognize the magic as his own. Even while training it and going as far as learning healing. He had operated under the mentality of training this body’s (this Sans’) magic. Someone in denial of their own soul could not be properly connected to it.
Then why was it so much easier now? Perhaps it was because he looked more like himself? So it was easier to be cognizant of himself. His new self.
Had he been running away without realizing? Boss and the boys would often tell him he did that. Hypocritical and irritating as they often sounded. They were all well-intentioned, despite everything.
Now he recognized that his magic was out of proportion. Haphazardly so. Having deep magical reserves was the norm, for a Sans. But Sanses were made to have deep magical reserves. Sometimes depending on their physique they may in turn be corporeally vulnerable, but magic was nature.
The magic of a monster was usually made for the monster, it was the monster to a certain extent, naturally the same applied to their body which the magic inhabited and partially formed. A monster’s body was made as a vessel for the monster’s magic and soul.
That’s why when the body and the magic were mismatched, it was considered an illness. What kind of illness it was depended on the kind of inharmony happening.
Great, like it wasn’t already obvious that this trashy new body of his was even trashier than his previous one. Now he had some pretty concrete proof that it was unfixable trash. Sure he knew that it was likely what was happening since quite some time. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was chronically ill, he wasn’t stupid, there were many hints. But knowing and seeing were different. He himself had experienced it obviously. But symptoms were symptoms, and many different things could cause pretty much the same symptoms. It was just that before even while knowing, he had some rein of rebuttal. Now, regaining the link between his magic, soul and his mind there was no logical argument to the reality.
He wondered how many times he would have to go through these endless loops of realization, denial and grudgeful acceptance. He was already getting tired and he wasn’t even out of stripes yet.
Speaking of stripes, Papyrus recently told him of a new trend going around. As monster society made a place in the underground, now that they weren’t interrupted by conflicts, war or its aftermath, not only did their technology and science slowly make progress but their culture did as well. Monsters had began to dress their children in stripes. A communal arrangement to prioritize the well being of monster children, who were the hope of monsterkind. That’s right, he was witnessing the creation of “stripes” in monster culture.
Something was definitely strange here. Stripes were something that existed far before he had been born in UF00. Even before the Great War. He was damn sure this was the case for at least Classic and Swap as well. Though he wasn’t 100% clear on historical trends in the others’ timelines. This timeline only got more and more confusing by the day.
Great, now he had to go back to wearing stripes. Wonderful. He already caught Gaster on the phone talking to Grillby about going out shopping with them, and he was pretty sure they were suppose to be getting stripped clothing for him and Papyrus on this occasion. God fucking damn it. He hated stripes. Like he didn’t already look like a fucking runt.
On slightly better news. While his magic was really fucking wacky and kinda unstable, it was gradually approaching something close enough to stability by the day. He was annoyed at the magic overflow, now that he was conscious of it happening. Such a fucking waste of magic. Unfortunately his shitty body couldn’t retain all of it inside yet. He was like cup where water kept spilling out because it was too full. He guessed it would be something similar to his other problems. They would, at the very least, become easier to ignore as time went on.
Now on actually better fucking news. His beautiful teeth were back, not only aesthetically. Hehehe, that’s right he found out that they not only look like his teeth but the also have same capabilities too. Eheh heh heh. Back in Rootverse, most Original AUs’ residents had at least one feature, for lack of a better word, that was so unique and distinct from their alternate selves’, that the multiverse didn’t ‘allow’ (as Ink put it) any other version to have the same exact trait. His were his teeth. Rootverse wasn’t without its many sharp toothed alternate bitches. However, his marvelous teeth, that’s right, he is bragging, they’re awesome. There were few few things about himself he had pride in. Specially things that were part of himself. His teeth though, were undoubtedly a masterpiece. They were more durable than a chromium knife. In fact, he could bite and break a chromium knife to pieces! Heheheh. A memory flashed across his mind: Killer’s twisted face of stupefaction holding a edge of anguish when he destroyed the other’s new knife in one occasion, after the little shit dared to point it at his face, in the perfect height too mind you, for shits and giggles, when he was in a bad mood.
He can’t believe this kind of luck showered on him! Getting them back to their potential was crazy. Ridiculous. Incredible. Now he didn’t even have to be careful about what kind of rock, what kind of anything he picked up and chucked into his mouth. Yay!
Okay this was getting weird. He’s usually not this excitable, yet he continued to bounce with a uncharacteristic energy. Besides for something so fortunate to happen to him, he was probably bound to a lot of unfortunate things in the future. He stopped bouncing. Having his teeth back was great though. Heh.
Sans widely smiled to himself without noticing.
Papyrus and Gaster looked over at him with wide eye sockets. At this Sans tilted his head in confusion, dropping his smile. The two other skeletons looked away immediately, mild disappointment in their expressions. It merely left Sans more confused.
He shook his head, deciding to leave them be for now.
Anyways, he hadn’t been snacking lately because his brothers were hyperaware of his every move these last few days. But he figured they were probably good now right? He was getting antsy without anything to keep his mouth occupied. Papyrus kept slapping his hand (gently, it was actually more annoying because of how unoffensive the force behind it was,) when he tried to bite his distal phalanges.
He looked up. Gaster had gone elsewhere likely to do some paper work. That should give him some time. Taking this chance, Sans scooted closer to Papyrus, the one already used to his snacking habits.
Sans wasn’t ashamed to guilt trip his loved ones. He never claimed to be perfect. Everyone was kinda fucked up anyways. So expecting any of his surroundings to be entirely ‘safe' was ridiculous really. Besides, after the Boss grew up, specially during the period right after the other shed his stripes and learned to act like even more of a jackass, if he didn’t guilt trip the kid occasionally he wouldn’t be able to do shit.
He pressed against his current younger brother. The affectionate type of guilt tripping. He wouldn’t have dared to do it to Boss back when all they knew was Underfell, but there was something to learn even from their “soft wimpy”—he still can’t believe they called the others that back then— alternates. Puff and Blue in particular were experts at the art of guilt tripping with their cuteness. Sans wasn’t cute but his dumbass friends and family were weak against him for some unexplainable reason. So, it usually worked. Specially if they hadn’t build up any resistance to it yet. Doing it rarely and far in between helped abate any resistance and keep them susceptible to it, Sans thought cockily to himself.
Papyrus visibly hesitated, faltering and debating. It took a bit but he eventually fell. Sans would have to tone it down on him. Can’t have him think its usual and build up immunity or something.
Sans grinned as he grabbed a box filled with discarded silverware. At the lab they had been recently scavenging some metal in the dumps or some shit like that. These silverware were unusable as silverware and also not suitable for their intended scavenged purpose, whatever it was. So Gaster had disinfected them and brought them home, for Sans and Papyrus to play with. He often did that with any grade material that didn’t have a function in the projects anymore. There wouldn't be any issues if he ate them.
He sat next to Papyrus. Knowing the other would be less twitchy if he watched him while he ate. Eating it behind his back would have an averse reaction, even if he had hidden it from the start. Papyrus was disturbingly sharp, sometimes it creeped him out. Puff always had been better than Boss at reading his emotional patterns, though unfortunately Boss had his tone and inflection down better than anyone else.
That’s what Gaster walked into. His younger siblings laying against each other comfortably against the sofa. Of course, if it was just that it would have been cute. That is if Sans hadn’t been biting down on a metal spoon! WTF? He took a deep dramatic and completely unnecessary breath of panic, and clutched his sweater over where his soul laid behind his ribcage, looking a little faint from being too far away to stop whatever the fuck this was.
Unlike the expected result, the sturdy metal, didn’t just bend against Sans’ sharp new incisors, it fucking snapped. The metal snapped like a cookie. Sans was chewing on the spoon like it was a cookie. He didn’t even stop there, he picked up a fucking fork, from what he could see was a container full of high quality damaged cutlery he had brought home to entertain his brothers, as they weren’t fit for anything else he had originally planned for them, but were still high grade resources. He briefly met Papyrus’s gaze with a look of betrayal before he fell over, still clutching onto his cardigan.
He faintly heard his brothers calling his name before everything went dark.