Chapter Text
Three cylindrical ice cubes slid along the bottom of the snifter glass nestled in Sans’ palm, creating a soft clinking noise as he rocked the cup back and forth. The dim and intimate ambience of the bar, when coupled with a few drinks, made his eye lights fuzzier, his voice thicker and his bones warmer. This was a familiar kind of security, tied to memories laced with the scent of cinnamon and flaky crust, recollections unearthed by the tune coming from the jukebox nearby. Sans held the glass to his eye level, the ice melting as if they were Amalgamates in some kind of fucked up determination experiment. Despite this, each face of the cubes were smoothed over, their hydrogen and oxygen atoms held together by a sheer will to persist; the very thing that was tearing them apart from the inside. As Sans tilted his hand and the ice cubes pathetically sloshed backward, he realised that the cubes had a tunnel running through their centre that made them hollow. A mere shift in the position of his wrist had revealed a completely different perspective.
“ey, grillb.” Sans slurred obliviously, whilst gesturing to the jukebox with his glass as he leaned on the counter.
The flame monster glanced up from the corner of the bar as if to prompt Sans to continue.
“yanno i've been wondering... why don'tcha ditch tha' junkbox and get somethin' classssier in 'ere?" Sans smirked charismatically despite the ache of the bed sores that lined his pelvis. “somethin’ to match the a’mosphere. howzabout a gramophone, huh?”
“The atmosphere of greasy burgers, depression and drunk monsters?” Grillby chuckled amusingly, interested in Sans’ disposition that contrasted from his typical anxious self when inebriated. “Who would even have a gramophone down here anyway?”
“you didn’t haveta do this, tori.” Sans awkwardly scratched the nape of his skull as he shrugged off his raincoat.
Toriel stood before him as she shook her head adamantly, carefully unbuttoning her violet poncho before sliding it over the sofa’s arm rest.
“Of course I did. You cannot cook sausages out in the pouring rain!” She spread her arms out pleadingly to compensate for the mirth creeping into her tone.
“what, you don’t like a nice cold cat?” He shot her a jesting side eye, sliding into the armchair adjacent to the television. “if you don’t like ‘em cold, I could always cook some hot cats for you in the kitchen instead.”
Toriel briefly paused in confusion as she went to sit down in her armchair, before continuing to fall into her seat.
PPFFFFFFFFFFFT!
Sans chuckled unrepentantly at his classic whoopee cushion prank, wiping the proud tears of joy from his eye sockets before Toriel’s pillow collided with his face, only muffling his laughter.
Toriel let herself giggle for the first time in years whilst Sans regained his composure, before her curiosity returned to her.
“If I may ask, how were you so sure that you could cook sausages when you were uncertain if I had any?” She questioned politely as her inquisitive eyes shifted to the reclining skeleton in her lounge room.
With both hands behind his head, Sans only opened one eye socket to meet Toriel’s gaze as if he was plotting another devious prank. Without a word, Sans lifted one of the water sausages out of the pot beside him to his grin, his magic absorbing half of it in one immense but completely unregretful bite.
Toriel’s paws raced to her mouth in surprise as she became breathless in an instant. Her composure falling away within the blink of an eye, laughter escaped her body violently as she gasped for air in between tears.
Whilst they waited for the downpour to subside, Sans and Toriel instead found themselves in the kitchen cooking water sausages despite them bursting open into piles of fluff upon contact with the sizzling pan.
“I don’t suppose you drink wine?” Toriel offered as she emptied some of the cherry liquid into her own glass.
“me? nope, not really my schtick.” Sans rejected respectfully, tossing a water sausage into the oiled frying pan.
“What is your ‘schtick’ then?” Toriel propped herself against the refrigerator, swirling the wine in her glass with a rolling circular motion.
“’probly music, i got a trombone recently.” He titled his head back to wink at Toriel, to which she smirked in response.
Placing her empty wine glass in the sink with the other three, Toriel walked suspiciously towards the television without a word. Bending down, she shuffled through the drawer before lifting a type of brass record player out of the unit onto her armchair.
Sans shut off the gas stove and followed Toriel into the living room, when a familiar bouncy tune erupted from the gramophone that completely silenced the pattering of the rain on the roof above them.
“hey, what’s this now? I didn’t know you were a fan of the ol’ jitterbug.” Sans swayed his hips rhythmically whilst pointing his fingers into the sky, rising a chuckle from Toriel nearby.
“Oh dear, I think I am going to need another glass of wine to forget how I am about to embarrass myself!” Toriel jovially paced into the kitchen as Sans fiddled with the gramophone’s volume controls.
The memory of their shared laughter and music fluttered through Sans’ skull, his blacked-out pupils jolting back into existence as he was yanked from dissociation by Grillby’s worried pestering.
“…Sans? I think you’ve had enough drinks for tonight. I’m going to call Papyrus to come get you, okay?” He heard as a warm presence gently pressed against his forehead.