The following is a rather complicated fanfiction that will span a few chapters before going on hiatus for a while. Frequency of updating will depend on the fanbase.
I'm so sorry. I feel like none of this made any sense :(
Anyway! This is technically my first fanfiction ever, so please be patient. I'm writing this for practice in my writing and to help me maybe a focus a bit more, so I hope you can reap some positive results from my toils.
"Are you ready to begin?"
(start)
Sans dreamt in things that never happened. It was a disconcerting truth about him that he came to realize one night after a particularly vivid dream. When he thought back to it, beyond the images of young boy (his friend..?), the dream was relatively blank in his mind. Despite the life-like feel of his bond with the other boy, his life itself was little in the way of friendships. Sans wondered what the boy's name was.
For as long as Sans could remember, he'd been dreaming of a world he kept forgetting, a friend he always forgot, and a man he shouldn't have trusted. In his dreams, Sans was different. Not drastically so, but certainly there was something off about him. In his dreams, Sans' eye was...
Sans felt a dull throb begin to work its way into the base of his head at the thought of his eye. His left eye's appearance was a physical quirk that tended to bring about nervousness in others. At 14, Sans had realized that his classmates were quick to judge others on their appearances. His classmates briskly forgot about the severely overweight girl in his mathematics class and they discarded the boy with a large birthmark that covered over half his face in favor of Sans.
It didn't take long for Sans' isolation to take place, and it certainly didn't help that Sans was the prime target for bullies everywhere. He preferred the metaphorical crippling loneliness to the physically crippling punishment the bullies could dole out. It was based on this philosophy that Sans was the final plug on any and all social communications (better to live alone than to hurt alone). His previous attempts to make friends had been dashed away by his personality, after all. As a child, Sans' grades had always been exceptional. He was particularly attracted to the sciences (the nerdiest of all hobbies). Past his excellence in academics, the freshman was, in general, rather quirky. He'd go from spouting out puns for hours straight, to absolutely detesting them in one second flat. In general, Sans was an odd character. Though, ultimately, Sans found that it was his eye that was the main source of his teasing.
Sans' right eye, iris hazel and sclera white, was what one may consider a normal human eye.
Sans' left eye, iris an icy blue and sclera black as void, was certainly not.
One day, Sans had asked his mother why his eye looked the way it did. She'd looked at him skeptically, brow furrowed down into her nose. In that instant, it had appeared that thinking about the past had hurt her physically.
"Your eye," she'd said with a face scrunched up in pain or concentration, "wasn't always like that."
But she didn't expand on the thought and Sans didn't ask her to. His head was throbbing as if someone were screeching at him not to think about his odd eye. If Sans had one thing, it was integrity.
Not only was Sans left to wonder about his eye, but a series of other questions were perpetually percolating in the pit of his stomach. Why couldn't he remember anything before it hurt to think about his eye and the dreams? Were the dreams just dreams? Who was the boy? Was something wrong with him?
He hadn't a clue on how to answer any of the questions that had been bothering him (the last one), but everything was fine (something's not right). In the end, Sans rationalized, he'd figure it out later.
(stop)
(start)
While sitting in the bright yellow bus on his way to school, Sans almost recalled his dream in a tired fog. His exhausted manner post-waking up on a school day typically prompted a brief nap just before classes started while on the way to the gray, prison-like building Sans affectionately called 'the lowest point in my life.' Low school as opposed to high school, one could say. I really (wasn't) was funny.
The dream came back foggy and wasn't very precise:
"Sans! You know I hate those stupid jokes of yours! Why can't y-"
"-plore, please? We won't go too far, I promise. We'll be back in time for Tor-"
"-this it? Push it open with me, will you? I, the Great Pap-"
The bus arrived at its destination with an angry honk.
(stop)
(start)
"Toby?"
"Here."
"Matthew?"
"Here."
"Papyrus?"
(…)
"Papyrus?"
(That name...)
Nervous titters of laughter raced around the freshman classroom. The teacher herself even had the audacity to don a muddled expression. Sans had previously wondered what sort of event occurred to create the name Papyrus in his teacher's mind, as this wasn't the first occasion during which she had called for the mysterious other-student. During that first occasion, the teacher, Mrs. Williams, had called for 'Papyrus' to answer a math problem. All the same, no answer was returned.
Sans glanced up at the teacher's bewildered expression at having made the same unusual mistake twice.
"Hey, teach, who's Papyrus?"
(stop)
(start)
Sans had once downed an entire bottle of pills just to stop his headache long enough for him to think. He almost overlooked the possibility that he could overdose and die (almost). (Un)Luckily for him, his mother had found him half delirious and rushed him to the hospital where, to Sans' discontent, a doctor Sinclair pronounced him suicidal. His mom had cried, all the while Sans just felt oddly perplexed. Suicidal? Him? No—he was just trying to quiet the raging headache inside his skull, was all. After explaining his reasoning, Dr. Sinclair had adopted an even more perturbed expression.
(stop)
(start)
He told himself it was the crushing loneliness. In reality, it was probably just his echoing headache, but one way or another, Sans had ended up hiking all the way to Mt. Ebott.
When he'd looked around and really taken in his surroundings, Sans noticed the small city below. Home. Maybe not home home, though. Just a place to live—a place he called home out of obligation rather than emotional attachment. If the quiet little town below him was not home, then... the teenager began to question just where his home was.
The banging in the back of his head answered.
(stop)
(start)
There was a vine atop the mountain that caught on Sans' shoe as he walked past. Losing his balance, the wind whipped up his snowy hair and tossed it around. The hole below opened its greedy maw while the wind tried to push him back up.
(stop)
(start)
Something wasn't right.
(stop)
"Welcome back."
Relatively short chapter, but aside from all that nonsense: I already have the next chapter done. If anyone asks, I'll put it up sooner than sometime next week, if not I'll let it stew for a while until I finish the chapter after that.
I have all the chapters at least plotted out up until a certain point, during such a time I'll probably take a break to plan out the next part. Because of this, I'll probably end up dividing the story into two parts. We'll cross that bridge when we get there.
Have a nice day,
AfH