.
Not with a Bang but with
A quick note that this chapter draws some inspiration from pastelclark's "Not as Simple as a Happy Ending." Namely in the representation of the Temmies – I've seen similar theories floating around, but Clark's is my favourite for a number of reasons. If you want to see more of the Tems somewhat similar the way I write them, I definitely recommend their fic.
This chapter is long. Again. Oops.
CHAPTER SIX:
Another Medium
oOo
When Sans was twelve, he got a job.
OOo
"Hey, you! Get back here!"
The heavy clanking of the Guards' boots matched the rat-a-tat-tat of the cans in Sans' pockets clanking against his bones, as he ran full-tilt across the plains of outer Snowdin.
The Guards had been chasing him all the way from the heart of town. They were new recruits from the Capital; of higher rank than any of the royal guard dogs here in Snowdin. This would never have happened with the dogs; they didn't mind Sans so much and were willing to turn a blind eye to the petty theft of anyone in need and who could get them dog treats at an affordable price.
The Guards of Snowdin were laid-back, easygoing, and altogether a bit useless – it was one of the reasons Sans had chosen to settle here – but the Guards of the Capital were a different story. He supposed they'd been stationed here on account of the shoplifting problem, of which, frankly, he was probably mostly to blame.
They patrolled the village twice daily, and Sans figured the Snowdin Guards' lax attitudes had allowed him to let his defences down. Stupid, stupid, he knew better than that, he should never have let himself get so careless. Just because the Snowdin Guard made his life easier didn't mean he had to let it turn him soft. He had street smarts; he couldn't go throwing them to the winds to be picked up again at will.
Sans stumbled on a patch of ice and felt his legs wobble under him as he nearly lost his balance, then he'd slid across and was running again, bare feet falling on the snow with rhythmic thumps.
Still, his little stumble brought the Guards closer. He could hear them shouting to stop where he was, and he wondered why they kept bothering. He'd probably made it clear by now that he had no intentions of letting himself be arrested.
Sans screwed his eyes shut and tried to run faster, calling on his magic. The shed, he thought. The shed, the shed, the shed. He could feel his soul warming up, charging with magical energy. The charge was weak, and after a moment, it died down to nothing.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid; he should have known better than to practise his magic before stealing. His magic wore him out considerably, and once he'd worked at his attacks, or his telekinesis, or his teleportation for more than an hour, he could barely summon the tiniest bone for the rest of the day. Sans hadn't been able to shortcut somewhere out of desperation since that first night in the alleys of New Home.
So he went on running.
He was coming near the edge of the accessible woods. The pines that lined Snowdin Town and its immediate outer reaches grew so close together and in such thick clusters that not even Sans could run through them without an assault on his face; a monster had to head a good ways out of town to be able to walk easily through the trees.
Sans chanced a glance over his shoulder; the Guards were getting close. He skidded in the thick and fluffy snow; then ducked into the trees.
Once he got to the woods, he let himself slow down. Even in this part of the woods, where the trees grew tall and slim and bare, it would be easy for a monster to get lost here. Sans weaved easily between the trees, taking advantage of his small size. Those New Home Guards were large and bulky, and though he could still hear their thudding, clanking footsteps, they were starting to waver, uncertain.
"Come on," he heard one say, voice muffled behind her helmet. "It's not worth it. Poor kid looked like he was starving anyway."
Sans skidded to a stop and stood erect, listening. The other Guard said something Sans couldn't catch, then the footsteps headed off in the other direction and out of the woods.
It wasn't until they were gone that Sans relaxed, sliding down to recline against a tree. He was exhausted. He shut his eyes, revelling in the quiet. He liked it in these woods. He could have sat resting here forever; though he knew he couldn't really. It would be hell if he allowed ice to form in his joints. Still, he could rest long enough to recover his breath.
Every bone in his body ached from the tireless run, and he was almost dizzy with hunger. Sans reached a hand into his pocket and produced one of the small buns he'd stolen. He studied it for a moment, the pangs of hunger battling with the guilt he'd inevitably feel if he ate it.
The hunger won out, and Sans tore into the bread, eating with animal-like motions. Less than a minute later, the bread was gone, and only the guilt remained.
Still. There was more food for Papyrus. His brother would be fine. He didn't even have to know.
The small bit of food had done a world of good for Sans, and he stood, brushing the crumbs from the front of his jacket. He rolled his shoulders, then continued off into the woods.
Yes, Snowdin Forest offered just about all the privacy he could ask for. Hardly anyone lived out here – the odd little cottage or cabin, a few Moldsmals.
Their shed came into view.
Sans had found this place a year and a half ago. He'd stumbled on a clearing while scouring the woods for some old human junk to sell. Barely larger than his old bedroom, the wood starting to rot. The shed had been abandoned for years – it was run-down and horribly draughty, windows and doors boarded shut. But Sans had managed to pry some boards covering the door loose, enough to make an entrance for him and his brother to squeeze through. It was a dump, but it meant a roof over his and Papyrus' heads – shelter, after months of sleeping on the streets.
It had taken a few weeks, but little by little, he'd managed to make the place a home. One wall was lined in storage crates, in which he kept food, clothes, and the few toys and books he and Papyrus owned. Some of the stuff he'd found at the main dump in Waterfall; for others he'd scraped some gold together and bought for his brother's birthdays. Another wall was covered with Papyrus' drawings and pages torn from library books with pretty pictures on them. After another few weeks of living in the shed, he'd even managed to get some bedrolls off the Tems. There were two bedrolls, but normally the brothers crawled in with each other anyway.
The crunching of snow as he approached the shed apparently alerted Papyrus to his presence before Sans could actually reach it, and then his brother was bursting out and hurtling towards him at a dangerous speed. Sans braced himself for impact, and the next thing he knew, Papyrus had barrelled directly into him, and Sans fell on his back with an oof.
Papyrus made himself comfortable on his ribcage. "There you are! I MISSED you, brother!"
Sans gave a weak laugh, reaching up to swipe the top of his brother's skull. "I was only gone for about an hour, bro."
"I'm allowed to miss you for an hour!" Still, Papyrus climbed off him and ran towards the shed. Sans was slower to get to his feet, and so Papyrus made a game of it, running from the shed to Sans and back again, over and over, his trips becoming shorter each time, until Sans reached the door. "Did you get anything really cool?"
Sans pushed the board aside, and they both squeezed through. "Some stuff. Wanna see?"
Papyrus was already jumping up and down on the ground and all but vibrating with excitement like a Temmie high on Tem Flakes. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I'm HUNGRY."
Sans turned out his pockets, letting his haul clatter to the floor. A delighted Papyrus joined him in gathering the food, inspecting it and storing it into their food crate, dutifully stacking the cans and arranging the buns. It wasn't a half bad haul, either – a couple of cinnamon bunnies and the rest of the bread, a bottle of milk – Sans always made sure he had a steady supply of milk; it was good for Papyrus' bones.
Everything else came in a can or a jar. Pickles (Papyrus made a gagging noise), beans, peas and corn, anchovies, soup. He'd accidentally grabbed a couple cans of dog food – inedible, but he could always sell them to the dogs here in Snowdin. There were even a couple containers of tinned fruit. Tinned fruit was always a good find – it was horribly oversweet and therefore some of the most filling stuff a monster could get.
For now, though, Sans took up a can of tomato soup, prying off the top with the small knife he'd acquired ages back. He handed the can to Papyrus, who downed it hungry gulps. As always, his brother drank exactly half before handing it over to Sans, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he broke into a grin.
Sans took the can, but he'd barely brought it to his teeth before Papyrus asked with a frown, "Brother? What happened to your SHOES?"
Sans looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. Both of his slippers had fallen off his feet in the chase. "Heh. Wouldn't ya believe it – I ended up slippin' on the ice like a big dork and lost 'em both."
He set down his can of soup and brought a hand to his forehead for comedic effect. It delivered the desired reaction – Papyrus rolled his eyes and giggled, poking Sans in the chest. "Sillybones."
Sans smiled sleepily, and leaned back against a crate as he took a long swig from the can of tomato soup as if it were soda. Papyrus was crawling away, and Sans watched as his little brother picked up one of his picture books and sat down to read it. He was wearing a raggedy pair of pants, a striped T-shirt, his shiny black school shoes, and the tattered red scarf Sans had found at the dump and given to him for his fifth birthday. Papyrus hadn't taken it off since.
In quiet moments like these, he allowed himself to think about it.
They'd been living out here on their own for nearly two years.
Two years since Gaster. Two years since they'd been hurt. Two years since being grabbed by the soul and dragged around, or locked in the closet, or struck, or strapped down and experimented on. Two years since the prick of the needle, the sting of the scalpel, the overwhelming pain of the Determination –
Papyrus was five, now. He'd be six in March, and Sans hardly dared believe it.
Sans hadn't really wanted to send Papyrus to school. His brother knew how to read and spell his name, and he knew how to count, and Sans could have taught him the rest. For Sans, school was nothing but a blur of bad memories – boring lessons and uncaring teachers and teasing children. School meant having his and his brother's names legally documented somewhere. School meant leaving Papyrus to the mercy of strangers for hours every day.
For a long time, he'd fought with his brother about it. I can teach ya anything you want, he'd said. But Papyrus had insisted. He'd wanted to go to school like the other kids. He loved watching the local Snowdin children troop to and from school in Waterfall every day, in their perfect uniforms with their beautiful, beautiful backpacks on their backs, and there was never any missing the longing in his eyes as he did so. And so, in December, after a great deal of wheedling and with great reluctance, Sans had taken his brother to the Waterfall school (for Snowdin had none) to sign him up for kindergarten with the rest of the kids his age.
Sans had only gone ahead with it to appease Papyrus, certain that there was no way he'd actually get him registered. If he went, Papyrus would finally stop his begging. He'd be able to say to his brother, you see? He didn't really see how a pair of street rats could swan over and simply sign themselves up for education – Sans was only twelve, after all, and the legal age for living on your own in the Underground was fifteen. He'd been terrified of it all – of the paperwork, of the questions – but instead, the good people of the Waterfall school had scribbled a few notes down, asked a few questions to which Sans had answered by lying, and Papyrus was registered.
Sans didn't think anyone really believed that he was sixteen, as he'd told the secretary, and that their parents had tragically fallen into Hotland's lava a few months ago, but he didn't think anyone cared enough, either.
As far as the good people of Waterfall were concerned, signing up a street rat for school meant a street rat that was going to get a good education, rather than have to live off scraps and thievery. Even if that street rat was obviously living in less-than-ideal conditions.
Papyrus, for the record, loved school. He'd been very nervous on his first day, starting months after his schoolmates as he was. But when Sans had picked him up, Papyrus had come to him with tales of his new, VERY BESTEST FRIEND, a little fish girl named Undyne, though he had yet to report any others. Sans had met the kid a few times. She wasn't a bad sort. Maybe a little rowdy, but Sans could tell just by watching her with his brother that the two cared about each other with the profound and unconditional love of five-year-olds.
And besides, with Papyrus at school six hours a day, it meant Sans got to spend time doing work he wouldn't have had the chance to do otherwise.
Speaking of which…
Sans finished the last of his soup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossing the can aside to be properly disposed of later.
"Hey, Paps?" he forced out.
Papyrus looked up from his picture book, smile bright and eager as ever. "Nyeh?"
Sans winced, running a hand down his face as he tried to best come up with a way to tell his brother what he'd been holding back from him since early that morning, when he realised just how low they were on spare gold. "Hey, uh, listen, Paps… I know I said I'd spend the day playing with you tomorrow, but, uh… I need to. Do some work at the dump. Just for a little bit of the afternoon."
Papyrus went from smile to sulk in a nanosecond. "But you PROMISED."
Sans withered a little, and he felt his soul twist with guilt again. "Heh. I know. I'm sorry. But this is pretty important. It'll only be a coupla hours."
"But you promised me all DAY." Papyrus huffed and threw down his picture books, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling deeper even as his eye sockets brimmed with tears. "You're ALWAYS going off to the dump. ALWAYS. And you don't ever let me come and it's not FAIR."
"Hey. Hey." Sans reached out to his brother, and he flinched when Papyrus pulled away. "Tell ya what; I'll leave you at Undyne's, okay? You can play with her."
"But I don't WANT to play with Undyne. I want to play with YOU."
Sans sighed and ran a hand down his face. "C'mon, bro. Just this once. I promise."
"You ALWAYS promise. But you're very bad at keeping them."
"Heh." Sans sighed again. "Guess I am. But I'm sorry, Paps, really – listen. You stay with Undyne, and it won't be long, and you two can play Capture the Human together, huh? You can tell me all about it when I come pick ya up, and… and I'll make it up. I promise. For real this time. Not one o' those Sans-sucks-at-promises promises."
Papyrus looked torn. At last, he caved, crawling over to Sans, who wasted no time in gathering his baby brother in his arms. Papyrus buried his nasal bone in the fabric of Sans' sweater and sniffled mournfully. "… fine. But… Sans?"
"Yeah, bro?"
"If… if you go and leave me at Undyne's… promise you'll bring me something cool if you find it?" Papyrus pulled away, looking hopeful.
"'course, bro. Don't I always?"
Papyrus nodded. "I would like a new Fluffy Bunny book! Or a suit of armour! Or a marble run! Though… I'd need marbles too, so marbles and a marble run! Or a car magazine! Or a race car!"
"I'll be sure to bring it if I find anything, yeah?"
"And Sans?" Papyrus paused. "I MISS you when you're gone. So… so if you go, you must read me TWO bedtime stories tonight. Or else I'll be mad at you again."
"Oh?" Sans cocked a brow. "That's not an idle threat."
Papyrus paused, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, I won't be MAD at you. But I will be very, very sad and very dipsa-jointed."
Sans laughed again. "Disappointed, bro."
"That's what I SAID!" Papyrus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "But will you?"
Sans ran a hand over the top of his skull. "You got it, bro. Two bedtime stories. That's a real promise too."
oOo
There were tricks, Sans had learned over the past two years, tricks to staying alive on the streets. Ways of thriving, even.
One of the first things he'd learned – the peak points of rush hour in crowded New Home.
Papyrus clinging to his back, he slipped small and unnoticed through hordes of workers making their way home, pickpocketing or swiping things from shopfronts as he went.
Sans learned how to pick through trash cans; he learned which shopkeepers were willing to look the other way if they caught him, and which ones threw stones and insults and threats to summon the Royal Guard. He learned which proprietors were willing to let him do small favours in exchange for a meal or a bit of gold. He learned which alleyways were best for sleeping in. And perhaps most importantly, he'd learned never to expect much.
Sans was rooting through a human garbage pile at the Waterfall dump. The satchel at his hip was empty; so far he'd found nothing he could sell to the Tems, and nothing for Papyrus, either. As he sorted through the trash, however, he thought he saw something else of value – what looked like the cover of a textbook. The rest of the book was covered in useless trash, obscuring it from view, but what Sans could see was a piece of the title– A Stud and, on the line below it, Copenha and, just below that, Inte.
Sans knew well enough how to fill in the blanks.
He fought with the surge of excitement that began to blossom in his chest – don't expect much – as he shoved aside banana peels, miscellaneous food wrappers, unidentifiable items of plastic. It didn't take much more digging to uncover the book – and to find it was waterlogged beyond use.
Sans sighed. Books were such a rare find in the dump anyway – seldom did they survive the river that brought them here. Sometimes, though, they'd show up wrapped in shiny plastic covers, all brand-new, or in large sealed crates.
He resumed digging.
"Hey! Sans!"
A shout from the top of the water bank caught his attention, and he spun, fingers twitching as magic curled instinctively around his phalanges. Then he saw who it was, and let himself relax: Linda, a fox monster only four years older than himself. He trusted her, as much as he let himself trust anyone who wasn't himself or Papyrus. They'd first met on the streets of New Home. Linda had been on the streets most of her life, and she'd helped him and his brother out, had shared some of her food even though she had to fight for it as much as the rest of them.
It had been Linda who'd suggested he seek out the Temmies for employment. The Tems were a strange species, never breeding with other monsters, all of them strangely identical, seldom wandering outside the outer edges of their establishment in Waterfall. But the Tems' reach ran far beyond a few little caves in Waterfall, and they had just about every destitute kid in the Underground working for them. They ran an expansive network of knowledge, trade, and gold. Every child in the Underground knew of the Temmies, and the ones in need went to them solely because the only alternative was the spiders. They were the scum of demons as far as Sans was concerned, and they covered it all up with a guise of charming idiocy. It was good for reeling the younger ones in, and for keeping the Guard off their tails. So long as they kept the charade up, they were frustratingly impossible to deal with. And so the Guard were content to look the other way and leave them be, allow their black market operation to continue, and snag their underlings whenever they could.
Sans had gone to them only a little after Papyrus had started school. And at first, the Tems had helped – loaning him gold, clothes for Papyrus, even food. Less than a month later, Sans had found himself perpetually wading knee-deep in debt.
Sans stuffed his hands into his pockets and graced her with an easy grin. "Hey. What's up? You find anything today?"
But Linda arrived at his side breathless. "I just came from – listen, Sans, the boss wants you."
Sans froze, a nervous feeling clutching at his chest. "W-what?"
She shrugged in sympathy. "I don't know what; she wouldn't tell me. She didn't look too happy, though, I'd keep my wits about me if I were you. And you'd better go now. The boss – "
" – doesn't like to be kept waiting," Sans finished. "Yeah, I know. But I went by there two days ago. And I ain't found anything good yet. What'm I supposed to sell them?"
Linda patted his shoulder with her tail. "Good luck, Sans. See you. If I find any toys for Papyrus, I'll put them aside."
"Thanks," he muttered, shouldering his empty satchel. "See ya."
oOo
Temmie Village was all bright and obnoxious façade as Sans stepped into its central cavern. He winced as two of the Tems came pattering out to greet him. They glanced at each other, then burst into a gratingly cheerful ditty, complete with bobbing heads and vacant smiles. Sans hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands into his pockets, casting them a glare. "Really? Not today, guys."
One of the Tems froze, but the other one frowned, eyes widening. "Tem no UNDERSTAND! Why be mean? Why make Tem sad?"
"Drop it," he muttered, and in an instant, the Tem's eyes went hard. She hissed, revealing a mouth lined in small, razor-sharp teeth before scuttling away into the shadows.
Little hellbeasts.
Sans sighed, and braced himself for whatever was to come, fighting back the wave of nervousness that threatened to overwhelm him. Linda had told him you got more and more used to it, over time, but he was a few months in and he hadn't gotten used to it at all yet. He was dimly aware of how foolish he was being: after all, he had dealt with much worse in the past.
As he walked along the village's main path, a few stray Temmies came out to inspect him, some of them circling around him with bouncy, cheerful steps that did nothing to fool him. Sans toed them out of the way, finally stopping at the entrance to the Shop. He glanced down at the two creatures guarding the entrance.
"Should visit Tem Shop!" one of them piped up, bouncing on the spot, and Sans balled his hands into fists.
"Whaddya think I'm doing?" he muttered, trying and failing to ease the tension in his bones. "I heard she wanted to see me?"
The two Temmies glanced at each other, then blinked at him passively. Sans took it as a cue to enter the shop, and after bracing himself, he did so, swiping aside the curtain that hung in the doorway.
The head Tem was perched on a wobbly stool behind the enormous cardboard box that served as her desk. Miscellaneous knickknacks covered the crookedly-installed shelves, though Sans' eye went to the bright orange coat that hung on a nail on the wall. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and hunched his shoulders further, as if that might keep him safe.
"What do you want," he muttered, having been greeted by the head Tem's blank and expectant stare, the smile on her face stiff and unsettlingly doll-like.
Another blink, the smile twitched, and Sans suppressed a shiver. The look she was giving him was almost contemplatively hungry. Whether the Tems actually ate their inefficient employees like the spiders did, no-one knew. "I heard you were looking for me."
"Yes," said the head Tem at long last. He watched her eyes stray to the empty satchel at his side. "Nothing to trade with Temmie?"
"Couldn't find anything." He paused. "You didn't want me to come in for a trade, did you?"
The Tem didn't answer, instead reaching into her cardboard box. She rummaged around, then stopped, one paw having apparently found what she was looking for, but she didn't reveal it yet. "Sansy still owes Tem much goodies. Much gold. Much favours."
Sans grit his teeth. He was too tired to play along. "What, so you want a favour, then? That it?"
The Tem purred, and her blank smile curled into a satisfied grin that showed off her fangs – a reminder. "Temmie is long overdue on delivering to customer in New Home. Customer SAD. And so Temmie thought little Sansy might like to be nice and help." She tilted her head to one side. Her eyes strayed to the coat, still hanging on the hook, then finally produced the item – or rather, items – she'd been concealing. Three boxes of Tem flakes – a grand order. A Post-It note was stuck to one, on which a name and address had been scrawled.
Sans shifted from one foot to the other. "What do I get out of it?" he stated dully. He'd long since learned that not asking meant he got nothing. "Gold? The coat?"
Those beetle-black eyes narrowed. "Coat is very good. Very expensive. Sansy must work hard to earn coat for Papy."
Sans made a noise of incredulity despite himself and for a moment, he nearly forgot who he was speaking to. "You're sending me off on a Tem Flake delivery in New Home. D'you know how dangerous those are? Or how much trouble I could be in if I was caught? It's not just any old drug, it's Tem Flakes."
"Then Sansy must not be caught."
Sans sighed, dejected, his shoulders slumping and eyelights dimming to barely-visible pinpricks. "What do I get, then?"
"Tem will give gold – " Sans held out an expectant palm, and the head Tem's eyes flashed – "when job is done." His hand dropped limp to his side. No point in resisting.
The head Tem nudged the boxes of Tem Flakes closer to the edge of the table, and Sans sighed again, stuffing them into the deep pockets of his jacket. He turned on his heel and headed out of the shop, pulling his hood low over his face as he went.
As he re-entered the central cavern, a trio of Temmies launched into song as if on cue.
oOo
The New Home streets were quiet as Sans navigated through their networks, and for that he was grateful. He kept his hood low and shoulders hunched; when he passed the odd pedestrian, he retreated further into his jacket, taking every effort not to be noticed.
He hated making deliveries; there was nothing in the world that put him more on edge. The repercussions for being caught with illegal drugs were high – or at least, Sans was pretty sure they were. They must be.
The customer he was delivering to was new, which did nothing to ease his nerves. At the moment, Sans was lost and trying to find the unfamiliar address. It was in one of New Home's nicer neighbourhoods, and he knew he stood out with his bare feet and ratty, oversized jacket.
He tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and his eyes darted from left to right, taking in every corner of his surroundings as best he could. He passed a bookshop and had to restrain himself from lingering to peer in at its window.
Towards the end of the street he was currently on – whichever street that was – a door opened, catching his attention. An imp monster stepped out from a shop carrying a large chalkboard sign that proclaimed, "SALE! 30% OFF ALL TOY CARS, ALL OF TODAY! MODELLED AFTER REAL UP-TO-DATE CARS FROM SURFACE!" Under the other arm she carried a large cardboard box, which she set atop a small folding table in front of her shop. The box was stuffed with toy cars of all varieties.
Even as he stared, Sans stuck to the shadows cast by the buildings on the other side of the street. The monster that ran the toy shop took no notice of him as she adjusted her display table and chalkboard before heading back inside.
Papyrus' voice reverberated in his mind: Promise you'll bring me something cool if you find it?
His soul began to thrum faster; he could feel the magical energy gathering there.
It wasn't as if he had no expertise in shoplifting.
Sure, he'd been practising his magic earlier today, but… he'd gotten away with it last time, hadn't he? And looking up and down the street proved that there was nobody around.
It would be cool to have an extra toy car.
And he had made his brother a promise. One he intended to keep.
Sans looked up and down the street one last time to ensure the coast was clear, but he was so caught in the moment that the movement was rushed. Then he surged forward.
Car magazines were forever washing up in the dump, and there was a good market for them across the Underground; they often showed up wrapped in plastic and fully intact. Papyrus simply adored them, and Sans set a car magazine aside for his brother whenever he found one. Papyrus knew the name of every kind of car model his magazines could teach him, and which ones were the best; apparently you could tell by the little symbol at the front of the car. Through osmosis, Sans, too, had learned to recognise the very best.
Like anything exclusive to the surface, cars were an object of endless fascination to the monster race. When toy cars started washing up at the dump, monsters began to learn to replicate them themselves, as they did with most "modern technology." Sans only needed to take one glance at the box of toy cars to know that these were of optimal quality. Before he knew it, he was riffling through the box, picking through it with the same precision he used to root through trash bins for food. He stuffed a small red sports car into his pocket.
Then he kept looking.
Later, Sans would never be sure if he simply hadn't heard the Guard's clanking footsteps behind him, or if they simply moved with incredible stealth given their size and cumbersome armour. But he certainly felt that great hand come down to rest upon his right shoulder, covered by that heavy iron gauntlet.
He didn't even have time to struggle before he was whipped around, and found himself staring up at the helmet-covered face of a Royal Guard.
They were massive; and even as he began to struggle in the Guard's iron grip – iron, literally, ha-ha – he knew there was no escape. Not this way at least. The Guard towered over him; they must have been seven feet tall, with a wide, bulky frame. The two ram's horns curling up from their head indicated they were probably some distant relation of the royal family.
In the window of the pastry shop, the imp monster had appeared in the window, looking onto the scene with an expression of vague satisfaction.
Sans' soul flared wildly in a frantic attempt to channel enough of his magical energy to teleport, but he was so startled and panicked that his magic sparked and died in short bursts, someone trying to light a fire with flintstone without the proper care.
The Guard's voice rumbled out from behind their helmet, deep and throaty. "For God's sake, kid, don't you look around before robbing a shop?"
Sans writhed wildly, still to no avail. "Let go!"
The Guard sighed. "Listen, I'm really not up for hauling you over to the King for a goddamn shoplifting charge, especially if you're not even good at it. And hold still – neither of us wants to add resisting arrest to your little list of crimes."
"Go to hell," Sans bit out, the worst curse he knew, and he could feel the Guard rolling their eyes behind their helmet.
"Touché." They slung their bow over one shoulder, the fragile weapon looking comical next to their huge frame. A gesture of peace. "Just hold still and turn out your pockets."
When Sans didn't comply, the Guard sighed, and used their free hand to reach over and carry out the task themselves. They pulled out the toy car Sans had just stuffed into his pocket, but then they kept going, unearthing two or three small coins and the button eye that had come off Papyrus' stuffed bunny last week, and which Sans had promised to carry around with him for safekeeping.
Then the Guard noticed, for the first time, the extra bulk under Sans' jacket. Sans began to struggle more violently even as it began to hurt to do so. He even made a feeble swipe at the Guard; but their armour was hard and sturdy, and the only result was a smarting fist, and a Guard who remained unfazed.
They wasted no time in unzipping Sans' jacket; though it took them a couple tries – Sans' near-animal struggles combined with how small the pull tab was in the Guard's massive hands brought an added challenge.
One of the boxes of Tem Flakes fell to the ground; and the Guard pulled out another from where Sans had stuffed it inside his ribcage. They turned the box from side to side, inspecting it in disbelief. Then their gaze turned back to Sans. "Aw, Jesus, kid… "
Sans' soul sparked more frantically than ever, because it was going to happen it had finally happened he was going to be caught, he'd been caught, and now he'd never come home to Papyrus, he'd failed his brother, he'd never see him again, he'd been caught he'd been caught and he was – he was going to – he was going to –
His soul flared to life with a burst of magical energy so strong that Sans buckled over with the sheer force of it, and the Guard suddenly pulled their hand away as if burned.
Sans shortcut.
Just not very far.
He reappeared just a few yards down the street.
For a moment, he and the Guard stood, staring at each other. The Guard swore, and lurched forwards towards him. It took Sans a few dizzied moments to realise that this was his chance, and he turned on his heel and ran.
But it was too late. The Guard was too close, and he had barely taken a few running strides before his bare foot caught on a cobblestone and he tripped, sprawling onto the street. He bit back a cry as the cobblestones scraped painfully against his palms and knees.
He felt the Guard's shadow fall across him as he tried and failed to get up.
Sans turned around, and before he knew it, his fingertips were warm with magical energy. He didn't think. He summoned several bones and fired.
His attack struck the Guard off the chest, and they gave a muffled curse of pain, followed by a loud "Jesus Christ – "
Sans scrabbled back, readying another attack, trying to summon one of his blasters to score some real damage, enough to get away. Then the Guard's own attack hit him square in the sternum, and Sans fell back against the cobblestones with a choked gasp as he felt his HP drop by several points.
The Guard took their chance. They bent over and grabbed Sans by the elbow, hauling him easily to his feet. In the same moment, they fumbled for something at their side, and clamped something tight and heavy around Sans' other wrist.
Sans felt the burning magic in his soul ebb down to nothing, leaving him with a cold, empty feeling inside. He knew what had been fastened there before he even looked down at his wrist.
Magic inhibitors.
They were an old invention of Gaster's, created over a century before Sans had even been born. It was all in the name, really: cuffs that could be fastened to a monster's wrist that prevented them from using their magic as long as they were worn. They worked by way of draining any magic to a tiny container inside the inhibitor, keeping it trapped there, and useless.
A wretched invention, really, Sans remembered Gaster telling him. To rob a monster of their most primal defence mechanism. But there was a brief period of political tension at the time, a result of some illness outbreak, and there were rumours of an uprising. Not even rumours – mere petty gossip. Foolishness. The tension lasted less than a month, but by then I had already finished work on these things. Still. They are rather impressive, are they not?
Gaster might have been gone, erased, but he'd left traces of his time in the Underground behind. Traces like the CORE, like the inhibitors, like Sans.
The Guard's voice came to him muffled, as if he were underwater: "All right, enough's enough. You're coming with me." Adjusting the bow at their side, they began to haul Sans forward.
Something about the inhibitors, about being gripped by the elbow like he was, brought a distant memory to surface. And all of a sudden it was Gaster grabbing Sans by the elbow, Gaster hauling him in the direction of the labs for another experiment, and the hand that held him was slim and made of bone, with a hole in the palm. And it was blue magic, not an inhibitor, that left him at his captor's mercy, and Sans felt any fight in him die, going limp in the Guard's grip.
They took him to the King.
oOo
Once upon a time, Sans had thought Gaster tall and intimidating. Sans had thought the Guard who'd captured him was massive. But he had never felt smaller than he did now, as His Majesty King Asgore Dreemurr towered over him, all eight and a half feet of him.
Sans ducked his head, daring to raise his eyes.
"Your Majesty." The Guard inclined their head in respect, giving Sans' elbow a little shake. "Sorry to disturb you. Just came from Goldenflower Lane, Your Majesty, where I intercepted this little – "
The King raised a paw, and his frown deepened. "That is a child," he said slowly, as he took in the sight before him. He didn't sound angry, just perplexed. "Why is he wearing those inhibitors? Why is – why is a child wearing those inhibitors?"
The Guard gave Sans another shake. "He don't look it, but the kid's old enough that he has magic. Freaking teleported out of my grip, then when he tried to run and I caught him, he attacked me. He was strong, too – stronger'n he looks."
King Asgore's brow furrowed deeper. "Start from the beginning. What exactly happened? Why was this young boy in your grip in the first place?"
Shake number three. "I was patrolling in New – "
The King stepped forward. "That's enough, please. Let the boy go. I am sure you do not mean it, but you must be hurting him."
Sans blinked, startled – he saw no reason for the King of all monsters to care about an effective thief like him who was apparently dangerous enough to be shackled with magic inhibitors, and he was only more surprised when the Guard obliged, releasing his elbow. Sans had been relying on the Guard for support, and now he fell to his knees, biting back a pained grunt.
The King moved towards him, and Sans jerked backwards, but remained where he was.
There was a very lengthy pause, until at last King Asgore gestured for the Guard to continue.
"I was patrolling in New Home, and caught this boy stealing from a toy shop; he took a toy car. I was gonna let him go s'long as he returned it, but then when I searched him I found Tem Flakes on him. Three boxes," they added pointedly, but there was a note of unease in their tone. "After that – "
"Tem Flakes?" the King interrupted, staring down at Sans.
The Guard gave a hasty bow. "Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive me, but if I may continue before the boy is questioned – " They waited for the King to nod before going on – "Then, like I said, he just teleports from my grip, halfway down the street. He starts running, right, and I'm figuring I'll chase him, and then he trips. So then when I get closer, he just straight-up attacks me – look!" Sans was staring down at the ground again, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the Guard gesture towards their breastplate, where the metal had been singed slightly. "So I – "
" – hit him with a low-damage attack and apprehended him, yes," King Asgore gauged. "Thank you. Now that he is here… Please, my friend. Remove those awful inhibitors from the boy." His deep, rumbling voice was low with warning, and this time the Guard didn't protest. They knelt to Sans' level, holding out one massive hand.
Sans didn't move.
"C'mon, kid," they sighed. "Damn thing's probably tight on your wrist as it is on your soul. It hurts, right? Give me your arm."
Sans felt himself stiffen, and almost subconsciously yanked his arm back.
"For God's sake – " the Guard muttered, and in the next moment, they reached out, grabbing him by the elbow again. Sans flinched, but in the next second, rather than pain, there was a click, and warm magical energy rushed up his arm and into his soul. Sans felt as if an anvil had been removed from his chest, and he pulled his arm away. His wrist was smarting from the tightness of the cuff, but his hand went to his chest to rub the breastbone there, relishing in the simple feeling of magic returned to his soul.
The Guard got to their feet, adjusting their bow. "Right. So – "
The King held up a paw. "Leave us, Magnus."
The Guard balked. "But Your Majesty – "
"Magnus, please."
The Guard – Magnus – sighed, and bowed. "Of course." They cast a glance over their shoulder as they stalked out of the room, footsteps clanging even on the soft garden floor.
Sans remained where he was, kneeled on the floor and eyes downcast. He awaited whatever sentence the King was about to bestow upon him, not even aware that his entire small frame was trembling.
The King looked down at him. And then he said, "Child. Would you like a cup of tea?"
Sans froze, and he craned his neck back up to stare. The words were so strange, so unexpected, that all he could manage was a weak, "Wha'?"
King Asgore knelt down to his level. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he repeated, his words slow, rumbling, and deliberate, his brows coming together to form a V. He extended one benevolent paw, but Sans felt himself flinch back on instinct. The paw retreated.
"I… " Sans continued staring. He wondered if he was dreaming, and clawed at his wrist just to be sure. Nothing about this made any sense. Why wasn't the King angry? Enraged? Why wasn't he readying his famous trident in case Sans try to flee, or even to attack him? Why wasn't he being hauled down to the dungeons to be re-shackled and questioned before being locked up forever and ever? His bones went stiffer still. "Okay," he said, because what were you supposed to say when the King offered you tea? "Thank you. Your Majesty."
The King offered to help him to his feet, but Sans ignored the offer, getting up by himself. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, waiting for whatever might come next. He waited as the King hauled his own hulking frame up, and as his face softened with a smile. "I'm afraid I only have a mild chamomile with me today. I hope that suits you. I'd just put a fresh pot on. A moment, if you please." He turned, and disappeared the way Sans and the Guard had come.
Sans teetered on the spot, feeling suddenly light-headed. A part of him realised that he now had some sort of chance – a chance to flee, or to teleport. It would have been that easy, and then he could lie low and remember to be careful and look after Papyrus. Papyrus. Oh, God, Papyrus – Sans had promised he wouldn't be gone long, he must be so worried by now, and scared. Angry and betrayed, too. And it was still quite possible that Sans might never even be able to see him again.
But something else kept him rooted to the spot.
He heard the sound of padding feet coming from the hallway. The King materialised in the doorway bearing a tray, on which sat two enormous mugs and an even larger teapot. Each of the mugs must have been about the size of Sans' skull.
"Here we are." The King smiled down at Sans as if they were old friends, and sank down to the floor so that he was sat cross-legged, placing the tea tray down in front of him. After a moment, Sans got the impression he was expected to do the same, and so he joined the King among the flowers.
"Comfy, no?" King Asgore chuckled, patting the flowerbeds with one paw. Then he took the teapot and poured the liquid into the mugs in one practised motion. He offered one to Sans. "Here."
Sans studied him hesitantly before taking it. "Thank you," he mumbled. "Your Majesty." He stared down into his mug. The tea was hot enough that steam rose from its surface in smoky tendrils whisper-thin; translucent and uncertain.
He was distracted by a loud slurping noise, and looked up just in time to see the King taking a large sip from his mug. He wiped water droplets from his beard with the back of his sleeve. "It's really very good when it's still hot, but if you'd like to let it cool a bit first, I understand." He chuckled low. "Have you ever had freshly-brewed tea before? Proper tea with tea leaves, I mean, none of that newfangled teabag nonsense."
Sans tilted his head, gaze sliding back down to the tea. Its warmth seeped through the ceramic, burning his phalanges slightly. It wasn't that unpleasant a sensation. "Don't think I've ever had tea at all before, really."
"Really? Well. That is a shame. You have been missing out." The King took another sip. "But there is a first time for everything. And you are starting out with the very best – not to toot my own horn." He seemed to be waiting for Sans to speak, but Sans couldn't think of what to say, of what he could possibly be expected to say, and at last the King cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well now, child. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"
Sans' gaze darted back up again. "Whaddya wanna know?"
"Well. You have been stealing, have you not? And I would guess that you have been living in… notable poverty, by the look of you. But you're so young. How old are you exactly, young one?"
"Fourteen," Sans lied.
The King just stared at him expectantly; it was clear he didn't believe him, and Sans sighed. He hadn't expected him to. "Fine. Ten, then." He looked it.
Still no answer, and Sans tapped a phalange against the mug, gaze sliding over to the throne that sat in the corner of the room, covered by a lonely white sheet. "I'm twelve," he said at last, and King Asgore gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Twelve," he repeated, his voice contemplative, and Sans caught the sadness that settled there. "Yes, that sounds about right. Too young," he murmured, and Sans remembered history classes from long ago, and that the King had been a father, once. The Crown Prince and Princess had been his very age when they'd died.
Sans just shrugged. He sipped the tea, and was startled by the way it warmed him, its effect soothing his soul instantaneously and cradling it like a promise.
"And have you been living on your own?"
Sans nodded.
"What of your… parents?"
Sans hesitated. "Um, CORE accident a coupla years ago." It wasn't exactly a lie, if a creator constituted as a parent. If a thing could even have parents. "I've been making it on my own since. Dropped outta school." He surprised himself by just how many words fell out of him, then, as if some dam inside him had been torn down. "First I was livin' in New Home, but now I'm in Snowdin. 's quiet there. And yeah, I've been stealing to get by, though mostly food. Still, this ain't the first time I've shoplifted. 's just the first time I got caught." He clenched the handle of his mug tighter. "And yeah, I've been workin' for the Tems too. Even though, y'know, it's illegal. Trading, doing drug deliveries – Tem Flakes, Woshua cleaning powder. Dog treats, without the taxes. For a few months now. So… I dunno, whatever you wanna do, do it, I guess. Arrest me, throw me in the dungeon."
His mug began to tremble in his hands, and after a moment, he gauged that the smartest move was to set it down on the tea tray before he broke it. Then he'd be charged for destruction of royal property, which would just be the cherry on top of this ice cream sundae. Ice cream Sunday, ha, because today was Sunday. Heh. If he ever saw Papyrus again, he'd have to tell him that one. He could already hear his brother's groan.
If he didn't see him again, he hoped to God he'd never forget that groan.
A huge paw suddenly settled itself on his shoulder, and again Sans flinched back immediately, screwing his eyes shut and stiffening in anticipation, though of what, he wasn't sure. Then the paw was gone, and he cracked open his good eye to see the King staring down at him with a look of such sadness on his face that Sans felt slightly uncomfortable.
"Twelve," the King said again. There was a fumbling, almost nervous, pause. "I am not going to arrest you, child. Or anything of that nature."
Sans didn't dare answer.
"That toy. It wasn't for you, was it?"
Sans blinked at him in surprise. But he found himself shaking his head, gaze sliding down to his lap. "It was for my bro. He's five. He really likes cars and stuff."
"Neither of you attend school, I take it."
Sans looked up again, clenching the front of his jacket. "Paps does, though he's still just in kindergarten. But I work. Illegal stuff, 'member?" A part of him told him he really had no right to speak to the King this way, and he considered adding a "Your Majesty" to the end of his sentence, but at this point he wouldn't be able to do so without giving it a sarcastic twang.
But King Asgore didn't seem to mind. He hummed, pouring himself another cup of tea. He moved to refill Sans' before realising that the brew was barely touched. He filled the mug to its rim anyway. He was studying Sans with a look that was entirely foreign to the child. "It is… terrible," he said at last, and his words were slow and delicate, as if he wasn't quite sure of what to say. "That a child of your age should have to be so alone in the world. That a child your age should be fending for himself, on the streets, rather than being raised in a loving home with a loving family."
"I'm not alone, Your Majesty. I got Papyrus," Sans blurted, confused.
A sigh. "Yes. But a child your age should hardly have to raise a five-year-old by himself either."
Sans' defences went right back up where they'd started to ebb away, sensing the implied risk in those words. He scoffed, speaking before he could restrain himself. "Why, what's the alternative." His voice was flat.
The King opened and closed his mouth, seemingly baffled. At last he said, "You have been through quite a lot, haven't you?"
Sans shrugged and reached for his tea.
"Child." This time, the awkward pause was longer. "There are laws, of course, around which age a monster may live by themselves, and a minimum age for working. That age is fifteen. However… I believe that exceptions can always be made. In this… case, certainly. They can. And I have the authority to make those exceptions. Being the King has its perks." He chuckled, but Sans didn't laugh, listening carefully for whatever bad news was sure to follow. "First, how would you feel about being hired for work as a page, here in the castle?"
These words were so unexpected Sans just stared. He wondered if he'd somehow shortcut into an alternate reality, one where misdeeds and weaknesses were met with understanding smiles and rewards. His jaw felt as if it were about to unhinge at any moment. And the only word he could think to say was, "What."
"Well." The King hummed again. "There are a few pages working about. They're all of age, of course, though most of them are still very young. It's not really a… formal work position. Mostly you would be standing about and seeing if the castle staff need help. And I get so many visitors in the throne room here, it might be useful to have someone to hang by the entrance, give them a sort of welcome. Gosh, 'page' isn't even an accurate description, not really. But I can't think of anything else to call it, can you?"
Sans shrugged, a jerky, precise movement. "Not really, I guess."
"Excellent. Now, then, child – would you be interested?"
Sans eyed him warily. "Is there a catch?"
"No. Well. Sort of." Pause. "I don't… like the idea of two children fending for themselves like you and your brother are. Even if you are working a steady job. If you ever find yourself in need of anything – anything at all – I want you to tell me, and I will do my best to accommodate the situation."
It made no sense to Sans, but he was starting to get the distinct impression that he wasn't about to be barred from seeing his brother again, so he wasn't complaining.
"Second… this shoplifting business would have to come to a stop.
"And finally… you would have to leave your work for the Temmies. The Guard does what they can, but what they can isn't very much, I'm afraid. What can be done about those monsters… I don't suppose you'd be willing to help by providing a bit of information?" For a second, the King looked pitifully hopeful.
Sans thought for a moment of Linda, and the other kids. Then he shook his head, and the King looked crushed.
"Well. Perhaps another time. Whenever you feel comfortable."
Sans cocked his head. Something about this still exuded a profound wrongness, an air of being so utterly nonsensical that he might have found it funny if the stakes hadn't been so dire. "You actually wanna hire a street urchin to stand around the castle and work for you," he deadpanned.
"Yes."
"And you want me to just… stop workin' for the Tems."
"I would prefer it, yes."
"I'm in debt."
"Then, perhaps, now would be a good time to settle on your wages. Hopefully you can pay that debt off soon enough, hmm? I understand the Temmies are not creatures that would allow a debt to go unpaid without consequences. What do you say to 600 Gold a day?"
Sans just stared. Again, the sentence didn't quite come together in his head, as if it were mixed with words in a language he couldn't understand. 600G a day was a lot of money. If he worked five days a week, that would make a week's wages 3000G. It was more than he could fathom, could ever have fathomed. That the King was offering him work – paid work – at all was hard enough for him to wrap his head around as it was. This was another level altogether.
"Is that… agreeable to you?" he heard the King say, but Sans was beyond reach.
He chewed on the end of his sleeve.
He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that his luck – his life – had somehow turned around, under the sort of circumstances he only ever read about in books. He could earn honest money. He could be free of the Tems' debt. He could go on looking after Papyrus – he could have enough money to look after Papyrus, properly. He could feed his brother, every day. Get him toys, clothes, books, everything he needed to be happy. He wanted to believe his brother could be happy.
But then Rule One made itself known: Don't expect much.
It all seemed a miracle, and Sans knew better than to rely on miracles. And yet…
It was something. It might earn him a bit of gold. Enough to get him by for a while.
The promise of good times had been dropped into his lap, and Sans wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. He doubted it would last. But it couldn't hurt to take advantage of it as long as it did.
"Sure," he heard himself say, zoning back in. "That's… yeah. Okay. Thanks. Your Majesty." His words were slightly muffled by the sleeve still stuck in his mouth, and Sans dropped his arm, a little embarrassed.
"Excellent." King Asgore moved as if to rise to his feet. "I am glad." He really sounded it, too. Relieved might also be an appropriate adjective.
Sans pulled back a little. "So, do I sign some forms, or… ?"
"Well, in time, yes. I suppose I'll have to draw up the paperwork. I wasn't, erm, very prepared for this situation."
The child hesitated. "That don't sound very professional to me, Your Majesty. … no offence."
"The day after tomorrow, at the latest. That is a promise." The King gestured that Sans should stand up, and he did so, hovering uncertainly. The King cleared his throat. "If you like, we could… shake on it. For now."
Sans paused, then shrugged. "I guess. Okay." This time, when the King extended a paw, he was expecting it, and didn't flinch or stiffen. He reached out a hand and wrapped it around as much of the King's enormous paw as he could. They shook hands, and Sans could feel soft fur and the velvety cushion of the King's paw pad. It was probably a little squishy, a thought that made him smirk to himself as they released hands.
There followed an awkward pause. "Um," Sans said. "Can I… my bro's waitin' for me. I-I've been gone a long time; he's prob'ly worried – "
King Asgore jolted for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, yes, of course." He waved a paw and rose to full height, but he didn't seem quite as tall this time. "Run along, then."
Sans turned to go, but then the King's voice bid him wait and he stopped in his tracks, turning around.
"Would you like to report here at, shall we say, ten o'clock then? It would, ah, give you time to leave your brother off at school."
Sans lifted a shoulder. "Okay." King Asgore looked like he had something else to say, and Sans waited expectantly.
"Golly," said the King at last, shaking his head. "Where are my manners? All this time and I've forgotten to ask your name."
Sans paused, fiddling with his sleeve. "Sans," he said, raising his chin just a little. "My name is Sans." He paused again, and felt himself smile.
