This is actually an earlier chapter that I added after the others and realized I forgot it when something didn't add up. So I hope you'll forgive me for that as I'm sure a lot of things didn't make sense.
When next Sans opened his sockets, he was met with spotted gray. The world was swimming around him making him nauseous. He hadn't even been aware that he had the ability to be nauseous. Before he even began to sort out where he was at, and what was causing the sounds riding on the waves of his vertigo, he had to right himself first. He tried to concentrate on one thing to center his world and stop his rising nausea and the raw, excruciating pain on the back of his cranium—it was a trick that Frisk had told him when they were still on good terms. He had seen her sick many times and she would always do this trick to calm her pain and nausea. At first, he tried the gray above him, the brown spotting seeming to engulf the gray bit by bit. He closed his sockets and tried to focus on the cold beneath his bones. He inhaled in through his nasal cavity and exhaled from his open mouth, trying to disregard the clamors around him which were increasing in volume. Within moments, Sans' nausea decreased enough to where he could move without feeling like he was going to vomit.
"Oh!" Sans heard a voice and slowly sat up and held the side of his cranium. His tired sockets scanned the scene, becoming keenly aware of his surroundings; the thick, black iron bars separating him from the commotion outside as well as the hand on his shoulder. "Sans! Are you alright?"
Sans turned his attention from the tumult and grunted seeing Frisk sitting next to him. The concern in her deep blue eyes tugged at the soul deep within his chest, much to his chagrin. Why was she here now? Why was she worried about him? Frisk didn't worry about him—or any other monster—with the outbreak at City Hall. This had to be a hoax. No way would she have the gall to show herself and feign worry over the situation. As much as he wanted to be mad at her, to be furious, his bones relaxed.
"Sans?" Frisk shook him. "Sans? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
Sans held onto his cranium and blinked, lifting the veil of fog and disorientation that was gripping onto his consciousness. He sat up, every memory flooding back all at once from the mental crumbling dam. The bars were a border; from him and freedom. From the corner of a small wall, jutting out to separate the holding cells from booking. Flashes of light illuminated the other cells around him, along with his own. He turned around and wasn't met with the blue eyes that were as deep as the ocean itself, but numerous black eyes.
"muffet?" Sans asked, his voice low and still somewhat confused.
"Oh! Good Dearie~" Muffet said. "You're back with us… I was so worried. You've been out for hours."
Sans grunted in acknowledgment. It hadn't been Frisk. It had been Muffet. He couldn't help but wonder why his chest hurt when he saw the illusion of Frisk dissolve into Muffet. Perhaps it was the realization that she really didn't care for him or for the monsters that she claimed were her friends. Frisk hadn't stopped the humans from killing that monster or stopped the ones who almost killed his brother. The only defense she had given was when she tried to stop him from ridding the world of the people that would've been his brother's murderers.
"hours?" Sans echoed.
"Hours."
Sans rubbed his temples again. If he had the physiological capacity to bruise, that human would've done a number on his head. The occasional flash of a taken photo out of the corner of his sockets did nothing to improve morale in his cell. Muffet had taken a seat on the bench he was previously occupying. The occasional tick of the ceiling fan only made him keenly aware of how much time was passing while he sit in the cell. Thankfully, while he scanned the others he saw none of his friends—or his brother. Suffice it to say, that was a load off his shoulders.
"Sans Snowdin?" A gruff voice came from the entrance of his cell. A tall man wearing a light blue-gray uniform marking him a part of Ebott's police force stood awaiting his acknowledgment. The man—most likely around mid-50's in human years—waited partly between lazily and agitated when Sans didn't address him right away. Even behind the heavily tinted glasses the man wore, his distaste—perhaps even bordering on unbridled hatred—for monsters was evident. Great.
"maybe." Sans said, raising a brow bone. The toothpick the male twirled in his mouth now strained under the force of his clenching jaw. His upper lip twitched making his grayed mustache do a small dance in response. He couldn't help but find it funny. If he wasn't trapped, he may have let his humor show. "who are you to ask for my name?" A warning jab nestled in between his vertebrae came from behind, but Sans did little to recognize Muffet's worry. Despite what would border on blatant disrespect of an obvious authority figure, the male merely smirked. To say it was… unnerving would be an understatement.
"I'm the one presiding over your case while you're here in our… lovely and welcoming establishment."
Sans scoffed and clicked his tongue. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and shook his head, closing his sockets. Clearly, this human clearly had an ego rivaling Mettaton's on a good hair day.
"Brother of… Papyrus Snowdin, is that right?"
Sans' sockets flew open, his eyes hollow, his eyes glowing with a new-found fury. This human had no idea who he was fucking with. No idea at all. He moved to the bars so fast, a breeze blew the officer's clothes and receding hair. The man twirled the toothpick in his mouth again, glancing down at an open file.
"Says here he's your only family. How cute."
"leave my brother out of this you son of a—" Sans flinched from pain when he grabbed the bars to stick his head out, wanting to get as close to this… this monster as possible. Possibly rip him limb from limb at the insinuation of what he could do to his brother. He let go of the now glowing bars and clenched his fist, lifting his hand up, almost waving him dismissively. Sans' sockets widened when nothing happened.
"Nice try monster." The human said with a smug smirk, tapping the bars with his knuckles. "These bars right here are made to keep you creatures from hurting any of us innocent humans."
"innocent my—" Sans was cut off by another electric shock from gripping onto the bars. He grunted snapping his fingers, but he remained in the same spot he had been before. He flung his hand to the side, up, down, but nothing happened. The human stood and watched, his glasses shining and amusement flickering behind them. Sans gripped onto the bars again and grunted from the electric shock that ran through his bones. He didn't let go and pulled at them, tried to pry them apart. Anything to get to the creature in front of him.
"Sans! Stop!" Muffet yelled. Much to her chagrin, however, Sans continued to try and rip the bars apart ignoring the obvious pain he was inflicting upon himself.
By the end of Sans' tirade, he was huffing with sweat pricking on his skull. He lifted his hand up and it fell back to his side. His head fell which only entertained the officer.
"Ready to cooperate now?" The man asked. Sans said nothing and huffed, trying to bring his breathing back to normal. "Put your wrists through the bars." Defeated, he did as the officer asked. Cold metal was clasped onto his wrists and the door was opened. The exit was in sight, but he had no deceptions. There was no way that the exit wasn't blockaded somehow. He had no illusions about attempting to use his magic outside of his cell. He recognized the strange material wrapped around his wrist and the pain that gripped onto his bones. Although weaker than the bars themselves, the cuffs around his wrist were infused with the same material as the bars—preventing magical use. The metal around his wrists, however, was weaker. He could feel the magic crackling in his bones, but it was weak. With the amount of magical energy allowed back into his body, there was no way he would be able to take on the man urging him forward—angrily—with his baton let alone all the corrupt humans here.
Sans was lined up against a wall that measured his height. The faces of the monsters he passed and the ones behind him in line fell, seeing the defeated and hollow look in Sans' sockets. No matter what happened, now matter how grim things had looked Sans never stopped smiling; he was the reason for a lot of monsters smiling and laughing in both the Underground and on the Surface. To see his face without its perpetual smile was the benediction to their defeat and hopelessness. Sans faced forward, his face conquered and defenseless. A booking card was thrust in front of him, knocking into his abdomen. He grunted from pain and took the card. Using what little magic he had, he levitated the card for the booking department to document everything he possessed. With each flash of the bulb, he turned a new angle to be documented further. The man that had dragged Sans from his cell pulled him by the chain between the cuffs and opened a pad of ink, taking the outline of Sans' fingers and the print of the porous fibers of his bones on a card from each hand.
"Ain't so tough now are ya, monster?"
". . ." Sans didn't answer him. The cuffs and the little use of magic he had used completely left him spent.
"Didn't think so."
Without another word, Sans was thrown back into his cell, falling onto the floor. He exhaled and pushed himself off the concrete floor with Muffet's help. The spider monster had seen everything by the look on her face. His hollow eyes turned to his friend who frowned, her eyes becoming glassy. Sans staggered over to the bench and plopped down. The monsters in surrounding cells were whispering among themselves and their nearby cell mates. He caught a word here and there; words of "doomed", "worry", "Sans", and "humans" floated through the air. Sans felt the same, they were doomed. These humans were unlike any monster he had seen. What kind of person would take advantage of—and physically hurt—someone who was unable to fight back. Cowards. He rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. They were genuinely trapped… it was like the Underground all over again. The cuffs and bars on their cells were just as bad—if not worse—than the Barrier that kept them trapped underground.
"Sans!"
The skeleton snapped his head up, recognizing the voice. Standing in front of his cell with her dainty hands wrapped around the bars, Fall watched him with tears in her blue eyes. Her grip tightened around the bars. He couldn't help but feel touched when she stood on her tiptoes and stuck her head between the bars; almost like she was trying to squeeze into the cell. Sans stood up and walked over to where Fall was waiting anxiously for him.
"fall."
"Sans! Oh my god!" Fall exclaimed, running her eyes over every inch of his face and body. "You… Are you alright?"
". . . yeah." Sans said, quirking a small smile. Fall looked like she was about to become hysterical and like she didn't believe him in the least bit. Truth be told, he wouldn't believe himself either. One dainty hand reached between the bars and reached for his own. Her fingers stretched, desperately seeking some sort of comfort; a touch, a smile, anything. "fall." His sockets fell to the space between them separated by the prison bars. He noted how Fall was sniffling and how her breathing was becoming more erratic.
"Y-Yes?"
"i don't want you to see this. leave."
"B-But Sans—"
"fall. please."
Fall didn't respond to his pleas. Sans didn't look up until he heard the large, barred metal door scrapping against the concrete floor, marking her exit. He looked up just quick enough to see Fall's brown hair trailing behind when she turned the corner to leave. Hanging his head, the quickly becoming familiar feeling of defeat creeped up and began to devour him. Muffet came up behind him and put a couple hands on his shoulders. He knew that Muffet was trying to help, and he shouldn't be worrying her. After all, she was in the same situation that he was. Thankfully, he didn't have to worry too much about Papyrus. Undyne could take any human in battle and Mettaton would be able to save them if something happened to her. He could only imagine how Papyrus was feeling without his brother there. He pictured their home, how just a couple of days ago everything had been fine. Papyrus was making them spaghetti and trying to convince Sans to let him attempt garlic bread again. He was sitting on his jingling couch and at night time, he read to Papyrus to help him get to sleep… Who was going to read to Papyrus tonight?
It wasn't apparent how long he had been in the cell with Muffet. In the concrete prison, there were no windows. There was just brick upon off-white painted bricks surrounding them. Monsters were pacing back and forth in their respective cells. Others were sleeping, and a few monsters were crying in the corner. Sans was one of the few that were sitting and staring into space. He sighed and leaned his head against the cold brick wall, lightly banging it. This place was boredom and depression reincarnate. He found himself counting the ticking of the fan overhead or the occasional flickering of the faulty light above him. He wondered how long they were going to remain in here, or if this place was permanent. When Muffet had asked earlier, an officer had thrown a balled-up piece of paper at her. Real mature. Without his consent, his thoughts trailed to Frisk. How was she doing? Did she care that almost all her friends were in jail? He tried to hold out hope that she was worried about them. Just before he was knocked out by the officer in front of City Hall, he had seen Frisk on the brink of losing it. Was it from the humans that had been attacked, or from the monsters?
A small smile—pained, broken, and lost—came to his face, remembering when things were simpler. The first few months after they arrived on the Surface. Frisk would come over to the house. She would crawl onto the couch and watch TV with Sans and Papyrus. Toriel would tell Frisk that she needed to stop eating so much spaghetti, and she would lecture Papyrus on that the little girl needed more vegetables. If Frisk would stay the night—like she normally did—she would fall asleep on the couch, usually in Sans' lap while she was watching a movie and he would eventually have to cover her up. Sans closed his sockets and exhaled. How did it come to this? How did they end up like this? Even though they had their spat, and she had smacked him in front of everyone, as much as they hated each other, he held the memories of those times—all those years ago—close to his soul.
