Dalliance

by thebananahasspoken

Sans leaned down over her attempted retreat, his golden canine glinting ominously in the wan light of the hooded lantern he had set outside her cage. He stopped an inch away from the side of her face, glowering and locking gazes with her in silence, before he finally spoke, shattering the void of noise between them as he did. "care to run that by me again, bitch?" Underfell AU

10. Times Darker Still

Back at it again with the new chapters! Back to Frisk now ^_^

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One thing Frisk thought that she had gotten used to was the cold.

She'd been weathering the climate of Snowdin and its cruel vacillations for over a month, after all, separated from the freezing cold and intemperate winds only by the walls of the shed.

She had learned how to keep warm over that time, how to keep out the worst of the chill and how to preserve her body's warmth, enough to stay relatively comfortable except in the worst of the storms, when snow would blow under the shed door itself and the cold was indomitable.

The only reason she had survived those chills had been because of Sans, bringing her warm food for a change and letting her stay curled in her many blankets instead of forcing her to stand and answer his questions.

She had actually found herself feeling grateful for his thoughtfulness, in those times, until she remembered that it was his doing that she even needed to be protected from the cold in the first place.

Jackass.

Nevertheless, Frisk hadn't been outside that shed in weeks, almost so long that she had forgotten what the outside of that small shack looked like. Definitely so long that she forgot that she had been being protected by strong walls and at least a modicum of warmth.

She certainly remembered the moment she pushed the shed door open cautiously, miraculously unlocked and making a long, if quiet creak as it shifted from its frame.

The frigid air hit her skin in an abrupt wave, sinking into her bare legs and through the rips in her ravaged sweater dress, and Frisk slammed the door shut the very next moment, shuddering in both shocked cold and trepidation both, back to the door and surprised gaze on the bars of the cage she had stepped cautiously out of just a moment before.

Dear gods, it was freezing.

Frisk let out a heavy, shivering breath, the exhalation fogging away from her cracked lips in a cloud of frozen mist and her hands clutching at her insufficient, worn sleeves in an effort to soothe her trembling.

She should have known she'd run into a problem in her slapdash plan.

The moment she'd woken from her forcefully short slumber, entire body aching and stomach rumbling (she had eaten last night, but not nearly enough to soothe her near starvation or even completely heal her wounds), her heart had been filled with hope, the lax tautness of the chain around her neck only the first of her exultant discoveries.

Not only had she not been attached to the wall by her collar, the door to the cage, as well to the shed, had been unbolted, the former hanging wide open and the latter creaking slightly in the far gentler but still present breeze outside the shack.

Plus, she had been able to move her body with hardly any inhibition, though her muscles (particularly in her abdomen and thighs) had complained loudly at her exertion as she had struggled to remove herself from her cocoon of blankets.

She had forcefully paid no attention to her lack of underwear, the blood crusted, deep, unhealed bite on her shoulder, or even the sticky, congealing puddle in the middle of the floor that she had to sidestep as she had limped over to where her shoes laid, near the open door of the cage; she had promised herself to think on her violation later, much later, when she had had a chance to sit down and consider exactly how she felt about it.

She couldn't stay here crying over what had happened. She had to get out, while the getting was good… but had spared a moment wrestling with the clasp on the heavy, loathed chain attached to her collar, finally freeing it after a short struggle and throwing it to the floor victoriously, glaring at the restraint hatefully.

She'd have taken the collar off too, but Sans, after she had removed it the first day after he had put it on her, had padlocked the humiliating object in place, and he carried the key with him.

So, with that done, Frisk had fixed herself up as much as possible, gathering the gold that she had hidden under a floorboard on her first day there (it wasn't much, only two hundred pieces of gold, scavenged from around the Ruins) and vainly attempting to salvage her underwear and leggings (both shredded beyond repair), before tiptoeing to the door to the shack cautiously, ears strained and eyes wide as she listened, watched for her doom to descend on her for daring to step out of her place.

Sans didn't appear to reprimand her, though, the only sounds the wind outside and the soft swish of clumps of snow brushing against the wooden panels on the shack, the only movements the slowly swaying, still shadow strewn branches of the pines outside the small building's back window (it must be very early… the mosses that lit the Underground were only beginning to glow after their night cycle…), and so she had grasped, tentatively, at the handle on the shed door, biting at her lower lip contemplatively.

She had planned to make a beeline straight to the east, taking her through the densest part of the forest and into the cavern that housed the part of the Underground that was dubbed Waterfall.

It wasn't that far away, perhaps five miles or so, and if she ran part of the way (she had looked at her thin, weak legs dubiously), she could make it before either Sans or Papyrus rose to go about their duties.

She had thought of it all, how far she could run, where she could hide once in Waterfall, how to get supplies… but hadn't accounted for the one thing that could stop her (besides, of course, having the misfortune to meet one of the monster residents of the Underground face to face before she could disguise herself).

The cold.

Cursing beneath her breath and dropping the back of her head against the door twice in quick succession, frustrated and still anxious to get away, Frisk considered her options carefully, looking over the dark, close insides of the building that had been her home and prison for so long (and registering, nervously, what felt like a thick, viscous liquid trickling down the inside of her thighs, colder than her skin; she could barely tell, from the numbness of the cold leeching into her flesh, and wasn't brave enough to look down and see if it was really there).

She would need to get clothes, even for the relatively short distance between the edge of Snowdin village and the entrance to the waterlogged, humid caves of Waterfall; she didn't relish getting frostbite, especially since it was a good way into the new region that she would be able to harvest a few water sausages to use to heal any damage she took.

And to get clothes, she would need to go into town, interact with at least the shopkeeper, if she was lucky (maybe the other monsters would be sleeping or absent for the moment… who had the night guard here? Was it the dogs? She wasn't sure, there was only so much she could glean from footsteps through the walls of the shack), and as it stood, she wasn't sure she would have enough money to buy what she needed.

She'd have to get more gold, and thankfully, she knew (or at least hoped she did; everything else, so far, had been in the same places, from items to resources) where to find some.

She just had to get to the other side of town undetected and unscathed, and she could build an even better disguise than she had planned to have; a hooded coat and a scarf provided a lot of cover, when it came to hiding what you looked like, far more than mud and leaves could.

Additionally, it appealed to her just the smallest amount more than rubbing dirt and twigs into her hair and face.

Decided on her plan of attack, Frisk took a moment to cross back into the cage in front of her to retrieve the thick blanket Sans had brought her after… a-after hurting her (no… no, don't think about it, not right now) to drape around her head and body, forming it into a makeshift cloak to stave off the worst of what the wind and temperature could do to her before edging over to the door again.

She cautiously pushed it open again to look out at the dark road, eyes squinted against the darkness and the cold both.

There was no one out on the snow covered path, illuminated here and there by softly glowing lamp posts (most of which had gone out, flames extinguished by the night's storm); there didn't even appear to be any footprints in the freshly fallen powder, giving her a good indication that she may very well be the first one in the village awake.

The cold was muted by the thick comforter she had donned, only her calves and face exposed to the biting chill of the air and the harsh whip of the wind, but she shivered nonetheless, swallowing back nervousness and reluctance both, allowing a flare of determination to push her the first step out the door and into the caverns beyond, the far off, moss dotted ceiling of the caves stretching out as far as the eye could see, encompassing the immense, snow banked forest of Snowdin, the cliffs beyond that, and the wide, frozen lake even farther off.

Frisk stalled as she thought of the enormity of the caves, allowing the shed door to swing creakily on the breeze behind her; she hadn't spent a lot of time here, relative to how long the monsters had… it had been mere days, during her time here as a child, in comparison to the many thousands of years they had been trapped.

She felt almost remorseful about the fond memories she had of the Underground (discounting her many deaths and resets, of course… all in the past), her socialization with the despondent but still cheery inhabitants.

The time that Papyrus had taught her to ice skate, when Undyne had thrown her into a deep pond, claiming to be teaching her to swim… making ice cream with Alphys (salty and sweet and bright, bubble gum pink), playing an old, salvaged set of DDR with Mettaton. Tea and cake with Muffet. Contemplating the universe, and the many flavors of pizza, with Napstablook. Snail races. Junkyard digs.

Sitting across a table from Sans, soft music playing in the background, the lights floating serenely in his relaxed sockets fuzzed with humor and comfort.

A surge of guilt and sickness shot through Frisk's body, nearly collapsing her knees where she stood (she only just avoided falling to the snow by grasping at one of the shed's windowsills, frost cracking under her grip and flaking across her hands); just thinking of him, after… after last night, made her feel ill, bile rising in her throat and covering her tongue in acid and terrible memory.

She tried to push the thoughts away. She tried, desperately, not ready to face them yet. Not prepared for the enormity of what she had suffered.

The remembrance didn't care. It persisted despite her fight, despite her reluctance, throwing Frisk headlong into vivid recollections of pain and humiliation and fear and stomach churning disgust.

Gods… she had… she had enjoyed parts of what had happened… the evil, cruel, monstrous shade of her lover had made her orgasm, when he had been forcing himself in and out of her body… had made her scream his name…

She had been wet for him… gods…

She had been ruined by him, defiled and deflowered and… and she had come for him. Three times, at his command. It had felt… good… why had it felt good…?

Her love, the monster she longed for, thought of constantly, wished desperately to be connected to… had taken her against her will, and she had liked it.

She was dirty. Used. He… how could he… she had loved him, how…

How could Sans have raped her?

Unable to hold back the memory, the wash of shame and depravation, the guilt and disillusion (no… no, she hadn't wanted this… or had she? She had succumbed so easily…), Frisk doubled over and dry heaved into the snow, the emptiness in her belly saving her from outright vomiting, but got no relief from the psychological reaction, tears of fear and agony and anxiety sweeping down her cheeks, stinging from cold and recollection both.

She tried frantically to remind herself that they were different monsters, that the Sans she loved, the Sans she knew and cherished and desired and missed so goddamn much that it hurt, would never have done this to her. Had always shown restraint. Had been good, and patient, and so, so giving.

This reminder didn't help her, though, only bringing on a fresh, even more anguished wave of tears as a thought, a terrible, gut twisting thought, forced itself into her ruminations, poisoning her mind and forcing another dry, aching retch from her…

Would he even want her now? Now that she had had sex with another monster?

She wept bitterly at the crushing despair that consumed her, shaking her to her very soul; she knew he wasn't that selfish, deep within, that he wouldn't dream of blaming her for being raped. That he would comfort her, in the depths of her pain and betrayal and suffering, and would understand.

Would love her all the same, and help her in her struggle to recovery.

But Frisk couldn't convince her frantic, panicking mind in this moment, in the here and now, with this Sans's abuse and horror and depravement carved into her skin, with this Sans's saliva and magic dried on her flesh, with the feeling of this Sans's hands and mouth and body still fresh in her mind and tingling in every one of her nerve endings and thrusting, with desperate desire, between her spread legs.

She could only see Sans, her Sans, looking on her in disgust. Could only hear his dismissal… see him walking away from her, leaving her alone in her dejection and misery.

What a slut, fucking another monster.

Another gag shook her body, painful and choked with tears; her nails, cracked and dirty, dug into the window sill beside her and the handful of the comforter that covered her defiled body, her tears falling, already freezing into patterns and waves and spectacular works of tragic art, into the disturbed snow at her feet.

She spent another few moments there, weeping quietly and holding herself in the storm of her own misery, before she sniffled, wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and mouth, and stood back up, her lower lip trembling and her eyes lowered.

Now wasn't the time for bereavement. She had to get moving, and fast, before she was discovered.

Papyrus would be leaving the house soon, for his round through the forest on the Waterfall side of Snowdin (she had mapped his and Sans's schedules, during her time in the shack, though Sans was more unpredictable, given his tendency to just teleport everywhere rather than walking), and from the way Sans had spoken of this version of his brother…

Papyrus was the last monster she wanted to meet on the dark road that morning.

Frisk shuddered, her legs quaking as she straightened them, her mind flickering to the memory of angry red magic, to the feeling of hard hands on her body, beating and scratching and punishing… of sharp teeth, bared in fury and ruthless cruelty, tinged with blood and gold and malevolence.

Of the violation of her body, and the promise of more.

Well. Perhaps not the last monster she wanted to meet.

Forcing back another tremor of illness and desolation, Frisk dragged her feet through the deep, clinging snow to the path, stretching off into town in one direction and around a bend in the tall, dark trees in the other, a sign at the bend declaring it to be the direction to both Waterfall, Hotland, the Core, and New Home.

Wanting nothing more than to take off in that direction immediately, she let out a sigh, clutched the blanket protecting her from the cold (mostly, at least; the snow was already soaking into her insufficient shoes and the bottom of the comforter, making it cling in icy wrinkles to her ankles) closely around her shivering shoulders, and walked into the quiet, shadowed village, sticking as closely to the edges of the path as possible, clinging to shadows and hoping the blanket covered as much of her features as it seemed to.

The familiar face of the skeleton brothers' home was swiftly passed, Frisk's eyes avoiding looking at its façade (she didn't want the memory she had of it to be tarnished, a once open and welcoming place changed by this twisted, malicious universe), and it wasn't long until she was passing the hulking shapes of homes and businesses, draped with snow and icicles and the clinging, persistent night.

She snorted to herself in amusement when she noticed that the library sign was misspelt (Lirbarby, interestingly), an analogous similarity that brought fond memory to her heart, but sank further into her impromptu hood at the morose, cloying feeling the rest of the once happy town had once held, graffiti and broken shutters and shattered glass standing out against weathered, uncared for, and ramshackle residences.

Every business she passed by either had heavy locks on the doors and windows, or were boarded up completely, and one of the houses, gaping and stripped down to its base boards (like a gutted carcass, picked clean by scavengers), was covered in burn marks, its roof fallen in and its windows, like staring voids, black and empty.

There were no monsters about yet, though there was music and laughter emanating from beyond the brightly lit, neon lined windows of Grillby's (Frisk raised her brows at the sight of how seedy and disreputable the once carefully cared for bar and grill was); Frisk walked on the opposite side of the road of the restaurant before passing into the main square of the town, smiling to herself at the sight of the small, decorated pine tree at the center of the clearing of houses.

It shone like a beacon, surrounded by brightly colored packages and hung with shining bulbs and baubles and strings of tinsel… but as she walked closer to the decoration, Frisk's smile wavered, dropping from her face and into stricken horror.

The tree itself was long dead, burned and needless and painted charcoal black. Each of the decorations that hung from it was painted with a grotesque face, most screaming or writhing in agony, and the tinsel was made of barbed wire, stained with rust and other, darker red marks.

At the base of the tree, the "presents" gathered in haphazard, misshapen lumps, a mockery of joy and peace; most looked like weapons, rocks, or some twisted combination of the two, but some seemed to be cleverly designed traps, one already set off (a cruel amalgam of steel, sharpened wooden stakes, and chains) and covered in both dried blood and dust.

Gods… what had happened here?

Frisk held a hand to her mouth, backing away from the tree with tears and revulsion in her eyes, and rapidly strode down the corridor of homes that led to the entrance of the town, passing the road that led to the rushing river and Ice Wolf's station; she could hear the heaving of the waves of the quickly flowing torrent from where she was, and the occasional splash of an ice block being thrown into its churning rapids.

She glanced up at the quiet, darkened inn as she passed it by, eyeing the storage box that sat next to it as well (again, no save star manifested itself when she drew near to where one had once shone… another difference. Another oddity that she didn't understand), before looking, with hopeful intent, at the general store, now shivering so hard that she could barely keep her teeth from chattering.

As expected, the store lights were already turned on (Bonnie had always been an early riser, and was almost as fond of a profit as Muffet), the sign in the front window proclaiming the shop to be open and ready for business.

Thank the gods. From the way the rest of the town had looked, she had started to fear that the rabbit monster and her family might have had to either flee or had been killed.

Frisk nodded to herself, then turned on her heel and headed out of town, over the bridge that crossed one of the rivulets springing from the river, striding past the sign that proclaimed welcome to the town of Snowdin.

'Welcome to Snowdin Hell', it said, splashed and corrected with what she hoped was crimson paint, and pierced with so many broken, rusted knives along its border that it looked like it was grinning back at her when she dared to glance at it, jagged and sharp.

Frisk shuddered again, stepping carefully around a slick of ice, and turned back to the slightly brighter path ahead, swallowing at her nervousness as she approached, with caution, the greatest of the Dog Guards' posts.

Please… please still be there…

Frisk reached the outskirts of her one-time friend's camp, clinging to the tree line before leaning around it to look out over the snow poff littered clearing.

Greater Dog had always had a fondness for playing in snow, and for making ideal hiding spots from which to spring on his quarry unprepared, and had long ago decided to combine both sports into one, mastering the technique of hiding himself under nearly any terrain, though snow was his specialty.

She was glad to see that he had retained that love… or so she hoped. Were the piles of strategically placed snow trapped too? It seemed like nearly everything here was…

Carefully, guardedly, and with held breath, Frisk snuck into the clearing, eyes trained on the small, rusty red doghouse she could see pushed up against the tall, imposing shadow of the forest wall.

As she drew nearer to her target, one of the smaller, more well protected snow poffs (it was flanked by three others, for "reassurance", he had yipped to her once), a large, drooling snout came into view, protruding from the dog house and decorated not just with a wide, deep scar across the nose, but long, sharp, wicked looking fangs that glinted in the dawning luminescence of morning in the Underground.

Frisk sucked in a nervous whimper at the vision, not wanting to see anything beyond that muzzle, and squatted next to the pile of snow she had trekked out to find, adjusting her grip on the blanket so that she was still sufficiently covered (the ripped, filthy sweater dress was meant to be worn with either pants or leggings, and as such left nearly nothing to the imagination without them; her lack of panties made the situation nearly irredeemable, leaving the girl in a very self-conscious state).

Slowly, warily, and with an ear cocked towards the far off sleeping monster (he was snoring, which would have been adorable if his exhalations hadn't been vicious growls, his upper lip curling over his yellowed, needle sharp fangs), she picked up a stick from the ground and prodded it cautiously into the pile of snow before her, ready to jump away if a trap sprang.

No way was she going to just stick her hand into the poff and take the risk of a bear trap (or something equally cruel and horrifying) closing around her arm.

She felt around for a moment, heart in her throat and blood thrilling (she nearly jumped out of her skin when Greater Dog snorted, rolling onto his side in his tiny house), before accepting that there was likely no trap and dropped the stick, delving a hand into the snow to grasp for the bag that had always been there before, that had always let her buy an extra piece of food for herself before her "fight" with Papyrus, in her world.

Hope returned again to her soul, flaring in her freezing blood, when her hand closed around the drawstring sack she was looking for, and Frisk, grinning, pulled the small bag of money free from the powdered ice that had ensconced it, the weight of the gold inside settling her worrying heart.

She opened it and quickly counted it (thirty gold more… this would definitely get her what she needed, and maybe a little more) before dropping it into the one good pocket she had on her dress to join her other saved money and stood, again creeping out of the steadily more brightly lit field with one eye and ear on the slumbering pooch behind her.

She escaped without incident, surprising considering how strong GD's nose was (or maybe not… she hadn't showered the entire time she had been in the Underground, and probably smelled more like dirt, sweat, and Sans than she did herself), and practically sauntered back into town, spirits buoyed.

At this rate, she'd be halfway through Waterfall before Sans even realized she was gone.

Frisk sneered at that, scorning his claim of ownership over her and his apparently fervent belief that she need do everything he bid (he had a nasty surprise coming if he thought for a second that she was going to lay down and accept his decrees, no matter the harm he did her body and mind), and spat over the railing of the bridge pridefully before realizing, belatedly, that someone was watching her, leaned against the crumbling, waist high wall just outside town.

A chill of foreboding ran down her spine, spiking her awareness and fear back into play, and she nervously pulled the bedcover back over her head, having slipped a bit in her careless indulgence.

The person, a rabbit monster that she recognized almost immediately (Tiffany, if she recalled correctly… had a baby brother that she used to walk around on a leash), continued watching her from under heavily made up, bagged eyelids, a cigarette hanging between her lips and her arms folded under her breasts.

She was dressed provocatively, the high cut of her skirt and the low cut of her top ensuring that anyone that saw her was aware of the state of her underwear (that is, nonexistent), and casually flipped a long, flopping ear over her shoulder with a toss of her head.

"Look pretty cold there, sweetums. I could warm you up real good… for the right price, of course," she called out in an attempt at seduction as Frisk drew nearer to her, looking her up and down seedily, and Frisk flinched back, shocked and dismayed.

Was… was she… selling herself? Gods… the Tiffany she knew was a proud creature, and would never stoop to this…

Where was her brother? The tiny little bunny that she had carried around with her everywhere?

"O-oh, no… just going to the store, thank you…" she muttered in return, ducking her head and shuffling along the road, a chill going down her spine (her brother was far too young to be left alone, and she knew for a fact the two were orphaned…), and the rabbit monster let out a huff, shrugging and taking another drag of her cigarette.

"Suit yourself, cutie. I'll be here all day if you change your mind," she crooned, sending Frisk an exaggerated wink, and the girl, pulling nervously at her blanket, nodded shakily before walking quickly the rest of the way to the store, shouldering her way inside the moment that she was able to properly grasp the doorknob (her hands were shaking, numb from the cold and the shock of the state of this place both).

Thank the gods… she could really use a Cinnamon Bunny after all this upset and running around in the cold. Frisk's stomach rumbled in accord with the thought, and she pulled the heavy door of the shop closed behind her, shutting out the cold, the warped town of Snowdin, and her fears all at once (at least for the moment).

The warmth that greeted her, sinking into her skin from the roaring fire in the hearth behind the counter, nearly made her cry with relief, the only thing keeping her from jumping the counter to crouch next to the flames being the fleshy, scowling form of her old friend Bonnie, though the hands on her hips and the fervent glare on her face told her they definitely weren't friends anymore.

The before bright, flowery monster now looked haggard and sleep deprived, her eyes quick, sunken, and sharp, like a hunted animal; her lustrous purple fur was dark and matted, her normally manicured nails clawed and sharp. She wore an apron over her short, lank dress, stained with off-color, suspicious looking splotches of color, and her wide brimmed, black hat, usually a lovely sunhat, was frayed at the edges and covered most of her face in shadow.

She set down the mallet she had been hefting next to a slab of some sort of meat (well, that explained the need for the apron… and at least some of the stains), sharp gaze dragging over Frisk's ragged, dirty appearance with clear disdain, and let out a derisive snort.

"Ugh… scrounger. Whataya want? We don't appreciate window shoppers, so if ya don't have any gold, hit the damn road," she snapped, his voice slightly nasally but agonizingly familiar (Bonnie… what has happened to you…?), and Frisk swallowed back her nervousness as best she could, approaching the counter and digging her money out of her pocket with her free hand, setting it on the countertop with shaking fingers.

"I… I have money. I just need some clothes, and… some food?" she murmured, avoiding her old friend's gaze in favor of looking around the shop (there was an astounding amount of weapons hung from the walls, everything from knives to war hammers), and the rabbit monster, a greedy gleam stealing into her gaze, immediately snatched up one of the loose coins and bit at it, testing its validity.

She seemed satisfied when she pulled the gold piece from her mouth, jerking her head to the left and hands descending to count out the rest of the money that had been placed before her.

"Whatever. Clothes racks are in the back," she said dismissively, shifting the coins into piles with an eager paw, and Frisk stood staring at her for a moment longer, sadness and confusion coiling in her mind, before shuffling through a doorway next to the counter, letting herself into the bulk and sundry area of the store.

There were several round, metal racks hung with clothes stuffed into the back of the room, warring with crates, shelves, and carts full of other merchandise, and Frisk walked over to them with relief, the thick, furred, warm clothes a sight for sore eyes.

From the front of the store, Frisk could hear Bonnie talking to herself, mumbling about her ("Stupid city slicker… comin' down to the woods without boots or gloves or even a good coat. Dumbass."), but she paid the irritable rabbit monster little attention as she scanned the materials in front of her, only glad that her hasty disguise seemed to have worked thus far.

Oddly, most of the clothes were colored in shades of red, black, yellow, or brown (edgy much?), and though Frisk preferred brighter colors, especially fond of purple and blue, now was definitely not the time to be picky, and as such flipped through the racks enthusiastically, searching out articles in her size.

Most of the clothes were far too large for her, the opposite extreme in numerous quantity as well (though most of the smaller articles were striped, so she couldn't wear those anyway), but she managed to find a pair of black jeans with only minor tears, a warm, knitted sweater in a dulcet maroon, and a thick, fur lined black parka with a great deal of pockets and a large hood, certainly enough to cover her face.

After gathering together a pair of knobbly socks, some overly lacy and scant panties (they didn't have any bras in her size, unfortunately), and a set of boots only one size too large in addition to her clothes, Frisk dragged her finds back up to the front of the store, setting them on the counter for the monster to ring up as she went over to look at a display of scarves, mittens, and hats, searching for a set that would suit her needs.

As she searched, her hand hovered over a long red scarf, folded haphazardly among the pile of others; she stared at it in silence for a long moment, something itching and prodding at the back of her mind.

It looked familiar… too familiar. It looked almost like the one Papyrus had worn, in her world…

It had been his favorite accessory, before they'd all left the Underground. He had left it tied around the doorknob of his house, sentimental and reluctant to let the only home he'd always known go.

Just looking at it here, though, lying rumpled and flickering in the dim light of the fireplace, made sickness seep again into her abdomen, a strange, out of place flash of memory racing through her mind's eye (blood and dust and hatred an and Sans, his smile hard and cold and devoid of the love she knew and craved), and Frisk flinched away from the blood red scarf, deliberately piling several others on top of it to hide it and choosing a black wrap, dotted with stars, instead.

She didn't want to know what that had been about… must be the hunger getting to her.

Gathering it and her other choices, a pair of gloves and a pullover beanie that matched her new scarf, Frisk went back up to the counter to set them among her other purchases, looking hopefully up at Bonnie, who was wearing a grim, cruel smile that she didn't entirely like, the money bag Frisk had brought with her bouncing in her palm.

Self-consciously, Frisk pulled the coverlet further over her face, shifting from foot to foot.

"Um, I… could I get these too? Please?" she asked tentatively, pushing the accessories she had chosen closer to the rabbit monster, and paled when Bonnie shook her head at her slowly, her slow smile curling into nastiness.

"You don't have the cash, idiot. I'll give you the coat for this lot, but nothin' else," she declared, pushing the coat towards her and pulling the rest of the clothing back behind the counter, and Frisk froze, stunned and confused.

No… no, she needed the other things too, two hundred and thirty gold was more than enough to cover these things… she'd been dealing in monster currency for almost a decade, she knew she was right…

"What? But… please, I need…" she started to protest, clutching at her blanket and feeling a cold wash of fear and unease run through her (the coat would help her stay warm, but she still didn't have any pants, underwear, or good shoes; her toes were freezing already, and wouldn't make the journey to Waterfall in safety), but Bonnie was unmoving, folding her arms over her copious chest and sneering as she cut Frisk off with a click of her tongue.

"This ain't a charity, bitch, it's a business. If I started giving my wares away willy nilly, I'd be out of a job. Take it or leave it; you're lucky I'm giving you the coat at all," she growled, biting and final, and Frisk closed her eyes, her shoulders drooping in defeat. She didn't have the time, or the strength, to argue.

She'd… she'd just have to wrap the blanket around her legs and hope for the best… maybe she'd only lose a few toes to the hoarfrost.

"…alright. Thank you," she muttered, dread and reluctance in her voice, and turned away from the counter to pull the blanket from her body, reaching for the coat on the counter and keeping her eyes down, on the floor near her feet (there were drips from her passage soaking into the floorboards, she noticed idly), but before she could pull the parka over even one hand, Bonnie let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, staring between the collar locked around the base of her neck and bite mark on her shoulder, bared by the ripped neckline of her sweater dress.

The rabbit monster backed up against one of the shelves behind the counter in what appeared to be dismay, gaze riveted to the indentation of teeth Sans had left on her flesh (Frisk flushed, humiliated that someone had seen it, and tried vainly to pull the neckline of her torn dress closed to cover the wound), one hand, shaking and tremulous, rising to point at it.

"What… what is that?" she choked out, her non-pointing hand rising to clasp at her chest as her anxiety multiplied, and Frisk, flushing even darker, ducked her head into her limp, tangled hair, ashamed and feeling sick again.

How was she supposed to explain this? She wasn't going to tell the rabbit monster that she'd been sexually assaulted, that was for sure.

"…I, um…" she began, fidgeting and wanting nothing more than to sprint out the door behind her, but was cut off again when Bonnie, frightened tears now pricking at her beady eyes, let out a tiny, fearful sob, looking with clear recognition at the collar around her neck again.

"You're…it can't be. Who… who marked you?" she queried shakily, and Frisk's brows lowered, confusion and alarm sinking into her mind.

What was she talking about?

Marked? She wasn't marked, she knew she wasn't. Sans had always been so careful with his teeth around her neck, insisting that he had to be, to avoid the potential of losing control of his instincts and marking her on accident; he wanted to give her a mark that was both willing and painless, one that she could remove, at will, if she wished to.

"it'll always be your choice, babe. i won't make you stay if you lose interest, if you get tired of my amazing jokes… if you don't love me anymore. i swear. always your choice."

She'd always been so exasperated, when he had said that, like she was going to change her mind. When explained why they couldn't sleep together yet, why he couldn't just bite her and be done with it; he'd always looked so horrified at the thought of hurting her, of causing her any pain or unease, though, that she hadn't persisted long, succumbing to his insistence that they wait and be patient.

But now Bonnie was saying that she was?

Frisk could only stare back at the clearly panicking rabbit monster, tilting her head and blinking repeatedly… until realization sunk into her, belated and unwilling and angry.

That bastard.

Sans… this Sans… he had bitten her while he had been violating her, had sunk his fangs into her skin and marred her flesh with a wound that would scar and remain forever, too large to heal completely.

A mark. He had marked her.

Frisk, furious and affronted and even more hurt than her strained muscles and freezing skin attested to (how dare he…), raised one hand to the bite on her shoulder for the first time, her fingertips tingling with sparks of both magic and tension as she touched the agitated, raised tears in her skin.

Did this mean that he was her soulmate too, as she had fearfully speculated while being held underneath the harsh, cruel skeleton monster on the floor? Did this mean that she… that she could never be with her Sans again?

Could she only be with this demonic incarnation of her love, forced to remain against her will?

Ire and frustration and bitterness warring in her aching heart, Frisk gritted her teeth, shaking her head resolutely.

No. She wouldn't be with him, the monster that had harmed and wronged her so grievously. The beast that had stolen any choice she had in the matter.

Her captor. Her torturer. Her rapist.

She would get back to her Sans. They would figure this out, like they always had, and they would be together again. She just knew it.

…she had to.

"Sans, I guess," she growled beneath her breath, dropping her hand away from the irritated wound on her shoulder, swearing vengeance and hatred on that… that asshole, and Bonnie let out a whimper in response, an actual, fearful whimper, and hastily strode back up to the counter to retrieve the clothes she had hidden behind it to practically throw them at Frisk, along with the bag of gold she had taken with her purchase.

"Take it. Take it all. No charge," she spat, cowering behind an attempt at a condescending snarl (Frisk could still see her trembling, her fur standing on end and her ears twitching in agitation), and Frisk stared back at the monster in alarm, scrambling to catch the various articles of clothing that had suddenly been shoved into her arms.

What the hell was going on here? She felt incredibly lost, tossed from her anger at Sans and straight into confusion over this happenstance.

What did it matter if Sans had marked her?

"…I don't understand. I thought you said…" she said slowly, stepping back up to the counter to place the bundle of clothes and shoes back into its surface so she could figure out what was happening (not that she wasn't grateful for the gesture, she would certainly be taking advantage of it), and Bonnie flinched back from her approach, again sinking back to cringe against the shelving unit behind her, her frightened tears falling to stain the fur around her eyes.

"Take whatever you want. Just don't tell Sans I tried to short change you. Please… please don't tell him. He'll have my head if he finds out, please… he'll kill my whole family…" she plead tremulously, looking twitchily over her shoulder as though expecting to see the aforementioned skeleton monster standing right behind her, and Frisk let out a small, shocked noise, her hand jumping to her mouth.

She was so afraid of Sans "finding out" that she had almost been scammed out of her money that she was giving away all of her merchandise? The Bonnie she knew would never have done that unless she was genuinely terrified her family was in danger, and never, in a million years, would have been afraid of Sans.

Frisk's beliefs sobered at that track of thought, though, remembering his grin as he had torn Flowey into pieces… his laughter as he had beaten her nearly to death. The way he spoke of the other monsters, uncaring and listless and dismissive.

Was… was he that terrible? Did he regularly kill other monsters, wreck unholy vengeance on those that wronged him, so much that the other inhabitants of the Underground were scared of him?

Her mind protested the thought immediately, thinking of how well liked her Sans had been, how everyone had always been ecstatic to see him, wherever he went (well, besides Undyne, but that was only because he tended to sleep on the job)… but no.

They weren't the same… she had to remember that. She couldn't afford to forget that again, not after… after last night. She should expect none of the same behavior from this Sans as her own version showed.

Again, though, she couldn't help but wonder… what had happened, to change him so? What had twisted her love so cruelly and harshly as to form him into the beast that had held her prisoner for over a month, that had beaten and abused and raped her?

She felt a surge of pity before she could stop it, her soul pulsing with compassion and empathy.

It must have been terrible.

Shaking away the well of emotion that had no business being associated with the demon that had so mistreated her (focus, there's no time to be feeling sorry for him… remember what he did, what he will do again if he catches you), Frisk looked back to Bonnie with a small, sorrowful frown, brushing several layers of the clothing on the counter in front of her aside to retrieve the bag of coins that had been thrown back at her.

"I swear I won't tell him… but I need some other things, too. You can have all the gold, I don't want you to lose your business because of a misunderstanding," she assured the cowering rabbit monster, holding out and shaking the bag encouragingly, and Bonnie blinked, looking disbelieving and hesitant, but reached out to take the bag again, carefully avoiding making contact with Frisk's hand.

"…thank you. Get whatever ya need, I'll be up here when you're ready. You can dress in the changing room back there too, if you'd like. …it's cold out there, you shouldn't go back outside dressed like that," she muttered, seeming to be genuinely stunned by this turn of events (though there was suspicion still burning in her gaze, cautious and fearful), and Frisk nodded mutely, gathered the pile of clothes before her into her arms, and turned to go back into the storage area of the store, though her heart was once again lifting into higher spirits at this turn of events.

She really needed to stop getting so excited over every little change… the roller coaster of emotion she was going through today was giving her whiplash.

Quickly, but with careful thought (there were so many things she needed, but her load needed to be light enough to be able to run at a moment's notice), Frisk picked up a backpack she had seen on a shelf earlier and started to load it up with supplies and sundry that she would need for her journey, gleefully stuffing more socks, underwear, and an extra sweater into the bag alongside the bandages, rubbing alcohol, bottles of water, and pain pills she was now able to get.

She picked up a book and a puzzle compendium as well (she loved to do the Junior Jumble puzzles, they were far easier than the crosswords that Sans did in the paper every morning) before she slipped into the "changing room", which consisted of a closet with a ragged shower curtain hung across the space a door would usually be mounted, to change into her new outfit.

She shucked off her destroyed sweater dress after she had pulled the curtain shut behind her, tossing it onto the floor with disgust; it had been her favorite outfit, once… she'd been on the way to attend a party at her mother's house the night she had been spirited away to the Underground again.

How had that even happened…?

Shaking the thought away for the moment, though her curiosity surged at the wonderment (she could barely remember anything from the time that she had been climbing into her car to when she had awoken, with a jolt, in the field of dead buttercups in the Ruins), Frisk ran her hands over her body in way of inspection, wincing at the bruises and scrapes that had remained after eating the healing food Sans had brought her, following his… attack.

It had, at the very least, healed the worst of the damage, which she was grateful for. She had been so injured after that that she couldn't even move… but she would need more food to heal the rest of her injuries, the scratches and dark pressure marks dug into her hips and thighs.

She would be able to keep them from getting infected with the alcohol, but she would really rather heal them completely.

Scratching idly at the bite on her shoulder, which was really starting to itch (it was also the only wound that seemed to not have been affected by the magic of the food she had eaten; must have something to do with it being a mark, or something like that), Frisk uncapped the bottle of water she had picked up and poured some into one cupped hand before scrubbing it over her arms and torso, washing at least a little of the dirt and grime that had accumulated on her body away before she put on her new clothes.

As she worked the water down her body, the brown, brackish residue dripping onto and through the floorboards at her feet, Frisk's wetted hands shivered to a halt at her thighs, her throat tightening and sickness threatening at her heaving abdomen again.

There were stains of crimson trailing down the insides of her legs, their origin all too clear; she knew, just from the coloration, that the dried evidence of her occupation the night before wasn't blood, that they were far more sordid than that.

As she looked over the dried tracks of pale red and slightly glowing magic Sans had left on her, the same sense of wetness and slick sensation that she had felt in the doorway of the shack came over her again, and down the inside of the opposite thigh that Frisk was considering, a drip of even more leftover magic drooled from her folds, thick and sparking with power and tingling against her flesh.

Frisk barely held back a retch at the sight, scrambling to grasp for the dress she had thrown to the floor so she could wipe the disgusting liquid from her body; she didn't want to think about what it was, how it had gotten inside of her, and did her best to hold back the tears that again threatened her composure, scrubbing harshly at her skin and sniffling to force her despair back.

It was okay… it was over now, he couldn't hurt her anymore.

Finally wiping the last traces of Sans's cum from her body (just thinking of the word made her shut her eyes tight, shaking her head rapidly to clear the consideration away), Frisk dropped the filthy material in her hands to the floor again and dressed in her new, clean clothes quickly, the comfort of soft material and warm layers settling her turmoil for the moment, at the very least.

She was covered, insulated against the cold, and disguised. This was good. This was very good.

Reassured, at least the smallest amount, by her momentary success, Frisk put away her supplies in her ragged, but strong, knapsack, wrapped her new scarf around her neck, and kicked the dress she had been wearing into the dark, hidden corner of the changing room before walking back out into the main area of the shop.

Bonnie had been busy while she had been dressing, picking up and folding the blanket that Frisk had dropped on the floor and putting away the meat that she had been tenderizing, and was dusting her shelves, more out of nervous idleness than actual need.

She looked over at Frisk when she walked back into the room, nodding at her stiffly, before turning back to her shelves, still shivering every once in a while as she ran the feather duster she held over her wares.

Frisk watched her for a moment, considering the weapons stacked on the storage areas (should she get one of those as well? She had a feeling she would need it, in this violent, harsh Underground… but no. She'd make do without, she always had), before approaching the counter again, looking around behind the counter hopefully for the tray of baked goods that Bonnie usually sold.

She didn't see one immediately, couldn't even smell the before ever present scent of baking breads and thick, saccharine sugars that permeated the shop in her memory.

"Do you have any Cinnabunnies ready? Want to grab something to eat before I get going as well," she asked tentatively of the monster resolutely ignoring her from across the counter, moving the blanket set on the top of it to the side (Bonnie could have the thing, she had no interest in carrying it around), and, brows furrowing, Bonnie turned to look at Frisk, her hand stilling.

"…do I have what? I don't know what that is. I could whip up some Sinner's Rolls, 'spose, but I don't have the dough prepared… people usually only come in here to get knives and mittens. It'd be a few hours to make, though, and… I imagine Sans isn't going to want you out of the house for that long," she observed, her eyes glittering with something that looked like fearful understanding, and Frisk, at the mention of his name (damn… he would be waking up soon, if he wasn't up already… she needed to get going), shuddered against her will, her gaze dropping to the dented counter top.

Damn. She'd just have to wait until Waterfall to get something to eat... if she made it. Her hands were already trembling, her surging endorphins having drained her body of nearly all its energy, and almost on cue, her stomach rumbled, resisting the idea that she wouldn't get to eat for nearly another day.

Frisk flushed at the sound, ducking her face into the folds of her scarf, and placed a hand on her concave, empty stomach.

"…no. No, I can't wait that long," she said with defeat layered in her voice, shuffling her feet against the rough floorboards, and Bonnie fell into silence for a moment, her gaze flicking over Frisk's face.

She looked almost confused, eyes narrowing and head tilting… before sighed, raising a hand to pinch at the bridge of her snout, whiskers twitching, then shook her head, reopening her eyes to look, with pity and empathy both, down at Frisk.

"Tell you what, honey. Go on down to Grillby's, and get yourself something there. Not the best food, but it'll fill you up, and it's fast. Plus, you can put it on Sans's tab. He keeps one open there all the time. He'd need to, with how much he's there," she told her gently, the nearest thing to kindness entering her tone that Frisk had heard in over a month, and Frisk snapped her head up to look at the softly smiling rabbit monster, her familiar compassion giving her a surge of hope.

Maybe this place wasn't as irredeemable as she had thought…

It was an interesting point to find out that Sans hung out at Grillby's all the time (guess some things never changed… it made her slightly uncomfortable that he had another similarity with her Sans), but honestly, Frisk hadn't even considered stopping into the grill. She wanted to avoid speaking to as many monsters as she could, so she could escape without incident or the chance of being recognized.

But she wasn't sure she'd make it all the way to the next opportunity for sustenance. She felt incredibly weak despite her windfall here at the general store, and collapsing in the snow from lack of nourishment was just as bad as trying to stump through the cold with no pants or socks on.

Grillby's it was, then. At least it was early… there was very little chance she'd run into anyone there besides the owner of the establishment himself.

She wondered, idly, how much Grillz had changed in this place, the gentle, soft spoken fire elemental one of her closest monster friends in her world.

Guess she'd find out soon enough.

"Thank you, I didn't even think about Grillby's… it's just what I need. You've been such a help," she replied with a small smile of her own, and Bonnie nodded her head sharply, looking away and to a pen sitting on the countertop, rolling the writing utensil under a nervous paw.

"…just remember what you said. That you aren't gonna tell your mate, about… what I was doing," she muttered, fear sending tremors through her plea, and Frisk, lip curling at the mention of her "mate" (like hell was he ever going to be that to her), held up her hands in assurance, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't do that to you. I promise," she soothed the monster, shouldering her filled backpack, and then waved a hand in farewell, walking to the door outside with confidence, pulling her hood up over her head and covering the lower half of her face with her star studded scarf.

The wind and snow blew into the room when she pulled the door open, revealing an even brighter lit road and the front of the house across the way (painted a lurid, if faded, yellow, and decorated with a giant, spray painted effigy of a stylized penis), before Frisk marched back out into the world, feeling far more confident and self-possessed than she had the last time she had stepped out of a door.

Bonnie watched her go, furry brows beetled and perplexity twisting her soul. She had felt odd the whole time that the small, strange monster had been in her shop, memories that she couldn't recall ever having experienced before pressing at her.

She felt like she knew the girl, and liked her quite a bit, even though she'd never met her before.

Shaking the strange, frightening occurrence away (her instinct told her that she needed to close up shop and flee immediately, untrusting of the girl's promise, but her soul told her all would be well), Bonnie went back to her dusting, thinking of how close she had come to death that day and shuddering, pity again clutching at her heart when she imagined that poor, sweet girl in the clutches of the homicidal, cruel claws of Sans the skeleton.

Fate had not been kind to her.

"…bizarre girl. Too good for that bastard, that's for sure."

Outside the shop, Frisk was walking briskly down the road back into Snowdin (she had nodded to Tiffany as she passed by, though the bunny had been occupied, talking to a bear monster that had looked interested in her… wares…), pulling her hood lower over her head with her gloved hands. There were far more monsters about now, walking down the road in packs, unlocking shop doors, running around and playing in the snow; the cacophony of a busy, awakening village filled the air, punctuated by howls and laughter and the opening and shutting of doors.

As she walked, her heart sank slightly at how much brighter the Underground was from the time that she had gone into Bonnie's shop; she had spent far too long inside, bargaining and dressing and talking to the monster.

At the very least, no one was looking her way with more than mild interest, the children romping through the snow drifts circling her a few times before leaving her alone to ambush an annoyed looking horse monster and a horned, grinning monster with wickedly sharp eyes asking if she was selling (she hadn't realized what he meant until she'd already walked past him, and tugged her parka closer to herself after she had, flushing demurely), so at least the time had been well spent.

She had little worry, now that she was some distance from the skeleton brother's house (she'd have been concerned about running into Sans on the road, but he always teleported to work, unconcerned with wasting magic on walking), and took some time to look around at the milling, chattering monsters as she passed them by, making her way into the central courtyard of the town again.

She recognized a great deal of them, from appearance and occupation both.

There was the present counter, though he looked slightly more weathered and sharp than when she had known him… he was setting up another trap under the decorated tree, talking to himself below his breath.

There went MK, dressed in his usual striped sweater and tripping over his own feet… though his clumsiness was only accentuated by his missing eye and hobbled, stunted leg, the spikes on his back and tail splintering and his teeth sharp and permanently bloodstained.

There was the rabbit that had always watched Tiffany when she was out with her brother, leaning against his house and viewing the world with bloodshot, baggy eyes, his hands shaking as he held out a tin cup to passerby, begging for coins to fuel his addictions.

Frisk dropped her eyes to the ground as she passed the latter by, pity clutching at her heart. Gods… these monsters…

They were miserable. Far more miserable than they had been in her world. What was wrong with this place? Even the air felt darker and poisonous, like there was a miasma of shadow and evil clogging the atmosphere.

Tears pressed at her as she dragged her feet past the entrance to the shortcut through town, her considerations distracting her attentiveness… so much so, that she almost didn't hear the voice coming through the shortcut itself.

"…AND WEARING THOSE FILTHY RAGS ALL THE TIME. I SWEAR, IF I WASN'T THERE TO PICK UP AFTER YOU, THE ENTIRE HOUSE WOULD BE IN RUINS. TAKE SOME PRIDE IN YOURSELF," someone spat from just out of sight, loud and close and familiar, and Frisk, jolted from her thoughts, looked with alarm at the entrance to the shortcut path that she was lingering in front of, trepidation and unease sinking into her flesh.

Was that… Papyrus?

Her question was answered the next moment when a voice answered him, a much deeper, harder, and undeniably angry voice, one that she was so familiar with that she would know its rumbling tones in her sleep… it thundered through her nightmares, haunted her waking terrors, and sent her wheeling backwards immediately, ducking around the edge of the shortcut house and towards the outcropping of the woods that extended behind the small entrance, panic and dread thrilling in her blood.

Sans…

"i'ma say it one more time, paps, so listen close this time… i don't fuckin' care what you think. what i do is my business, so butt the fuck out," came his response, tinged with annoyance and what Frisk knew to be a warning of violence, and she scrambled to reach the edge of the trees even more frantically, having to abandon her backpack when one of the straps caught on the edge of the small building, no time to try to untangle it.

It fell to the ground behind her as she finally made it to the tree line, vaulting into a copse of tall, thorned bushes, and just in time, too; as she fell to the ground, crunching leaves and ice and bark underneath her, Papyrus emerged from the shortcut, stepping onto the path and towering like a nightmare, harsh and cold and glaring behind himself.

He was, somehow, even taller in this hellscape of a universe, given even more unnecessary height from the heels of his tall, buckled boots; he was as sharp and scarred as his brother was, bearing fangs and claws and cracks in his bones where they were bared by his buffed, spikey breastplate and low cut, tight leather pants. A ragged, crimson cape was draped around his shoulders, shifting in the breeze, and his hands were encompassed in long red gloves, folded across his broad, armored chest.

"YOU HAD BETTER START CARING, BROTHER," he snapped in a tight, growling retort, sneering and derisive, and Sans chose that moment to shoulder his way out of the shortcut as well, glaring and snarling around the cigarette drooping from his clenched, bared fangs.

Frisk shuddered at the sight of him and his clear, raging temper; she could feel his anger from here, could see, around the edge of the tree she was clutching for dear life, that he was at the end of his rope, his magic sparking in his sockets and his wide shoulders tensed under the cover of his fur lined jacket.

He wore a red t-shirt today, emblazoned with a word she couldn't read entirely, due to his jacket being in the way, a black beanie pulled low over his skull, and a pair of black, ripped jeans (probably the rags Papyrus had mentioned…), though what caught her attention more than his clothes, and even more than his towering temper, was the accessory he had chosen to wear that day, clipped to his belt loops and catching the light of the newly dawned morning, shining dully and threateningly at his side.

It was her chain. The chain she had taken off and left behind in the shed.

He knew. He knew she was gone.

Frisk nearly sobbed in the overwhelming tension of the moment, hurriedly covering her mouth to avoid making any noises, as Sans stood to his full height out on the path, sneering up at his brother and stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.

"or fuckin' what? what're ya gonna do? be an even bigger fuckhead? make worse food?" he rejoined, puffing a cloud of smoke out through his nasal cavity casually, and Papyrus let out an affronted gasp, taking a step backwards, as though physically moved by the insult.

He placed a gloved hand on his chest, face set into lofty pride and dynamism.

"HOW DARE YOU?! I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT MY COOKING IS EXQUISITE, AND YOU ARE PRIVILEDGED… NAY, HONORED, TO BE ABLE TO EAT IT!" he shouted, so loudly that a clump of snow fell from the tree that Frisk was hiding behind, plopping onto her back and making her jump in shock.

The movement caused her coat to scrape against the trunk audibly, and out on the road, Sans stiffened, his skull tilting towards the tree line. His gaze lowered to the ground at his feet, seemingly spontaneous and idle, but the lights in his sockets were bright and sharp, glowing with his temper and his interest both.

"i'd be more honored ta lick the bottom of jerry's fuckin' shoes," he murmured, his gaze scanning the disturbed snow (his sockets were tracing the trail she had left behind when she had fled the path to run into the woods, narrowing when they landed on the backpack she had been forced to leave behind), and Papyrus huffed indignantly, turning away from his older brother in outrage.

"PERHAPS YOU SHOULD THEN, HEATHEN," he snarled, walking out of sight around the edge of the house next to the shortcut, but Sans didn't move, his gaze rising to scan the edge of the forest clinically, taking another drag of his cigarette as he did.

The end of it glowed with the same heat as his sockets did as he spotted the broken branches of the bushes Frisk had dived through, a small, victorious grin pulling at his scowl, smoke leaking between his sharpened teeth.

"i'll get right on it, if ya leave me the fuck alone for a damn minute," he shot back at his retreating brother, and slowly, deliberately, raised his skull into the air, taking a deep, long inhalation of the cold air through his empty nasal cavity.

The smile that decorated his fanged mouth after his deep breath sent a shiver down Frisk's spine, the sheer triumph and malice in it making her ill.

Seemingly satisfied, Sans turned from the road, gaze sharp and quick, to take a step into the narrow alley of space that Frisk had fled down, pulling one hand from his pocket to reach down and pick up her backpack, untangling it from the outcropping of loose siding it had caught on with one tug of his hand.

Frisk's breath froze as he hefted it, looking it over with interest, before unzipping it and glancing into it; he inspected the contents with a clinical eye before grinning even wider and pulling his other hand from his pocket and reaching into the bag to pull a pair of panties from within; he held them up to the light and tsked his tongue, glancing back up at the forest with a derisive smirk.

"thought i told ya you weren't allowed ta wear these anymore," he growled below his breath, a cruel, hard laugh escaping him as he fingered the material in his grasp, then stuffed the underwear back into the backpack, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder, gaze moving over the tree line, searching for her in the gloom of the forest.

"guess that's just another fact we're gonna hafta revisit," he muttered, an edge of malevolence and warning making the innocuous comment into the threat Frisk knew it was, and took another step towards the forest, smirk only growing in size and viciousness.

He was interrupted in his approach when Papyrus stalked back into view on the road, hands on his hips and gaze roving the milling crowd of newly awakened monsters.

"SANS? WHERE DID YOU GO?" he called out impatiently, tapping a booted toe against the beaten down snow, and Sans's expression sank from expectant conquest into annoyed exasperation in the space of a second, halting in his advance and turning to look over his shoulder at the taller skeleton monster.

"go on ahead, bro. i gotta check up on somethin'," he called out, tone tinted with false encouragement, and Papyrus tilted his head towards the sound of his brother's voice, turning to look at him with suspicious misgiving.

"YOU'RE NOT WANDERING OFF ON ME, LAZEABOUT, YOU'RE GOING TO WORK. YOU'RE LATE AS IT IS," he demanded, punitive and severe, and Sans, dropping his attempt at accord, spun on his heel and snarled outright, magic flaring and making the trees in the forest behind him creak and groan, shaking dead leaves and snow from their branches.

Frisk scrambled backwards the moment his back was turned, fleeing another row of trees back and panting with tense fear; he clearly knew where she was, and intended to try to capture her again. What was she going to do?

How had he known so quickly?

Outside the trees, Sans had advanced a step on his brother, pointing a clawed, threatening finger at him.

"i'm fuckin' goin' to, assbag! i just need to look inta somethin' real fast, it'll take one fuckin' second!" he snarled, irate at being questioned and impeded in his quest, and Papyrus, scowling more deeply, let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up into the air and turning to stalk back out of sight.

"…FINE, BUT YOU HAD BETTER BE QUICK. I WILL COME BACK FOR YOU IF YOU TAKE TOO LONG!" he warned from further down the road, so loud that it was impossible not to hear him, and Sans sneered, turning back to his former occupation with a growl of annoyance, mumbled of dissent on his heated, heavy breath.

"couldn't mind his own damn business if it killed him…you'd think he was my fuckin' mother…" he snapped, clutching at the strap of the backpack flung over his arm and throwing a poisonous, sparking glare over his shoulder, then turned his gaze back to the edge of the forest, stepping up to the very edge to glare, threateningly, into its depths, scanning the clinging shadows and scattered bushes.

Frisk practically held her breath as his footsteps halted, crunching in the new, deep snow; she could smell the smoke from his cigarette, could feel his magic in the air…

The bite on her shoulder tingled, not in pain, but in something like pleasure, as though recognizing him.

Sans spent a long moment just observing, taking deep, calming drags of his cigarette and breathing heavy, loud breaths, before he spoke, a branch snapping as he took a minute, shuffling step further into the forest; Frisk flinched at the sound, her gloved fingers digging into her cheek as she forcefully kept her mouth closed and her eyes widening, fear thrilling in her blood.

"i know you're there, bitch. i can smell ya on the air… i can feel your soul," he muttered, his voice far calmer than it had been when speaking to his brother. He sounded almost relaxed, casual and serene, but Frisk knew better, knew that her escape had put him into the mood that she had witnessed earlier.

Could still feel his wrath, exuded from him in fits and starts of passion and vengeance.

She made no move to answer, though, pressing her back to the tree she had hidden herself behind and not moving a muscle even as her mind whirled (what did he mean, he could feel her soul? Could he really? How was she ever going to get away if he could do that?), and mere feet away, Sans snorted, another cloud of smoke wafting from his orifices as he breathed out a sigh.

"playin' innocent, then. heh… fine. not like i need fuckin' confirmation. i can feel my magic movin' in your veins… clingin' to your soul… drippin' from your cunt," he chuckled, amused and nasty, and Frisk's knees nearly collapsed at the reminder his words shot into her mind, still feeling the disgusting drip of his cum sliding lewdly from her core and down her legs, even nearly fifteen minutes later.

She held back the whimper that threatened her composure at the remembrance, closing her eyes against the sight; she heard him shifting his weight, could practically feel the shadow his size and presence was throwing over the ground behind her, his form silhouetted against the backdrop of the bustling village.

"you'll never be able ta hide from me. not now… not ever," he uttered, almost an assurance to her thoughts of mere moments before (no… no, she didn't believe that… this had been a lucky occurrence, he couldn't really feel that…), then flicked the butt of his burned down cigarette into the dense trees, pulling another from his pocket immediately afterwards.

The butt landed in the snow next to Frisk's feet, sizzling against the frost and sinking into the powder. The noise made her flinch, her ears straining as she listened desperately to his movements, tensed to run at the first sign that he was going to come any closer.

"you know how this is gonna go, whore. you know ya fucked up. you know the only thing keepin' me from draggin' you outta those bushes by your fuckin' hair is the fact that there are people watchin'," he said around the new cigarette he had placed between his teeth, his voice hardening as he spoke, slipping out of his former levity and into threatening reprimand; the sound of a flint striking metal made Frisk jump in her spot, again giving her location away.

Sans, hearing the shift of material against bark, grinned again, the lighter he had just struck flaring as he held it to the end of his cigarette. His gaze fixed on the location of the noise, a broad, thick pine perhaps twenty feet away, and slid his lighter back into his jacket pocket, taking a drag at the stick of nicotine before pulling it from his mouth and blowing a perfect 'o' at the trunk of the tree he was looking at, leaning against the one he stood beside in feigned ease.

"ya know that the second i have ya cornered… you'll be back under my control. and with you disobeyin' the way you have…" he crooned antagonistically, replacing his cigarette between his teeth and reaching his hand down to trace along the links of chain hanging from his pants, then locked his gaze on the tree in front of him with intense gravity, his smirk disappearing beneath the weight of a coarse, wrathful glower.

"you know what's comin' to ya. i warned ya about what would happen if you tried to run from me, and i sure as fuck'll be makin' good on that."

Frisk, in her hiding spot, shivered in fear and tension both, tears escaping her clenched eyes and running down her cheeks to stain her new scarf and gloves.

She wanted to feel as strong and resistant as she had when she had been free and wandering the town that morning, telling herself that he would never harm her again, but right now, with his presence and his voice and his dominating, threatening reminders holding her hostage, all she could do was remember him ripping her clothes from her body, his hands on her bare skin…

His teeth in her flesh, and his cock buried in her core, punishing and taking and ravaging without quarter or compassion.

This left her feeling weaker than she ever had in her life, the conflicting emotions of fear and desperation and sickness and regret and horror all congealing into a perfect storm of devastating paralysis, her every thought freezing and focusing only on him, the things he could do to her and take from her and pry from her weak, powerless flesh shaking her to her very soul.

She was reduced to a quavering, hapless, crying heap, a mess of feebleness and sentiment that wanted nothing more than to crawl back to him, to allow him his control… and to hope for forgiveness.

Frisk considered it a point in her favor that she was even still standing, her trembling knees knocking together under his intimidation; she congratulated herself even further when she made no move to go to him, to act on the fearful desire of her panicked mind that demanded she answer to him and his coercions.

She nearly jumped again when he spoke after a short, terse silence, the sounds of the town behind them both rising and falling in their day to day conversations.

"but i'm feelin' magnanimous today. generous, if ya would. so i'm gonna give ya a choice… see if ya learned anythin' from our time together last night," he allowed with a hint of amusement in his voice, though even that was twisted by brutality and knowing depravity.

"you can go back to the shed and wait for me. ya do that, wait for me ta come for ya… and i won't lay a hand on ya. we can pretend this never happened. we'll pack up, go on our way, and this fuckin' business'll be behind us," he swore, the bark of the tree he was leaned on shifting as he adjusted his position against it, and Frisk's heart leapt and sank at that option immediately, the promise of no punishment both tempting and dissatisfying at once.

It appealed to the fear sending ice speeding through her veins, to the cowering, submissive creature that was pawing at her mind and begging her to spare them both the pain of another harsh, brutal castigation, but Frisk knew that she would never be able to do that before she even really began to consider it, couldn't run back to him and live in capitulation to the hard, cold skeleton.

She had to get back to her own world, to her Sans. If she could, she would free the monsters trapped in this hell as well (Sans too, though she hated him and everything about him), but she couldn't, wouldn't be this demon's pet, or mate, or whatever he thought she was going to be to him.

She couldn't live with herself if she didn't at least try to escape… it was her role to do or die. It always had been.

Behind her, the monster watching the forest before him carefully for another sign of movement grinned to himself, assured of his offer sinking in… before moving on, tapping the ash off the tip of his cigarette onto the snow at his feet.

"or you can run. you can run from me, and make me chase ya," he went on, tone again plummeting into aggressive reprimand and fury; his gaze flashed, glutted on magic and furious emotion.

"needless ta say, that ain't gonna make me happy. needless ta say… i'm gonna be fuckin' pissed."

As he spoke, the volume of his voice grew, rising from an intimidating rumble to a thundering, irate snarl; Frisk was frozen to the tree she stood against, already knowing what he was going to say but dreading, despite herself and her attempts at bravado (she wasn't afraid… he couldn't intimidate her into going back to him… she… she wasn't a-afraid…), him speaking his intent.

Sans went on despite her hopes, though, shoving himself away from the tree next to him and taking another, threatening step into the forest, glaring at the back of the tree that his Frisk from his sight; he could taste her fear on the air, feel her heartbeat thrumming like a dying bird's wings, and grinned in his fury, lusting for blood and vengeance.

"you run from me, slut, and there will be no fuckin' mercy. run from me, and i'll tear apart the fuckin' underground ta find you. and when i catch ya… and i will catch ya… what i did to you last night will be NOTHING compared to what i'll do when i get my hands on your filthy little body," he barked, his voice growing to a shout of malice and vengeance and absolute, soul deep fury; he stamped his cigarette out against the trunk of the tree next to him, crushing the life out of it in emulated fervor.

"i'll break your damn legs, and fuck you so hard and for so long you'll wish you'd never been born. you won't be runnin' anywhere after that."

Frisk let out an audible whimper at his threat, sinking to the ground and holding her head as terror and hard, cold memory overwhelmed her, stealing her breath and bravery and determination; she was left with nothing but her darkest fears, the pain and the defilement and the night of her own imagination.

With visions of the slavery of agony and heartbreak and unwilling, sickening pleasure that her life would be in his hands, if she defied him and forced him to punish her.

No… no, he couldn't do that to her again… she couldn't let him… please…

Sans heard her despair in the small, frightened noise that she made, in the slide of her clothes against the tree that she was sheltered behind, and smirked broadly, assured of his victory.

"so make your choice. wait for me, and i'll forgive ya… or make a break for it, and force me ta fuck some sense into your stupid skull. be smart for once, woman. i ain't above teachin' ya the same star forsaken lesson that i did last night," he warned with finality in his lessened, quieter tone, hands again sliding into his pants pockets; he took one last step forward, so close to her now that he could feel her labored, tremulous breath disturbing the air.

How easy it would be to snatch her now… he just had to reach out, she was right there… but he couldn't. He wouldn't have time to secure her before Papyrus came looking for him again, and he couldn't risk his brother finding her.

As such, he only bent at the waist, leaning over closer to where he knew she had collapsed to the ground, and breathed out a snarl, so close to Frisk that she flinched in shock, the only thing keeping her from stumbling to her feet and sprinting away being her apparent inability to move at all, kept forcefully still by her own distress.

"you'll learn who ya belong to if it's the last fuckin' thing i do," he threatened in a whisper, assured of her hearing it from their closeness, before standing back to his full height, smirking widely, and turning on his heel to walk back out of the copse of trees, confidence and victory in both his mien and gait.

He paused at the edge of the tree line and looked over his shoulder one last time, though, leering and assertive.

"seeya soon, sugar… don't play any games you ain't prepared ta lose."

And with that last comment, the grinning skeleton monster walked back up to the road, Frisk's backpack still slung over his broad shoulder, and turned out of sight, whistling pleasantly as he strolled away with a spring in his step.

It truly didn't matter what she picked now… either way, he had already won.

Frisk, in her place on the ground, though, collapsed into tears for what felt like the hundredth time that day, miserable and terrified and awash in so much emotion that she could hardly contain herself. This wasn't what she had ever wanted, to be harassed and threatened and demeaned and violated by the monster she had thought she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

He had promised her so much… so much happiness and love and adoration. And somewhere out there, she knew that was what waited for her, what she would have if she could return to where she belonged. But that place was a far off dream right now. She had been shackled to a beast of a monster, cruel and hard and ferocious in his possessive desire… and who she didn't have a prayer of escaping.

"you'll never be able ta hide from me. not now… not ever."

His words sank into her flesh like icy needles, cold and poisonous despite the warmth of the clothes she had bought, and Frisk, normally so strong and valiant and able, wept helplessly, face buried in her knees and soul aching beyond the cage that she would be forced to remain in for the rest of her days.

This was her life now… she may as well go back to the shed and wait for him. Perhaps he was telling the truth and wouldn't hurt her for trying to escape.

…no.

No, she was better than this. She was fiercer, and above all, more determined than this. She had promised herself, hadn't she? That no matter what he did, she would keep her head up and hold the faith of her hopes and dreams? She had to. She needed to, for her love, for herself, and for the whole monster race.

And she could.

A light, tiny but persistent in the storm of her woes and melancholy, lit in her soul, warming her whole body and thrusting all but the more lingering of her despairs away, and Frisk, though her body ached and her heart stuttered and her cheeks stung with the extent of her misery, stood from the ground shakily, dusting herself off and wiping at her tears.

She could do this. She had it in her, no matter what happened. She would not be cowed by this Sans's intimidations, and even if he did catch her again, she would try to escape over and over and over.

He could break her legs. He could rape her until she couldn't move. He could rip out her very soul and put it in a jar.

She'd never stop trying.

Filled with the glow and urging of her own magic, with the vitality and persistence of her soul's true power, Frisk nodded her head resolutely, straightened her scarf, and stepped out of the woods, only mourning the loss of her knapsack for a moment before walking back out onto the road that led through Snowdin, marching herself across the courtyard and to the front door of Grillby's with no fear.

Sans had burned all the fear out of her, with his warnings and threats. She had no more tears to shed. She was made of stone, forged from steel, and would not bow.

Assured and back ramrod straight, Frisk, ignoring the stares she was getting from the monsters out on the street, pulled the door to the bar before her open and stepped inside with her head held high, the shadows of the inside of the building swallowing her as she let the door close behind her.

No matter what… she would stay determined.

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And that's it, folks! For now at least XD seeya next time!