Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge
Day Eleven: Rest
Prompt: "Your OTP resting and/or sleeping together. They could be sleeping anywhere from at home in bed to out on a park bench."
Notes: It liiives! So I kinda wrote something similar to this prompt already in my "come and lay your bones down with me" ficlet, so this is an idea I had floating around in my head for a while but never found its way into a fic...hopefully it works, and isn't too similar! as always, any thoughts you may wish to share with me are love, and indeed life.
ALSO – apologies to anyone who knows me bc I literally won't shut about this lmao – but did see we have a lovely new cover image? That was a commission for me by the amazing poisondilu, based off a scene from Day Four (First Date)! If you haven't already go check her out on deviantart/tumblr and give her allll the love bc her Soriel stuff is just perfection *^*
For as long as she can remember, Toriel has always had some difficulty drifting off to sleep.
As a child, she could never settle in the dark, fearful of all the terrible creatures she imagined there, waiting to reach out and grab her the moment the lights went out. She still remembers how she would refuse to close her eyes for even a second until she was cradled in her mother's arms, warm and safe as she rocked her gently back and forth to sleep.
As Toriel grew older – and even more so when she became a mother herself – she came to realise that the real danger was not hiding in her closet or under her bed, but outside; the darkness in the souls of the surface that had taken her mother and her father in the war, that filtered through to the hatred and mistrust in the Underground to this day and that she swore she would protect her own children from, no matter what the cost. Even if she still could not fully relax until she had crept out of their bed, late at night after Asgore had fallen asleep, and into the children's rooms, feeling the same rush of relief and gratitude every time when she peeked through the door to see them sleeping soundly. It reminded her of the very first time she held Asriel in her arms and he looked up at her – huge, ruby eyes, wide and curious and vulnerable within an impossibly tiny tuft of fluff. Toriel would never forget the moment for as long as she lived, the fierce wave of love and tenderness so powerful she felt her soul would burst, so much stronger than anything she ever imagined it was possible to feel, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him tightly to her breast, safe from all the pain and sorrow and sharp edges of the outside world, and never, ever let go.
Decades later, as she lay awake and alone in the Ruins, she could still picture those eyes through the dark, and some nights she came close to convincing herself that perhaps, if she only wanted it badly enough, she would wake up and he would be there. It would all have been a dream and they would all be there, her family, her world returned to her, instead of facing another day of her current, wretched, pitiful existence.
So much has happened since then; Toriel has seen things she never thought possible, has found what she never dared to dream she could have again – a new life, a new family, here on the surface – and yet, come nightfall, she remains restless. She has always had an active mind, always thinking, planning, worrying about the day ahead: what she is going to make for breakfast, tomorrow's lesson plan, that hole in Frisk's sweater that needs mending...Before she knows it, morning has come again and she must ready herself for another day, masking her yawns behind a generous mug of golden flower tea and a sunny smile as she urges Frisk to finish their breakfast, or they will be both be late for school.
And now, of course, she has Sans – who has quite the opposite problem, for Toriel can barely leave him for five minutes without him dozing off. At first, she was a little worried that he might be ill, but Papyrus assured her that this was perfectly normal, that he had always been a lazybones in every sense of the phrase. Sans himself was apologetic about it, as though she might be offended, and always tells her to wake him up, but Toriel can rarely bring herself to do so. In truth, she rather enjoys watching him; he looks so peaceful, so content, with his eyes closed and his resting smile soft at the edges, oblivious to the world in a way she still cannot help but marvel at. Even here, in the middle of the afternoon with the sun shining down on them, sitting on a park bench while Frisk explores the adventure playground, "chaperoned" by Papyrus, Undyne and Alphys. Sans twitches, and Toriel smiles down at him as she wonders if he is dreaming, and if so what about –
"Tori," Sans says suddenly, making her jump without opening his eyes or moving an inch. "Quit staring at me."
"I was not staring," Toriel protests unconvincingly, wondering how he always knows. "I was simply...observing my surroundings, of which you happen to be a part. Besides, I thought you were asleep."
"I was." Sans yawns and stretches, popping his spine as he slowly opens one eye to look at her in a kind of reverse wink. "'Til you distracted me."
"Oh, did I? I am sorry." Toriel tries to sound remorseful, but cannot stop the smile from spreading across her face as she scoots closer to him on the bench, nuzzling into his neck. "I'm afraid I cannot help myself, if you will insist on looking so cute when you are sleeping."
"'m not cute," Sans mumbles sleepily (and falsely), while making absolutely no attempt to resist the kiss she plants on his cheekbone as she feels him grin against her lips. "I'm terrifying. All the kids at school think so."
"Hmm...yes." She does wish he wouldn't sound quite so proud of that sometimes. "Well, one can hardly blame them for not anticipating the sudden appearance of a skeleton at the window during what is supposed to be nap time..."
Sans chuckles, low and warm as he leans against her shoulder. "Come on, Tori, that was funny. And you know I never miss nap time."
"It is always nap time with you," she teases him gently, smiling as they fall into a companionable silence, simply enjoying each other's company and the beautiful weather. The pleasant chirrups of the birds in the trees surrounding them are disrupted only by the occasional yells of "sand-wrestling!" from the playground, until Toriel finds herself wondering aloud: "How do you do it?"
Sans lifts his skull to look at her, raising a questioning brow bone. "Huh? Do what?"
"I mean, sleep...quite so often. Not that it bothers me in the slightest," she reassures him hurriedly, "you know that. I am just curious. I do not think I could nap in the middle of the day, though I must admit sometimes the idea is...tempting." Toriel thinks for a moment, before adding, hopefully: "Perhaps you could show me?"
Sans cocks his head to one side, smirking a little. "You want me to show you how to...go to sleep?"
Well, when he puts it like that, of course it sounds silly. "If you are going to laugh at me..."
"No, wait, I'm not laughing," he protests as Toriel starts to get up from the bench, catching hold of her hand although she has no intention of actually leaving. "I mean – sure, we can give it a shot. Sleeping is pretty much my second favourite thing to do, so I guess I'm qualified..."
"What is your favourite – oh." Toriel blushes deeply at the realisation dawns, elbowing Sans lightly in the ribs as the heat rushes to her cheeks. "Sans, there are children present!" She doubts Frisk could hear them at this distance, and certainly not swinging from the monkey bars while Papyrus waits anxiously with his arms outstretched in case they should fall, but that is hardly the point.
"I didn't say anything," Sans says with a shrug, but the gleam in his sockets betrays him as he raises his hands faux-innocently in a poor attempt to disguise his grin. "Okay, uh...moving on – first lesson. You gotta relax. Get as comfortable as you can be." He links their fingers together, guiding her arm comfortably around his shoulders before resting his head against the crook of her neck, as if to demonstrate. "See?"
"I see." Toriel lets her head fall to one side, her cheek resting against Sans' skull. "How is this?"
"Yeah, that's good." He is already starting to sound sleepy again. "Now close your eyes, and just...try not to think, or move. And that's pretty much all I can teach you. Just gotta –" Sans lets out a yawn mid-sentence, snuggling a little further into Toriel's neck as though she is his personal pillow, "let it happen, y'know?"
"Very well, then. I will try." Toriel closes her eyes and attempts to clear her mind, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Sans' ribcage against her side. It is certainly pleasant, for a good few minutes. Relaxing, now that she is not thinking...or does thinking that she is not thinking count as thinking? But surely, then it is impossible not to think of anything. The sun is warm on her fur – oh, did Frisk remember to apply sunscreen? Toriel can hear them from the playground, and she is fairly certain those are shrieks of joy and not pain, but Undyne does sometimes play a little rougher than she would like, although Frisk always insists they are fine. If she opens her eyes to check, will she have to start over? Now her nose is starting to itch. If she does fall asleep now, what if something happens? That is not a relaxing thought at all.
"Hmm, I am not sure this is working," Toriel murmurs reluctantly after a few minutes. "How long does it normally take, Sans?" There is no response, and she opens her eyes. "Sans?"
He is fast asleep, snoring softly against her shoulder. Toriel sighs, but she cannot claim to be surprised, lifting her head as carefully as possible so as not to wake him. She glances over towards the playground, where Frisk is balanced precariously on Papyrus' shoulders as Undyne has both of them trapped in a headlock – until Frisk manages to wriggle free, grabbing her legs and bringing them all crashing to the ground in a messy heap, but Toriel is reassured that no one is hurt by the fact that they are all laughing just as hard as Alphys, who is filming the whole spectacle on her phone.
Toriel cannot help but chuckle softly to herself too as she watches, shaking her head fondly at them all before she reaches into her handbag for 1000 (More) Snail-y Fun Snail Facts and settles in, relaxing back against the bench and Sans.
She may not be falling asleep any time soon, but from here, at least, Toriel can certainly appreciate the view.
As much as Toriel adores Sans, she must admit that sharing a bed with him is something of an...adjustment.
There ought to be more than enough room in her bed for the two of them, as Sans should take up a fraction of the space that Asgore once did – but he has an almost impressive ability to claim as much space as possible, sprawled across the bed with his arms and legs flung out every which way. He also has a habit of rolling around in his sleep and cocooning himself in the duvet, leaving Toriel with hardly any for herself. The first few times, she tells herself not to be petty; after all, Sans does not have any flesh or fur to keep him warm, as she does, so she can surely make do with a little less every once in a while. This goodwill lasts for perhaps a week before she simply has to start yanking her share of the covers unceremoniously back from Sans' sleeping form; he very rarely stirs during this process, so she supposes it is a decent compromise.
Toriel would not have it any other way, of course; the joy of having someone to hold again, to snuggle close to in the night and to wake up beside each morning, more than makes up for any little grievances. She knows, deep down, that the reason she still tosses and turns, the hours she lies staring at the ceiling and the way her stomach jumps when a shadow crosses the room, even though she knows it is only their conveniently-shaped lamp – none of it has anything to do with Sans, no matter how loudly he snores or how cold and bony his feet are when he presses them against her legs.
The truth, Toriel knows as she rolls over yet again, is that she cannot blame Sans for another long night any more than she can blame him for the ones that preceded it – or, indeed, for the many she suspects will follow it, for as long as there are still shadows lurking in the far reaches of her mind, memories waiting to play out before her eyes each time she closes them.
But Toriel is no longer a child – and has not been for a long, long time – so she must bear her burden alone, stifle a frustrated sigh into her pillow, and continue to hope that perhaps, this night, she will find respite in sleep.
Toriel wakes with a start to find herself lying in a bed of buttercups; there must be hundreds and hundreds of them, clinging stubbornly to her fur until she blows them from her nose with a strong exhale. She is...back in the Ruins? But she does not remember there ever being this many flowers – it is dark, too dark to take in her surroundings as she rises to her feet, stray flowers falling from her clothes. Then, somewhere in the distance, she hears the creak of an ancient, wooden door, bringing forth a chink of light – just enough for Toriel to see, a long, unfamiliar path now illuminated ahead of her. Her heart leaps with relief at the sound of footsteps, followed by a small, familiar silhouette.
"Frisk?" she calls out, squinting into the light. "Is that –" The words are stolen from Toriel's mouth as they step out of the shadows, revealing an entirely different, equally familiar face – one she never dreamed she would see again, her mouth falling helplessly open as shock grips through to her soul.
"Ch-Chara?!" It cannot be – but it is them, in the flesh, wearing the very same sweater she knitted for them all those decades ago – and smiling. "But how...You are –"
"Dead?" Chara finishes for her, their voice sharp and clear. "Yeah, I thought so too, for a long time. It's funny how people can surprise you like that, huh, Mom?"
"I cannot believe – this – this is..." Wonderful, Toriel means to say – but she cannot quite form the word. Chara's eyes are too bright, their smile too wide, and she knows instinctively that something is wrong, even before her eyes fall upon the knife clutched in their small hand. "Chara – what are you doing with that? Put it down at once before you hurt yourself!"
"Hurt myself?" Chara laughs, but it is nothing like the one she remembers, a throaty, sinister gurgle that makes her stomach churn. "A little late for that, don't you think, Mom? What more can anyone do to me? They already took my soul, my body, my best friend..." The edge of the blade glints in the light as they take a slow, deliberate step towards her. "I'm not the one with anything left to lose here."
"Chara..." Toriel tries to stand firm despite the tremble in her voice as they advance towards her, and she holds out her hand as she looks into their eyes, pleading, searching for any trace of the child she knew under the bright, fierce determination burning there. "My child, I understand if you are angry – but, please, come home with me. We can talk about this, about everything..."
"Home?" Their voice rings out through the empty corridor, loud and accusing. "Boy, and I thought Dad was the dumb one. You still don't get it, do you – we don't have a home. Not any more – not without him. Maybe you should've thought of that before, Mom. Maybe if you'd only done a better job of taking care of us, we'd all still be here. Maybe we wouldn't have –"
"No..." It comes out as a whimper, tears of guilt and shame filling Toriel's eyes as she presses her hands over her ears like a child, but she cannot escape the truth in their words. "Chara, I – please, you must know that I only ever wanted to protect you, both of you, all of us. I never imagined that you would – I tried so hard to..."
"Oh, you tried!" Their response is scornful, mocking, every word twisting into her soul sharper than any blade ever could. "I know you tried, Mom – you tried to replace us, didn't you? Six times, wasn't it? Six times, you failed. Six more, gone because of you. How's that feel, Mom? Now that everyone knows what a great mom you were – gosh, could it be that maybe you were the one we needed protecting from all along?"
"Chara, please – please, do not do this." Toriel stumbles backwards as Chara moves towards, knife in hand, tripping over her words and her feet as blind panic takes hold – but her back hits cold, slippery stone, and there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the terrible truth. "I know this is not you. Whatever has happened to you, we still have a chance to make things right. Please, just – just let me try..."
"Sorry, Mom – you've tried enough." Toriel can only look on in horror as Chara's face starts to...to melt before her eyes, their eyes and mouth bleeding together into an unrecognisable, grotesque parody of a smile. "It's my turn to make the rules now, and I say it's time for you to go home. That's what you wanted, isn't it? For us all to be together again?" They start to laugh again, the horrible sound echoing off the walls as they raise their knife. "Welcome home, Mom."
"Chara, no! Please, do not –" As the distance between them closes, Toriel reaches desperately for magic to shield herself – but nothing comes, her hands grasping at cold air as Chara looms over her, somehow growing bigger as their laughter swirls around her, deafening, sickening, inescapable. "Please, Chara! Chara!"
"Tori!" Another voice cuts through; a hand reaches out through the darkness, grabbing her shoulder. Toriel instinctively pulls away, but loses her balance, her feet slipping from underneath her as she falls headfirst into the flowers, towards Chara's knife – but lands instead on a soft, springy surface, finding herself scrabbling frantically against flimsy sheets instead of hard stone. "Tori, wake up, you're dreaming!"
Toriel knows that voice, that hand on her shoulder – but she can still see them, the remnants of that twisted face fading into the shadows, but taunting her, waiting. "Chara..."
"Tori, it's okay – there's no one here, it's just me – it's Sans." Toriel blinks, turning away from the darkness towards the familiar, soft blue light – Sans, her Sans, his expression twisting in worry as his hands slide from her shoulders to gently cup her face. "You...remember me, right?"
Toriel cannot summon the energy for a coherent response; she simply falls into his arms, clutching at him like he is her lifeblood, her oxygen. "Sans," she repeats, her heart still pounding as her soul swells with relief and gratitude, and then again, "Sans. Chara – I saw them – they were going to..."
"Sssh, baby, it's okay, I got you," he murmurs into her ear, holding onto her just as tightly, stroking her back even though she is probably crushing him. "They're gone now, it was just a dream, you're safe. Everything's okay..."
"No," Toriel insists, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as Chara's words come back to her, shaking her head as their accusing voice rings in her ears, "it is not okay. It was my fault, Sans. All of it."
"No, it wasn't your –"
"How can you know that?" It comes out sharper than she intended, and guilt pierces her chest like a shard of glass as she draws back to glimpse Sans' wide, concerned sockets – she knows it is unfair to snap at him, and this is the last thing she ever wanted, to drag him down with her into the thorny reaches of her past, centuries of secrets and shame and regret. "You were not there. You did not see how many times I failed, all the things I should have –"
"Tori – Tori," Sans interrupts her, calm but firm as he takes hold of her shaking hands, thumbs stroking the fur on her knuckles, "you wanna know how I know? 'Cause I know you, and I know how much you love your kids. I see you every day with Frisk, what an incredible mom you are, how much effort and love and care you put into every little thing. You'd do anything for them – just like you did everything you could to save those kids, every last one of 'em. Sometimes, there's just things – people – that you can't..." He trails off, thoughts unfinished in the air until he dismisses them with a shake of his skull. "The point is – none of what happened back there was your fault, okay, Tori? None of it."
Toriel does not know if she can ever fully, sincerely believe that, but it still comforts her a little to hear Sans state it with such conviction, his words enveloping her like a warm blanket as he squeezes her hands. She manages a tentative nod, letting her head fall to rest their foreheads together as she lets out a great, shaky breath, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and lets him pull her gently back into bed, curling up and resting her head on Sans' sternum as he holds her.
"Tori, Chara's...gone," he continues quietly. "I know you miss them, and I know it still hurts, but it's just us now – you and me and Frisk and Papyrus and all the others, and we're not going anywhere. We're...we're all family now, and we're in this together. It's gonna be okay. We're here on the surface, we're free, and everything's gonna be fine, okay, baby?"
Toriel does not recall Sans ever calling her baby before; it feels a little strange, as she is centuries older than him, and yet somehow it is also just what she needs, his soothing monotone reassuring her that it's okay, it's all over now, he's got her, his bony fingers stroking tenderly through her fur and petting her ears until she feels her eyelids growing heavy once again, finally too exhausted to fret about what she might see when she closes them.
She cannot be sure which of them falls asleep first, but the next time she opens her eyes light is filtering through the window, the sun peeking out over the hilltops into the beginnings of a new day. Sans has rolled over onto his front, mouth half-open and drooling a little onto the pillow, but he stirs when Toriel moves. Mumbling something unintelligible, he reaches out and wraps his arm around hers, clinging to her as he nestles closer, as though he knows her even in his sleep.
Toriel smiles, snuggles closer to him, and falls into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
