"I thought we were back home." The witch murmured.
Sans opened his mouth to reply-
"You can have a home with us!" A little bubbly voice interjected instead.
Chapter 19
A Small Detour: Underswap Part 2
A short, squat skeleton wearing strange armor and a handkerchief around his neck bounced around the room.
Wicca smacked herself in the face.
"You have got to be kidding me. Please tell me that that thing," the witch jagged an accusing finger at the dancing skeleton, "isn't also called Sans."
Sans, her Sans (finally), glared back at the monster.
"Unfortunately, yes." He growled.
"Of course. I escape one hell hole and leap into another. I would rather deal with the backstabbing and killing than…this."
The weird looking Sans poked his tongue out and ran around the room in circles.
"Can you carry me?"
Sans gave the girl an exasperated look.
She gestured to her thigh, where a large piece of metal jutted out of.
"I can't exactly walk myself."
Sans all but crawled out of his bones. The blood had already soaked into his jacket and sweats. The coppery scent that he hadn't noticed before now threatened to choke him, and he gagged in response.
"Jesus-Wicca!" He gently picked her up and managed to stare daggers into her eyes all the while. He carried her lightly into a nearby bathroom (ignoring the stuttering protests from their audience outside; "She's bleeding?! She's bleeding! WHY DIDN'T SHE SAY SOMETHING TO BEGIN WITH!?")
Sans set the witch on the counter by the sink and shut the door. He felt tired suddenly, and he had to grip the counter to keep steady.
Wicca leaned over, ignoring the stinging and pain that radiated from the metal shard in her thigh, and tore off some toilet paper. With a quick grunt, she grasped the metal and tugged it out. She tossed it lazily over her shoulder as her blood began to spurt out of the wound. A practiced hand pressed the toilet paper over her wound and she frowned.
"Uh, hey, can I borrow that?" The witch pointed at the skeleton's ratty jacket.
"Why."
Wicca's eyes darted around the room and she puffed out her lips.
"Because."
Sans took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
"Fine."
He unzipped his jacket and tossed it to the witch, who immediately tore off one arm and tied it as a tourniquet above her thigh. Sans gaped at her and felt a little twist in his left rib.
"What?" Wicca asked, nonchalant, "Didja want me to bleed out?"
"I'd have preferred that, actually."
The witch ignored him and went back to nursing her wound.
"I think I need stitches, do you have a needle and some uh-" she waved her hand around in the air, "-fishing line or thick thread? I'm not picky."
Sans furrowed his brow bones and gave her a look.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Wicca looked down to the side and didn't answer him.