Chapter Sixteen: The Clock Keeps Ticking
Sans awoke to an abode shrouded in shadow. He detected the muffled chirping of insects. He shifted, releasing a groan at the fresh waves of pain assaulting his bones; his arms trembled as he tried to push himself upright. He failed. His face hit the cushion whilst he questioned what day it was. Had he missed a workday? Had his couch coma only lasted until an obscenely late hour? His dying whale impression grew better and better. He braced himself for another attempt. With a repeat groan, he dragged his arms into position. His limbs worked sluggishly to heave him upward. By the end of an agonizing battle, he'd managed to sit up. Panting faintly, he caught the lingering scent of something burnt.
Checking the phone revealed that he hadn't missed a day. It was nearly the start of one, however. There would be little point in trying to sleep any longer. He knew that missing a day of work was a potentially dangerous idea. A part of him stubbornly encouraged it in spite of logic. Dread weighed his soul at the thought what was ahead. How was he to survive another mutated goat, another over-sized insect? Rubbing the edges of his eye sockets, he pulled himself to the edge of the couch. His legs could barely support him.
Movement became easier once it began. He stumbled into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, he stared at the coffee maker. It was after a few sleepy blinks that he decided to hold off on the caffeine for now. His gaze wandered over to the stove top, to charred pieces of something in a frying pan. Papyrus must've cooked her own dinner.
With little else to do, he decided to freshen up. He dragged himself to the stairs. He gave them a venomous look before crawling up to the second floor. He didn't pause to catch his breath, much to his body's dismay. Grabbing some clean clothes along the way, he trudged into the bathroom. Light flooded the room with a click. He stood blinking at the shower head and immediately switched his plan to a bath. He turned only the knob with an "H" and placed the stone on the vanity. He made every attempt not to look at the thing, and noticed something interesting in doing so. Sitting on the toilet, he picked up the small bag to examine its text. Epsom salt. He emptied the bag's contents into scalding liquid.
OoOoO
"Hey, yer up."
"Kinda."
"An' you made coffee," said Papyrus while stumbling across the room, Doomkitty at her heels.
"Mm-hm."
The front door opened and closed. Scarcely had he registered the noise before Undyne jogged in. Her sharp teeth glinted, her smile unnaturally wide. Sans looked up at her, barely able to keep his eye sockets open. The fish monster's gaze radiated a form of energy that neither skeleton could comprehend at the time. She greeted them cheerfully, doing a series of stretches in the middle of the kitchen. Papyrus merely joined him at the table with her filled coffee mug.
"Today's feelin' like a great day! Ain't today just feelin' like it'll be a great day? I think so!"
Had looks been able to kill, she would've died twice over.
He reluctantly lifted his head from his arm in a struggle for wakefulness. A glance at Papyrus told him this was typical behavior of Undyne, but no less baffling or annoying. He sighed and downed most of his caffeine. Papyrus took a careful sip of hers. They watched their neighbor proceed to do several one-armed push ups. He counted twenty before she switched to the other arm, cheery smile remaining the whole time.
At last he whispered, "what's wrong with her?"
A shrug. "I ain't gotta clue."
"Whacha say?"
"Nothing," they claimed in unison.
OoOoO
Another day had come and gone. Still no sign of his possible return to his world. Pieces of information swirled around in his head. Surprising even to him, he found himself unable to focus only on the totally-not-broken link. He thought also of the dangerous anomalies, the instinct he couldn't quite place, and what he'd managed to learn about this version of Earth.
Sans stared blankly at the road, some part of him wondering how he hadn't crashed. He manifested each thought just long enough to make the necessary maneuvers. His mind was otherwise preoccupied by clouded fragments of knowledge. He noticed in the corner of his vision, a group of humans and monsters walking along together. The two races intermingled with such ease, which he now understood was due to a major difference this planet held: There had been no human/monster war. It made sense. How could the ancient denizens of this world have fought with one another, when supernatural threats were present for all? They had banded together quickly, the true reason of course being lost to the general public.
The twenty fifth cup of coffee was wearing off. He yawned upon stopping at a traffic light. Somehow, he had made it through another day. He attributed such to caffeine and the unknown force. He remained unable to summon the effects of either. Given the choice, he would've picked the energy burst provided by that disgusting drink. His curiosity was no match for his tiredness.
By the time of his arrival, the sun had sank almost completely into the horizon. He might have taken the time to enjoy such a wondrous image. It was unlikely to ever become so familiar that he took it for granted. Alas, there was food to be cooked, a report to finish typing up, and a bit of cleaning to be done. He pushed the stone from his mind. Everything would be all right. He told himself that it loosing its glow meant nothing. So he ignored the beautiful blend of colors in the sky, and pulled into the garage. By noon tomorrow, he would be in his room with a game and a bottle of ketchup.
So what if he was in a state of denial? He much preferred it to the truth.
"Heya," he said to Papyrus and her cat upon his entrance to the living room.
Her eye sockets were glued to the television as she replied, "hey."
The orange feline meowed at him while he struggled to kick off an uncomfortable pair of shoes. "So, uh, want anything in particular for dinner tonight?"
She shook her head. "Not really. Don't care."
He stood there on exhausted legs, eye sockets narrowed. Her voice was laced with tension. He saw only one side of her face, more than enough for him to confirm that something was wrong. She didn't look away from the screen even for a moment. The program had no ounce of her attention, however. She sat rigidly upon the soft brown cushions, staring at something beyond the confines of the TV.
"What's up?"
"Whadda ya mean?"
"Something's wrong. What happened?" He took a few steps toward the couch.
She spared him a glance before, "nothin'. I'm fine."
He collapsed onto the furniture. "Okay. Wanna tell me about what didn't happen?"
"Nope."
Perhaps she wasn't the type to openly speak of her problems. Perhaps it was due to the two of them meeting days prior. Regardless, he let the go of the subject. If it was important, he or Other Sans would know soon enough.
No, it would be Other Sans. He refused to acknowledge any other possibilty.
