Chapter Twenty Seven: He Ain't Dead Yet!

The sun was setting, casting a soft red light into the room. Dark eye sockets gazed blankly at the scene. He was as calm as he was going to get, and had nearly summoned the nerve to face the Papyrus impersonation. He sat on the edge of the anomaly's filthy bed (which by the way, didn't have a frame and sat atop an equally dirty box spring) and took a deep breath. As Sans got to his feet, he realized he still wore the ketchup-stained jacket. He instantly rid himself of the thing, tossing it aside with little concern for where it ended up.

Arright, he thought as he stepped nervously toward the door. Here we go.

He opened the door, half-expecting to find some hulking abomination on the other side. Nothing. He ventured cautiously down the stairs. The foul stench of the being's cooking lead him to the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, watching for any sign of danger. Nothing. The Papyrus turned to him, face immediately portraying surprise. He searched for its anger, for any indication that things would not go as well as he hoped. Nothing.

In fact, the initial expression melted into one of cheerfulness. "HELLO, OTHER SANS! YOU'RE JUST IN TIME FOR DINNER! IT'LL BE READY IN JUST A FEW MINUTES!"

"Yeah, uh, can we talk?"

"OF COURSE!" It leaped into the air, doing a single flip before it landed in front of him.

He stepped back, a familiar unseen force having punched him in the chest. He took another breath as the creature said to meet in the dining room. He joined it at the table, momentarily reminded of how useless the dining room in his own abode was. He couldn't recall when last they'd used it.

"WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO TALK ABOUT?"

"I gotta apologize," he said, flinching at the blow to his pride. "Shouldn't 'ave yelled at ya. My world's a little different, but, uh ya done figured that much out. There wasn't any war in our history, not with humans 'n monsters at least. Th' races jus' kinda accepted each other. Any fightin' that went on was different countries 'n stuff. Even then, it was really rare. Everybody's jus' been gettin' along fer hundreds o' years now."

"An' there ain't no magic there. Sure, weird stuff happens, but a lot of it can't be proved or anythin', an' there's scientific explanations fer th' other stuff. Can't nobody make things appear from nothin'."

"PERHAPS THAT IS WHY ALPHYS' MACHINES COULDN'T READ YOU AT FIRST! BECAUSE THEY LOOKED FOR MAGIC WHERE THERE WAS IN FACT, NONE! AND WHEN THEY TRIED AGAIN LATER, IT WORKED BECAUSE YOU HAD BEEN HERE FOR LONG ENOUGH TO GAIN SOME!"

"Maybe. Anyway, jus' because people get along there, it don't mean everybody's friends with each other. People 'r a lot more…. Distant. They jus' kinda do their own thing, 'n ya gotta know how t' look out fer yerself. A lot o' th' time, people aren't this nice t' people they don't know. We still make friends, it's jus', we don't act like everybody's already our friend."

"An' lastly, I always been busy, had somethin' I had t' take care of. Now what? I'm jus' supposed to sit an' wait 'til they get that thing fixed? An' how's that gonna happen when there's no magic rock to hone in on? When they came t' kidnap me, they were only there fer a minute, right? Not long enough to mess with anythin'. But now it's been there too long an' all th' magic's gone. So here I am, in a world that's different from what I'm used to, with nothin' t' do but hope I get t' go home soon. I ain't been in the best mood lately, an' 'm sorry I took it out on ya."

"THAT'S OKAY OTHER SANS! I'VE ALREADY FORGIVEN YOU! AND IT MUST BE QUITE SAD TO LIVE IN A WORLD WITH NO SANTA. I-"

A skull-splitting screech cut through the anomaly's words. It yelled about its spaghetti dinner as it stood up, knocking the chair to the floor.

Phase One done, he thought as it tended to the disaster in the kitchen, hands against his head in a vain attempt to muffle the noise. Now fer Phase Two.

Once things were under control in the kitchen, he stood and crept into the foul-smelling room. He found the creature plunging a spatula into the pot, likely to scrape burnt pasta from the poor dish. One look at it made it clear this wasn't the first time it'd suffered "Papyrus'" cooking.

"I THINK IT IS READY, OTHER SANS! AND WITH ONLY ONE FIRE THIS TIME! NYEH HEH HEH!"

"Looks…. Great. But I was thinkin'," he said quietly. "Do y' think it'd be okay if I went down t' yer brother's lab t' look around? Maybe I could, uh, finish one of 'is projects or somethin'. Jus' so I got somethin' t' do?"

It put down the charred cooking utensils. "A MAGNIFICENT IDEA! MY BROTHER DOESN'T WANT ANYONE BUT HIM INSIDE THAT BASEMENT OF HIS, BUT AS IT SO HAPPENS, YOU ARE HIM! SO NOT ONLY WILL THIS HELP YOU FEEL BETTER…. WE'RE TECHNICALLY NOT GOING AGAINST HIS WISHES! WOWIE!"

"Yeah…. Cool. So-"

"I'LL GET THE SPARE KEY," the anomaly proclaimed, sprinting from the room.

He looked to the black remnants of food. "Rest in pieces, pile o' dead noodles."

The being's pounding footsteps reentered the room. It handed him a small silver key. "HERE YOU ARE! I'LL FIX YOU A PLATE OF SPAGHETTI SO YOU CAN EAT WHILE YOU LOOK AROUND."

"That's okay. No, uh- no offense, but I ain't really hungry."

"BUT YOU'VE HARDLY EATEN ALL DAY!" The "Papyrus" gave him a disapproving look before retrieving a tinfoil-covered plate. "AT LEAST TAKE THE LEFTOVERS FROM THE PICNIC! IT'S NOT A WHOLE LOT, AND YOU'LL NEED SOME BRAIN FUEL."

"'Kay. Thanks," he replied as he reluctantly took the plate. "Guess I'll see ya later."

And with that, he fled the area, hastily making his way to the basement door.

He turned the key and pulled it from the lock. He opened the door, eye sockets narrowed as he stared into the shadows. He pocketed the key and stepped inside, feeling for a light switch. Illumination flooded the staircase with a click. He closed the door and locked it.

Please let there be somethin' useful in here, an' not a friggin' poltergeist!