Chapter Eighteen
His slippers sank into the ice with soft crunches. Even in the dark, it wasn't too hard to follow their footsteps. The core of his soul radiated with a feeling of exciting danger, the cause of which only grew closer as he went. The wind pierced his jacket like fangs and made the skeleton shiver. Rare were the times one could feel this cold, but he found it an oddly refreshing sensation, and welcomed it into his clacking bones.
Sans hadn't a clue where he was, but that was nothing new at this point. If he had to guess however, he'd say he was about two miles south of the middle of nowhere. Just why two miles south, well, perhaps a touch of their madness was rubbing off on him. In any case, he spent the journey to his goal trying to coax that phantom flame out of hiding. Something told him it would be useful in whatever situation was to come.
It was dark. He would've run into many a tree if not for the reflective nature of winter's breath. The forest was just a collection of silhouettes, a sea of shadowed plant life gone dormant to wait out the season. The sea was unbroken for a time, which must have been a while, as the moment he saw a fraction of light, he felt as though he'd been pulled from a trace.
A large, old house stood in a clearing, its glowing second floor windows like eyes looking down on him. Only two held light, by no means inviting, and Sans stood before it with a creeping apprehension climbing up his spine. The light, of course, was yellow in hue.
Did everything yellow want to kill him? He glared at the house, a silent challenge to the rotting wood, bits of glass, and the collection of ancient remnants of wind chimes. What was next, he dared ask. Was Alphys out to get him as well?
Ah, crap. He missed playing video games with his best friend. As soon as this mess was over with, he made a plan to convince her. They would engage in their covert addiction the whole night through! And he would even come over at some point to try out that new mining game she'd been trying to get him into. They would stealthily hide their activities from Papyrus, who loathed the "worst form of laziness" and…
Papyrus. Alphys. Toriel. How were th-
A growl from behind. Sans turned to see a gruesome sight. Were wolves supposed to be so big? Follow up question: weren't they typically supposed to have fur, and well, not be covered in so much blood? He backed up as he considered a plethora of other questions. Why did its face appear so mangled? Why were its teeth too big for its jaws? Why in the name of all ketchup wasn't the thing bothering to blink?
"Oh-kay. Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is fine. I'm great with dogs," he told himself, tiny pinpoints darting around for a stick. Grabbing one from the snow, he tried to direct the beast's attention to it. "Look! Lookit this! See the stick? Ya see it?"
It crept closer without a sound. It wasn't even leaving prints behind. He'd only halfway reached the totally-not-haunted house.
"Yeah? You see the stick? You want the stick? Ya ready? Go get it!"
The unholy creature watched his futile defense fly through the air and hit the ground, then turned back to him and snarled.
"Heh, that's uh- that's not how you're supposed to play the game, dude. Heh…"
He bolted, muttering expletives as he did. Sans practically leaped onto the ruined porch and threw himself at the door. Inside, he slammed it shut. The wolf had been right on his heels. Its weight hit the door and nearly drove it from its hinges. He pushed back as hard as he could and locked the deadbolt. Stepping back, he waited as it clawed at the house with a few too-deep barks. His soul pulsed so quickly it seemed it may stop altogether. The demon wolf rammed their flimsy barrier again and again and- his spine hit something. He'd run out of space. Sans prepared a magical attack to the best of his abilities. He summoned a few bones and a twisted blaster, waiting for…
… It left.
How anticlimactic. You're an awful storyteller.
Okay, fine. How about this?
Sans found himself struck with a horrible feeling, as though two inter-dimensional idiots were playing with his life. He spun around in the darkness, the only light a faint blue glow from his skull. Odd. Was it brighter than it usually was? No matter. He'd four kidnappers to find and rescue from certain doom. Why, he'd kidnap them if necessary. Whatever got them out of this place faster.
There was a decrepit piece of furniture before him. Forced to breathe, he realized the sheer level of dust this couch held and nearly sneezed a number of times as he examined his surroundings. To the left side of the back wall was a doorway. To his right, a hall. A television from the previous century laid useless on the floor, the table once home to it having collapsed under its weight long ago. The walls were standing, mostly, with only a few missing parts to give him glimpses elsewhere.
He called out to them, again receiving no response. Sans took a deep breath, at last sneezed, and ambled toward the doorway to his left. There was no use in trying to stay quiet; these floorboards squeaked and yelled like dying whales with any minuscule movement. He managed to summon to a normal blaster along the way for extra light and a ready defense.
Cracked and broken floor tiles, ugly wallpaper, and a frozen, rotten wheel of cheese. He found little else, and after the exciting find of a bathroom and an empty guest bedroom, he began slowly climbing the stairs. They gave so much beneath his weight that he feared they would cave out from under him. How in the universe did the others manage to make it up there? Especially Oro, who resembled that human superhero the Hulk.
He paused.
"I am a god, you dull creature. And I will not be bullied by-"
He chuckled a bit as that scene replayed in his mind, then continued. The wobbly handrail wasn't of much help to soothe his concerns, nor was the pitch-blackness of the floor above. He pressed on, keeping his soul fairly steady and listening to the song of endless creaks. He grew accustomed to the smells of decaying wood and untouched filth. Untouched of course, until his bony fingers picked up every speck of dirt on the rail. He cleaned them off every once in a while. The force at the core of soul still hid, but he attempted to lure it out with fun scenes from movies Frisk had shown them. After a while, he allowed the blaster to dissipate. Sans wasn't used to so much exercise, and his breaths eventually became ragged and unsteady.
A realization dawned on him, and he turned, hoping to see the ground floor and finding only shadow. His eye sockets darkened to mirror its color. How long had he been climbing these stairs?
A new sound manifested, approaching fast. Whatever the sound belonged to had far too many feet, and something told him it wouldn't answer his question. He froze for a moment longer before, and exhausted as he'd felt seconds prior, he sprinted upward. Adrenaline was an amazing drug after all, and the owner of these thunderous footfalls had been happy to supply.
He ran.
He ran.
And he ran.
Until the steps unwound and he felt himself falling. Sans tried to teleport away, tried to catch himself with magic, to no avail. He thought back to the campsite, how they had all been settling down for the night…
And he yelled as he fell into the abyss, "I just wanted to sleep!"