Sans: The Legendary Trash Dad-Chapter 2
Sans slowly backtracked, finding the original tunnel he'd dug to get out.
Digging the tunnel went agonizingly slow, a hand was holding the child in place, no doubt it'd fall or get hit with something if he didn't. Sans zipped open his jacket, rummaging around the inside pockets, tossing away any junk that was stored there: a scrap of hotdog, some crumpled wires, general trash—yep. He took the kid and stuffed it inside a pocket. He felt a bit bad about it as he never bothered to wash the jacket; though, if it could handle the moldy box...it would be fine.
With both hands Sans finally made progress, working double the speed as the wiggling kid in his jacket spurred him on.
Eventually he broke out of the mess, eyelights sparking in relief. He swore he would never take fresh air for granted ever again!
Sure, he didn't breath and the Dump tended to have disgustingly stale air, but anything was better than the conditions in the heap.
As he walked, he became painfully aware of the kid and he slipped a hand down the pocket to check on it. The maggot reacted instantly, nibbling Sans's carpals. It was surprising, sure, but Sans didn't pull away—it just tickled. The kid was quite the character.
Sans headed over to a secluded spot between two trash heaps, his point A for teleportation to point B in Snowdin. His eyelights dimmed in concentration as he willed himself to embrace the void. He raised his dominate left hand, burning red as he pooled his magic…but something was off…it wasn't as enthusiastic or intense. The coloring was slightly pink, signaling it was weak. The magically concentration was hard to control. His hand couldn't seemed to channel a steady flow and wisps of magic peppered into mist, breaking off into sporadic directions-energy wasted!
His raised hand became a fist, magic crackling into sparks as Sans became agitated.
Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Down. Down. Up. Up. Down. Up.
The movement served to create a connection with the void, but he didn't seem to be able to break through!
"What! No. No. F-fuck. No!"
Sans waved his hand erratically-clawing the air, lacking previous finesse.
Teeth gnashed in hot anger as Sans's grin sputtered with red magic. Slowly, his entire body glowed with magic. His bones began to rattle. He couldn't touch the void.
It wasn't working! It wasn't working! Why?
Sans chocked on a howl of frustration, trying to regain his focus. He dispersed his magic, already concluding that he had depleted his usual magic reserves…
His skull grew red with a combination of embarrassment, fatigue, and anger.
Sans flicked open his jacket, glowering at the maggot all cozied up in the pocket. Recalling, the glowing red box, the maggot was clearly the cause of his little predicament.
He'd been just dandy when he arrived at the Dump!
Damn little brat! What was he going to do? Sans redirected his fury to a bulk of trash, creating an explosive mess. His anger was given physical form as literal red-hot flames flared in him palms, which he tossed about recklessly. The surrounding trash easily ignited into burning heaps. A tiny voice admonished him for attracting attention to himself and for the destruction of potential resources but he needed to do something with all the rage that rattled around inside him—it wasn't healthy to keep emotions bottled up after all. More red magic bubbled forth and a few bone attacks were summoned, which Sans tossed around to test his current limitations.
He wasn't impressed.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Ahh, the kid was crying—geezus, it sounded like it was being murdered. Great, he was getting more pissed off.
"Shut up!"
Not done, he raised his hand, waving a blaster into existence. It only materialized for a few seconds, flickering back and forth in intensity—until it disappeared entirely.
"No! Ssstars, for fuckss ssake!" Sans hissed, kicking at whatever trash was nearby, clutching his head as he came down from his tantrum high.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Okay, maybe he should calm the brat down. He reached into the pocket, gently rubbing the baby bones with a testy patience. It was an awkward affection, but it was the best the maggot was going to get.
Sans guessed that at least a few monsters were watching him after his little outburst. He just hoped that it wasn't anyone who recognized him, or would take advantage of the fact he had a kid—the noise it was making for sure gave away its existence.
Luckily, no one confronted him—must have been because of all the fire-and the delightful smell of burning garbage. Eventually, the maggot settled down. Sans stood awkwardly in a circle of fire by his own creation, waiting for it to burn out.
Exhausted, the ground looked mighty appealing to Sans. With a huff, he back-handed himself. A few more slaps to the face and Sans was back in business. Ok, teleportation back home was a no go—he'd have to go about things the old-fashioned way. Right, the old way…shit. Sans smiled sadly, the day he was having would be a memorable one—and if he played his cards right, not the last.
Sure, the Dump was relatively safe, but it was also in Waterfall territory, a region infamous for a high density of aggressive monsters. The numerous large empty caverns made for the perfect places to host tournaments, both official and amateur variations.
Sans only went to the Dump because he could teleport. It'd be hardly a nice outing if he had to travel on foot. Back when Sans was younger and hung around the Dump, the Underground was less organized and high-level monsters were rare outside of military positions. Now everyone and their grandmother had some level.
Sans regarded the exit to the Dump with stoic horror and smoke from the dying fire did little to settle his imagination.
Stalactites and stalagmites clinked together like fangs of a beast and the maul stretched into darkness. Sans shook his bones, rattling any fear away. Eyelights flickered out and angry resolve steeled his features as he entered.
He knew Waterfall. He knew the darkened paths. He wasn't a stranger to the place. A hand was kept on a wall for guidance and steps were cautious, anticipating potential traps.
All light was slowly siphoned away as Sans pressed on. Only far off bioluminescent mushrooms and the odd magical crystal offered some respite. Waterfall wasn't always so desolate. Once the caverns shimmered with mushrooms and crystals of all kinds, but the greed of monsters over the generations dwindled away at the spirit of the place. The mushrooms were manufactured into an overabundance of crude drugs. The crystals now decorated the rooms of the wealthy. The only scraps left grew from the ceilings, not worth the trouble to harvest.
In ways, the transformation of Waterfall was a blessing. Sans embraced the darkness. He needed to work with it—experience and common-sense recommended a stealthy approach. Unfortunately, snuffed out eyelights limited his vision. Going without his lights for long periods of time tended to bring on a headache—lovely. Though Sans had no ears, his hearing was his best sense next to sight—the empty hollow of his skull sucked up sound waves surprisingly well. The fact that the caverns tended to echo also was an advantage. Any sound of an aggressor led to Sans shifting route, doing anything less would be a death sentence.
However, keeping his footfalls silent in Waterfall was incredibly difficult. Slick gravel crunched underfoot and puddles of fetid water littered the walkways. Sans had to move at a snail's pace, but he didn't mind if it guaranteed living. Plus, he liked snails—they got his lazy ways.
The appearance of echo flowers always made Sans hyper-aware of his movements, taking care not to brush against one. Unlike other fauna, echo flowers thrived in Waterfall, cultivated purposely so monsters being hunted could be easily tracked and dusted—especially if they made the mistake of running. Just like Sans, any monster worth their salt took their time—needing the patience of a predator.
Eventually he came upon a collection of waterfalls, famed for which the place was named. Sans allowed himself some respite, allowing the showers to pelt the grime from his skull and he scratched at his sockets for a deep cleaning. The waterfalls generated an overpowering roar and any echo flowers that grew only enhanced the sound. The ruckus muffled Sans's movements, though it did the same to any other nearby monster.
Let without his sense of sight or hearing left Sans vulnerable, so he didn't linger.
Sans could only get so clean however. Even the water, as precious a resource as it was, ran a dirty grey. Blood and dust had long tainted the vast underground springs—newer generations of monsters would never know the taste of clean water. Only the wealthy bothered to filter. Large craters and mudbanks served as mock replacements to the once pristine waterways.
Suddenly, Sans was pelted with terrifying sounds—some sort of monster mob was running around the place, no doubt on the hunt. The mob was bound to bump into him—shit. There wasn't enough time to change route, and even if he did he'd probably get tracked down, the mob sounded dust-hungry—any monster would do. Plus, he smelled like a dumpster fire—easy to track-he'd forgotten about that.
Fortunately, Sans had been in similar situations before. His small footfalls served well as he stepped off the gravel path onto a mudbank, sinking with each step. Sans continued and the mud gave way to water, which he seamlessly melted into—only the top of his skull shown like a dirty rock.
The water was cold, froze his bones down to the marrow, so Sans had no problem remaining still. The mob passed, a flicker of fur and the faint scent of drool told Sans it was a dog pack—very lucky they hadn't smelled him.
Sans remained in the water for minutes afterwards, afraid the mob would loop back around or retrace their steps—but it never happened. Sans reversed the process, slowly crawling up the mudbank like a slug or an evolving fish. He pulled up his jacket to catch and muffle the water from his sockets. Sans began crawling on the path, at the edge of the water—much too wet to stand up without making a sound.
He started wringing his jacket out as best he could-rummaging around his pockets to salvage the contents—plus the kid..
"Ffff-ffffffffffuck."
Sans was frozen, not by cold but horror. The kid was gone from its pocket, washed away!
He stared down at the water, much too dirty to cast a reflection or to see any sign of the maggot. Sans turned away. It was too late. He stood up, confident he was dry enough to keep quiet and began again on the path—he only made it a few steps before he was seized up with shame.
His eyelights flickered on as he looked back at the water. Damn, he'd done a lot of depraved things in his life but adding, "leaving a kid to die" to the list was…it made him sick. He liked to think he was a guy with standards.
Sans's body made the decision before his mind as he plunged back into the water, the stealth-tactic be damned. Sans flooded his eyelights with magic, lighting up the gloomy water in an eerie bloody glow. Instinct took over as he reached out, frantically searching the bottom. His magic knew what to do as it condensed again into ropes, leading him to the maggot.
Sans snatched it up and burst out of the water, the cavern lit up in red. Quickly, he snuffed out his eyelights and magic, but it was too late and too alluring of a display. Echo flowers were eagerly broadcasting the ruckus. The monster mob—specifically the dog pack, was already tracking him—having started when they first heard the initial splash.
Hiding would do Sans no good, the pack was expecting him to be in the water…
So Sans ran, it was his only option. His previous knowledge of the twist and turns on the tunnels is what saved him, as he avoided running into a dead end or potential trap.
His bones were short and small-his running weak. Red magic, a touch of determination, enveloped the soles of his shoes as he ran. He wasn't going to die—the maggot wasn't going to die either-it clutched firmly by Sans's fist.
The eventual entrance to Snowdin's region did nothing to alleviate the chase. Sans's bones froze solid as he ran through the frosty air. Up ahead was a straight path lined by conifer trees and rocky rubble-to the far right was a river.
Sans recalled the fate of monsters that ran down the snowy path to Snowdin. They never made it, the path was too long and straight with no chance to deviate in direction—running in an erratic zigzag pattern became predictable if only done in a single direction—so Sans picked a different path.
He leaped into the river, having the small fortune to not smack into a frozen surface. Sans had to work against the current as the river flowed back into Waterfall. Giant ice cubes were sweep along with the current, which helped Sans with his crossing. He scrambled up the side of a cube with one hand, claws voraciously digging in. The other held the maggot up away in a death grip. Scrambling to the top, a boost of magic flung Sans across to the other side, were he disappeared into the nearby forest.