Sans: The Legendary Trash Dad-Chapter 4
Man, his skull didn't house a brain but that was no excuse for being stupid. By some miracle and mercy of the universe, San had managed to teleport into his room. The teleportation had been automatic, a conditioned response for when he felt threatened.
Sans had been sure his magic reserves were too low to perform such a maneuver—yet it looks like he'd underestimated himself.
Neat, he wasn't complaining none.
Shame he had landed into his trash tornado, spinning around a few revolutions before being flung into a wall. Yep, pretty sure that added a crack or two to his skull. Sans laid on the floor for a moment, allowing himself a few precious seconds of rest...before he remembered.
The kid!
Shit—Sans really was a shit parent! He pulled it out of the pocket, sighing in relief when it moved—it wasn't dead! Yet. Fuck, there was nothing to celebrate.
It kid looked awful—worse than when he'd found it. The tiny bones were a deep grey and it rattled with a cold sweat. It appeared it never completely dried off from the dunk in the water and the chill of Snowdin's air no doubt froze it solid.
Sans figured being in his pocket and rubbing it with some magic would be enough, but apparently not. Quickly Sans unraveled his bed-sheets, which had been previously crumpled into a ball. Papyrus had always japed that Sans was akin to a dung beetle, rolling up his brown dirty sheets into a giant ball. Sans could see the resemblance and couldn't disagree. It was nice when the Boss made use of his funny bones.
As dirty as the sheets were, Sans wrapped up the kid in them—making it resemble a bean-or a piece of shit if one was vulgar. Yikes.
Suddenly, the front door slammed open—Papyrus was home and oh boy was Sans in for it!
No funny bones to be tossed around this time.
Sans locked his bedroom door and allowed himself a few blissful seconds to rest his sockets, sitting on his mattress. He tried to remember what peace felt like before he scrambled out the bedroom window.
Fortunately, it wasn't Sans's first time jumping out of a window—he was a secret pro actually. He didn't land on the snow, not wanting to leave tracks. Instead he hooked claws into the wooden exterior of the house—the wall already long littered with past marks.
Slowly, Sans clawed along to his secret workshop, which was conveniently at the back of the house. The door was all boarded up, done in a manner that made it look like a half-assed repair to a hole in the house rather than being an entrance. Lucky, Sans small size came in handy as he scrambled between the boards relatively easy. Between the boards was a hidden door, locked of course.
Thankfully, he always had the key on him just for occasions like so. The lock opened with a click and closed with an equally satisfying click as Sans collapsed inside the workshop.
Cold dirty tiles had never been more welcoming. Sans rolled onto his back and set the maggot on his chest to assess the situation. He cringed when the kid practically rolled off him. Its little hands didn't have the strength to grip his jacket like before.
His sockets burned with magic, the beginning of tears condensing in the corners.
He wasn't sad. He didn't even know the kid. No. No! He was just...a little frustrated is all!
A large part of him had already accepted the fact that it was dead. It wasn't, but close.
And it was all because of Sans's messed up idea of priorities. The fact the maggot wasn't crying was also pretty alarming—kids cried when they needed something, right?
This one looked like it needed everything, but didn't say a peep.
Sans slapped himself a few times, to stay awake and to focus. Fortunately, Sans tended to produce his best work under pressure and a plan had quickly settled into action.
He cupped the kid carefully in his hands, summoning up a mist of magic. Like before, the kid began to absorb the energy. It first glowed a faint pink and then an intense red. It looked like it was made out of molten hot metal, though the bones were only lukewarm at most.
Pumping the kid full of magic was all he could do—it would have to find the will to survive on its own. When the maggot began to wiggle again only then did Sans allow himself to slink into a deep sleep.
He clutched the baby bones tight against his chest.
Sans resolved to do his best.
The workshop was freezing, having little to no insulation, and the air was disgustingly dusty; but it was the best, safest place in the Underground. Sans laid on his side, sockets black with sleep. His hands stretched limply outwards. Having survived, the maggot was on a hand, clutching a phalanx bone and nibbling at the distal end. Only having instinct as a guide it persisted in chewing, finding comfort in the familiar scent and texture. It desperately wanted to go back in the pocket, it was so cold—but didn't know how. So it chewed harder, and harder!
Crack.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."
It squeaked. The tiny spine arched in fear. The hand awoke—like a white spider the hand snatched the maggot into a jarring grasp. Naturally it wiggled, no longer liking the scent or texture. Its sight spun around, catching glimpses of two red orbs hovering above, bathing it in a bloody light that wasn't nice.
It did the only thing it could.
Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
Sans snapped out of any musings. What the fuck was that!?
The little maggot was having a fit, it sputtered and hissed in his fist—like a god-damned snake!
Sans was dumbfounded; well, the hissing was new, and a bit scary. If he didn't know the sound came from a baby bones an attack would have been readied.
Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
Sans sockets slowly looked over the child, his smile tense. The phalanx twitched and the maggot stopped hissing, drawn back. It began nipping at it like a pup.
"Well good morning to you to, grub-face!" Sans gave it a light flick to the skull and it scrambled away, turning its attention to the dirty bedsheets it had slept in.
Sans flexed his hands, the chill made everything numb and he looked them over to see if any bone was missing.
Turned out the little bugger had managed to chewed the tip of a claw off and a nasty crack remained. It stung but served as a nice distraction-a sudden burning pain assaulted his bones as Sans fully awoke. He could hardly move, struggling to sit up—it was like he was glued to the floor. The cold tile of his workshop had turned into a bed of ice and his bones felt like they'd been buried in permafrost for a millennia.
That's right…Sans never had the chance to properly dry off and was paying for it. All his clothes had been soaked to the bone, but instead of evaporating, the water froze during his nap—so Sans was stiff as a board.
Every moment he made created the sharp snap of ice and he had no choice but to remove his jacket—thin sheets flaking off it.
The shorts were the same but he kept them on—sitting on the cold tile bare-boned would have been worse. Plus, resorting to being naked would have been a blow to his personal pride.
Crack.
Okay, that was his finger again. Enough fun for the maggot.
Eyeing the maggot Sans flicked it again in the skull. No, that was bad behavior! The maggot rolled onto its back and it again lacked mobility.
Hisssss.
Its C-shaped spine kept it rooted in place—it was a roach caught on its back. Its tiny claws reached out to the air, attempting intimation or sought to grab onto something. Sans had to admit that it was very endearing.
He watched in fascination as its claws eventually found purchase on the bed-sheets. Slowly, it lifted itself from its back and fell forward.
Sans chuckled and a pinch of pride welled up inside for the little guy.
The maggot's bones rattled—right, the cold!
Sans cradled and swaddled the baby bones once more, but the hissing hadn't let up.
Hisssss.
Damn, what a creepy n' cute little bastard!
With little warning, it sprung from the sheets like a nut popped from a shell. The maggot seemed keen on acting on its hissing fit and it grabbed onto San's bare ribcage. Its legs dangled uselessly but its grip was tight—angry
"The hell kid?! Let go!"
The maggot's grasp was uncomfortable on his bare bone. Unconsciously, his magic flared.
His soul palpitated in his ribcage and his marrow ran cold—not liking the maggot in such close proximity.
Sans grabbed at the brat, pulling; but, both its hands were hooked firmly around his ribs. With patience Sans never knew he had, he pried it loose and regarded it with some disdain.
He held the kid away from him, still not fully believing what he had discovered. He hadn't found a stash of gold, or some fancy surface trinkets—no, he found a fricken' baby bones!
It wasn't a stray puppy, it wasn't some sentient fungus, or a ghost!
Nope, the universe gave him a fellow skeleton!
While Sans was mentally distracted, the maggot began to climb up the ribs as if it was a set of monkey-bars.
When it reached his clavicle, Sans expected it to rest its head like before; but, it didn't. It swiveled it skull and sniffed the air, looking for something.
Sans hoovered his hands around it, afraid it would fall.
Then the maggot did something crazy!
Creak!
The maggot twisted headfirst and buried into his collarbone—pushing its way down into his ribcage like some kind of parasite!
"Ahhhhh-hell!" A hand smacked down to where the maggot had been—as if it had been a mosquito set on sucking his marrow.
It hurt. Oh stars the burrowing had hurt! The maggot had fractured the site just slightly.
His claws scratched at his collarbone and some marrow came back.
Sans never did have dense bones. That was more the Boss's forte.
The maggot hung inside the ribcage now, inches from the white core of his soul.
San stiffed and readied his hands to snatch the kid out at any sign of aggression.
He wasn't about to underestimate an attack from such an angry and hissy little enemy.
Surprisingly, the maggot settled down, looking mighty comfy so close to his soul. It reached out a tiny hand and touched the core.
Instantly, Sans felt a connection! His breath hitched and his eyelights went cross-eyed.
The sensation was so foreign, so strange—he couldn't even begin to describe it!
It wasn't painful, not even uncomfortable! But the result wasn't anything he would welcome.
The maggot's touch had brought on a spark of magic and warmth imbued his bones. Sans was sitting up on his knees, his arms stuck out to the sides as a weird sensation intensified in his soul.
The maggot reached out with its other hand, letting go. It didn't fall but instead floated around the pulse of the core.
Kreeeee..!
The noise was so small, Sans almost missed it.
Kre kre kre.
The baby bones had forgone its previous hissing for what Sans could only interpret as little sounds of joy.
Kre kre kre!
A genuine smile stretched onto Sans's normally tense grin. His eyelights shown brighter and whiter as he relaxed.
He awkwardly hugged his ribcage as the kid floated inside. He wanted to cuddle and to hold the maggot, but didn't dare interrupt…whatever the hell was happening!?
As weird as the set up was it felt completely right. His instincts gave only positive signals and Sans slowly began to chuckle as any absurdity about the situation was realized.
Eventually, the light from his soul dimmed, falling back into its original, dull glow.
Suddenly, Sans felt exhausted and he fell forward, catching himself with his hands.
His vision grew blurry. Dribbles of magic charged sweat and drool condensed.
With a thud, Sans was pulled back asleep.