Full Title:

Sans Fucking Dies, But There Are Some Air Bags Nearby, So It's All Good; Great, Actually. No, He Doesn't Truly Die. In Reality, He's Just Got Some Cool Bruises He Can Show Off... If Only He Didn't Have Superman-Themed Bandages All Over His Bones.

• • •

"Y'know," Sans says, offering his hand before you begin going down the stairs. "That type of fear's usually solved by the time a kid turns seven." Your surroundings shake and your body wobbles as you try to take your first step. "Did something happen for you to develop it at your age?" His question feels too personal, though you can't deny he's bringing up a topic you hadn't considered until today. "Have you met any monsters before me?" he asks, still waiting.

Left with no other choice, you take his hand and suppress a shudder at the feeling of his bones against your skin. "I don't think so," you reply. It's already much better to have some support, so you suck it up and look away from the skeleton. "Or... Not that I'm aware of. I was just taught about your kind being more… wild, compared to humans."

"How long ago was the last time you took a course on that?"

"Well…"

You hum as you think back on your college days.

Any type of education related to monsters was a rare opportunity, with what the topic being labelled as a myth until Frisk proved humanity otherwise.

"I graduated around three years ago, so around then. We were taught about how they're… much more rational than children's stories made them out to be. And I think we even reached a chapter where it talked about how human and monster weddings used to be a thing."

"Then it can't be 'cuz of your education, can't it? If you learned that much, you shouldn't feel as scared as you do. There has to be somethin' else making you react like this." He laughs. "Or are you gonna go ahead and admit you've got a fear only seven-year-olds usually have?"

You squeeze his hand tight enough to hear his bones complain.

"I'd rather not talk about that," you state, squeezing his hand even tighter. "It's… It's just not something I can say out loud right now."

"Fair enough," he says, huffing. "Sorry."

"It's fine." You look at your feet as you walk down the stairs. "But I can't remember any event where I could've met with a monster before you."

He stays quiet for a few steps.

"What about," Sans adds, breaking the brief period of silence. "And this is gonna sound corny, but hear me out…" He breathes in. "What if it's a metaphorical monster?"

"Ooh." You look toward him. "Like some kind of trauma, you mean?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"Then, no."

You giggle, pull your hand back, and hold on to the railings instead.

"I barely know you, so I'm not about to share any secrets with you yet."

His brow furrows, and his irises lock with your eyes the second you look back at him.

"Yet?"

"Mhm."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You place a hand on your hip and continue walking, now without looking or holding on to anything.

"That I want for us to get to know each other better, duh."

Karma gets you off your high horse by making you almost trip on the stairs.

Grabbing onto the railings keeps you from tumbling down, though you still end up needing additional help.

Meaning, you grab Sans by the collar and end up bringing him with you.

Out of all the things you could need right now, it's certainly not coming face-to-face with a living skull. It's like having your life flash before your eyes, except there's the Grim Reaper present in every part of the slideshow. Like a flipbook jumpscare you created for yourself and one you really shouldn't be so shocked about, taking into account you let go of his hand and proceeded to go against everything he warned you about before leaving the bedroom. You don't know how you're still alive, and frankly, you'd rather you weren't. Not only are you being clumsy as all hell, but then you've also brought a victim with you – one that's hanging on tight just as much as you are to him.

"Scared the hell outta me, damn." You wonder whether it's irony or karma that's forcing you to end up like this with him. "Why'd you let go of my hand? God, you're stubborn."

That's the first thing he says as the moment of fright fades. He's still hugging you, and you're still hugging him, but that's besides the point. There are bruises already showing on his bones – bruises you could've much likely prevented had you not shaken his hand away while going down the stairs, and had you watched your step just as he had warned you about, given your poor health. While you'd like to burst with a 'right back atcha', you're not in a good spot to be saying that right now. He'd dealt with you yesterday evening after you passed out at the Surface's one and only elementary school for monsters and humans, he tolerated you this morning while you were touching his hand with no permission whatsoever, he helped you face your fears by wearing a ridiculous costume, and now? Now, he's helped you break your fall without a prior warning. You simply saw the first thing you could grab on to, and it had to be the same person you'd previously shaken away from. In short, you've acted like an ungrateful cat after being helped from a dangerous situation.

"...I'm sorry."

"For what?"

You frown and meet his gaze.

"I keep doing things I don't really want to do. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you, so… Again, I'm sorry. I need to get a hold of myself before I keep doing stuff like this."

You reach a hand out and push through with a tiny smile.

"Are you hurt anywhere? Let me see."

He chuckles and fixes himself up a bit before taking your hand.

"I don't think a weak person should be lookin' after an injured one, but…"

His grip over yours strengthens as you lift him back to stable ground.

"If you're offering, who am I to decline?"

"Now that I think about it," he says, looking down while you busy yourself tending to a bruise on his ribcage. "This's actually good practice for ya, isn't it? Cuz I can feel your hands shaking like jelly, but you're still going outta your way to help me."

It's been around half an hour since the incident, and most of that time had passed by with you finding courage to treat his wounds – without dropping everything or spilling all the disinfectant in one go.

"Um…"

And now, you're faced with the obstacle to touch places where you normally wouldn't touch a stranger, this being his chest. With his shirt lifted to his shoulders, you're met with pure bone, meaning you really shouldn't feel so anxious, but even then, you do. He's much different from a regular skeleton you would find in a science teacher's classroom – your own classroom, to be more precise. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the rest of his bones stay in place with each subtle movement he makes, and a faint warmth emanates from his entire body as you rub disinfectant, then place some bandages against each bruise. It's like the fear of seeing a bug with wings in a corner of the room, knowing it can lunge at you at any moment.

"Can I… treat that wound over there?" you ask, pointing at his clavicle. "I, um, would need to get a bit closer for that."

He nods, giving you the permission you need without a single word on his part.

You wonder if he's doing that on purpose, though it does admittedly help with feeling less nervous: having him instruct you without any precise tone in his voice to make you worry about this or that. It's simply his gaze looking as it always had since first meeting him: calm and collected. The beat of his soul can be heard with how quiet everything else is and how close you are, yet you can't exactly see where it is – or find it where you would expect it to be, at least. There are just bones to look at for miles around.

"You can't see my soul unless I willingly show it to ya," Sans says, grinning. "That's one thing that's different about the Surface. Back home, if ya wanted to fight with someone, then that was a different story." He pauses to lean forward when you have trouble doing that yourself. "Frisk should be able to explain how things worked down there, though I can also tell you about it, if you wanna know." His gaze falls on your hand as it touches his clavicle, fingers brushing with the bruise as you rub some disinfectant on it, then further more when you place a bandage over it. "For starters, had I taken this much damage down there, it would've likely counted as you killing me, even if it wasn't on purpose. Now that we're here, though… Welp, you can see for yourself."

"...You stated I'm weak, and yet you say you would've died from falling down the stairs?"

"Cuz that's a different kind of weak. Yours is more on the biological and psychological side of things. Mine's more related to magic."

The word 'magic' brings about the flick of a light switch in your mind, and you're capable of distracting yourself from touching bones to ask, "Weren't humans once able to use magic?"

He nods again, though this time, he says, "Yeah, and there's a chance some folks up here might still have a lil hidden in them." His hand lands on your wrist, and concern reveals itself on his tone. "Hey... Look at me for a sec."

Forced to stop at a bruise on his arm, you're left with little space between you, around six inches of distance keeping you away from each other.

"What's wrong?" you ask, flinching at his hand holding yours.

"I'd love to talk some more, but you're starting to feel cold again. Please, look at me. I ain't gonna bite ya."

You take a breath, let it out, and lift your gaze higher to meet with his.

Surprisingly, he looks away as soon as you make eye contact.

"And, uh… Stand up."

You raise an eyebrow, though it then hits you as you assess your current situation: him now having literal high ground with you kneeling in front of him, and your body almost pressed against his. Message received, you stand up and sit on the couch next to him. Then, you shift so that you're looking at him instead of the television, its toned down action sounds from the old film playing having become background noises since a long while ago. All other sounds belonging to nature and traffic drown your ears as you acknowledge your surroundings again, and you feel your heart race as he scoots closer to you. He's looking at you like there's something bothering him beyond your health: body stiff, irises shaky, and grin tense. And though you're aware he's still a stranger to you, there's no doubt he's looking and acting like he's got something he desperately needs to let out.

"Frisk's gonna tell you stuff about us that'll probably be a big shock to ya, but I say this in the kindest way possible," he begins, taking a breath similar to yours: tight and heavy. "I don't think you're ready to do that yet, and there's a possibility you're gonna hate me for reasons beyond that uncomfortable feeling you say you have whenever you're near a monster."

You can feel your forehead scrunch up as you think his words through.

Considering you fainted not long after seeing Frisk for the first time in a while, you've had no chance to ask them about their experience at the Underground. So far, you've only heard likely exaggerated stories from other people and more probable situations from the news. Most of what you've learned can be condensed to one sentence: They treated monsters kindly, despite all that they went through. 'Despite all that' could mean many things, yet one thing you remember your ex-husband saying was that the Monster King had ordered monsters to kill humans. Having that revealed had duplicated your guilt and overall negative view of yourself, though he then tried to help you out of that cycle by stating they had come out of that journey with plenty of friends, various acquaintances, and scarce enemies.

"And judging by that look on your face, I can already see you've got an idea of how it was down there and what your kid went through, so-"

Panic flooding your chest, you find it impossible to breathe or say anything without it hurting.

And your response is to simply find support the best way you can – the way you're most accustomed to: physical contact.

"Please, let's…"

You hug him, chest pressing against his skull now that you're sitting at the same level as him.

"Let's just leave this for another time, alright?" Tears sting your eyes, prompting you to blink and sniffle against the top of his skull. "Thank you for being so earnest with me, but…" You sigh, pushing some tension off your body. "You're right. I'm weak, and I think I'm gonna need some more time to recover before I… accept this new reality." A short period of silence passes as you consider whether you should bare yourself to him or not. "So, with that said, could you help me with that, please? I'll reward you however you want afterward. Money, shelter, passport procedures… You name it."

He hugs you back, hands resting on your lower back.

"However I want?"

You nod and close your eyes.

*Knowing he's hugged you back fills you with…

Warmth.