It was always on a Monday morning that he found something new in his pocket.
Sans stretched out his arms as he woke, kicking away the rolled up blanket from his bed. As if by rote, he dug one hand into the pocket of his hoodie that he virtually never took off. (He liked sleeping in layers). There was the familiar crinkling of paper where he liked to take notes on, fingers trailing along the edges, and the imprint of familiar writing. He gripped the paper – and something else.
Papyrus, meanwhile, was already knocking rabidly on the door, threatening to punch a hole right through it. Which had actually happened at least a dozen or so times. "BROTHER, YOU'VE BEEN SLEEPING FOR 13 HOURS STRAIGHT. I AM STARTING TO THINK YOU ARE DEAD."
Sans yawned widely, cracking his jawbone with a satisfying clack. He rubbed the sleep out of his eye sockets. "nah, bro. just busy working."
"NO YOU'RE NOT."
Sans chuckled as he trudged across his room, gingerly stepping around the treadmill, and narrowly avoiding the self-sustaining trash tornado, where the pizza slices from last week's dinner had now joined in. When he finally opened the door, his right hand stayed within his pocket, keeping his objects secured. "so, what brings you here?"
Papyrus had his arms crossed, his elbows quivering, ready to knock out an eye or two with his twitchy movements. All on accident, of course. Papyrus always felt bad about hurting someone.
"REALLY, SANS! YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR WORK AGAIN. IF WE MISS CAPTURING A HUMAN, I'M BLAMING IT ON YOU."
"relax, bro. I'm just bone-tired today."
Cue the incoherent screaming. Papyrus stomped his booted foot on the ground. "WHAT A TERRIBLE WAY TO START THE MORNING."
"come on, that was a good one."
"YOU TOLD ME THAT SAME JOKE EVERY MORNING FOR THE LAST THREE WEEKS."
"and it gets funnier each time."
"I'LL DISOWN YOU THIS TIME. I MEAN IT."
Sans laughed at that, and was tempted to bring out his trombone for some of the usual pranks of musical agony, but it was probably wise not to test Papyrus' very tame threats. Not when he was being such a good sport.
After the usual arguments over leaving his pet rock uncared for, and how his sock by the television was starting to fuse with the floor, both brothers finally left the house, and were greeted to snowfall and darkness. Sans trudged through the deep banks, the instant sogginess of his slippers not bothering him. Papyrus was already yammering away about what kind of puzzles humans might like. Maybe crosswords? Well, it wasn't word searches, that was for sure. And can Sans stop trying to hand those out at his sentry station? It might not be so bad if he didn't charge people for those puzzles, but the little monster kid was so gullible, that he really believed the word search was different each time. Papyrus could not understand the child's taste in puzzles. Truly not a refined one. He certainly needed a role model to sway him from such a dark path in life.
Sans mentally counted the stash of gold he had made on his repeat customer. "okay, bro. i won't sell them at my regular station." Just the one at Waterfall, where the kid also liked to hang out. And the Hotland one. People liked puzzles with his hot dogs. Who knew?
"GOOD. FLOWEY SAID HE'S SEEN BETTER ANYWAY."
Sans blinked, but kept walking. "everybody's a critic."
Papyrus insisted on walking with him all the way to his usual spot, insisted on seeing him hard at work, which really included of Sans sitting down and not already nodding off. Once satisfied, Papyrus waved to him goodbye for five minutes straight, walking backwards before finally hitting a tree and running away, thinking it was a human that had assaulted him while his guard was down. His booming voice was soon lost to the silence of Snowdin, which was thick and lodged into one's skull like wads of cotton. It had a tendency to do that. Though Sans personally compared the sensation to fluffy blankets that covered up your ears. Well, if you had ears anyway.
And that thought was almost enough to make him fall asleep again, the snow falling around him, sinking into his bones, enough to give his fibula a sheet of frost. But his eyelids wouldn't sink, and the silence was more invasive then inviting right now.
Just like today, his brother had been telling him some things about his new friend.
Sometimes, when no one else was around, a flower would appear to Papyrus and whisper to him. Akin to sweet nothings, or little secrets between besties. Flattery, advice, encouragement.
Predictions.
Sans then took out the items from his pocket. Snowflakes drizzled on his notes, printed with a nearly unreadable scrawl, only known to Sans personally. Papyrus had tried once, and it had given him a headache for hours. Sans saw new pages that he didn't remember writing the other day, and looked over them carefully. At times, he saw little drawings too. Some of himself, which were really just an egg-looking thing in a blue jacket, and Papyrus, all pointed edges tacked on carefully and with nice detail. At the corner, there would be an innocent sketch of a flower, with a penciled in happy face. Papyrus had noted how Sans got the likeness of his flower friend without even meeting him once.
He pulled out the next item from his pocket. A torn vine, its shade a dark green, with wicked red thorns all over its sides. It was coated in fine, white dust.
He had felt this before.
He kept a pile of such things in his basement, things that did not exist in this timeline. The temporal shift between different pockets of space didn't always make his souvenirs so stable. Occasionally, it would take a while for them to materialize in this timeline, and sometimes they'd simply never show up. It was a gamble for him, but sometimes he won his prize. Though maybe he'd have the redefine what exactly 'winning' meant in this situation. At least it was better than keeping a simply tally of the lost futures.
But it was always on a Monday morning that he'd get his prize, if he could. That was at least his one, personal constant, despite the many variables. Sans would investigate it more if it actually meant something.
In his basement, those items he could bring back lay locked in specially-crafted drawers. A shattered teacup, a storybook about snail princes and princesses, and a grand cloak with Papyrus' name on it, just to name a few. The only thing he kept with him at all times was his notes, and only after certain adjustments to the benign paper to withstand time's many fluctuations.
He gripped the vine between his phalanges. Looks like he'd add another to the pile.
"back to square one, huh?"
He turned to his left slightly, seeing the shadow of something far off. It was hard to tell what it was. But it vanished under the snow, like a rat that had been much too close to the light.
Sans put the torn vine back in his pocket. Heh, weird.
He probably should be more careful this time, but it's hard to learn from something that hadn't actually happened yet. Time loops. Gotta love 'em.
After ten minutes of pure slacking off, Sans got up, heading straight for Grillby's for lunch. At least, that's what his first thought was, but the shadow behind him was not very good at being subtle.
"bro's probably hungry, too," he said. It wasn't good to leave him alone for very long.
The shadow moved around him, waiting. Maybe he should talk with them. Maybe he should let them know that, hey, no hard feelings. But he wasn't the best at lying, despite popular opinion.
He felt them hesitate.
Maybe that was a good thing?
Better not push it though.
He turned into a copse of tall trees, feeling the familiar hum run through his skull, like a chain saw cutting through his cranium. The world flattened, lost color, and soon he was gone, the click of darkness engulfing everything before reaffirming themselves back into reality.
The shadow lost him immediately, standing there, wilted among the snow, a lone thing that waited for different factors to change the outcome. For something better, whatever that meant.
But Sans left them with a little parlor trick. Because they both might as well make the best of it.
An echo of his words, floating back to the shadow, floating through the snowfall, sifting through the elements to make themselves known.
"catch ya later, buddy," it said.
And that was it.
We're at the end!
Thank you to all who've stuck with this. Any extra feedback is always appreciated.
I'll be writing an extra scene about what happened between Sans and Toriel in this story, if you wanna keep an eye out for it. It'll be posted separately. Exciting?!
Until next time!