Me is stoopid. Me forget can remove chapter and post as diff doc. Me so stoops.

Also, 'Alexandra' doesn't have to be ambigious, right? 'She' is just labelled as a 'cousin'. Also the reason why the burger sounds glorified is for one, obvious dark reasons, and two, I just think Grillby would serve higher quality food to his, not only his loyal customers but to his friends, at his own bar. He's a fair guy.

You would have glanced around, if you hadn't already known it would be a completely futile effort. With your eyes closed and eyepatch in a little, cloth bad hanging off your jeans and all. There was other stuff in there as well, but while you wore your famous striped sweatshirt, casual jeans, and military boots... the bag didn't seem out of place by any noticeable means.

"Hey, kiddo. I hope you're still up for a humerus evening. Tibia honest, I'm glad you're still waiting. You're probably chilled to the bone by now, so lets get goin' before you start coffin... or else we might need one," Sans chuckled. You openly giggled. Sans' puns... you would never get tired of. Even if they were overused or old.. they were still funny to you. Thigh-slappin' hilarious. He had a somewhat relieved smile on his face, just a bit of worry fading out from his skull... though couldn't see that and all. He took you by the hand and started leading you off to what you assumed to be one of his infamous 'shortcuts', A.K.A. several rips in space and time he found and used to help him be the lazy man he was now. Subconsciously you tightened your grip on his hand. At surface is felt cold, or at least it should, but at the same time it was comfortably warm. Like the fireplace at Toriel's house back in the Ruins.

A short but semi-severe wave of nausea and dizziness passed over you. He really did use a shortcut, then, and having your eyes closed only served to upset your already uncomfortable stomach a bit more. Then, the lively sound of chatter and silverware filled your eyes, the thick smell of grease permeating the air filled your nose, and the warm atmosphere you had come to associate with one place surrounded you. You were at Grillby's already. Hues or red and orange shone through your eyelids, replacing the normally present darkness of your eyelids.

Sans led you over to a barstool and you figured he sat beside you when you heard the seat creak and swivel. If you didn't know better, there should have been a whoopee cushion there, but you didn't bother questioning it. If you would at all, that would be for another time. A physical warmth, unlike the atmospheric one present, flickered across your front face the sun with your back to the moon making your back feel a little chilly in comparison, and confirmed the suspicion you had of Grillby himself having drawn near.

"Hey Grillbyz. My usual, and... Frisk, you alright with a burger?" You nodded vigourously. Better than the crappy meals served at school - when Papyrus got in and became excited, though not perfectly edibly, it greatly improved the quality of some of the food.. but there was only so many types he could make and there was only one of him and at least four other cafeteria workers - and the occasional snack or fruit cup you'd quietly consume along with a soda or a water - and thus you were excited to have a meal. Grillby's, nonetheless, already tasted amazing enough on its own. Comparison could only improve or ruin. In this case, it would be improving. Your stomach happily agreed with you, though you noted with a bit of nostalgia - why, it was just food, one would say - that you would have to later.. deposit it in the toilet. And not the natural waste. Rather in half-digested form coming out the same way it went down. As much as you hated it, your father would be extremely unhappy if he realized anything of this sort was going on. He'd first worsen your normal punishment, akin to when it was Papyrus' birthday, then physically force you to deposit it.

You felt much better about it if you did it - that didn't make it any less revolting, almost enough to make you retch on its own - rather than him. But for now, you would gratefully enjoy the food. Sans drank ketchup at your side, and from the smell you assumed he also had gotten a burger. You could also smell another one in front of you, the steam gently caressing around your face, only serving to nourish the growing anticipation in your gut and warm you up just a bit more. You heard Grillby's shoes tip-tap away, but it felt like you were being watched. It's warm but you feel cold inside.

"You gonna eat your burger or what, kiddo?" You heard a hollow-ish, dulled thud, perhaps from a piece of plastic, and a slightly creak. Okay, know you knew there were eyes on you. Well, eyesockets. And sadly enough, those eyesockets were owned by one of your friends. You nodded again and picked up the food, careful not to touch the still warm meat, lest you accidentally burn on the bread slices' contents. You blew on it a little until you deemed it safe to experimentally put into your mouth. You bristled at little at the new warmth travelling down your esophagus and now sitting in your stomach, practically radiating the same warmth. You were more than eager to sink your teeth into it a second time.

Sans was glad as he watched you, going back to his ketchup. You had always seemed a bit thin to him, though he had no other humans to compare the image to until they were finally freed to the surface.

It wasn't until you had just about finished half the delicious article of foodwhen you felt like you were hit by a freight train, though the reality wasn't really much better. You turned to Sans and held up an index finger in a sort of 'wait a moment' signal, then pointing towards what you assumed to be the door, directly opposite of the bar you faced.

"Ya need some fresh air, kiddo?" You nodded. "Mmkay. I get it. It can be a bit stifling in here at times. Though I wouldn't know, I don't have the lungs or the guts." Not his best one, but you giggled anyway, easily seeing what he meant by that. He hopped off his seat and took you by the hand yet again, leading you over to the front door. Not even half a minute passed when you were pulled in front of him, almost to collide with a door. "I'll wait in here. Grillby's watchin' our stuff, take your time." Once again your nodded - a crick was starting to form in your neck, or maybe it was just a little ache - and went outside. The warmth was quickly replaced with a comfortable coolness. You dared a peek through your left eye to see the sun slowly setting. The exterior of Grillby's held almost no difference whatsoever to the old one. The most noticeable thing at most was that it was a bit larger now, perhaps made to accomodate more patrons.

But that wasn't your current concern. Your determination slowly wore thin, and as that continued on you either had to renew that or rely on your endurance. Which wasnt the strongest thing. It was better was a backup plan. From the little parcel at your side you pulled and smoked yet another cigarette that week, your count per day slowly increasing, likely to eventually match the amount before you fell. Whenever you'd tap off some ashes or lightly brush the butt of it against the wall you'd make sure it was well scattered. Every so often you'd cough into the crook of your arm, quickly expelling smoke from your nose and mouth. Truly, the sword you hold in your hand is the same that had pierced your chest. Ten minutes passed with three or four more, when Sans called from inside.

"Kid, you okay out there? I know I said I'd wait but our foods' getting cold." You frantically tossed the cigarette as far as you could without really thinking and waved your hands around to dissipate the heavy stench as much as possible, to yield little positive result. From your parcel you pulled a little spray-bottle meant from perfume. Where it once held an appealing aroma to improve appeal, sat air freshener that was supposed to smell like lavender but instead burned your nostrils with the overdone smell. Regardless you sprayed it on yourself at random, easily masking the smoky... smoke. You felt lightheaded and for a moment lost your balance but quickly steadied yourself, before putting the bottle away and shutting your eyes, opening the door and coming back inside.

Sans didn't say anything but took you by the hand and brought you back to your seats where the rest of the meal awaited patiently. However, the once warm lump in your stomach now sat uncomfortably, not unlike the cinnamon bunny the prior week when you returned to the house. You finished it anyway, but your stomach now felt tight. After you caught Sans' attention a few minutes later, you made the same signal to him as you had done to Toriel at the party to tell him you had to leave. Instead of your hand, he clutched your arm in his skeletal hand, almost tight enough that you worried about getting the cloth stuck in his joints, but at the same time internally wincing at how he unknoingly squeezed healing bruises. This time it felt like your stomach had done a cartwheel - not great for your current situation - so you assumed he simply teleported this time rather than take a shortcut.

When you landed on solid ground, your feet hit... wood? It became odder when he guided your hand to a wooden door.

"I, eh, met your cousin. It's late so I figured it would be safer for ya if I dropped you off here instead of on a sidewalk. See ya later, kiddo." You waved goodbye as the odd sound of crinking glass that accompanied a warp went in one ear and out the other. You opened both eyes and slipped your eye patch back into its rightful place.

Sans was right. It's getting late; not that you didn't already know that. If you had to guess, you'd say it was a few after seven. His car sat in the road, pulled right up to the mailbox and garbage can separating the house from the sidewalk. You knew he'd be pissed - he probably already is - but you knew you had to go inside. With light and careful steps you treaded into the house. A TV blared from his bedroom, and from the kitchen you could see his door, down the hall and to the left. His bed was left of the door, out of your sight and you out of his, but you could see a little bit of the TV. It was some kind of news channel, but you never cared much for it. You were never allowed to watch TV anyway.

In the sink was the messily and poorly made remains of a meal he had likely tried to make himself. Around half of it was eaten so you assumed it must have been at least a bit edible, but he'd still be mad anyway.

You quietly slipped into your room without gaining his attention and straight into the bathroom, where the burger found what was far from its final resting place after a few unpleasant attempts, leaving your mouth burning with the taste of stomach acid. When you were finally done, you no longer heard the TV but instead saw his large frame standing in your bedroom, staring in at you through open bathroom doorway. You didn't know how long he had been standing there - and it reminded you a lot of, say, a horror game - but you knew you were in for a bad time. Pun not intended.

Sans quietly stepped over to where a cigarette lay in the grass a few feet from the entrance to Grillby's, only half of a whole, little ashes sticking to the wall like chalk. The filter was still a little wet, but the smoldering tobacco had long since been put out. It only let out a few ocassional ghostly wisps. He drawled out a long sigh, picking it up and holding it between his own fingers, though with no intention of trying it by any means.

"Why, Frisk?"

Word Count: 2,183

Sorry for the wait guys. Hope this suffices.