Angels in the Underground

by Kat A. Klysmic

200 years ago, angels were banished from the surface world after the commander of the heavenly host, Asgore, declared war on mankind. Now, young Frisk has fallen into the Underground and must conquer the angels' seven trials if she, and the angels themselves, are to have any hope of escape. Along the way she meets Sans, a wounded seraphim who agrees to guide her through the trials.

3. Sleepover Paradigm

AN: First off, so sorry this took longer than anticipated to post! As you may (or may not) know, 'Breath of the Wild' came out at the beginning of the month and I spent a good week or two doing nothing but play that in my free time, so my writing suffered considerably 8'D Apologies. My sister and I just beat it tonight, though, so that's that out of the way ahaha.

Secondly, thanks so much to everyone that has been leaving me reviews! They make me so happy, you have no idea! Gold stars for you!

Thirdly, in regard to the question of length I posed at the end of last chap, it seems like all but a few are down with me writing whatever length suits me, so we'll go with that. That said, the Third Trial is turning out much bigger than anticipated thanks to the stuff going on before and during it, so it's getting split up so I don't wind up dropping a 60k chapter on you guys XD Even I think that's a little excessive, lol.

Because this chapter is so long I've decided to forgo the usual page breaks and use 'XXXX' instead, so if you have to stop reading partway through the chapter you can just do a find for XXXX and be able to jump chunks to find where you were faster. I'll probably keep doing this in future chapters too since I doubt they'll be getting much shorter, lol.

Finally, huge shout-out to my sister, nighttimelights for editing for me! She's actually edited all three chapters, I'm just terrible and completely forgot to credit her. I'm sorry!

Remember to follow my fandom tumblr (jolieburnsinfandomhell) for updates, sneak peeks, and fanart! I've been doing a lot of fanart lately, as well as a wing comparison chart for Sans and Pap!

Please drop a review if you enjoy! They really help me keep writing, and only take a moment to leave! I mean, you're getting free entertainment here, you can't take 30 seconds out of your day to let me know if you liked it or not (bonus points if you let me know WHAT you liked about it, haha)? Come on, man.

Chapter Three

Third Trial (pt1) / Sleepover Paradigm

"How long do you think he's gonna sleep?" Frisk asked as she and Sans both watched the slumbering archangel still sprawled out on the snow covered ground before them.

"dunno, but much longer and i'm leaving him here," Sans answered with a snort as he leaned back on his hands and yawned. It'd been a good fifteen minutes now, and Frisk had long since made herself comfortable on his lap after complaining of the cold. Most of the clearing's snow was now focused in its center thanks to Papyrus' final attack, but the ground itself was still frozen and uncomfortable.

The idea of just carrying his brother back to the house crossed the seraphim's mind, but was quickly discarded. While Sans was more than strong enough, his long limbed little brother was an awkward armful for someone as short of himself. He'd wind up dragging more of Papyrus than he carried.

Fortunately, before Sans had to start coming up with makeshift sled ideas, Papyrus sat bolt upright with a gasp and nearly knocked his observers over with the sweep of one large red wing in the process.

"Pap!" Frisk exclaimed as she threw her hands in the air and grinned, unbothered by (though still sputtering a little at) the faceful of feathers she received. "Are you alright?" the girl asked as she scrambled off Sans' lap and felt her way along the archangel's wing until she found his shoulder, whereupon she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight until their cheeks mashed together comically.

A wry smile played across Sans' face as he watched the display of affection, though internally he too heaved a sigh of relief. "told you he was just tired, kid," he said.

"Yeah, well...it's good to know for sure," Frisk replied, wrinkling her small nose in his direction as Papyrus' arm automatically went around her in return.

"TIRED," Papyrus mused as he gathered his long legs under him, and then pushed himself to his feet, bringing Frisk with him until he ended standing with her perched on his arm like a child a third her age. "BEING TIRED IS AWFUL. THIS IS WHY I NEVER SLEEP."

Frisk laughed and held on tight as she suddenly rose several feet up into the air, though she rested in Papyrus' grip without complaint. She was either so relieved he was unharmed by their fight that she was willing to let it slide, or tired enough herself that she wanted to be carried for a change regardless.

"that makes zero sense, bro," Sans huffed lightly as he too got to his feet and stretched.

Papyrus ignored him and looked around. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"you lost," his brother answered with a shit-eating grin.

"I won!" Frisk said at the same time, one small fist punching the air.

"WHAT?!" Papyrus demanded, doing a double take between the two of them. "HOW CAN THIS BE? I, THE GREAT ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS, NEVER LOSE!"

"you used so much magic you burned yourself out and fell asleep," Sans said, smile less teasing and more commiserative now. "you couldn't go on, but the kiddo was still on her feet, so.."

"I won!" Frisk repeated, grinning from ear to ear. The archangel might have become upset had her next words not brought him up short. "I won and no one had to get hurt!"

Papyrus' eyes went immediately down to his brother, who tilted his head slightly to one side and arched a brow. The look didn't dare the archangel to question the girl so much as ask him if he was willing to hurt her for the sake of 'winning'. Papyrus' face contorted and he shook his head fractionally, clearly unwilling to do so.

"TRULY YOU ARE A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH, SMALL HUMAN," Papyrus declared. "I ADMIT MY DEFEAT."

The exchange had been brief enough that the girl didn't notice the pause in the conversation, for which Sans was grateful. "Thanks, Papyrus," she said, then reached up and carefully held his head in place so she could lean in and land a kiss on his cheekbone. "You should just call me Frisk, though, since we're friends now."

For once, Papyrus was speechless, though true to form his elder brother broke out into laughter at the orange hued blush that flared across the archangel's boney features.

"O-OH. VERY WELL, FRISK," the angel said, then smiled and laughed himself when she gave him a fond pat on the shoulder.

When Sans' laughter kept up, though, the girl twisted, then bent over sideways, forcing Papyrus to use his other hand to keep her from slipping off his arm. With unerring accuracy, Frisk planted a kiss on the top of Sans' head, making him sputter in surprise. "Thank you too, Sans."

The seraphim pushed the girl back upright before she slipped off his brother's arm all together and said, "yeah yeah, alright. no need to get sappy." He was smiling, though, and Frisk could hear it in his voice.

"So what now?" she asked curiously as she looped one arm around Papyrus' shoulders (or one of his shoulders, rather. They were quite broad compared to her slender arms.)

The archangel look thoughtful, then said, "WELL, UNDYNE RUNS THE THIRD TRIAL, AND SHE LIVES IN WATERFALL. YOU'LL HAVE TO GO THERE NEXT."

"we'll go back to our place for now," Sans interrupted, making Papyrus and Frisk both look down at him in surprise. "you hungry, kid?" the seraphim asked as he offered the girl's walking stick back to up to her.

"Ugh, only super hungry," the child answered vehemently as she sagged dramatically back against Papyrus' shoulder. "Like, literally all of the hungry."

Sans grinned. "that's a lot of hungry," he mused, then started walking towards the bridge.

"How long are we gonna stay at your house?" Frisk asked. "What's it like? Oh! Does this mean we're having a sleepover?" Her excitement only seemed to grow at this prospect and she bounced a little in Papyrus' grip. "Do you guys have movies? We could watch a movie and eat popcorn! And how about blankets? Last time I had a sleepover with my friends we made this giant blanket fort that took up Lizzie's entire living room!"

As Frisk rambled excitedly, the brothers shared a look. Sans' was all amusement accompanied by a grin, while Papyrus wore a puzzled frown. Finally, the girl in his arms was forced to stop for breath, affording him an opportunity to cut in and ask, "WHAT IS A SLEEPOVER, AND WHY WOULD YOU NEED TO MAKE A TENT INSIDE OF A HOUSE?"

Sans chuckled when Frisk gave his younger brother an affronted look for his ignorance and decided to keep his mouth shut. They were on the bridge now, and judging by the fact that Papyrus was crossing without a second thought, whatever puzzle was built into the thing wasn't something that activated automatically. Curious, the seraphim craned his neck to look down into the depths of the gorge for some hint.

Sure enough, though he couldn't make out details, there was the telltale hint of steel amongst the rocks that made up the cliff face. His smile dropping a little, Sans made a mental note to come back later for a closer look. Judging by the unhappy look Papyrus leveled in the same direction as they crossed, though, the seraphim had a feeling his brother might dismantle the thing entirely before he even had a chance.

"I can't believe you don't know what a sleepover is!" Frisk exclaimed, drawing both angels' attention back to her as the hand she currently held her stick in went to her hip, nearly clipping San's in the head.

"WHY?"

"Because they're the most fun thing ever! Don't you have friends?" she asked in an offhand manner, making Sans flinch inwardly.

"OF COURSE I DO!" Papyrus immediately said. "SO MANY FRIENDS! I AM, AFTER ALL, THE GREAT AND POPULAR ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS!"

Frisk opened her mouth to retort, and Sans could practically hear her reply before she'd even had a chance to say it.

'Then how come you've never had a sleepover?'

That was a question that would only lead to embarrassment for his brother, so before the girl could speak, he gripped her ankle lightly with one hand. The touch was enough to make Frisk pause and look down at him, head tilted to one side in silent question.

"what do you want for dinner?" the seraphim asked.

As Sans had predicted, the question was one that both of his companions gladly took hold of and ran with without so much as a second thought to the subject change.

"I WILL BE MAKING SPAGHETTI, OBVIOUSLY!" Papyrus declared, and Frisk grinned.

"I love spaghetti!" the girl chimed happily. "Grandma-" she began to say, then paused, her smile faltering. Both angels immediately noticed the change, and shared a concerned look. Before they could say anything, though, Frisk gave herself a shake and rallied, her smile only a little dimmer than it had been as she asked, "Can I help make it?"

"YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE SPAGHETTI?" Papyrus asked the little girl in his arms with some skepticism.

Frisk laughed. "Yeah! I mean, not like it's hard."

Sans turned his gaze pointedly away from his brother so the archangel wouldn't see how poorly he was masking a grin. He wanted so badly to shoot Papyrus a side-long glance, but a desire to keep the peace for the time being helped the seraphim reign in the urge.

Papyrus hummed thoughtfully, then answered, "VERY WELL, WE SHALL PUT YOUR SPAGHETTI KNOWLEDGE TO THE TEST!"

"Bring it on!" Frisk said and punched the air.

As they came closer to the village, the girl perked up noticeably on Papyrus' arm, head turning this way and that as she listened to the comings and goings of the angels that lived nearby. Both skeletons almost immediately became the subject of great interest to their peers, though none of them approached. A few did raise a hand in greeting to Papyrus, though, which the archangel returned in kind with his usual cheery grin and wave.

"You sure are popular, Pap," Frisk noted with a smile after the third greeting.

The archangel looked a little smug as he squared his shoulders and said "WELL OF COURSE. I AM THE KEEPER OF THE SECOND TRIAL, AFTER ALL."

Though his brother didn't notice as he chattered idly with Frisk, Sans' smile turned a little wry. Oh yes, the angels of Snowdin were always very polite to his brother. He was an archangel, after all, and that brought one a certain amount of respect whoever the individual. None of them crossed the line into what the seraphim would consider friends, though. Friendly acquaintances, sure, but never friends; much to what he knew was his brother's great disappointment in some of his lower moments. More than once Sans had wondered if this was, perhaps, his own fault. A flightless angel who was also a walking reminder of the great sin they had all been forced to commit was someone most went out of their way to avoid.

They were never unkind, of course, but most were uncomfortable in the seraphim's company, which was why he had taken to spending so much of his time in the forest or with Toriel. The Fall hadn't been his fault, but it hadn't been theirs either, so his constant search for solace in solitude benefited everyone involved.

Well, except Papyrus, maybe. Sans had thought his absence from Snowdin would make the others angels more likely to approach and befriend his brother, but apparently not.

The surge of relief the seraphim experienced when their home came into view surprised Sans. He'd missed it more than he realized, and his smile returned full force as he followed Papyrus and Frisk inside once the archangel had let the girl down and unlocked the front door.

"WELCOME TO OUR HUMBLE ABODE!" Papyrus declared, flinging his arms wide even as he veiled his wings. He dropped them almost immediately though when Frisk took several steps inside. "TAKE OFF YOUR BOOTS YOU TINY HEATHEN! THIS FLOOR IS CARPETED!"

Frisk froze mid-stride, snow covered boots already staining the carpet dark beneath her. "Oh, sorry!" she said, then promptly sat down in the middle of the floor and dragged off her boots. When they were free, she wiggled her socked feet with a happy sigh, clearly relieved to be free of them.

Grumbling a little, Papyrus pulled off his own boots and dropped them on the mat by the door, then took the girl's from her and placed them next to his. The size difference was almost comical to Sans as he kicked his own off with a chuckle.

"relax, bro. not like this carpet isn't an eyesore anyways," Sans mused as he stepped forward and gave Frisk a hand up off the patterned teal and purple carpet.

Frisk laughed and got to her feet. "Can I get a tour so I know where everything is?" she asked.

"OF COURSE! I DECORATED THE HOUSE MYSELF, SO THERE IS NO ONE BETTER QUALIFIED THAN MYSELF TO DO SO!" Papyrus said, then took her hand when she held it out to him with a smile, her stick already in the other, ready to guide her around any furniture.

Seeing he was hardly needed for the moment, Sans said, "you kids have fun. i'm gonna hit the shower. try not to wreck the place til i get out."

"Oh good," Frisk said with a sly smile. "I didn't want to say anything, but you kinda-"

The seraphim rolled his eyes and tugged the girl's flower crown down over her eyes before she could complete the sentence. "if you could look in the mirror right now you wouldn't be talking trash, kid, lemme tell you."

Frisk stuck her tongue out at him as she straightened her crown once more, but the seraphim only laughed and made his way upstairs while Papyrus took the girl in hand and started the tour.

Forgoing a detour at his own room, Sans headed directly for the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Finally alone, the seraphim glanced around and blinked. Every surface, porcelain or otherwise, practically glittered under the row of lights set over the medicine cabinet. His brother must have been 'boredom cleaning' in his free time between working on puzzles again. This little habit of Papyrus' was the number one reason Sans had taken to locking his bedroom door. There had been one too many instances of coming home to find all of his things rearranged and 'put away' in places he couldn't find them again, and that had been that.

Still, there were worse habits for a roommate to have, Sans supposed.

The seraphim started the water, then stripped and climbed in, flinching a little at the sudden rush of warmth across bones that had gotten far too accustomed to the cold. After a moment, though, Sans adjusted to the temperature change and relaxed under the stream, head bowed as water coursed over his skull and down his spine to drip between his empty ribs. Scapulae long held taught in an almost aggressive slouch eased and shifted when Sans rolled his shoulders and straightened his back with a soft cacophony of pops and cracks as vertebrae were forcefully realigned. Doing so didn't technically add much to his overall height, but it did give the seraphim the appearance of being a few inches taller than he normally presented himself.

The effect was lost almost immediately when Sans dropped his shoulders back into their customary slump before he set to washing himself, though. A few more minutes were spent lingering in the warmth, mind comfortably blank in that unique way that only occurred while in the shower, when all Sans' senses were drowned out by the rushing water and sauna-like heat.

Eventually, though, the angel turned off the water and snagged his towel from the nearby rack, grateful that Papyrus' cleaning habits included a penchant for restocking all the towels Sans so rarely remembered to return to their place. Once he was dry, the seraphim glanced at the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor and decided he might as well find himself some clean ones since he'd gone through the trouble of showering. He might not sweat, but that didn't mean the forest he so frequently wandered didn't inevitably leave their mark on his clothing.

Sans gathered the lot up under one arm after wrapping his towel around his waist, then stepped out into the hall where he was immediately accosted by the sound of shouting from downstairs, and the heavy scent of smoke.

"papyrus!" he bellowed and dropped his bundle of clothes where he stood as dread kicked his reflexes into high gear. Without a second thought, the seraphim charged straight forward and vaulted the railing that overlooked the living room below and landed in a crouch with one hand firmly holding his towel in place at his hips. Sans sprang forward and slid to a stop in front of the entrance to the kitchen, out of which thick, gray smoke was billowing.

Bright, pinprick eyes quickly took in the scene before him, and Sans bit back a swear as the fire that had broken out on the stove roared higher than ever while Papyrus fanned it frantically with a towel and Frisk tried in vain to reach the sink.

A stream of Enochian rushed out of Sans like the roar of a surging tide as he waved one hand sharply before him, prompting water to pour out of the ceiling with the force of a tropical thunderstorm. A sharp cutting motion brought the sudden, torrential downpour to a stop and left every surface in the kitchen soaked, Papyrus and Frisk included.

"SANS, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR? I HAD IT UNDER CONTROL!" Papyrus sputtered as he wiped the water from his face and grimaced down at the sodden lump his paper mache costume had been turned into. "MY BATTLE BODY!"

"yeah right," Sans scoffed as he entered the kitchen. "you're lucky that battle body of yours didn't catch fire," he pointed out sharply as he examined at the mess they had made. It looked as though Papyrus had been trying to cook the noodles in the box again, a la Undyne's preferred recipe. There was another angel he'd be having words with when he saw them again… "you alright, kid?" he asked Frisk, who was coughing and brushing her now soaked hair back out of her face.

"I swear I didn't do it," the little girl said as she pulled her flower crown from her head and mopped at her soot stained face with a sleeve.

"hah, i know," Sans said with a huff. "this mess has papyrus written all over it," he added as he reached out and absently helped the girl push some of the hair that had plastered itself to her cheeks back behind her ears. "you guys almost wound up like that one italian chef..."

"WHAT ITALIAN CHEF?" Papyrus asked, brow furrowed.

"the one that pasta way," Sans answered with a sly grin.

The archangel groaned and slapped his forehead with one boney palm while Frisk broke out in a fit of giggles. Sans grinned and straightened as he adjusted his towel while looking around at the mess of a kitchen. Well, so much for spaghetti.

"pap, you get changed and clean up this mess," Sans told his brother. "we'll go to grillby's for dinner."

Papyrus looked ready to mutiny at this turn of events. "BUT FRISK AND I WANTED TO MAKE PASTA."

Sans waved him off, "come on, bro, kid needs to eat, i need to eat, and i wanna do it sometime tonight without getting deep fried."

The archangel still looked ready to argue for a minute, but after taking another look around the kitchen, was forced to acquiesce that his brother was right. "OH VERY WELL. WE WILL TRY PASTA AGAIN LATER, FRISK."

Frisk turned her face up towards Pap and grimaced a little as she said "Only if I make the noodles!"

"FAIR ENOUGH," Papyrus agreed. "NOW GO TAKE A SHOWER, YOU ARE A MESS, AND YOU CAN'T GO TO GRILLBY'S IF YOU ARE A MESS."

"But I already had a shower!" Frisk objected as she held out her arms, sodden sweater dripping visibly.

Sans covered his mouth with a hand to muffle a snicker as Papyrus put his hands on his hips and bent at the waist to say, "NOT WITH SOAP YOU DIDN'T. NOW GO SHOWER OR YOU WILL SLEEP IN THE GARAGE." He pointed firmly out of the kitchen, and though Frisk couldn't see the gesture, she could guess what he was doing by the sound. She let her hands drop back to her side and sagged under his regard.

"Oh alright," she said with a sigh.

"come on, i'll show you how the shower works and find you something to wear until your stuff dries," Sans said kindly as he lead her out of the kitchen.

"GET YOURSELF SOME CLOTHES WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, SANS!"

"Oh my god, Sans, are you naked?!" Frisk exclaimed.

"i am not!" the seraphim countered hotly. "i've got a towel!"

"THAT IS PRACTICALLY NAKED. IT IS NAKED ADJACENT."

"oh, i'm sorry," Sans snarked over Frisk's sudden fit of giggles, "i guess i should have just let you two roast while i got dressed rather than rescue you from a fiery death in a towel."

The human reached out and patted his shoulder, still grinning. "Oh alright, Sans, I guess when you put it that way..."

"A NAKED HERO IS BETTER THAN NO HERO AT ALL, I SUPPOSE," Papyrus conceded with a hint of slyness in his smile.

"i'm not naked!"

An hour later, all three of them were clean, dry, and thoroughly dressed as they walked down the road towards Grillby's. Papyrus had seen to not only cleaning the kitchen, but making sure that Frisk's sodden clothing had gone through the wash before ending up in the drier. Sans had found himself some track pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a slightly less ratty blue jacket to wear than what he had been, though dressing Frisk had given him a bit of a pause. Eventually he'd decked the girl out in a pair of his basketball shorts (with the waist taken in by a safety pin), and a navy colored hoodie he'd dug out of the back of his closet. Despite him being two inches taller than her, tops, the piece of clothing hung to nearly her knees. It was baggy on him, but broad as he was, the seraphim filled it out much better than the human. Still, Frisk didn't seem bothered, and both angels thought she looked rather adorable, so that was the end of that.

"So what's Grillby's?" the girl in question asked as they walked, her cane tapping out the path in front of her as she walked between the two brothers.

"A DEN OF GREASE AND HIGHLY FLAMMABLE BEVERAGES," Papyrus answered.

"a bar-and-grill kind of place," Sans corrected with a huff of amusement. "mostly burgers and fries. you'll like grillby, i think."

Frisk grinned at these two disparate answers. "What kind of angel is he?" she asked curiously.

Papyrus looked thoughtful and made a little humming noise as he thought, clearly unsure of the answer, so Sans answered in his stead. "he's one of the dominions."

"AND THE BAR IS HIS DOMINION, SO IT WORKS OUT QUITE WELL ALL AROUND," Papyrus added brightly. Before he could add any more, though, the archangel glanced down at Frisk, brow furrowed as he asked, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

The girl jumped and guiltily snatched her hand back from Papyrus' flight pinions. Unlike Sans, the archangel kept his wings out at all times unless they were indoors, leaving them within easy reach of curious hands.

"Sorry," the girl said, blushing a little and looking awkward. "But they're so soft!"

"IT'S NOT POLITE TO TOUCH PEOPLE'S WINGS WITHOUT PERMISSION," Papyrus informed her, though did not sound upset, only warning for the child's own sake. "YOU'RE HUMAN, SO YOU WOULDN'T KNOW, BUT-"

Seeing the girl's blush only deepen as the archangel threatened to go into lecture mode on the ins-and-outs of angel etiquette, Sans unveiled his own wings and swept the good one forward to block Frisk from Papyrus' view with its luminous plumage. "here, kid, go to town," the seraphim said casually.

Frisk's head turned this way and that as she heard the familiar flutter of feathers and felt the warmth that radiated from his wing. Smiling, embarrassment forgotten, the girl reached up and out to run her fingers gently along his downy-soft feathers. Papyrus regarded Sans with some surprise, but his older brother paid him no mind.

It was strange enough to see Sans willfully unveil his wings these days, but to allow someone to actually lay hands on them was even stranger. An angel's wings were highly personal, and one generally only allowed their closest friends and family to touch them. Wing brushes and embraces among the hierarchy were signs of profound affection, and the sight of Sans wrapping his own protectively around Frisk brought Papyrus to a sudden realization. Since the archangel had first seen them together, Sans had been keeping the girl constantly on his right side; his uninjured side.

Watching the pair now, Papyrus wondered if his brother even realized he was doing it, or if the action was simply instinctual. Whatever the case was, the younger angel found himself even happier than he had been that Frisk had managed to 'beat' him in their battle. After so many decades, his brother was finally opening up to, and becoming close with, another person...something Papyrus hadn't been sure he'd ever see again after the tragedy that had befallen them two hundred years ago.

Now he just had to make sure that no one else managed to take Frisk from Sans…

Papyrus frowned to himself, concerned for the first time about Frisk facing Undyne in the third trial. Twenty-four hours before he would have been rooting for his fellow archangel all the way, but now? Now the prospect only filled him with dread.

"hey bro, you comin' or what?"

The archangel jerked slightly as he realized he'd paused at the bottom of the steps leading up to Grillby's. Sans and Frisk stood on the top step, looking back at him with quizzical expressions on their faces. The seraphim's wings were veiled once more in anticipation of entering - though again, he kept Frisk positioned safely at his right hand.

"YES OF COURSE, I WAS JUST… THINKING OF A NEW PUZZLE," the archangel lied and hurried up the steps after him, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"take a day off, man, you've earned it," Sans told him with a smile as they pushed their way in through the door and paused briefly to get the lay of the bar.

Things weren't exactly jumping inside, but there were several other angels scattered about the place eating and drinking. One of the long tables had been taken up by the dog-like principalities, all of whom still wore their armor and spoke mostly amongst themselves. A hush fell briefly over them as the arrival of the newcomers was noted, though conversation quickly resumed, no doubt with a change of subject.

Sans ignored them, and the other looks they got, and ambled over to the only open booth. He slid into it and settled himself in one corner so he could keep an eye on the room, one leg kicked up on the upholstered seat. Papyrus followed his brother's lead and gently guided Frisk into the seat opposite the seraphim and allowed her to climb in before seating himself. Sans wasn't the only one who could protect the girl, he'd decided. Neither of them truly expected trouble from the other angels, but both felt better with Sans keeping his eye on the room and Papyrus' bulk between Frisk and anyone that might mean her harm.

The archangel looked almost defiant as he settled himself into his seat, making Sans' smile widen as he noted precisely what it was his brother was doing. He did not comment, though, simply gave Papyrus a small nod of recognition, then raised a hand fractionally and caught Grillby's eye.

The dominion took a moment to finish serving another angel seated at the bar, then made his way towards their booth. When he arrived, Frisk blinked and asked, "Did it just get really warm in here, or is it just me?" She tugged absently at the neck of her borrowed hoody and turned first towards Papyrus, and then Sans, who was masking a grin with one hand.

"that's just grillby, kiddo. he's real hot stuff around these parts."

"SANS," Papyrus groaned and dragged one hand down his long face. He glanced up at the restaurant owner and said, "I AM SORRY, GRILLBY. I CAN'T TAKE HIM ANYWHERE, I SWEAR."

"Nothing I haven't heard before," the other angel mused in a pleasantly rough, smoky voice that Frisk would swear had an odd, crackling undertone she couldn't put a finger on. The bartender had a face that only those who knew him well could read with any success, but Papyrus could pick out a uniquely wry twist to the flames that made up Grillby's features as he informed Sans, "Losing your step, Your Lordship? I'm quite certain you used that same joke last month."

A flash of annoyance briefly crossed the seraphim's features at the dominion's epithet, but it was gone just as quickly. "you wound me, grillb'z. c'mon, you know i don't recycle puns," Sans insisted as his grin returned and he folded his hands behind his head.

The fiery angel gave a noncommittal hum and pulled out his notepad to take their order. Before he could ask, though, Frisk piped up curiously, "What's the joke?" her head tilted to one side as she waited to be filled in.

Grillby frowned at the girl, then glanced between Papyrus and Sans as though to ask if she were being serious. The seraphim silently waved his hand in front of his own eyes, then made a cutting motion to indicate her blindness. As he did so, Papyrus explained, "DOMINION GRILLBY IS QUITE LITERALLY MADE OF FIRE."

Frisk's mouth dropped open into a little 'o' of surprise. "Seriously?" she asked. Her brow furrowed as she processed this fact. "How come he hasn't burned his bar down then? Is it magic?"

"Of a sort," Grillby explained patiently for the child, flames brightening in a way that generally indicated a smile. "I don't burn anything I don't want to."

"Even me?" Frisk asked and reached around Papyrus to offer her slender hand to Grillby, a bright, eager smile on her soft features.

Sans tensed automatically, though not so anyone would notice. The lights of his eyes shrank fractionally as he watched Grillby, though his worry was unfounded. He knew as much, and the seraphim tamped down on his paranoia as he watched the bartender reach out to accept Frisk's hand, which he shook in greeting. There was no reason any one of the angels in here should want to get their hands on the human girl, Sans reminded himself firmly. No angel would dare lay hands on a trial goer; it wasn't just against the rules, it went against their own self interest if any of them hoped to ever escape the Underground…

"Wow, you're so hot!" Frisk exclaimed as she shook Grillby's hand. "But like… in a good way, especially since it's so cold outside," she added cheerfully. "I'm Frisk!"

"A pleasure," the angel said over Sans' sudden bout of immature snickering after a moment's pause. If his flames maybe burned a little brighter at her words, no one commented further on the matter. "Now, what can I get you?"

"cheeseburgers and fries all around, i think, grillb'z," Sans said as he relaxed back into his corner once more.

"Anything to drink?" the bartender asked as he made note of the order on his pad.

"usual for me," the seraphim said, then glanced at Papyrus in silent question.

"WATER, PLEASE," the taller skeleton answered primly.

Sans blew a loud raspberry at this, making Frisk giggle and push lightly on the archangel's shoulder.

"GROSS," Papyrus said with a sniff, but relented and said, "VERY WELL, CHOCOLATE MILK, PLEASE."

"Oh, me too!" Frisk said, bouncing excitedly in her seat at the prospect. Across from her, Sans rolled his eyes at the pair, but the smile he aimed their way was an indulgent one.

"Alright, it'll be out in a minute," Grillby said as he flipped his pad shut and then walked back across the bar, pausing at a few tables along the way to check on other customers.

Frisk tilted her head to one side and listened as the other angel left for a moment before turning her attention back to her companions. "What else do they serve here?" she asked curiously as she played absently with a coaster, spinning it like an oversized coin.

"just burgers and fries," Sans answered as he watched her catch the coaster when it toppled and then spin it again.

"IT'S ALL HE KNOWS HOW TO MAKE," Papyrus added with a light snort of amusement as he relaxed back into the booth, long arms crossed over the bony expanse of his chest. Beneath the table he stretched out his legs as far as they'd go, then crossed them neatly at the ankle.

This made the human at his side laugh. "Seriously?"

"WELL, I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW," the archangel admitted. "BUT IT IS THE ONLY KIND OF FOOD HE'S EVER SERVED SINCE HE FIRST STARTED SOME TIME AGO."

"never really thought to ask, myself," Sans said with a careless shrug. "they're good, so i'm not gonna complain."

A wistful expression crossed the human's face and she said, "I wish we served burgers and fries at the cafe. Then I could eat them every day!"

Papyrus grimaced at the thought of eating cheeseburgers on a daily basis. "THAT WOULD BE AWFUL. YOU'D GET SICK OF THEM IN ANY CASE."

"No way!" Frisk countered, scrunching her nose at the very concept.

Sans let them go back and forth on this matter for a minute before finally cutting in and changing the subject, "your family owns a cafe, kid?"

The little girl's face practically lit up at his question, making both angels blink. "Yeah!" she said, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I guess it's been in my family for ages, we've always owned it," the girl explained. "My mom and dad used to run it, but..." Frisk faltered here, though quickly pushed on. "But they, um- they died when I was a baby so grandma un-retired and came back to run it and raise me."

Her words had picked up pace as she spoke, fingers fiddling with her coaster, carefully shredding it into little pieces rather than spinning it now.

"I don't really remember my parents at all," Frisk admitted as Sans and Papyrus shared a worried look that she could not see, but could probably sense. "Grandma always took care of me and the cafe, even though she was super old. Everyone at the cafe used to joke that she was like the energizer bunny cuz she just keeps going," the girl said, smile brittle now, voice tight, her companions unable to do anything but listen.

The pieces of the coaster became smaller yet.

"I got sick when I was five and when I got better...I couldn't see anymore. Grandma...Even though I was so upset and scared, Grandma was always there for me. Even when I got mad and broke my first cane over the back of her favorite rocking chair, she let me and told me it was okay to get mad, just as long as tomorrow I picked myself up and kept going."

Big, fat tears rolled down the girl's cheeks, and Sans regretted ever asking about the cafe, though there was no way he could have possibly known what large emotions it would unleash from within her frail little body.

"frisk," the seraphim said, voice low and soothing as he sat up and leaned across the table towards her. "frisk-"

"I just-" the girl began, her voice going up an octave in her distress as she wiped furiously at her cheeks with the cuffs of her borrowed hoodie. The tears kept coming, though, so she resorted to simply pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes as though that might stifle the flow at the source. "I just really miss my grandma," she sobbed.

Sans was three seconds from climbing right over the table to comfort her, but to his surprise Papyrus beat him to it. So instead, he murmured a few quiet words of enochian that wrapped their booth in a bubble that would keep their conversation from being overheard by the rest of the room.

The space was far too confining for Papyrus to unveil his wings, so the archangel turned and angled himself so his back was to the rest of the room, affording the girl some privacy before he reached out and enveloped her in a hug with his long, thin arms. The skeleton pulled her in against his chest and the girl buried her face in the soft wool of his sweater, taking deep, heaving breaths to keep from sobbing in the middle of the bar.

"IT'LL BE ALRIGHT, FRISK. YOU'LL SEE YOUR GRANDMA AGAIN SOON."

"N-no I won't," the girl choked out miserably, clutching desperately at his shirt, shoulders shaking.

"pap's right, kiddo," Sans joined in desperately, heart aching with empathy for her distress. How long had he raged and wept at his own loss after the fall? He would likely never escape the Underground, but there was still a chance Frisk might. "you can do this, you'll get out and-"

"My grandma died! She died last week!" Frisk raged, tears pouring down her face unchecked now.

Papyrus and Sans both went still at this information, and shared a look over the girl's head. The archangel's eyes begged for guidance, but for once, his older brother was just as lost as him. Sans shrugged helplessly and gestured for him to comfort her as best he could while wishing there was room for him to squeeze in next to Frisk as well. The booth was too narrow, though, leaving the seraphim to watch Papyrus do his best with the girl. Sans shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting an instinctual urge to unveil his wings so he could wrap the child up in them in an attempt to shield her from the world and all its many travesties.

Papyrus couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound trite, so instead he alternated between rubbing Frisk's back and stroking her soft, dark hair in an attempt to soothe. It seemed to do the trick, as the human's crying gradually died down until she only sniffled occasionally.

Seeing the worst was past, Sans wordlessly passed Frisk several paper napkins, which she took and used to clean herself up a little once Papyrus had loosened his grip on her. He kept one arm around her shoulders, though, and when she was done, allowed her to lean into his side. The archangel was beginning to understand his older brother's curious compulsion to protect this human child. Somehow, her normal determinedly cheery disposition made her moments of weakness all the more heart breaking.

Grillby returned then, though neither angel noticed his initial approach. Frisk did, though, so she dragged her hood up over her head and tugged the drawstrings so taut that it closed her hood up until only her mouth and tear-reddened nose were visible. Before either of her companions could comment, the bartender arrived with three plates expertly balanced on one arm, and three glasses held lightly between the fingers of the other.

Not for the first time, Sans wondered how the dominion managed these acrobatic feats, though this time he made no comment on it, too distracted by Frisk's distress. Food and drinks were distributed across the table appropriately, but even the smell of burgers and fries were not enough to draw Frisk out of her hoodie.

"I took the liberty of upgrading the young lady's chocolate milk into a milkshake," Grillby said kindly as he pushed the tall, whip cream topped drink towards the girl. She perked up a little at his words, and loosened her hold on her drawstrings some.

"thanks, grillby," Sans said with a smile for the fiery angel. He dropped his chin onto the heel of his palm and the smile became a grin as he added, "that's real cool of you."

Grillby pointedly ignored the seraphim while Papyrus groaned. Frisk, however, managed to laugh, which was enough for Sans. His grin widened, and he took one of the straws the bartender had left for them on the table, partially peeled back it's paper wrapping, then put it to his mouth and blew. The paper shot off the end of the straw and nailed the girl right in the nose, making Sans laugh, and Frisk gasp and giggle before feeling around for a straw of her own.

"Anything else?" Grillby asked while the human did her best to replicate what Sans had done, only to fail when the paper end of the wrapper blew out rather than shooting off the straw, making the seraphim snicker.

"A SIDE ORDER OF TABLE MANNERS, MAYBE?" Papyrus asked hopefully.

The dominion smiled in his subtle way, flames flickering a little higher with amusement. "Sorry, I'm afraid we're fresh out."

The archangel sighed dramatically, "I THOUGHT AS MUCH."

"quit your whining, pap, you love us," Sans said.

Papyrus took one of the spare straws and successfully shot the wrapper off its end, striking his brother right between the eyes and making him blink furtively at the impact.

"I'll be at the bar if you need anything else," Grillby remarked, amused as he watched Frisk tug at Papyrus' sleeve, begging him to teach her how after hearing his successful counter attack.

Sans nodded and watched him go for a moment. When he turned back to his companions, a second straw wrapper hit him just under the left eye socket, making him start.

"alright, alright, come on man," he groused half-heartedly as Frisk giggled and high-fived Papyrus, who was grinning. "how about you try using one of these in a drink," the seraphim mused as he took one of the denuded straws and stuck it into the girl's milkshake, then took another and put it in his own.

"You started it," the human pointed out.

Sans pointedly ignored this statement and took a sip of his drink before starting in on his fries. His 'usual' was a bloody mary without the vodka, and Grillby always did mix them up just right. Despite being a bar and grill, the dominion actually served very little in the way of alcohol thanks to the fact that it was nigh impossible for an angel to become inebriated anyways. Something Sans had rued more than once over the decades, and he suspected he wasn't the only one. Mankind hadn't just perfected the art of sleep; they were masters of self-medication, and the seraphim couldn't help but be a little envious.

Papyrus snickered a little into his chocolate milk, but Sans ignored that too. "how's the milkshake, kid?"

Frisk had loosed all hold on the drawstrings of the sweatshirt he had loaned her, and smiled at him from under the hood. "Really good," she replied happily.

"IT DOES MAKE ONE WONDER HOW SOMEONE MADE OF FIRE MANAGES TO MAKE FROZEN BEVERAGES, HOWEVER."

"magic, i assume," Sans mused with a mystical wave of his hand before turning his attention to his burger.

Papyrus hummed thoughtfully, seemingly mulling over the idea of an angel made completely of fire making use of ice magic as he ate.

All three fell into a companionable silence as they dug in, each hungrier than they had realized on entering the restaurant. It didn't hurt that, while Grillby's cooking repertoire was rather limited, what he could make was extremely good. The only sound between them for some minutes was chewing, and the gentle 'thump-thump' of Frisk's heels hitting the base of the booth as she swung her legs absently while eating.

Even distracted as he was by his food, though, Sans could sense the girl's mood shift once she'd polished off her burger and began picking at her fries. Her brief detour into cheerfulness was pulling back into an awkward sort of solemnity. He didn't say anything, though, but let her come to it on her own.

"Sorry I got upset," she said in a meek voice, shoulders up around her ears as she finally broke the silence, unable to take it any longer.

Papyrus turned to look at her, blinking a little at this non sequitur. He glanced briefly at his brother, then said, "IT'S ALRIGHT, FRISK. YOU HAVE GONE THROUGH A LOT, IT IS PERFECTLY NORMAL TO BE UPSET. I DO NOT EVEN MIND THAT YOU GOT MY SHIRT WET."

Frisk winced at this reminder of her breakdown. "Sorry," she repeated unhappily as she pushed a french fry around her plate.

"don't worry about it, kid," Sans said in an offhand tone, hoping to set her at ease. "we've all lost our share of loved ones down here. we know how it feels."

The girl's brow furrowed and she cocked her head to one side in a manner the seraphim knew preluded a particularly penetrating question. "I thought all the angels were sent to the Underground, though?"

Sans sipped absently at his virgin bloody mary to cover his lack of immediate answer, and lucked out when Papyrus decided to answer first. "ONLY THOSE ANGELS ON EARTH WERE BANISHED TO THE UNDERGROUND. THE REST OF THEM...US, REMAIN IN HEAVEN."

Frisk's head tilted the other direction now, her food temporarily forgotten. "Then how come I've never heard of any angels on the surface? And couldn't the angels in Heaven come help you or...or something?"

Now Papyrus looked at Sans, and the seraphim returned him a sharp, forbidding look that made the taller skeleton consider his next words carefully before continuing. "THE ANGELS IN HEAVEN CANNOT GO TO EARTH BECAUSE THE GATE HAS BEEN CLOSED. IT CAN ONLY REMAIN OPEN SO LONG AS ITS GUARDIAN MAINTAINS THE CONNECTION AT THE HOLY GROUND OF MOUNT EBOTT." Papyrus looked at his brother again, but Sans' attention was occupied by his food now, apparently leaving him unable to spare a glance for the archangel as he endeavored to scoop as much ketchup as was angelically possible onto one slice of potato. Giving up, Papyrus finished, "THE GUARDIAN WAS, BY NECESSITY OF DUTY, ON EARTH WHEN WE WERE BANISHED, SO THEY TOO WOUND UP IN THE UNDERGROUND, RESULTING IN THE CLOSING OF THE GATE BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH."

"Oh," the little girl said with a frown as she mulled this information over, heels tapping lightly against the base of the booth again in a soft tattoo not unlike a heartbeat. "So if your family wasn't on the surface with you when you were banished… they're stuck up in Heaven?"

"got it in one," Sans said, tone droll as he stuck another ketchup drenched fry in his mouth, making his brother grimace in disgust.

Frisk sighed and ate a fry of her own. She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before brightening a little and suggesting, "Hey, if your family, and my family are all in Heaven without us, maybe they're waiting for us together?"

Sans smiled at the thought, and waved Papyrus back into silence when his younger brother went to shoot down the idea with insight into the afterlife no living mortal was meant to have. "it's a nice idea, kid," the seraphim said with a low chuckle. "i hope it's true."

Papyrus frowned at him, but Sans ignored it, deciding that the smile on Frisk's face, and her general comfort were well worth the deception. The truth was, living angels could not follow the dead into the afterlife without dying themselves. Still, he could tell that the idea of their families both waiting for them in the beyond gave the girl some respite from her troubles, so he let it be. No doubt he'd hear about it from his brother later, but that was future Sans' problem. Present Sans was just glad the girl was smiling again.

Frisk sipped happily at her milkshake once she'd finished off her burger, then experimented with dipping her fries in the chocolatey concoction, much to Papyrus' disgust. Sans quite liked it, though, and the human was generous enough to share with him as they chatted about lighter subjects for a time.

Eventually, though, the conversation turned again when Frisk asked, "How long have I been down here?"

Papyrus canted his head to one side and thought for a moment before answering. "WELL, TIME IS DIFFICULT IN THE UNDERGROUND. YOU HAVE BEEN WITH US FOR TWO AND A HALF SURFACE DAYS, I BELIEVE. HOW LONG YOU WERE IN THE RUINS, I DO NOT KNOW."

"Seriously?!" the little girl exclaimed, turning from Papyrus to Sans, as though hoping he might give her a different answer.

"don't ask me, kid," the seraphim said with a snort. "i have trouble keeping track of weeks, let alone days. if pap says it's so, though, it is." He arched a brow at her and asked, "what, got somewhere to be?"

Frisk sighed and sagged back into the booth again. Both skeletons watched her closely, worried that she might be on the verge of serious emotional distress again. Luckily, that didn't appear to be the case, so they relaxed.

"I mean, kind of," the human said. "Since..." she swallowed tightly here, but pushed on quickly, "since grandma died, I've been staying with my friend Lizzie's family until the dumb lawyers decide where I'm supposed to go. They're probably worried, or think I've been kidnapped or something."

After a moment's consideration, Papyrus asked, "WHAT IS A LAWYER?"

"a kind of vulture," Sans answered offhandedly as he sipped his drink.

Frisk nearly snorted her milkshake. "What? No they're not! They're people that decide what's legal...or something."

"right. vulture people," the seraphim said with an impish grin. The human huffed and threw a french fry in the direction of his voice, but he caught it easily and proceeded to drench it in ketchup before eating it. Deciding to risk more tears, Sans asked, "your grandma didn't have a will or something?"

"She does," Frisk replied, her frown thoughtful more than distressed. "Mr. Brighton, her lawyer, said that grandma left everything in a-" she hesitated a moment, frown deepening in thought as she struggled for the words. "Trust? Trust fund? Something like that. The cafe, her money, the house we lived in...everything."

"THEN WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?" Papyrus asked. "IT SOUNDS LIKE SHE PLANNED EVERYTHING. PERHAPS YOU NEED TO HIRE NEW VULTURES? THE ONES YOU HAVE DO NOT SOUND VERY GOOD AT THEIR JOBS."

Frisk wrinkled her nose. "It's not all that stuff that's the problem, it's the clause about who I'm to live with if something happened to her. They won't tell me what it is, they're too busy arguing with each other to bother with what I want," she groused unhappily.

"can't you decide that for yourself?" Sans asked, foggy on custody cases and human law in general. Then again, the girl was only ten years old...that was probably too young for her to be making such an important decision in the eyes of the law.

Frisk blinked reflexively at this idea. "I...don't think that's allowed," she replied eventually.

"I DON'T SEE WHY NOT," Papyrus commented as he picked absently at his fries. He'd only had a few, and didn't seem to notice that Sans had already pilfered several of them while his attention was diverted by the conversation. "IT IS AN IMPORTANT DECISION, YOU SHOULD HAVE SOME SAY, SURELY?"

The little girl nodded, clearly not having considered this. She sighed after a moment, though, and said, "Yeah, but I doubt Mr. Brighton would see it that way."

"sounds like mr. brighton needs a-" Sans began with a vicious sort of grin that boded ill for anyone on the receiving end.

"SANS," Papyrus cut in sharply before the seraphim could finish.

The shorter skeleton glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. "-nap," he finished lamely.

Frisk laughed a little, heels kicking against the base of the booth again. "Probably," she agreed. "He always sounds super tired, and he speed walks everywhere."

"I THOUGHT VULTURES COULD FLY?"

Sans snickered into his virgin bloody mary, and Frisk scoffed, though quickly devolved into giggles.

"WHAT?"

XXXX

The mood on the way back home was pleasant, and once again ruled by an odd sense of rightness as they walked together down the snowy street. Sans carried Frisk's staff in his right hand while the girl clung to his left, and Papyrus' right. They'd experimented with swinging the child between them a few times, but the attempt had nearly wound up with all three of them face down in the snow when the height difference between the two brothers nearly proved their undoing.

Now Frisk was humming to herself and kicking absently at the snow with her boots, her arms swinging widely, dragging theirs along for the ride. The sound of a dog barking brought her up sharp, though, and she turned this way and that in hopes of figuring out where it was coming from.

"Is that a dog?!" she asked excitedly, skinny body practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect.

"OH NO," Papyrus said with a heavy sigh as the barking repeated, closer this time.

"oh yes," Sans mused as he turned and spotted the nemesis of skeletons everywhere:

The Annoying Dog.

As the white fluffball bounded over excitedly, barking all the while, Papyrus eyed it warily, and actually went so far as to release Frisk's hand and jump back out of easy reach when it skidded to a stop before them. Even Sans watched it closely. It wouldn't be the first time the furry monster had tried to lay teeth on either him or his brother.

There was never any malice behind it, so far as he could tell, but it was in the creature's nature to chew on bones, and the fact that he and Papyrus were basically walking, talking doggie chew toys had endeared them to the Annoying Dog more than anyone else.

Too bad the affection didn't exactly go both ways.

For possibly the first time, though, the dog completely ignored both angels in favor of throwing itself bodily at Frisk, who had dropped to her knees in the snow and responded by throwing her arms around the creature's neck to pet it vigorously.

"Doggy!" she exclaimed in that particular gooey voice that dog lovers everywhere reserve only for the best of four legged creatures on the creator's green earth. "Oh who's a good dog! You're a good dog!" she cooed happily as the Annoying Dog panted, tongue lolling from behind sharp white teeth while her small hands scratched its ears until it flopped over to one side and rolled to expose its belly with the happy huffing grumble of a dog well pleased.

Papyrus stood by watching this display of affection with gape-mouthed shock and disbelief, as though the little human had tamed a lion rather than a dog that barely reached his knee.

"well hell," Sans murmured, mostly to himself as he watched Frisk attack the fell creature's fuzzy white belly to its tail wagging delight. A low chuckle escaped him at the sight the pair made. He didn't think he'd seen two creatures so delighted to meet one another in his entire life.

"SANS, WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHY IS THE ANNOYING DOG DOING THAT? WHY IS IT NOT BEING...BITEY. IT IS ALWAYS BITEY."

"Aw, he wouldn't bite! Would you boy? Who's a good booooy," the girl said and buried her face in the dog's neck as it wiggled happily in the snow. She sat up, then, and cast a disparaging look in the archangel's direction. "And that's not a nice thing to call him! It's not annoying at all! What's its real name?"

Still smiling, Sans tilted his head and stroked his chin absently as he thought. "dunno," he admitted eventually. "everyone just calls it the annoying dog, so that's its name i guess. it's what it responds to generally, anyways."

"That's so mean!" Frisk declared as the dog sat up and proceeded to wash her face with it's tongue, making her giggle.

"FRISK DON'T LAUGH, IT'S TRYING TO EAT YOU FOR GOODNESS SAKE," Papyrus said as he reached out to pull her away from the objectionable creature, only for it to snap and latch onto one of his long fingers with its bright, white teeth.

The archangel's entire frame went rigid at the contact, but before he could so much as yelp, Frisk tapped the dog lightly on the nose and frowned at it. "No bite!" she said in a firm tone.

To Sans and Papyrus' surprise, the Annoying Dog released Papyrus immediately and whined, pert furry ears flattened against its skull.

Realizing her command had been obeyed, Frisk broke out into a sunny smile once more, like the clouds clearing on a warm summer's day. "There's a good dog!" she said again, and the dog's ears perked right up again in response.

Papyrus remained frozen for a long moment after he'd been released, as though in shock. Sans sidled up to him, eyes still riveted on girl and dog as he asked, "ok there, bro?"

His voice seemed to wake the archangel from his stupor, and Papyrus gave himself a shake before straightening and saying in a near whisper, "SANS, HOW DID SHE DO THAT? ARE WE CERTAIN FRISK IS HUMAN."

The seraphim laughed long and loud at that, making Frisk turn his way with a quizzical tilt of her head that the Annoying Dog mimicked. This only served to make the seraphim laugh harder.

Papyrus just sniffed haughtily. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO LAUGH, SANS. I THINK IT IS A PERFECTLY REASONABLE QUESTION GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES."

"kid, is there anyone you can't make friends with?" the seraphim asked when he'd finally gotten himself under control again.

Frisk looked thoughtful for a moment. "I dunno," she said. "I mean, people I don't like, I guess? There's this one girl in the grade above me who tried to make fun of me for being blind one time. I don't like her."

"oh?" Sans mused curiously. "and what'd you do about that?"

"tripped her with my cane," the child answered smugly with a look that dared him to get mad at her about it.

Instead, a bark of laughter escaped a shorter skeleton, and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle more. "by accident, i'm sure," he said.

"Oh sure," she replied with a broad grin.

Meanwhile, Papyrus seemed torn between amusement, and his own conscience, which had always been more forward that his brother's and told him that tripping little girls, even out of vengeance, probably wasn't the right thing to do. On the other hand, making fun of blind children definitely wasn't either...

Eventually, he gave up on the moral quandary and suggested, "WE SHOULD GET HOME."

"But whose dog is this?" Frisk asked with a frown as she pushed herself back to her feet and dusted the snow from her knees. The Annoying Dog scampered around her, barking happily at the prospect of going somewhere apparently. The dog reached Frisk's waist, and came a hair's breadth from knocking into her more than once. Sans kept an eye on it, fearing it would do just that, but it seemed surprisingly aware of the child's comparative frailty for something that had presumably spent its entire life in the company of angels.

"it's kind of a free agent. It doesn't belong to anyone." Sans told the girl and shrugged; and it was true. The Annoying Dog had just sort of...shown up one day, though the seraphim couldn't recall just how long ago that had been now. How long did dogs even live? He hadn't had much in the way of experience with them back on the surface, so he had nothing to go by.

Frisk seemed horrified by this fact. "What?" she demanded as her hand went out and the Annoying Dog pressed its head up into her palm in answer. "But who feeds it?"

Sans and Papyrus shared a hesitant look, as though loathe to admit the truth.

"we do, generally," the seraphim admitted.

The human's eyes widened in surprise, then her brow furrowed as she tilted her head to one side, confused. "But I thought you guys didn't like Dog?" she said, having apparently decided that 'Annoying Dog' was too long a name for common usage.

Another shared, uncomfortable look.

"well, i mean...it just kept coming 'round and trying to chew on us, so we figured maybe if we gave it proper food it'd stop."

"MOSTLY IT DID," Papyrus added, though he shot the dog an ugly look after re-examining the finger Dog had bitten.

"Oh, well, where does it sleep then?" This question was mostly addressed to the dog itself, not expecting the angels to know the answer, only to be surprised when they did.

"IN OUR GARAGE, GENERALLY," Papyrus said.

"or under the kitchen sink," Sans interjected, amused. "nearly got me a couple of weeks ago when i went under there lookin' for paper towels."

Papyrus looked at his brother like he'd gone crazy. "WHY WOULD THE PAPER TOWELS BE UNDER THE SINK, SANS."

"why wouldn't they be?"

"THEY MIGHT GET WET!"

"what? is the sink leaking again?" Sans asked, brow furrowed. "why-"

"Wait!" Frisk interjected, making the two brothers look at her with some surprise.

"WHAT?"

"what?"

Had she been able to see them, Frisk would have stared. As it was, she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again as her brow furrowed in consternation. Eventually, a tentative smile overtook her features as she asked, "But...but if you feed the dog, and it lives with you...doesn't that make it your dog?"

"does it?" Sans asked with some surprise. Dog ownership was never something he'd ever really considered before, and the fact that he might have done so for so long already came as a shock.

"SURELY NOT. THERE MUST BE MORE TO IT THAN THAT," Papyrus said.

"I mean...grandma wouldn't let me get a dog because she was allergic, but...I'm pretty sure that's all it really takes." Frisk said, though she sounded uncertain. Beside her, the Annoying Dog gave a snort that sounded distinctly skeptical.

"same," Sans told the dog, and it snorted again, making the seraphim break out into a smile again.

XXXX

In the end, it was decided that the Annoying Dog would accompany them home, since it pretty much lived there anyways. It was probably for the best, as it saved Sans the attempt at telling Frisk no when he had no doubt she'd have had her way with embarrassingly little resistance on his part anyways.

The little girl was yawning broadly by the time they got back to the house and had divested themselves of their shoes per Papyrus' strict requirements. Even Dog had to have his feet wiped clean on an old dish towel before he was allowed on the carpet. To both angels' surprise, the furry creature allowed Frisk to do this with minimal fuss before darting off to re-familiarize itself with the terrain.

"Blanket fort time?" Frisk asked with a hopeful grin aimed at both skeletons though, it was quickly overtaken by a jaw cracking yawn.

Sans chuckled. "as long as you don't think you'll fall asleep halfway through construction," he remarked. "that's a hazard on a construction site, you know. someone might get crushed by an errant pillow."

"WE'LL NEED A LOT OF BLANKETS IF WE'RE ALL GOING TO FIT," Papyrus pointed out, one gloved finger tapping his jaw absently as he thought. "DO WE EVEN HAVE THAT MANY?"

"i'll go see what i can dig up," the seraphim replied, and Frisk cheered before proceeding to climb Papyrus like a tree without any particular complaint on his part.

There was already one small throw blanket on the back of the sofa which Sans left and headed upstairs to raid the hall closet for any spares they might have, though he wasn't actually sure that they did have any. They weren't about to use his blanket, after all. If he brought it out of his room at all, Papyrus would probably try to take it and wash it or something similarly awful.

Getting it wadded up with his sheets the way it was had taken him months, and it was just right, thanks very much.

The seraphim only dug one blanket up out of the closet, but he did find several sets of sheets, so he decided those would do well enough. The whole point was just to make a tent after all, right? No doubt Frisk had opinions on this matter, but she'd just have to make do.

Satisfied, Sans made his way back to the stairs and started down them. Glancing around his armful to make sure he wasn't about to take an undignified head first tumble down the steps, the skeleton said, "well, not a lot of blankets to be had, but-"

Halfway down, he looked up and saw Papyrus face down on the floor, wings akimbo, and Frisk crouching over his prone figure.

Something within Sans went very still in that moment, like the quiet before a terrible storm. He froze mid-step as the lights of his eyes snuffed out and his heart stopped beating, the breath wooshing out of him as though he'd been punched in the gut.

He'd made a terrible mistake.

How had she done it? How had he not seen this coming? She was human, and every human, no matter how kind, was inevitably corrupted in the Underground. His carelessness and isolation had allowed her in under his guard, and now Papyrus had paid the ultimate price.

The air around Sans became as heavy as it was still, though the little girl in his living room had yet to notice. Instead, she reached out and trailed the slight fingers of one hand along the crimson expanse of Papyrus' open wing, neatening a few errant feathers. The sight made the seraphim grit his teeth as hate bloomed painfully in his chest like a sharp petaled flower of glass whose roots shot down deep into the marrow of his bones and-

A loud, rattling snore cut through the quiet like a chainsaw, startling Sans from his fury and making Frisk muffle a giggle with her free hand.

The seraphim must have made some sound at this sure sign of life from his brother, as the human turned towards him. She grinned and made a shushing motion before loudly whispering, "He fell asleep again!"

Asleep. Papyrus was sleeping face down on the floor.

Sans began to breathe again and the relief this revelation brought him nearly forced him to take a seat on the stairs. Sheer force of will made him lock his knees and remain upright as he scrambled mentally for his equilibrium.

He must have taken a beat too long, as Frisk's smile dropped away and she tilted her head to one side in question, brow furrowed. "Sans?"

He'd been so ready to believe she had done his brother harm even after seeing the child risk her life and freedom to avoid doing just that only a few hours before. Feeling every bit the piece of shit he'd long suspected himself of being, Sans forced a smile and started back down the stairs once more, guilt and horror at what he'd been contemplating doing to the little girl worrying over him dragging at his very soul.

"pap sleeping twice in one day," he mused in a light tone as he tossed the pile of sheets and single blanket on the sofa and crouched beside Frisk. "must be a sign of the end times."

Frisk's concerned expression melted away in the face of his levity and she smiled once more. "He was trying to preen his wings by himself and I asked if I could help," the girl explained as she sat back on her heels. "He had to lay down so I could reach the back and after I started, he just..." here she gestured at the sleeping archangel with one hand, and muffled a jaw cracking yawn with another.

Sans eyed the girl sidelong and asked in an innocent tone, "gettin' tired there, kiddo?"

"No," Frisk lied unconvincingly. "We've got to make a fort!"

The seraphim gave the girl a canny look he was glad she couldn't see, then suggested, "alright, but we're gonna need a reference for how big it needs to be. you get up on the couch and i'll start building."

The little girl grinned, her friend's deception going right over her head, and said, "Oh, good idea!" then did as he said.

When she had laid out on the couch, dwarfed by the massive piece of furniture's vast green cushions, Sans gathered up the spare pillows she and Papyrus had already gathered, as well as the sheets and blankets. He dropped them on the floor, then took up the blanket he'd brought from the upstairs closet and tossed it over her. "here, hold this for me, will you?"

"Mmkay," Frisk said, pushing down part of the blanket so it didn't cover her face while Sans set about stacking up a few pillows as a prop for the sheet he then spread over the top of the sofa.

"how we doin' under there?" he asked after a few minute's work as the Annoying Dog finally returned from making its rounds to get underfoot. Sans tried to shoo it away, but it simply pushed past him and crawled up into the one man (or girl, rather) fort with Frisk to insert itself between her and the edge of the sofa. When the girl gave no answer, the seraphim hazarded a peek and grinned smugly when he noted that his clever ploy had work. Once he'd gotten her to lay down someplace warm, sleep was inevitable considering how tired he knew she had to be.

Worked for him, after all. Well...usually.

The Annoying Dog eyed him for a moment, then huffed a little and seemed content to drift off itself, not even twitching when the girl at its side slung an arm over its back in her sleep.

Guilt for his thoughts on the stairs came back to plague Sans as he watched the girl a moment longer, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only movement she made. Smile gone, the seraphim reached in and gently slipped the crown of golden flowers from her head, then withdrew from the fort.

Despite the two other people (and one dog) in the room with him, Sans hadn't felt quite so alone in a very long time. He examined the little crown and its cunning craftsmanship as he allowed his fingertips to graze lightly over the all too familiar golden petals. Their sweet, heady scent filled his nose and the seraphim could feel the tide of memories rise within him, threatening to sweep him away into days long past.

Sans exhaled sharply and placed the crown on the side table before he could be tempted by thoughts of the person so tightly linked in memory with the golden flowers that had once grown in the meadows of Mt Ebott, particularly around the temple in which he'd once resided. Those meadows would all be empty now, of course. With the gate to Heaven closed, and no angels left to tread the mountain, they would be unable to grow, as only holy ground could sustain them.

Which meant, of course, that Frisk had found these particular flowers somewhere in the depths of the Ruins…

Frisk.

He'd nearly done the child grievous harm when he'd misread the scene he'd walked in on, and it occurred to Sans now that while the little girl had placed the whole of her trust in him, he had not reciprocated in the slightest. And there was the guilt again, black and sharp in his gut, cutting him up from within as he was forced to face this fact. It was an ugly one, and while he was inclined to justify himself by holding up the six previous examples of humanity who had failed the trials, Sans couldn't.

'People will burn you, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't give the next one to come along the benefit of the doubt. If you never take the risk and open yourself up, you'll never learn to love anyone, and no one will have the chance to love you.'

He could hear her like she was standing at his side again; reach out just an inch and his hand would brush hers…

But as Sans stood there, eyes closed, heart aching, and cursing those golden flowers, he did not dare. As long as he kept still in the dark of his mind, he could pretend, just for a moment, that Ellie was really there.

After a minute, the seraphim took a long, shaky breath and opened his eyes once more to reality. Disappointed as he ever was to find his self deception was just that, Sans couldn't help but think Ellie would be pleased by the company he was keeping these days.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as another snore escaped Papyrus where he lay in the middle of the livingroom floor. Sans glanced at the spare blanket, but it was nowhere near large enough to cover his taller brother, so he went back up the stairs and ventured into the archangel's room. He returned a moment later with the blanket from the racecar bed Papyrus never actually made use of, and carefully dropped it over his brother's prone figure.

He was just tucking it in around the archangel's shoulders when he began to stir.

"SANS?" Papyrus mumbled.

Realizing a rare moment was in danger of passing him by, Sans reached out and gently placed his hand lightly on the crown of his brother's head, preventing him from lifting it to look at him.

"it's alright, pap. you were just sleeping," Sans said, voice low and gentle. His smile widened some at the archangel's huff of annoyance at this turn of events, but before he could begin to complain, or attempt to rise, the seraphim said, "i wanted to tell you something." Papyrus went still at his words, and must have picked up on the sincerity lingering behind his smile, as he remained where he was without complaint.

Sans took a breath, searching helplessly for the words he needed. His gaze drifted to where Frisk lay in her little fort, and her chastisement from earlier that day rose to remind him.

'You should tell him that, though. Why wouldn't you tell him that all the time if you think it?'

"i just," Sans began, then halted awkwardly. He forced himself to keep going, though, knowing it needed to be said. "i just wanted to say that i'm...i'm real proud of you, little brother," the seraphim admitted, feeling awkward as hell, but a little relieved at the same time. "i know i don't say it much...if ever," he admitted with a grimace. "but i am. truth is, i admire you. you always give people the benefit of the doubt despite all the shit we've been through, and you're always so damn hopeful i think you're doing the hoping for both of us," he mused quietly. "I know i've been...distant, since the fall" Sans admitted unhappily. "but that doesn't change how goddamn proud i am of you and the person you've become."

No sound came from the archangel still sprawled on the floor before him, making the seraphim frown in concern as he lifted his hand from Papyrus' head. "Pap?" he asked.

A distinctly wet, sniffly sound escaped his brother then, and Sans felt his throat go tight even as his smile spread. "THANKS, SANS," the archangel said, a little tremor rippling through the expanse of his angular wings as he remained where he lay, face pressed determinedly into the patterned carpet.

"are you crying?" Sans asked with a weak laugh as he sat back on his heels, trying very hard not to do as much himself.

"NO!" Papyrus objected heatedly even as he sniffed again, wings lifting to cover his head, hiding him from his brother's sight.

"i swear to god, if you make me cry, i'm going to take it all back," Sans said as he brushed irritably at his dangerously damp cheeks with the palm of his hand.

The archangel lunged at his brother, then, and wrapped him up in a tight hug that made Sans grunt with surprise as he was enveloped by a sea of crimson feathers. "YOU CAN'T!" Papyrus said. "YOU ALREADY SAID IT SO YOU CAN'T TAKE IT BACK. THAT'S THE RULES."

A choked laugh escaped the smaller skeleton as he pushed half-heartedly at his brother's wings, to no avail. "alright, alright, i won't," he said. "but keep it down, i only just now finally got the kid to sleep."

Papyrus held Sans for a little longer, and the seraphim indulged him, feeling uncannily like a small dog being carried about by an exuberant child. When his brother finally put him down, Sans straightened out his hoodie and turned to look at Frisk, who was only just visible through a gap in the sheet spread over the sofa.

Papyrus did the same as he folded his wings carefully along his back and settled cross-legged on the floor, a thoughtful expression on his long face. "SHE'S GOING TO GET HURT IF SHE KEEPS GOING, SANS," he observed eventually in an uncharacteristically somber voice, surprising his brother into looking at him. He had no answer for the archangel, so he said nothing in reply. Who could argue with such a bald truth? Their eyes met though, and after a pensive moment Papyrus said, "SHE SHOULDN'T GO ON TO THE NEXT TRIAL. FRISK SHOULD STAY HERE WITH US."

"what, forever?" Sans asked with an incredulous, breathy laugh that died off quickly in the face of Papyrus' earnest expression.

"YES," the archangel answered, leaning in closer, brow furrowed as he continued. "YOU HEARD HER EARLIER, SHE HAS NO FAMILY ON THE SURFACE. WE COULD BE HER FAMILY, SANS! SHE WOULD BE SAFE HERE WITH US, AND HAPPY, AND WE WOULD BE HAPPY TOO. I KNOW IT!"

Sans stared at his brother for a long minute before turning his gaze to the sleeping child once more. He shouldn't have been surprised by the temptation to agree that swelled within him at the suggestion, but he was. It'd be so easy to settle into a happy, comfortable routine; he'd already seen the seeds of it sown over the last two days. Papyrus was right, they could be a happy little family, just the three of them (and their annoying dog) in the underground, cooking and living and laughing together… assuming they were able to talk Frisk out of her mission. Whatever promise she had made held a powerful sway over her, but surely they could convince her it wasn't worth her life…

It was all a pipe dream, though, Sans knew that. Entertaining it for that brief moment made the seraphim smile, but he soon shook himself free of the temptation with a heavy sigh. "we can't, pap, you know that. it's too late. by now everyone in the underground knows she's here. if she doesn't keep going now, they'll come for her by force."

'and i couldn't fight them all; not anymore,' he added silently in the confines of his own head as he frowned outwardly.

Papyrus looked as though he wanted to argue, but his face fell and Sans knew his brother saw the truth in his statement. The archangel heaved a huge sigh as he veiled his wings and flopped back onto the carpet to contemplate the ceiling. "I HATE THAT YOU'RE RIGHT ALL THE TIME," he huffed unhappily.

A rueful laugh escaped Sans as he reached down and tucked the blanket back in around Papyrus. "believe me, bro, if there's any time i'd be happy to be wrong it'd be now."

Sans woke to the sound of shouting and the clatter of pots and pans coming up through the floor of his bedroom. His eyes flew open as the noise registered and filled him with dread at the prospect of the house going up in flames again if the two idiots in the kitchen below were left alone much longer.

A door for the kitchen, he thought as he rolled quickly out of bed and dragged his discarded shorts up over his boxers, that's what he needed. A big sturdy door with a lock only he had a key to so his brother and their precocious young guest could be kept away from all the sharp and/or flammable objects in the house when he wasn't around to supervise.

A rumpled, mostly clean t-shirt was dragged on over his head as he trotted down the stairs and hurried towards the kitchen. He didn't smell any smoke, so that was promising at least. The sound of Frisk shouting his name definitely wasn't though.

"Saaaa-" the little girl began again as she charged headlong out of the kitchen just as the seraphim tried to enter. She cannoned into him with a yelp and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't grabbed her.

"hey there, hot shot, what's your hurry? you guys burning the house down again?" Sans asked as he steadied her.

"No!" Frisk objected defensively as she pushed her wild, uncombed hair out of her face, crown of flowers nowhere to be seen for a change. I quick glance around the room revealed it remained on the side table as yet. "But Papyrus keeps trying to add tomatoes to everything and it's gross," she complained and took his hand in hers so she could drag him back to the kitchen.

As he was dragged around the corner, the seraphim noted distantly that though her stick was still by the door with her shoes, Frisk was able to navigate their home without trouble. The fact it was so sparsely furnished probably helped; there wasn't much to trip over once one learned the general layout of the place.

'Gross' was a sentiment Sans heartily agreed with when he stepped into the kitchen and took in the mess that the pair had generated while he slept. He was far from a clean freak (pretty much the opposite, really), but the one exception to his slobbery came in the kitchen thanks to his mentor in the cooking arts. He could still hear the sharp crack of a snapping towel flicking at the back of his legs when he didn't clean up after himself during lessons...

Papyrus turned to look at him when he arrived, and the archangel shot Frisk a look of betrayal. "YOU TATTLED!" he accused.

"You're ruining breakfast!" she shot back, throwing her hands in the air.

"I CAN MAKE IT WORK!" Papyrus objected as he looked down at the large mixing bowl in his hands. Sans wasn't sure what it was supposed to be, but it looked distinctly...soupy.

Frisk's hands went to her hips as she adopted a skeptical tilt of her head that made Sans grin. He looked up at his brother and jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he said, "beat it, bro. i'll handle things from here so we don't wind up at grillby's two days in a row."

Papyrus cocked one brow in disbelief down at the seraphim. "YOU EAT THERE MOST DAYS, WHY WOULD THAT BE BAD?"

Sans blinked. The archangel wasn't wrong, he did eat over at Grillby's most days, assuming he worked up the energy to find anything to eat at all. The new factor in the equation, of course, was Frisk. He could subsist on a daily diet of cheeseburgers and fries without second thought, but for some reason, the idea of subjecting their young charge to the same felt objectionable.

"yeah, well..." Sans muttered as he shouldered his way past his brother and fetched the step stool out from under the kitchen sink so he'd actually be able to reach it, "doesn't hurt to mix it up."

He could feel Papyrus' eyes on the back of his head as he washed his hands, but Sans ignored him. "WELL," the archangel said, "I DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR COOKING COULD POSSIBLY COMPARE TO MINE, SANS, BUT I WON'T GET IN YOUR WAY IF YOU WANT TO TRY YOUR HAND AT BREAKFAST."

His back still to his brother, the seraphim rolled his eyes expressively, but smiled at him when he turned. "thanks, bro, i'll do my best," he mused, working hard to suppress a grin when he saw the way Frisk was struggling not to laugh behind the taller skeleton.

Papyrus hummed skeptically, but put his bowl down on the counter and patted Frisk on the head on his way back into the livingroom. "DON'T LET HIM BURN ANYTHING," he told her.

The human did laugh then, and Sans rolled his eyes again as he jumped off the step stool and went to the counter to see what progress had been made on 'breakfast'. There were several mixing bowls scattered across the surface, as well as a great deal of flour and other ingredients, including the tomatoes that had so incensed Frisk.

"so, uh...what was the end goal here, kiddo?" he asked Frisk as she joined him, looking morose at the mess she knew he must be examining.

"Scones," she answered with an expressive sigh that made her narrow shoulders heave with the size of it. "I used to make them all the time with Grandma, but Pap kept trying to add stuff," the girl explained with a wrinkle of her nose.

Sans snorted lightly in amusement. "pap's outlook on cooking tends to be 'the more the better' unfortunately, " he mused as he grabbed a kitchen towel off the counter and started mopping up the worst of the mess. "we'll just restart. there's no saving this mess," the seraphim observed as he briefly examined the contents of one bowl before dumping the lot in the trash. How his brother had managed to turn scones into slurry was beyond him, though certainly intriguing.

"You know how to make scones?" Frisk asked, brightening up at the prospect of a competent 'assistant' for her breakfast project.

"why the surprise?" he asked with a low chuckle as he glanced over at the girl. Spotting a sizeable smudge of flour across one of her cheeks, Sans found a second clean kitchen towel hanging from the oven door handle and wiped her face clean.

The girl grumbled at his mothering, but not enough to actually pull away. When he'd finished and gone back to dumping dirty bowls in the too-tall sink and giving them a swift scrub, Frisk said, "Well, Papyrus said you never cooked and always ate out."

A huff of laughter escaped the skeleton as he reached back and passed her a now clean bowl and his towel. "dry this," he instructed her, and after a moment's feeling about, Frisk found what he was handing her, and did as she was told. She was rewarded for her patience when he eventually answered, "just cuz i don't cook much doesn't mean i don't know how." He grimaced a little and admitted, "it's been a long time. can't blame him for forgetting, i guess."

Or for assuming that cooking brought back painful memories for the seraphim, which, in his brother's defense, was quite right.

Sans glanced back over his shoulder at Frisk as he passed her another bowl, which she accepted and set about drying without complaint before carefully setting it aside on the counter. Watching the way she bent her head over her work brought a smile to his face, and once again, the prospect of doing something that he had taken up the habit of avoiding seemed that little bit easier when the child was involved.

"Who taught you to cook?" Frisk asked conversationally once they'd finished cleaning and started actually cooking. "My Grandma taught me," she volunteered with only a minimal twinge in her voice that Sans had the good grace to ignore.

The seraphim paused mid motion at the question, hand hovering over the oven dial. He gave himself a mental shake, and answered, "an old friend," then finished preheating the oven.

"What was their name?" the girl asked curiously as she passed the angel one of the bowls she'd dried.

Again the moment of hesitation. "doesn't matter," he answered eventually as he fetched out a bag of flower from a cabinet. "they're long gone now," he added in a soft tone that Frisk recognized well enough to stop asking questions on the matter.

Between the two of them, Frisk and Sans were able to put together a batch of scones they were both quite pleased with. The seraphim allowed the girl to knead the bulk of the dough while he set aside a portion of it in a second bowl that he proceeded to add extra seasoning too.

The human lifted her nose and sniffed experimentally, then asked, "What are you doing?"

"just a little something for pap," the seraphim answered with a chuckle. "You want to add anything to yours?"

"Do you have any currants?" Frisk asked hopefully as she paused in her kneading. "That's what we always put in ours at home," she added wistfully.

Sans grimaced as he set aside his bowl and went to check the cabinets. "Sorry, kiddo, no currants," he said, making her sigh in disappointment. God, when was the last time he'd had currant scones? Not since the fall, that was for sure…"we've got raisins?" he offered when his hand fetched up against a box of them. He popped it open to make sure they were still good. While a little on the dry side, even for raisins, they seemed okay.

"That works," Frisk said with a smile, apparently happy with this substitute.

Sans tapped her hand lightly with the box so she could take it from him, and said, "here, go hog wild, kid."

She giggled and proceeded to add several generous handfuls to her dough while he finished his. That done, Sans pulled out two cookie sheets and the flour, then tugged Frisk lightly by the hand to stand in front of him at the counter so she could flour the pans.

"here, i'm always terrible at this part," he said, "gimme a hand, will you?" he joked, making her giggle as she plunged her hand into the flour.

"How come you're bad at flouring?" she asked as he guided her hand lightly with his to be sure they got an even spread.

"not a whole lot here to scoop flour with," he explained and poked her cheek with the boney finger of his free hand, making her laugh again and nearly scatter flour across the counter.

"Guess it would be pretty hard with no skin," Frisk admitted and dusted her hands off before helping Sans portion out the dough and stick the pans in the oven.

While breakfast cooked, the pair wandered back into the livingroom and Sans turned on the tv. One of Mettaton's performances was on repeat and Frisk seemed intrigued enough by the idea of a performing robot that the seraphim left it, more amused by her expressions while listening than the actual show. The augmented angel had a flair for the dramatic that was a little much for Sans' taste, but he had to admit that Mettaton had an impressive vocal range and dance skills.

The sound of Papyrus sprinting around the edge of the house from the garage brought a smirk to Sans' face, which only grew when Frisk also looked around at the source of the noise, puzzled.

The archangel burst in through the front door, dragging the chill winter wind in on his wings as he exclaimed, "ARE YOU WATCHING METTATON WITHOUT ME?!"

"it's just a repeat from last week," Sans said with a careless wave of a hand as he grinned at his brother's excitement. To say that Papyrus was a fan of Mettaton was a bit of an understatement, and never ceased to amuse the seraphim. Not because his brother was a fan; rather, because Papyrus and Mettaton knew one another from before the fall, though apparently they had seen little of one another since. He'd never been entirely sure as to just how they knew one another, and Papyrus had few enough secrets from him that Sans' had never quite brought himself to attempt unmasking that one.

"You like Mettaton, Pap?" Frisk asked from where she sat on the floor, back against the foot of the sofa while Sans lounged in its left corner, barely taking up a single cushion even sprawled as he was. The little girl grinned up at him, inspiring the tall skeleton to strike a pose.

"WHY OF COURSE! I AM, AFTER ALL, HIS BIGGEST FAN!"

Sans shot his brother a sidelong look and remarked casually, "thought napsta won that contest?"

Mood soured, Papyrus dropped his pose and shut the door behind him, then stomped over to the sofa and dropped gracelessly into the corner opposite his brother. He took care not to hit Frisk, but less so with his brother who got a face full of red feathers before he veiled his wings.

"THAT'S ONLY BECAUSE NAPSTABLOOK IS LITERALLY METTATON'S COUSIN. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COMPETE WITH THAT?" Papyrus grumbled. He glanced between the two of them as the show went to commercial and asked, "WELL, WHERE IS BREAKFAST? DID SANS BURN IT AFTER ALL?"

Sans kicked his brother in the arm with one bare foot, which the larger skeleton pushed away after making a sound of disgust. "it's baking," the seraphim informed the larger skeleton. "should be done any minute."

As though triggered by his words, the timer buzzed in the other room, prompting the seraphim to roll off the sofa and saunter towards the kitchen. He casually jumped over Papyrus' long leg without comment when the archangel stuck it out in a veiled attempt to trip him up. When Frisk dutifully moved to join him, though, he planted a hand on her head and ruffled her hair. "stay put, i got it," he instructed her after a glance at the tv told him the show would be back on momentarily.

By the time Sans returned with three stacked plates, a pan of scones tht was also crowded with every breakfast condiment he could muster (and a few that were distinctly not meant for the most important meal of the day) the tv volume had been cranked up near to max and Mettaton was belting out a cover of some human rock song while gyrating on screen in a fashion the seraphim was vaguely relieved Frisk couldn't actually see. He nearly dropped everything when Papyrus started mimicking the robot, the absurdity of which made Sans nearly double over with laughter that no one could hear thanks to the volume being turned so high.

The seraphim barely managed to get everything to the side table by the door without it all ending up on the floor when Frisk danced over, moving with a grace and agility that would no doubt be surprising to most, all things considered. "You have to dance too," she informed him bluntly, making him laugh again at the abruptness of it all.

Frisk didn't give him a chance to make a reply, let alone try to back out of it, as she grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and hauled him over to the open space in front of the tv where Papyrus was somehow managing to do one half of a lindy hop to a rock song, which dragged another peal of laughter from his shorter brother. Considering the style had been invented over a hundred years after the fall, Sans could only assume the other skeleton had been finding himself in odd corners of undertube again. Still, while Papyrus couldn't cook to save anyone's life, quick footwork had always been a strength he'd applied to his swordsmanship, and it applied just as well to dancing.

Frisk, true to form, was much more interpretive in her movements, though just as energetic. She had excellent rhythm and moved with a grace uncommon in a girl her age, making Sans wonder if she didn't do this often. When the human didn't hear him immediately start, she stretched out one leg and poked him in side, making him swat her away with a grin before giving up the ghost and joining in on the madness. His brother wasn't the only one with quick feet, after all, and he wasn't about to let him forget it.

The song ended to a great deal of breathless, wheezing laughter from all involved, as well as a dramatic air guitar solo from Sans leading up to the final crescendo. After one last pinwheel strum of his imaginary instrument, the seraphim grabbed up the remote and turned the volume back down to a more reasonable level, chuckling all the time while Frisk giggled and half hopped, half danced over to the table. She narrowly avoided tripping over the Annoying Dog, who had apparently taken refuge from the madness under the table that normally housed their pet rock, but now held breakfast.

"Oh, there you are, Dog!" Frisk said brightly as the creature rubbed against her legs and yapped happily, barely remaining still long enough for her to scratch its ears.

"back already?" Sans mused as he made his way to the table as well. "normally it bums dinner, crashes on the couch, and is gone by morning."

"It must have known there'd be scones," the girl said with a grin as she accepted the plate Sans handed her. Frisk reached down to pet the dog again and added, "I hope it doesn't go, though. I like it."

"IT SEEMS TO LIKE YOU AS WELL," Papyrus observed cannily as he joined them. "PERHAPS IT WILL STAY IF YOU ASK."

Sans' brow furrowed at this. "not sure that's how dogs actually work, bro."

"SO NOW YOU'RE A DOG EXPERT?"

"you don't have to be an expert to know dogs don't speak unless you bribe 'em with treats," the seraphim answered with a cheeky grin. Before Papyrus could roll his non-existant eyes, Sans took several scones, put them on a plate, and shoved the lot into his brother's open hands. "those are for you," in informed the archangel.

Papyrus looked down at them in surprise, and then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "THESE LOOK DIFFERENT THAN THE OTHERS," he observed.

"yep," Sans said as he took a small bowl of red paste he had mixed together and put that on his brother's plate as well. "put that on them."

"What'd you make?" Frisk asked curiously as she took a few scones for herself, then asked, "Is there butter?"

Sans considered declining to answer, but decided against it when he saw that Papyrus' expression continued suspicious as he regarded his breakfast. "savoury scones," he explained and passed Frisk the butter, "and a kinda tomato spread since he was trying to put tomatoes in the scones earlier but they're way too wet to work right."

Papyrus' jaw dropped in surprise as he looked from his brother and back down to his special made breakfast, and then back to Sans. The seraphim shot him a smug sort of look that said 'well don't you feel like a jerk', and Papyrus was forced to admit internally that he did. "THANKS, SANS," he said a little sheepishly.

"you're welcome," Sans replied, still feeling a tad smug before turning his attention back to his own scones once Frisk had finished applying a generous layer of butter to the inside of her own. "what else you want on there, frisk?" he asked her.

The girl just shook her head and smiled, though. "I'm good, I just like butter!"

"what?" Sans objected. "i've got like… fifty condiments here and all you want is butter?"

"Yep!" was her content answer as she gathered up her plate and wandered back over to the couch with the Annoying Dog on her heels. "That's how I like 'em!"

"philistine," he grumbled under his breath as he turned back to the collection of bottles and jars arrayed before him so he could work his questionable breakfast arts. Condiments, like sleep and self medication, were an art humans had taken to new levels, for which Sans could never thank them enough. The seraphim hailed from the 'more the merrier' school of thinking when it came to toppings.

When Sans joined Papyrus and Frisk on the sofa with his plate, his brother made a sound of disgust when he caught sight of his food. "SANS, WHY DO YOU INSIST ON COMMITTING HATE CRIMES AGAINST BREAKFAST FOODS."

"it's not a hate crime, pap, this is art," Sans insisted primly as he carefully scooped up one dripping, wobbling scone and shoved half of it in his mouth before it could fall apart.

Wrinkling her nose, Frisk turned to Papyrus and asked, "What'd he put on there?"

"EVERYTHING," the archangel answered with an almost harassed huff.

Sans drowned out the human's loud 'ewwwww' by saying, "not everything."

"WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE LEFT OFF? YOUR PLATE LOOKS LIKE A CRIME SCENE!"

Sans looked down at his plate for a moment while silently counting off toppings on his thin fingers. Eventually, he answered, "ketchup."

Papyrus stared at him in disbelief. "BUT KETCHUP IS YOUR FAVORITE."

"not on scones, you heathen."

An offended sound escaped Papyrus, and Frisk asked, "What's a heathen?"

"a non-believer," Sans told the girl before shoving the other half of his first scone happily into his mouth, grinning around it when the archangel grimaced in disgust.

"I BELIEVE IN THE SANCTITY OF FOOD, THANK YOU," he insisted.

Sans nearly choked on his mouthful, and forced himself to swallow before gasping out, "what?! you want to talk hate crimes against food-"

"Hey, Pap!" Frisk cut in loudly as she turned so she could face him without craning her neck. She held her second scone in one hand, and pushed lightly at one of his arms with the other. "You should eat too! You're just talking!" The girl tilted her head and added, "Dog might eat them for you if you don't."

Papyrus looked sharply down at the floor where the Annoying Dog sat looking up at all three bipeds with a wistful sort of expression on its furry face. When it saw him looking its way, the creature's tail began to wag hopefully as its ears perked forward in anticipation of a treat.

The archangel pulled his plate in closer, making the dog whine in disappointment. He had been about to suggest that he might not try the scones after all, considering what Sans had done to his own, but between Frisk's eager face and Dog's begging, he decided against it. With a sigh, he picked up one of the scones and eyed it closely again. He'd already applied the mysterious tomato spread he had been provided, and now there was nothing but to take a bite.

"you're gonna choke on all that drama, bro," Sans remarked as he watched his brother out of the corner of one eye.

Papyrus rolled his eyes then took a bite. The scone was wonderfully warm and fluffy, with a distinctly savoury taste that blended harmoniously with the tomato based spread. With a start, the taller skeleton realized he recognized the recipe and turned sharply to look at Sans, who was working his way through his second scone.

The archangel swallowed, then said, "SANS-" but paused, unsure of how to continue.

His shorter brother just smiled, though there was a melancholy that lingered behind it. "good, right?"

"Y-YEAH," Papyrus managed to get out, throat suddenly tight as he turned his gaze from Sans back to his food. "I HAVEN'T HAD ONE OF THESE IN FOREVER."

"Sans made you special scones before?" Frisk asked curiously, certain she was missing something, though unsure of what.

"NO," the archangel answered after taking another bite. "OUR… FRIEND, USED TO MAKE THESE JUST FOR ME."

"i just figured out the recipe," Sans explained with a too-casual shrug.

"The friend that taught you to cook?" the girl asked, head tilted to one side, bird-like in her curiosity, her own scone forgotten.

Again Papyrus looked at Sans, and his brother simply replied, "yeah."

Frisk nodded thoughtfully, then asked Papyrus, "Can I try?"

The archangels considered her request for a long minute before finally agreeing. "VERY WELL, ONE BITE!" The girl held out a hand, and he handed her his second, uneaten scone.

Frisk sniffed it lightly, then took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Her nose wrinkled a little when she swallowed and she laughed as she said, "Tastes like a spaghetti dinner!"

"YES," Papyrus agreed with a wide smile. "WHICH IS WHY IT IS SO GOOD!" he said as he took back his scone and had another bite of the first.

"bro, you're gonna turn into spaghetti if you keep on like this," Sans joked as he finished off his second scone, somehow managing to keep from dripping on himself in the process.

"Spaghetti Pap!" Frisk declared with a laugh of amusement at this mental image. "Then you'd have noodles for arms and legs!"

"and a meatball for a head," Sans added with a snicker. "oh wait, he already does-"

"I HAVE NO SUCH THING!"

Still laughing at the concept of a Papyrus constructed entirely from spaghetti, Frisk allowed her scone to lower dangerously close to Annoying Dog who knew an opportunity when it saw one, and made a lunge for the treat. The girl yelped when her breakfast was snatched right out of her hand and promptly disappeared down the dog's throat.

"Dog!" she cried, horrified at her loss as the creature in question broke into a spasm of delighted full body wiggles at its triumph. "Bad dog, I can't believe you!"

Sans laughed so hard he wheezed as the little girl proceeded to lecture the dog at her feet on basic table manners while the animal stared back, completely unabashed. A glance over at his brother revealed that Papyrus was doing his best not to laugh as well, not wanting to appear supportive of breakfast theft, but he was fighting a losing battle. Finally, he chuckled and poked Frisk lightly in the ribs. "YOU WERE THE ONE WAVING A SCONE IN ITS FACE-"

The archangel didn't get to finish his admonition, though, as Frisk yelped and sprang off the couch when he poked her, knocking her plate to the floor to the delight of Dog.

"Don't do that!" She chastised him sharply as she clamped her arms tight across her chest. "It tickles!"

Papyrus and Sans shared an astonished look, though for once, it was the former whose face was overtaken by a gleefully wicked expression.

"uh-oh, kid. best run," Sans warned, knowing well what was coming next. In preparation, he pulled his legs up onto the sofa cushion and took hold of his plate to keep it from getting knocked over.

"Why?" Frisk asked worriedly, but it was too late, Papyrus was already springing forward, long legs carrying him across the room in a single long stride.

Before she could take so much as a step away from him, Papyrus was tickling her ribs with long, thin fingers that showed an astonishing skill at finding all of a person's most ticklish spots. Spots a person didn't even know they had.

"LOOK, SANS, I CAN MAKE HER LAUGH ON COMMAND!"

"Nooo!" the girl shrieked as she squirmed and laughed, struggling vainly to get away from her angelic tormentor. Fallen plate forgotten, the Annoying Dog ran after Papyrus, barking loudly as the skeleton attacked its new friend.

"gonna make her pee on command if you don't watch out," Sans mused as he watched his brother chase the girl into a corner where he had her at his mercy. Her would-be furry rescuer kept at bay by the expanse of one quickly unveiled wing.

"Sans help!" Frisk begged breathlessly as she dropped to the floor and crawled between Papyrus' legs in an attempt to escape. She made it almost to the couch before Papyrus caught her by the ankle and dragged her back.

The seraphim watched a moment longer, and when Frisk seemed ready to expire right there on the carpet from overstimulation that wasn't remotely helped by the Annoying Dog's frantic barking and scampering about, he put aside his plate and went to her rescue.

"alright, pap, come on, let the kid go," he instructed the archangel, laughing at the almost offended look on Papyrus' face when he glanced up at him.

"WHAT? NO! I'M WINNING!"

"i think you're killing her," Sans remarked and laughed again when Frisk took advantage of Papyrus' distraction to scramble in his direction and throw herself on his tender mercies. The seraphim caught her and wrapped one arm protectively around the girl.

"Save me, save me!" Frisk cried, jumping a little on her toes, still laughing breathlessly, hair wild from rolling on the floor. "He's gone bad, Sans!"

"I'LL SHOW YOU BAD, LITTLE HUMAN!" Papyrus cried as he lunged forward again, barely managing to avoid tripping over Dog in the process.

Sans swept Frisk up into his arms and sidestepped quickly to avoid the archangel. "stop while you're ahead, pap," he warned, but Papyrus recovered quickly and made a second grab. Still grinning, Sans rolled his eyes and unveiled his wings.

The massive spread of his right wing filled the distance between the two brothers, and Papyrus crashed directly into it's soft surface with a grunt that betrayed the unyielding strength that lingered beneath the luminous white feathers.

"HEY, YOU'RE CHEATING," Papyrus cried as he tried to dodge around Sans' good wing. Big as it was, though, it was in danger of not only filling the small living room, but knocking over the table besides. The seraphim had only to rotate slightly to effectively block his brother from any one direction. Only Dog was able to wiggle under the long pinions to join Sans and Frisk in its protective circle, panting cheerfully at this turn of events.

This fact so amused Sans that he broke out into laughter again as Frisk wiggled higher in his grip, giggling at this unexpected turn. "come on, man," he said, "just give it up."

"NEVER!" the archangel cried as he made a mad attempt to jump over his brother's wing. "I CAN'T ADMIT DEFEAT TWICE IN TWO DAYS, I'LL BE A LAUGHING STOCK!"

Papyrus' ploy nearly worked, but Sans stepped forward this time, and lifted his wing, catching his brother in the chest with the great, feathery expanse. He effortlessly lifted the archangel into the air and pinned him in the corner of the room up near the ceiling.

"well you're gonna have to if you want me to let you down," Sans teased, then glanced at the little girl sitting contentedly in his arms and asked, "whatcha think, kid? If we put a hook up there we could hang him like a wind chime."

Frisk laughed at this idea, but objected, "There's no wind in here though! You'd have to get a fan."

Sans nodded sagely at this observation. "well, modern art then," he corrected with a wicked grin. Papyrus objected loudly at this, but his actual words were lost in the feathers of Sans' wing as he slipped a little thanks to his own flailing.

"Yeah!" Frisk exclaimed and Dog barked as she shifted in Sans' grip again. "Let's do it! We can-"

In her excitement, the girl tried to rise in the seraphim's arms, and ignorant of its injured state, grabbed the shoulder of his left wing for leverage.

The change that overcame Sans was immediate as a ragged gasp of agony tore from his chest. He dropped Frisk as though she had burned him and stumbled backwards blindly, good wing fanning the air frantically for balance. The Annoying Dog levitated nearly a foot in the air at the sudden thrashing, and bolted under the nearest table to hide. Papyrus fell to the floor with a crash, but was back on his feet in a heartbeat, only to be knocked back into the wall again when his brother's wing clipped him as the seraphim spun blindly in an attempt to escape the pain.

Frisk remained on the floor where she had been dropped, too frightened by the noise and sudden shift in mood to move. "Sans?" she called, voice trembling as she reached blindly for him.

A guttural, almost animal noise was the only response she received as Sans' flailing sent the tv to the ground with a crash and he dropped into a heap in the center of the living room, panting raggedly. After a moment's struggle the seraphim managed to veil his wings with what appeared to be a monumental effort that left him trembling and clutching his left shoulder as the ghost of the pain the girl had inflicted on him racked his body.

Terrified, Frisk still managed to push herself to her feet and moved in the direction she could hear Sans gasping as he struggled not to retch. Before she made it more than a few steps, though, Papyrus stopped her with a large hand heavy on her shoulder as he gently tugged her back. The girl trembled under his touch, but she did as she was bid, tears springing to her sightless eyes to spill down her flushed cheeks.

Papyrus stepped around the child and approached his brother carefully, voice low and gentle as though Sans were some wild animal that might take off at the slightest hint of danger.

"SANS," the archangel called. "YOU'RE ALRIGHT," he reassured the seraphim quietly as he reached out to his brother, who had doubled over on his knees on the carpet.

"don't touch me!" Sans bit out sharply, voice ragged as he fought for control.

Papyrus pulled back his hand and quietly retreated to crouch beside Frisk who was wiping furtively at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, lost but unwilling to break the strained silence that settled over the livingroom. They all remained there for several minutes until the shaking in Sans' frame subsided some, and he slowly, gradually, got to his feet. The movements were almost unnatural, as though an inexperienced puppeteer were controlling the seraphim's every gesture with invisible strings and an unsteady hand.

Seeming to regain himself some, Sans said, "i'm… i'm going upstairs." He glanced over his shoulder at Papyrus and Frisk, eyelights barely discernable pinpricks in his dark sockets. "for awhile," he added as an afterthought, then stumbled towards the stairs, hand groping blindly for the bannister so he could haul himself up.

Behind him, Sans could hear Frisk start to sob as Papyrus tried to soothe her. Some small part of the seraphim felt terrible for the fright he'd likely given the girl, and wanted to tell her everything would be alright when he'd laid down for a few hours (or days). Unfortunately, the rest of him was too intent on making it to the dark, quiet safety of his bedroom where he could wallow in pain and self pity for a few hours (or days) in peace and quiet to even try.

In the living room below, Papyrus wrapped Frisk up in his arms and let her bury her face in his chest for the second time in as many days as he watched his brother make his unsteady way to his room and shut the door quietly behind him. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Sans look quite so bad, but then, he'd never seen someone actually grab the seraphim's ruined wing either. Not that it was Frisk's fault.

He looked down at the trembling child in his arms, but before he could say anything to reassure her, she turned her tear stained face up towards him and asked, "W-what's wrong with Sans? Did I hurt him?"

"NO," Papyrus answered immediately, then hesitated and said, "WELL, YES. BUT IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT." Judging by the way Frisk's bottom lip trembled, Papyrus got the impression this wasn't the best of answers, so he endeavored to clarify. "SANS INJURED HIS LEFT WING A VERY, VERY LONG TIME AGO. YOU JUST… AGGRAVATED IT."

Frisk sniffled hugely and asked "What happened to him?"

The archangel lifted her into his arms and made his way into the kitchen as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, her tears finally beginning to slow. He found a paper towel and gave it to her so she could blow her nose, which she did with a great deal of noise and mucus that had him accepting the mess back by one of the untouched corners to drop it in the trash. "IT'S NOT MY PLACE TO TELL THAT STORY, I THINK," he answered eventually. Frisk frowned at this reply, but before she could object, Papyrus continued, "IN TIME, HE WILL TELL YOU I THINK, IF IT'S YOU ASKING. HE IS QUITE FOND OF YOU, FRISK."

The girl's lip began to tremble traitorously again at his words. "But what if… what if Sans hates me now, Pap?" she wailed and buried her face in his increasingly damp chest again.

Papyrus actually chuckled at the very idea, which went a great deal further to reassuring Frisk than anything he might have actually said. "SANS WON'T HATE YOU."

Her face still buried in his sweater, Frisk asked in a small, shaking voice, "But how can you be sure he won't hate me?"

A smile tugged at Papyrus' lips and he said, "BECAUSE I KNOW MY BROTHER. BESIDES, I AM THE GREAT ARCHANGEL PAPYRUS! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY DOUBT ME?" he demanded, jogging her gently in his arms in an attempt to cheer her, earning himself a wet little laugh for his efforts. He remained there in the kitchen, Frisk in his arms, for a minute longer until she'd gotten herself under control again, then said, "COME ON, LET'S CLEAN UP, AND THEN, MAYBE, WE WILL BUILD A SNOW FORT."

Frisk grimaced at the suggestion of cleaning, but brightened at the idea of playing in the snow. "Okay," she agreed. "But only if we do snow angels too."

Papyrus stared at her, "WHAT IS A SNOW ANGEL?"

Frisk looked affronted.

XXXX

In the soft, velvet darkness of his room, pain dragged Sans back into memories of the worst day of his life.

XXXX

Standing on the stairs of the temple, Sans felt Asriel die. They all felt Asriel die a slow, horrible death at the hands of the humans that cut his wings, butchered his heart, and burned his bones for the sake of their dark magics.

As one, the angels wept, and Sans was no exception. Tears spilled down his face as he stared unseeing into the cloudy summer sky. The air over the mountain was hot and heavy, a suffocating prelude to the rain that would no doubt fall by sunset.

The rage, Asgore's rage, that followed burned away the tears and consumed the lesser angels like a spark among so much tinder, and dragged every last one of them under his control. Only the Commander's fellow seraphim on earth remained immune, though Sans felt nothing at all from Toriel, only a great, dark emptiness where she normally burned like a steady presence in the divine web that connected them all.

Thoughts of revenge burned across the surface of Sans' mind, but he quickly pushed them away, knowing they were Asgore's, rather than his own. Patience. He was duty bound to the gate, and Heaven would send assistance; Asgore's pain echoed across the higher spheres for every angel to hear. Help would come.

He'd probably never forgive himself for not interfering sooner in what came next.

The eradication of the first village the Commander of the Heavenly Host and his quickly massing army came to staggered Sans, but still he waited. Surely Heaven would intervene. He could not reach Asgore without breaking his link with the gate that joined Heaven and earth, which would leave any potential help stranded above, and everyone else below trapped with their mad Commander.

A city burned next, and the dark wizards that had killed seraphim Asriel burned with it, their blood soaked magics as nothing before the might of Asgore's force. Still the seraphim, maddened by the loss of his son, pushed onward to burn more towns and cities to their foundations. The Sorcerer's Enclave visited him as he held vigil and swore they would end the bloodshed if Heaven didn't, but Sans vowed that help would come.

It did not.

Realizing that Heaven dared not send help for fear the mad seraphim would take them under his control as well, Sans took to the air and abandoned his post for the first, and last, time. His vast, white wings caught the air and carried him far abroad from the mountain, further than he had gone in the twelve years since he had taken the posting on Mount Ebott, and he felt his bond to the gate strain. When he crossed the invisible boundary line that marked the edge of the mountain's territory, the connection snapped as sharp and sudden as a harp string, making Sans flinch, though his wings did not falter.

Dread and fury burned in the pit of his gut as he honed in on Asgore's location. It wasn't difficult to find him. Sans could have seen him from a hundred miles off by the trail of smoke and ruin his press-ganged army left in their wake. Spying another town in the distance, the rogue seraphim picked up the pace, intent on preventing the death of yet more innocents.

The angels swarmed like starlings, a great cloud of multi-hued wings that created new and peculiar air currents as their flock shifted this way and that, driven ever onward by what lurked at its center. Principalities, powers, dominions, virtues, thrones...they all flew together, and though they baited Sans as he entered their midst, one of them, but not one of them, they dared not touch him.

The seraphim looked at them with pity as he passed, white wings cutting a sharp contrast amongst so much color. The face of every last angel, whatever their type, was emotionless, eyes wide and vacant as Asgore's will overrode their minds and robbed them of their freedom. The Commander's wrath had doomed each and every one of them to committing atrocities none of them would even consider when in their right minds. But, just as a drone could never deny a queen bee, so too could the lesser angels not refuse their Commander here on earth.

In the days of the Last War it had been an advantage to have their entire fighting force unified under one superior military mind, but now…

Sans breached the innermost layer of the swarm and found an open space there, with Asgore at its core. Circling him, like planets orbiting a star, were the archangels. Papyrus, Undyne, and the others all wore the same blank expressions as their lesser brethren, making the seraphim curse silently as he closed in. Even they weren't immune to their lord's power.

Which left Sans utterly alone.

"asgore!" he shouted over the wind that had been stirred by so many wings. The Commander turned to look at him, the fur of his cheeks matted by tears, eyes wide and wild. "asgore, stop this senseless bloodshed," Sans commanded, eyes blazing as fury at the destruction that had been wrought on so many innocents rose to burn harsh and bright in him. No more. He would allow it to go no further.

"They killed my son, Sans!" the Commander roared, teeth bared as his immense indigo wings fanned the air around him, halting his forward movement when Sans intercepted him. "They must pay for their sins!"

"this is madness!" Sans countered, cutting the air with a gloved hand. "you killed the ones that took your son; leave the rest of humanity in peace!"

"I can't do that," Asgore said, formerly agonized tones gone flat and tired. "You didn't see what they did to Asriel...to my little boy. Rotten, all rotten to the core, festering under our eyes all this time, and us none the wiser," he muttered, speaking more to himself than Sans, now. The skeleton watched the Commander warily until Asgore unexpectedly looked up at him again said, "Move aside, Sans. I have work to do."

"i will not," the shorter seraphim replied, words hard and unyielding as he spread his wings wide. "Heaven may fear you enough to cower behind its gates, but i don't." His gaze strayed to the host of angels that surrounded them, and he added, "i won't let you abuse them, or humanity, any longer in your mad quest for vengeance."

Fury burned clear across Asgore's face at Sans' words, and he spat, "I should have known you'd pick humanity over your own kind. You've been tainted by their rot! I'll cleanse the creator's world of them and you, Sans! You are not fit for those wings on your back."

Realizing just how far gone his friend truly was in his grief, Sans bared his teeth, eyes flashing as he shouted, "come and take them, then!"

Asgore roared and with a sharp sweep of his hand, summoned his crimson trident. It flashed impossibly red in his grip; a pulsing wound in the fabric of reality as the Commander swung it up and lunged towards Sans. The smaller seraphim dropped, allowing his opponent to pass overhead as the simple leather jerkin he wore over his high collared linen shirt was replaced by a heavy silver cuirass and pauldrons in a flash of white light.

The Commander circled, fixated on Sans as the rest of the Heavenly Host swirled around them, not yet having received a command to interfere. Even the archangels waited in the wings, watching with their frighteningly vacant expressions as the rest of the smaller seraphim's armor manifested around him. He charged forward, dragging his right hand through the void as he did so, and pulled forth his shield before meeting Asgore with a mighty crash.

The commander attempted to use his greater size to his advantage as he bore down on the other seraphim, but the breadth and strength of Sans' wings made up for his shorter stature. With a mighty heave, the skeleton put his shoulder behind his shield and pushed Asgore off of him, then used the hard won breathing space to summon his weapon.

The blade answered his call immediately. The seraphim grasped it by the hilt, heart racing at its answering thrum of magic as he drew it from the void to the sound of singing steel. Sans banished his shield and took the sword's hilt in both hands to swing it up in a glistening arc that caught Agore with the flat of the blade and sent him tumbling through the air when he charged a second time. Only the intervention of the archangels kept their commander from falling to the ground hundreds of feet below.

Asgore's eyes narrowed as he took in the appearance his foe's sword, one massive hand on the heavy dent it had left in his golden plackart. "The many-faced blade," the Commander mused aloud as he caught his breath and shrugged off the attentions of his archangels. "You're no longer worthy of it, Sans. Hand it over now," he growled and extended his hand in silent demand.

Sans only laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion as he flew lazy circles around Asgore, forcing the other angel to rotate midair to keep an eye on him. The blade he bore two-handed was massive, nearly as long as Sans was tall, and broader than any normal sword. Electric blue stones glittered in its chappe, matching the larger one that made up the pommel perched at the end of its leather wrapped hilt, the seal of Heaven boldly embossed on the golden crossguard. It was a beautiful, deadly work of art with an edge that seemed to glint whatever the angle, and whatever the light.

"i forged it myself, asgore, but even if i became unworthy to bear it, that would not make it any more likely to answer to you!" Sans called as he tucked and rolled midair to bypass the archangels, then darted towards his opponent with a sweep of his white wings.

As Sans brought his blade around, it flashed and shifted into something shorter and thinner, better suited for the quick flurry of strikes he unleashed on Asgore once he'd closed the distance between them. The larger seraphim barely fended off the rain of blows with his trident, and was knocked heavily aside again when Sans spun on point, wings tucked in close to his body, and hit him with a blade that now belonged to a heavy war-axe. The smaller angel watched him fall for a moment, tracking his trajectory before raising the axe, which shifted into a bow at his silent command.

A word of enochian summoned an arrow of light to the bow's string, which Sans pulled and released in one fluid movement. A second word and the single projectile became six, all arcing gracefully towards Asgore as he fought to recover.

Sloppy. Asgore was normally a foe not to be trifled with, but his grief made him reckless and impaired his judgement. Even then, though, the Commander of the Heavenly Host had only rarely bested Sans in sparring. His superior military mind and knack for strategy, however, had earned Asgore his post. Perhaps even more important was the seraphim's ability to inspire his troops to victory in the darkest of hours without being forced to resort to puppeting them as he was now. He was a great leader, Sans was more than happy to admit that. Better than someone as solitary as himself could have ever been.

The skeleton had always been more interested in making weapons than inspiring others to use them, after all. Every archangel glady wielded a weapon of his making, as well as the majority of the seraphim. Asgore's pride and own skill had resulted in him creating the trident he wielded, and Sans had to admit that it was a fine piece of work.

Though it was no match for his many-faced blade.

Of all his creations, this was Sans' masterpiece. He had forged many weapons over the course of years, both in Heaven and on earth, then combined them into a single entity through advanced enochian magic of his own devising. This allowed them to all exist in one place and time simultaneously through dimensional compression of the void all angels used to store their weapons, though only one 'face' would show at a time according to the wielder's will.

The making of it had nearly killed Sans, but considering the results, the reward had been well worth the risk.

Before the arrows could strike Asgore from the side, an archangel intercepted and blocked them with a shield, making Sans scowl in annoyance. He lowered the bow, and it shifted back into a broadsword as he readied himself for the inevitable shift in the battle. The seraphim had been hoping to end the fight quickly, but his opponent had apparently hung onto his wits well enough to make that unlikely now.

Sans dove at Asgore, wings carrying him forward at startling velocity. He powered right past the archangel that had blocked his arrows, and was so intent on his objective that he nearly missed the angel that now flew wing-to-wing with him.

Stomach dropping, Sans glanced left and met Papyrus' gaze, though there was no flicker of recognition from his brother who was matching his rapid pace as easily as ever. A subtle ripple of light was all the warning the seraphim received as the red winged archangel drew his rapier and side-slipped towards him, intent on piercing the gaps in Sans' heavy armor. Knowing all too well the accuracy of that blade, the seraphim immediately swerved right, which brought him onto a collision course with Undyne.

Apologizing silently, Sans banished his blade and summoned his shield. The point of her spear shrieked horribly across the polished steel before he used it to swat her aside, leaving him open to the attack of another archangel that he barely twisted in time to avoid.

The attacks came thick and fast, then, as the archangels were let off their leashes to wreak havoc upon Sans. His heavy shield shrank to a more manageable size, and the many-faced blade reappeared as a kukri, swift and agile, to counter the flurry of attacks. The seraphim pierced and sliced with pinpoint accuracy, hating every drop of divine blood spilled, but knowing each of his opponents would prefer it to being forced to commit further crimes against humanity had they been in their right minds.

Surrounded and quickly losing whatever advantage he'd once had, Sans swept his wings up and out, knocking his opponents back and allowing him space to dart higher into the air. When he reached the surrounding swarm of lesser angels, the seraphim strung together several words of enochian that resulted in a blast of wind that cut a hole through their formation, allowing him to rise above the host.

Sans took only a moment to look down on his brethren before turning his gaze skyward to the rain heavy clouds that hung directly overhead. Thunder rolled and the seraphim could feel the rising charge of static crackle across his armor and along the many-faced blade. The skeleton banished sword and shield, then raised both hands overhead as he stared down at the whole of the Heavenly Host, which was rising toward him like the tide. Silently begging his fellow angels for forgiveness, Sans spoke once more.

The wind around them all went dead as the sky opened up, releasing a torrential rainfall that made it almost impossible to tell up from down as Sans' words filled the air. They began, low and soft, then built to a rapid, deafening crescendo that made one's very bones ache before breaking some invisible barrier with an ear-splitting crack. Summoned from the depths of the storm, a cascade of lightning tore across the cloud darkened sky and struck down the Heavenly Host as a single entity that lifted one voice to cry out in agony.

Exhausted and dazed by his own magic, Sans dropped dangerously, wings flagging as he struggled to remain aloft while the lesser angels rained from the sky like so many shooting stars.

Fighting to gather himself, the seraphim lifted his head and choked when he saw Asgore dropping from above, untouched by his magic. Sans summoned his blade, but too slow to stop the Commander from striking him full in the chest with his trident and bear him down to the earth with a manic intensity and magically enhanced strength.

He was a fool. He should have known, should have seen it coming. Even half-mad, Asgore was still one of the greatest strategists Heaven had ever known. Once he'd realized he would not be able to take Sans alone, he would have anticipated the smaller seraphim's every move in fighting such a large force. Resorting to magic would have been the only way Sans could possibly hope to prevail against the full might of the host, and Asgore had reacted accordingly to defend himself until, weakened by his own attack, Sans had left himself open.

White and indigo wings clashed and struggled as Sans fought to get free, gloved hands slipping against his foe's rain-slicked armor. Tired as he was, though, Asgore overpowered him and used his own wings to force Sans' closed until the last possible moment when he let go and left the smaller seraphim to hit the ground at top speed.

Sans immediately blacked out on impact, and the many-faced blade returned to the void.

He woke again moments later when Asgore landed beside him and planted one boot on his cuirass and used it as leverage to drag his trident from San's chest. The damage there was shallow, thanks to the seraphim's armor, but it had done little to save him from the impact of hitting the ground at high speed. Bones were broken, he knew that for sure, and he was having trouble breathing, though it was hard to tell if that was because his damaged armor was impinging on his chest, or something else.

Sans struggled to focus on Asgore as he loomed over him, face expressionless, clearly taking no joy in his victory. All around them, the fallen archangels were beginning to stir, and it wouldn't be long before the lesser angels revived as well.

"I wish you could understand, Sans," Asgore said sadly. "You could still join me. I wish you would."

Sans spat blood, striking the other seraphim directly on the cheek. It was all he could manage in the moment, but it made him grin all the same.

Asgore only sighed and wiped the gore from his fur with a gloved hand. "I thought as much," he said in a resigned tone. Sans lifted his chin defiantly, daring his fellow seraphim to finish him off, but the Commander only shook his head. "Oh no, I'm not actually going to kill you, Sans. I know you're only doing what you feel is right. Defiant and misguided you may be, but you are a good person. I'm going to finish what I started, and then I will be back for you, and we will all go home."

Half choking on the blood running thickly down the back of his throat, Sans rasped, "monster."

"Call me names all you like," Asgore mused as he shifted his grip on his trident. "But it won't change anything, I'm afraid." Sans tried in vain to will his body to move, but it did not respond beyond the twitching of a few fingers. "That said," the commander continued, "I can't have you following after me, either. Sorry about this."

Sans' eyes went wide as Asgore spun his trident so the prongs faced the earth, then brought it down on the prone seraphim's left wing.

The scream that tore from Sans as the weapon pierced him rent his throat and seemed to stretch for an eternity. The agony of it lifted his back into a rigid arch, and just as he thought he had made it through the worst of it, Asgore planted his boot on Sans' chest again and dragged his trident down through the tender flesh under the pale, luminous pinions. He did it again, and then again, rending the delicate webbing that supported the feathers which were torn away in great, matted clumps by Asgore's terrible hand.

Angelic blood was golden by nature, glowing like the selfsame metal when heated to melting point. It coated Sans' wing now, beautiful despite the horror of the moment, giving his ravaged limb a gilt appearance as he thrashed and screamed until it flecked the rain darkened earth around them like a mirror image of the night sky that lingered behind the cloud cover overhead.

When Asgore finished his bloody work, he withdrew his trident and Sans sagged limply back into the dirt. Shock drove him far back into the recesses of his mind and rendered him incapable of anything that didn't include breathing and resisting the urge to vomit. He knew Asgore was saying something, but the seraphim couldn't seem to make sense of the words, and it wasn't long before the Commander flew away, taking the rest of the Heavenly Host with him.

Left alone, Sans lost the battle for consciousness and allowed himself to be swallowed by oblivion.

XXXX

AN: IN REGARDS TO SANS' WING I was looking back at chapter two and realized I wasn't quite as clear as I had intended to be when mentioning just how it is he was injured. Repeatedly throwing himself against the barrier with an already injured wing after the fall is what kinda broke it beyond repair. I did edit that to make it clearer for new readers, just thought I'd clarify since a friend I had beta was confused on that point and she's the keen type to notice that sort of thing.

Thanks so much for reading that doozy of a chapter! Remember to leave a review if you enjoyed so I can keep up steam and plow right on into the next chapter!