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.

4. Tears in the Dark

AN: Rushing to post this on my lunch break just for you guys, hope you enjoy! XDD
Please make sure to leave a review telling me what you enjoyed about this chapter! I put so much time and work into it, and it really makes my day when you guys tell me what you liked!

Side note, I'll be updating the way the chapters are titled later tonight. I've decided to just give up the ghost and stop trying to limit my number of chapters, which means it doesn't actually matter if the trial number is in the title, lol. This also means I'll probably be doing shorter, though more frequent, updates from here on. Still lengthy, but maybe not 23k lengthy 8'D

Like last time, I did divide the chapter into sections with 'XXXX' so you can do a search for that to jump down if you aren't able to read all in one go.

EDIT (5/6/17): When I first submitted this chapter on April 30th FF gave me an error message, and while the chapter did successfully get published, I never actually received a notification via email like I usually do. After checking my traffic stats and seeing that only 4 people have viewed it in the intervening 6 days, I'm going to guess that no one else did either. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but that's...low, considering past chapter trends, lol. Anyways, if you DID receive a notification and have just gotten another one, I do apologize. I just don't want people to not even realize that I posted chapter 4 until I post chapter 5, lol.

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Angels in the Underground

Chapter Four: Tears in the Dark

Hands, powerful and unyielding, dragged Sans beneath the earth. Decayed root systems stripped him of his armor, ink-dark groundwater drowned out hope, and his fight against that inexorable downward pull robbed the seraphim of his remaining strength. Soft loam filled his eyes, his nose, his mouth, blinding Sans, suffocating him as he tried to scream.

"not yet! not now! i can still fight!" he tried to say though could not as he was dragged into the depths, the earth pressing in on him from all sides. The words burned in his mind, though, even as Sans woke with a start.

Terrified and convinced he was still being buried alive, the seraphim sat bolt upright and tried again to speak the same words, only to find himself gagging on something soft and wet. Panicking, he rolled to one side and leaned over the edge of his mattress to retch. When the full body convulsion did nothing to clear his airway, Sans stuck his fingers in his mouth and physically pulled the obstruction free. He heaved violently again at the sensation of the stuff dragging free of his mouth, but managed to keep his breakfast down.

Coughing and trying not to shake, Sans examined the wet, white material that had nearly choked him. He had a puzzled, disoriented moment when he id not y recognize what it was. A glance around him in the muted darkness of his room, though, revealed more of the stuff scattered across his bed.

Sans looked behind him and groaned at the sight of his ruined pillow. It looked as though he had shredded it in his sleep and accidentally inhaled some of the resulting fluff as he tossed and turned, no doubt contributing to his nightmares.

Bone tired and only finally beginning to overcome the shakes that racked his body, Sans flopped back onto his mattress and focused on breathing for a time. The slow in and out of his breath steadily calmed him, and nearly lulled the seraphim back to sleep…. but sudden recollection of events that morning at breakfast snapped him directly back into wakefulness.

Sans turned his head and looked at the clock on the nightstand from where he lay and winced. Several hours had passed since he'd first laid down, meaning Papyrus had been looking after Frisk on his own for some time. It wasn't that the seraphim didn't think his brother capable, but it did occur to him that he'd likely scared the ever-living hell out of the little girl and then left Pap to deal with the fallout by himself.

The thought brought the memory of Frisk's frightened, tearful expression to the forefront of Sans' mind and made him wince again. It had hardly registered when he'd first seen it, but in retrospect he felt awful for being the source of so much distress for the child. She'd had no idea he was hurt; it was his own damn fault for not telling her. His stupid pride had gotten the best of him, and that left a bitter taste in the seraphim's mouth as he pushed himself upright and rolled out of bed.

Even veiled, Sans' left wing was consumed by a fierce ache that throbbed painfully with every move of his left arm and shoulder. It was a bearable pain, at least. Worse than the usual, but nothing like when Frisk had first grabbed him.

The seraphim glanced at himself in the mirror and made a face at what he saw there. His clothes were a creased mess, and the lines under his eye sockets were even worse than usual. Pap would know just how bad a 'rest' he'd had a glance, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it short of just getting right back into bed. Still, at least Frisk wouldn't have to bear the guilt of seeing what her actions had wrought on him.

Sans huffed a little, then gave up the ghost and left his room. He paused in the doorway and listened, but heard no sign of Papyrus and Frisk, and was unsure if this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, not waking up to screaming mayhem was always a bonus; on the other, the oppressive silence that lingered in the house set the seraphim's teeth on edge.

Despite this, he didn't rush downstairs - he first stopped in the bathroom to wash his face in a half-hearted attempt to freshen up for Papyrus' sake. It didn't help his looks much, but it did make Sans feel a little better, which he chalked up for a win before heading downstairs.

He reached the living room, and still there was no hint of the house's other occupants. An anxious something whispered all of the seraphim's worst fears to him from the pit of his chest, but Sans resolutely pushed it down. When he had checked every corner, the angel made for the front door and put on his shoes before stepping outside.

Here, at last, he found some hint of his brother and their guest, which loosened the tightness in his chest a little.

The once pristine blanket of snow that covered the front yard had gone through a mighty upheaval beneath the boots of two very energetic people frolicking through it while Sans slept. A smile finally tugged at the seraphim's mouth as he observed the wreckage of what had once been a truly mighty snow fort before half of it had been demolished by something quite large falling on it.

Papyrus' doing, no doubt.

Sans picked his way through the snow to the shed, but paused again when he happened upon the first of Papyrus' rudimentary attempts at a snow angel. To all appearances, his brother had simply spread his wings and flopped back into the snow, leaving a perfect imprint of his body, the wingspan of which looked to have obliterated Frisk's own, much smaller, snow angel. Further along, it looked as though the little girl had given the archangel a tutorial on the proper technique, and several more traditional snow angels made their appearance. The final products were arranged side-by-side near the shed door. The size discrepancy between the two finally succeeded in drawing a chuckle from the seraphim as he admired their handiwork for a moment before entering the shed.

It was quiet inside, but not the kind of quiet that indicated emptiness. Rather, it was the relative silence of someone trying very hard to keep the noise down while still getting work done.

Papyrus glanced around when the door opened, and his long face lit up when he saw Sans closing it carefully behind him. The archangel was seated on a stool in front of the long workbench he had constructed along one wall of the shed, one foot propped up on a rung of his seat, the other leg stretched out at full length to one side. His wings were nowhere in sight, leaving him free to move about without fear of knocking over any of the delicate little mechanisms arranged before him on the tabletop.

Sans lifted a hand in greeting as he approached, but paused when he spotted the reason for the air of restful quiet in a shed that was normally so full of noise (and the occ asional explosion).

The dog bed they had taken to keeping in the shed for the Annoying Dog was currently occupied, by more than just the furry moocher in question - Frisk had joined her new friend in its less than roomy accommodations, and appeared to be deeply asleep. Together they formed a sort of dog/child yin yang symbol as they curled around one another to squeeze into the limited space provided. Frisk's legs dangled partially off the cushion, but she didn't appear to mind.

The girl's crown of golden flowers had returned to its place on her head, though it had slid down over her eyes in her sleep, making it look as though she were wearing a particularly fetching blindfold. The frilly pink tutu around her waist was new, and combined with the crown gave her a rather princessly air.

Smiling a little to himself at the picture the pair made, Sans crouched next to Frisk and gently pushed the crown up out of her face. She didn't so much as twitch, but the Annoying dog eyed him sidelong for a moment before flashing its bright, white teeth, tail twitching irritably. The seraphim's brows shot up at what was clearly a warning to back off from the animal. When Sans withdrew his hand from Frisk's brow, the dog closed its eyes again and settled back into its nap as though nothing had happened.

Torn between intrigued and oddly hurt by Dog's treatment of him, Sans pushed back to his feet and went to his brother's work bench. He leaned lazily against it as he murmured, "i think dog's got a bone to pick with me."

Papyrus, who had gone back to his work while his older brother inspected their guests remarked, "WELL, IT'LL HAVE QUITE A SELECTION TO CHOOSE FROM."

Sans snorted and twisted to see what Papyrus was working on. Looking didn't actually answer his question; all the seraphim could tell was that it appeared to be some sort of pressure activated trigger mechanism, which the taller skeleton was currently tightening with a screwdriver smaller than Sans' index finger.

"HOLD THIS, PLEASE," Papyrus requested, motioning to a round metal plate in the center. Sans did as he was told and watched while his brother finished doing… whatever he was doing, then sat back with a satisfied little sigh of a job well done. "THAT'S GOOD, THANK YOU." Before the seraphim could even say 'you're welcome,' the archangel asked, "HOW ARE YOU FEELING?"

"fine," Sans answered immediately, though he did not meet his brother's eyes. Instead, he feigned great interest in Papyrus' project.

The archangel huffed in disbelief at this answer, but his older brother said nothing in return. Papyrus knew those lines etched into Sans' pale features far too well. He was far from fine; in fact, he looked like shit. Not that he would every say as much, of course.

On the other hand, and this was surprising, Sans was there with him in the shed only a few hours after what had likely been an episode of severe dissociation. While his brother was looking very rough, the fact that he was looking anything at all was quite remarkable.

That being the case, Papyrus decided not to push the subject for fear of scaring the seraphim off, or at least trying his depleted patience and sending him back into hiding for goodness knew how long. Sans could disappear for days at a time when things got bad, and reacted poorly when Papyrus tried to intervene and drag him back home. Two centuries of dealing with his scarred sibling had taught the archangel tact and stealth as he'd resorted to simply tracking his brother down every so often to make sure he was still in one piece until he was ready to come home again.

And he always did. Eventually.

"how is she?" Sans asked, his gaze on Frisk once more, an unreadable expression on his face.

Papyrus rotated on his stool so he could look at the little girl and her fuzzy companion without straining his neck. "BETTER," he replied, though added, "BUT YOU SCARED HER, SANS."

The seraphim's shoulders went up and he looked in danger of disappearing into the depths of his hoodie when he replied, "i know."

The silence stretched between them for a time, and Papyrus watched his brother's expression shift to something full of pain and self loathing. Knowing Sans was in danger of disappearing on him again, the archangel reached out and placed his large hand on the other skeleton's shoulder, startling him into looking up at him.

"JUST APOLOGIZE. I ALREADY EXPLAINED WHAT HAPPENED. SHE UNDERSTANDS," Papyrus told him, tone reassuring as he smiled comfortingly down at his brother.

Sans dropped his gaze and shifted uncomfortably before grudgingly asking the question that had been plaguing him. "what if she doesn't look at me the same, pap? i scared her bad..." he murmured, suddenly self-conscious about how one little girl's opinion had come to matter so profoundly to him.

He'd sworn to see this child through the trials for the sake of his friendship with the seraphim Toriel, but somehow he'd become so thoroughly wrapped up around Frisk's little finger that the prospect of her no longer wanting him to brought on an anxiety normally reserved for the wee hours of the morning when he woke from the worst and most vivid of his nightmares. Her trust in him was like a balm to his tattered soul, and the fact it might no longer be afforded to him by the child currently sleeping in his shed cut him up inside.

Papyrus leveled a canny look at his brother and arched one brow before saying, "THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU, SANS."

The seraphim gave a start at Papyrus' words, the truth of them making him sigh and the anxiety that had been building in his chest drain away as abruptly as it had arrived. He was right. What was done was done. All he could do now was apologize and hope for the best. Sans shot his brother a weak smile. "yeah, you're right. thanks, pap."

Papyrus only waved him off and watched as the seraphim approached Frisk and Dog again. The Annoying Dog opened an eye and watched him come, but this time, it did not growl when Sans reached out to Frisk.

"frisk? time to wake up, sleeping beauty," Sans said, voice low and gentle as he gave one of her narrow shoulders a light shake.

The child stirred, then sighed and stretched, unfolding herself with a sleepy grunt so her limbs dangled off the sides of the dog bed and nearly caught Dog in the snout.

Frisk yawned so widely her jaw popped, and Sans remarked, "gonna catch flies like that."

"Ew," the girl grumbled and rubbed at her eyes, still clearly more asleep than awake.

"ew," Sans agreed as he poked one of her cheeks with a boney finger.

She giggled and muffled another yawn as she pushed his hand away. After a moment, though, his presence seemed to fully register, and just as Sans had feared, Frisk went stiff where she lay, eyes flying open in surprise.

The seraphim flinched visibly and opened his mouth to apologize, only to be beaten to the point by the little girl before him. "Sans, I'm so sorry," Frisk said as she scrambled upright, nearly headbutting him in the process so he was forced to reach out and steady her before the girl knocked them both over.

"kid," he began, voice unexpectedly tight at the worried, unhappy expression on her small, round face.

"I didn't know you were hurt, I swear," she insisted anxiously, ignoring Dog as it snuffled and wagged beside her, clearly upset by her own discomfort. "Pap said you hurt your wing a long, long time ago and me grabbing it really hurt you," she continued, tears springing to her eyes as she got to her feet, hands twisting at the hem of her sweater in a way that wreaked havoc on the lavender fabric. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.

Sans might have laughed if it hadn't been so sad. Sad and, frankly, ridiculous. Here each of them was, fearing what the other would think of them in the wake of a stupid accident brought on by him, the adult in the situation, not wanting to admit his own physical shortcomings.

"quit the blubbering," Sans huffed lightly, throat still tight, but a smile on his face as he reached up and mopped her tears away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "you'll make the whales jealous."

Distracted, the girl's eyes went wide and she asked, "There's whales down here?"

The seraphim blinked, then laughed. "well i mean… there's always whales somewhere, right?" Frisk huffed, but before she could say anything else, Sans placed a hand on each of her shoulders and said, "you don't have to apologize, kiddo. it was my own stupid fault for not telling you in the first place so we could avoid an accident." Again she opened her mouth to say something, but the seraphim only gave her a gentle shake and said, "it's alright. now give me a hug and let's forget it ever happened."

Frisk hesitated, tears threatening at the corner of her eyes again before she gave in and threw her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder and sniffled when he returned the gesture and, acting purely on instinct, rocked her gently back and forth.

"It's alright," Sans repeated softly, heart aching as the girl trembled in his arms, slender hands knotting themselves in the fabric of his hood. "we're alright," he murmured, relief easing the pain not only in his chest, but his veiled wing as well.

Pretending he was working on his switch mechanism rather than covertly watching his brother and Frisk like he actually was, Papyrus felt dangerously close to tearing up himself. The sight of the tension slipping out of Sans' shoulders as he soothed the tearful child in his arms was a sight to behold. The seraphim had been so wrapped up in his own pain for so long that it bordered on the miraculous to see him reaching out to comfort another.

Not that Papyrus could blame him. The emotional and physical burden that his brother had born over the last two hundred years was extreme, and left Sans with little energy for anything else. It was, the archangel had come to learn over time, how pain worked. It was a black hole into which a person's every reserve was gradually pulled, out of which nothing was returned beyond a continued, though limited, existence.

If energy were currency, Sans was dead broke most days.

Something about Frisk, though, allowed the seraphim to tap into reserves he never realized he still possessed somewhere deep down where the pain had not yet reached. Papyrus would be lying if he tried to say he wasn't a little jealous of the child for being the one to inspire this change in his brother. He'd never admit it, of course, nor would he hold it against her out of some selfish desire to be the one that helped his brother for the sake of his own ego.

Why Frisk specifically was a question that still lingered in the archangel's heart, though. The more he had thought on the matter, the more Papyrus wondered if it was simply because she was one of the few people in the Underground worse off than Sans himself. While she didn't battle with chronic pain the way the seraphim did, she was a blind child lost in a world with which she had no familiarity with and no hope of surviving, let alone escaping, without help.

It was clear that her plight had managed to strike a chord with Sans, even if he hadn't quite identified that fact himself. One might think it came down to one damaged, hopeless person finding relief in the presence of the one individual even more hopeless than themselves, but Papyrus didn't believe so. If anything, he felt it came down to Sans finally finding the one person in all the Underground he might still save after his failure to prevent the Fall, and resolving to do so.

Papyrus just hoped he didn't get hurt in the process. A dark part of himself that the archangel didn't often entertain suspected Sans would go to dangerous lengths for a chance at what he would perceive as redemption.

"so, what kind of trouble have you been getting into?" Sans asked Frisk, drawing Papyrus' attention back to the present. They were both smiling once more, which was a relief, even if that worry still lingered at the back of the archangel's mind.

"We built a snow fort and had a snowball fight!" Frisk said, brightening immediately at the opportunity to relate their day.

"i saw," Sans said with a low chuckle as he sat back on the floor and rested his weight on his hands. "what was left of it anyways."

"Papyrus tripped over Dog and fell on our fort," the girl explained, wrinkling her nose as she turned in the direction she knew the archangel still sat and stuck her tongue out at him.

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" Papyrus said, throwing his hands in the air. "IT WAS A CLEVER PLOY BY THAT WRETCHED ANIMAL. IT KNEW I WAS WINNING AND IT SABOTAGED ME!"

"sabotage, huh? that's a new trick for a dog," Sans mused as he held out one hand towards the animal in question. It sniffed his fingertips and gave them a brief lick before turning its attention back to Frisk as she reached out and began to stroke its velveteen ears.

Frisk laughed. "You're just mad you lost, Pap."

"I DIDN'T LOSE! I WAS ALMOST BURIED ALIVE!" the tall skeleton grumbled. Something seemed to occur to him, though, and he sat up straight as he said, "BUT SPEAKING OF NEW TRICKS, SANS! DID YOU KNOW THAT THE DOG WILL BRING BACK BONES IF YOU THROW THEM?"

There was another crow of amusement from the little girl, inspiring Sans' grin to widen. "I told you it's called fetch. Dogs love fetch! It's like, their favorite game," Frisk said with all the authority of an expert. Which, to be fair, she was compared to them.

"fascinating," Sans said with a chuckled, then added, "guess we really are a couple of boneheads for not realizing that sooner."

"YOUR JOKES ARE NOT IN THE LEAST BIT HUMERUS, SANS," Papyrus countered, and grinned broadly when he was rewarded with a laugh from the seraphim.

"What's so funny?" Frisk asked, nose wrinkled in her confusion.

"the humerus is one of the bones in your arm," Sans explained as he poked her lightly in the bicep.

"Oh," she said, "I thought humorous meant funny, though?"

"IT'S SPELLED DIFFERENTLY," Papyrus clarified patiently.

"hence the joke, princess," he teased and tugged on the frills of her new skirt. Frisk stuck her tongue out at him and tugged her skirt out of his grip. "where'd you get that, anyways?" Sans asked curiously.

"Dog found it buried in the snow!"

"SOMEWHERE BEHIND THE SHED I THINK," Papyrus continued. "I WASHED IT," he added with a grimace.

"It's super great for dancing," Frisk declared, clearly delighted by her new fashion statement as she jumped to her feet. "Watch!" she commanded as she hurried over to Papyrus and reached for him. "Twirl me please, Pap, like we practiced earlier," the child begged as she found his hand and tugged on it in an attempt to stir him from his seat.

For a brief and exceedingly rare moment, Papyrus looked tired, and Sans nearly laughed again at the subtle sag in his brother's broad shoulders. The archangel rallied quickly though, not wanting to disappoint their small friend.

"ALRIGHT," he agreed with a chuckle as he gained his feet and led the girl to a cleared center of floor and took both her hands in his.

It was a good thing, Sans thought, that Papyrus' arms were so very long. As it was, he nearly had to bend at the waist just to dance with the child, who beamed as he led her through a few steps, then released one of her hands and lifted the other, guiding her into a graceful twirl. Beaming, frilled pink skirt flaring in that perfect way the very best tutus had, Frisk spun on toe three times before dropping into a neat curtsy.

Papyrus applauded and Sans quickly joined in, smiling when the girl straightened, a little flush as she neatened her skirt happily. "Thank you, thank you," she said with a dramatic flourish of one hand.

"snow forts, snow fights, snow angels, dancing… what didn't you kids get up to while I was napping?" Sans wondered aloud as he got to his feet and dusted himself off.

Papyrus glanced down at Frisk, who brightened noticeably at the question, then said, "We didn't make spaghetti yet!"

"I WANTED TO MAKE IT AGES AGO BUT FRISK INSISTED ON WAITING," the archangel said with a huff and a careless wave of one gloved hand.

"Sans would be mad if you tried to burn the house down again," Frisk pointed out, sounding very much as though they were rehashing an old argument.

Before his brother could reply and the discussion could go circular, Sans cut in. "i know you have a burning need to make spaghetti, pap, but the kid is right. you're really not supposed to flambe red sauce, you know." He grinned at his brother's affronted expression, then waved him off before he could complain. "come on, we'll all make it together."

The archangel huffed, but agreed readily enough after a moment's thought. Sans actually taking an interest in food for its own sake, rather than merely something to keep him going til the next day, was always a thing to be encouraged. "OH ALRIGHT, IF YOU INSIST. I SUPPOSE YOU CAN BE MY SOUS CHEF."

"Watch out, Pap, Sans might sue you if you set anything on fire again!" Frisk chimed in with a giggle as they headed for the door.

Sans laughed, surprised by the girl's quick wordplay. "Nice one, kiddo," he said, and when she held out one hand for a high-five, he followed through with a satisfying slap.

Papyrus sighed and shut the shed door behind them with a soft click.

XXXX

"Hey, Sans?"

If the seraphim had possessed skin, he probably would have jumped right out of it when Frisk's shy tone reached him from the shadows outside the open bathroom door. Sans pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth before he could choke on it and looked around for the girl.

It was no wonder she'd managed to sneak up on him. Outside the ring of light cast by the bulbs over the mirror, Frisk lay flat on the stairs, chin propped up on the edge of the top step. "yeah?" he asked, voice sounding vaguely strangled when he finally managed to speak. Papyrus had already gone to bed after wishing them both a good night and making sure Frisk was comfortable on the sofa. Sans himself had done the same, but apparently something was still wanting.

"Um," the girl began, then paused awkwardly while the seraphim spit his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink before blurting out, "Willyoutuckmein?"

Mouth still ringed with white foam, Sans blinked. "huh?"

Frisk huffed, exasperated. "Will you tuck me in?" she repeated more slowly as she fidgeted where she lay sprawled on the stairs. So much so, in fact, that she began to slip down and had to grab at the top step to keep from sliding out of sight.

He'd heard the words, but even after mulling them over while he cleaned off his face, they still didn't make much sense to Sans. "you want me to what?" he asked, confused but amused by the girl's discomfort.

"Tuck. Me. In," she repeated a third time, clearly thinking he was teasing her in some way.

"yeah i heard you," Sans said with an expressive roll of his eyes as he left the bathroom and approached the stairs. He reached down and tugged lightly at her hands until she allowed him to help her to her feet. "i have no idea what that means, kid."

Frisk shot him an incredulous look, not for the first time, and likely not for the last. "You don't know how to tuck someone in?" she asked, disbelief writ clear across her features. "Good thing you're not a dad," she mused mostly to herself.

Her words hadn't been cruelly meant, simply a child's innocent observation, but they still cut through Sans' heart like a knife.

Once upon a time, he could have been someone's father. Would have been. Should have been-

The seraphim took a deep breath and carefully pushed the thoughts away, his resentment towards Asgore closer to the surface than usual after the bitter morning he'd spent recalling the day his former Commander had robbed him of everything his life might have been.

"Well, I'll teach you, I guess," Frisk said with a sniff before taking Sans' hand and half-dragging him back down the stairs into the livingroom where they had set her up on the couch once more.

Since the day had been more than half gone by the time Sans had finally come out of his room, it had been decided they'd delay until the next morning so they could have a fresh start. This had suited everyone just fine, though the seraphim detected an undercurrent of dread to everything they had done for the rest of the evening from eating (mercifully unburnt) spaghetti, to watching tv, to building more snowmen in the front yard until the cold had driven them inside for hot chocolate and leftovers.

Frisk had appeared just as intent as ever to continue with her mission to return to the surface, but Sans had a feeling it wasn't just wishful thinking on himself and his brother's part when they thought that she seemed reluctant to leave Snowdin. She hadn't objected in the slightest when Sans had suggested they stay another night, after all.

The girl bounced up onto the sofa with uncanny accuracy, having apparently memorized just how many steps it was from there to the base of the stairs in the short time she'd stayed with them. For some reason the thought made Sans want to smile, if only in a melancholy way.

Frisk pushed her blanket at him, and when he'd taken it, flopped back onto the cushions and made herself comfortable against the spare pillow they'd dug up for her. "Okay, now put the blanket over me," she said, grinning up at him as she lay straight as a board.

A huff of amusement escaped the seraphim, but he complied, barely resisting the temptation to cover her face for the sake of a laugh. "now what, princess?" he asked.

"Now you gotta tuck it in around me so it doesn't fall off while I sleep," Frisk explained primly. Sans had expected her to object to his new nickname for her, but counter to his expectations, she rather seemed to like it.

Never could tell with some girls.

Sans did as he was told, bending at the waist as he tucked the blanket in around her feet and then moved his way up to her shoulders, smiling to himself. "i used to do this for pap all the time when our parents were out," he mused aloud. "didn't realize people had come up with a name for it."

"When was the last time you tucked Pap in?" Frisk asked, smiling at the thought.

"last night," Sans replied and laughed at the look of surprise that crossed the girl's face. "what, thought you were special or something?" he teased lightly as he finished.

Frisk didn't answer his question, but wiggled a little and said, "Hey, you did it too tight, I can't move!"

The seraphim hummed thoughtfully as he examined his handiwork. "picky," he mused as he grinned and loosened the blanket a little so the girl could move. "better?"

Frisk wiggled experimentally, then smiled. "Yep," she replied.

"so glad i could accomodate your majesty," he joked lightly as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "sleep tight, kiddo."

"Hey wait!" she objected, drawing the seraphim up short. Frisk tugged one hand out from under the blanket and tapped her forehead with a finger as she informed him, "Grandma always kissed me on the forehead. It's part of tucking someone in!"

Sans' brows went up, but the invocation of the girl's grandmother forestalled any teasing he might have done otherwise. Knowing it was a sensitive subject, the angel just huffed lightly, then turned and bent at the waist so he could brush his lips against her brow.

"we checked all the boxes on the bedtime list yet?" he asked, tone amused when he straightened once more.

Frisk looked thoughtful for a moment, as though going over an actual checklist before nodding. "Yep!"

"does that mean i'm a tuck-in pro now?" the seraphim joked as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

The girl sniffed dismissively. "Your tucking technique needs work. Grandma never tucked me in too tight."

Sans rolled his eyes but smiled. "well, there's always tomorrow i guess."

"Practice makes perfect," Frisk said and grinned.

The seraphim was just about to turn and head for the stairs and his own bed when the girl spoke once more, forestalling his exit yet again.

"Hey, Sans?"

The hesitation in the girl's tone made Sans glance back at her, a frown tugging at his mouth. "yeah?"

"Does your wing still hurt?" she asked, voice small as she threatened to disappear beneath the edge of the covers in fear of his answer.

Sans almost replied automatically, as he normally would have done, but caught himself before he could. Frisk was a canny child, and he could tell it had taken her a lot to ask, so he took a moment to actually consider his answer before speaking.

"it's back to normal," he said eventually, and it was true. It still ached of course, but that was far and away better than it had been that morning, or even when he'd first dragged himself out of his room after the fact. "not any worse than usual at least."

This answer inspired a thoughtful look from the child, which never ceased to amuse and intrigue Sans, considering she kept her eyes near closed the majority of the time.

"Does it always hurt?" she asked eventually.

Sans shifted uncomfortably where he stood, but again decided that honesty was the best policy. Hiding his injury had caused the accident in the first place, after all. She might as well know the truth of it. "yes," he answered, and experienced an unexpected pang in his stomach at the little frown that furrowed Frisk's brow.

"Can't a doctor fix it?" she asked as she fiddled absently with the hem of her blanket, fingers plucking at a stray thread.

Sans sighed gently and settled on the edge of the sofa by her knees. "no," the seraphim replied, then continued, "i've seen healers at the capitol about it. None of them were able to do anything for me." His own frown deepened at the memory, but he could feel no resentment for his fellow angels. They had tried their best for him, after all. His injury, however, had persisted in the face of all their assembled magic, no matter what spell they wove over him.

For all his immense power, Sans himself had no talent at all for healing others. The slightest of scratches refused to mend for him while lesser angels easily restored ravaged flesh and cured diseases with the wave of a hand. It was a skill he'd always envied, though there were few who knew as much.

In destruction, however, Sans had always been a most gifted pupil.

His answer clearly upset Frisk as her lower lip poked out unhappily at this news. "Why can't they fix it?" she asked, and it seemed to Sans that she was unimpressed with the local healers, which drew a smile back to his face.

"i don't know," he admitted, then ruffled the girl's hair once more and said, "don't think too hard on it, princess. i'm fine, i promise."

And it was true. He really did have no idea why the healers were unable to fix his ruined wing. Terrible as the injury had been, there was little short of amputation that an angel wasn't capable of recovering from given time and a little outside magical assistance. Why Sans' wing had resisted all attempts to make it whole again was a mystery no one had proved able to solve.

Frisk huffed unhappily, but said no more on the subject as Sans got up and headed for the stairs. "Night, Sans," she said and pulled the blanket up under her chin as she rolled over onto her side, face to the back of the sofa.

The seraphim paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the railing as he looked back at her for a moment, then smiled and said, "night, frisk. sleep tight."

XXXX

The obnoxious blare of an alarm woke Sans from an uncommonly restful slumber with a start. The clock across the room wasn't normally set to wake him, so it took the seraphim's sleep fogged brain a moment to recall why it was today of all days. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a need to wake at any particular hour…

Sans blinked blearily up at the ceiling and remembered. Frisk was leaving for Waterfall today to face her third trial, and he was her guide.

The angel groaned and rolled over to bury his face in the wad of blankets and sheets his bedding had been twisted into and nearly drifted right back off again. Unfortunately for him, he knew himself too well, and the alarm was a painfully obnoxious one he could not possibly ignore for long. He could sleep through a lot, but that ear-splitting siren shriek was not one of them.

Giving up, Sans dragged himself upright, stumbled over to his dresser, and hit the alarm button so hard the neon number display flickered.

The seraphim yawned wide enough that his jaw popped as he stretched his arms up over his head before letting them drop again. He glanced at the mirror on the wall briefly and winced at what he saw. As per usual, he was a rumpled mess and the lines around his eyes weren't any better for the sleep he'd finally managed to get under his belt.

Deciding his appearance wasn't worth considering any more today than it was any other day, Sans went to his door and pulled it open, intent on brushing his teeth before going downstairs to wake Frisk so he wouldn't have to fight her for the bathroom. To his surprise, though, something blocked his way, making the angel pause, one hand still on the doorknob.

A neatly folded pile of clothing lay on the floor at his feet, but when he reached down to pick up and inspect the articles, he didn't actually recognize any of it. On the other hand, it clearly wasn't Papyrus', as it was all far too small for him. Apparently his younger brother had decided he needed some new clothes and taken steps to make that happen before he'd gotten up that morning.

With a bemused smile spreading on his face, Sans stepped back into his room and closed the door again before rifling through the pile of new things for closer inspection. Well, as new as clothes got in the Underground. So many things they (and everyone else) owned had been found washed up in what everyone had termed the 'dump' in Waterfall. Still, these were in good shape and consisted of a pair of black pants, a pale blue hoodie, and a jean jacket Sans would have sworn went out of style on the surface a decade or more before.

Knowing Papyrus would complain if he didn't at least try the stuff on, Sans stripped off his track pants and tattered t-shirt and donned the new clothes. Luckily (or perhaps not - Papyrus did have an eye for these things) everything fit perfectly, and despite being more fitted than what he'd allowed himself to become accustomed to, it was all quite comfortable. A little considering noise escaped the seraphim as he looked at himself in the mirror again and found what he saw there now a little more agreeable than he had before changing.

The change in wardrobe didn't change the fact that he looked eternally sleep deprived (and to be fair, he was), but he did at least look little more put together and capable of functioning normally like everyone else around him.

"fake it til you make it, i guess," he mused quietly to himself as he turned to one side, and then the other before deciding he would surely pass muster even in Papyrus' eyes.

Satisfied with the wardrobe swap, Sans went to his closet and pulled out one of the few pairs of shoes the mostly empty space held. They were white and blue high-tops, more comfortable for walking than the heavier boots he tended to wear around Snowdin. He nearly pulled them on without bothering to change his socks, but the idea of starting off on a long journey with dirty socks struck a sour chord with the seraphim. He was decked out in new clothes and some of his least tarnished shoes, he might as well go the distance and put on clean socks while he was at it.

Sans stripped off his old ones and tossed them carelessly aside before going to his dresser and rummaging around in the top drawer for a fresh pair. As he felt around the far reaches of the drawer for a set that were at least the same color, the seraphim's hand brushed against something small and hard that was most definitely not a sock. Brow furrowed in confusion, Sans abandoned his search and grabbed the foreign object instead.

As soon as his fingers closed around it, though, he knew precisely what it was he had found and tried very hard to release it, to leave it to collect dust in the far reaches of his unmatched sock drawer in peace where he didn't have to think about it. Best to let it remain in the dark where it would be safe, and where he would be safe from it.

In spite of his intentions, Sans drew his hand from the drawer without releasing his unwanted prize. Feeling as though someone else were controlling his every movement, the seraphim turned his hand over and unclasped his fingers, revealing the small, battered wooden box that rested unobtrusively in his palm. It couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces, and yet Sans' arm shook with the effort of holding it.

It was a long time since he'd last pulled the box out into the light of day to examine, and it looked more worn than ever. Just like him, really. He supposed it'd been a rough two hundred years for both of them.

Knowing he couldn't put it back without looking inside according to the awful precedent he had set for himself with this painful tradition, Sans decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. Best to treat it like a band aid, just rip it off and have done with it rather than drawing things out…

The little spring hinge that held it shut squeaked when he pried the lid carefully open to reveal a faded red velvet interior and a band of engraved silver.

The ring wasn't really silver, Sans knew as stared at it for an interminable minute before hesitantly, reverently plucking it from the cushioned slot in which it rested. It was white gold and worked over with impossibly tiny, intricate Enochian runes for love, devotion, and unity. The seraphim was intimately familiar with every curve of every symbol but, as was his tradition, he traced a finger over them all as though seeing them for the first time.

The band wasn't a normal ring; not a full circle, but a 'u' shape to allow the wearer to tighten it as needed. A clever solution to an uncommon problem. After all, any ring large enough to fit over one of Sans' knuckles would inevitably be too loose to sit comfortably on his finger. It had been over a century since he'd last worn the band, and the seraphim still couldn't bring himself to do so now.

Still, as he ran his fingers over the familiar band he couldn't help but think of its twin, wherever it may be. His ring sat heavy in his palm, though not so heavily as the one he'd given Ellie had sat the day he'd finally asked her to marry him.

XXXX

"got a little something on you there, sugar."

On the steps below where he perched at the edge of the bakery's roof, Ellie yelped in surprise and dropped her keys before she had a chance to lock up. One hand went to her chest as her head snapped up to look up at him, brown eyes wide with alarm. Sans grinned at her, then laughed outright when she gasped, "Lord Sans!" in a chiding tone.

Wings veiled, the seraphim rolled off the edge of the roof and dropped onto the stoop at her side with a low laugh. Before she could swat him for his prank, he ducked down to pick up her keys and offered them back to her. "sorry, miss ellie. terrible habit, i know."

"You know because I tell you so every time you do it!" the woman objected with an incredulous laugh as she took back her keys and locked the front door of the bakery.

"someone has to keep me on the straight and narrow," he said slyly and leaned one shoulder against the frame of the door, head canted to one side as he watched her.

Even after a day of hard work in her family's bakery, the woman was as beautiful as ever. More beautiful, probably, the lovestruck portion of Sans' brain thought as his gaze traced over features he had long since memorized. Her chestnut colored hair was pulled back from her face in a twist, though a few stubborn curls had sprung loose over the course of her day to frame her fair, freckled face, and trail at the nape of her neck. The seraphim longed to brush his gloved fingers along those tempting tendrils, though he knew better than to try, particularly somewhere so exposed to the eyes of others.

He'd only seen her hair loose a handful of times in the two years he'd known her, and he loathed the current fashion that demanded women wear it in such severe styles at all hours of the day. Ellie's hair was naturally curly, granting her what she deemed a 'terrible mane' that was a struggle to tame, though Sans adored it.

Then again, he adored her, so it was all part and parcel in the end.

"So, what brings you down here to frighten a poor working woman on such a fine evening, Lord Sans?" Ellie asked when she'd finished locking up, a teasing smile on the sweet curve of her full lips as she turned to look him in the eye.

While not petite, the woman was quite short at only five foot one considering she was in her late twenties already. Still, that gave her four inches over him. Not that he minded; Sans had gotten used to people being taller than him long ago. Ellie's build was curvy under her sage green dress, though it was probably impolite of him to have noticed as much knowing how uptight humans could be about these things.

"well," Sans began as he pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his breeches and used it to brush some stray flour from her cheek, "i was in the area, so i thought i'd see if you'd like to take a walk with me," he said, trying very hard to play it cool as a blush rose in Ellie's cheeks at his attention. The seraphim felt hyper aware of the ring burning a hole in the inside pocket of his leather jerkin, and it was a struggle to act normal.

"I should really be getting home," Ellie said, though there was clear hesitation in her words as she lingered on the front steps of the bakery with him.

"please?" Sans asked as he offered her his arm hopefully, soul constricting in his chest at the possibility of her saying no just when he'd finally worked up the nerve to spring his all important question. If he didn't do it tonight, who knew when he'd manage to bring himself to try again. "i promise on my honor that i'll have you home safe and sound before dark," he leaned in and said with a conspiratorial smile that made the woman laugh.

"Your honor? What about mine?" she asked lightly. "An unmarried man and woman off walking by themselves unchaperoned… people are bound to talk."

The seraphim flashed her a dangerous smile and said, "my dear miss ellie, anyone who dares question the state of your honor will answer to me personally."

Eliya flushed again but laughed all the same and caved to his request. She took his arm and Sans felt himself go dangerously lightheaded when she smiled at him. "Well, how can a lady possibly argue with that? A seraphim taking personal responsibility for my honor… surely that's something even the most gossipy of spinsters can't question."

"well, i wouldn't go that far," Sans mused as they went down the steps and set off along the road. "nothing stops those old biddies talking long."

The woman on his arm made feigned a scandalized gasp and bumped her shoulder lightly against his, making them both break out into laughter. "You're shameless, my Lord."

"i am," he agreed with a solemn nod. "which is why i'm going to ask you for that sweet bun i know you're secreting in your apron pocket," he added and pointed at the apron in question.

The woman rolled her eyes but produced the bun without objection. "Honestly, sometimes I think you only call on me for my baking," she joked.

"not at all," Sans replied as he accepted the gift and took a bite. The seraphim relished the soft, chewy texture and its delicate sweetness, then swallowed before continuing, "it is, however, a definite perk."

"Shameless," Ellie repeated as she tried, and failed, not to smile.

They walked for several blocks until they reached a small park and turned in to stroll among the trees and the flowers that still bloomed there.

Together they came to a stop beside a fountain and Sans turned to the woman on his arm. "i have to admit, miss ellie, i wasn't exactly truthful with you earlier."

"Oh?" she asked, arching one of her dark brows at him, curiosity clear in her soft brown eyes. "How so, my Lord?"

"i didn't call on you in hopes you'd only walk with me. i'd actually like to take you up the mountain to show you something i found in the clearing below the temple."

Ellie blinked and canted her head to one side as she asked, "What did you find?"

"it's… really something that's better shown than told," Sans hedged, hoping his offer was vague enough to be intriguing without putting her off.

She hummed thoughtfully a moment, though the slight purse of her lips and the brightness in her eyes told the seraphim he'd landed her hook, line, and sinker. She'd always been a curious creature, and that wasn't about to change now, apparently.

"Will we fly there?" she asked, trying and failing not to sound excited by the prospect.

Sans grinned and, with a practiced roll of his shoulders, unveiled his vast, white wings. "if you don't object," he said, knowing very well the woman would do no such thing.

Ellie fidgeted in place for a moment before finally caving and saying, "Oh, alright. You know me too well, my Lord," she mused with a rueful smile as her eyes trailed admiringly along the breadth of his wings. Her gaze met his then, and her eyes softened as she observed, "Though, I'm glad you're the only one to find me so easy to read."

"easy to read?" Sans repeated as he swept his wing up over Ellie to keep from bumping into her as he turned and crouched to allow her access to his back. "my dear, you are as easy to read as an upside down book in a mirror," he remarked. "i'm simply a remarkably good guesser."

Ellie chuckled and approached the seraphim so she could lean over him and loop her arms around his neck from behind. Sans had to fight the urge to shudder when she pressed against him and remarked gently, "There you go not giving yourself enough credit again, Lord Sans."

The seraphim made a noncommittal noise in response, which made her chuckle again and forced him to focus very hard on the task at hand. Flying with her on his back was something they had done many times before, though generally only when there was no one else about to keep the gossip to a minimum. At this point, though, Sans didn't care who saw. If he had his way, Ellie was going to be his wife and the nosey old folks could eat their hats for all he'd care what they said about the pair of them then.

The angel spread his wings out wide and pushed himself upright, hands going up to support the woman on his back in preparation for takeoff.

"Lord Sans!" Ellie objected, and he could practically hear the way she was blushing in her voice. "Your hands!"

"oops," Sans said innocently with a smile that was anything but as he shifted his hands down closer to her knees.

Before Ellie could say anything in response, though, the seraphim leaped into the air and propelled them skyward with one mighty downsweep of his wings. The woman's startled yelp at their sudden departure from the earth rapidly transformed into a delighted laugh as they soared up into the evening sky, bathed in the soft orange and gold hues of the sun as it neared the distant horizon.

When they leveled out, Sans released his hold on his passenger, the extra restraint no longer needed as she stretched out on top of him, her cheek hovering beside his temple as she loosened her hold on his neck a little.

Her breath tickled his cheek as she sighed happily and murmured for him alone, "This is a view I'll never tire of."

Sans cast his gaze to the ground as the edge of the village passed below them and was replaced by the thick forest between it and Mt. Ebott. The mountain dominated the skyline before them, huge and forbidding to anyone not familiar with its secret vistas and peaceful meadows.

"sometimes i think you only let me call on you for the flying," he said with a faux sigh that made her chuckle. His heart jumped at the sound and he grinned into the wind as it whistled through his pinions.

"Not at all," she replied, smile apparent in her voice as she repeated his own words. "But it is a definite perk."

"cheeky," Sans said, laughing as he banked left and slipped effortlessly to the side to catch a thermal that carried them higher yet. He could feel Ellie's grip on him tighten in response and he dipped lower so as not to stray too far from the ground for her comfort. The trust he knew she had in him was tremendous to allow him to carry her thus, but humans were flightless creatures by nature, and trust only got you so far in the face of survival instincts.

They arrived in the clearing below the temple he called home a few minutes later. Landing was always more of a trial than take-off when it came to traveling with a passenger. They'd had enough practice by now, though, that they made it back to the ground without mishap.

A great deal of Ellie's hair had blown loose during the trip, and the woman took a moment to redo it after they landed. Though she didn't notice, Sans watched her every move as he veiled his wings, admiring the way the evening light added subtle red tones to her thick curls before she tamed them once more.

That done, the woman glanced around the clearing, which was ringed by graceful, silver barked birch trees and thickly carpeted by golden flowers. It was a place they'd visited together many times, but judging by the subtly awed expression on Ellie's face, she found it just as impossibly lovely as ever. The blooms were ones found only on holy ground such as Mt. Ebott, and their delicate aroma inspired the woman to take a deep breath of the soothing fragrance before she finally turned to him and asked, "So, where is this mysterious 'something' you found?"

A frisson of terror mixed with excitement shot straight up Sans' spine when she asked, and it took every ounce of control he had to retain his casual stance at her side. He took a step back as he struggled to take a calming breath and pointed towards the opposite end of the clearing. "That," he said simply.

Ellie turned to look in the direction he pointed, and Sans took another step back, carrying himself safely out of her periphery as she squinted against the light of the setting sun in an attempt to see what he meant.

"What?" she asked, confused when she saw nothing besides more trees and flowers. A pretty sight to be certain, though no more so than the rest of the clearing. Frowning a little, she turned back to Sans, only to freeze when she found him down on one knee among the flowers.

"e-ellie," the seraphim began roughly as he reached into the breast pocket of his leather jerkin and pulled out a deceptively simple ring of white gold. Sans was forced to clear his throat before he continued, not quite daring to look up at the woman before him yet. "I..." He stammered to a halt again, all his clever words abandoning him when he finally turned his gaze up to Ellie.

She stood there with her hands clapped over her mouth, eyes wide with surprise until they met his own. In that moment, she dropped her arms to her sides and a smile bloomed across her freckled face like a rose colored sunrise.

The sight gave Sans the strength to push on as he held the ring out before him and admitted, "you know, i had an entire sales pitch for why you should marry me prepared for this moment, and now i can't remember a damn word," with a strangled laugh.

Ellie's smile only grew at his admission, and when he laughed, so did she. Their amusement at the absurdity of the situation escalated until she had to reach out to stabilize herself on his shoulder, and he was forced to unveil his wings and fan them gently to maintain his balance.

The laughter seemed to shake the seraphim free of his nerves, and when they'd both gotten themselves under control again, it was with newfound calm and a heartfelt smile that Sans asked her, "ellie reed, will you marry me?"

"Of course," Ellie answered immediately. "Oh of course, Sans," she repeated and reached for the ring he still held out towards her. At the last possible moment, though, he pulled it just out of reach, making her shoot him a puzzled look.

"I don't have a proper house," he warned her as he met her eyes, wings settling around them, encompassing them in their gentle white light.

"We can build one," she countered and reached for the ring again, only to find it just out of range once more.

"I can never give you children," Sans said, all humor gone from his voice now, and Ellie stopped reaching, realizing that this was important to the man who would be her husband.

"I know," she answered just as solemnly, though a smile returned to her features as she offered, "We can always adopt."

Sans couldn't help the smile that tugged at his mouth in response, but he pressed on. "I don't know what being bound to me will do to your lifespan," the seraphim warned. "You might outlive any children we adopt."

"Then we'll watch over them together, for so long as they'll have us."

The seraphim searched her eyes with his, and after a long moment of silence broken only by the sound of the wind in the trees around them, he said, "ellie, i will love you for so long as i live, and quite possibly even longer than that. when an angel says forever… you have to understand that we mean it quite literally. when we forge a bond like this with someone we love, we will never do so a second time."

Ellie was touched by the depth of the emotion behind the seraphim's words. To see him so solemn was not a common occurrence, and lent an even greater weight to the moment, which she knew had been his intent from the start.

"Sans," she murmured, but was unable to say more before he continued.

The seraphim took her left hand in his and bowed his head over it until the smooth plane of his forehead brushed her knuckles. "out of all the many multitudes, i choose you, ellie reed," he said, voice low and gentle, though there was a tension beneath his words that belied his nervousness. He lifted his head again and continued, "but that said, this is something you have to choose for yourself with your eyes open. it's something you have to want as well. don't say yes for the sake of sparing my feelings. If you need time to think on it, then you only have to say so."

Sans' tone was imploring now as he met her eyes again, his grip on her hand tightening as he watched her consider her options. Her hand tightened on his, and after a long moment of silence between them, she smiled softly and said, "Give me a day, or give me a hundred years, Sans, my answer would still be yes."

"you're certain?" he asked, expression fiercely hopeful and concerned in turns. "if you're not, tell me now. i'm too selfish a man to ask you twice, ellie; say yes and you're mine forever."

The low note of possessive longing in the seraphim's voice made Ellie's breath catch in her throat, heart fluttering in her chest at the way he looked at her now. So close to having what he wanted, so close to giving her everything he was with the absolute trust of a being who would only ever love a single woman for the rest of his days.

Rather than answer immediately, the woman leaned down and brushed her lips against his, gentle but insistent as her eyes slipped shut and his went wide. Ellie felt him exhale sharply as something within him released, sending a delicate tremor through his wings. As Sans's lips began to move slowly against hers, the woman felt his free hand slip up her shoulder and into her hair where he deftly plucked the pin that held it in place, setting the lot free to tumble down around her shoulders. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped the seraphim as he twined his gloved fingers through her ringlets.

"ellie," he mumbled against her lips, the warmth with which he said her name sending a little shiver up the woman's spine as she finally pulled away.

Finding her voice again, Ellie straightened and said, "Yes, Sans, I will marry you. There is nothing in this world that would make me happier."

For a moment, all the seraphim could do was stare up at her from where he still remained on one knee. Eventually, though, a face splitting grin overtook his features and he sprang to his feet with a delighted crow, then swept her up into his arms to dance them around the clearing. Her husband-to-be's wings buffeted the air as they passed, sending clouds of golden flower petals flying high overhead before fluttering slowly back down to the earth.

Ellie laughed and hung on for dear life as she was twirled about with all the effort it took a child to carry a doll. "Sans!" she cried, tears of mirth threatening at the corner of her eyes. "Sans - the ring, you silly bird!"

The angel stopped short and said, "oh." his eye sockets widened a little then and he said again, "oh."

The woman's mouth formed a little 'o' of horror. "You didn't," she breathed as he put her carefully back on her feet and patted himself down in search of the wedding band. "You did!" Ellie gasped, clapping her hands to her face as he grimaced and glanced back the way they had come.

To her relief, the seraphim spoke a few words of Enochian, and there was a brief flash in the distance as the setting sun glittered off a small piece of white gold before it rocketed towards them. It landed in Sans' outstretched hand and he held it up triumphantly between them.

"see, don't worry your pretty head, ellie dear. i've got it all under control," he declared with a grin.

Ellie threw her head back and laughed, sending her wild mane of curls tumbling. "You've anything but! If you didn't know magic we'd never have found it!"

"hey," he groused half-heartedly, "you want this thing or not?" Sans asked as he took her left hand in his gloved one and held the band in question just before her ring finger, one brow cocked as he looked at her.

"You know I do," Ellie said, voice gentle as she stopped laughing and watched him slip the ring onto her finger, heart pounding just behind her breast bone as the weight of the moment settled over them once more.

Sans held her hand between them for a moment, seeming to admire the way his ring sat on her finger before he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "and don't you forget it, sugar," he said with a sly grin.

Ellie laughed.

XXXX

Though memories of his wife made Sans ache in the very marrow of his bones, no tears threatened in his eyes as he stared at his wedding band and rolled it absently between his fingertips. The seraphim hadn't shed genuine tears since he had come to the realization that that there was no breaking the barrier between the Underground and the surface world shortly after the fall. After that, there had been only that painful, aching emptiness in the pit of his being any time he thought of what he, and every other angel, had lost.

Still, there was a reason he had put his ring away in the first place. Thoughts of Ellie hurt more than any other, and reminiscing their time together was the fastest way down into a black abyss of regret for what should have been a long and happy life together. Despite this, Sans' traitorous heart inevitably lead him back to the little box and the one piece of her he still possessed time and time again over the decades.

For the first time, though, a new thought crossed his mind as he examined the ring.

'El would have loved Frisk,' he thought to himself with a sad smile. They'd always planned to adopt children eventually, though had put it off for various reasons over the course of the ten years they had been married. The excuses all seemed so little and inconsequential in retrospect, he thought, not for the first time.

Wasn't that just how life went, though? They'd always thought there'd be more time, until suddenly there wasn't. Especially when it became apparent that Ellie had all but stopped aging as the years passed after their wedding day. What was a few more years when you thought you had eternity?

Sans' fingers stopped restlessly playing with the ring and allowed it to drop into his palm where the seraphim held it tight as he took a steadying breath.

Yes, thinking of Ellie still hurt, and probably always would. Repressing thoughts of her had served him well in avoiding emotional torment, but it occurred to him now that the habit was inevitably robbing him of some of his happiest memories. There were so many of them that their absence had left a void in his heart that he felt was making him gradually, painfully, cave in on himself.

The ring bit into the bones of his hand, reminding him how the ring he'd given his wife had done the same when he'd first acquired it. Papyrus had been the one to engrave it for him, he remembered abruptly, and wondered how he could have possibly forgotten his brother's painstaking efforts on his behalf. When he'd told Ellie that she'd been so touched she had cried all over her soon to be brother-in-law when she saw him next, alarming the archangel until he was able to decipher her tears for the joy and gratitude they were attempting to convey.

The memories, so long repressed, came thick and fast then, leaping to the forefront of his mind in rapid succession. Sans swayed under their onslaught, but let them rush over him without resistance.

The curve of her shy, excited smile on their wedding day. She'd been so radiant under her crown of golden flowers he would have sworn she outshone the sun.

How they'd laughed together during his freshman attempts at baking under her careful tutelage. He'd added far too much baking soda to the cookies and they'd come out with all the softness of woodchips, much to Ellie's amusement.

Their first dance, shared at a harvest festival held in the village center. Even pressed from all sides by crowds of other dancers they'd felt like they were the only two people in the whole world as they moved together in perfect harmony.

A kiss in the rain; soft, gentle, and utterly inevitable as he'd admired the way the raindrops glittered on her long, dark lashes. Sans didn't think he'd ever forget the way the heady scent of pine, rainwater, and golden flowers blended so harmoniously as he'd leaned in to kiss her that day. The whole world had felt washed clean.

He took another breath, throat tight, but under control once more.

Sans opened his eyes without having realized he'd closed them in the first place, and looked at the ring in his hand once more. After a moment's contemplation, he slowly, purposefully put its box back in his dresser drawer. The seraphim couldn't quite bring himself to restore the band to its place on his left ring finger, but he did tuck it carefully into the inside breast pocket of his new jacket before quietly leaving his room and closing the door behind him.

It was quiet downstairs again, though not in the empty, desolate way it had been the day before. While he took a moment to brush his teeth, Sans went to the railing that overlooked the downstairs and noted Frisk's slumbering form with some amusement. The girl had become tangled in her blanket over the course of the night, leaving some parts of her completely uncovered and dangling over the edge of the sofa.

"what a mess," he muttered to himself around his toothbrush and chuckled before finishing up his chore.

Papyrus was nowhere to be seen, which surprised the seraphim. His little brother was always up and about at this hour (there being very few hours in the day in which he was not up and about), though it did occur to Sans that perhaps he was in the shed again.

Unfortunately, the angel was quickly disabused of that notion when he saw a backpack placed neatly before the door with a crisply folded letter on top. Sans glanced at the still sleeping Frisk, then detoured to the bag instead.

The letter proved to have his own name written on it in Papyrus' neat, familiar hand. A curious frown on his face, Sans flipped open the folded slip of paper and read the brief note within.

SANS,

I KNOW YOU ARE PLANNING TO LEAVE TODAY WITH FRISK, AND I ALSO KNOW YOU, SO I PACKED THIS BAG FOR THE TRIP.

I HAVE AN ERRAND TO RUN, SO I WILL CATCH UP WITH YOU LATER.

YOUR AMAZING BROTHER,
PAPYRUS

PS - PLEASE BRING YOUR PHONE.

PPS - PLEASE ALSO ACQUIRE A PHONE FOR FRISK, JUST IN CASE.

PPPS - MAKE SURE TO TEXT HER NUMBER TO ME.

PPPPS - SERIOUSLY, DON'T FORGET TO BRING YOUR PHONE.

A chuckle of amusement at his brother's many post scripts escaped the seraphim as he re-folded the letter and set it aside on the table by the door. A brief perusal of the bag Papyrus had provided revealed a supply of basics they (though mostly Frisk) might need on their long walk to the third trial. It wouldn't take them long to get to Waterfall itself, but Undyne's trial started a considerable distance from the border with Snowdin.

There were some spare clothes, a first aid kit, and a few bottles of water, though not a lot of food. There wasn't much in the way of non-perishables around the house, though, so Sans made a mental note to stop at Bunny's before they left town.

Satisfied and appreciative of his brother's considerate forethought, Sans turned back to Frisk. A little snore escaped the girl, making the seraphim grin as he reached out and tweaked one of her bare feet, left exposed by her thrashing in the night.

"rise-and-shine, princess," he said and watched as she groaned and stirred, then dragged the blanket up over her head to hide from his view. She mumbled something he couldn't understand and he rolled his eyes before reaching out again and trailing one of his thin fingers up the length of her foot.

This startled a yelp from the girl as she tugged it, and the rest of her limbs, up under the blanket as well, making Sans laugh.

"That tickles," she whined.

"yeah, well, better come on out then or i'm coming in after you," he warned and started for the kitchen to the accompaniment of her over-dramatic sigh.

"For an angel you're awfully evil," she groused when she joined him in the kitchen a minute later.

"not evil," he countered matter-of-factly as he pulled out the scones leftover from the day before and warmed them in the microwave. "but definitely wicked."

Frisk huffed and yawned as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Papyrus had given her one of his shirts to wear so she didn't have to sleep in her clothes, and it hung on the girl like a dress as she stood barefoot in the kitchen beside him. The more awake she became, the more reserved, Sans noted as they fixed their breakfast and took it into the living room to eat.

He'd decided to forgo the full extent of the condiment collection for the day and made do with only half a dozen toppings. Frisk went straight for the butter again, and ate her food without actually seeming to notice she was doing so. Sans watched the girl thoughtfully where she sat cross-legged in the center of the sofa while he lounged in one corner.

"what's eatin' ya, kid?" he asked finally when Frisk began to slow in her eating, a frown tugging at her mouth. Her hand, he noticed, went to the find gold chain at her neck, and traced its way down to the round pendant that hung below her borrowed shirt. He'd forgotten about the necklace he'd first caught a glimpse of back in the guard shed, and she seemed just as set on not sharing it now as she had been then.

Frisk gave a guilty start and allowed her hand to drop as she answered, "Nothing."

Sans arched a brow and snorted in disbelief, barely managing to avoid spraying her with crumbs. "something's eating you more than you're eating that scone," he pointed out. "spill."

The child shifted uncomfortably where she sat, seeming able to feel the weight of his eyes on her even if she couldn't actually see his stare. "If I… If I don't go to the third trial… something bad would happen, wouldn't it?"

For some reason, Sans' heart leaped in his chest at her question. He forced himself to take a moment and set aside his plate before answering honestly, "angels from the capital would probably come looking for you." He watched her shoulders slump at his confession, and before he could stop himself, said, "but if you want to stay, frisk… pap and i would be happy to have you."

Frisk turned to him, sightless eyes wide. "What, like… forever?" she asked in a tone the seraphim couldn't quite decipher.

"well... yeah," he said, feeling awkward under her regard, though still in earnest. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, actually inviting her to stay. Hadn't he just finished telling Papyrus they couldn't possibly keep her the other night? Nothing had changed, his assertion was just as true now as it had been then. The longer Frisk remained with them, though, the less Sans cared about the consequences. "i mean, you've only known us a few of days, so maybe it's kinda weird to even offer," the seraphim continued. "but we… pap and i, we really like you, kid. i'm not sure what we'd do if something happened to you," he admitted.

It was a lie, of course. Sans knew precisely what he'd do if something happened to the little girl at his side, and frankly, it terrified him.

A small, hiccoughing noise escaped Frisk, drawing the seraphim's eyes back to her face, which was screwed up in a fierce attempt not to cry. To Sans' surprise, she threw herself sideways at him and latched onto the first bit of him her hands came into contact with. Her thin arms twined tightly around his as she buried her face in his shoulder and declared, "I don't want to go, Sans!"

"then don't," he told her, though he knew he was likely signing not only his own death warrant, but Papyrus' as well. He was just as sure, though, that Papyrus would have agreed without a second thought. The seraphim stroked Frisk's hair soothingly with his free hand, and the girl's grip on his arm tightened as her thin shoulders shook, face hidden in the fabric of his new jacket. "come hell or high water, papyrus and i will protect you," he vowed, words quiet but fierce.

They sat like that for a time, Frisk resolutely refusing to be moved from her place on Sans' arm, and the seraphim doing his best to comfort her. He didn't think she was crying, but he could tell it was an uphill battle for the girl, so he left her in peace.

Eventually, though, she pulled away and shook her head, "I can't."

"you could," he countered.

Frisk only shook her head and said, "No. If I did, you'd have to fight lots of other angels, right?" Sans was quiet, but that was all the response she needed. The girl nodded sadly and sighed, pushing her mussed hair back from her round face. "I did make my Grandma a promise anyways," she added.

This wasn't the first time the girl had mentioned as much, so Sans asked, "what'd you promise her that's so important?" He nearly added 'to a dead woman', but refrained. He was hardly one to criticize when it came to the memories of dead loved ones haunting your every action.

Frisk turned away from him and crawled across the sofa to the side table where her flower crown sat, and carefully gathered it to her before turning back to Sans. "I promised her I'd bring her flowers for her grave."

The child's unexpected answer startled the seraphim. "what?" he asked, and when he'd settled again, continued, "no offense, kid, but i'm pretty sure there's plenty of flowers up on the surface you could have gotten her..."

Frisk frowned and shook her head. "No, she wanted these flowers. Golden flowers," she said as she turned the crown over carefully in her slender hands. "She said it had to be these."

Sans very nearly made an unkind comment about her grandmother's senility, but again, managed to refrain. Whatever the case might have been, it was apparent Frisk was deadly serious about carrying out the request. The seraphim suspected the old woman never would have made the request had she been in full control of her faculties. After all, golden flowers didn't even exist on the surface anymore, and hadn't for two hundred years. Either Frisk had misunderstood, or her grandmother had been rambling on her deathbed… "kid, i doubt your old gran' would have wanted you risking your life just so she could have some flowers on her grave," he said doubtfully.

Frisk averted her face and shrugged. "Maybe. But I promised."

"frisk..."

"It's important to keep your promises, Sans," the girl said with a solemnity the seraphim could not argue against.

There wasn't any point, anyways. She was here now, and there was no way Asgore would let an opportunity to acquire a pure soul pass by just because Sans of all people had taken a shine to its owner.

Almost as though she had read his mind, Frisk asked, "Why do I really have to do these trials, Sans? You said it was a dumb rule, but..."

Sans hesitated again, and considered asking her to trust him rather than answer. In the end, though, he decided against it. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she'd agree to stay after all…

Every option that presented itself ended in blood, the seraphim realized. When it came right down to it, though, he'd rather it be his than hers.

"the only thing that can break the barrier keeping us here in the underground is a pure human soul," he explained. "and by that i don't mean an entire soul, i mean the human needs to be pure of soul," Sans clarified. "the trials are meant to weed out people that aren't."

Frisk's brow was furrowed, and she frowned thoughtfully as the skeleton explained. He was relieved that she didn't seem upset at least. When she spoke again, her question wasn't one he'd anticipated. "Who locked you all down here anyways? My teachers always say you were banished for attacking humans, but not who did it."

"really?" Sans mused, brows raised. "it was the sorcerers' enclave that cast the spell when no one was able to stop asgore and his bloody rampage."

The girl canted her head to one side, and the seraphim realized she had no idea what he meant. After a moment's consideration, though, he couldn't really admit to any surprise on the subject. The Enclave had been rather hush-hush even when angels had still walked the earth. For whatever reason, humanity had always been comfortable with the angels in their midst wielding magic, but those of their own species who were able to do the same were often kept at arm's length. Humans born with the ability to command magical forces were never quite accepted by their own kind, and were generally treated with equal wariness by angels.

Those humans that used their magic for selfish reasons often found themselves in a sharp downward spiral to the kind of depravity that lead to the slaughter of seraphim Asriel. Angels were highly magical creatures by nature, and pieces of them, apparently, could be used by humans to achieve mighty, if terrible, feats of magic. Fortunately, these dark wizards often found themselves kept in check by sorcerers, those magic wielding humans who kept strictly to the path of light. Unlike their dark brethren, these individuals had organized themselves into a loose association called the Sorcerers' Enclave.

When Sans had failed to stop Asgore, it was the Enclave that had enacted the spell to banish angelkind from the surface of the earth. The seraphim had resented them for many years, but in retrospect he knew it had been for the best. Given the kind of slaughter the Commander of the Heavenly Host had proved capable of enacting not only by himself, but by forcing the action of those under his control, there had been little other choice.

His father-in-law had warned him as much, that dark day before Sans had set off on his ill-fated mission to fight Asgore alone.

"the enclave was a group of human magic users that sort of," Sans waved a hand vaguely as he tried to put thought into words for the child, "looked out for mankind by keeping anyone trying to use dark magic in check. normally this didn't apply to angels, but…"

"But no one else could stop Asgore?" Frisk volunteered.

"pretty much," Sans agreed, deciding his own involvement in the matter didn't need including. "the spell the enclave performed to lock us away was primarily focused on asgore," he continued, picking absently at the crumbs on his discarded plate. "because angels are so magically interconnected, though, it caught everyone and sent all of us away."

"Do you think they sent all of you away on purpose?" Frisk asked, frowning at this thought, clearly displeased with the idea.

"no," Sans answered without hesitation. He had, after all, been warned as much by Ellie's father, Marcus. Though his daughter had never known the truth, Marcus had been a member of the Sorcerer's Enclave, and had been the delegate sent to tell Sans of their plans should Heaven not bring an end to Asgore's rampage. "if they'd had time, they probably could have sent only asgore away, but..." here he hesitated to inflict the full details on the child who listened to him so earnestly.

"But he was hurting a lot of people," she finished for him, expression unhappy.

"yeah," he agreed, relieved to leave the matter at that. "a lot of time was spent studying the spell after we wound up down here, and from what we can tell, it takes a pure human soul working in tandem with asgore's to undo what's been done."

Frisk's lips twisted at this reveal. "Can't Asgore just… ask a human for help? Why make them fight? That's dumb."

A huff of amusement escaped Sans and he ruffled her hair affectionately. "it is, but it kind of isn't. from what we can tell, we'll only get one shot at undoing the spell. after that, it's permanent. plus-"

Sans hesitated again, but it was too late. "What?" Frisk asked.

"plus..." the seraphim began slowly, then pushed on unhappily, "asgore will have to kill the human to take their soul and use it to break the spell." Frisk went pale, and Sans immediately reached out to her again in hopes of reassuring her. "i'll get you out, kid, i swear."

Frisk opened her mouth, then shut it again before finally managing to ask, "But how?"

"there's no magic keeping you here," he explained. "if you can just get to an exit, you can leave any time you like. we're the only ones trapped here. unfortunately, the only exit is in asgore's throne room, and the trials are between us and it." Sans mused.

"Oh," the girl said, seeming to brighten some at this faint hope. Her expression faltered, though, and she said, "But… if I leave, you and Pap will still be stuck here, won't you?"

Sans went still at her words, and watched her closely as he tried to make up his mind on which way to go from there. Eventually, he just ruffled her hair again and said, "don't worry about us, kiddo. lets just focus on getting you out of here for now." He pushed up off the couch and collected their plates before bringing them to the kitchen. "us angels have all the time in the world, after all," he lied with a smile.

XXXX

The morning flew by after that. Frisk bathed and changed back into her own clothes (tutu included) while Sans searched his room for his cellphone. It took a bit, but he eventually found it under his dresser in a distant, dusty corner, and brought it back to life with a simple charge spell. It was an older flip model, not one of those fancy touch screen things his brother was so fond of, and was chock full of unread texts and voicemails. Sans deleted them all in one fell swoop after deciding it wasn't worth the effort to go through and actually pick out any he might be inclined to respond to. Better to start with a fresh slate.

Before he left his room for the last time, Sans took up the jacket he'd been wearing the day before and transferred the contents of its pockets into his new one. Mostly it was just odds and ends, so he discarded some of it, though Toriel's feather earned itself a place in one of his new inside pockets so it wouldn't get lost. It wasn't as though he needed it; he wasn't about to go back on his initial promise to her now, after all, but it was nice having a keepsake of his long absent friend.

"yo, kid," he called as he stepped out of his room. "you got a cell phone?"

Frisk stuck her head out of the open bathroom door where she was doing her best to dry her hair with a towel and said, "Um, yeah," and produced a model not unlike his own, though certainly a little sleeker, from her pocket. "It hasn't worked since I fell down here though," she added and frowned down at the device.

Sans took it and flipped it open, though it proved to have no charge. Even after he'd returned power to it with the same spell he used on his own, though, it quickly became apparent that it was next to useless as a communication device in the Underground.

"guess we'll grab you a cheap one down at the shop before we go," he said and handed the phone back to the girl. "that or maybe bunny will know how to adapt it to the network we use down here."

"What do I need a phone for?" Frisk asked from beneath her towel as she went back to drying her short hair.

"pap left a note saying we should have them, just in case," Sans explained with a low laugh that rumbled a little in the depths of his hollow chest. "he's probably right, to be fair. doesn't hurt to be able to call each other if we get separated."

The girl finished her hair and nodded before feeling for the towel rack and carefully placing her towel on it. "Where is Pap?" she asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Sans shrugged, "dunno. he just left me a note saying he had some errands to do and he'd catch up later."

"He shoulda' said bye first," Frisk pouted as they made their way downstairs together and she collected her crown of flowers.

"maybe he did and you just slept through it," Sans pointed out. A sly smile tugged at his mouth and he added, "you were snoring pretty loud..."

"I was not!" Frisk objected vehemently as she dropped the crown on her head and adjusted it so it sat comfortably above her ears to keep it from slipping down.

"yep. scared dog away and everything," the seraphim teased and bent to collect the bag Papyrus had packed for them, then slipped his right arm through one strap and shrugged so it sat comfortably.

Frisk made a face at him, and he laughed. She hesitated after a moment though and asked, "Have you seen Dog, though? It was here last night when I went to bed..."

The earnest, fretful concern on the child's face was enough to make Sans lay off on teasing her in favor of saying, "don't worry about dog, kiddo. like i said the other day, dog's a free agent. it'll come back around when it's ready."

Frisk grumbled a little at this answer, but eventually accepted it when she realized she had little other choice. She found her stick by feel next to the door where she'd left it, and together they ventured outside once more.

Before leaving town proper, Sans lead the way to Bunny's shop where he picked up some more travel friendly food and another water bottle. Though she had no more phones to sell them, the lesser angel did know how to adjust Frisk's so it could operate in the Underground, which pleased them both.

"i'm putting myself in your speed dial," Sans told the girl before he returned her phone when they had exited the shop again. He flipped through the menu and and hesitated briefly when he saw that 'Grandma' was already at the top of the list. The seraphim keyed down to the second slot and entered his number, and then added Papyrus as number three. "there," he said, and closed the phone with a satisfying clap before passing it back to Frisk. "I'm second on the list, and i went ahead and added pap as number three."

"Thanks," she said, smile sweet, though a little melancholy in Sans' eyes. He didn't comment, though. Instead he opened his own phone and entered her number into his contacts.

"ready?" he asked her when he'd finished and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

Frisk tilted her head then sighed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"lovin' that enthusiasm, kiddo," Sans remarked drolly as they started walking, drawing a smile to the girl's face.

Frisk's stick cut through the snow in front of her with a soft 'swish-tap' as they walked down the main avenue of the little town. Without Papyrus, no one approached or attempted to greet them, which suited Sans just fine, and Frisk didn't appear to notice.

"Hey, Sans?" the girl asked, a small frown tugging at her lips. "Do my flowers look ok?"

The seraphim arched a brow and glanced at her sidelong. Out of deference to her actual question, he did look at the crown of golden flowers in question as her fingers trailed lightly over them. "you're barking up the wrong tree if you're asking these old bones for fashion advice, princess," he admitted with a snort of amusement.

Frisk scrunched up her nose and in a put-upon voice said, "No, I mean are they wilting? Or- or losing petals?"

The reason for her concern clicked and the skeleton answered truthfully, "oh, no, they're fine, kiddo, i promise."

"Really?" she asked, relief writ clear across her fair face. Her brow furrowed after a moment and she admitted, "I thought they'd be ruined for sure by now."

"nah," Sans said, waving off her concern, though his own was beginning to kick in as they left the edge of town and encountered fog that seemed to grow in density with every step they took. "golden flowers aren't like normal flowers," he explained. "as long as you're on holy ground, nothing short of literally setting them on fire will damage them."

"The Underground is holy ground?" the child asked, surprised.

"it wasn't before we fell down here," the seraphim admitted with a huff of wry amusement. "two hundred years of having so many angels crammed in such a relatively small area made it that way, though. think of it like radiation, just with more divinity and significantly less cancer."

Frisk made a thoughtful noise at this new information, and only spoke again when Sans himself hesitated. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The fog had thickened to a degree that the seraphim could barely see the child at his side, let alone more than five feet in front of him, forcing him to stop. The weather at the border of Snowdin and Waterfall was always temperamental thanks to the temperature difference between the two regions, but this was absurd.

"this fog is ridiculous," he complained aloud as he squinted into the mist, no longer certain they were headed in the right direction. "can't see my nose at the end of my face."

"Oh no, how terrifying," Frisk replied blandly in a voice dry as the Sahara.

A short laugh escaped the seraphim despite his concern and he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "sorry kid, you know what i mean."

"But you don't even have a nose," she pointed out cannily, only to yelp when he reached out and tweaked hers.

"fine, i can't see your nose at the end of your-"

"Shh! Did you hear that?" Frisk asked and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could reply. He sputtered a little, but didn't say anything as they both strained to listen. The sound repeated, distant but familiar. "Dog!" the girl exclaimed and bounded forward, forcing Sans to lunge and snag her free hand with his so she wouldn't leave him behind.

He nearly made a joke about the blind leading the blind, but decided that felt a little tasteless even for him.

Out of the mist, a familiar form appeared, the bright black eyes and nose being the first thing the seraphim was able to distinguish of Dog. The creature was all delighted wiggles when it flopped down in front of Frisk and allowed the girl to pet it with equal enthusiasm.

"Good dog, finding us!" the child cooed happily to the creature, which brought on another paroxysm of full body wiggling so vigorous Sans was surprised it hadn't strained something by now. "Sans got us lost, do you know the way to Waterfall?" Frisk asked Dog.

"i am not lost," Sans scoffed. "and even if i was, it's not like a dog would-"

Before the seraphim could even finish his sentence, Dog was back on its paws and bounding away into the mist, disappearing almost immediately. It barked and Frisk jumped up to follow. "C'mon," she said as she took Sans' hand once more. "I'll lead this time."

She tugged on him and the seraphim only hesitated a moment before allowing her to pull him forward in the direction Dog had disappeared. "well, if we get lost this time, it's your fault," he groused half-heartedly as they caught up to Dog again, only for it to trot ahead once more.

"Hah! So you admit we were lost then!"

Sans refused to answer, and Frisk grinned, taking it as a victory.

Eventually the fog began to thin, much to Sans' relief. Following the dog didn't really bother him once it had become apparent that the creature really did seem to know the way, but the sensory deprivation that came with all that mist did. He didn't just feel blind, but deaf as well. The thick, cottony whiteness devoured sound, making even Frisk's voice sound muted at his side.

The sound of water reached them first, and the fog quickly devolved into mist after that, making Sans release a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "welcome to waterfall, princess," he told Frisk as they trod across the first of many bridges they would encounter. Streams, rivers, marshes, and the numerous waterfalls for which the region was named all dominated the land, leaving it more water than fall most of the time.

When she didn't say anything, Sans glanced at the girl and saw her frown, her expression perturbed as she turned her head this way and that. "what's wrong, kiddo?" he asked, brow furrowed as he too glanced around warily. He'd come to accept that the child's hearing was much better than his own, and if she was hearing something now…

Frisk made a small sound of discontent, as though hesitant to even put words to what she was feeling. Finally, though, she turned towards Sans and asked, "Is there… is there someone watching us?"

Now the seraphim really looked around, equally perturbed by the possibility. Surely Undyne wouldn't have camped out at the border to wait for them? Last he'd heard, the archangel's trial was some ways east from Snowdin, but maybe she had decided to make a preemptive strike…

Power thrummed through the seraphim, and his hold on Frisk's hand tightened as the light of his right eye snuffed out. The left flared blue, altering Sans' sight so details blurred and faded, but every living thing in the area suddenly blazed bright and clear in his vision. Plants glowed gently around them, the little fish in the river below the bridge were sharp, star-like pinpricks darting through the dark, and beside him, Frisk's soul burned like a bonfire. Somewhere at his heels, Dog snuffled, but the seraphim ignored the creature in favor of focusing on their surroundings.

No living thing could hide the light of their soul from the seraphim, and with the exception of Frisk at his side, no other such light presented itself, which relieved the tension that had sent Sans' shoulders rigid in anticipation of a fight. Worry assuaged, the skeleton turned his eye back to Frisk's soul, a radiant presence just below her breast bone that burned hot, steady, and determined under his gaze.

"Well?" she asked, startling him from his contemplation of her innermost self.

"i don't see anyone," he answered and blinked, returning his vision to normal.

Frisk frowned again and rubbed the back of her neck absently. "I swear it feels like someone is watching us though," she complained. "I felt it when I first left the ruins too."

Silently, Sans wondered if the stress of having a bunch of angels hunting her down for her soul wasn't getting to the girl, but didn't say as much. Instead, he tugged lightly on her hand and lead the way across the bridge, Dog trailing after them. Frisk seemed to lighten up a little as they passed the first waterfall and Dog wedged itself between them to push at her hand with its cold, wet nose.

"Hey, occupado, you menace," Sans told the animal as he lifted their hands out of the Annoying Dog's reach.

Frisk, however, only laughed and released her hold on him so she could scratch Dog's head. The creature shot Sans a look the skeleton could only label as smug, which was not something he was accustomed to seeing on a dog.

"oh, i see how it is," Sans drawled as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "soon as something warm and fluffy comes along, the bag of bones is yesterday's news, huh?"

"Well..." the girl began guiltily and actually hesitated in petting Dog.

The expression on Frisk's face made Sans chuckle. He bumped her lightly with his elbow and said, "i'm only teasing, princess. keep frowning like that and your face is gonna get stuck that way."

"Well, you would know I guess," she countered with a grin and Sans laughed.

XXXX

Hours passed, but the scenery changed little around them as they traveled. Mostly they chatted to pass the time (well, Frisk chatted, Sans mostly listened and contributed the occasional quip just to liven things up) while Dog came and went at its leisure. The creature would dart off into the bushes for awhile, only to return with a stick for one of them to throw. When they did, it would vanish again, sometimes for several minutes, and then return with an entirely different stick.

"your dog is kinda bad at this game," Sans observed as Frisk threw yet another stick and the animal in question bounded off into the tall grass to the side of the path with a joyous bark.

"What do you mean my dog? Dog lives with you!" she said as they continued walking, her walking stick tapping in front of her.

The seraphim scoffed. "that dog may mooch off me on the regular, but that doesn't make it mine," He glanced at Frisk sidelong, a smile pulling at his lips as he added, "nah, that thing loves you, kid. i may not know much about owning a dog, but i'm still pretty sure that's the most important bit."

Frisk bit down on her lower lip, but couldn't conceal her smile. "Could I… Could I take Dog back to the surface with me, you think?" she asked hopefully.

Sans blinked, but answered, "i don't see why not, so long as it wants to go. the spell wasn't meant to keep dogs down here anymore than it was humans."

Grinning delightedly at this news, Frisk cannoned into him and threw her arms around the seraphim. "Thanks, Sans!"

Sans grunted at the impact, but chuckled and slung an arm around her. "dunno what you're thanking me for, but okay," he said, then paused when they came around a bend in the path as it wound along a cliff face so tall it disappeared up into the darkness overhead. "oh," he breathed out quietly.

"What?" Frisk asked as they came to a halt, her arms still wrapped tightly around the skeleton.

He glanced down at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the landscape spread out before them. "nothing. i just forgot how pretty it is out here, is all," he admitted and cleared his throat awkwardly.

The landscape of the Underground was odd wherever you went; a natural side effect of being, well, underground. Waterfall as as wet as its name suggested, though that didn't make it any less lovely as he looked out across a rolling landscape that was interrupted by the occasional vast stalagmite that rose from the ground to connect, pillar-like, to a stalactite of equal size overhead. Scattered amongst these mighty hangers-on were crystal formations that glowed with a gentle blue-white light the waters below reflected in kind.

Sans would never mistake them for stars, as, while beautiful, they were all wrong. More like a child's interpretation of stars, or what an artist would paint when they had only secondhand tales of the night sky to inspire their work.

"Describe it for me?" Frisk asked him hopefully.

The seraphim glanced down at her, then back at the 'sky' overhead before starting to walk again. "alright," he said after a moment, and did his best.

Attempting to paint a mental picture for a blind child was a more challenging task than Sans had ever appreciated before that moment. Frisk had only distant memories of the years when she still had the use of her eyes, so a great deal of context was lacking. After some trial and error, though, Sans found that describing the shape of things in broad strokes worked best. Using words such as 'soft' or 'sharp' proved more relatable than colors, or light and dark.

He could read how well he was doing in her expressions and the way she tilted her head, and it wasn't long before she was smiling. Eventually, though, she started rubbing first one ear, and then the other in a distracted fashion that made him wonder if he was losing his audience.

"Your voice sounds funny," Frisk said with a frown as she turned her face up to him. She grimaced before he could reply, though, and said, "Now my voice sounds funny..."

"what are you-" Sans began, then paused as he heard it as well. When they spoke, their words echoed strangely, despite the surrounding area not being conducive to the creation of actual echoes. "oh," he said, and laughed, only to hear the sound repeated almost immediately after him. "that's just the echo flowers, kiddo. there must be a patch of them around here somewhere."

"Echo flowers?" Frisk repeated just as Sans spotted one of the large, gently glowing flowers tucked away between two rocks a little ways off the path. "What are those?"

"Here," the seraphim said and lead her carefully over to the flower. "they're pretty much what they sound like. flowers that echo whatever they last heard."

they're pretty much what they sound like. flowers that echo whatever they last heard.

"But how does a flower hear?" Frisk asked, baffled but intrigued by this idea as Sans guided her hand up to brush over the large petals.

But how does a flower hear?

"How does anything hear?" Sans mused.

How does anything hear?

Frisk shot him a flat look and the seraphim laughed, which the flower also echoed. "If this flower has ears, I will scream," she informed him.

If this flower has ears, I will scream.

"it doesn't, i promise," he told her as he took her hand and drew her back to the path once more, not releasing his hold on her until they did for fear of her tripping on the uneven ground. "probably some sort of magic, just like most things down here," he mused.

it doesn't, i promise. probably some sort of magic, just like most things down here.

Frisk made a little hum as she considered this, Sans' last words echoing again as they left the flower behind to repeat itself until someone else came along for it to mimic. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the seraphim shushed her silently by placing one hand over her mouth as they passed yet more flowers.

I wish these flowers would stop copying us, it's creepy.

Are we lost?

I miss her so much…

Ugh, what did I just step in?

They passed through half a dozen different conversations as they walked, each listening with idle curiosity to what had been said by those who had come before.

UNDYNE, PLEASE, JUST LISTEN!

The familiarity of the voice brought them both up short, and Sans was forced to clap a hand over Frisk's mouth before she could call out to Papyrus. The girl tried to push his hand away but he kept it firmly in place and tugged her over to him, breathing gone slow and quiet as his left eye flared blue and searched for any signs of life around them.

UNDYNE, PLEASE, JUST LISTEN!

Once again, only plant life revealed itself, though Sans remained wary. His soul sight had a limit on its range, after all, and was draining to use indefinitely. He allowed it to drop as he murmured quietly to Frisk, "don't say a word until i say so, alright?"

UNDYNE, PLEASE, JUST LISTEN!

Ever the bright child, Frisk nodded and Sans started walking again, his hand tight around hers in anticipation of a sudden need to flee should his brother and Undyne prove to still be in the area.

Save your breath, Papyrus. Nothing you can say will change the fact that this human of yours has to go through my trial. If you interfere with that-

Nothing you can say will change the fact that this human of yours has to go through my trial. If you interfere with that-

If you interfere with that-

with that-

The echo flowers grew so thick along the stretch of path they now walked down that Undyne's voice bounced crazily around them, repeated ad nauseum until her words became a garbled mess. When they broke through the patch, Papyrus' voice came through bright and clear once more, like a radio station suddenly coming back into tune after nothing but white noise.

BUT FRISK ISN'T LIKE THE OTHERS-

BUT FRISK ISN'T LIKE THE OTHERS-

LIKE THE OTHERS-

FRISK-

What do you know of the others?

Frisk's hand tightened around Sans', making the skeleton glance sidelong at her. The child's chin had dropped to her chest, her dark hair sweeping forward to hide her face from him. He didn't have to see to know how much the conversation they were overhearing distressed her, though. Sans gave her hand a squeeze in return, thoughts going to his brother.

'Running an errand' his boney, non-existent ass.

Sans cursed himself silently. He should have known his little brother would try to talk to his fellow archangel in hopes of convincing her not to attack their young friend. Unfortunately, though Papyrus and Undyne were friends, the other archangel was much older, and her heart long since hardened to the pleading of mere mortals. Of all the trial keepers, Undyne had slain the most humans, and was the most unforgiving.

How she and his tender-hearted brother had become such close friends, Sans was convinced he'd never understand.

We need a pure human soul to escape, Papyrus, have you forgotten?

a pure human soul-

-have you forgotten?

-forgotten?

HOW COULD I? YOU NEVER STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!

-STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!

Coming to an abrupt decision, Sans struck off the path with Frisk in tow, and waded through the flowers, expression grim. The conversation played on repeat around them, brief snatches seemingly startled from the blooms as they passed.

The seraphim didn't slow until they'd left the archangels' voices behind, and stopped in an open, grassy clearing that had no echo flowers in sight. "alright, it's safe to talk again," he told the girl.

"Why'd we leave the path?" she asked as she caught her breath. "And where's Dog?"

"i don't know how long ago pap and undyne walked along there. for all we know, we might have been about to catch up to them," he admitted truthfully, though the girl's own discomfort at hearing herself discussed so coldly by the archangel she was about to face had played some part in the decision too. "as for the fuzzy mooch..." Sans glanced around, but saw no sign of the animal in question. "no idea," he said with a sigh, but quickly added, "don't worry, it always finds its way back eventually."

Frisk heaved a sigh of her own, but nodded while Sans adjusted the backpack that hung from his right shoulder. He glanced at the crystals on the ceiling to orient himself, not unlike one might have with actual stars on the surface. The benefit here, of course, was that there was no change in their orientation with the seasons. Granted, the eternal sameness of the Underground was just as maddening as it could be useful.

Frisk's hand found his as they started walking again, apparently content to let him lead now that they were back on uneven ground again. The seraphim couldn't help but smile a little at how very natural it felt to have her at his side as they waded through the knee high grass towards the treeline. He could see more flowers in the distance, but he kept going regardless, figuring it'd be unlikely for Undyne and Papyrus to have left the path as well. He'd keep them going parallel to it for awhile before cutting back over to it in hopes that the archangels were long gone.

Unfortunately, since he was unable to fly, simply cutting across Waterfall willy-nilly wasn't feasible. The marshes had hidden depths, and the rivers ran swift and cold over unforgiving rocks. They wouldn't have any choice but to cross them at the various bridges angelkind had built since their arrival if they wanted to make it through.

Which was why he'd bet his good wing Undyne would lie in wait for them rather than try to chase them down.

Frisk stumbled, and though Sans' hold on her kept her from going all the way down, she still managed to scrape one knee.

"Ow!" she hissed as he helped her upright once more.

Ow!

Ow!

"you alright?" he asked as he bent to assess at the damage. While her skin was probably abraded under her tights, the fabric itself hadn't torn, so he was surprised when he heard her begin to cry. "it's not that bad," he chided her in a light tone in hopes of cheering her up. "no need to get all weepy."

"I'm not," Frisk said, sounding a little offended that he thought she might cry at something so minor as a scraped knee.

Her defensive tone brought a grin to his face, and Sans said, "it's alright to-" He paused when he glanced up at her and saw that the child's face was completely tear free, her expression puzzled and a little miffed at his teasing.

The crying continued in the face of her silence.

Frisk heard it too, then, and her brow furrowed. "Is… is that the flowers?" she asked hesitantly.

"must be," Sans said as he straightened. For a moment, he considered going back to the path early, but considering the potential danger should they bump into Undyne there, he decided that, creepy or not, the crying flowers were the better option. "come on," he said and tugged Frisk's hand lightly to encourage her forward.

To the child's credit, she only hesitated a moment before allowing him to draw her on into the trees. Flowers grew here and there, and though Sans had expected the crying to die off quickly, it simply continued on and on… great, heart wrenching sobs filled the air and sent a shiver up the seraphim's spine as they tugged at something in his memory.

Beside him, Frisk wasn't just holding Sans' hand, but had practically plastered herself to his side. He kept stumbling over her, but the seraphim didn't have the heart to push her away. This was creepy enough for him, let alone a ten-year-old kid whose only lifeline in an unending darkness full of eerie, heartbroken weeping was a broken seraphim with a bad sense of humor and some deep seated mental issues.

Weeping...

Sans came to a stop as cold certainty settled in his gut. Frisk paused beside him, brow furrowed as her head turned towards him in silent question. He ignored her, though, and called, "is someone there?"

The flowers that surrounded them didn't even have time to echo his words. They were immediately overwritten by a wail that made the hairs at the nape of Frisk's neck stand on end and Sans' shoulders go rigid.

"W-who is that?" Frisk asked, small, round face gone pale as she pointed unerringly to their right at the source of the sound.

Sans spun sharply on heel to look as his wings appeared, disturbing the flowers around them as the right one spread wide, then swept down and around to shield Frisk. The left he held close to his back as the seraphim's eyelights shrank to tiny pinpricks in his eye sockets when he saw they were not alone in the forest. The seraphim's good wing pressed the child in close against him and his arms wrapped tightly about her, as though ready to leap into the air at any moment, despite the impossibility of the feat. He knew his reaction had frighted Frisk, he could feel her trembling, but he said nothing and took a step back, then another, pulling her along with him.

Through the trees at some distance, he could see the archangel where she wandered aimlessly through the flowers, weeping openly, shoulders bent with grief.

"Sans!"

Frisk's desperate, frightened tone dragged his attention back to the girl in his arms, and made him realize she'd been trying to talk to him the entire time. "what?" he rasped, voice gone low and uneven as they took another step back together.

"Is it Undyne?" the girl asked, her voice muffled by his wing, though he could not have shifted it from its protective hold on the girl for love or money in that moment.

"no, kid, it's not undyne," he replied. At Frisk's frustrated, fearful tug on his jacket, Sans continued, "it's cassiel. she was the keeper of the second trial before papyrus."

"I thought… I thought no one knew what happened to her? Why's she here?" Frisk asked.

"no," the seraphim corrected her quietly as he watched Cassiel's progress in the distance. "pap didn't know what happened to her. i do. plenty of people do. she got killed by the last human to take her trial."

Sans could feel Frisk go rigid in his grip, and he mirrored her posture, though for an entirely different reason. Cassiel was heading directly towards them now.

She'd been peculiar for an angel, even by his own standards. Her broad wings had been a few shades more orange than Papyrus', and in death she still wore an almost cheerful looking mask that put one more in mind of a demon than the archangel she was. Her long cloak and scarf trailed behind her as she walked, her weeping made all the eerier by the fact that her mask continued to smile. Her garb had once been russet orange in color but now they, and her wings, had been rendered a faint blue-green in death as her translucent soul wandered the forest, no longer bound to a physical body.

"She's… she's a ghost?" Frisk asked, voice shooting up an octave as she began to return his tight grip. "But Grandma always said ghosts don't exist!"

"they didn't used to," Sans replied faintly as his eyes locked with Cassiel's behind her mask. She had seen them for certain, and was advancing slowly, but steadily, in their direction. "but i told you before, kid, angels are all trapped down here until we can break the spell holding us. no one gets to leave, not even when we die."

A small, distressed sound escaped Frisk then, though Sans wasn't sure if it was from horror at this revelation, or fear of what was approaching.

"don't be afraid," he told her as he finally stopped backing away in the face of Cassiel's advance. "she's just a weeper, she can't hurt you," the seraphim insisted, though he did not drop his protective stance.

"But you're afraid!" Frisk objected as she clung to him, then twisted in his grip so she could bury her face in his jacket.

"i am not," Sans objected, glancing down at her briefly before turning his gaze back to the advancing archangel.

"Yes you are, I can hear it in your voice!"

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. His voice always had gone a little funny when he was truly shaken, as he was now; it just wasn't for the reason she assumed.

He hadn't lied; there was nothing Cassiel could do to harm them. This was, however, Sans' first run in with a Weeper in a very, very long time.

The Underground, while beautiful, held certain unforeseen cruelties that had not become apparent until the angels had been there for some time. No one had realized the spell that had banished them there would hold them even in death. They were naturally long lived creatures, and before the fall, the average angel could live untold eons so long as they were not outright killed. No one died of illness, or old age; they would simply… move on from their physical forms when they eventually tired of life and were ready to continue into the hereafter to discover what awaited them there.

After the fall, though, it had taken some years before the first of them had tried, only to find themselves trapped in a limbo between this life and the next, no longer tethered to a physical form, but unable to find the light that should have lead them out of that darkness. This was so distressing to the angel's soul that they lost all grasp on reality almost immediately and were left to wander, weeping for the loss of what they once had and that which they might never achieve. They remained trapped indefinitely, only occasionally able to register their surroundings or the people among whom they sometimes found themselves.

They became known simply as Weepers, though somehow, these were still less distressing than the Fallen.

Oh, everyone in the underground had fallen, but the title as such was granted only to those for whom hope had become so remote that they had simply… stopped. There was little other way to explain it. While still technically alive and bound to their bodies, some angels would fall down and never rise again, completely catatonic and unresponsive in the face of any stimuli, magical or otherwise.

Now, staring down Cassiel as she approached, Sans recalled his own near miss at joining their ranks.

It had been the seventieth anniversary of the fall, and every angel in Snowdin had wound up in Grillby's or clustered in tight knit groups on the street outside. Some had come from as far as the capital for the unofficial memorial and a glass of the dominion's famous golden liquor. Grillby had been brewing it for years by that time; a finely honed mix of vodka and fermented golden flower milk he made himself in his free time. Normally it was nigh impossible to get an angel well and truly drunk, but Grillby's golden liquor could manage it a treat in three glasses or less, depending on one's tolerance.

Sans had been on his sixth glass, comfortably numb as the room spun pleasantly around him. He had claimed a booth for himself and Papyrus at the beginning of the night, though his brother had disappeared off… somewhere, Creator only knew where. The seraphim suspected he might have to scrape him off someone's roof tomorrow if previous memorial days were anything to go by, but that was future Sans' problem.

The angels of Snowdin didn't gather to remember the fall every year, though no one was quite sure why. Some years the day came and it just felt… right to show up at Grillby's and get royally smashed in the company of everyone you knew. Like there was some silent signal that rippled through the populace and flipped a mental switch to summon them all to the bar. Speeches were made, tears were shed, and drink flowed freely to help ease the ache a little.

Sans himself had been feeling better than he had in a long time. The ache in his wing hadn't been quite as bad in those days, but still enough that it was a good thing Grillby didn't offer golden liquor year round. It was the only thing short of magic that really numbed the seraphim, and he knew it could so easily become a habit had it been readily available.

Maybe that was why the dominion didn't sell it the rest of the year. Sans surely wasn't the only one longing for the occasional (or more) descent into insensibility…

"How long's it been now? I've lost track again..." an angel in the next booth asked of her companion. Sans could barely hear them over the ruckus that had long since swallowed the bar, and continued to pretend he couldn't as he eavesdropped.

"Seventy years now," the second angel said with a hefty sigh. "Feels longer, though."

The first angel whistled quietly. "So that makes it… what, 1886 topside? Or, wait… 1887?" The second nodded glumly, and after a moment, their companion continued. "Think it's possible we'll be back for the new century?"

Sans didn't hear what was said next. He had frozen with his glass halfway to his mouth and was staring into the milky liquid within as he suddenly started doing frantic mental math.

Seventy years? Could that possibly be right? Surely not…

Some internal clock the seraphim had been pointedly ignoring over the years told him it was, though, and a swell of dread rose within him. It had been the autumn of 1817 when the fall had occurred; he and Ellie had been married the summer of 1807 not long after her twenty-eighth birthday, which meant she was…

One-hundred and eight years old.

There was a sharp crash somewhere in the distance, but Sans paid it no mind.

One-hundred and eight… an age most humans never came close to, let alone achieved. Granted, his wife hadn't aged for the ten years they'd been together, but even subtracting a decade left her at ninety-eight, an equally unlikely number.

He felt sick.

Had things gone according to plan, a hundred years, two hundred, five… all would have likely left Ellie untouched thanks to her bond with him. The magic he possessed in spades would probably have sustained her indefinitely. Granted, he couldn't be certain; a seraphim making a life bond with a human was nigh unheard of, though Sans found it unlikely that no one before him had ever fallen for a mortal. You heard rumors of angels that disappeared off into the world and never returned to heaven sometimes. What other reason could there be but they had found happiness with a human and made their home with them in some quiet corner of the world where they could live undisturbed?

That was all Sans had wanted, after all. As soon as he had finished his stint as guardian of the gate, he and Ellie would have left that little village at the base of the mountain and traveled the world until they found some place new to settle down. He'd dreamed of somewhere quiet by a warm sea where the water was clear and El's skin would turn golden brown under the hot summer sun. Somewhere he could stretch out on the sand and absorb all that heat into the very marrow of his bones so he'd be as warm to the touch as his wife when the night fell and their bodies twined under the sheets of their shared bed. Somewhere they could raise a child or three or six in a house full of laughter and sunshine that poured in through open windows while the heady scent of his wife's baking filled the air.

He would have been there now if not for Asgore. And now he'd never have that, not even if they miraculously escaped tomorrow.

Ninety-eight was an age few humans ever lived to see.

Sans remembered the way their bond had stretched when mortal magic opened that black pit beneath his feet and innumerable shadowy hands had reached out and dragged him into the dark. Ellie had grabbed at him, fighting her own father's magic for her husband's immortal soul, weeping with frustration as Sans' hand slid inexorably through her grip.

He wished she hadn't been there to witness his fall. Wished his frantic struggling and blood soaked form hadn't been the last Ellie had seen of him. Wished to the Creator that the kiss they'd shared on the steps of the temple before he'd left to fight Asgore had been her final memory of him, rather than the terror that followed.

But she'd been the one to ride out on a stolen horse to find him, broken and bleeding where Asgore had left him, intent on bringing him home again. Of course she had. Of course his brave and possibly mad (she'd agreed to marry him, after all) Ellie had been the one to ride through a thunderstorm while angels ravaged the land abroad when it became obvious his plan had failed. She'd wept at the extent of his wounds, but that hadn't stopped her dragging him to his feet, bearing the weight of him on her narrow shoulders as she coaxed and cursed him along in turns.

But he'd fallen anyways. The magic had left her untouched, kneeling on empty air as she clung to his hand, muscles straining with the weight of him and that which dragged him down. He wished he'd had the presence of mind to tell her that he loved her one last time.

"not yet!" he'd gasped instead, pleading with the enclave, with the magic that coiled ruthlessly around him like a serpent, with Heaven itself... "not now! i can still fight!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears and he'd dropped like a stone into the depths to the sound of Ellie's scream. Their bond had stretched to the thinness of the finest spider's silk in an attempt to span the impossible distance between husband and wife until, finally, even that broke and drifted away on unseen tides in the dark that filled the void between them.

"Sans?"

There had then been a hand, warm and heavy, on the seraphim's shoulder. When Sans turned to look up at its owner, he found Grillby's flickering features regarding him with some concern, a towel held in his other hand.

"what's wrong?" the seraphim asked in what seemed like a perfectly normal tone, though his voice sounded a mile away and Sans felt as if he were tethered to his body by a thin cord, rather than inhabiting it. The dominion gestured at the floor and the skeleton noted that he had dropped his glass of liquor without even noticing. Glass shards glittered in the flickering light of the dominion's flames as the liquid it had once held gradually spread across the floor. "oops. sorry," he said and smiled distantly, "butterfingers."

"My Lord, are you alright?" Grillby asked, voice dropping as he leaned on the table, barely discernable brow furrowed in outright concern.

"please don't call me that," Sans said blithely through his smile. Somewhere inside his head, someone was screaming. It was making it awfully hard to focus on the world around him.

Grillby nodded slowly at the request, still watching the other angel closely before finally asking, "Where's Papyrus, my L-...excuse me, Sans?"

"i, uh…" Sans hesitated, left hand going to his temple where a throbbing ache was beginning to develop and spread down to his shoulder. He was still smiling. He wanted to vomit. The seraphim's right hand went to the table and gripped the corner lightly in a vain attempt to stop the world from spinning sickeningly around him.

"Let me send someone to find him for you," Grillby suggested gently.

"no," Sans answered more sharply than he'd intended. He needed to get out of the bar, to go somewhere he could be alone. Coming had been a mistake. Drinking had been a mistake.

Thinking about his wife had been a mistake.

There was another crack, and Sans opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed to see the splintered remains of table corner crumbling through the fingers of his right hand. Other angels were starting to look their way now, including the couple in the next booth over, and Sans' smile widened.

"don't know my own strength," he mused with a self-deprecating grin as he let the splinters drop to the tabletop. "can't take me anywhere," he joked, drawing a laugh from the crowd before they turned their attention back to their own conversations. Sans took the opportunity to slide out of the booth and make for the door before he could attract any more attention. Grillby moved to stop him, but a sharp look from the seraphim brought him up short and forced him to back away.

Before the dominion could even try to speak, Sans was gone.

The skeleton wandered aimless and unseeing through the forest, seeking out the cold and the silence as a balm to the inferno burning inside him. His bones felt ready to crack from the heat of it, leaving him simultaneously full of frantic energy, and desperately exhausted.

In the end, exhaustion won out, and Sans shuffled to a stop in the center of a clearing where the snow was deep, pure, and untouched by passerby. Chest heaving, the seraphim dropped to his knees, bringing the snow to his waist as he turned his gaze heavenward and begged quietly, "please… please take this from me." The tears wouldn't come, hadn't come in years, but Sans' voice cracked with emotion as he continued. "Creator, please take this pain. i can't carry it any further, i'm not… i'm not strong enough," he gasped.

His breathing gone ragged, Sans lifted his hands in supplication and sat back on his heels. "is this my punishment?" he asked the silent sky as snow began to fall slowly from the darkness overhead. "my just desserts for failing to stop asgore; a prick of pain for every life lost while i stood by and watched?"

The silence around the angel deepened as the snow fell thicker than ever. He dropped his head and allowed his hands to fall to his sides as a long, slow breath escaped him.

"that's fair," he whispered, then his temper shifted and he lifted his head to demand, "but did you have to take her too?" The seraphim's shoulders shook violently for a moment before an agonized cry escaped him and he surged to his feet, wings erupting from his back in a blaze of pain and glory to spread wide and defiant as he screamed, "what gives you the right?!"

No answer came, and after a time, the seraphim's wings dropped to trail the snow covered ground around him. They cut swaths through the once pristine whiteness that looked shabby and dull in comparison to his right wing, though cast the opposite effect on his ruined left.

Sans knew his maker was not listening. No one had seen the Creator in millennia, it was unlikely they'd suddenly show up again now for someone such as himself. His hands shook as he stared down at them unseeing and murmured, "what am i supposed to do, el? how am i supposed to..."

Sans' words trailed off as a dangerous, seductive thought slipped across the surface of his mind.

He'd already fallen once. Maybe he just… maybe he just needed to fall a little further.

The Fallen felt no pain. So far as anyone could tell, they didn't feel anything at all.

What bliss that must be, the seraphim thought distantly.

It'd be easy, he realized breathlessly. The gentle tug of oblivion was something he'd been feeling for some time now as the years ticked on and his hope trickled away like so much sand in an hourglass with no bottom. If Sans just gave into the pull he could finally stop. Stop hurting. Stop existing. Stop missing his wife with every agonized fiber of his being. Stop regretting the life they'd never had together.

Maybe someday someone would finally break the binding spell and they'd be free, and Sans' soul could move on free of pain to find Ellie in the hereafter…

"SANS?"

The sound of his name rocked the seraphim, and had him turning to look for the source before he even realized what was happening.

Papyrus stood at the edge of the clearing, his tall, thin frame rigid with concern as his body language practically screamed an unease that bordered on fearful. Sans stared at him, and the taller skeleton's red wings ruffled uneasily under the weight of his gaze.

"ARE YOU… ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Papyrus asked hesitantly, knowing full well that the answer was 'no', but following through with the charade for the sake of his brother's pride. Sans was always alright, after all; even when he wasn't.

Oblivion tugged harder at Sans, feeling like someone had lodged a hook in his sternum that robbed him of breath and will with every pull. He took a long, slow breath and carefully pushed aside oblivion for Papyrus' sake. He couldn't leave his brother to live out their years in the Underground alone. He wouldn't take the easier road out of his personal hell, not when doing so might send his little brother careening into his own.

Anything but that.

Sans veiled his wings and let his shoulders drop as he smiled at Papyrus through the falling snow and, in a shaking voice admitted, "no, pap. i don't think i am."

The archangel's eyes widened at this admission, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for what to do. Papyrus rallied quickly, though, and closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. When he reached his brother, the taller skeleton paused, then took a seat in the snow beside Sans and swept one crimson wing out and around the seraphim to pull him in close to his side.

Sans allowed it, and shuddered a little as the warmth of Papyrus' feathers enveloped him. "THAT'S OKAY, SANS. YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALRIGHT ALL THE TIME, YOU KNOW," the archangel said, voice gentle when he spoke.

The cold, unforgiving world had gone red, warm, and soft, leaving Sans wrongfooted and silent. Words would not come, so the seraphim leaned against his brother in silence, allowing Papyrus to bear the full weight of him for a time.

They'd remained there for hours; not speaking, just listening to the snow fall while the memorial party continued without them. Neither of them missed it, and neither of them ever attended another.

"Go away! You're scaring us! Go away!"

In his distraction, Frisk slipped from Sans' grip and pushed her way out from under his wing to wave her stick at Cassiel in a vain attempt to fend her off. She was clearly terrified, but faced the Weeper down regardless, shaking hands clutched tight around the stick he'd given her. It was glowing with a pale white light that seemed to give the former archangel pause.

Human…

The echo flowers seemed to say the word as one, soft and gentle as a sigh. Though Frisk couldn't see it, Cassiel reached out to her in unison with Sans, each intent on getting to the child first.

There was a sudden rustle in the tall grass to the left that resolved itself into a white blur before either angel had a chance to react. The Annoying Dog erupted from among the echo flowers, barking madly as it landed between Frisk and Cassiel, hackles up and teeth bared in warning. The flowers took up the cacophony and multiplied it a thousand fold, making Sans and Frisk clap their hands over their heads in an attempt to block out the noise while the archangel's translucent figure stumbled backwards with a soft gasp, and vanished.

The Annoying Dog flattened itself into something resembling a pancake along the ground as it tried to cover its own more delicate ears. "shut up!" Sans said reflexively, despite the fact that Dog had long since stopped barking.

shut up!

shut up!

up!

shut-

Hands still covering her ears, Frisk took a desperate breath and, in a soft, clear voice, began to sing:

"Do you long to be left all alone?
Set apart with a heart made of stone
There's a light that you shine
There's a love, I see it in your eyes
Every day, every night
I know time may divide
But fate is something we refuse to hide
And it's real, and it's right
Something strange out of sight
We say goodnight..."

The echo flowers picked up the tune and returned it in a pleasant harmony that drifted through the forest as Sans slowly lowered his hands and Dog picked itself up off the ground. The animal's tail wagged at this development, and even the seraphim heaved a silent sigh of relief. Not wishing to interrupt the music, though keenly aware of the fact that Undyne might very well have overheard the ruckus and even now be on her way to investigate, Sans gently placed his hand over Frisk's mouth to signal the need for her to be quiet.

The child nodded soundlessly, and when the seraphim made his intentions clear with a light touch, allowed him to lift her into his arms. She threw her arms around his neck and Sans let her adjust her grip on her stick so she wouldn't clock him in the head while Dog trotted excited circles around his feet.

Once Frisk was settled, he made sure their pack was still in place on his right shoulder, and started to run.

---

AN: Thanks so much! Remember to drop a review if you enjoyed, and try following my fandom tumblr jolieburnsinfandomhell for updates, sneak peeks, and fanart!