Sans had the pleasure of experiencing the unique and yet exquisitive role of bodyguard for Marauder during his deals.
It was okay, he guessed. Oversee the deal, use his magic if necessary, make some jokes here and there to kill boredom. And then safely return home to prepare for the next morning's boring and repetitive work.
Sans wasn't a monster (or human) interested in exploring or gaining knowledge like his father anyway. So it was a good thing that he of all monsters was… 'reincarnated' there.
He was lazy… with some self preservation and a good amount of magic to protect himself.
In that moment, Marauder was busy cooking their lunch. Apparently the Imp chose only this moment in the day to take a break from the shop, he would then wait for dinner and close it. After that morning's work, he was hungry and could probably eat a whole bull if his eyes landed on it.
He exploited those moments to check on something very important. A thought that crossed him only then.
Sans locked the bathroom's entrance and raised the palm of his hands near his chest, hooking his fingers together as if he was going to grasp an object.
He lost his eyes when IT appeared, left with only empty black sockets.
His soul was the same reverse white heart as all monsters, but it was… encased by a perimeter in the form of another heart. A HUMAN heart, it seemed. It was constructed by all the seven traits: Bravery, Justice, Kindness, Patience, Integrity, Perseverance and… Determination.
He stared at his reflection. All seven in one monster's soul. This… might be an answer to why I look human. But… I do feel that my reserves of magic greatly increased since I arrived here. I wonder…
He never tried this, since his monster body could collapse. It was risky, he needed more answers though.
Sans took a deep breath and let his magic loose.
Would you look at that!
Not only was his left eye burning with a blue flame as it always did. His right eye followed suit!
It seems I have access to my full potential as dad always hoped I would. Ah, G! If only you were here to witness this hybrid's awesomeness!
"Sans!" Marauder faintly called from the hatch. "Lunch's ready! Get your ass down here."
How nostalgic was the plate Marauder graciously prepared for both of them.
Spaghetti. And some meat to accompany the plate for later.
"Didn't know ya liked Italian's food." He commented, gathering the pasta in his fork.
The Imp shrugged. "Some days I like to cook this stuff to diversify what I put in my body. A great diet is always divided and not concentrated like many people do." He smirked. "At least, that's what I tell myself to justify my horrible skills at the table."
The taste wasn't bad or bland as Papyrus' plates (though he had to admit that his brother did significantly improve his abilities in one of the Pacifist timelines when he followed cooking lessons either online or in person), he gladly swallowed and mmm-ed, satisfied. "Not bad actually. You'd just to work on cooking it a little bit more and add more flavour to it. But if this is your usual standards? I bet your girlfriend would like it."
Marauder coughed on the water he was drinking, clutching his throat. "D-Dear Satan, Sans! Zoe's not my girlfriend."
He stuffed another portion of pasta in his mouth and winked. "As I said, Mauri. Jump in the boat and see where it leads ya."
The Imp hissed pointing his fork at him, tail wiggling like a snake. "I'll carve your eyes out if you use that nickname again, fucker. I don't care if you've got magic powers or are a superhero."
Sans raised his brow, leaning on the palm of his free hand like he did when having that special dinner with Frisk. "I'm just joking, buddy! Geez, ya lot demons need to chill and spot a joke when ya're near one."
"Jokes here are mostly directed at someone as insults or mockery. Us Imps are the bottom of the food chain, remember? We're daily targets even for common sinners. They can't die unless stabbed with an angelic weapon or shot with an enhanced bullet, as you know." Marauder moved his fork around in the spaghetti. "Cut an arm or rip their balls for fun? Destroy their bodies? They'll regenerate and you'll be marked."
"You've got me..."
The Imp raised his head.
"…I'm your bodyguard, remember? I won't let anything happen to you."
He smiled.
"Good to know."
Marauder regained his appetite and digged in right after. "So!" He swallowed. "I guess you'd like to know about my origins? Classic lunch conversation to render this less awkward?"
"How exactly did an Imp like you create a profitable business? From what you told me, you Imps tend to accept works and not start your own stuff."
A minor flash of annoyance spread across the demon's features, he suppressed it and sighed. "Was born in the Wrath ring, like most of us Imps are. If my accent and mannerism didn't give it away."
Imps were native to the Wrath Ring? Sans memorized this information as he rose to put his plate in the sink and switched to the meat.
"Didn't know my momma or daddy, got included in a gang scavaging the most dangerous parts of the Ring. Mostly the desert or the nests of Hell's dangerous fauna. They were called The Skulls." He laughed at Sans' deadpanned look. "Cheeky name, I know. But this originated from their leader's habits, Caimon. He… liked to tear his enemies' skulls and bear them as trophies either on his body or in his room. The thugs and so the muscles of the head honchos' skulls were placed around our base, a warning for those thinking about fucking with us."
"Was your leader related to the Yautja race or something? Ca-i-mon! That sounds like a Predator thing."
Sans watched a few classics during his tenure in the Pacifist timelines. He took a liking for Predator or Alien, though he hid the CDs he used and switched channels whenever they were next on the TV's list. Papyrus would have been traumatized.
Marauder scowled at his joke. "Yeah, yeah, yeah! Skulls as trophies, not original! Whoopie-thefucking-do!"
"You seem rather attached to Caimon by the way you pronounced his name. Care to tell why?"
A flinch. He smirked. The ex monster may be lazy, but he exploited his laziness to observe and read people like a book. Another useful ability he taught himself by being a good listener.
"He was the one who raised me. Says he found me in a junkyard beneath blankets inside a broken car." He shrugged. "Don't know if my parents left me there, I ain't got any proof to blame 'em. And I ain't interested in meeting 'em anymore. They have their life, if they're still kickin', I've got my own."
Sans nodded, finishing his last slice of meat.
"Life was good as long as you respected the rules in The Skulls, dear Caimon used to cut your fingers for each major failure or problem you caused to the gang. If you arrived at losing a sixth finger, you were taken out." Marauder raised his fingers to quote. "'The Skulls only need a hand to prosper. If you can't provide that, you're a waste of resources.'" He snickered. "Ah! What a crazy motherfucker. Unlike any other resident in our camp, I think he saw me as his own son. Teached me all he knew and treated me fairly."
The human lowered his gaze. "Not every story's got a happy ending, uh?"
"Age started messing with his mind. Started losing shots even with the most basic tasks, hands shaked every now and then, he forgot stuff he was supposed to remember even for five minutes." The Imp rubbed his chin. "I'd dare to say it was a mix of Parkinson and short-term memory loss which then turned in a form of Alzheimer. I ain't a medic, so I can't describe his issue properly. If it has a name."
He paused to drink, smacking his lips.
"Point is, when I was sixteen he asked me to bring him a glass of water 'cause his throat was dry. I did as I was asked but he suddenly scowled and smashed the glass on my head…"
Sans blinked.
"…he said: 'I didn't tell ya to get me water you poor excuse of an orphan jackass! Now we have less water.' Sometimes we had to ration water and that was one of those moments. Harsh month, I can still remember it after all these years. I decided I had enough and that The Skulls would only collapse on themselves with a senil old fuck at command. I prepared a plan to escape with one of their cars, one night I sneaked in Caimon's room and brought my shotgun…" Marauder pointed at said weapon resting near a wall. "…to his chin."
"And then you escaped?"
"Barely, I didn't account the guards near the walls to be that fast. They screamed traitor and soon enough, all the camp members were my enemies. I killed a few old friends, survived a few years then, before travelling to the Pride Ring. I'll spare the details regarding the birth of my business, a true manager never reveals his secret formula for success."
The Imp grinned, Sans merely reciprocated the gesture. "Sure, I'm too lazy for that type of stuff anyway." He finished his meal and wrapped his arms around his neck, getting comfortable in his seat. "Ya need to contact that Imp girl. Saturday night could be the right call? You said you ain't open on Sunday."
"I don't know. What if I screw this up?"
"You just need an incentive." He snapped his fingers.
"Wait? What the fu-"
The human rolled Marauder's cellphone on his hand and offered it to the demon, screen already displaying Zoe's number… and the fact that a call was initiated. "There! All set up, now you can't back up."
He tuned out the sneers and hiss from the demon as he started washing the plates in the sink, as well as the rest of the call between them. It wasn't really his business, he merely helped Marauder in inviting the gal.
He heard footsteps.
"It's a date."
Sans glanced behind his right shoulder with his neverending smile.
The rest of the week was quite boring in his modest opinion.
Sure, there were a few deals here and there as well as the occasional jackass he dealed with in the shop using his magic to increase his strength. But for the rest? Marauder bought a few history books for him to dig in when he didn't sleep. Sans heard a few stories from the old war with the humans, the more ancient books only confirmed his suspicions.
It seemed that Asgore had met dear Lucifer one time.
There weren't any more informations on the subject, but Sans doubted Lucifer would allow the peasants to narrate an event so important. Sometimes it was better to leave stuff behind and to not let your kingdome know about it. Especially if most sinners would likely die in the Extermination. A cycle where the 'old guard' would disappear and let its place to be claimed by new arrivals.
Saturday night was also his opportunity to leave the shop and start exploring the city while Marauder was busy.
The (unofficial, and Sans knew it was the right adjective to call them) couple did not choose a fancy restaurant or shit too much expensive. The gun dealer could afford the cost required, he just didn't feel like it was the correct way to approach Zoe. Who didn't mind it at all.
Marauder opted for a black jacket with a white shirt underneath instead of his usual brown goon attire. He left his dark grey pants on though.
The location was a burget joint. Sans was slightly disappointed they didn't sell hotdogs from what Marauder had told him. But then again he would be barging into their date and he absolutely did not want that. He was… a frustrating and strange individual who tells bad (for his audience) jokes. He had a heart though.
Sans was happy Marauder let him drive the truck.
He had experience from driving in the surface. Took lessons and the license the first time they were freed. He helped the kid returning 'home' to Toriel when they stayed at his and Papyrus' house.
Parking was never easy. The result? A perfect maneuver and he surpassed his expectations, Marauder too seemed satisfied.
Sans raised his hood over his face and exited the vehicle.
"Wait? Sans, is that you?"
He looked in front of him and tilted his head.
"Moxxie?
The Imp leaned on the opened door of a car. He shifted his gaze on Marauder who had circled around the truck. "Marauder?"
"What a surprise." Marauder waved a hand. "Heya, Moxxie." Unlike his exchange with Blitzo, his tone was friendly and calm.
"Who is that, honey?"
Another Imp woman came into view. She seemed to recognize his boss and smiled. "Well, if it ain't our special weapon supplier!" Sans was surprised when she ran towards the demon and hugged him. "What are you doing out here? Felt like a stroll was needed?"
Her voice was jovial and chirpy, accent meant she was native to the Wrath Ring.
"Nah, Millie." Marauder lowered her hands. "I actually got a date of my own. Her name's Zoe."
Millie's eyes were full with stars. She fired questions after questions to the trapped demon in her grasp.
Sans felt a tap on his jeans. "Yeah, Moxxie?"
"What exactly are you doing here?" Moxxie licked his lips. "I mean, if this is your boss' date, what's your role? You won't be the third wheel interfering, right?" He nervously chuckled. "We kinda have a stalker of our own. I hope he won't be here to disturb our peaceful evening."
"I'm just his driver. I'll wait for him and roll around the area." He chose his next words carefully. "I may be a sinner, but I still know the concept of privacy."
"That's good to know." The Imp muttered.
Sans opened his mouth-
"There you are!"
-he closed it and crossed his arms, leaning on the truck and laughing.
Zoe had indeed arrived and Marauder saluted her. The issue? Millie had this time approached the young girl and was… engaging in a classic gossip as the opposite sex often does.
When the wave passed, Marauder walked to Sans. "Seems like we'll hang with Moxxie and Millie too. Could be helpful for my mental health." He lowered his voice until it came out as a whisper. "Think you can handle the sinners out here?"
"As long as they think I'm one of them? I'm good." Sans responded and patted his boss on the back. "Go ahead and have fun, pal."
Luck was on his side. He found a bench on the other side of the street and sat on it.
What was Sans' way of killing boredom in that situation? Simple. He scanned the sky, the buildings and even the sinners to get a general idea of how different Hell was from Earth and the Underground. For the latter, he did not stare too much at the demons, lest they became unsettled and dangerous. A few quick glances was enough.
And that was exactly what the sinners did not do.
They, instead, sent long stares his way. They were probably confused by his attire, maybe they thought the colours and general vibrancy of the theme wasn't exactly aligned with Hell's standards? Or were they simply intrigued by his use of a hood displaying darkness to cover his face?
The joint had windows, he watched every now and then the interactions between the demons with glee.
BANG! BANG!
"Oh, fuck!"
Sans turned around and stared in confusion at a moving garbage can near a wall. Interested, he rose and opened it. He froze.
"Uh…" The Imp inside hummed. "Hi?" Blitzo finished.
"Blitz? What are you doing in there?"
Blitzo crossed his arms, wincing when a half eaten banana fell on his head. He pinched it and threw it away. "Not your damn business, tough guy." He huffed and closed his eyes. "I'm certainly not spying on Moxxie and Millie with these binoculars wrapped around my throat." One eye shattered open and he sighed at Sans' stare. "Fuck me in every orifice possible…" Blitzo immediately pointed a finger. "And that's not an offer or a command!"
"Yeah, I gathered as much. Well, if you must do your thing there's a bench nearby with a nice view. You won't even need your binoculars."
"Shit, really? Why didn't I see that sooner?"
"Because you wanted this to be a secret awesome mission in a Ethan Hunt environment?"
"Man, how did you guess it?" Blitzo accepted the offered hand and was put out of the can.
"I'm good at reading people."
He should have asked why Blitzo wanted to spy on the couple. Should have pointed out how much of a stalker he was and how awkward Moxxie felt at describing him. Maybe stop him and shut him in the garbage can for the rest of the night.
He didn't since Blitzo minded more or less his business like he did. Glancing the couple's way only a few times.
Sans smelled the air and suddenly his mouth watered.
Hotdogs!
A peddler had stationed on the street, he was a crocodile demon. He was gathering quite a crowd between sinners and Hellborn demons.
"I'm gonna buy a hotdog. You want one too?"
Blitzo opened his mouth to decline the offer when his stomach grumbled. "I suppose one could help me." He buried his hand in his pockets. "Here. This is my share for my food. Don't run away or I'll rip your dick out and stuff you with it. I'll wait here."
Quite the threat.
He took Blitzo's souls and positioned in line.
The crocodile moved his upper eye as if raising an eyebrow when Sans stepped ahead. He stared at the blackness of his hood but shrugged soon after. As long as the sinner paid, he wasn't in the place to comment on his attire. "What can I get you?"
"Two hotdogs. Just that."
"That'll be eight souls." The animal puffed.
Blitzo grinned at the sight of the food, he snatched one hotdog from Sans' grasp and experienced a bite. Savouring the taste. "Good shit! I'll have to remember that croco dude's pattern around the city."
"Not even a thanks?"
The Imp rolled his eyes. "For me a thanks is given for important stuff or on the job. Getting in line to spare me the wait isn't worth of a thanks, buddy."
"Whatever you say, pal."
He brought the hotdog to his mouth to take a bite…
"Hey, come on!" Sans stood with his mouth open, not that Blitzo could see it, and glanced the peddler's way. He was screaming while his customers watched. Four rat sinners with one in the center directly in front of the crocodile brandished knives. "I just came here and you already want me to pay?!"
Sans smacked his lips and handed his hotdog to Blitzo… who had his muzzle dirty with mustard and had already munched on half of his own food. "I'll check it out. Can you handle this?"
"Y-Yeah…" Blitzo swallowed and passed his arm on the mustard to clean it. "…sure, whatever."
The human walked.
"You know the drill, old man. When you pass through here, you pay the fee and then you mind your own business." The leader wiggled his knife near the crocodile's muzzle. "Now, where's our money?"
"I told you! I wanted to start my work from this area. I don't have enough souls right now but if you stick around I'll have them ready for you!"
The rat snickered. "Taxes are taxes and they don't wait. Alright, boys, let's give these fuckers a show."
He rolled his knife and prepared to strike…
…but a hand was placed on his arm.
"Now, now, now!" Sans chirped. "That's no way of treating a man working hard for his slice of bread. Why don't you go home and find a job? I'm sure Hell is searching everywhere for toilet clearers."
Around him, sinners either erupted in laughs at his joke or were impressed by his lack of dread.
The rat leader bared his teeth and hissed. "You fucking cocksucker!"
He tried to break free of the human's hold. But nothing happened… no matter how much he struggled, Sans remained impassive and stood still. He gasped when two trails of blue flames appeared in the darkness of the hood. Were those pupils? Who the fuck was this guy?!
"Nothing? Well, it's my turn then."
Sans grabbed the rat's neck with his other hand and launched him in a nearby alleway. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
One of the three goons bolted and tried to slash him, Sans recoiled back and dodged the strike. The knife cut through the air in front of him. "Missed!" He chirped.
He blinked behind the demon and punched him, sending him flying.
He switched to the last remaining goons who watched him with opened mouths. "Anybody else wants to measure with someone their own size?"
They were smart, very smart. They fled, the third guy following them after recovering.
"Shit! Behind you!"
Blitzo's warning wasn't needed. He raised his right glove and it burned it in blue flames as his eyes.
A gasp behind him made him grin more. He calmly turned around and the blue heart flew in his opened palm. The rat had his knife about a finger away from stabbing Sans' chest. "Integrity?" The human mused. "You honestly lack it but… whatever." With a swap of his fingers on the left, the rat leader smashed against a garbage can and was covered with trash.
"You're welcome!" Sans called to the peddler as he sat back on the bench.
He snatched the food from Blitzo's claws, this time. The Imp, like the rest of the sinners near the peddler, was stunned. He happily took a bite and savoured the taste.
"Hey, uh…" The imp fumbled with his pockets. He almost dropped something and uttered a 'Shit!'. He cleared his throat. "…if you ever wanna explore new possibilites for a job, our offer is still open at the Immediate Murder Professional, or I.M.P. for short."
He was given a card with a number to call on it.
Sans placed it in his pants and returned to eat.
"I'll think about it." He said with his mouth full of food.
Author's note:
For those wondering, I'll write new chapters when I want, where I want and how I want.
So there's no official dates for new updates. Could take days, weeks or years.
I didn't expect so many reviews and followers and favourites with just three chapters and 1500 views.
Spread the word then!
Write about me on reddit and the socials!
Let the web know about this work, my Disciples!
LOL.