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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Colors, ch.25: Iris

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

The story so far:

8. Whiteout | 9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling

23. Gray | 24. Vellum

~~*~~

Read ‘ Iris ’ on AO3

Read More Here!

~~*~~

Rus had no idea of the hour when he woke. He rolled over stiffly, his bones chilled and achy from sleeping curled up on the floor. It couldn’t yet be dawn, the only light from the walls came from along the lowest section, a dim, warming glow, like coals banked in a stove for the night.

He sank down, letting his head fall back on a cushion that was normally for sitting and while it certainly worked as fine a pillow for his coccyx, his skull was less enthused with purposing it for a night. He wondered dismally if Edge were still abed, curled up sleeping comfortably warm in the furs and blankets of their pallet. Rus thought it more likely Edge was just as restless as he was, tossing and turning and missing the comfort of holding a loving spouse in his arms.

With a little poor sleep and distance from their argument, Rus was starting to regret his impulse to stay the night in here. After thoughtlessly dredging up Edge’s memories of his lost family, it was passing cruel to deny him what little he did have. As much as Rus desperately missed his brother, he was at least alive and well, kept safe by his status as healer.

Rus looked up at the scattering of stars across the cave ceiling, painted so carefully he could hardly distinguish them from the ones in the sky. Edge was wrong about the village, and about Blue, but sulking alone wouldn’t solve that.

Decision made, Rus scrambled to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders against the chill as he followed the overhead path of stars to their bedroom. His bare feet scuffed against the floor rugs as he shuffled along. The cloak he’d tacked up while the Dogs stayed as guests was still hanging in the doorway and Rus drew it aside, slipping into the room to head for their pallet.

Only to gasp and stagger back, his shoulder banging painfully against the wall at the crimson eyed figure that abruptly loomed over him, their hands wreathed in flame. For a brief moment, fear overwhelmed his good sense and he nearly fled, a shriek blossoming in his throat.

Then logic reasserted himself and that scream became a gasp of, “edge?”

He watched his husband blink in the dimness, his eye lights winking in and out, then he hastily shook away whatever spell he was calling up, reaching out to take hold of Rus with hands that were still overly warm and yanking him into a tight embrace. The sound that escaped him was rough and anguished as he rattled out, “Sorry, so sorry, k’uhah, my soul, sorry—"

“hush,” Rus soothed, “i’m the one who’s sorry, i didn’t mean to startled you so.” He held Edge close, petting the smooth curve of his skull with gentle fingers. He was shaking a bit, Rus realized distantly, but it was nothing compared to Edge. His husband was trembling so fiercely Rus could hear the rattle of his bones muffled against the blanket between them

“Sorry,” Edge mumbled again. He rubbed his cheekbone against Rus’s collarbone up to his shoulder, absurdly reminding him of one of the stray cats that often roamed the village. “I was not myself. My dreams were troubled ones.”

Of course they would be, Rus thought, tears springing into his sockets. He’d had an abrupt and unpleasant reminder of the horrible loss of his family when he’d only been a child and then his husband abandoned him to deal with the haunting memory on his own.

No matter, he could deal with his own regrets later. For now, Edge needed him and with gentle tugs, Rus persuaded him towards the bed, leading in a strange sort of dance until they could sink into the furs together. Edge curled up tightly into Rus’s side as Rus soothed him with gentle touches, smoothing a hand down his spine, the other cupping his cheek bone in featherlight strokes until his shivering slowly subsided.

Perhaps he should have expected Edge’s hands to begin wandering on their own, but Rus was still bemused as his touches became less ones of soothing and turned to the urgently carnal. But he offered no protests as the clothing and blankets between them were tugged away, moaning his delight as Edge explored his most sensitive places with barely restrained need. If this was what his husband needed to chase the ghosts from the dark corners of his mind, Rus was eager to give it.

Those stroking fingers left off their fondling of his ribs and spine, gliding down to his pelvis and there his hand lingered, coaxing and shaping and Rus understood even before Edge nuzzled against the side of his skull, murmuring hoarsely, “Need you, be with me? Inside me?”

Even as burgeoning desire clouded over him, Rus managed to clear his thoughts, concentrating hard so that he might give Edge the shaft he’d wanted. It was easier than before, his need to care for his husband guiding his desire and he gasped as the shaft settled into place at his pelvis. Almost immediately a hand surrounded it, stroking him from tip to root and Rus was forced to grab Edge’s demanding hand, stilling him.

“wait,” Rus gasped out. “wait, i’ll spill too fast.” He tried to catch his breath, slow the roused pulse of his soul and his efforts were not at all helped by Edge’s hips grinding against his thigh, the wetness of his mound rubbing slick against his femur.

“Need you,” Edge moaned out, “k’uhah, Rus, need you!”

There was nothing for it. Rus pawed at Edge, pulling on him roughly until he settled astride him. Through the dimness, he watched as his husband sank down on his shaft, the twisting pleasure on his face a mirror to his own.

“oh!” Rus cried out, grappling at Edge’s hips. “oh, please! oh!” Tight slickness engulfed him, slick walls gripping as Edge rode him, chasing his pleasure as he muttered out words in his own tongue that were either too fast for Rus to grasp or simple nonsense. Rus could do nothing but endure, pinned by Edge’s weight and clinging to whatever shreds of control he still possessed to keep the folly of his sudden ecstasy at bay.

His end still came with shameful swiftness, straining against his husband’s weight as he ground down on him, taking Rus deeply into the glorious tightness of his body. Rus couldn’t think any longer, could only follow his own clumsy eagerness, blindly wanting, needing, and the cry that strangled out of him when he tipped over his peak was muffled into a choked groan into Edge’s mouth, the plunge of his tongue inside mimicking that of his shaft.

He sagged back, breathing harshly and mortified at leaving Edge wanting. Only Edge was shuddered over him, his hand working between his own legs, fingers grazing where they were still joined. Rus pulled him down into another kiss, urging him on, his moans broken with arousal. When Edge stiffened, sockets squeezing closed as he toppled into his own pleasure, Rus held him gently, hardly grunting at the suddenness of his weight sagging down atop him.

The burden was not for long. Edge managed to slide off to the side quickly enough, leaving a single leg slung over Rus’s, an arm draped over his ribcage, holding him close as pleasant quivers still trembled through them.

The restless night joined with the exhaustion of exertion and sleep was trying to claim Rus, pulling him into yet another embrace. He struggled against it, wishing to stay in Edge’s arms some longer and sleepily, Rus murmured, “I love you.”

“Love you,” Edge returned with equal tiredness. “Love you, Rus. K’uhah

They were a mess, shared fluids drying on their bones in uncomfortable places and Rus did not care. He held his husband close and when he did finally give in to sleep’s persistent claim, it was without dreams to haunt him.

~~*~~

When next he woke, Rus noted with bleary confusion that he was alone. That wasn’t entirely uncommon, Edge often let him sleep while he went out to check the traps, but after last night, it was particularly disappointing. He’d rather hoped to wake in Edge’s arms and surely after a row of the sort they’d had, that was the best-chosen path or at least that was what he gleaned from watching Blue and Azzy’s spats and their layabout ways the day after.

He supposed he could hardly blame Edge for being unfamiliar with that sort of mutual contrition.

There was hardly time to feel the pinch of unhappiness when the curtain over the door was pulled aside and Edge ducked beneath it, bare as the day he was born and holding two steaming cups.

Ah. Well, it seemed Edge wasn’t as eager to get to his traps as Rus assumed and a hot flushed crawled up his face, burning high in his cheekbones as he tried not to look at the faint honey-orange stains that still decorated the insides of Edge’s femurs.

His husband was utterly without shame and the thought was a fond one, swelling along with the love in Rus’s soul. So unlike anyone in the village, unlike Rus himself, and that was a less appealing reminder of all he’d recently learned. It was still so difficult to reconcile his new knowledge about the village Elders, the uncertain loss of everything he’d been taught since childhood filled him with a strange grief.

Every prayer meeting he’d attended, every rote recitation from the pages of the Book of Prayers were a deception whether or not those that taught him knew it.

The loss was one he’d simply have to learn to deal with and a renewed determination to meet with his brother, to share the truths he’d learned, surged in him, filling that void of left by grief.

Rus reached automatically for one of the cups Edge held, absently anticipating the bland, thin taste of slippery elm tea. Only to blink in confusion as it was held out of his reach. Realization came with the rueful smile Edge offered him before he drank it himself and Rus didn’t need either of their languages to interpret it. This time it was his husband’s turn for due diligence against creating a child and Rus returned that smile with a sheepish grin of his own even as he recalled the toe-curling memory. He chose the other cup and nearly choked, swallowing down an unexpected mouthful of slippery elm.

What in the name of the Angel…the way Edge’s smile slowly widened into a more predatory one revealed that it was not at all the will of the Angel on his husband’s mind. Hastily, Rus tossed back the contents of the cup, swallowing it down with a grimace, barely in time for it to be snatched away as he was tumbled back into the blankets.

His laughter briefly echoed around the room quickly replaced with moans.

This, he decided hazily, was the best way to make a proper apology and as Edge slid down between his legs, Rus arched into his touch, eager to join him on the path to forgiveness.

~~*~~

Time was difficult to discern without windows, but the sun was high in the sky when Edge finally left their cave. Rus stood by the entryway, still buried into the depths of a blanket and the chill of the floor had him hopping from foot to foot, hissing unhappily as he offered a last kiss to Edge before he left.

He stayed only long enough to see his husband off before darting back inside and soon enough the inner warmth was enough for him to shed his blanket. He folded it with a sigh, heading back to set it within the parlor room. They might be off to a late start for the day, but there was still cleaning to be done and dinner to consider.

When he stepped into the parlor, Rus paused, catching sight of the journal still on the table. The locket from Edge’s medicine bag was sitting next to it and Rus picked it up, running his fingers over the delicate shape as he thought of the woman whose portrait it contained.

Selfishly, he wondered if Edge’s mother would have liked him if they’d had the chance to meet. He hoped so.

It was such an awful that her story was unknown in the village, Rus thought unhappily. That all the suffering she’d enduring and the sacrifices she’d made to discover the truth were concealed only in the mind of her son and now in Rus’s, her words crying out from the very pages for vengeance, both for herself and their people.

A misbegotten injustice, that was it, the forced degradation of their people by the Humans who greedily took and took, stealing any magic they found useful and doing the same to their bodies, like Elder Smith did time and again, and Rus only realized he was clutching the pendant tightly in his fist when the pain of it cutting into his bones registered. He forced his hand to unclench and gently set the locket down on the journal, smoothing the broken chain along the cover. The others in the village needed to know all of this, his brother, Dogamy and his kin, it simply must be, if only there was a way—

Rus straightened abruptly, dawning awareness striking him.

There was a way, he realized. He had the map Edge gave him and the compass from his pack. The village couldn’t be more than a day’s travel away or Edge wouldn’t have suggested he visit the cave. If he left early when Edge went to check his traps, he could be back by sunset, a reverse of his earlier trips to the woods to visit Edge. He could travel to Dogamy’s farm and surely they would send for his brother, giving him enough time to reassure Blue that he was doing well and to give him the journal before he traveled back…right into his husband’s anger.

Edge would forgive him, Rus told himself fiercely. Their bond was deeper than one of the mere spoken words of marriage, they were bound by their souls, and yes, it would be difficult, yes, Edge might well be furious for some time. But Rus could endure it, do whatever he needed to earn his husband, no, his k’uhah’s forgiveness.

In truth, it was no longer simply his own wish to see his brother at stake and a strange urgency was rising within him, demanding that he go as soon as possible.

He needed to do this.

Hastily, Rus snatched up the journal and locket both, carrying them back to the bedroom. He hid them in the small alcove that wardrobe, beneath the stack of his trousers. He wouldn’t lie if Edge asked after them, but if he saw them lying about, Edge might move them to a place Rus couldn’t find. With them hidden, perhaps he would forget for a time, long enough for Rus to sneak away with them.

That done, Rus hurried off to the kitchen, his soul throbbing agitatedly in his rib cage. Plans needed to be made yet, but for now, it would be best to follow his normal routine.

He filled one of the crocks with water and set it on cooking stone, contemplating the contents of their pantry as he mentally sorted through the few recipes he’d learned. Perhaps he’d ask after some of Blue’s cookies, he told himself, both for a recipe and to bring some back to Edge; he’d enjoyed them very much the last time Rus brought them to the woods. A present might help smooth the rough path of forgiveness, even a tiny bit.

With that thought, Rus began humming a quiet song, choosing his ingredients with care. A good dinner, tonight, yes, that was what they needed, and perhaps they could read a bit from that saucy novel again or even indulge in a little more of their own sauciness tonight.

He didn’t allow himself to think of anything else.

Not yet.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #village au

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dragonasheswrites-blog · 6 years

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The Heaven We Didn’t Choose, Chapter 7: In Which Skeletons are Explained

...From a scientific and magical point of view, of course.

First: Chapter 1: In Which a Child Makes a Friend

Previous: Chapter 6: In Which Everybody Threatens Sans

Next: Chapter 8: In Which The Internet is Invoked

Click here for the story overview.

By the time Sans tracked down Attie (who had somehow crawled into the dryer and was rocking herself back and forth) it was after 1:00.

This was a problem, he realized as he consulted the schedule Undyne had pinned to a cupboard with a paring knife. Lunch was supposed to end at 1:00, and he had no idea what to even start cooking.

“Can I have a hot dog?” Attie asked. “You make hot dogs, right?”

“Uh...sure, but…”

“Okay! Where are they?”

“I don’t think I…” He checked the fridge, just in case. The shelves, to his surprise, had actual groceries on them. Huh. Someone must’ve stocked up. Half of this stuff he didn’t even recognize. Weird.

To his everlasting shock, one drawer held a six-pack of ‘dogs. On the package was a pink sticky note covered with Boss’s handwriting:

YOU CAN HAVE HOT DOGS FOR NO MORE THAN ONE MEAL PER DAY, SANS. BUNS ARE IN THE CUPBOARD. ~THE G&T PAPYRUS

Ooooookay.

Sure enough, a quick survey of the cupboards (also stocked with more food than Sans was used to seeing) turned up a package of buns - the good kind, not the cheap tasteless things he threw on the ‘dogs at his stand.

Cooking them properly was...more work than he really wanted. He didn’t have a rolling warmer in the apartment, and he didn’t want to wait for the ‘dogs to slow cook anyways. He slipped both ‘dogs into their buns and stuck them in the microwave for half a minute.

Amazingly, the ‘dogs didn’t explode (unlike most things he microwaved). He sent out a tentative thread of magic to feel for temperature, not trusting his bones to give him an accurate read. It felt...less than boiling hot, but beyond that he wasn’t sure.

“Uh, here, kid. Bone appetite, heh. Careful; not sure if it’s hot.”

“Okay!” Attie grabbed the ‘dog with both hands, took a big bite, and winced. “Iff a liffle hoff,” she said, mouth full. She swallowed anyways, so he wasn’t too worried.

“Hey, kid; if that’s too hot for ya, wanna see somethin’ cool?”

“Sure,” she said, before taking another huge bite.

Sans opened his mouth, tilted his head back, and shoved the entire hot dog, bun and all, into his mouth. He felt his magic protesting - he wasn’t really made to do this - but he ignored the discomfort and resisted the urge to cough.

Attie was staring at him with huge eyes, a half-chewed bite of hot dog visible in her mouth. He waited a moment for his magic to dissolve the ‘dog enough to talk, then laughed at her. “What, you can’t do that?”

“No,” she said around her masticated food. She closed her mouth, realizing her error, then chewed and swallowed with a thoughtful look on her face.

Sans knew that look.

The girl held the remaining half of her ‘dog out to him. “Teach me,” she demanded.

“Yeah, no, kid.”

“Why not?”

“Humans aren’t built like us. You’ll choke yourself, then Undyne’ll kill me, then Boss’ll kill me, then your mom and her mom’ll kill me. I’ll be super dead.”

“You’re silly, Mr. Sans.”

“Yep. That’s me, regular comedian.”

“Teach me!”

"No, kid!”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” She blinked rapidly, her lower lip extended.

“What, is that supposed to make me more willing to teach you how to suffocate on ‘dogs? Hell no, kid! And stop making that face; the lip shit is super creepy!”

“Awww,” Attie muttered, dejected, to her ‘dog.

“Tell ya what. You finish your ‘dog, and when it’s science time I’ll tell you all about how a skeleton can eat a whole ‘dog at once. Okay?”

“Okaaaaay.” She finished her meal in the largest bites possible, sending herself into more than one coughing fit.

Science wasn’t next on the list, though. Next was something called Grammar, which Attie tried her best to wiggle out of. She wouldn’t capitulate until Sans reminded her that she couldn’t see her mom until her schoolwork was done.

Schoolwork went by very quickly after that.

He wasn’t sure how much of it was actually correct - according to the note Undyne had left, the worksheets would be delivered to Tori for grading - but he was impressed by her speed.

True to his word, he spent the entire 45-minute “Science” time slot sitting at the dining room table explaining what he knew about a skeleton’s magical digestive system. He even let Attie drop things into his mouth - jelly beans, mostly, after they found some in the cupboard and he accidentally revealed that he’d never eaten them before - so she could see that they vanished instead of dropping out the bottom of his skull.

“You don’t look like a real skeleton,” Attie said, peering intently at the juncture where his skull met his spine. “You’re shaped really different.”

“I promise you, I am 100% a real skeleton. I just don’t look like a human skeleton.” And if he had a buck for every time he’d had to explain that to a human he’d have a whole herd.

“That’s what I meant, sorry.” She narrowed her eyes, then leaned over and slapped both hands to Sans’s cheeks.

He flinched, hard, but the impact - despite its force - did no actual damage. He stifled the urge to slap her hands away. “What’chu up to, huh?”

“Your face feels funny.” She tapped her fingertips against his cheekbones. “You feel kinda soft.”

He growled. He wasn’t used to being touched, and having someone - even someone so small - put her hands on his face was really uncomfortable. “You can stop that now, kid. Don’t make me remove you.”

She paused, then looked him in the eye sockets. She must have been able to read some part of his expression because she snatched her hands away and sat back into her chair. “Sorry, Mr. Sans.”

“‘Tsokay. Just...don’t do that again, yeah? You wouldn’t want me to put my hands all over your face, would’ja? No? Then don’t do it to other people.”

“But you’re so cool!"

He coughed. “That’s no excuse, kid. You gotta ask before you do that to someone.”

“Why?”

“It’s...polite?”

She tilted her head to the side. “But you don’t care about being polite. You’re a asshole.”

“Just...it’s...yer mom’d kill me if I taught you bad habits, okay? And it makes people uncomfortable, and I know you’re too young to really understand yourself in relation to others but you don’t do things like that, okay? You’ll learn as you get older.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s kinda rude to call people assholes. Just...while we’re on the topic.”

She giggled. “Okay. But you still are one.”

“You got that right.”

Silence.

He rubbed the back of his vertebrae. “Ooookay, then. Uh, what’s left on the list?”

Attie ran into the kitchen and consulted the note. “Art!” she called back.

“Huh? Art? What kind of pansy school bullshit is that?”

The girl stomped back into the dining room. “My favorite."

“...Oh.” He pondered this. “So...what do you do for ‘art?’ I don’t know a damn thing, but isn’t art pictures and stuff?” Hadn’t Boss called his spaghetti ‘art’ at some point? Did that count?

“I mean...I guess I can color,” she said. “I have my coloring pencils in my bag!”

“Okay, but...aaaand she’s gone.” Sans pondered chasing after the kid, but decided it would be too much effort. He was tired. Between keeping up with Attie and texting Frisk periodically throughout the day, he really just wanted a nap.

She returned a few minutes later with a box of pencils and a pad of paper. She didn’t say anything or ask questions - a miracle, given how the rest of her schoolwork had gone - but instead hummed to herself as she emptied the box of pencils across the table and began to draw.

The scratching of the paper and the off-key humming was...strangely calming, actually…

“Mr. Sans!”

“Hrk-wha?” He sat up quickly and looked around. When had he put his head on the table?

Attie was leaning towards him. Her pencils were packed up and sitting neatly atop a small pile of loose papers. “You were asleep,” she said.

“Oh. Uh, sorry, kid.”

“‘Tsokay. Mommy takes naps sometimes too. I don’t usually take naps anymore ‘cause I’m a big girl now, but Mommy says that sometimes grown-ups work too hard and have to take naps.”

“Yeah, sometimes.” He was feeling pretty groggy.

“Also, your phone was ringing.”

“Shit!” He dug around in his pocket until he found the offending hunk of metal.

“Bad word!” Attie howled.

Frisky Dreamer 3:25 PM Sans, you’re late for your check-in. Just because I’m drugged into unconsciousness does not excuse you not sending an update and stuff. I am so high right now Ignore that last one

Frisky Dreamer 4:03 PM Sans, I haven’t heard from you in two horse. Hours.

Frisky Dreamer 4:22 PM SNAS, ANSER UR DAM PHONE!

“Uh, kid? Don’t you have a phone too?”

“No...oh! Wait!” She pushed herself back from the table and tottered off down the hallway. Sans sighed and tapped out a message.

You 4:26 PM Were doing art Kid really drew me into it

The response was immediate.

Frisky Dreamer 4:26 PM You fell asleep again, didn’t you.

You 4:27 PM Hey do u wanna have us come visit u or not

Frisky Dreamer 4:27 PM Whatever.

He grinned. Apparently, that worked on both mother and daughter. Speaking of which… “Kid? You find that phone? We need to head out if we’re gonna go see your mom.”

“I found it!” She returned with the phone in all its pink and blue glory. “I have a message from Mommy, see?”

There was, indeed, a message from Frisk asking (in a much nicer tone) how her day was going.

“Hey, what’s that less-than-three thing mean?”

“Oh. It’s a soul! See?” She held the phone on its side.

“That’s...weird. And isn’t that upside down?” Sans flipped the phone on its other side.

“But I’m a human! Our souls go the other way.”

“Oh. Right. Anyways, are you ready to go see yer mom? I’d better let her see for herself that you’re in one piece. I don’t think she believes that I haven’t eaten you yet.”

Attie giggled, but awkwardly bundled into her coat and shoes anyways. She seemed to be struggling with her shoelaces. It was funny to watch.

“You, uh, got that, kid?”

“Maybe. These aren’t my favorite shoes. My favorite shoes are pink and they have flowers on them and they light up when I walk, which is why they’re my favorite. Those ones have velcro on them so I don’t have to tie them, but these ones just have shoelaces.”

Sans nodded noncommittally. He briefly considered helping her but…

...Nah.

She eventually knotted them into submission and tucked the ends of the laces inside the top of her shoes. Shrugging, she grabbed the stack of papers and tucked them under her arm. “Okay! I’m ready!”

“Uh...what’s with that stuff, kid? I thought that was your art.”

“It is! I drew pictures for Mommy. I’m gonna show her and see if she can hang them up in her hospital room. She usually hangs them up on the ‘frigerator, but there isn’t a ‘frigerator in her room I don’t think.”

“Fair enough. Okay, you ready?”

“Yep!”

He put both hands on her shoulders. “One, two,” and... teleport.

Attie grabbed onto his arms for support when they reappeared in a protected nook across the street from Ebott Medical Pavilion. “Oh! That time it wasn’t so bad!”

“Yeah. You should get used to it soon enough.”

“That’s pretty cool! Can you teach me how to do that...that…”

“‘Ts called ‘teleporting,’ kid. Disappearing and reappearing in a different place, kinda like the world’s best shortcut. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but...it can get pretty sciencey. And no, I’m pretty sure I can’t teach you how to do that, either.”

She pouted all the way up to her mom’s room.

He opened the door first, not wanting to interrupt anything, but Frisk was awake. And waiting, of course. “Sans,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “Why don’t you come on in.”

He came right the heck on in, one hand guiding Attie in front of him. “Say ‘hi’ to yer mom, kid.”

The girl paused for a moment, staring at her mother. Frisk did look pretty bad still. Sans hoped Attie wasn’t going to scream or cry or cause a fit; he knew he’d be blamed if she did.

“Hi,” she said in a very quiet voice.

Frisk smiled. It was the same smile she’d worn earlier when he sent her the picture of Attie and Undyne, and he fought the urge to look away. “Hey, baby girl. Won’t you come up and give me a hug?”

“I-I don’t wanna hurt you when you’re sick.”

“I’ll be okay. Just make it a gentle hug. No jumping.”

The little girl tiptoed up to the bed, leaned up, and gently put her arms around her mother. They both sighed at the same time.

“Now what did you bring me? Oh-Sans, chair.” She gestured towards the aforementioned furniture, which had been moved against a wall.

Sans sat.

“I brought you pictures!” Attie said. She laid out each page individually on the bed, covering the blanket almost entirely. “This is the room where I slept last night. See? It’s full of skeleton stuff! It belongs to a guy called Mr. Boss, but Undie said that wasn’t his real name.”

“It isn’t,” Frisk said. “His real name is Papyrus. But go ahead.”

“Oh, right. This is Mr. Pa-py-rus’s room. He let me sleep on his bed, ‘cause he said Mr. Sans’s room was pretty messy. It is, y’know.”

“Oh? When were you in Sans’s room?”

“I hid in there before lunch. Mr. Boss - I mean, Mr. Pa-py-rus - came in and was beating up Mr. Sans because of paperwork. Then Mr. Pa-pyrus tried to fight me until Mr. Sans finished the paperwork.” She held up another picture. From his vantage point, Sans could barely see three blobby figures: two black and red, one blue and pink and black. “See? Mr. Pa-pyrus is trying to fight me ‘cause I told him not to beat up Mr. Sans. Mr. Sans finished the paperwork before he stopped talking. He talked a whole lot, more than Granny Ree does sometimes.”

“Papyrus...tried to fight you.”

“Yeah. I was kinda mad that Mr. Sans did paperwork instead of saving me, but it’s all better now.”

“What?”

“He said ‘I’m sorry, kid’ and I said ‘I forgive you.’ And he said that he would’ve stopped Mr. Papyrus if he’d really started fighting, so it’s okay.”

Frisk pulled her daughter in for another hug. Over the child’s head, she gave Sans a long, intense look. He squirmed in his chair a little.

“Fine. I guess...it’s okay, if you aren’t hurt. I’ll have to have a long talk with Undyne about this, though; I don’t want you in a house where someone’s going to attack you at random.”

“It wasn’t an ‘at random!’ He tried to fight me because I told him not to beat up Mr. Sans. Remember? I told you.”

“That’s right. Hey, Attie, could you do something for me?”

“Yyyep!”

“Can you get me a drink of water? There’s a water fountain at the end of the hallway, out and to your left. Here’s my cup. Go out, fill the cup with water, and come right back so you can show me the rest of the pictures. Don’t spill.”

“Okay, Mommy!” She wiggled off the bed, careful not to wrinkle any of her drawings, and left the two adults alone.

Sans glanced at the side table. “You already have a cup of water,” he muttered.

“That’s not the point. You know that.”

He did. “Look. You know that the best way to get Boss to stand down is to give him what he wants. He wanted paperwork; I finished the damn paperwork. It’s not my fault Undyne changed her schedule without telling me.”

“If you hadn’t fallen asleep in here earlier, you wouldn’t have had to rush.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly running on a whole lotta sleep. You know, after carting you and Attie all over town last night.”

Frisk’s hand clenched the blanket over her knee, then relaxed. “I...that isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about. Sans...does that happen on a regular basis?”

“The naps? Well sure. I’m-”

“Not the naps. Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m asking about.”

The look on her face said that she was not in the mood to be messed with; she wanted answers, and she knew he could give them. Strange, that this human was the only one to realize that his stupidity was an act. “...Yeah, I know. And…”

What could he say?

“Sans?”

“Yeah. Just...I don’t know how to answer that. Boss...he gets aggressive when he’s angry, you know? And I’m one of the things that makes him angry the most. It’s my fault, really. You get it, right?” He winked.

Frisk’s expression didn’t change.

“A-anyways, I’ll watch the kid closer. She can...I dunno, hide out in my room when he’s around. I’ll clean up and everything. That way she won’t have to see it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I didn’t ask why it happened, or whose fault it was, or how you plan to cover it up. I asked how often it happens."

“...Not as much as you’re thinking, but more than you’d like.”

“How typically vague. Are we talking once a day? A week? A month?”

“Couple times a week? I dunno. I’ve never charted it out.”

“Alright. Alright." Frisk took a deep breath. “That stops now. Whatever you and your brother do when there aren’t kids in the house, that’s your...ah...business-”

“Hey!”

“-but I won’t have the pair of you scarring my daughter. Both of you will be on your best behavior, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Mommy!” Attie shuffled in with a glass full of water, her tongue peeking out from between her lips and a look of concentration on her face. “I...almost...have...the...water...OOPS!”

She tripped over her own feet and the water spilled.

“Attie!” Frisk was halfway out of bed before she was stopped short by the plastic tubes the doctors had stabbed into her arms.

It didn’t matter much; Attie was floating gently in mid-air, faintly glowing. “Blue!” she cooed.

“Sans,” her mother said, “Put her down. Gently.”

He did.

No one spoke for a long moment.

“I’ll excuse it just this once, because it looked like you were keeping Attie from getting hurt. But if you ever - ever - use blue magic on my daughter again, I will hunt you down. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, Boss.”

Frisk slammed her hand onto the bedside table, causing both Attie and Sans to jump. “I am NOT your BOSS, Sans!”

“Yeah, uh, sure.”

A nurse popped her head into the doorway. “Everything alright in here, sweetie?”

“Yes,” Frisk said. “We’re fine. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Anytime a loved one is sick tempers run high, y’know? Y’all just take a deep breath; no worries. Oh, and visiting time is almost up, unless your honey there wants to stay the night.” The nurse wiggled her eyebrows.

It took Sans a beat to realize that the nurse meant him, not Attie, and he wanted to crawl into his own hood in embarrassment. “Nah, gotta get this kid into bed. Early mornin’ and all that.”

“Alright, then, sweet thang. Y’all take it easy and let me know if you need anything.” She closed the door gently behind her.

Sans carefully avoided looking at the humans.

“Alright, Attie; time for you to go now. Come give Mommy a kiss and head home with Sans, alright?”

There was a shuffle as Attie did as requested. “Can I come see you tomorrow? I didn’t get to show you the rest of the pictures.”

“Maybe. Mommy’s pretty tired. If everything goes well, then yeah.”

“Okay. G’night! Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

“You too, Attie.”

“I won’t. I bet the bedbugs are scared of Mr. Papyrus.”

“I’m sure they are.”

A small hand in his interrupted Sans’s studied ignorance of the proceedings. He glanced down to find Attie grinning up at him. “Ready to go, kid?”

“Yup!”

“‘Kay, then.” He gently started to tug her out of the room.

She resisted. “Wait! You didn’t say goodbye to Mommy!”

“Uh...bye, kiddo.”

“Her name isn’t kiddo, Mr. Sans.”

“Bye...Frisk?”

The woman on the bed breathed deeply, but didn’t look at him. “Text me when you get home. You owe me a few check-ins.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They left.

#Dragonashes writes #Undertale #Underfell #The Heaven We Didn't Choose #Sans #Attie #Frisk #Homeschooling #Frisk is on pain meds #Vague discussions of abuse #Fixing problems fills Frisk with DETERMINATION #Even when they're Sans's problems #Those bed bugs are terrified of Papyrus by the way #The skeleton brothers have 0 problems with bedbugs #The lack of anything that would attract bedbugs has nothing to do with it

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