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popatochisssp · 5 years

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Fur a Good Time, Call... 11/15

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Papyrus & Reader, HT!Sans & HT!Papyrus Chapter Warnings: mild dissociative episode

You work at an animal shelter. You love all your fuzzy buddies and can’t imagine a better job for yourself than looking after cats and dogs all day, even when the work is hard and often gross. What can you say? You’ve got a lot of love to give!

You’re just not quite sure yet how you feel about the new monster who’s been helping out these days, and this riddle wrapped up in an enigma is something you just can’t resist investigating…

AO3 Link

Stumble

Ahh, the best and worst part of your job.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you chuckle, “Princess is a big girl and she’s really excited, so don’t let go, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t,” Andrea assured you, holding tight to the leash with her little hand.

It was a truly adorable sight to see, the bright-eyed little girl with a million-watt smile and curly, grade-school pigtails hugging the neck of a dog twice her size.

You weren’t worried about the size difference.

Princess had been with you for a year and you (almost) couldn’t think of a sweeter, gentler dog, no matter how loud her whiny barks were or how ‘mean’ she looked.

Somebody had finally come in who agreed: Andrea latched onto the pit bull within minutes of walking into the shelter and absolutely insisted she was the one—they could both be princesses, together!

Your heart may have melted, just a teeny tiny bit, when she’d said that, and since her mother was now up at the front desk with you filling out the adoption form, you think you’re not the only one.

Delilah dutifully jots down her information with her neatly manicured hand. The sharply dressed lady had honestly intimidated you a little at first, but when she had smiled down at her daughter and explained that they’d come in to find Andrea’s first doggy, your nerves had settled.

“This’ll be good for her,” she says to you, almost absently. “She’s been wanting a friend.”

“Princess, too,” you agree. “I bet they’ll be besties in a week.”

Delilah chuckles. “Aren’t they already?”

Looking at the two of them now—the hugs and face-licks and the tappa-tappa-tappa of excited claws on the tile—you figure she’s probably right on the money.

Watching the slightly bigger family walk out of the shelter, you barely even feel the pang of missing Princess, knowing she’s going off to a great home and a great life.

…But the pang is still there.

You pull out your phone and quickly send off a text, hoping to alleviate the feeling.

You: Hey, I miss our son, send me a pic.

Sans doesn’t keep you waiting for long.

PUNbelievable: [IMG-54]

The picture makes you smile.

Buddy’s handsome face takes up your screen, his blue eyes wide and sad-looking.

He only ever makes that face when he’s angling for food and trying to look extra cute. It has an embarrassing success rate with you, and you’ve caught Sans giving in more than once, so you know it’s not something Buddy’s going to stop doing anytime soon.

The longer you look at the picture, though, the more you realize…

You’ve seen it before

That’s kinda surprising. Sans almost always sends you new ones, candids of whatever your boy happened to be doing at the time you asked.

Then again…

You: Can’t even be bothered to go find the dog on your day off?

Sans got a lot of days off since he wasn’t…y’know, actually employed. He always seemed to use them well, though, for sleeping in or watching a ton of TV.

Naturally, you weren’t about to judge. That was pretty much how you spent your days off on the…very, very rare occasion you took them.

You made sure to tack a winky face onto your text, just in case Sans thought you were mad at him or something.

PUNbelievable: nah sleeping

PUNbelievable: sorry

You smile and add a kissy face to your reply.

You: Don’t let me keep you from your important business! See you later!

PUNbelievable: k

You put your phone away and get back to work.

You’re not sure why you feel weird about it.

You still feel weird almost an hour later.

You’ve been granted the great privilege of socializing (read: playing with) a whole litter of kittens while their formerly stray, now spayed mom watches you cautiously. You’re literally covered in adorable, fluffy babies who leap and chirp and fall all over themselves when you shake feathery toys for them and it’s cute beyond words, it really is!

But…you’re distracted.

“I’m being dumb, aren’t I?” you ask the poofy little angel perched on your knee.

He looks at you with his big beautiful eyes and mews, long and high-pitched.

You sigh. “Yeah, I’m being dumb.”

You knew you were.

It was only a text: tone was notoriously impossible to read through text, so getting bent out of shape over one was just…unnecessary.

“Sans just texts like that sometimes,” you told the kitten. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

The kitten doesn’t even look up this time, busy kneading at your leg with his sharp little claws, but you think you’re reassuring yourself a little.

Sans does just sort of…text that way sometimes. No punctuation, short words, clipped answers, you’ve gotten it from him before.

Maybe not…since you started dating…but it wasn’t like it was some new thing, either.

It was hardly some sort of sign that Sans was annoyed at you or…or suddenly disinterested or something.

The very thought made you laugh a little.

As much as you still didn’t quite understand what Sans liked about you, he’d made it pretty clear by now that he did like you, kind of a lot. The hugs and cuddles and nuzzles you exchanged near-constantly were proof of that.

You felt the same way about him, and even though you were now keenly feeling your skeleton’s absence, you also felt a little better.

“He’s just sleeping in,” you decide. “I’ll text him again later when he’s actually awake.”

You shift, moving the hand that’s holding the cat toy and about six kittens try to pounce on it at once. Every single one of them misses, colliding with each other in a flurry of protesting peeps and wiggles.

Stars, now this is what you’re supposed to be focusing on!

You get your phone back out and start recording the play session. Best case scenario, you’ve got something ultra-cute to put up on the shelter’s website, and worst case scenario, you’ve got something fun to send to your two favorite skeletons later.

Only a minute and a half of video ends up being taken. You stop the recording when another text pops up on your screen.

PUNbelievable: i lied

You’re frowning, sitting up so fast that you actually topple a kitten over and it mews at you plaintively.

You scoop it back up and instinctively apologize to it, and by the time you look back, you have another message…and another, and another.

PUNbelievable: not sleeping, bad day

PUNbelievable: didn’t want you to worry

PUNbelievable: shouldn’t lie though

PUNbelievable: sorry

…So…you weren’t being dumb.

You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

You: Are you okay?

PUNbelievable: sure

Well, that’s not a very comforting answer.

You’re actually a little startled by how powerful the sudden urge to drop everything and go find Sans is.

It makes you feel kinda silly again. He’s your boyfriend, but he’s a grown skeleton, it’s not like you need to check up on him…

…but you want to.

You want to go check on him and make sure he’s okay, even if you don’t need to.

It’s what Sans would do if you were the one having a bad day.

That’s probably why, in spite of the fact that you have about a dozen other actually work-related things you could be doing right now, you herd the kittens and their mom back to where they belong and go looking for your manager.

You find her in the back, doing paperwork that looks like payroll. She greets you, which you return a little hesitantly.

Don’t pussyfoot, you scold yourself.

The thought only reminds you how much you want to be with Sans right now: you’re still covered in cat hair and a joke about that would’ve killed.

“Hey, uh…I was wondering if it’d cause any problems if I left a little early today. Like…like a half-day?”

Your manager frowns, looking concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, no, yeah, it’s…everything’s fine,” you’re quick to assure her. “I just…there was something kind of personal that I wanted to…check on.” The excuse sounded even lamer out loud than it did in your head, and you resist the urge to wince. “It’s not an emergency, I can stay if you need me, it’s not—”

“Would this be a skeleton sort of ‘personal’?”

You freeze like a deer in the headlights at the sly look on her face.

“Uh…I…it might be…?”

Your relationship with Sans wasn’t a secret, but you hadn’t exactly advertised it either.

Or…maybe you had?

The two of you were still new and you could get kinda…kissy. You were under no illusion that that was anything even remotely approaching subtle.

But it’s also just now occurring to you that you never looked up any rules in regards to workplace romances. You weren’t exactly coworkers, Sans was just a really dedicated volunteer, but that was such a technicality.

Were either of you in trouble…?

Your manager laughs in your face. “Oh god, you look so nervous! Relax, you’re fine.”

……Phew.

“I knew you two would work well together,” she says. “I can’t say I knew you’d work that well together, but I’m not surprised either. You’re a good fit.”

Oh. This is awkward.

You feel your face heat and almost wish you were in trouble.

“Thanks,” you say curtly, eyes glued to the floor.

Your manager seems perfectly aware of your embarrassment and smiles indulgently. “Look, you do a lot of good work around here and that hasn’t changed, bony boyfriend or no. We all appreciate it, but you’re allowed to do things for yourself sometimes, too.”

You look up a little hopefully. “So…?”

“You’ve still got a ridiculous amount of paid time racked up and we’ll survive around here for half a day without you. Go smooch a skeleton. Next time you want to play hooky, though,” she adds, “let me know a little sooner?”

“Right. I will. Yes.” You turn to leave, almost forgetting to say, “Thanks!”

If she says something in reply, you don’t hear it.

You’ve got Sans on the brain and you aren’t going to feel right until you see him.

The brothers’ house is quiet when you get there and let yourself in.

You know Papyrus’ routine these days almost as well as you know your own, and you know he’s got a full class schedule today without much time in between. He isn’t home and won’t be until pretty late, but Sans and Buddy are here.

Or they should be, anyway. You don’t get an answer from either when you announce yourself and a quick peek into the backyard shows it’s empty, so you head upstairs.

Buddy’s fluffy black and white head lifts from the floor as soon as you reach the top, his ears perked and his tail slowly wagging at the sight of you.

“Hey, there you are, Buddy.”

His tail wags faster. You notice he’s laying down right in front of a door and think you have your answer about where Sans is.

“You want in?” you ask, walking over. “You wanna see Sans with me?”

Buddy springs to his feet, looking up at the round doorknob—an impassable barrier to his pawed self.

Well, what was the point of opposable thumbs if not to let dogs into rooms?

You turn the knob and no sooner is the door open than Buddy’s scampering inside, taking a running leap up onto Sans’ bed.

Sans is there, too, placidly sitting on the edge of the mattress and you smile to finally be able to see him for yourself.

You hope you’re not being clingy or weird coming over unannounced like this.

You just…really wanted to see him.

He looks alright, at least physically. He’s not really dressed, just wearing a black pair of sweatpants that must be his pajamas, but he doesn’t seem particularly bashful as he looks over at you.

He doesn’t seem particularly…anything at all, actually.

Even as Buddy sniffs along his spine in dog-greeting and lays down behind him, Sans’ skull is entirely blank of expression and that…doesn’t sit well with you.

“Hey, babe,” you say gently, in human-greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“…bad. why are you here?”

You think normally, that frank of an answer might’ve hurt your feelings. But you’ve heard this distant tone in Sans’ voice before.

“I took a half-day. Wanted to see you,” you admit with a sheepish grin.

You’re not sure what kind of reaction you expect Sans to give you from that, but you think you must’ve expected something because you’re surprised when you get absolutely nothing.

Sans just…stares at you, his red eye-light tracking you, but even that looks flat somehow.

Empty.

You definitely know what this is now.

That time before…when Sans told you everything…he was like this then, too, all spaced out and distant. Back then, you’d only been his friend and had no idea what to do to help him. This time…

Well, you still had no idea what to do, but now you were his datemate. You were confident that it was your place to help if you could…even if you were still just going to be winging it.

You come a little closer, asking, “Can I sit?”

“……sure.”

You sit down next to him. You try for a close yet respectable distance, but almost immediately slide right up against him thanks to the dip his weight causes in the mattress.

Sans may be all bones, but they’re big bones, with considerable heft.

It’s a fact you’re very aware of with most of those bones on display right now, pressing up against your side.

You don’t let it distract you.

Sans seems okay with touch so you reach out, settling your hand on his femur.

“I gotta say, it was kind of a relief to cut out early today,” you tell him. “It was just an overload of cute in there, all day, it was relentless.”

You tell Sans about your day, the saga of Princess and Andrea, and then being swarmed by a ferocious gang of fluffy kittens.

You don’t really expect Sans to interject or respond to you, and he doesn’t beyond the occasional grunt or huff, but he does angle his skull towards you and just sort of…watch you talk.

Whether he’s actually processing or retaining the words you’re saying, you have no idea, but you also don’t think it matters if he is—as long as he’s hearing you and knows you’re with him, you think that’s probably a good thing.

You also think of the other times Sans has texted you, ‘sounding’ weird but with totally believable excuses about why he wasn’t at the shelter that day when he should’ve been, or what he was doing on his day off.

You wonder how many of those times he was actually having an episode like this one and just went it alone.

He let you in this time, though.

You’re so proud of him for that, and so happy that you can be here for him.

“…Oh, jeez, and uh, heads up, Big Boss definitely knows about us.” You pick up Sans’ hand, holding it in yours to convey your meaning. “I got a really awkwardly maternal…pep talk? I think? Out of it, so I guess we’re fine.”

“mmm.”

“She said to go give you a smooch, actually, but…” You wrinkle your nose. “I think our smooching should be on our terms. I’m gonna kiss you when I want to kiss you, not when our boss tells me to.”

You look up at him. He’s still watching you, still blank, but also…still your very handsome skeleton beau.

“My impulse-control is garbage,” you admit, stretching up towards him. “This isn’t from her, okay?”

“okay,” he says flatly, and you smile.

You press your lips to his cheekbone and turn to nuzzle his face a little for good measure.

He doesn’t return it the way he usually does, but he doesn’t push you away either, and when you settle back down by his side, he moves his arm a little so you can get closer.

You feel like a pretty good datemate right about now.

Somewhere outside, a car alarm goes off.

Sans flinches hard at the noise and even when the car’s owner quickly puts a stop to it, he still looks…pained.

“Sans? Are you okay?”

Beyond the obvious not-okay-ness, you mean.

“…………headache,” he mutters eventually.

You have no idea what a headache feels like with a giant hole in your skull. You’re a little afraid to imagine it, actually.

“Aw, how long, baby?” you ask. “All day?”

Sans shrugs, which you take to mean ‘yeah, more or less,’ and you frown.

“Did you take anything for it?”

“……mmn.”

That was a ‘no.’

“Have you left this room at all? Gotten food?”

“…………”

“Sans?” you prompt.

“…no.”

You push yourself up off the bed.

“Okay, well, that’s not gonna fly,” you decide. “I’ll go get you something. Stay here. …Both of you,” you add as an afterthought, pointing at Buddy.

He’s about as settled onto the mattress as a dog can be, so he just looks at you as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Yes, good boy.” You plant another quick kiss to Sans’ skull, gentle as can be. “You, too.”

And with that, you leave the room.

You feel a little bad about rummaging around in the brothers’ medicine cabinet. You try not to take any particular note of any bone colognes, bleaches, or anti-anxieties and zero in on a monster-friendly aspirin bottle.

A quick skim of the label says it’s best taken with food, so you pop the bottle in your pocket for now and head down to the kitchen to see what you can make quickly with your minimal amount of skill.

On the way, you shoot Papyrus a quick text asking him to call you if he can, noting that it’s only mildly urgent so he doesn’t worry too much if he can’t. You feel…pretty in control of the situation right now, but you also think you’d feel better if you could at least let Pap know about it.

Sans was your boyfriend, but he was Papyrus’ brother and this…whatever this was, probably deserved at least a call.

Their pantry is well-stocked, as always, but pretty much everything in it has more cooking directions on the packaging than you’re confident with. You switch to the fridge, and find tons of leftovers in tupperware—which is pretty much exactly your culinary speed.

You fish out something that looks and smells like stew and almost just nuke it in the microwave…but you decide to use the stove instead. Wasn’t it supposed to distribute the heat more evenly…or something?

Ugh, more adulting I never learned all the way…

In any case, pouring the soup into a little pot and stirring it on the stovetop made you feel more like you were doing something; being useful.

Until you’ve got someone who can actually talk back to you, you have to take the validation where it comes.

You bless the universe itself for Papyrus because nearly the second you think it, your phone starts to buzz.

You answer it without taking your eye off the stove. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dear Friend!” he exclaims, sounding only a tad frazzled. You hear people shuffling about and talking in the background and think he’s probably in a hallway. “I Have A Brief Lull And I Wanted To Make Sure Nothing Was On Fire. …Or If It Is, That The Proper Response Teams Are Called To The Correct Places!”

“No, no, nothing’s on fire,” you promise, “metaphorically or otherwise.”

“Oh, Good, Metaphorical Fires Are The Worst. Second Only To Philosophical Fires, What Do Those Even Burn, Anyway?”

You have no idea and you tell him as much, “…but listen, I’m at your place. I took the day off ‘cause Sans is…”

Stars, how would you even describe what Sans is right now? ‘Spaced out’ is too light of a description, ‘not himself’ is uselessly vague and slightly ominous…

There’s probably an actual term out there somewhere for this, but you don’t know it, and it’s not as if Sans could really go get properly diagnosed or treated for it.

Luckily for you, this is apparently not Papyrus’ first rodeo, either.

“Ah. He’s Having A Bad Day?”

That was certainly one way to describe it. “You don’t sound too surprised,” you note.

Papyrus sighs. “Sadly, No. These Things Happen. Sans…Goes Away Sometimes. There’s Really Not Much To Do About It, But He’ll Be Back Eventually.”

“That’s…a little reassuring, I guess.” You frown, remembering the last time you saw Sans…‘go away’ like this, and what he was like when he ‘came back.’ “Is…I mean, should I be worried about…after? The last time this happened, uh…I’m pretty sure a panic attack was involved, that’s not…is that normal for one of these?”

“Definitely Not,” Papyrus said firmly. “That Was Probably Triggered By Something Else.”

Like Sans believing for a second that he’d broken your neck? That would likely do the trick.

“Attacks Aren’t Very Common For Sans, In General, I Wouldn’t Worry Too Much About It.”

“Okay. Thank you, Pap, I’ll do my best over here.” Like hell you’d give Sans anything less! “Oh, but hey, I mean…is there anything I…maybe shouldbe doing that I’m not?”

“Well, That Raises The Question Of What You Are Doing, Doesn’t It?”

“Uh…well, mostly so far I’m just…talking to him…touching him a little, like on the arm and stuff. I got it out of him that he had a headache and hadn’t eaten yet, so I’m…I’m heating up some leftover stew and I got some aspirin to go with it. Is that…is that enough?”

You hear Papyrus laugh over the phone, a soft little ‘Nyeh-Heh-Heh.’

“I Don’t Know Why You’re Worried,” he says. “You’re Doing Everything Right. I Have To Go But Clearly, Sans Is In Very Good Hands. I Believe In You, Human! And Continue To Keep The Fires To A Minimum If You Can!”

“Haha, yeah, okay, no problem, Pap. Go learn some more stuff, I’ll see you later.”

Papyrus is truly the monster embodiment of sunshine…or maybe an energy shot.

You get off the phone feeling re-motivated and ready to take on anything!

You finish with the stew, get it in a bowl, and head back upstairs to Sans’ room where two pairs of eyes are on you the second you open the door.

Well…Buddy’s pair, and one magic red light in an eye-socket.

“Found some stew,” you announce, bringing it in. “Or maybe soup? Is there a difference?”

Your answer is, of course, blank stares.

“Yeah, I have no clue either.”

Setting the bowl on the nightstand for a moment, you fiddle with the aspirin bottle and hand a couple tablets to Sans, who takes them even before you ask him to.

You’re starting to remember from last time how weirdly compliant these…episodes? made him act. You still don’t think you like it, but at least it makes taking care of him a little easier.

Sans takes the bowl when you pass that to him, too, and only spends a moment looking at you before starting to eat it.

Satisfied, you plop back down on the bed beside him, reaching back to give the dog a pat for not being too much of a food-hound right now.

You loved dogs, they were such incredible animals. They could be smart enough to read a room and decide the right time to beg for scraps and at the same time, be dumb enough to get stuck in a couch or bark at their own reflection.

Amazing.

A spoon in your face startles you out of your musings.

You blink at it, too surprised to process it for a second, before turning to look up at Sans. The look on his skull, completely devoid of any of the emotional cues you were used to, was absolutely no help but there weren’t many ways to interpret food being held in front of your face.

He wanted you to have a bite, too.

You smile, feeling warm all over, and accept it—you hadn’t had lunch and you were definitely a little peckish.

It was easier not to think about it when you had Something Important to do, but you’d brought Sans his medicine and his food and with your tasks completed, that rich broth smelled far too tempting to turn down entirely.

Over the course of the bowl, you accept another two or three bites, but turn down the rest.

“No, baby, I’m fine, you finish it,” you say to the last one, patting Sans on the arm. “I at least had breakfast this morning.”

Sans doesn’t react to your teasingly chiding tone, but he does finish the stew without protest and lets you take the bowl when he’s done.

“I’ll take care of the dishes real quick,” you say, giving him another kiss on the cheek as you go. “Don’t want Papyrus pitching a fit over a messy sink.”

Papyrus probably wouldn’t be too terribly upset if you just left the dirty dishes in the sink to soak. He’d probably also immediately go wash them himself in spite of his gruelingly long day of classes, which didn’t seem fair to you at all. Better if you just take care of it now and then nobody has to worry about it later.

Besides, what else were you doing? It was your day off!

You keep that thought in your mind when you finish washing dishes and come back to Sans.

“Hey,” you say to Buddy, pointing to the floor. “Down, off the bed, down.”

Buddy, knowing at least one of those words, takes his sweet time stretching and shaking off a little before hopping down onto the floor.

More room for you.

You close the window curtain against the midday sun, kick off your shoes and get on the bed, pulling at Sans like you could somehow budge him if he didn’t want to go. “Come on,” you coax, “lay down with me.”

Sans does without question and you arrange the pillows and blanket to your liking before snuggling up next to him.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” you tell him. “Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

“……okay.”

You’ve got the day off and Sans is taken care of, and while this isn’t exactly the circumstances you’d imagined for your first time sharing a bed with your boyfriend, you’re not going to waste the opportunity to relax and enjoy not being at work.

Sans is like a skeleton space-heater beside you and you doze off to the thought of all the nuzzles you’re going to give him when he comes back to you.

You wake up…not quite sure where you are.

There’s something soft and plush underneath you and a big hand stroking so gently and pleasantly over your head that you almost don’t want to open your eyes.

You do anyway.

The hand stills as you look up into Sans’ grinning skull from your new place atop his chest.

“hey,” he says.

You couldn’t explain in a million years how, but from just that one word, you know.

You’ve got your Sans back.

“Hey yourself,” you mumble in a rasp, pushing yourself up a little.

You wake up faster when you feel the strange give beneath your hands where there should’ve been…no, not even bone, there should have been a cavity where you were laying.

So, what the hell…?

………

A pillow.

Sans had actually wedged an entire pillow into his ribcage so you’d have something comfy to lay on while you were on top of him.

“I’m gonna be frank here,” you say. “I don’t know if this is adorable or hilarious.”

Sans laughs and you bounce a little with the movement. “can’t it be both?” he asks. “an’ if you’re frank, who am i?”

…Yep, your Sans was back.

You snicker, planting your palm in the middle of his face. “A jerk, apparently. You’re lucky I already knew that!”

Sans grabs your wrist and you blink in surprise as he holds your hand still so he can nuzzle it.

“i am lucky,” he agrees, his single red eye watching you. “thanks for stayin’.”

Your heart thumps hard in your chest. “I…well, of course I stayed. Where…where else was I gonna go?”

“work, if you didn’t take off for me.” Sans looks mildly chagrined. “i didn’t mean to make ya’ do that…”

You scoff. “You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to come see you, so I did.”

Sans doesn’t look particularly comforted.

“Hey, come on,” you insist. “You know me, I never take time off, it’s not like I don’t have the days saved up. I got a nap in and I got to see my favorite skeleton, that sounds like a pretty good use of a day to me.”

Sans stares at you…and then he smirks. “m’tellin’ Pap you said i’m your favorite.”

You laugh and pull your hand back from him. It’s an empty threat and you both know it, but still…

“Okay, you’re right, I take it back: Papyrus is my favorite skeleton.”

“aw, i only got to be the favorite for ten seconds? that’s cold.”

“He’s just my favorite skeleton,” you say, folding your arms over Sans’ chest and resting your chin on them. “You can still be my favorite funnybones. How’s that?”

That one takes an extra moment to process.

Sans’ eye-light is shivering again, warping weirdly out of shape, and you’re definitely going to have to start paying more attention to context to figure this out because you didn’t even say anything humorous that time.

No time to think about it now, though, because Sans is sitting up, his arm coming around your back to hold you against him.

“okay,” he chuckles, “okay, just for that, we’re gonna salvage this half-day of yours.”

You laugh a little. “What?”

“c’mon, your first ditch-day in fifty years—”

“It’s been a couple months?”

“fifty years,” Sans insists. “we can’t just lay in bed all day, let’s go.”

You yelp in surprise when Sans unceremoniously rolls off the bed with you. You’re tensed, clinging to his ribs like handlebars as you wait to thud onto the floor.

There is no thud, of course. It’s a ‘whoomph’ at best when the two of you land on the couch downstairs and Sans starts digging through the cushions for the TV remote.

When he finds it and turns it on, you snort. “So, we’re gonna lay on the couch all day instead?”

“couch date,” Sans shrugs, winking down at you. “it’s my turn to pick, isn’t it?”

…You gotta give him that one, it is his turn.

You roll over to face the screen, snuggling backwards against Sans into the closest thing to a spooning position you can manage. If you leaned your head back, you’d barely be resting it against his sternum, but it’s hardly your fault that he’s impractically huge.

At least you’ve got the pillow in his abdominal cavity to make it more comfortable, plus the decorative couch pillows he graciously shifts around and settles beneath your head and arm.

Sans really is a thoughtful guy, even if he won’t stop giggling about how small you are.

“next time we go somewhere that charges admission, i’m smuggling you in,” he says. “pop ya’ into my ribcage an’ nobody’ll know, two for the price of one.”

The mental image is so stupid that you laugh, too. “I can’t even tell if you’re serious, you actually are that much of a con-artist. For the record, I don’t want to do any crimes, don’t make me do crimes!”

“aww, don’t get worked up about it, i’m just ribbin’ ya’.”

“I’m telling you, Sans, the comedy police are gonna get you one of these days.”

He bends down, nuzzling the top of your head. “visit me in comedy prison. bring me a cake with a rubber chicken baked into it.”

“What?” you laugh. “Why? That won’t help you escape!”

“i’ll serve my sentence fair an’ square, the chicken’s to keep my morale up. help me hendure it.”

You don’t even dignify that with a response.

“hey, if I’m down on my cluck an’ all cooped up…”

Okay, fine!

“How about you just don’t go to comedy prison at all?” you suggest. “It’s not eggsactly all it’s cracked up to be.”

Sans’ deep baritone laugh behind you feels like a gift, a hard-won reward after a rough day and it makes something in your chest sing with delight.

You reach back, swatting lightly at a rib. “Pick something good to watch, funnybones.”

“yes, dear…” Sans sighs, but he also drapes an arm over you as he starts to flick through the channels of daytime television so you know he isn’t as put-upon as he’s acting.

There’s not much on, of course: it’s still daytime programming, which is always a little lackluster no matter how many channels you have to choose from, but neither of you is all that picky.

You end up bouncing around from show to show, catching bits of movies here and there. Some of them you recognize and can give some context to Sans about, and others you’re both completely clueless.

Buddy comes down eventually to join you, laying on the floor in front of the couch. You know you’re anthropomorphizing, but you think he looks a tad annoyed with you for disappearing on him the way you did. Luckily, you can reach him from your spot on the couch and you give the scruff of his neck a good apology scratch so you don’t feel too bad about it and your dog-friend certainly doesn’t try to stop you.

You don’t try to stop Sans, either, when he reaches down to touch you.

It’s perfectly gentlemanly, of course, with nothing untoward behind his idle petting. The feeling of his hands stroking along your body—your arm, your hip, and just once, a bit of your thigh—is nothing but pleasant and you’re happy to lean into his touch and let him leisurely explore you.

It’s nice, a lovely way to spend an evening and that’s exactly what you do: snuggle and watch TV together until the sun goes down.

All three of you look up when the front door opens and Papyrus strides in.

He seems a little surprised to see you but quickly smiles when Sans gives him a lazy, “hey, Pap,” and goes right back to watching TV.

“Hello, Brother,” Papyrus returns, shucking off his messenger bag of books and his fashionable cold weather attire, “Human! I Suppose The Both Of You Have Been Lazing Around All Day While Some Of Us Were Working To Be Productive Members Of Society.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you freely admit.

“best day ever,” Sans adds, stroking at your arm with his thumb.

He doesn’t turn away from the screen, though, so he misses the little thumbs up Papyrus gives you on the sly that makes your cheeks feel a little hot.

You suppose it could be worse: he could’ve asked for details about why you were spooning his shirtless brother in the middle of the living room, still mostly dressed for work yourself and leaning back against the whole entire king-sized pillow Sans had stuffed behind his ribs.

Papyrus is incredible at rolling with the weirdness, though. The more time you spend with these guys, the more you realize it has to be because he’s seen weirder.

Truly, a harrowing concept.

“Well,” Papyrus proclaims, “If You’re Both Really Such Loafers, I’m Sure You Won’t Properly Appreciate A Lecture On The Merits Of—”

“nope, already tuned out.”

“Sigh. No Point Wasting It Then!”

Without further ado, Papyrus marches over to the couch and shoves Sans’ legs right off of it.

Sans has pretty quick instincts. He catches you against him so you don’t fall off, too, and half sits up, bracing himself against the armrest.

All he says is, “dude,” but you hear the unspoken, ‘what the fuck?’ clear as a bell.

Papyrus just sits down on the newly-freed couch real estate. He bends to give Buddy on the floor a quick pat and then reaches over to swipe the remote.

“You’ve Had Plenty of TV-Time With Your Human, Sans,” he says flippantly. “If You Insist On Corrupting Them With Your Couch-Potato-Ing Ways—”

“i do,” Sans says emphatically, hugging you more tightly to his chest.

“—Then They Should At Least Be Exposed To Some Decent Monster Culture!”

So saying, he changes the channel. No actual programming is playing yet, but there’s a promo on for the special that’s about to air and you recognize it.

“Oh, Napstablook!” The ghost DJ, one of monsterkind’s most prominent artists since coming aboveground. “I love their music!”

“Ah, You’ve Heard Of Them!” Papyrus seems pleased. “You’re Not Completely Hopeless, After All, Then.”

You feel Sans huff out a breath behind you. “didn’t know blook was gettin’ a televised concert…”

“I Only Just Found Out Myself,” Papyrus admits, “But I’m Happy For Them! Nothing Beats The Showmanship Of The Late, Great Mettaton, Of Course, But That Ghost Can Certainly Mix Some Spine-Tingling Tunes, Nyeh-Heh-Heh!”

It’s quiet for a long moment, save for the sound of the television.

You have the feeling that Sans wants to say something, but has to figure out how first so you keep your mouth shut and let him work it out.

“hey,” he says to you eventually. “new date idea. you cool with changing it up?”

Still in your ‘day off, down for anything’ mindset? “Yeah, sure, whatever you wanna do.”

Sans nuzzles the top of your head again, gratefully affectionate, and then turns to Papyrus.

“hey, bro, we’re gonna go to grillby’s, get ‘em some real monster culture. ya’ wanna come with?”

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

#fur a good time call #undertale #fanfiction #sans #papyrus #sans/reader #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus #myfic

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popatochisssp · 5 years

Text

Fur a Good Time, Call... 3/15

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Papyrus & Reader Chapter Warnings: none

You’re just not quite sure yet how you feel about the new monster who’s been helping out these days, and this riddle wrapped up in an enigma is something you just can’t resist investigating…

AO3 Link

Crushed

Sometimes, you kept weird hours at night.

You had a bad habit of coming home from work and immediately passing out, only to wake up around ten or eleven at night and have some space to fill until you could get back to sleep again.

Occasionally you made do with the slim pickings of nighttime TV or made yourself some food that you probably shouldn’t be eating so late, but mostly you resorted to screwing around on the internet with your phone.

That was how you found out that Sans kept weird hours, too.

You had stumbled across one of those unfortunate neon sign burnouts—one ‘Elmhurst Emergency & Trauma Center’ that became the ‘ Im hur t Emergency & Trauma Center’— and immediately thought of somebody who would appreciate it.

Before you could reason with yourself that it was after midnight and you had literally never sent Sans a text before and this was a hell of an opener with no context, you’d sent off the photo.

A response came not ten minutes later.

PUNbelievable: lol thanks for that, Pap just yelled at me to keep it down.

You: Sorry, not sorry!

And that was the humble beginning of your textual friendship with Sans.

You texted back and forth about a lot of things. Most of it was silly stuff you found online (you’d been right, Sans did appreciate memes) but you were surprised by how many topics could arise from that kind of thing.

You: No way you have that many.

PUNbelievable: you doubt my hoarding ability? [IMG-1]

You: Holy shit, so that’s what 86 rocks looks like. Congrats?

PUNbelievable: and those are just the pretty ones. i got some more in shoeboxes and stuff.

You: You have shoes?!

PUNbelievable: hey hey hey what do you take me for, some kind of fancypants? no shoes, just the boxes.

You’d even started to go a little out of your usual way to find things Sans might get a kick out of. You started following a couple geology-themed blogs just so you’d occasionally find something nerdy to share.

You: [IMG-24]

PUNbelievable: whoa, perfect cleavage, thanks. yours?

You: Not mine. Perfect, though? Really? I just thought it was gneiss.

PUNbelievable: calcite, actually.

You: LOL!

Completely by accident, you’d also discovered his love of cat photos. He sent them to you often as reaction images, some he probably just found online but a lot you recognized as cats from the shelter.

He admitted to you that pretty much whenever he got a free moment at work, he was in the cat room, picking up or poking or otherwise gently harassing somebody.

PUNbelievable: most of them are just chill little dudes, they’re great. i love it when they get happy and start vibrating, that’s the best.

You: You don’t have to convince me, I love every one of those fuzzbutts, especially when they purr! I think I just might be more of a dog-person.

PUNbelievable: really? i thought you were a human-person.

You: Hilarious, spoken like a true cat-person. I should’ve put you as Good@Cats in my phone.

PUNbelievable: what am i now?

You: PUNbelievable.

PUNbelievable: what that’s great!

PUNbelievable: keep it!

PUNbelievable: it’s perfect!

A triple-text and the first time you’d ever seen him use exclamation points: how could you say no to that?

It didn’t take long before you caught yourself thinking of Sans as a friend—not just a work-friend, an actual friend—and you weren’t positive, but you were pretty sure he thought of you the same way.

For one thing, when you talked to him at the shelter, he actually talked back. It was a little thing, but it was so unlike the clipped and stiff replies he gave when other people tried to make conversation that it was a noticeable difference.

Sans’ silence had seemed so antisocial and mysterious back before you knew him. Now that you did, it seemed infinitely obvious that the man was just an awkward dork who wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t want to bug anybody so he split the difference by saying as little as possible.

He smiled a little wider when he saw you, though, and mostly came to you now when he’d finished a task and wasn’t sure what else needed doing. He was always available when you were about ready to go to lunch and happily gushed to you over how well his brother’s schooling was going, and he listened attentively when you talked about your own life, even when it couldn’t have been very interesting to hear about.

Sans had to be a friend: you couldn’t think of anybody else you’d rather send videos at three in the morning, and that was the truest measure of friendship you could think of.

Speaking of which…

You: [LINK: Sad Cat Diary]

PUNbelievable: oh big mood.

You snicker a little at the mental image of Sans, huge and spooky-looking, trying to sneak up on a tiny thumbtack in the wall.

You’re glad you went for it that day when you asked Sans to lunch. It was impulsive and a little nerve-wracking to put yourself out there like that, but it netted you a really good friend.

You couldn’t regret that, not even a little bit.

Buddy was with you again, which seemed superfluous to say at this point, but there he was.

His clicker training had gone incredibly well—the food-motivated little gremlin that he was—and you’d gotten him to pick up all the basic commands that people expected out of their dogs and didn’t want to have to teach them.

He knew sit, stay, drop it (though he was stubborn and sometimes pretended he didn’t), and even shake! He’d also pretty quickly picked up when and where he was supposed to do his business, and after all the socialization you’d been doing with him he didn’t flinch or shy away from being touched by people anymore.

With all that and his clean bill of health from the vet, Buddy was almost ready to go up for adoption.

There was just one small formality left on the list to check off, and it was how Buddy interacted with other animals. Since he spent so much time in the dog room, around other dogs, you already had a pretty good idea of how he was with his own species, so you’d gotten your boy leashed up, asked Sans to snag a couple cats for you, and met in the playroom.

Based on Buddy’s walk awhile back, you had a feeling you knew how this would go, but better to get it all done according to the shelter’s protocols.

Sans was standing there waiting for you when you and Buddy walked in. At your advice, he’d grabbed Snickers and Button, two of the more easygoing cats you currently had with a history of not batting the shit out of curious dog noses.

You had to cover a laugh at the sight of Sans, though. Button was fully latched onto Sans’ arm, all four limbs wrapped around it while she chewed at the cuff of his sleeve, and Snickers had perched herself up on his shoulder to paw at his face while he ineffectively tried to lean away.

“You good over there?” you asked, just to cover your bases.

“yep. as you can see, i’m a ladies man.”

You bent down, undoing Buddy’s leash and giving him a quick pat. “Would you be offended if I made the obvious ‘drowning in pussy’ joke?”

“yes, i would,” Sans said. “that’s just vulgar. low-brow. have some class, wouldja?”

You laughed, which had clearly been Sans’ intention. He grinned proudly even as he knelt and tried to shoo the cats off his body, a little easier to do now that there was something else for them to focus on.

Buddy, for his part, was reacting pretty much exactly how you’d expected. He was alert and very obviously curious…but also extremely unsure about these small bendy-looking dogs that were fearlessly trotting up to him.

“you think he’ll be alright?”

You shrugged. “I think so,” you decided, “more or less. I wouldn’t put him down as a great choice for homes with other pets, but if they’re friendly like the girls here, I don’t think he’d be in trouble.”

Buddy had mustered enough courage to give Snickers a good sniff…only to recoil a little as she sniffed him, something that was obviously uncalled for and totally unpredictable.

“that’s what this is for, yeah?” Sans asked, and you turned to face him. “you’re seein’ what kinda place he’d be a good fit for?”

“Yeah. I mean, that’s pretty much what we’ve been doing the whole time he’s been here. Adoption’s the goal: we don’t have as many rules and procedures as a rescue, but we still want everybody to end up somewhere good.”

Sans’ red eye moved from you to the animals. Button was trying to loop around Buddy’s feet, which Buddy was not sure he was totally cool with.

“so…what’s ‘somewhere good’ for buddy?”

The question made you consider it. “Well… he’d probably need somebody a little patient. He’s still nervous around new stuff and needs awhile to get used to it.”

“sure.”

“Ideally an only-pet situation,” you added. You gestured to where Snickers was playfully trying to catch Buddy’s tail while Buddy hastily tucked it and scrambled around to keep her in his line of sight. “Can you imagine him having to deal with that all day? Or worse, a territorial cat?”

“nah, he’s a lover, not a fighter.”

“Exactly! Big ol’ marshmallow.” You smiled fondly. “Buddy just needs a place where somebody can be his best friend.”

“so…you, right?”

Cue the mental record-scratch.

“Huh?”

Sans clearly didn’t think he’d said anything unusual. “everything you just described is you. you’re patient, no pets, you’re already his best pal. why can’t you take ‘im?”

“I…” You frowned. “I can’t.”

Sans didn’t say anything, but you felt his eye on you so you turned to watch Buddy again. He’d laid down to keep his underside protected, and the cats were rubbing up against him on either side.

It was adorable.

“I can’t,” you said again. “I…work way too much. I’m always here, y’know? I’d feel awful leaving…a dog,” you pointedly don’t say Buddy’s name, “alone in the house all day long. And then half the time when I get home, I just go straight to bed, so I wouldn’t even be able to play with him or give him the attention he should get.”

You chanced a look at Sans. His expression…wasn’t judgmental. Maybe a little…sad? But he wasn’t judging you.

You sighed. “It just wouldn’t be fair to him,” you say finally. “I’ve always believed you shouldn’t get a pet if you can’t take care of it. Buddy’s a good boy, he’ll go to a good home real fast. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“……if you say so,” Sans replied eventually. “guess i just always wondered why ya didn’t have your own pet when ya take care of ‘em all day. i know i thought havin’ a pet was pretty cool.”

Was? Oh, no.

“Did you…did you lose a pet, Sans?”

You shouldn’t be so surprised. The monsters went through hell underground, it should follow that no one was exempt from it, not even pets… but the thought still hurt your heart.

“yeah,” Sans said, and you ached with sympathy. You reached out to put a comforting hand on his arm when he continued, “Pap and i used to have a pet rock.”

Your expression flattened. “What do you mean, ‘used to’?” you demanded. “You’ve got like a hundred pet rocks.”

“nah, those are just rocks, they’re not pets,” Sans insisted. “not like rocky was.”

“……His name was Rocky.” Sans nodded. “I am…ninety percent sure you’re fucking with me.”

Sans put a hand to his chest, like an affronted southern belle. “would i do that?”

“Yes.”

“i’m hurt,” Sans said. “really. cut deep. rocky was a very important part of our family, i mourn his loss every day.”

“Okay, so what happened to him?” you wondered, suspicion evident.

“ran away.”

“…………”

“Pap blamed me for it,” Sans continued, shaking his head. “he was probably right to. i never fed him his sprinkles on time. didn’t appreciate him the way i should’ve, he was my rock and i just wasn’t there for him…”

“I’m a hundred percent now,” you said. “You’re fucking with me.”

Sans laughed, loudly and unabashedly. It made you laugh a little too, even though you shoved him in the arm right after.

“You’re such a jerk!”

“seriously, though,” he said. “if you ever meet Papyrus, ask ‘im about rocky, he’ll tell ya’.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, tone dripping with sarcasm. You went over to rescue Buddy from his wannabe feline friends and added, “You better hope I don’t meet Papyrus because I’m gonna remember this and ask him and you’re gonna be exposed as a total liar!”

It wasn’t until you’d gotten Buddy’s leash back on and body-blocked your poor dog friend a little from Button and Snickers that you realized your designated cat-wrangler hadn’t answered you.

“Sans?”

He had his phone out and a serious expression on his skull as he penned something in. You’d learned only a week back that he kept a lot of reminders in his phone. He said it had been a major lifesaver to have something with him that could remember important dates and times for him, even when he couldn’t.

“Did you forget something?” you ask him gently.

Sans took a second to reply. “nah, just…remembered something i wanna do later. don’t wanna forget about it.”

“Okay.” You didn’t dwell on it. “Can you get Heckle and Jeckle here for me? I think Buddy’s had enough friendship for today.”

“yeah, sure.”

Sans scooped up the cats for you with only minimal mewing as protest, and you gave Buddy a scratch at his neck.

“Good boy,” you reassured him, leading him back to his kennel.

You were a little distracted, trying to decide how his adoption description should go.

You’d post it on the shelter website before you left work today.

The next day had you feeling…a little annoyed.

A new employee started today, somebody else’s young relative if his last name and obvious resemblance to your coworker were any indication, and no one had ever made you hate nepotism so much in your life.

You tried to rein it in: he was young and it was literally his first day, probably his first ever job and you knew there was always a learning curve. You wanted to respect that!

But… you might feel a little more forgiving if it seemed like he even sorta cared about the shelter and what you all did here.

You couldn’t speak to anyone else’s experience with him, but every time so far you’d tried to show him where something was or what the procedure is for such-and-such, he was looking off into the middle distance and nodding his head when he thought you were looking for an answer.

His phone buzzed once while you were talking and he broke direct eye-contact with you to respond to it.

You knew right then that he was somebody only in it for the paycheck. You didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, a job was a job, but he could at least have some decorum and try to look like he wasn’t bored of being there right in front of the person training him!

It was even worse because today was a day Sans wasn’t working. You couldn’t even complain to him about the new guy, or ask him to cover all the stuff he probably wasn’t doing that you’d have to go do yourself later.

Needless to say, you were already in a not-so-great mood when he came up to you in the middle of litterbox emptying around mid-afternoon asking for your attention—by the wrong name.

You didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I can take a minute. What’s up?”

“The front desk girl called back. She said a guy wants to see a dog?”

…helpful. “Did she say anything else?” you prompted. “We got a lot of dogs here.”

He squinted, seeming to think about it. “Uhhh… I think it was Buddy? Or something like that.”

You weren’t quite prepared for the way your stomach dropped when he said the name. To cover it you spoke quickly, “Okay, thank you, I’ll go handle that. Can you finish cleaning the litterboxes for me?”

He sighed deeply, muttering, “I guess,” but you were already shucking off your gloves and heading to the sink to wash your hands. You could comfort yourself later with the knowledge that this guy couldn’t possibly last long here with an attitude like that. For now…

Oh, god.

You knew this was coming. You’d written up a great description for the website, and Buddy sat for his picture like a professional model: one ear flopped and the other pointed up with his pretty blue eyes and his tongue lolling happily out of his mouth.

He was a good boy and a beautiful dog, you knew he’d get adopted quick.

You just…hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

It’s not like you hadn’t gotten attached to dogs before. It happened a lot, actually, and it hurt a little each time watching them walk out the shelter door, but it had always been a light sting, easily soothed by the knowledge that they were going to a good home with people who’d love them.

But you had a terrible feeling that Buddy was going to hurt a lot more.

“How come you’re different, you little stinker?” you asked him, opening up his kennel and stepping in.

Buddy seemed oblivious to your sudden distress. He all but hopped off his cot when he saw you and the leash in your hand, his tail wagging while he sniffed at your pant leg in greeting and oh stars, this was going to be the last time he ever did that.

You got down on your knees to put his leash on. “C’mon, you gotta be a good boy. We’re gonna go meet your new dad.”

Because really, there wasn’t a question of if. It was like you’d told Sans, there wasn’t really a screening process or applications needed to take home a pet from here.

If you liked a dog, filled out the single sheet of paperwork, and paid the fee, that was your dog—and who wouldn’t like a sweetheart like Buddy once they met him?

You took a deep breath and got back to your feet. “Alright,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Alright. Let’s go, Buddy.”

The walk over to the lobby seemed shorter than it had ever been. You had to force yourself not to stop right before the doorway for ‘just a minute,’ knowing damn well that it wouldn’t be just a minute.

When you got there, there was only one person waiting in the lobby…and the sight of him nearly made you drop the leash.

He was a skeleton.

If you’d thought Sans was a big guy, the sight of this man scrunched into the almost comically small waiting chairs had instantly disabused you of the notion. It was hard to get a bead on exactly how tall he must be, since he was seated so politely with folded hands, but you’d guess he might be actually double your height, if not taller. He at least wasn’t built as broadly as your friend, but his overall length of limb seemed to make up for it and if it weren’t for his obvious good manners the sheer size of him might’ve been enough to make you a little nervous.

Well…his manners, the cobalt-blue squares of his (really cute) braces, and his matching glasses frames that were actually taped to the sides of his skull.

He spotted you almost the moment you walked in and rose to greet you.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully, offering one massive, spindly hand for you to shake. “I’m Papyrus! It’s A Pleasure To Meet You.”

It was…interesting trying to figure out how to shake his hand in return with the obvious size difference, but he took pity on you and helped you make it work. You introduced yourself right back.

“Ah, Of Course,” he said when you told him your name, “Sans’ Human. He’s Told Me A Lot About You, All Good Things, Naturally!”

You laughed a little, feeling just a tiny bit nervous all of a sudden at the thought of Sans talking about you—and at being called ‘Sans’ human.’ “Likewise. Uh, congratulations on acing that test last week!”

Papyrus scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the sudden hint of denim-blue on his cheekbones. “Thank You, But Really, I Have No Idea Why Sans Would Brag About That To Anyone! Did He Tell You The Exam Was On The Human Skeletal System?”

“Pfft… No, he left that part out, I think.”

“I Didn’t Even Study, For Obvious Reasons,” he told you, gesturing broadly to himself. You suddenly noticed the vibrant rainbow tie-dye crop-top he was wearing, and the black jacket he had over it with intricately embroidered flowers stitched into the leather.

Sans had been so right: Papyrus was insanely cool.

“We’re Getting Off-Topic,” he declared, bending further from his already hunched position to look at the dog beside you. “This Must Be Buddy. Hello!”

Buddy’s nose went straight into the hand Papyrus reached out to him, sniffing with vigor as always.

“Ah, You Smell My Bone Cologne! You Must Be A Dog Of Excellent Taste, A Connoisseur Of Fine Smells!”

You couldn’t help your smile. “Buddy certainly is that,” you agreed. The cold dread that had pooled in your gut at the thought of Buddy being adopted today had curiously disappeared and it left you feeling lighter than air. “Why don’t we all head to the playroom for a bit? You can interact with him a little better in there than in the lobby.”

“Excellent Suggestion!” Papyrus said. “I Would Be Delighted!”

The skeleton followed you further into the shelter, ducking under door frames blatantly not built with his height in mind. You were glad that the playroom had a high ceiling so everyone would be comfortable there.

As soon as you were all through the door, you unclipped Buddy’s leash and wrapped it up around your hand. “Papyrus, you can go ahead and ask Buddy to bring you a ‘t-o-y,’ he knows what that word means and he’s good at fetch.”

“Oh, So Am I!”

“Really?”

“Yes, Unrivaled At Fetch In All Of Snowdin,” he said proudly before pausing and looking a tad hesitant. You noticed he had the same nervous gesture Sans had, of looking down and to the left, and you found it unspeakably endearing. “Well, I Was, Anyway, For A Time. I, Erm…Worked Quite Closely With The Canine Unit And My Fetch Time Was Always The Best Out Of All Of Them! My Training Regimen Hasn’t Been…As Rigorous As It Was Back Then, Though, So I Suppose I Can’t Say With Certainty That It’s The Same. I’ve Been Busy Lately, Even By My Own Standards!”

“I know the feeling,” you empathized. “Adding Buddy into the mix won’t be too much, will it?”

Papyrus laughed, a bright and booming ‘NYEH-HEH-HEH’ that totally disarmed you.

“I Don’t See How It Could Be,” Papyrus assured you. “Buddy,” the dog focused on him instantly, “Can You Bring Me A Toy?”

Buddy perked right up when he heard the word of fun-times and happily bounced off to pick his favorite, a spiky rubber hedgehog that had seen better days, but its squeaker still worked so it was The Golden Toy to many of the dogs here.

Papyrus seemed pleased to have the slimy thing dropped into his hand and he gave it a gentle lob across the room. Buddy went after it like a shot. Almost as if he knew his performance was being judged, he even jumped a little to snatch it right out of the air.

Papyrus gave a suitably impressed noise and patted Buddy on the head when he returned the hedgehog. “Well,” he said, giving the toy another toss, “He’s Smart And Fast And A Very Handsome Dog—He’s Already Met All My Standards!”

“I can’t say I’m surprised, I’m pretty fond of Buddy myself. I, uh, I have to admit, though, I am curious why…” You frowned, wondering if the thing you were about to ask was presumptive. “Did…Sans tell you? About Buddy?”

“Yes, Of Course!” Buddy brought the hedgehog back again and Papyrus put it to the side, abandoning the play in favor of scratching through Buddy’s black and white fur. “We Don’t Really Keep Secrets. I’ve Known About Buddy For Quite Awhile!”

“Oh. Right.” You cleared your throat. “Then, I guess I don’t have to give you the disclaimer about his one unfortunate biting incident? Which hasn’t been repeated!” you quickly added.

Papyrus didn’t seem concerned. “The Only Thing Unfortunate About That Incident Is That Sans Still Wears That Old Hoodie!” Buddy had rolled over onto his back and if his windmill of a tail was any indication, his new skeleton friend was very good at belly rubs. “It Speaks To Buddy’s Tenacity! I Admire A Dog Who’ll Protect Himself When He’s In Trouble!”

Not many people saw it that way—an aggressive dog was just an aggressive dog, even with extenuating circumstances. Papyrus’ perspective was…refreshing.

“Well… he’s not exactly a guard dog, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you cautioned. “Mostly, he runs away if he’s in trouble, so…”

“That’s Even Better! Unnecessary Conflict Is So…Unnecessary!” Papyrus grinned broadly at you. Even with his braces, it was a totally winning smile. “I Think Buddy Will Fit Right In At Our House!”

“That’s…that’s great!” you said and you sincerely meant it. “If you’re ready to take him home today, we can go back to the front and get everything settled.”

Papyrus agreed immediately.

On the way there, he seemed compelled to assure you that he was well-prepared for Buddy’s arrival. He’d read through as much dog-ownership literature as he could find online last night and purchased all the essentials as soon as the stores had opened this morning: kibble, a bed, a leash and collar set with bones on them—and how fashion-forward was it of dog-accessories to include bones in their designs? Papyrus was very impressed!

“…And Of Course, He’ll Get Plenty Of Exercise, I’ve Been Looking For A Jogging Buddy And He Already Has The Right Name For It!”

You laughed. “Papyrus, I can’t tell you how great that is to hear. I love knowing my dogs are going somewhere good for them. You know half the people who adopt don’t even fill out the form all the way?”

Papyrus looked at the piece of paper you handed to him. He flipped it over to see the blank backside and frowned. “What, Seriously???”

“Seriously. It's not technically required, mostly for record-keeping, so people just don't do it or leave a bunch of blanks. You wouldn’t believe how many of those have no addresses because people couldn’t be bothered to remember what street they lived on.”

“………” Papyrus started snickering. “Oh My God, How Embarrassing… Nyeh-Heh-Heh, I Really Shouldn’t Laugh,” he said, grabbing a pen and jotting down his information. “That Sounds Like Exactly The Kind of Thing Sans Would Do.”

“Does it really?”

“Sadly, Yes. If I’d Left This Up To Him, It Would All Be Blank Except For Maybe His Name. And Then He Wouldn’t Turn It In. And I’d Find It Three Weeks Later Crumpled Up In His Trash-Tornado.”

“That sounds…exactly right, actually.” Sorry, Sans, can’t defend you against completely true accusations!

The lobby was quiet for a few moments, filled only by the sound of Buddy’s panting and the scratching of the pen.

Then Papyrus spoke up again. “Actually… Is…. Feel Free Not To Answer, If It’s Something You Don’t Feel Comfortable Discussing, But… Sans.”

You waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t. “Yes?” you prompted.

“He’s Not… Is He Like That Here?” Papyrus asked you, looking concerned. “I Know He’s Not Technically ‘Employed,’ But… He Does Things Here, Right? He Doesn’t Just… I Don’t Know, Sit In The Break Room All Day And Look Busy When Someone Important Walks By?”

You blinked, startled by the thought. “No, he doesn’t do that. He’s a big help around here. Actually,” you added, sheepish and a little quiet in case your voice carried, “I was kind of upset he wasn’t in today, ‘cause I don’t think I’m gonna get as much done without him around to lend a hand.”

You may as well have told Papyrus it was his birthday and every other holiday combined into one.

“Really? Oh, That’s Great!” He pressed a hand to his chest and heaved out a relieved sigh. You weren’t quite sure how that worked with a skeleton, but there it was. “I’m So Glad He’s Being Productive. I Knew This Place Would Be Good For Him! He’s Even Made Two Wonderful Friends!”

Oh, that meant you and Buddy, didn’t it? You think you might be flushing a little, but try to play it cool.

You and Papyrus get the adoption fee and all the other logistical stuff taken care of and soon enough, “That’s it, Buddy’s all yours, free and clear!”

“Thank You So Much For Your Assistance! And Obviously, Call Me Anytime!”

You paused. “Call you?”

“Yes, Of Course! My Number Is On The Form.” Papyrus seemed to notice you were still confused. “Sans Mentioned You May Want To Come Visit Buddy From Time To Time. You Seem Almost As Busy As I Am, We’d Probably Need To Align Schedules At Some Point To Make It Work.”

Sans mentioned…?

You put a pin in your train of thought. Hesitantly, you got out your phone and pulled the piece of paper closer. “Are you sure that’s alright?” you asked, just to make sure. “I, uh… I can’t say I don’t want to see Buddy again sometime, but….”

“Nonsense, Any Friend Of Sans Is Welcome Over Whenever.” Papyrus gave another quick pat to Buddy’s head. “And Any Friend Of Buddy Is Doubly Welcome!”

Good enough for you! You put his number in your contacts, just under ‘Papyrus’ for now. “You know,” you said as you did so, “we could be friends, too. If you wanted.”

When you looked up from your phone, you found Papyrus staring at you like…well, like he didn’t know what to say.

“…Really?”

“Sure?” Offering to be friends with somebody shouldn’t have been able to put a look of such touched elation on their face, but there was Papyrus looking like you’d just offered him the moon in a few short words.

“Oh! Well, That’s! That’s Fantastic! I Accept!” He was blushing blue again even as he laughed that cute laugh of his. “A Friend, Wowie!” He seemed to remember Buddy at his feet. “Two Friends! What A Day! I’m Sorry To Leave So Suddenly, But I Think I Have Some Energy to Run Off Right Now, Do You Mind?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “Go bond with your new dog.”

“I Will, And Thank You Again! Come Along, Buddy!”

Buddy spared a glance at you, seeming to wonder why you weren’t coming with, but he wasn’t concerned enough to hesitate more than a second before trotting after Papyrus out the door.

Buddy didn’t need to worry about never seeing you again, after all. Neither did you, for that matter.

All thanks to a certain meddling skeleton.

A skeleton that you called the second you went off the clock for lunch.

“y’ello?” he answered after a couple rings, sounding a little like you’d just woken him up.

You didn’t waste time feeling guilty about it. “Hey, did you tell your brother to adopt Buddy?”

“heheh, what? no.”

“Really? Because he said—”

“look, i don’t tell Papyrus to do anything,” Sans said flatly. “…but maybe i did mention that the cool dog was up for adoption, the one who tried to eat my terrible jacket that Pap hates. and that my pal at the shelter might be a little, uh… sad if he went real far away and they couldn’t see ‘im anymore. if he decided to go pick buddy up after that, that’s just serendipity, y’know?”

You huffed out an incredulous breath. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“did what?”

“You adopted a dog for me!”

“he’s a good dog. Papyrus can tire ‘im out when he’s not at work or studying and i’m not at the shelter every day, so i got ‘im the rest of the time. that’s what you were worried about, right? buddy gettin’ left alone too much?”

“Well…yeah.”

“so, problem solved, right? plus you can have visitation an’ stuff. long as you pay child support.”

You snorted loudly. “Child support?”

“yeah, child support. he was your son first.”

“He’s not my— what even is ‘child support’ in this scenario?”

Sans sounded like he was thinking it over. “mmm…lunch for a month?”

“…you’re kidding.”

“you’re right, two months.”

“That’s not how haggling works!”

“drivin’ a hard bargain, huh? okay, a week.”

You finally broke down giggling. “Fine,” you laugh, “fine, a week.”

“oh, nice, i didn’t think that would actually work.”

What a goober.

“Oh my god. Okay, sorry to bug you on your day off, you can go back to bed now, I guess.”

“bold of you to assume i ever left it.”

“And Sans?”

“yeah?”

“Thanks.” It seemed weak. Not enough of a word to convey the warm gratitude you felt bubbling up in your chest when you thought about what he’d just done for you—him and his brother both.

It was weak, but it was all you could think to say.

“forget about it,” Sans said simply.

And that was that.

You got on with your day, going to lunch, coming back and dealing with your duties and that damn new guy, but the whole time, in the back of your mind, you were thinking, He adopted a dog for me. He sent Papyrus to adopt Buddy so I wouldn’t be sad.

You were starting to think that maybe you were in trouble here.

Your relationship with your ‘pretty good friend’ was starting to feel an awful lot like a crush.

Later that night, Sans texted you first.

PUNbelievable: hey, sounds like you made my bro real happy today. thanks, he deserves to have more good stuff in his life.

So do you, was your first thought, but something told you Sans might not see it your way.

You: Sure, he’s as cool as you said he was, but don’t think you’re off the hook about that Rocky thing because I forgot earlier. I’m gonna ask him next time and then you’re busted!

PUNbelievable: lol

You had almost mustered enough irritation to be playfully annoyed at him when he sent another message.

PUNbelievable: [IMG-13]

It was picture of Buddy curled up on a bare mattress in a dark room—Sans’ room—with a big bony hand settled on his withers mid-fur-ruffle.

PUNbelievable: somebody’s making himself right at home, guess life over here ain’t so ruff.

…Okay, yep. You were crushing.

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#fur a good time call #undertale #fanfiction #sans #sans/reader #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus #myfic

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