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diamondsareapearlsbestfriend · 7 years

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Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Six

day six: new to the family

prompt: “Each member of your OTP meeting the other’s family for the first time. Does each family approve of the one dating the other? What sorts of shenanigans do they get into?”

"So...finally meeting the family, huh? Seems like things are getting pretty serious between you guys, am I right?"

"...Kid." Sans couldn't help but be amused, if a little puzzled, by Frisk's 'so what exactly are your intentions with my mother' routine as they smirked across the sofa at him. "We've known each other for how long now? Unless I'm missing something here, I feel like maybe that ship's sailed."

"I'm not talking about me." They were definitely up to something, a worryingly familiar determined glint in their eye as they turned to Toriel, tugging on her sleeve as she sat with her hands folded in her lap. "There's someone else we thought should join us for a nice family dinner tonight. Right, Mom?"

"Ah...in a sense, I suppose, yes." Toriel seemed much more reluctant, only offering Sans an apologetic smile when he looked to her for an explanation. "Dear, are you quite sure this is a good idea? He does tend to be rather...how should I put this..."

"Mom, don't worry," Frisk assured her, patting her hand. "I feel like we've been making real progress on the whole, um...attitude problem. Anyway, he's got to find out about you guys sometime, right?"

"I suppose, but..."

"We'll be right down!"

Frisk scurried eagerly off upstairs before she could object any further, and Toriel sighed before turning back to Sans, placing a hand gently on his patella. "Sans, I...do apologise in advance for this evening. I did hope we might be able to enjoy a nice, peaceful dinner, but you know how Frisk can be..."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all, but he smiled back anyway to reassure her, linking their fingers together. "Tori, don't sweat it. How bad can it really –"

"Hey, watch the stem!" A disturbingly familiar squeaky voice pierced the air, interrupting him as they both turned towards the stairs. "Why are we doing this? You know I don't actually need to eat – there's this thing called photosynthesis? That's pretty basic science, Frisk – golly, don't they teach you anything in school? Your mom must be so..."

The contents of the offending flower pot wisely fell silent as he met Toriel's steely gaze, a stark contrast with Frisk's determinedly cheerful smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs and placed the pot carefully on the coffee table.

"Sans, Flowey – you guys, um, remember each other, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Sans gritted his teeth, hoping his resting smile masked his instinctive unease as he met the flower's belligerently unimpressed stare – he could still feel the vines tightening around him, scratchy and suffocating, remember looking over at Papyrus, at everyone helplessly ensnared around him and only thinking, as the energy drained out of his soul, that he'd seriously screwed up this time..."Hey, buddy. Steal any good souls lately?"

Flowey ignored him entirely, turning his head indignantly back towards Frisk. "Is this some 'cruel and unusual punishment' kinda thing? 'Cause if so, I'm actually..." His eyes widened to comical proportions as the proverbial penny dropped, darting from Frisk to Sans to Toriel and back again. "Wait, is this a – no. No way. You're dating him?!" He dissolved into hysterical, high-pitched giggles, doubling over at the stem. "That's too rich! M – Toriel, I know you're getting a little over the hill, but gosh – even you must be able to find someone better than some...bag of bones?"

Frisk winced; Sans just smirked, because honestly it was kind of cute if Flowey thought that was going to get to him, like he didn't already know he was punching way above his weight with Toriel.

"Heh – little harsh, but you're not entirely –"

"Actually, I think you'll find you are very much mistaken," Toriel cut him off, her voice sharp and cool as a knife, but Sans could tell from the pink spots rising on her pristine white cheeks that she was pissed, unforgiving eyes trained on Flowey like a laser, "for there is, in fact, no one – nobody I would sooner be with, tonight or any other."

Flowey gulped, wilting back against his pot despite himself, and it was probably one of the most satisfying moments of any timeline, especially when Sans caught Toriel's eye and her mouth twitched at their old corny joke. "Anyway," she continued pleasantly, the fire fizzling out almost as soon as it had appeared as she smoothed down her dress, "I had better get started on dinner. You three..." She narrowed her eyes, a watchful, teacher's gaze over Sans, Frisk and Flowey in turn. "Do try and play nicely, won't you?"

"He's not...always like this," Frisk spoke up after their mother had returned to the kitchen, shuffling their feet guiltily while shooting Flowey a reproachful look. "Sometimes he's nice. Well, kinda. To me, anyway."

"I tolerate you," Flowey corrected them, rolling his beady little eyes. "There's a difference."

Sans glanced longingly back at the closed door, tempted to make an excuse about helping Toriel with dinner, but Frisk was looking increasingly uncomfortable, fidgeting in the silence that followed, and he couldn't help feeling for the kid – they really wanted him and Flowey to be friends, and even if Sans had a pretty good idea of how that was going to work out, he figured he owed it to them to at least try and be nice to the little weed.

"Well, hey, that's progress, right?" he offered. "Good job, buddy. Sounds like you're really...turning over a new leaf."

At least that got a smile out of Frisk, who stifled a giggle behind their hand as Flowey let out a loud groan, drooping dramatically over the edge of his pot.

"Oh, sure, you're real funny bones. Never heard that one before. You know, if you insist on hanging around, the least you could've done is brought your brother along. Now he's much more fun."

Sans frowned, instantly not liking where this was going. "You know my brother?"

Flowey nodded, suddenly lighting up with a sunny smile Sans didn't trust one bit. "Oh boy, we go way back! We had some entertaining little chats back in the day – golly, that one was gullible. He believed anything any old flower told him. Hey, Sans, here's a fun puzzle – how many times do you think I could've killed him? Because, let me tell you, he sure couldn't have made it any easier for me. Seriously – what kind of Royal Guard member leaves himself open and vulnerable to a strange flower like that? When you think about it, I was doing you all a favour when I –"

"But all that was in the past!" Frisk interrupted, desperately lunging forward and clamping both hands across Flowey's mouth before he could finish. "And now you wouldn't ever...new leaf, remember? That whole murdery phase is over – that's what you told me, remember, Flowey? Right...?"

Sans saw their face twist in concern as it faded away, edges bleeding away to black before his eyes as he clenched his fist, struggling to block out the images – he'd tried his hardest to forget those timelines, but sometimes he still got flashes; dust scattering in the wind, bright red scarf garish as blood in the snow as it slipped through his fingers, grabbing for whatever was left; a retreating shadow, sometimes, but he never saw a face. He didn't want to give Flowey the satisfaction, but he could already feel it burning in his soul, white hot rage like nothing he'd felt in a long time, blazing through his bones and creeping up through his socket until Frisk and his surroundings all faded and there was only Flowey, illuminated in a cold blue glow as he took a step forward off the couch.

"Listen. You better stay away from Papyrus, or..."

"Oooh, or what? Let me guess – you're going to kill me?" Flowey's smile grew increasingly menacing, mouth stretching into a grotesque grimace as he wriggled free of Frisk's grip and leaned forward, stem stretching out until he was right up in Sans' space, eyes glittering with malice. "And what will your precious Toriel think of that, when she finds out you're just like all the others?" Suddenly, his face shifted, flickering like a TV set into an unsettlingly accurate imitation of Toriel's, her white fur and big, sorrowful eyes gazing out. "Oh, Sans, how could you? To think, I truly thought I could trust you – that I could love you – but now I see how foolish I was –"

"You guys, cut it out!" Suddenly, Frisk's voice cut through the darkness as they pushed their way between them, forcing them apart so that Sans stumbled and collapsed back onto the sofa, his vision fading back to normal in time to see Flowey shrinking back into his pot. "Just...stop with all the creepy face stuff, okay? Both of you," they added sternly, turning back towards Sans; he lifted a hand to his cheekbone and saw the magic still pulsating there, rising to the surface instinctively even though he wasn't intending to do anything with it. He shook his skull to let it settle, but as his vision cleared all he could see was the disappointment in Frisk's eyes. "You know, I really thought maybe we were..." They shook their head, silence hanging heavy in the atmosphere between the three of them as they turned away, back towards the door. "Forget it. I'm going to go help Mom with dinner."

"Kid, wait –"

But they were gone before Sans had a chance to defend himself, and he let out a sigh, glancing out of the corner of his socket at Flowey.

"That wasn't very nice, y'know."

"Your face isn't very nice," Flowey replied sulkily; Sans let out a quiet snort of laughter, tempted to come back with something even more childish, but then he remembered the look on Frisk's face, and yeah, that didn't feel too great. It looked like it was up to him to be the responsible one this time, which, welp – this was gonna be interesting.

"I don't care what you think about me," he continued, seriously, "but Frisk really wants us to be friends – yeah, I know, but would it kill you to at least try to pretend to play nice for a while? You know, it might not be so bad."

"Frisk wants everyone to be friends." Flowey laughed bitterly, the words dripping with derision. "That's their thing, right? That's why they had to drag me all the way up here, instead of killing me when they had the chance. I mean, gosh – I came so close to destroying everything in the Underground, and now they want to let me loose on the surface? They'd really risk your happy ending for some...idiotic hero complex, 'cause they just had to prove they could save everyone?" His squeaky voice rose with frustration as he cocked his head to one side, widening his eyes in fake concern. "Well, gee – when you put it like that, sounds pretty messed up. Don't you think, buddy?"

"Sure. I get that." Sans glanced back at the closed door to the kitchen before lowering his voice, leaning forward to rest his humerus on his patellas. "But what I'm wondering is, if you hate it here so much...why didn't you reset?"

In an instant, Flowey's theatrical shock shifted into the real deal, his stem stiffening in indignation. "You – how'd you know about –"

"Did some research," Sans replied with a shrug, as Flowey squinted suspiciously at him before breaking out into a smirk.

"Golly, isn't today just full of surprises! Alright, I admit it – that's a new one. I guess maybe I didn't explore every single possibility, after all." Flowey leaned forward again, vines creeping out of the bottom of his pot to anchor him in place as he sprouted two leaves and rested his head on them, mimicking Sans' pose. "Well...who says I'm not thinking about it, hmm?" His eyes grew bigger and blacker, voice becoming more distorted like he was speaking through static. "Maybe I'm just biding my time...waiting 'til you all think you're finally safe, free from the nightmares of the past. I could do it, you know. Anytime I wanted, I can turn it all back. Any...moment..."

Flowey kept inching forward, grinning into Sans' unblinking sockets like they were locked in a staring contest – until finally he couldn't hold it in any more and started to laugh, soft snickers turning to full-blown guffaws as Flowey jerked back in surprise.

"Whoa, dude, that's intense," he eventually managed to get out. "A+ for effort, gotta give you that, but – pfffft – you thought we were safe up here? Buddy, lemme tell you, I don't even remember being safe from all of this. You. Frisk. The others...heh, that's a good one.” Sans' laughter slowly petered out as he counted them off on his fingers. “There's a lot we didn't figure out, but we knew we were never safe – so hate to break it to ya, but you're really nothing new.”

"What...?" Flowey's nightmare face slowly faded away into something almost inadvertently adorable as he shook his petals, tilting his head in confusion. "And you're saying that doesn't...scare you? Hanging out with the kid who has the power to take everything from you – from Papyrus, from Toriel? Everything you've all worked so hard for and suffered so much, and knowing you could still end up right back where you started? Not even a little bit?"

"Nah," Sans shrugged, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the sofa. "Not any more. You wanna know why?"

"Why should I care about your idiotic –"

"I trust Frisk," he continued anyway. "They wouldn't do it, not now. I know it's not their first time – maybe they didn't always get it perfect, heh, who does? But they're a good kid, and I...believe in them." Sans felt a warmth growing deep in his chest – in his soul – and he never realised just how good it felt to be able to say that – to feel it. "Sure, they could reset any time – hell if there's anything I can do about it. All I know is, I spent a long time not trusting, not believing in anyone, and sometimes...sometimes you just gotta appreciate what you have, you know? If I didn't let myself trust Frisk, that they'd come through and do the right thing in the end – even for those who, some would say, really didn't deserve it – we wouldn't have any of this. And I wouldn't have Tori."

"Golly, isn't that just swell for you," Flowey retorted sarcastically, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Frisk sparing me didn't change anything. It doesn't matter what they want – we'll never be friends, not like they are with all of you. Not like it was with..." For a second, he almost looked sad, expression softening as he gazed somewhere into the distance, to timelines past, although it was gone in a flash when he caught Sans' sockets and glared defensively. "It's not like I haven't thought about resetting. I could still do it. I just...I'm just tired of it all." Flowey let out a bitter, world-weary chuckle, and yeah, Sans definitely recognised that feeling. "I'd seen everything down there. Nothing was fun any more, not when I already knew what everyone was going to do, right down to the pitch of their screams. I didn't have anything to stick around for – I just wanted Frisk to finish me off. But they were just too...too nice."

Sans had to laugh at the way Flowey screwed up his face in disgust at the word, nodding in solidarity. "Yup, sounds about right. Kid's pretty damn persistent."

"Gosh, it's sickening, really. I had to go along because they just wouldn't quit." Flowey rolled his eyes, but not with quite so much vitriol as before. "I still don't get it, but I guess this place is..." He lifted his head, looking around at Toriel's cute, cosy house. "At least it's new. I'll probably get bored of the surface soon, too, but for now – it's not the worst I've ever had it, I guess." He smirked again, but it looked more like a mischievous kid than a being of ultimate evil. "Although who knew there's a timeline where Toriel gets desperate enough to date you? Golly, even I almost feel sorry for her, and I literally have no soul!"

Sans just chuckled; he hated to admit it, but Flowey was trying so hard to be intimidating, he was almost starting to find it endearing. “Thanks, bud. I'm sure she'd be real touched to hear that.”

“Heh – you're, um...” Flowey's smile wavered, eyes darting around the room nervously like he suspected Toriel might have been hiding behind the couch all along , “not actually going to tell her I said that, are you?”

“Soup's on!” Frisk burst through the door before Sans even had a chance to consider all the ways he might be able to leverage this newly exposed weak spot. “Hey, you didn't kill each other,” they added brightly. “Good job! If you're lucky, Mom might even give you a sticker.”

Flowey groaned as Sans grinned, reaching out to tap the edge of his flowerpot as he slid off the sofa. “Now you're talking. You need a lift there, buddy?”

Flowey grimaced, but apparently even he wasn't immune to Frisk's hopeful smile at this indication that maybe they'd bonded, or something.

“You know I don't have to stay in the pot,” he grumbled, as Sans picked him up and followed Frisk through to the kitchen. “It's just easier, is all. You better not drop me.”

Tempting as it was, Sans thought, it had nothing on the way Toriel's face lit up as he walked in carrying Flowey, her smile simultaneously astonished, relieved and proud.

“Oh my goodness – flowers, for me?” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in mock surprise. "Why, Sans, you shouldn't have!"

“Actually, Tori, I might just have to hang onto this one,” he replied, setting Flowey down on top of the pile of books Toriel had thoughtfully placed on his chair. “What can I say – this guy, he really grows on you.”

“Ugggghhhh.” Flowey buried his head in his petals as Toriel snorted with delight and Frisk giggled guiltily. “Are they always like this? How have you not – uhhh...” He faltered as his pot mysteriously wobbled, just as Sans' foot collided with his chair leg under the table. “I mean – how do you stand it?”

“Pretty much,” Frisk sighed sympathetically, reaching out to ruffle his petals. “You just kinda get used to it.”

“Well, don't get used to this, 'cause I'm not hanging around waiting for you losers,” Flowey muttered, flinching away from their hands, but his face immediately brightened when Frisk slid a perfectly sized, snail-patterned watering can across the table. Sans grinned, unable to resist winking as he caught his eye; Flowey stuck his tongue out in retaliation, but somehow he didn't seem quite as threatening.

Frisk beamed and shot Sans a double thumbs-up while Flowey was happily drenching himself; Toriel smiled indulgently, and, psychotic flower sort-of family and all, Sans was starting to feel like this was definitely something he could get used to.

"Your Majesty! Dinner...is served!"

"Papyrus, my dear, you know you do not have to call me that," Toriel answered as he knelt extravagantly at her feet, smiling as she took in the impressive spread laid out before her; granted, it was only spaghetti, but everything was beautifully arranged and garnished, the three places set impeccably and cutlery polished to perfection. “This is far from the first time I have had the pleasure of your company, is it not?”

“I know,” Papyrus rose to his feet, sockets shining as he met her eyes with a bright, hopeful smile, “but it's been my dream to cook for the queen ever since...Well, ever since I found out we had a queen! Plus...” He cupped a gloved hand to Toriel's ear in a stage whisper, “my brother, finally bringing home a date?! Now that hardly happens every day!"

“Goodness, is that so?” Toriel feigned shock, pressing a hand to her chest and biting back a giggle as she caught Sans' socket as he sat at the table, nonchalantly munching on a breadstick. “Why, I would have imagined the eligible young monsters of Snowdin would be lining up outside your door.”

Papyrus let out a cackling nyeh heh heh, clutching his ribs as though it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “For the Great Papyrus, naturally – but Sans?! I didn't think he could even find a pair in his sock collection.”

"Alright, bro, take it easy," Sans finally interjected, grinning along despite the hint of blue colouring his cheekbones as Toriel laughed guiltily, both of them turning to look at him. "Ever think maybe you're not the only skeleton around here with high standards?"

Toriel smiled back, bushing a little herself as she turned back to Papyrus with a conspiratorial wink. “Ah, but you see, he is a fast learner. Impressive, what one can achieve with the help of a good teacher, is it not?”

Papyrus nodded thoughtfully as though appraising Sans' performance, before clapping his hands together, positively glowing with pride. “Congratulations, brother – your dating power is way higher than I thought! If you keep it up, who knows – one day, maybe you'll even be as strong as Frisk!”

“Hmm, I am not sure I would go that far just yet; there is always room for improvement,” Toriel quipped, before deciding to follow her child's example and show Sans some mercy by changing the subject, as much as she enjoyed teasing him just a little. “But I digress – surely the greatest significance of this occasion is that I finally have the honour of sampling the Great Papyrus' world-famous spaghetti!”

Papyrus' chest puffed up with pride as he gestured excitedly for her to sit down. “Of course – sit, eat, enjoy! Cooked to perfection just for you, Your – Toriel, if I say so myself. Bone appetit!"

Toriel grinned as she took her place opposite Sans. "Do my ears deceive me, or was that a pun?"

“A pun?! Obviously not!” Papyrus wrinkled his nasal cavity as though it were the worst thing imaginable. “It was a...sophisticated play on words.” “Otherwise known as a pun.”

"Sans, would you just – just stop flapping your mandible for a moment and let the queen enjoy her dinner in peace."

Shaking her head fondly at their squabbling, Toriel lifted a forkful of spaghetti to her mouth. Having been extensively warned that Papyrus' cooking was something of an acquired taste, to put it mildly, she was pleasantly surprised – it was perhaps a little undercooked, but the sauce was thick and rich with a good, strong flavour.

Swallowing, she was just about to pay her compliments to the chef when it hit – a searing heat burning through her throat like nothing she had experienced before. Toriel heard her fork clatter to the floor as her mouth fell open of its own accord and she found herself unable to do anything but pant helplessly, as though her tongue was trying its best to escape the cavern of burning hellfire.

"Tori? Tori, you okay? Stay with me here." Sans' concerned face blurred into an indecipherable white blob as her eyes stung with hot tears and he turned accusingly to his brother. “Pap – what the hell did you put in there?”

"Well – I – you said it was too cold! So I just added some more chili before –"

"How much chili?"

"A few...um...cups?"

Sans hissed something under his breath Toriel would not have approved of under normal circumstances, but for now she could only gasp, thumping the table in a wordless plea for help. “Well, get her some water or something!”

“Water! Yes!” Toriel could just about make out Papyrus frantically searching the fridge, various food items flying through the air. “Oh my god, Sans, what if we've killed the queen?!”

“We?”

“Just hold on, Your Majesty! I'm coming to your aid!”

Before Toriel or Sans could respond, Papyrus hurled himself across the table, plates of spaghetti and salad splattering on the floor as he thrust an unidentified bottle in her face; Toriel was so desperate she seized upon it like a long lost lover, gasping with relief as cool, creamy milk hit her throat, soothing the burning sensation. She kept gulping straight from the bottle, draining every last drop until no more remained. Blinking the last of the tears from her sore eyes, she took in the scene of disarray surrounding her: food splattered everywhere, Papyrus still splayed out across the table like a trophy rug and Sans wearing half of his dinner across his skull like an unconvincing wig.

“Toriel! I'm so sorry!” Papyrus was the first to break the silence, sockets drooping as though he might be about to cry next; Toriel was about to reassure him, but he grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together inelegantly to prevent her from speaking. “Sssh, no – you must protect the royal tongue! I'm afraid the Great Papyrus has been foiled, once again, by his own lofty ambitions. I just wanted tonight to be...” He sighed, sliding surprisingly gracefully off the table and back onto his feet, only taking a few salad dressings with him, “special.”

“Pfff – Papyrus,” Toriel eventually managed to say, finally prising his hand from her jaw and setting it gently but firmly back on the table, “my dear, please do not worry yourself over this! I am quite all right – in my time, I have attended many more disastrous dinner parties, and none quite so entertaining.” She smiled at him, squeezing his hand in hers in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “In any case, I would even say you have succeeded – for this is certainly one of the most...memorable evenings I have spent, possibly ever. And I would not have it any other way.”

“She's right, bro.” Sans joined in, leaning over to pat his brother on the back. “Don't be upsetti over spicy spaghetti – that's how it goes, right?” Papyrus smiled and nodded, looking more like his usual self as Sans rolled up his tomato-splattered sleeves, uncharacteristically motivated. “Now throw me a bone here and let's get this place cleaned up for dessert.”

“Oh yes, of course – dessert!” Toriel clasped her hands together, trying to conceal her excitement as she caught the knowing glint in his sockets – she had almost forgotten it in all the commotion. Papyrus' brow bone shot up in suspicion, but he was soon smiling again as the three of them set to work, wiping spaghetti from the walls and plucking strands out of places they should not be – most frequently between bones – until the kitchen was once again in an acceptable state to reveal what Toriel hoped would still be the jewel in the crown of their evening.

“Now, this is just a little something I cooked up,” she announced, placing the covered pie down on the table, “in honour of the Great Papyrus' many, many wonderful achievements and services to our kingdom! Though, I confess – such a fitting tribute would not have been possible without the help of your brother here.”

“Pretty sure it would have,” Sans shrugged off the compliment, but slipped his arm around her waist with an affectionate squeeze as he grinned up at her, both barely able to restrain their glee. “Tori just likes to pretend I can be helpful sometimes.”

Despite his modesty, Toriel knew without a doubt as she lifted the cover that her own hands could never have so skilfully crafted the extra special decoration that adorned the top of her usual recipe – or, for that matter, have elicited quite such a perfect reaction, as Papyrus' sockets bulged almost right out of his skull, hands pressed to his cheekbones as a wonderful, seemingly contradictory yet uniquely beautiful symphony of utter rage and unbridled joy played out across his face.

“Oh my god, Sans! Toriel! It's...You...I...”

“What's the matter, bro,” Sans asked innocently as he took his seat, “don't you like our Papierus?”

"Like it?! I...I love it! It's awful! And yet perfect!" Papyrus clutched at his skull in anguish, but it was a broad smile, as warm and dazzling as the sun, that broke out across his face – an even more satisfying sight to behold than his pastry likeness on top of the pie, as he cut carefully around his own image. “Quite an ingenious ruse, Your Majesty,” he conceded, around a mouthful of butterscotch and cinnamon, “even the Great Papyrus must admit – sometimes puns can be palatable, when presented in pie form!”

“Really?” Sans' voice was casual, but Toriel already recognised the sparkle in his sockets at being handed such a golden opportunity. “Well, that's all I kneaded to dough.”

Toriel burst out laughing, unconcerned about the crumbs spraying her dress – it was already liberally stained with spaghetti, anyway, and there were far more important things, like the pride in Sans' smile as he dropped the punchline before joining in with her laughter, or for that matter Papyrus' strangled groan as he shook his skull in despair at the two of them before speaking up again.

“Actually, Toriel – there's one more thing I forgot to give you.”

“Oh?” Toriel inclined her head in curiosity as she set her fork down, praying that it would not be more food – she didn't know if her poor stomach could survive another round. “How sweet – but there is no need, you really do not have to give me anythi–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Papyrus had already produced a sturdy contraption of wood and metal seemingly out of nowhere, presenting it to her with a flourish as she blinked in surprise. “Oh! It's a...”

“A shovel!” he beamed, enthusiastically if a touch unnecessarily. “I read it on the internet – it's a surface tradition!” He cleared his throat, as if reciting from memory. “When someone starts dating your close friend or family member, you're supposed to give them a 'shovel talk'. Except I'm...not really sure what I'm supposed to talk about,” he admitted with a shrug. “But anyway – now you have a shovel, just in case dating Sans ever gets too stressful and you need to go away and plant some flowers!”

“Ah...of course.” Toriel smiled, suppressing her laughter as she glanced slyly over at Sans, whose expression was somewhere between amused, bemused and perhaps even a touch offended. “What a lovely tradition, and a thoughtful gift! I shall treasure it – thank you, my dear Papyrus. As the children say...I dig it.”

She was unable to help herself, a snort escaping as Sans chuckled and Papyrus, for once, did not voice his displeasure as his left socket twitched a few times. “It's...going to be like this all the time now, isn't it?”

“'Fraid so, bro,” Sans replied with a shrug, his grin becoming just a little more bashful as he caught Toriel's eye and added, “I, uh...really hope so, anyway. Sorry about that."

"No, you're not." But Papyrus was undeniably smiling, fondly exasperated, a sentiment Toriel was coming to recognise all too well. “But I forgive you, because the Great Papyrus is nothing if not selfless. And...” His voice became quieter, more serious, glancing between Sans and Toriel as the sharp lines of his skull appeared to soften for a moment, “it's a small price to pay, to have my brother back. Sans, I used to...worry about you, you know, back in the Underground. I knew something was wrong, but I just didn't know how to...”

“Pap,” Sans interrupted, his voice catching on the single syllable as he laid a hand on his brother's arm; Toriel bit her lip, an ache in her chest at the rare glimpse of raw emotion that flashed across his face, just for a second, before he ducked his head, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don't you worry your great and powerful head about me, okay? I'm doing great.” Toriel knew he meant it, smile smaller but genuine when he glanced back up at her, then at Papyrus. “Never been better.”

“Thanks to her!” Papyrus reached out over his head and grabbed Toriel's hand, holding it in the air like a prize fighter. “Toriel! Despite your...equally questionable sense of humour, I'm honoured to pledge my loyalty to you both as former member of the Royal Guard and current mascot of monsterkind – but, mostly, as someone to share the considerable responsibility of looking out for my brother.”

"Oh!" Toriel found herself unexpectedly emotional at the sincerity of Papyrus' words, the warmth shining in his sockets – Sans was indeed lucky, as he had always said, to have such a cool guy looking out for him, and, as she squeezed his hand gratefully in return, Toriel knew that she was, too. “From the Great Papyrus himself, it is indeed an honour and a privilege. Rest assured, between the two of us, I trust we will not find the task so...punishing.”

“Okay, guys,” Sans interjected, evidently trying and failing to appear annoyed at this assessment of his character, “that's sweet and all, but seriously, what am I here? A skeledog?”

Toriel and Papyrus glanced at each other, a telepathic understanding passing between them, and without a word they reached out and grabbed him, each hooking an arm around his ribs to pull him up into a three-way hug. Sans let out a yelp of half surprise, half laughter as he was effortlessly lifted off the ground and firmly sandwiched between them, but Toriel knew he had no desire to escape even if they had any intention of letting him. Papyrus leaned in to bump his skull affectionately against his brother's as they clung together, and Toriel felt a surge of tenderness as she held onto both of them, at once familiar yet renewed – the need to nurture and protect, to preserve the love she felt so strongly in this moment, enveloping all three of them and warming her through to her soul.

“I know dinner didn't exactly go according to plan, guys, – but I gotta say, this has been really uplifting.”

“I could still drop you,” Papyrus threatened, but he was still smiling, as genuine as it was reluctant as Toriel giggled, leaning in to steal a quick nuzzle against Sans' cheekbone.

"I do not think he will.”

“I know,” Sans replied, running his fingers through the fur on the back of Toriel's neck while reaching out to pat Papyrus' skull with his other arm, somehow maintaining a perfect balance between the two – until he wobbled, almost bringing them all crashing down before they caught him, laughing, stronger together. "I think I got a pretty good thing going on here."

#30 day otp challenge #soriel #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #it's BAAACK by unpopular demand!!#sorry this is so long and probably bad bc idek how to flowey #but at least it's posted and i can move on with my life #or something #my fic

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