Tiny Raven

My ‘favorite’ thrift store was about the same distance from my apartment as Solar’s. In the opposite direction.

It wasn’t the best. It received all the rejects from its sister store downtown. Everything was a little more out of date, a little uglier, a little more worn and broken down.

It was my favorite only because it was the only thrift store within walking distance of my apartment.

It was where I bought nearly everything, on the rare occasions I had money to spare.

As Sans and I entered, I pulled out the cash I’d been holding on to, leafing through it to count how much remained.

“Looks like you have … a hundred fifty to spend. Go wild,” I said as I slid the bills back into my bag.

“ I have?” Sans asked, head turned just enough to glance at me over his shoulder.

“It’s the money from the asshole you were with before,” I said with a shrug as I grabbed a cart. “It’s yours, not mine. Only reason I’ve held onto it is because humans are jerks.”

Monsters weren’t ‘allowed’ to have money without permission from their owners. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough. I hadn’t wanted to risk the cash being ‘confiscated’ by someone who had an issue with monsters. Or an issue with Sans in particular.

He wouldn’t have been able to spend it anywhere anyway. Few businesses were willing to sell to a monster.

In fact, the only place I could think of that Sans could have spent anything was Solar’s, where I paid for everything.

“Would’ve been nice to know that sooner,” Sans grumbled, and I winced at his tone.

I knew he was right. It wasn’t fair of me to keep the money without talking to him about it.

“Sorry,” I said as I began pushing the cart back to the clothes. “I know I keep acting without talking to you.”

Sans shrugged, the motion tense.

That’s what he’s used to . Having no say in anything, decisions made for him instead of by him .

I wondered when the last time he’d been able to make a choice for himself had been. Was it before the slavery legislation went into effect?

I shook my head to clear the dark thoughts, to keep them from dragging me down.

I winced as the motion rekindled the stab of my migraine. I leaned more fully on the cart as Sans began to rifle through the racks.

It seemed his interest in clothes was around the same as mine: Nearly nonexistent.

I had never been very fashionable, choosing to dress for function and comfort over style. From the growing pile of clothes, Sans had similar tastes.

He’d found gym shorts and sweat pants like the pair he already had, albeit in better shape. There was a single nice pair of jeans that I was surprised he had found. They looked almost new, a rarity for this store.

A lot of plain tee shirts in white, black, and shades of grey.

I noticed him linger on a few shirts he ultimately put back. Graphic tees with space themes, or one for a rock band I didn’t recognize with a skeleton pirate.

Which honestly looked badass. When Sans replaced it I removed it again and snapped a picture on my phone. I wanted to look the band up later.

As I was replacing the shirt I heard Sans chuckle, so I turned to see what had caught his attention. He turned it around to show me, a genuine grin on his face.

A black tee shirt with a screen print design of an Old West “Wanted” poster with the simplified profile of a cat’s face in the middle in black and white.

Across the top it said “ WANTED DEAD & ALIVE ” and underneath, “ Schrödinger’s Cat ”.

I snorted at the joke before raising an eyebrow at the monster.

“How do you know about Schrödinger’s Cat?” I asked, stumbling a little on the name. “It seems like a pretty obscure human concept.”

Sans shrugged as he put the shirt back and pulled out another plain tee. “Unless you wanted Mettaton’s latest ‘classic’ there wasn’t much readin’ in the Underground. Most of my books were from the Surface.”

“Mettaton?” I started to ask. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I shook my head, pointing toward the abandoned shirt. “Not important. Why’d you put it back? It seemed like you liked it.”

Sans rolled his eyelights and added another shirt to the cart, avoiding looking at me.

“Sans?” I pressed, worrying I was crossing a boundary, but wanting to understand what was going on. He was tense, clearly uncomfortable.

I was making it worse.

“What’s going on?” I pressed.

“Nothing,” He snapped. He reached back and grabbed the Schrödinger’s Cat shirt and threw it onto the pile. “Happy now?”

“Sans, I – ” I began, confused and stuttering.

I was making it worse. I should drop the subject.

But I didn’t. “What did I do wrong? I know I’m bad at this, but I’m trying to get better. Can we take a step back and talk about it?”

I glanced at the clothes in the cart already. Solid, plain colored tees. Black pants and jeans.

It was all nondescript, bland, with no personality. Nothing identifying or unique.

I frowned, feeling like I had the puzzle pieces but no box to reference. I was missing context.

“Why aren’t you getting anything you actually like?”

Sans let out a frustrated groan and turned to me.

“It’s easier this way,” he hissed, voice low and soft. “It’s better .”

“Better?” I repeated, confused.

Then the puzzle pieces fell into place.

I understood.

I remembered feeling the same way.

When you had things you liked, you had things you could lose . Things that could be taken away to hurt you.

Things that could be destroyed.

Lost forever.

When you had nothing you cared about, when you understood that nothing actually belonged to you , when you couldn’t rely on things remaining stable …

It was better to not have anything you cared about.

I dug the cash out of my bag again, holding out for the skeleton to take.

“Here,” I said. “If you want to hold onto it. Like I said, it’s yours . You can buy whatever you want with it.”

Sans looked from my outstretched hand to my face and then back again. He reached out, slowly and carefully, like he expected me to snatch it away at the last moment. I held it out to him until he took the folded bills and shoved them into his hoodie pocket.

I retracted my hand, rubbing at the back of my neck as I leaned against the cart.

“Anything you buy with your money is yours . I’m not going to take it away from you. I’m not going to tell you what to get or what not to get. If you like a shirt that has a nerdy science pun about a zombie cat, you should get it.”

Sans shrugged and went back to the racks, like he didn’t hear or care about what I said.

I pretended not to notice him backtracking to some of the shirts he had put back already.

Including the badass skeleton pirate.

“So,” I asked after the silence became uncomfortable. “You read sci-fi? You like it?”

Sans gave a single nod as he looked at another pair of gym shorts, and I filed the information away. Science fiction wasn’t my go-to genre, but I knew some good series and books that I could recommend. Maybe some of them he hadn’t read yet.

I tried to remember if I had all five books of The Hitchhiker’s Guide trilogy on my shelves at home.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Wasn’t too picky. Couldn’t be.”

I nodded, feeling awkward for having asked. I had so many more questions – What did he enjoy reading? What was the Underground like? – but I pushed them away.

I had already crossed too many boundaries today.

I glanced away, and saw the coats. I was reminded of Sans’ hoodie, worn and threadbare.

“Hey, you want a new jacket?” I asked, motioning to them. “You’re only getting tee shirts. I don’t want you to get … chilled to the bone.”

Sans rolled his eyes as he put another shirt in the cart.

“I’ve used that one before. More than once.” He fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie for a moment, before plunging his hands into his pockets. “I’m happy with what I’ve got. Cold goes right through me anyway.”

“Guess I shouldn’t try to outwit you with skeleton puns,” I said with a shrug and a soft chuckle. “I’ll just have to be more creative.”

We wandered the aisles for a few minutes longer before Sans stopped in front of the shoe display. His eyelights were fixated on a pair of bunny slippers well past their prime.

They might have once been fuzzy, but they were now suffering a severe case of mange. The patchy fake fur was a dingy grey-brown, and they had some suspicious dark spots.

“Who the hell thought those were okay to donate?” I muttered.

They looked like they had come back from the losing side of a war.

Sans reached out to grab them.

I shuddered at the thought of the slippers in my apartment and made a strangled noise before clapping my hand over my mouth.

Sans stopped reaching for the slippers and looked at me, contempt bare on his face.

“Thought you said it was my choice.”

I dropped my head and held up a hand, feeling like a hypocrite.

“Yeah. It’s fine if you want them, but … ” I sighed and glanced up at him before turning away. “I learned early on to not buy used footwear. Unless you’re only wearing it once or twice. Used shoes wear down fast, and they come with a bunch of problems. Athlete’s foot is a bitch … although I don’t know if you can even catch that,” I frowned down at my own shoes, falling apart from traversing the city. “We can stop at another store and get you something new if you want. Not today but … soon?”

Sans shrugged but turned away from the slippers. I said a silent prayer that someone would throw them away as an act of mercy.

I followed Sans as he meandered into the electronics section. Home of broken toasters and malfunctioning microwaves.

As we walked I glanced around the store, noticing the furniture section and coming to a realization.

With all these clothes, Sans would need – or at least, could definitely use – a dresser to store them. I knew the closets in the apartment were tiny, and while he could fit all these clothes in one, it would be tight.

“Hey,” I said as I turned toward the furniture section more fully. “I’m gonna go look for something over in the furniture. Come find me if you need anything?”

Sans nodded and turned his back to me, waving over his shoulder.

I found what I was looking for almost immediately.

I stared at the dresser with a mixture of awe and horror.

It was so ugly .

But it was so perfect .

A good size with six drawers. Ideal for the skeleton’s new clothes.

I knocked against the top and opened the drawers, finding that it was in excellent condition. Made of solid wood instead of the flimsy particle board I had been expecting, it would hold up for a while. All the drawers slid open smoothly, without sticking or catching.

It had once been a hundred-fifty but was marked down to twenty-five dollars.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out why the dresser was so cheap.

Someone had hated this particular piece of furniture.

Some intrepid DIY-er had decided that this dresser needed their personal touch. Someone with the artistic sensibilities of a colorblind, Pixie Stick fueled third grader.

It was a Lisa Frank fever dream. 90s aesthetic furniture-ified. The palette was unpleasantly eye-catching. Neon colors clashed against one another in the worst possible configuration of patterns.

Wavy lines that branched at weird angles, butting up against blobs from a toddler’s finger painting session.

When I took a step back I realized they were supposed to be zebra stripes and cheetah spots.

No visible surface had remained untouched.

It was horrible .

It was perfect .

Painting over the chaos would be easy. Sanding it down and refinishing the surface would be more work, but would also be simple.

The wood itself was high-quality, the construction sturdy.

I hurried over to the electronics, glancing down the aisles for Sans.

I found him squatting down to look at an old CRT monitor with a large crack across the glass.

“Find something interesting?” I asked as I approached.

Sans shook his head as he stood and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“Well … I did! Come look,” I said with a smile. “I’d like your opinion on it.”

I led him to the perfect monstrosity of a cabinet, presenting it with a gameshow flourish. “Tada! What do you think?”

Sans stared at it for a moment before turning his dark sockets to me.

He didn’t say a word.

My excitement died a little and my posture slumped as I explained.

“For your room. I know closet space is limited in the spare rooms, so I thought you might want a dresser or something. For your clothes.” I motioned to the cart for emphasis. “It shouldn’t be too hard to repaint or refinish. If you want me to, I could probably do it over the next couple weekends.”

Sans looked back at the sin against interior design and gave an uninterested shrug. “Whatever.”

I frowned, again concerned I’d overstepped.

“Do you want it or not?” I asked with a frustrated sigh.

“Could use a dresser. This one is as good as any,” Sans said.

My head hurt.

“Great,” I said, forcing myself to sound nonchalant.”I’ll be right back, gonna go find a dolly. Is there anything else you wanna look at before we head out?”

Sans shook his head as he leaned against the cart and I rushed back to the front of the store to get a handcart.

The total for Sans’ clothes was nearly exactly what was left from the old guy. I wondered if Sans had planned it that way or if it was a coincidence.

Then I realized that, with the cost of the dirty pair of slippers, there would have only been spare change left.

Which meant somehow Sans had been able to keep a running tally of the total while barely looking at the clothes.

A skill I had never managed in my life.

The cashier looked at me as she finished ringing up the last of the shirts, not even glancing at Sans.

“One-forty-three, seventy-five.”

“I’m just buying the dresser,” I said as I tapped it with a hand.

Sans held the cash out silently, waiting for the cashier to turn to him. She kept her eyes on me, but I could tell she could see him in her peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry, our store only accepts money from monsters who have a written statement from their owner,” she said, apology plain in her voice.

I groaned in frustration.

Sans held the money out to me, instead.

I blinked at it in confusion.

“Take it,” he said.

I frowned, about to argue before I understood what he was thinking.

I grabbed the cash and walked around the dresser to the cashier, holding the money out to her.

“Is this better?” I asked, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Yes!” the girl said as she opened the till and began counting out change.

Which she offered directly to Sans.

I looked at her, completely confused.

“I don’t agree with the policy,” she explained as she began bagging clothes. “But I have to follow it. It’s very specific! We’re not allowed to accept money from monsters without written consent. There’s no rule against giving the change to a monster, though.”

“Huh,” I said as I watched her, the angry tension in my chest easing. I glanced at Sans, trying to gauge his opinion.

He had the perfect poker face.

I sighed in surrender before moving to help the cashier bag clothes.

As I grabbed the Schrödinger tee I glanced up at Sans.

“Wanna put something on now? Or wait until you can wash it at home?”

He grabbed a shirt and a pair of gym shorts at random before heading to the dressing rooms without saying a word.

“Guess he didn’t want to wait,” I said to myself, trying to keep my tone light.

The cashier chatted with me as we bagged clothes. Exchanging lighthearted small-talk that I stumbled through semi-successfully.

I bought the dresser, then asked for a manager.

The cashier girl paled as the familiar customer service panic consumed her.

What did I do wrong ?!

“It’s nothing bad,” I said quickly, hoping to calm her before she could rile herself into a panic. “I just want to work out the details for how I’m gonna get the dresser home. I walked here.”

She relaxed and put a hand to her chest as she smiled at me.

“Of course!” she chirped, eager customer service rep once more.

She radioed for the manager, who appeared quickly, glaring at the cashier before turning to me with a placating smile. I explained the situation, which she was (begrudgingly) willing to help me with.

We worked out that I would come back over the weekend for the dresser. I would need my ID and proof of purchase, but otherwise the dresser was mine. If I didn’t pick it up by Sunday closing, it would be returned to the sales floor.

I sent a quick text to Xander, asking if I could borrow his truck over the weekend.

And possibly also borrow Jamie.

Sans returned as I was signing paperwork, absolving the thrift store of any responsibility for the dresser while they stored it for me. He was wearing a white tee shirt under his unzipped hoodie and holding his old, ragged gym shorts. He looked around for somewhere to put them.

“Are they going home or are they trash?” I asked, motioning to his hand.

He shrugged, so I pointed to the bags of clothes. I’d point out the dumpsters on the way back to the apartment, and if he wanted to toss them, he could.

I was done being in control.

I wasn’t as done being in control as I’d thought.

Immediately after leaving the thrift shop, bags of clothes in hand, I had taken the lead and started heading home. Halfway there I stopped, realizing I was on autopilot and hadn’t asked Sans what he wanted to do.

As usual I had forged ahead like I knew best.

I had no idea what time it was.

“Sorry,” I said as I pulled my phone out to check. “I kinda went on autopilot.”

I slid my phone back into my pocket and turned to face him. “Two choices: We can go home and drop this stuff off super quick, or you can bring it to my job.”

“I’d rather not carry these bags around,” Sans said, and I nodded.

“Makes sense. I just … I’m trying to be careful. I’m trying to get into the habit of asking before acting,” I said. I turned around and started back toward the apartment.

“Home again!” I said as I broke into a jog.

As I unlocked the door to let Sans in I was thinking about my next job.

I worked in a distribution warehouse. It was one of my more reliable jobs.

It was also one of the more taxing.

I spent my hours running from one end of the building to the other, using a list to find random items that were to be shipped to far off locations.

Like Ohio, and North Dakota.

Exotic locales.

Since he wasn’t an employee, Sans wasn’t allowed on the warehouse floor. Last week he had remained in the break room, playing on my phone or sleeping.

It was six hours, including travel.

It was at night, after the landlady had gone home. She never came back at night.

So she would be gone until morning.

The risk of Sans being discovered hanging around in my apartment without me there was low. Exceptionally low.

I placed the bags I had been carrying on the floor by the couch before wandering into the kitchen to search for something to hold me over until I got back home.

I took out my phone as I found a box of granola bars loading a page I had bookmarked a few nights ago.

FAQ

How do I allow my Monster to go unsupervised if I do not have the proper license?

It is very simple to allow your Monster to go unsupervised on a case-by-case, temporary basis. You must provide a dated, written notice which includes the following:

• The Monster’s name and identification number
• Your name, address, and a number with which to contact you
• The names and addresses of where your monster is allowed to travel
• The time and date that the notice is valid for

When Sans left his room after putting his new clothes away I was busy writing down the addresses of the apartment building and Solar’s. I glanced up to see which room he had chosen, before returning to what I was writing.

“What’s that?” the skeleton asked as I signed my name at the bottom.

“Your hall pass,” I said, holding it out to him.

He looked at me, an eyebrow raised, without taking the paper.

I couldn’t figure out what the emotion behind the expression was.

Disbelief? Confusion? Skepticism?

A mixture of all three and more?

“Um,” I said, wondering if he even knew what a ‘hall pass’ was. “It’s your ticket to not having to go to work with me tonight,” I explained. “I mean, assuming you don’t want to.”

He reached out and took the paper from me, looking at it cynically.

“What about your lease?”

“Landlady usually leaves at four. She won’t be back, so she can’t do something … weird,” or illegal, I thought, but didn’t say. I shrugged. “Unless you piss off one of my neighbors, night security won’t give you any trouble. So … don’t piss off my neighbors, please.”

I sighed and looked away from him. “I’ll get you on the lease soon. Until then it’s a pretty safe risk to leave you here alone for a few hours each night. Let me know whenever you want one.”

I fished my keys out of my bag, before realizing I didn’t need to take it with me at all. Instead I pulled out my wallet and placed the bag on the floor next to my seat.

“I wrote that you’re ‘allowed’ here and at Solar’s. If there’s anywhere you want me to add, let me know,” I frowned in disgust. “I can’t just say you’re allowed wherever you damn well please. I have to have addresses and specific locations.” I stuck my tongue out as I slid off the barstool and made my way to the door. “If you do leave, lock the door behind you, please. Keys are in my bag.”

“How will you get back in?”

“Hopefully I’ll knock and my roommate will answer,” I said, sounding a little too flippant. “If he doesn’t, I don’t know. There’s a hostel nearby that I could probably sleep at.”

I turned at the door, looking passed Sans to my messenger bag on the floor.

“I’m leaving my laptop and stuff here. Feel free to use whatever,” I said. I flipped my wallet open and took out the little cash I had left along with my bus pass and license.

I hesitated a moment before holding the cash out to him.

“For food,” I said, grimacing as soon as the words left my mouth. Tension began building in my stomach as I wondered if that sounded like a command or an order. My hand faltered and I drew back a little. “I’m sorry. Dammit. I should have aske – ”

Sans grabbed the bills from my hand, silencing me.

“It’s fine,” he said with a wave of his hand.

He looked at the cash, then the paper, then at me.

His eyelights flickered into existence, dim but visible.

His grin softened into something almost … real.

“Thanks,” he said.

I returned the smile, tension melting into a warm glow in my chest.

“No problem,” I said happily. “You’re very welcome.”

I lingered in the moment for a second longer before pulling myself back to reality with a glance at my phone.

I was late.

“I’ve gotta get going,” I said as I handed my phone to Sans, before turning to open the door. “Lock up behind me, okay?” Bye!”

I didn’t give Sans time to answer. I glanced back from the stairwell in time to see a flash of white as his skull vanished into my apartment.

Our apartment.

The door closed and I broke into a run, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.