Tiny Raven

It’s late.

The new moon casts shadows across my bedroom floor. The gauzy curtains over my window float in the breeze.

I look at the clock. 25:83 blinks back at me. Too early to be awake, but something is keeping me from sleeping.

My desk catches the corner of my eye as I look toward the door. I’m falling behind in class. I need to study for my exam tomorrow. I’ve been slacking off for too long.

Besides I can hear things from the hallway if I sit closer to the doorway.

I sit down and start reading.

“Theresa. No reading at the dinner table,” my mother says firmly.

I look up from my book and see family dinner all spread out. Mom, my brothers, Abby … everyone is here, and they’re all staring at me expectantly. The novel in my hands is suddenly red hot.

I drop it under the table.

“Sorry.” It comes out as a mumble.

She gives me an irritated roll of her eyes and turns back to everyone else to say grace.

The shadow at the head of the table moves toward me.

No one else acknowledges it, and I watch in detached horror as it begins wrapping around my leg.

Mother isn’t buying me pants anymore, so it isn’t difficult for the shadow to slip under my skirt.

“Theresa!” she snaps, drawing my attention back to her. She’s glaring at me, all anger and rage. Abby and Sammy are at the table still.

Both of them look away as our mother screams at me.

It’s nothing I haven’t heard from her before.

She screams and it sounds like crickets. I turn my attention to my plate, letting her tire herself out with the tirade.

I eat the mashed potatoes carefully. I can’t avoid the way they cut at the insides of my mouth. I don’t complain about the taste of blood on my tongue. It’s my own fault, anyway. I should have been more careful.

The shadow has surrounded me. Over my clothes, under them … it’s touching me everywhere. Whenever I manage to push some away it only increases, becoming clingier.

I’m covered in slime.

The smell overwhelms me. Old coffee, stale cigarettes, cheap liquor.

It clings to my skin and my mother calls me disgusting.

She’s right.

She sends me to my room without dinner. She won’t even tell me why she’s angry. Blood pours from my mouth. I use my shirt to wipe it up.

The slime follows me. It lingers as I shower and clings to me as I put on pajamas. I lay in bed and it lays with me, holding me down by my wrists. Wrapping around my waist.

It circles my arms and legs. Moves me like a marionette.

Everywhere the shadow touches I ignite. The flames engulf me, burn my nerves away like kindling. Leaving nothing but ash and smoke.

It is the only light, the only thing I can see. Outside of the flames is nothing.

There’s no sound. No one around to help. No one who cares.

Nothing but darkness and void.

I scream.

---

I jolt awake, gasping as I struggle against phantom restraints. There’s a weight on me, holding me down, preventing me from escaping. I look around wildly in the dark, unable to move, unable to even whimper for help. I hear my heartbeat in my ears, the beat wild and erratic.

Shadows taunt me from the dark.

As the paralysis fades I’m able to let out a strangled whimper. Cobwebs of anxiety and fear faded as the details of my nightmare recede into my subconscious. I’m left with emotions and fleeting memories.

I glance at my alarm clock, but don’t register the time, the red numbers incoherent visual stimuli. I reach for my phone, only to find that it isn’t on my nightstand.

I remember leaving it with Sans yesterday. I never took it back after I got home.

It was probably still out on the coffee table, battery slowly draining.

I sit up and turn on my lamp, banishing the shadows from my bedroom.

I rub at the phantom touches, wanting to scald them away with a hot shower. I look at my wrist, where Jason the Racist Asshole had grabbed me. A ring of bruises circle it, and I frown at the reminder.

I knew I should take a photo of the injury. Report it to my manager later today. File a complaint with the police.

My manager’s “advice” replayed in my head, reminding me how little anyone would care.

I should at least tell Abby what happened.

I rubbed at my eyes and looked at my clock again, finally reading the time.

Two-sixteen in the morning.

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep with my heart beating out of my chest. My first shift was at five in the morning.

Guess I was up for the day.

. . . . Sans . . . .

Sans startled from his light sleep in the early hours of the morning.

He stared at his ceiling, trying to figure out what had woken him.

He hadn’t had a nightmare, hadn’t been asleep long enough to have any dreams.

He wondered if it was Theresa, getting up and ready for work. But another glance out his window confirmed that the sky was dark. It was far too early for her to be awake.

There were no noises above his room, the upstairs neighbors quiet and still.

Something was wrong.

Sans closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of the night around him.

Distant traffic outside the window, a constant drone that he had become used to. Gentle wind whispering through the buildings of the city around him. Shuffling somewhere in the apartment.

Sans jumped to the door, teleporting so he made as little noise as possible.

The shuffling wasn’t coming from the bathroom or Theresa’s room.

Someone was in the living room.

The sounds were soft, like someone was trying to not make too much noise. 

Sans frowned, considering the options.

Theresa could be up still. But … Her sleep debt was massive. He knew most nights she came home and immediately crashed for the paltry three or four hours she could get.

Abby had a key but there was no reason for her to be in the apartment this early in the morning.

Neither maintenance nor the landlord had a reason to be there.

Was it a burglar? Come to take what little the human had?

Sans reached for his magic to take another shortcut into the hallway. He didn’t want to alert a thief with the sound of an opening door. He needed more information before he acted.

Eye sockets dark, the skeleton peeked into the living room. He held untempered magic at hand, ready to coalesce it to a usable form if necessary.

There, on the couch, was Theresa. Lit by the blue glow of the television, she was wrapped in a thick quilt and eating ice cream straight from the tub.

Sans sighed in relief, his eyelights blinking back as the tension in his bones eased.

But she shouldn’t be awake.

Something was wrong.

Sans watched as the human shoved another spoonful of melted ice cream into her mouth. He frowned as she shifted and pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes.

She was … crying.

. . . . Terra . . . .

I watched the screen, shoveling spoonfuls of ice cream into my mouth as I watched the movie. The antics of the toddler on screen made me smile, reminding me of Chloe as a baby. I had always been so relieved when she finally fell asleep while I babysat her. 

The monster on screen shared my relief as the toddler promptly conked out.

I rubbed at my eyes with my hand, sniffling and trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

I’m such a stupid crybaby.

I glanced to the kitchen, half considering putting the rest of the ice cream back into the freezer. I had already eaten nearly the entire quart. The rest was melting into a soupy, sticky mess. My stomach ached.

As I looked back to the movie my eye caught on something in the hallway.

My skeletal roommate was staring at me like a villain from a slasher flick. His eyelights only visible as they glowed like stars in the dark.

I scrambled for the remote, barely avoiding spilling ice cream all over myself and the floor. I paused the movie and muted the TV, even though I’d had the volume almost all the way down.

“Sans!” I said in a hushed shout. “You scared me!”

As I regained my composure I frowned, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He came fully into the living room, bare feet clicking on the wooden floor. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on earlier, minus jacket.

It was the first time I had seen him without it. I couldn’t help but stare at the bones of his arms as he came out of the shadows of the hallway. They almost glowed in the light of the TV.

Somehow he looked both spookier and softer.

He shrugged as he neared me, sparing a glance at the paused movie.

“Don’t worry about it.”

I put the ice cream container onto the coffee table before slumping deeper into my blanket.

“Sorry,” I said, hoping it sounded sincere.

He waved off my apology.

“I’m a light sleeper,” he said. “Doesn’t take much to wake me.”

I nodded in acceptance, wondering if that was why he napped so often. Did he have trouble sleeping with the noise of the city?

I wondered if there was anything I could get him to help with that. I should look into how to soundproof his room some.

I reached for my phone and made a note for myself.

Sans moved to sit on the other end of the couch. Close, but not touching.

I glanced at the time before I turned my phone back.

Three-thirty-three. I was finally getting tired again, but it was too late to go back to sleep. I only had half an hour before my alarm went off. I rubbed my eyes and turned back to the movie.

“What’re we watchin’?” Sans asked as I was about to start the film again.

“Monsters Inc,” I said. “Wanted something cute and simple.”

That didn’t have romance.

I frowned, very aware of the movie I had chosen to watch and the literal monster next to me on the couch.

“We can watch something else,” I said, cringing at how it sounded like a question more than a suggestion. “Or I should … probably go back to sleep?”

Sans shrugged, “Doesn’t bother me. I know humans had stories about monsters before the Barrier broke.”

I frowned, thinking of all the movies where monsters were the antagonists.

Or where the “monster” was a thinly-disguised allegory to human evil.

The real monster is inside of us.

I started the movie and gave a quick explanation of the movie up to that point.

“Humans are considered toxic, dangerous. As a result, hijinks,” I finished with a flourish of my hand.

Sans chuckled and I wondered if there was an equivalent to the real world.

There hadn’t been much study into the … softer sciences of the Underground. Sociology, psychology, philosophy, theocracy … Most humans hadn’t cared enough. Researchers were more interested in the Core and things like the dimension boxes. Useful things.

Marketable things.

I wondered if humans had been considered dangerous to the Underground.

Given how monsters had ended up inside the mountain, I guessed we probably were.

Another scene went by and I considered taking my ice cream to the freezer. I immediately vetoed the plan and decided to finish the entire container.

Future me be damned.

“Why are you up so late?” Sans asked as I reached for the carton.

I paused just a second too long before hunching over my tub of ice cream, stirring at the melted mess as I spoke.

“Something … unpleasant happened at work,” I said. I was trying to keep my tone light despite the subject matter. Pretty sure I was failing.

“I had a nightmare. I get them a lot, actually.”

I exaggerated a shrug and leaned back. “Usually I can get to sleep after one, but … this one was different?”

I waved at the TV, movie still playing. “So I’m out here watching a movie to distract myself and eating ice cream until I feel sick. Just waiting for my alarm to go off so I can start my day.”

Sans was quiet, watching me with dark sockets. I turned my attention back to the movie, trying to ignore the tense feeling in my stomach.

“That all?” he asked.

I glared at the bruise circling my wrist.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s all. A shit day at work and some bad dreams. I’m … kind of pathetic? Sorry.”

Sans said nothing and I focused back on the movie. Occasionally I pointed out important characters and their role in the plot.

I closed my eyes.

---

I woke slowly, taking sensations in one at a time.

First: I was well rested.

Second: No alarms were going off, literally or metaphorically.

Finally: I was not in my bed.

I sleepily snuggled deeper into my blanket, unwilling to let the day begin when I felt so … content. The sun warmed me, brighter than usual.

It felt like one of those rare, lazy Sunday afternoons when I would nap on the couch in the living room …

…

…

…!

No.

I bolted upright and fumbled for my phone, panicking before remembering I had left it on the coffee table.

It was there, plugged in and charged.

It was after twelve.

Shit. Fuck!

I pulled up the contact number for my housekeeping job and called in, frantic. I was only an hour late … I could explain and go in immediately.

Maybe I wouldn’t be in too much trouble.

Maybe I wouldn’t lose my job.

Someone answered and my mind blanked.

“Uh … This is Theresa? Navarro? I’m so sorry I’m late, I don’t know how I managed to sleep in. I can be there in half an hour.”

“Calm down, Theresa,” my manager said with a laugh. I sighed in relief that it was the nice one, not the Evil Librarian. “We got a call earlier. Your friend said you were sick and needed the day off.”

“Oh?” I asked, confused. “Who?”

“He just said he was a friend,” my manager said. “It sounds like you’re still under the weather. Don’t worry about coming in today. Rest up and get well soon.”

“Right,” I said, dumbfounded. “Thank you.”

I stared at my phone after disconnecting the call, confused.

I checked my call history and there it was. An outgoing call around ten this morning to my housekeeping job. Another outgoing call before that at four thirty, to the factory.

Had Sans called in sick for me? He was the only other person with access to my cellphone. Why? Why would he care?

I shook my head, deciding to deal with the mystery later. I needed to call my factory foreman, make sure I still had a job to go to in the morning.

Unfortunately his shift had ended around the same time as mine, and he was long gone. The man who answered was at least able to tell me that I should still come in tomorrow, so I made a note to go early.

Maybe I could smooth things over.

I sighed as I dropped my phone to my side and fell back on the couch. Two fuck ups in a single week. What the hell was wrong with me?

Nothing to do about it now.

Sans appeared in the hallway, pulling his jacket over his arms. I waved at him without sitting up and he jumped.

He looked surprised to see me awake. 

I must have been pretty out of it last night.

“Hey,” I croaked at him, feeling myself crashing from my morning panic attack. I turned to look at him, pushing myself back up into a sitting position. “We have a surprise five hour break! Wanna get your boney ass on the lease?”

To be completely honest, I didn’t want to do that now. I wanted to shower and relax a little before going back to my warehouse job.

Before potentially facing Jason the Asshat again.

I pulled myself up off the couch and stretched, trying to ease the kinks in my back.

The sectional couch was comfortable for a nap, but not for proper sleep. I always regretted my death naps on the couch.

Sans hadn’t said anything. I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, eyelights fixated on my … bare … arms …

Shit.

I grabbed my blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, hiding myself from view.

“Shit, sorry,” I said in a rush as I passed him on my way to my bedroom. “Give me ten? I’ll get dressed and we can get going.”

I didn’t look back at him before closing my door.

. . . . Sans . . . .

Sans had been planning to drop by Solar’s and get both him and the human lunch. He knew that as long as Grillby’s asshole of a human wasn’t around, the fire elemental would be willing to extend a tab to Sans.

He could get the money from Theresa to pay it back later.

“Hey,” she said from her spot on the couch, her voice rough from sleep.

He hadn’t expected her to be awake.

When her alarm went off at four, it had woken him from his dozing. Terra had whined, wrapping herself more securely in her blanket.

Sans had been about to wake her when he noticed the dark bruises under her eyes. He had made the decision that the human was staying home. Sleeping in.

Stars knew she needed it.

He had known the human wasn’t sleeping enough. Four hours night after night would have worn down Papyrus, and he was made of energy. But he hadn’t known about the nightmares.

He wondered how often she had them, how much sleep was lost to terrors in the night.

“We have a surprise five hour break,” she said as she sat up. She sounded strained, pulled too thin. “Wanna get your boney ass on the lease?”

Sans shrugged, still recalibrating from the change of plans. She had slept almost exactly eight hours, which was the norm for humans.

He felt like he’d hit an ice patch in the Snowdin forest and gone right off a cliff.

He was about to answer her as his thoughts caught up to the present, but the response died on his tongue.

Terra stood to stretch, her quilt falling off of her shoulders and exposing her bare arms.

“We nearly lost her.”

The skeleton couldn’t tear his eyes from her exposed skin. His mind playing through what could cause the damage he saw.

Pale lines crossed puffy scars all over her upper arms. They intersected one another, sometimes neat and straight, other times jagged. A macabre star chart outlining constellations of pain.

It didn’t paint a pretty sight.

“For us it’s more of a deliberate act.”

Those were nothing compared to the large, jagged scars on her forearms and wrists.

Sans was familiar with self harm. He knew, better than many, how it felt to be so low that you wanted pain.

Because you felt nothing else at all.

He knew how guilt, emptiness, self-loathing could destroy every good thing. He knew how the pain let them feel something. Let them punish themselves for real or imagined weakness.

Let them release their anguish in a tangible way. Let them make it real.

Alphys picking at her scales when she got too anxious, too depressed. Too guilty.

Suicide was another thing entirely.

It had been different when talking to Abby. There was a layer of distance.

Seeing the evidence of a failed attempt was visceral.

How long had she suffered before those scars were made?

Sans thought of the monsters who had fallen. Those who had lost hope, locked away in the dark.

So many friends, neighbors, acquaintances.

Parents, siblings, children … lost to hopelessness and broken souls.

His thoughts turned dark.

Theresa should be dead. She should have died, her dust scattered and her family healing from her loss. Broken, but never forgetting her.

It should have happened long before most of those scars were fresh cuts.

Had she been a monster, she wouldn’t be standing in front of him now.

She was only alive because she was human. She survived because she had the determination to live.

It pissed him off.

Why did she deserve to live more than Shyren’s sister? Or Mrs. Snowdrake? Every lost Astigmatism and Froggit and Whimsum?

What made her more worthy than any of them?

Why were humans the ones who could survive without hope?

Was it surviving when they hurt themselves to keep going?

Why was it humans who could come back from falling down?

Was it any better that humans came back from that despair?

Did anyone deserve to carry that weight?

Theresa noticed his stare and looked down at herself in confusion. She squeaked in shame and shock as she realized what his attention was focused on. She spun away from him, grabbing her quilt to wrap around herself.

Hiding the scars from view.

Why were humans so goddamn determined?

“Sorry,” she muttered as she passed Sans, her head down so he couldn’t see her expression. “Gimme ten, I’ll get dressed and we can get going.”

Sans couldn’t react before he heard her bedroom door slam.

He hated humans for their determination. It had led to nothing but trouble.

The weed, the kid, the amalgamates … Every time determination came into it, people got hurt. People suffered.

He hated that he knew what it felt like to fail to end it. Even if his survival was only because of a … technicality.

The knowledge that even in dying, you failed.

Sans sat next to the front door and began pulling on his shoes.

He was angry, but the anger was cooled by the sight of her scars. His soul cried out in empathy for her, for whatever had happened to drive her to such extremes.

He was angry.

He didn’t trust the human.

He couldn’t understand her, couldn’t read her motives.

He hated knowing more about her.

… But the way her expression had crumpled when she realized what he had seen.

… The way she had hidden herself so quickly.

… The way she had rushed down the hall, hiding her face from him …

He was angry.

He didn’t trust her.

But he couldn’t hate her. Not anymore.

. . . . Terra . . . .

As soon as I closed the bedroom door I collapsed into tears.

Sans had seen my arms.

He had seen my scars.

I never left the apartment without my arms covered, even in the dead of summer. Most people didn’t question it.

Those who did got a well-rehearsed excuse.

Usually I slept in long-sleeved shirts as well.

But last night it had felt too confining, so I had worn a camisole instead.

I looked at my left arm, tracing along the scars with my eyes.

I followed the light, uneven lines that cross-crossed my skin. A permanent reminder of my self destruction. A painful habit I had only managed to halt six months ago.

I sat, wrapping my arms around my stomach and pulling my knees toward my face.

He saw my scars.

No one saw my scars. I kept them hidden as often as possible.

Whenever someone saw them I ceased being a person. I stopped being a human being. Instead I became a porcelain doll. Damaged, defective, a burden. Too weak to do anything without constant supervision.

It drove people away.

It made me feel broken.

At least Abby had an excuse. She had been the one to find me when …

When I had tried to opt out.

When my self harm had turned into suicidal ideation.

And ideation turned to action.

I shook my head, pushing myself back to my feet. I needed to get on with my day. I didn’t have enough time to feel sorry for myself.

Didn’t have time to dwell on how dysfunctional I was.

It was just Sans.

I sorted through clothes from one of the “clean” piles on the floor. I was looking for something nice enough for a chat with the landlady.

Not so nice I would have to change before I went back to the warehouse for my evening shift.

Which I couldn’t afford to miss, even if I wanted to. I was already out a good chunk of pay for the day.

It’s not like he’ll care.

I found some nice pants and a polo over a long-sleeved undershirt. A quick pit check and I got dressed.

At least I looked like a functional adult.

I went into the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my face to wash away the worst of the tear tracks and puffiness. I checked the buttons of the polo self consciously.

I was still angry about what my manager had said. How she had implied I’d asked for harassment.

Assault.

I only had one of the three buttons done, but that was standard.

I buttoned up the second one.

I closed the bathroom door behind me as I walked into the living room.

Sans was slipping on his pink tennis shoes. He tucked the laces into the sides instead of lacing them, and I rolled my eyes.

I smiled as he stood and I realized which shirt he was wearing.

Schrödinger’s cat.

I came up with half a joke, something to do with space-time and catnaps, but I couldn’t figure out a way to make it work.

“Hope I’m not messing up Sans Time,” I said with an apologetic shrug, hoping I sounded natural. “But … this really is the best chance we’re gonna get to put you on the lease before Halloween. I think we’d both rather have one less thing to worry about.”

Sans nodded, expression neutral. I smiled as I grabbed my keys and held the door open for him.

I hoped he wouldn’t ask me about the scars.

I rubbed at my arms through the fabric of my shirt.

They itched.

---