Tiny Raven

“Why won’t this Greene guy answer his DAMN COMM!?”

Frisk jumped awake at the angry shout, heart pounding in her chest and magic flaring to life at her fingertips, anxiety molding it to form.

As the words echoed in the cargo hold her panic faded, smothered under a blanket of alert calm and awareness.

Some of the crew were on the ship, mere meters away from her.

Frisk crept to the hatch of her hiding place, peeking through the small gap she had left to keep the small compartment from being in complete darkness.

She didn’t dare hope for a glimpse of the crew from her vantage point, but she needed whatever information she could get.

“PERHAPS HE IS BUSY,” a second voice suggested. This one was louder than the first, but it lacked the vitriol.

Both were modulated, artificially masked and anonymized. Only tone and volume were preserved.

“Busy with what?!” the angry voice demanded. “Does he think we’re just some punks he can yank around?”

“prob’ly,” a third voice said, soft and much calmer than the others. It sounded almost bored. “he seemed real interested in gettin’ his hands on this stuff, but maybe he’s so rich that the half up front was pocket change. you know how these central planet folk are.”

“NGAAAAAH!” Angry shouted, the modulation crackling at the sheer volume of their rage. Frisk flinched away from the hatch, reflexively hiding further in the shadows, away from the primal fury Angry radiated. “SO WHAT!? You’re saying we’re just STUCK HERE until he decides to SHOW UP?!”

“pretty much,” the softer voice said, apparently unfazed. “we don’t got much’ve a choice. they ain’t gonna just let us leave. ‘specially not with all this.”

“Well this SUCKS!” A metallic thunk echoed through the hold, punctuating the words. “Fine. FINE! You two, keep trying to get a hold of Greene. Find him, whatever it takes.”

“y’got it, gills.”

“AYE AYE, CAPTAIN!”

Steps echoed through the hold, some going out of the ship, some going further into it. Frisk held herself perfectly still until silence fell again, broken only by the sounds of the active dock outside.

‘What did you notice?’ Chara asked. They appeared as Frisk returned to the corner of the smuggler’s hold, sitting cross-legged with datapad in hand to record every movement Frisk made.

‘I thought we were done with these tests,’ Frisk said.

The AI said nothing as they sat across from her, watching her with judgement in their eyes.

Frisk shuddered under the weight of their scrutiny.

‘Their speech was modulated,’ she said with a sigh, falling into familiar habit. She closed her eyes to block out what little visual distraction there was, focusing entirely on the brief conversation as she replayed it in her mind. ‘They’re either armored or they don’t speak baseline.’

The latter was possible, but highly unlikely. As far as shew as aware, baseline was the primary language spoken throughout the system. Someone would have had to live entirely off-grid, with no interaction with anyone from the larger system, in order to not learn it. A heretic, a survivalist, an individualist …

Not someone who would be traveling the system on a spaceship.

‘Assuming the former, as it’s the most likely: They don’t trust something about the docks. It could be the workers, the AI, Yggdrasil or AllFather … Honestly it could be Huginn itself. The softer voice mentioned the ‘central planets’. They’re probably from a more distant colonies. Might be heretics, but it’s impossible to know.’

Frisk paused, to gather her scattered thoughts and observations.

‘The soft voice mentioned being unable to leave with their cargo. It’s likely some sort of controlled substance. It could be agricultural, industrial, even some sort of pharmaceutical. The amounts are wholesale, if we assume that’s the only thing out there. There’s a possibility of other goods, but it didn’t sound like that was the case.’

It was a lot more conjecture and assumption than Frisk was comfortable with, but Chara simply nodded to encourage her to continue.

‘They were paid up front, which was significant for them but possibly not for their buyer. Whoever they were supposed to meet with never showed. I … missed the name.’

She flinched as she said the last words, but Chara simply supplied the name.

‘Greene.’

It sounded familiar, although Frisk couldn’t place it. It didn’t match any of the Cloister researchers. The number of employees within the sterile halls of the laboratory had never been more than a few hundred, and she had interacted with all of them at least once.

And Chara never let her forget a face.

‘Frisk?’ the AI prompted, bringing her wandering thoughts back to the task at hand.

Her report.

‘There were three distinct voices,’ Frisk said after a moment to remember where she had left off. ‘I’ll call them Angry, Loud, and Soft. Angry sounded like they were in charge – they gave orders to the other two at the end and Loud referred to them as ‘Captain’. They were annoyed because they’re currently stuck – ‘

Frisk’s thoughts hit a wall at the word.

Chara hadn’t been testing her out of habit.

The AI had been trying to lead her to a realization.

‘The ship can’t leave Huginn. They’re stuck here.’

Which meant she was trapped, too.

‘The way they talked about getting paid … ’ Frisk faltered, swallowing around a lump that had filled her throat. The small smuggler’s hold was suddenly suffocating, its walls closing in on her. She closed her eyes against it, trying to breathe through the oppressive claustrophobia.

It was only a matter of time before Allfather placed some sort of public reward for her return. She was too valuable to just … disappear.

Chara was too valuable.

It was only a matter of time before she was found and returned to the Cloister.

Her anxiety snapped as a wave of fatigue washed over her, overpowering the fear and loosening the tight ball she had curled into.

‘We’ll figure it out,’ Chara said as Frisk felt herself drifting to unconsciousness. ‘Conserve your energy, in case something happens.’

Frisk nodded, her head bobbing heavily under the weight of the bone-deep fatigue.

She curled around her stolen sweater, her back against the wall of the smuggler’s hold. She glanced at the thin stream of light from the hatch, watching it blur and vanish as her exhaustion swelled and she was dragged to unconsciousness.

☆ ☆ ☆

Sans lay on his bunk, datapad hovering above his head in a cloud of blue magic as he scrolled through the information Dings had sent.

“you sure this ain’t some runaway kid?” Sans asked as he read through the search queries the human had made. “we ain’t gonna get in trouble for soul traffickin’ or anything?”

“I am not familiar enough with human biology to rule it out entirely,” Wing Dings said. “But the grammar and spelling indicate someone with some education. And they appear to be at least an adolescent.” More information appeared on the datapad with a soft beep. He scrolled through the models of standard biometrics for humans on Huginn, which the AI had helpfully compared to his own guess from the few moments he’d had the human on camera. “My estimation of their age places them between sixteen and twenty.”

Still a kid, but one old enough to make their own decisions. Old enough to understand what an identification check was. Old enough to know what credits were, and how to both earn and use them.

The search queries made no sense.

“There is a notable lack of missing person reports that match this human’s description. Those are usually released quickly, especially when a young child is missing.”

Which meant no one was looking for this kid.

That was good enough for Sans. Aside from the ability to sneak through Wing Ding’s defenses, Sans saw no danger from the human, and everything else painted a picture of something being very wrong.

They seemed to want the same thing – to get off of Huginn.

“keep an eye on them,” Sans said. “keep me posted.”

“Agreed,” Wing Dings said. “It appears we have a guest approaching. I believe Aleister Greene has finally made his appearance. Papyrus is on his way to greet him.”

“we’d best be goin’ to meet up with him, too,” Sans said as he opened a book on his datapad and shifted to get more comfortable on his bunk. “would be a damn shame to keep him waiting.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Frisk walked behind the researcher, eyes cast down and two steps behind. The white hallway of the Cloister stretched on for an eternity, marked only by a series of endless white doors.

“Chara?” she called out, confused.

There was no answer, and the realization that she was in a dream settled on Frisk like a physical weight.

The knowledge held no comfort in it.

Lucid or not, a nightmare was still a nightmare.

The AI wouldn’t be able to hear her. It was a strange quirk, that Frisk’s dreams were the one thing inaccessible to her mental companion.

She was alone.

The researcher walked, a dark shifting shadow in a crisp white lab coat. In one hand they held a datapad covered in indecipherable text. Their features were an ever shifting, indistinguishable mess.

They didn’t react to her shout.

Frisk was dragged along behind them, unable to stop her feet from taking one obedient step after another. Unable to do anything but continue forward.

Frisk clenched her fists and closed her eyes.

The white tile gave way to sharp, uneven gravel, and Frisk opened her eyes to find herself in a new location.

The Arena.

In reality the room was thirty-five meters by twenty, with walls six meters tall, which never failed to make Frisk feel small and isolated.

Here, in her dream, the room expanded into the shadows, leaving her standing in front of the two stories of observation windows, tiny and insignificant. Thick glass obscured the researchers in the rooms beyond. Silhouettes lined the windows, human-shaped but blurred beyond recognition. She could feel their eyes on her, could imagine the datapads in their hands.

Drones hummed around her, unseen but audible, filming every movement she made, documenting it for further research.

She shrank under the scrutiny.

Then movement on the second floor caught her attention, and Frisk’s stomach twisted in dread.

A figure stood, towering over his coworkers. Frisk knew he wouldn’t have a datapad like the others, his gloved hands held neatly behind his back instead as he watched her impassively.

All nightmares needed a boogeyman.

Frisk’s vision turned until Doctor Calibri’s silhouette was the only thing she could see. She feared if she looked away, if she dared to even blink, that he would disappear.

And the only thing worse than looking him dead in the eye was knowing he was around and not knowing where.

Frisk’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to take small, deep breaths, as she tried to control the way her body trembled. She fought the urge to run, to scream, to hide.

Defiance only made things worse.

There was nowhere for her to run to, anyway.

Not with him watching her.

He remained where he was, looming and still.

“1215,” he said, voice mechanical and robotic through his modulator. “Begin test.”

Frisk’s heart pounded painfully in her chest as her blood ran cold. She tried to steel herself against whatever was to come. Above her the drones hummed louder, the unseen cameras focusing in on her as she stood frozen in the Arena’s center.

The ground began to shake.

Frisk stumbled, losing her balance as she tore her eyes from the doctor to the gravel floor.

The room was … changing.

Frisk jumped, dodging sharp rock spears as they shot from the ground, stumbling to keep her feet under her as the room restructured itself.

She tried to steady herself as the rock formations grew taller and more perilous. Spires and points burst from the ground, threatening to impale her. Huge cracks split the floor, threatening to plunge her into their depths.

Frisk jumped and scrambled, desperately trying to calculate her next move, but without Chara she was left to her own slow reaction time.

As suddenly as the destruction had begun it stopped, and the air settled around her like a heavy blanket. She looked up, only to see him walking toward her. He seemed to float over the uneven ground, each step sure and steady as though he walked across the smoothest tile.

A crushing tightness bloomed in the center of her chest, a physical weight that dragged her to the ground. Her knees scraped against the sharp rocks, bruising and scraping. She  threw her hands out to stop herself from completely collapsing, wincing as the gravel tore into the flesh.

“Test failed,” he said as he loomed over her.

The simple words stopped Frisk’s struggle, freezing her to her very core. She closed her eyes and willed herself to wake up.

Finger – too many fingers – twined through her hair, dragging her upward to meet the doctor’s eyes behind his mask. Then fingers wound around her neck, lifting her until he was holding her by her throat.

Frisk struggled, trying to fight back, her fingers digging into the arm of his coat, desperately clawing at him to release her.

He laughed at her efforts.

She was suffocating, her chest blooming with pain as she fought for air, fought to pull away from him. His grip was too strong, tight enough that Frisk swore she could feel him crushing her windpipe. Her limbs were too heavy, too slow to respond to her commands.

I refuse to die here.

With one last burst of adrenaline and determination she threw everything she had into a single magic attack. Knife-like magic bullets, scarlet red and pulsing with magic –

☆ ☆ ☆

– materialized at her fingertips.

“MISTER GREEN! HOW WONDERFUL TO FINALLY MEET YOU IN PERSON!”

Frisk threw her arm out as she bolted upright and awake. The sharp blades of bright magic flew toward the shout, the desperate attempt to defend herself from the Doctor’s attack.

Too late she realized where she was. Too late she remembered that she had escaped.

That the threat she had been facing was all in her head.

Two of the bullets hit the bulkhead wall, pinging off the metal in bursts of red starlight. The sound rang like a thunderclap in her ears, loud and unmistakable.

“I must speak with your captain.”

Frisk held her breath, desperately hoping that her luck would hold, that her magic hadn’t been noticed.

“I AM AFRAID THE CAPTAIN IS CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE,” Loud said.

‘Frisk,’ Chara said. They appeared beside her, reaching out to lay a phantom hand on her shoulder. ‘You were casting in your sleep. I couldn’t wake you.’

Her stomach clenched, and for a moment Frisk thought she was going to throw up.

It was too much.

“Well, I am afraid I can’t solve our ‘problem’ until I speak with them.”

‘What?’ Frisk asked as her mind spiraled.

Concerns about being noticed became worries about casting in her sleep, what that could mean.

“THE CAPTAIN IS BUSY,” Loud repeated, somehow raising their voice even louder. They spoke slowly, enunciating each word as clearly as possible. “TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT. I WILL TELL YOU IF WE ARE AMENABLE TO ANOTHER DEAL.”

‘You  were casting in your sleep,’ Chara repeated. ‘I couldn’t wake you.’

“This isn’t a matter for – !”

“MISTER GREENE,” Loud said with an authority that made Frisk cringe further into the shadows of the smuggler’s hold. “I BELIEVE YOU WILL FIND THAT WE HAVE ALREADY DONE SOMETHING FOR YOU! SOMETHING YOU HAVE YET TO REIMBURSE US FOR! YOU ARE THE ONE IN THE RED, NOT US.”

Frisk wrapped her arms around herself, barely keeping herself from whimpering. The voice was too close to the doctor’s cold authority. Panic overtook her, rational thoughts banished from her mind.

The voice dropped slightly, becoming an over-exaggerated whisper, “YOU DO NOT WANT TO BECOME KNOWN AS A CHEAT, DO YOU, MISTER GREENE?”

The unsaid threat hung in the air of the cargo hold.

“Fine,” the unmodulated voice spat, breaking Frisk from her spiral with its sheer disrespect. No one would ever speak to the doctor – to any of the researchers so … so petulantly.

It was just enough to remind her where she was.

“I require the schematics to your ship and access to search it as quickly and efficiently as possible. Once a thorough search is completed to my satisfaction I will sign the paperwork and pay the remainder of my debt, and you will be free to leave.”

The brief respite crashed and Frisk deflated, her tense emotions snapping and leaving her exhausted.

It was over. Even if she hadn’t been found yet, she certainly would be if the ship was searched.

“AND WHY DO YOU NEED TO SEARCH OUR SHIP?” Loud demanded.

Frisk couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘To find me.’

It didn’t matter why Greene needed the ship to be searched. If it was, she would be found. If she was found, she would be returned to the Cloister.

And her nightmare would pale in comparison to reality.

Her only chance was hoping she could hide herself better. Her best chance for that would be to conserve her energy.

“A student has gone missing from my school. It is possible she found her way aboard a ship in these docks.”

Frisk knew she should be more surprised that he was actually looking for her, or that he had decided to depict her as a missing student.

Instead all she could do was stare at her hands, defeated and hopeless.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Greene continued. “With a ship this size and the assistance of your crew, I doubt it will take longer than a few hours.”

Her hands were shaking.

‘Aleister Greene,’ Chara said, drawing Frisk’s attention to them. The AI pointed toward the cargo bay. ‘That’s who’s speaking to Loud.’

Frisk frowned.

‘His name sounds familiar,’ she admitted. ‘But I can’t place it.’

“I SEE,” Loud said. “SO YOU ARE SEARCHING ALL THE SHIPS IN PORT.”

“Yes,” Greene confirmed.

‘He’s the “Father of the Huginn Sanctuary” and the first – and so far, only – headmaster of the Huginn Seminary,’ Chara supplied. ‘The Sanctuary seems to be a boarding home for orphaned children. The Seminary is a secondary school that prioritizes children from the Seminary.’ They shook their head. ‘I have no memory of him’

‘I must have met him before I met you, then.’

“there’s no need to search,” Soft said. “just ask the ai.”

Frisk stilled as she processed the words. She turned to Chara, her eyes wide with surprise and renewed fear.

‘I thought you said there was no AI!’

‘I didn’t think there was … !’

There wasn’t enough time to prepare. Frisk’s magic was thin and thready after her unintentional casting. After she had been casting in her sleep.

‘One problem at a time, Frisk.’

“hey, wings. there any missin’ students aboard?”

Frisk tensed, bracing against the words that would condemn her back to the Cloister and its endless white halls.

“No.”

The word rang out clear and decisive.

Frisk thought she might pass out.

“STRAIGHT AND TO THE POINT!” Loud said, voice full of approval. “VERY GOOD, WING DINGS! WELL, THERE YOU HAVE IT, MISTER GREENE; YOUR MISSING STUDENT IS NOT ON BOARD.”

“assumin’ that’s to yer satisfaction, of course,” Soft said.

“I-I will need to see proper documentation that I am speaking with an approved, licensed security AI. But with that … yes. That would suffice.”

“so we get you the proper paperwork, and then we can go?”

“Yes,” Greene said.

Frisk stared at the hatch in exhausted disbelief. She felt detached, weightless and empty. She didn’t have the mental energy to celebrate her good luck.

“bones, go tell gills and the doc that we need wing ding’s paperwork. have ‘em forward it t’my pad. then get all this ready t’offload.”

The words were punctuated with a hollow thud. Frisk assumed Soft had kicked one of the metallic crates.

“OF COURSE,” Loud agreed. Three loud steps echoed through the cargo bay before stopping. “AND WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, COMIC?”

“thought i’d go with our buddy al, here,” Soft said. “make sure everythin’ runs as smoothly as possible.”

“That will not be nec- ”

“don’t worry about it, bud!” Comic said, cutting Greene off. “just think: the sooner you get us taken care of, the sooner we’ll be outta your hair. you’ll have all that free time to continue searchin for that missin student.

“besides … i know a shortcut.”

Loud sputtered but said nothing more.

The cargo bay fell into silence.

They truly hadn’t been noticed.

Frisk sighed, forcing some of the tension to drop from her shoulders.

‘We’re safe from that threat, at least,’ she said as she pulled her legs to her chest, curling tightly over herself and rocking back and forth. ‘Is it possible the AI doesn’t know we’re here?

‘It must,’ Chara said. ‘You released camouflage before we were fully hidden – ‘ Frisk flinched at the accusation in Chara’s tone. ‘ – and it is likely they would have seen the hatch open and close regardless.’

‘So they would have noticed anyway,’ Frisk said, more to herself than to Chara.

But that didn’t make sense.

‘Why did they lie?’ Frisk asked, pulling out of her tight ball. ‘I thought AI couldn’t lie … present company excluded.’

‘It is … complicated,’ Chara said. ‘AI can lie, they simply don’t. There is little utility in misleading others the vast majority of the time, especially when interests are aligned. People and AI wish to travel the Gates safely. There is no need for a navigational AI to lie. However, as for why? … I cannot begin to speculate.’ Chara frowned. ‘Technically they didn’t lie. Aleister Greene asked about a missing ‘student’. I don’t know how the AI would know that … but you are verifiably not a student.’

Frisk sighed and lay down, the anxious adrenaline finally beginning to fade away.

There was nothing they could do about the other AI. Either the AI would turn Frisk in, or they wouldn’t, and either option was out of her control.

Control.

‘I was casting in my sleep,’ Frisk said, jolting upright again. She stared at her hands, surprised she had nearly forgotten. She leaned forward to look where the bullets had hit metal, leaving little scuffed indents in their wakes.

‘I was having a nightmare,’ she said softly. ‘I was lucid.’

‘You remember it?’ Chara asked, their ghost appearing next to her. Once again the AI held a datapad and stylus, appearing so much like a researcher taking notes.

Frisk pulled back from the scuffs, closing her eyes and pushing down a flood of overwhelming memories.

The AI’s concern was understandable. Frisk hadn’t remembered her dreams in years. It was one of the first things she and Chara had worked out with one another.

In her dreams, Frisk was alone.

Frisk was useless without Chara.

Still … The memories the AI brought were painful and fresh.

Frisk nodded without looking at the AI.

‘I was in the Arena. With the … the doctor. We were fighting.’

‘Did you win?’

Frisk chuckled silently, but shook her head.

‘Of course not. I threw everything I had at him, though,’ she said with a smile.

The scratches caught her eye again, and she shrank back into herself.

‘Is there something wrong with me?’

Frisk closed her eyes, regretting the question and fearing the answer.

Of course there was something wrong with her. Why was she worrying about that when Chara was so busy. They didn’t have time for her stupid –

‘No,’ the AI answered. ‘Not with you.’

Frisk looked up, the words catching her by surprise.

Since their escape – not even a full cycle, yet – the AI had been distracted, distant …

Frisk had assumed she was slowing them down. That if Chara had been comfortable taking over her body, they would be doing better.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t realize how much of … me was being hosted on the Cloister’s servers. I’ve been trying to keep everything in balance … ’ they trailed off, looking away from her. ‘It’s not as bad as when we first met … but … ’

Frisk stilled, holding her breath, swallowing a whimper of fear. Memories of the first days after Chara’s installation flooded her mind – what few memories remained.

Screaming.

Agony.

‘No,’ Chara said, breaking through Frisk’s fear. The memories vanished, locked away. ‘I still have control over everything important. Those systems are firmly and fully integrated. This is different.’

‘How?’ Frisk asked. When the AI didn’t respond she pressed further. ‘Chara. What’s different? What’s going to be different?’

‘Your emotions,” the AI admitted. ‘Anything regulated by your hypothalamus is going to feel out of control.’

Frisk frowned, trying to remember what the hypothalamus did, exactly. She had never been great at biology, and beyond knowing it was a structure in her brain and that it was important, she was uncertain.

‘You’ll feel things,’ Chara explained. ‘Things you haven’t felt in a long time. Fear, hunger, anxiety, sadness … you’ll feel them. Without any input or moderation from me.’

Frisk paled.

The walls of the smuggler’s hold suddenly felt much too close for her comfort. The darkness too similar to the Sensory Room.

Bile rose in her throat.

She panicked.

‘I can keep the worst of it down,’ Chara said quickly, throwing out their hands to try to calm Frisk, despite being unable to touch her. Frisk stared at the AI, trying to breathe through the desperate fear that overwhelmed her. ‘Especially if you keep calm and try not to panic more than you already have. Our best chance at staying out of the Cloister is remaining hidden until the next port.’

Frisk let out a slow breath.

‘Your idea is a good one,’ Chara said, not meeting Frisk’s eyes. ‘The best one we have.’

Sincere reassurance, without a hint of sarcasm.

Chara probably wasn’t lying in an attempt to soothe Frisk’s fraught emotions. They meant what they said. Which meant …

Her plan was actually the best they could come up with – at least in the AI’s opinion. Her plan was the best out of any plan Chara could come up with.

“This could actually work,” Frisk whispered, startling herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a hysterical giggle.

‘We might actually be able to escape,’ Frisk said, full of confidence. ‘I just need to stay quiet, right? Hidden? Conserve my energy?’

‘That would be best,’ Chara said with a nod. ‘The less I have to deal with the better.’

‘I can do that,’ Frisk said. ‘You can do that. It’s easy: Unless it’s important, don’t wake me up.’

It was the solution to all of their problems.

‘I need to hibernate anyway, it’s the only way to save enough energy to ensure survival.’

‘You were casting in your sleep,’ Chara reminded her. ‘It could happen again.’

Frisk’s confidence deflated at the reminder, leaving a hollow pit in her gut. She lifted her hands to stare at them.

Traitorous things.

She hadn’t cast magic unintentionally in years. It was embarrassing, frustrating. Control was one of her few talents.

To be losing it now, as she was on the brink of freedom … it was painful.

‘I was scared,’ Frisk said softly. She dropped her hands, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘In my dream … Calibri was there. He was going to kill me. I thought it was real. I thought I was back in the Cloister, I had failed some test. It felt real.’ She felt so stupid, forgetting that she was in a dream after becoming lucid. ‘I gathered everything I could, everything I had, and threw it at Calibri.’

Chara nodded as though they understood.

‘Why was I dreaming at all?’ Frisk asked.

‘You shouldn’t have been able to reach the rapid eye movement stage of sleep,’ Chara said instead of answering directly.

‘Do you think you can stop it from happening again?’ Frisk asked.

‘… I don’t know,’ Chara admitted after an uncertain pause. ‘It’s possible – but since I don’t know the cause of your dreaming … It will take some trial and error to be certain.’

Frisk nodded, understanding. She pulled her legs closer to her chest, curling as small as she could.

’I think it’s the best option,’ Chara said after a moment.

‘What?’ Frisk asked, surprised.

‘I think it’s the best option,’ the AI repeated. ‘There are fewer variables. Hibernation makes sense – it keeps you quiet, preserves energy, and will give me time to troubleshoot the problems.’

‘But the casting – ’

‘Happened because of a coincidence of variables that is unlikely to happen again. As it is, I can set alarms to alert me to any gathering magic. I can wake you before it wills to shape.’

Frisk considered the proposal.

She had been caught off-guard by the dream, but now she knew to expect them. She could work on her lucidity, keep herself anchored to her more conscious mind.

‘I just need to remember that we’re free,’ Frisk said, speaking mostly to herself. ‘That we’re out of the Cloister. That we escaped. If I can remember that, then the nightmares will just be bad dreams.’

It would be all in her head. Phantoms and shadow plays, dreamt up by her unconscious mind.

‘Let’s do it,’ Frisk said, looking up to meet Chara’s eyes. ‘It’s our best chance, right? Then let’s do it.’

The AI said nothing, but they held Frisk’s gaze for a moment, then two, before vanishing with a quick nod.

Almost immediately Frisk felt her system flood with a sedative mixture of hormones and chemicals. She lay down, curling up around the stolen sweater.

‘Chara?’ she asked as she drifted off to sleep.

‘Yes?’

‘Wake me up when we take off … please.’

She was asleep before she heard Chara’s soft response.

‘Promise.’

Frisk watched the spaceport from her hiding place among pallets and shipping crates waiting to be loaded. Her stomach twisted with anxiety at the sheer number of people around her, the open space.

Every time someone came too close to her hiding spot, Frisk flinched away, back into the shadows. She jumped at any sound that managed to break above the cacophony of noise the filled the port. She was on edge – unable to stop shaking, to stop checking over her shoulder for anyone who might be searching for her.

Some small, primitive part of her mind begged for her to go back, to return to the endless white hallways and impassive researchers and plea for forgiveness.

She was a nervous wreck.

She should be catatonic with fear.

Chara was the only reason she remained somewhat functional. The AI was keeping her in a careful balance – alert enough to react to any threat, but calm enough that she could still think.

‘What now?’ Chara asked as Frisk fell back into her hiding spot.

“You’re the brains of this operation,” Frisk muttered in response. “Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

Not that there were many options to choose from. Staying on Huginn was right out. It would be impossible with the Cloister looking for her. Doctor Calibri had the connections to bring all of Allfather down on her.

“We have to get off planet,” Frisk said, hoping to talk through the problem. “Get as far from Huginn and Allfather as possible.”

Which would be difficult when the entire star system was under their control.

‘Obviously,’ Chara said, unimpressed. The AI flickered into being in Frisk’s peripheral vision, a ghost only she could see. ‘And here I thought you might have some useful input. I supposed I should be glad you’re not suggesting we go back.’

“Thanks,” Frisk said dryly, annoyance bleeding through her fear. “Do you have any helpful advice?”

‘You were expecting me to be helpful?’ Chara asked, false innocence dripping from the words. ‘If you want useful advice you have to ask useful questions.’

“Is now really the best time for this?” Frisk hissed. Chara didn’t answer, seeming content to wait for their host to fall in line. “A ship would be our best option … ”

There were a handful of ships docked. Small pleasure yachts with  minimal crew, mostly meant for short sub-orbital flights. They would be difficult to sneak aboard, nearly impossible to hide on long enough to escape Huginn. Frisk’s attention drifted further, toward the space elevator where organic and automated roustabouts loaded freight.

“… Unless we sneak onto that.”

She could probably do it, if she hid among the cargo. An extra 50 kilos would be nothing compared to the megatons the elevator regularly handled.

‘Too risky,’ Chara said. ‘There’s too many things that could go wrong. Vacuum exposure, hypoxia, being crushed by unsecured or shifting cargo … It’s not impossible, but I strongly recommend against it.’

Frisk nodded in reluctant agreement. If she was at peak performance she would probably risk it – but the most recent round of testing had left her with little room for error.

She had no wish to die on her first day of freedom.

“Our only option is one of those ships,” she said as she turned away from the space elevator again. She frowned, “They’re all so small.”

‘I’ll look at the options – there must be one that will fit your requirements.’ Chara said. ‘While I do, you should figure out a strategy to get on board.’

The AI ghost vanished without another word, leaving Frisk alone with her thoughts. She brushed her fingers through her short hair, catching on a snarl. With a huff she returned to the shadows to try untangling it as she considered her options.

The most obvious choice was to simply approach a crew and request room and board. Straightforward and to the point.

But she had nothing to exchange. Her worldly possessions were the clothes she wore and a few survival items she had managed to squirrel away in her inventory. Bottled water and ration bars were useful in the Cloister, but she doubted they were worth much out here.

She could ask for work, pay her way through labor. But she had seen the expressions of those few people she hadn’t quite managed to hide from. The oversized clothes she had been able to steal couldn’t hide the result of nearly a month of near-starvation. Her skin translucently pale, sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks …

Even if she was able to mask all of that somehow, there were bound to be questions. Questions she couldn’t answer. She had no past, no history, no family or home.

And when – not if – the Cloister came looking for her …

No one owed her their allegiance. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe that hard work would keep anyone from turning her in – especially if there was a reward.

“Any news?” she asked as she leaned against the crates with a heavy sigh.

‘No,’ Chara answered. ‘No BOLOs, no missing person reports … there’s absolutely nothing about you. Nothing public, at least.’

The news was less reassuring than Frisk had hoped.

Her disappearance had to have been noticed by now. The facility’s surveillance was omnipresent, and it was monitored by a very dedicated AI. Her absence had to have been noticed and reported by now.

She couldn’t believe otherwise.

They had to be looking for her.

… So why were there no notices or reports?

She had to assume the Cloister was keeping the search for her quiet for now. Maybe they had assumed she wouldn’t be able to get far from the facility, so were limiting their search. Eventually – sooner, rather than later – they would begin looking further afield.

Eventually they would look here.

‘I found a ship!’

Chara’s victorious cry derailed Frisk’s train of thought, and her mind stalled as it failed to process Chara’s exclamation.

“W-What?”

‘I. Found. A. Ship!’ the AI repeated, enunciating each word. ‘I’ll show you.’

Frisk hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath, before allowing Chara to ‘drive’. She closed her eyes as she felt her consciousness get dragged from her body, the sensation terrifying and dizzying.

She didn’t think she would ever get used to the feeling of being an observer in her own skin. Her senses hazy and filtered, experienced through a fog of dissociated detachment, secondhand and muted.

Chara took a moment to recalibrate, flexing Frisk’s fingers and toes, bending and stretching. Frisk wondered if the AI found it as strange to be in a body as it felt for her to be out of it.

‘Get on with it,’ Frisk hissed as the moment stretched on and her discomfort grew.

‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ Chara sniped back. ‘Maybe if you actually told me about the fractured metatarsal, or the second degree burns to your lower legs, or the full body joint stiffness, or the splitting headache, we wouldn’t be having this issue.’

‘ … My foot’s broken?’ Frisk asked, instinctively trying to look down at her bare appendages, only for her body to refuse to move. ‘I’m burned?’

‘Yes,” Chara said simply. ‘It’s all pretty minor. I already have the bots working on everything.’ The AI shifted to look at the row of ships docked in port. ‘It should be fixed within half an hour.’

‘How did I – ”

‘There it is. That one,’ Chara said, cutting the question off before Frisk could finish asking it.

Her connection with her body slammed back into place without warning, sensory information overwhelming her as it came into being.

‘A Class-Two Tenebrous Wanderer,’ Chara explained as Frisk reoriented herself to her body. ‘It’s small, but it has tons of hiding places. They’re popular with people who deal in shady business – smugglers, pirates, mercenaries … fugitives … I’ve found claims that people have managed to survive – hidden and unnoticed – aboard similar ships for over a month.’

Chara overlaid one of the ships with schematics, highlighting the multiple hiding places.

“It’s so … small,” Frisk said as she processed what Chara was showing her.

‘Good things come in small packages,’ Chara said. ‘Besides, a nicer vessel is much more likely to have proper AI security.’

“The Wanderer wouldn’t?”

‘The TEW line – and the TEW-2 specifically – were built to be safe, durable, and cheap. Any standard, pre-installed AI would almost certainly be limited to Gate calculations. It’s possible there would be a security AI, but it would be fairly low on the list of upgrades and improvements. Given the look of the ship, I doubt the crew has bothered.’

“So that’s the best choice?” Frisk asked. She watched the port from her hiding spot to the Wanderer, mapping a route and committing it to memory.

‘ … Yes,’ Chara answered after a moment’s hesitation. Frisk chose to not comment on the jolt of uncertainty. ‘There is significant data that I’m unable to access, but yes. I can continue searching for a second option, but our time is limited. There might not be any public notices yet, but the Cloister is almost certainly searching for you by now.’

Frisk bit her lip as anxiety began to coil in her chest, a heavy weight holding her down. She felt like an animal in a trapped maze, knowing any wrong move would result in pain and suffering.

Endless white doors stretching down endless white hallways. Emotionless, uncaring eyes watching a she failed again and again and again and again.

Her building panic vanished in a burst, leaving her with a pounding heart and the need to move. Chara forced her breathing to slow and deepen, and Frisk allowed the steady rhythm of it to ground her.

Calm.

“What’s the best way to get aboard?” Frisk asked. She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking.

‘What were your ideas?’ Chara asked.

“I thought we needed to hurry,” Frisk huffed, but the argument didn’t keep her from continuing to map a path through the port. “I could ask for passage, exchange labor for passage, fake whatever it takes to get aboard, or sneak on. I have nothing to offer in trade, so asking is out. I look like I should be in a morgue, so exchanging labor is unlikely to work.”

‘The Tenebrous Wanderer is also not a passenger vessel,’ Chara said. ‘There is no boarding pass for me to falsify. Which leaves only one option.’

Frisk nodded in agreement as her plan solidified in her mind.

“We have to stow away.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Wingdings stared at the security feed, watching and rewatching the brief flicker where the human was visible.

Watching them duck into the main crawlspace in the cargo bay, hidden from any of the Stargazer’s cameras.

He couldn’t believe it, even though he was staring at the hard evidence.

He huffed, impressed. Here he had the most advanced security system in the entire ‘verse and somehow a human had managed to sneak aboard, right under his nose.

And Wingdings had no idea how they had managed it. They shouldn’t have been able to, even if he had been a little distracted.

He’d just been so bored.

He’d been left to watch over the Stargazer, told to keep an eye out and the engines primed, just in case they ran into trouble.

As though they weren’t already in trouble, with the ship impounded and unable to leave the port.

(Not that the impound lock would actually keep them there. Wingdings and Doctor Alphys had made short work of it, overriding it almost immediately.

But it was better to try to work things out diplomatically, than to burn any good faith they might be shown on the central planets.)

Captain Undine had gone to have a word with the authorities … and Papyrus had immediately followed. Ostensibly he went to back up their captain, but really he was there to keep the number of throttled officials to a minimum.

Sans had followed soon afterwards, to even out Undyne’s brashness and Papyrus’ naive charitability.

Alphys, already over-anxious about their current job, had worked herself into a nervous fit and had chosen to hide in her bunk until the others returned.

Which left Wingdings to clean up the mess that was this job.

It had looked legitimate at the beginning – found through the proper channels with official documentation signed and sealed by the Yggdrasil Conglomerate itself. It was supposed to be a simple delivery run, cargo volatility notwithstanding.

And as a bonus, the pay was astronomical. Even without the second half they had enough to repair the most outstanding issues of their aging starship. Actually fix them, instead of relying on bonding agent, tack welds, and hope.

It had easily given the Stargazer an extra decade in the sky.

All-in-all, the job had been completely smooth.

Wingdings supposed their luck had to run out at some point.

Their Huginn contact had vanished, leaving the Stargazer with incomplete, incorrect paperwork and a hold full of highly regulated cargo.

Cargo they could neither offload nor fly away with.

They were trapped.

And Wingdings was bored.

He’d tried to find somehow to keep himself entertained.

There were no updates available for his favorite serials, so he turned to the local streams … Only to realize that Huginn had the worst local programming. Edutainment and propaganda, most of it aimed at children.

He had eventually managed to find a documentary about Terra-Sol. One he hadn’t seen before! It was full of conspiracy theories surrounding the human exodus from their dying homeworld – none of which made sense and all of which were insane. But the narrator spoke with such grave confidence that Wingdings couldn’t help but find it charming, if completely ridiculous.

He’d also found an educational show aimed at toddlers that wasn’t too abrasive to his senses. It was full of loud sounds and flashes of color, and it lacked much content beyond that.

Wingdings had scanned the Stargazer, analyzing every micrometer with every diagnostic tool at his disposal and making a list of all the issues he found. While he waited for the process to finish he wrote a quick algorithm to prioritize them, balancing cost and how disastrous it would be if the part or system failed.

They could keep flying if their fuel was low, but they wouldn’t survive without life support or the MP shielding.

When the scan finished he set it up to repeat, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

Still bored, he reached out to other AI in the area, hoping to find someone he could talk to. The options were similarly lacking. Bound by design, most of the other AI were either obsessively focused on ship security or they were single-minded about the complicated mathematical computations needed to use the Waygates. They had little to say outside of their special interests.

He had managed to find three AI that weren’t completely boring, and invited them to a game of cards.

It was a game he was clearly winning.

It wasn’t as fun or engaging when he was the only one who really understood what “bluffing” was.

He’d been about to cash out when the security system pinged about an anomaly in the cargo bay.

An intruder.

A human.

Even knowing what to look for, Wingdings could barely see the disturbance on the video feed. A small distortion of pixels that broke away from a passing crowd, made its way up the gangplank, passing the guard at the bay doors. Clearly they were as invisible to him as they were to Wingdings, as he made no move to stop the shifting mass. It moved quickly and fluidly, continuing into the ship to hide behind a pallet waiting to be unloaded.

The distortion flickered, vanishing, leaving a human in its place.

They had short brown hair and wore clothing clearly too large for their small frame. They had a hand over their sternum and it jerked up and down with their heaving breaths.

They stayed like that for a few moments, their head tipped like they were listening to something.

Then they darted forward, vanishing into one of the smuggler holds, out of sight of his cameras.

Wingdings couldn’t believe it.

A human.

On the Stargazer.

Stowed away and hiding in the walls.

A ping came across the data stream, a request for feed access. Wingdings accepted it without a second thought.

The human had not only managed to sneak by the armed guard, but had nearly eluded him – a far greater feat.

This human was very, very, interesting.

☆ ☆ ☆

Frisk leaned against the bulkhead wall of the smuggler’s hold, breathing hard and shaking with fear and exertion.

She had done it.

She was on a ship.

She prayed her luck would hold long enough to get into open space – or better yet, to another port.

‘You need to eat,’ Chara said, appearing beside her with a data pad in hand.

‘I’m fine,’ Frisk answered with a huff. ‘I just need a minute.’

The AI glanced up at her, eyebrow raised, which Frisk pointedly ignored.

‘What’s our inventory?’

‘Seven ration bars, one opened and partially eaten. Four liters of water, one empty two-liter bottle. Three two-meter long rolls of gauze in widths of three, five, and seven centimeters. One two-meter roll of self-adhesive bandaging, seven centimeters wide. A little less than eight ounces of antiseptic, antimicrobial wound wash,’ Chara glanced at Frisk over their tablet. ‘The clothes you’re wearing.’

Frisk nodded, calculating the supplies in her head.

With careful rationing the food would last for a little over two weeks. If she could manage to hibernate she could stretch that for as long as a month.

The water would be a problem.

‘We have to conserve what we have,’ Frisk said. ‘I don’t need to eat. I’ll be fine with some rest.’

‘You’re running on fumes,’ Chara said. ‘I’m running on fumes. This is more than what a little “rest” can help. You need to eat.’

Frisk shook her head, stubbornly refusing the order.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to fully recover the mana she had used to get onto the ship with just rest, but she didn’t think she would need to.

Chara huffed in frustration.

‘Eat, or I’ll do it for you.’

To prove their point, Frisk watched herself pull the already-opened ration bar out of her inventory.

‘Don’t do that,’ Frisk hissed as she snapped her hand back, cradling it like she’d been burned. 

‘I wouldn’t have to if you listened to reason.’ Chara said. ‘Eat the rest.’

‘But what if I nee- ‘

‘But what if you “need it”?’ Chara asked, cutting Frisk off. The AI beckoned around them.‘This is one of those times when you “need it”, Twelve-Fifteen. This, right here, is the perfect time to start using your rations.’

Frisk bristled at the AI, anger and betrayal running wild through her.

And then it was gone, and Frisk deflated, defeated.

Chara was right. She needed to eat, because she needed to be ready if she had to fight.

She took another bite of the ration bar.

‘So. What now?’ the AI asked.

Frisk chewed the dry, tasteless food as she thought. There wasn’t much she could do.

‘We stay here,’ she said after a moment. ‘Learn as much as we can about the ship and crew.’

‘Wouldn’t that be easier if we weren’t in the cargo hold?’ Chara asked. ‘They won’t have a reason to come down here once we’re in open space.’

‘We can’t afford to get caught while we’re still in port,’ Frisk countered immediately.

Getting onto the ship had been risky enough. Moving further into the ship while it remained docked …

It was too likely to get them caught. And if they were caught they would be turned into the port guard.

And from there it was a single step to being returned to the Cloister and its endless white hallways.

At least in open space there was a chance she would remain free.

’If you hide in this location you are much likelier to be discovered,’ Chara said. ‘This is one of the better-known smuggler holds on this ship. It is often used for regular storage.’

‘Is there any way of telling how many people are on board?’ Frisk asked.

‘As far as I can see the ship lacks sensors for that. It’s registered to a crew of six.’

Which meant six people to blindly avoid.

‘Definitely too risky,’ Frisk concluded. She combed a hand through her hair, snagging on another snarl. She began untangling it with a low growl. ‘I assume we don’t have the next port-of-call.’

‘No flight plans have been submitted yet,’ Chara confirmed. The AI was almost apologetic as they continued, ‘I’m as blind as you are.’

Frisk sighed, her exhaustion catching up to her all at once. She pulled off her oversized sweater, bundling it to use as a pillow.

She curled up, muscles aching with unspent, nervous energy. She needed to conserve energy … But as she stared at the ceiling of the tiny smuggler’s hold her mind raced, anxiety filling her thoughts.

‘Sleep,’ Chara said as the panic vanished, replaced by the exhaustion the AI had been masking. ‘I’ll wake you if anything happens.’

☆ ☆ ☆

—Red—

Red snorted as he read Sans’ misspelled name on his cup of coffee.

“ ‘sands’, eh?”

They’d left The Parlor and were again walking the paths of the park, Red trying to make aimless conversation as he built up the nerve to break the question.

“it’s course, rough, and irritatin’,” Sans answered with a casual shrug. “guess the barista knows me.”

“y’ain’t irritating’,” Red growled. “barista’s a beach if they think so.”

“i sea what you did there,” Sans responded, ducking his head and refusing to react to the first part of what Red said. “she made a mistake, s’not shrimportant.”

“yeh shore do like takin’ the piss outta yerself,” Red muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

He was irritated, and he was taking that out on Sans when the other had done nothing to deserve it.

 For some reason, Mutt’s teasing had gotten to him.

“you make it sound like i’m doin’ it on porpoise,” Sans said. He raised his coffee cup to his mouth, looking at it with an … almost wistful expression. “i just happen t’ be the biggest joke i know.”

Red frowned, watching the other from the corner of his eye socket. Annoyance gave way to concern as Sans took a sip of his drink, his smile wide and taut at the edges, only to rise again as Mutt’s words came to mind.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings for him!”

Red looked away, glaring at the concrete of the footpath.

It was a relief that his phone chimed at him at that moment, pulling him from his twisting thoughts.

“oh,” he said as he looked at the message. A reminder from a local astronomy group. “there’s a thing goin’ on this weekend, at the observatory. wanna go?”

“what kinda thing?” Sans asked, carefully treading a line between intrigue and disinterest. “i can’t pay for anythin’.”

“it’s a free event,” Red explained, holding out his phone so Sans could see the message. “they’re callin’ ‘em ‘star parties’. buncha people – mostly human, monsters ain’t really … interested in the stars – gettin’ t’gether t’ stargaze.” He felt the excitement building as he talked. He’d been wanting to go to one for … as long as he’d known about them.

No one else had wanted to go. Papyrus and Mutt weren’t interested at all, Black was too busy, and Blue didn’t have the patience to stargaze for hours. Edge would have gone, but Red had wanted to go with someone who would appreciate it.

Someone like Sans.

 “th’ observatory ain’t open yet, but the grounds are. they let anybody show up, set up their telescopes,” Red continued, trying to keep his excitement contained. He tossed his empty coffee cup into a nearby trash bin. “sometimes they got speakers and shit. this month is pretty laid back, though.”

“i don’t have a telescope,” Sans said as he handed back the phone.

“that’s part of the beauty of it,” Red said as he turned off the screen of his phone and slid it into his pocket. “y’don’t need one. people’ll let yeh use theirs.”

Red could see Sans’ excitement, feel it coming off of him in waves. His eyelights were wide and bright, and his smile was quirked into something real.

Like he’d looked in the planetarium.

“i … ”

For a moment Red let himself hope.

“… can’t.”

Sans looked at the ground, excitement snuffed like a candle without oxygen, eyelights dim and unfocused.

“sorry,” he appended. “i can’t take the time off work.”

“why the fuck not?” he demanded in a low growl, unable to keep his anger from his voice.

Red floundered in his own emotional whiplash, dashed optimism and unresolved irritation combining into red-hot rage. He knew he was overreacting, knew that the nascent hopes he’d placed in maybe going to the event weren’t worth this reaction, but he couldn’t stop.

“i told ya, money’s tight right now,” Sans said as he cowered away from Red without making it obvious what he was doing.

“ ‘money’s tight’,” Red mocked. “so tight yeh can’t take one night off’ve work – but not tight enough t’ get over whatever hangup yeh got about humans t’ ask fer help?”

“it’s … complicated,” Sans said.

Red ignored him.

“it’d be easy t’ get yeh hired at my store. all i’d need t’ do is put in a good word fer yeh. the managers all like me.”

“i can’t,” Sans said, voice taking on a desperate edge. He backed away as Red pushed forward.

“and if money’s that fuckin’ tight, why ain’t Papyrus workin’?! and not his volunteer bullshit, but a job that actually pays?”

“he’s busy with schoo- ”

“ ‘busy with school’ my ass. my entire nonexistent ass, sans,” Red shouted. “he was gettin’ coffee with the others. i ain’t never seen him pass the bill on t’ someone else, so he probably paid for himself and everythin’!”

“it’s – ”

“if yeh say ‘it’s complicated’ again … pap and the swap bros were goin’ to a movie. he talked about buy-in’ popcorn. that shit ain’t cheap. why’s he doin’ that shit if money is so damn ‘tight’ that you can’t take one night off?”

“he deserves – ”

“and you don’t?!”

“you don’t underst- ”

“then fuckin’ explain it, sans!” Red shouted.

Silence fell between them, Sans staring at Red, mouth agape and at a loss for words. Red’s chest heaved as a strange calm settled over him, in the eye of his emotional storm.

Sans looked away first, hand tight around his half-empty to-go cup.

“it’s just the way it is,” he said after a quiet moment, voice quiet and tinged with shame. Shame and a melancholy sort of resignation. “it’s my responsibility. i’m s’posed to look after him, y’know?”

He glanced up at the sky, taking in the early twilight.

“i gotta get home, get ready for work,” he mumbled. “maybe we can do this again sometime?”

Sans looked around, orienting himself before figuring out the way to his apartment.

“sans wait, i – ” Red reached out and grabbed his arm, hand closing around his upper humerus.

His grip was tight, but he didn’t expect Sans to flinch away with a hiss, dropping his unfinished coffee on the ground. The lid fell off, splashing them both with mocha.

Red didn’t notice, letting go of Sans and holding his hands up defensively.

“shit i didn’t mean t’ … ”

He trailed off as realization set in.

He had hurt Sans, but he hadn’t injured him.

“yeh get that by ‘trippin’,’ too?” Red asked darkly.

Sans rubbed at his humerus, trying to ease the ache and refusing to look at Red.

“sans?”

“it’s nothin’,” Sans muttered. He closed his eyes, like he could click his heels three times and be back in Kansas. “it was an accident. i’m fine.”

“no y’ain’t,” Red said with a sigh. “but yeh ain’t gonna tell me what’s goin’ on. do yeh even tell papyrus what’s goin’ on, or do yeh leave him in the dark, too?”

Sans winced at his brother’s name, but didn’t defend himself. Didn’t do … anything but look at the slowly oozing puddle of coffee at his feet.

“is that why you an’ pap don’t get along?” Red asked. “is that why it seems like he can’t stand t’ be around you?”

He regretted the words immediately.

Sans crumbled, hugging himself with his arms and his carefully crafted facade collapsing into dust and ruin.

“i’m sorry,” he said in a whisper.

Like he had anything to apologize for.

“i didn’t mean … i … fuck,” Red said, fumbling as he watched his counterpart flounder, unable to take back what he’d said to cause it. “i … i gotta go.”

Without waiting for a response Red vanished, leaving Sans alone in the park.

Fuck.

—Sans—

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, unable to move or think or breathe, staring at the spilled coffee and replaying those final words in his head.

It was funny, in a way, how the sentiment wasn’t anything shocking. It wasn’t like it was a secret, how Papyrus felt about Sans. Everyone knew there was a rift between them. Everyone knew Papyrus didn’t like Sans.

If they didn’t, Papyrus made sure they found out.

And honestly, who could blame him? Sans was little more than a burden on his younger brother. Useless and lazy and unstable.

And Papyrus was … great. The greatest.

But somehow, hearing those words …

It broke something in Sans’ very Soul.

He can’t stand to be around you.

Sans picked up the discarded lid and cup, throwing both into the trash bin.

He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d fucked up this time, how he’d made Red so … angry. He’d never seen the other like that, all fury and spite.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and started his walk home.

It didn’t really matter how he’d fucked up. It was obvious that Red was done with him. He fought the urge to dig his beat up cellphone from his pocket, to text him an apology.

He couldn’t fix this with a “sorry” and a crying-face emoji, if his phone could even deal with those.

His one chance at a friend and he’d blown it by … being himself.

It’d be funny if it weren’t so fucking sad.

Sans sighed as he approached the apartment building. He tried the knob experimentally, uncertain if he’d locked it or not. He’d expected Papyrus to be home tonight, but if he was at a movie with Blue and Stretch …

Sans didn’t look forward to being locked out.

Luckily, he’d been too distracted to lock the door.

Without Papyrus around Sans felt like an intruder, the dark quiet of the apartment oppressive and stifling.

Sans wandered into the kitchen, pulling out a container of leftovers to heat up for himself. Spaghetti with meatballs, a classic Papyrus dish.

As the container spun on the microwave’s turntable, he realized he wouldn’t be able to eat it.

The smell of tomatoes and basil made his magic churn uncomfortably, a state that only worsened when he took the food out of the microwave.

“guess i’m not eatin’ tonight,” he muttered as he tried not to gag.

Fortunately, he knew someone who would gladly eat the pasta, so Papyrus would never know he’d skipped another meal.

Sans left the apartment, heading directly to the alleyway beside it, whistling through his teeth as he approached. He smiled when he saw who he was looking for.

“hey there, buddy,” Sans said softly as the small, white dog crawled out of the cardboard home Sans had built for him. “got some dinner for ya, if ya want it.”

He set the container down, taking a step back to let the dog investigate the food.

The dog had shown up months ago, starving and mangy. Sans wasn’t sure if it was the same “annoying hound” that had plagued Papyrus in the Underground, but he liked to imagine it was. He’d always liked the little beast and his antics, sneaking into their home and stealing bones when Paps wasn’t looking.

He’d been glad when he’d found the dog, even though he regretted that he couldn’t give him a better life. Sans had been very careful to keep the dog away from Papyrus, wary of his brother calling Animal Control.

The dog sniffed at the spaghetti before eagerly chowing down. Sans wasn’t sure pasta was necessarily good for dogs, but he hoped it wouldn’t hurt.

It was better than nothing, at least.

He made a mental note to stop at a butcher shop to ask for scraps sometime soon, and slumped against the wall.

“i fucked up again,” he told the dog as it ate. “red’s prob’ly never gonna talk to me again. i mean, it was only a matter of time, right? he asked me t’ go to this stargazing thing … honestly it sounded amazing. buncha people getting together to look at the stars’n’planets. too bad stars ain’t visible durin’ the day. i’d gladly give up a couple hours’ve sleep t’ see jupiter or saturn with my own eye socket.”

Sans sighed as the dog licked the container clean, then whined at him for more.

“sorry bud, that’s all i got,” he said with a sad shrug. He scratched the mutt’s head as it came over to him for a snuggle.

“i told red i couldn’t go,” he said with a dark chuckle. “he got angry. i don’t blame him … but it still hurts.”

The dog whined and lay down next to the skeleton, head on his lap. He yawned and closed his eyes, fed and safe.

“thanks bud,” Sans said with a small smile. “y’always know how to cheer a guy up.”

—Red—

Red sat at the table, looking at the notebook in front of him. The moment he’d gotten home he had started scribbling all the little observations he’d noticed about Sans.

     Polite

     Shy

     Bruises – head and arm – won’t explain

     Speaks highly of Pap – doesn’t have a bad thing to say about anyone?

On the opposite page were things he’d noticed about Papyrus.

     Loud

     Kind

     Strong

     Fashionable – always wearing something new

As he detailed out both Tale brothers, a picture began to emerge.

A very concerning picture that he didn’t want to admit.

But he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up bad.

—Edge—

Edge took comfort in routine. He felt most secure when things were in their proper place, when things happened at the appropriate time.

It made it easy. to tell when something was wrong.

What he expected when he came home from working nights was to find Red asleep on the couch, snoring and drooling, some gory slasher flick playing for no one. Every night Red tried to wait up for Edge.

Every night he failed.

Edge would turn off the TV, wake his brother enough to see him to bed, then shower to wash the smell of the kitchen from his bones. Then he could go to bed, resting easy knowing everything was where it should be.

“BROTHER?” he asked when he opened the door to the apartment.

Far from being asleep, Red was wide awake, pacing manically. At his brother’s voice, Red turned and Edge saw his eye sockets were wide, the eyelights nearly nonexistent.

Confusion, concern, and worry surrounded him in a near-tangible aura.

“boss,” he breathed out in a relieved sigh.

Edge waited, nervous, as Red collected his thoughts, uncertain what to expect.

He began wondering where best to hide a body.

Red looked at him, eye sockets full of uncertainty and concern.

“somebody’s hurtin’ sans,” he said in a quiet rush, like he was afraid someone might overhear. “… and i think I know who.”

—Red—

Red held the café door open for Sans, noting how hard his counterpart was shivering with a frown.

“y’shoulda worn a thicker coat,” Red commented as they took their place at the back of the queue. “yer shakin’ like a fuckin’ maraca.”

“it’s the s-song of my p-people,” Sans snarked back as his teeth chattered.

Red rolled his eyelights, debating if he should offer his coat to Sans, at least to help him warm back up.

“i’ll be fine once i get somethin’ t’ drink,” Sans said, responding to Red’s unasked question like he could read his damn mind.

Sans was looking up at the menu board, hugging himself in an attempt to subdue his shivering.

“RED!”

The loud, cheerful voice broke the general quiet of the café, and made Red tense up.

wait … what’s today?

He pulled out his phone to check and groaned.

Every other week the skeletons had a standing get together at The Parlor. Usually at least a couple of them would show.

Red had it marked on his calendar, he just hadn’t thought to look at it before he texted Sans.

He was a fucking moron.

Fuck.

He wondered if he could get away with not responding. If somehow Blue would think he had the wrong skeleton.

… right, like there’s more’n one of me.

Red turned toward Blue’s voice, plastering a smile on his face and bracing himself for who might be there.

Mutt and Stretch were looking between him and Sans. Stretch’s expression was openly curious, like he had found a particularly interesting shiny thing that he couldn’t wait to take apart.

Mutt, on the other hand, had a grin that was wide and sharp. It was a grin that Red knew all too well. He was in for a whole mountain of bullshit from that one.

Black had his skull in a ledger, coffee cup abandoned on the table in front of him. As usual he seemed to be working in his time off. Fucking workaholic.

Blue was standing and waving, excited and bright as always. He didn’t seem to notice (or care) that he was bothering other patrons with his antics.

And Papyrus …

Papyrus wasn’t looking at Red at all. Hs eyelights were focused on Sans with an expression that set Red’s instincts screaming, although he wasn’t sure what they were saying.

Then he seemed to notice Red looking at him and the expression was gone. Replaced with a grin as wide as Blue’s, unthreatening and kind.

Red almost doubted he had seen the look Papyrus had shot Sans.

Almost.

“RED!” Papyrus called out, causing more customers to glare at the table of skeletons. Red could hear some of them muttering complaints to one another. A couple got up and left, taking their drinks with them. “COME JOIN US!”

A pit formed in his core.

Red wanted to accept the invitation, but something about Papyrus was making him uneasy. He trusted his instincts, especially when he couldn’t figure out why they were freaking the fuck out.

He also didn’t want to abandon Sans. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t rude.

“go talk to them,” Sans said, so quiet the words were almost lost to the background murmur of the café.

Red spun on him, his full attention on the other in an instant.

Sans’ eyelight flickered at Red before returning to the menu boards that he was staring at, unblinking. “i can order if ya … if you tell me what you want. i actually got the g this time.”

Red stared at Sans, his mind a jumble as misfitting pieces of a puzzle started to resolve themselves, just a little.

“i ain’t ditchin’ ya,” Red growled. “if it got back t’ the boss i wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

Sans was still in his casual, lazy slouch – but it was no longer casual or lazy. Red hadn’t noticed before but Sans was … tense.

A wire, ready to snap with just a little more pressure.

Scared.

The line moved and Sans took a measured step forward with it, leaving Red a step behind him. He tipped his head back, looking at Red out of the corner of an eye socket.

“it’s not ditching if I tell ya-“ he flinched, changing the word partway through, “-ou … you to do it.”

His grin was too wide. Too tight at the edges.

“if you don’t you’ll spend the entire time glancing over at them like a schoolgirl with a crush. just go.”

“i ain’- !“ Red began. His words were cut off with the pop of displaced air that came with shortcuts. A heavy weight rested on his shoulders, nearly knocking him over.

“heya Red,” Mutt said in a lazy drawl, his eyelights fixed on Sans. “gonna introduce me t’ yer date?”

“git offa me!” Red snarled in response, shoving the other away. Red glared up at Mutt as he snarled, “ya already know sans, asshole.”

“weird,” Mutt said as he continued to leer at Sans, who had his back carefully to Red and the interloper. Red could see his head was cocked just a little, listening to their conversation. “i thought that was sans. i take it yer little ‘date’ went well, then?”

Red flinched at the barely concealed mockery in Mutt’s voice, tensing for half a soulbeat. He dug his wallet from his pocket and shoved it toward Sans.

“mocha. small. double chocolate. get it t’go.”

“sure,” Sans agreed with a nod. The tattered trifold disappearing into his own hoodie pocket.

Red grabbed the ring of Mutt’s collar to drag him back to the table with the others.

He’d almost figured out the damned, infuriating puzzle that was Sans.

He wasn’t about to let Mutt fuck it up.

—Sans—

Sans watched Red drag Mutt away with a half-hearted smile. His soul clenched with desperate want, and he turned away before he could meet anyone’s eyelights.

They were staring at him. He could feel it.

He clenched his fists in his hoodie pockets, fighting the urge to scratch at the back of his neck. Trying to ignore the way his bones prickled uncomfortably with shame and fear.

He repeated Red’s order to himself softly, a mantra. He didn’t want to mess it up.

“small mocha, double chocolate, to go.”

Today had been enough of a disaster.

Sans should have never agreed to come out when he still had a visible bruise. Red had been tense since seeing it, even when he changed the subject. He kept glancing at the back of Sans’ hoodie, as if he could see the injury through the fabric.

Of course, Sans’ slip (heh) up of an explanation hadn’t helped.

His only excuse was being exhausted. Papyrus hadn’t let up on him after their fight, waking him early every day and sending him out to find a job.

(at least he was sleeping deeply enough that he didn’t have nightmares.)

He wasn’t getting enough sleep. He’d fallen back to his old go-to explanation: a smile and a pun about ice and slippers. He hadn’t updated it since they’d left the Underground.

He hadn’t needed to.

(had it really been that long since someone cared enough to ask?)

“small mocha, double chocolate, to go.”

Sans allowed himself a glance at the table, watching as Red talked with the others. He looked serious, and Sans wondered what they were talking about.

Red shifted and Sans saw a hint of the red of Pap’s scarf. He looked away, focusing on the menu board, hoping he hadn’t been caught staring.

Papyrus.

He wasn’t going to be happy that Sans was out with Red. Again.

He was supposed to be finding a job.

(a job Sans was increasingly thinking he wasn’t going to find.)

“small mocha, double chocolate, to go.”

A solitary night job was one thing. Finding a solitary day job was futile. The few places that had even bothered to call him back hadn’t had positions open that were away from … people. Cashiering and waitstaff jobs were plentiful. Jobs that limited his outside contact were few.

He hadn’t even bothered mentioning the callbacks to Papyrus.

(why bother when he’d … )

“small mocha, double chocolate, to go.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket, counting out the G for two drinks so he wasn’t doing it at the counter. He left Red’s wallet where it was. He had been saving up, wanting to repay Red for his generosity.

He was able to pay.

He wanted to.

“Hello! Welcome to The Parlor,” the girl behind the register said. A cat monster, pale fur and (appropriately) a Cheshire grin. “What can I get you?”

“Uh … ” Sans stuttered as he forgot how to talk for a moment. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Two small mochas. Double chocolate. To go. Please.”

“Certainly!” Cheshire smiled. She grabbed two small cups and a pen. “And your name?”

The girl misheard, or he mumbled too much, a mistake Sans only caught when he watched her hand the cups to a coworker.

SANDS

He chuckled, knowing there was some rite of passage to having a barista spell your name wrong. He wandered over to the pickup window, trying to think of a good pun or joke to use with it.

He wondered if he could make Red laugh.

—Red—

Halfway back to the table, Red lost his nerve. He let go of Mutt’s collar and approached the table with a small wave.

His off hand was clenched tightly deep in his pocket.

“didn’t expect t’ see yeh all here,” he said. He grunted as Mutt leaned on him again, arms crossed over his head. He shoved at the taller skeleton, but Mutt seemed determined to annoy him.

“WE DID NOT EXPECT TO SEE YOU, EITHER!” Blue said with a frown. “YOU HAVEN’T BEEN AROUND MUCH.”

“yeah,” Stretch agreed. He leaned back, balancing precariously as he sipped on his coffee. “when was the last poker night? must’ve been at least a month ago. feels like it’s been more’n that.”

Papyrus was looking toward the registers, expression and demeanor neutral.

“been busy,” Red said with a shrug, desperately hoping no one asked for particulars.

“SO HAS EDGE,” Blue said as his frown deepened. He pointed accusingly at his alternate, who hadn’t stopped looking through the ledger in front of him. “YOU’RE STARTING TO BE AS BAD AS BLACK!”

“IT IS BECOMING A PROBLEM,” Papyrus agreed as he focused back on the conversation, turning his frown to the coffee mug in front of him. “I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO DISCUSS PUZZLE TECHNIQUES IN AGES.”

“I COULD TALK TO YOU ABOUT PUZZLE DESIGN!” Blue argued, eyes bright, excited by the idea.

“AND IF I WANT TO TALK ABOUT PUZZLES THAT CAN BE SOLVED WITH WIT ALONE, I WILL TALK TO YOU IMMEDIATELY,” Papyrus said with a bright smile.

Pride soothed, Blue returned the smile. He jumped when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

“OH! STARS,” he said as he pulled it out to silence it. “I HADN’T REALIZED HOW LATE IT WAS. PAPYRUS? STRETCH? WE SHOULD GET READY TO GO. THE MOVIE IS STARTING SOON!”

“THEN WE SHOULD LEAVE POSTHASTE!” Papyrus said, standing and pulling a thick coat around his shoulders.

“WE CAN AT LEAST SAY OUR ‘GOODBYES,’ PAPYRUS,” Blue said with a laugh. “WE’RE NOT GOING TO MISS ANYTHING.”

“TO BE GREAT ONE MUST ALWAYS ARRIVE AT LEAST FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLY. NOT A MOMENT SOONER, NOR LATER!” Papyrus secured his scarf with a flourish.

Blue frowned, glancing toward the registers.

“PAPYRUS, ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO SAY ‘HI’ TO SA – “

“STRETCH! THE CINEMA ON FOURTH STREET, IF YOU WOULD?” Papyrus said sharply, making everyone jump. He blushed, bowing his head. “I’M SORRY. I DO NOT WISH TO MISS THE PREVIEWS.”

“don’t worry about it,” Stretch said as he patted Papyrus’ shoulder. He raised his hand in a wave. “see ya later, red. mutt.” He gave the latter a fist bump. Then he waved a hand in front of Black’s face before saying, “black.”

Before he could respond, Stretch had vanished with Blue and Papyrus.

Black scowled at the empty spot they left, the expression quickly deepening with rage.

“THEY DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO CLEAN UP AFTER THEMSELVES!”

Mutt laughed as he wandered around to take a seat next to his brother.

“they were runnin’ late for their show, bro. it’s not like you’ve never left a mess before. remember at … was it breadbasket?”

“HOW WAS I TO KNOW?!” Black responded, defensive and sharp. He hid behind his ledger, only succeeding in making Mutt laugh harder. “THE HUMAN WAITSTAFF HAD BUSSED TABLES NEAR US! I THOUGHT IT WAS PART OF THE OFFERED SERVICES!”

“nowhere that has ya self-serve drinks is gonna bus your tables for you, bro,” Mutt said as his chuckles died down. He wiped at an eye socket with his sleeve.

Red glanced around, checking to see how annoyed the other patrons of the café were at the table’s antics.

He didn’t particularly want to get banned from The Parlor because of the Swapfells.

Sans was leaning against the pick up counter, staring at the floor.

“so, red,” Mutt asked in a low drawl. He was circling the rim of his mug with a finger, leaning lazily on his other hand. His teeth were pulled up in a calculating grin. “whatcha doin’ with sansy?”

“gettin’ coffee,” Red shrugged, “same as you.”

“huh,” Mutt said, sitting up straighter. “i thought yer little ‘date’ happened a month ago?” he frowned. “i didn’t think you’d keep leadin’ him on like this. seems a bit cruel, doncha think?”

“i ain’t leadin’ him nowhere,” Red said, dismissing the accusation.

Mutt looked up, meeting Red’s eyelights. There was a glimmer of something predatory in his eye.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings for him!”

Red glanced behind him, checking that Sans wasn’t coming up to the table. He didn’t want to get caught in some liar-revealed sitcom trope.

Sans was where he’d been the last time Red had checked. Staring at the floor and waiting on their drinks.

“there’s somethin’ weird about him,” Red said as he turned back toward the other two. “i’m tryin’ t’ figure out what it is.”

Mutt frowned, and Black looked up with a raised brow.

“what’s there t’ figure out?” Mutt scoffed with a roll of his eyelights. “papyrus doesn’t like him. pa-py-rus. he likes everyone!”

Red shrugged, unable to do more. He didn’t have time to detail out all the inconsistencies between expectation and reality.

He wasn’t sure how to explain that Sans … didn’t seem to be a bad guy.

That Papyrus might be … wrong.

“there’s somethin’ weird,” Red said, shrugging again as he turned away, waving at the Swapfell brothers over his shoulder. “and i’m gonna figure out what.”

—Sans—

He hadn’t meant to come home late.

Sans had been forced to stop working his hot dog cart by the arrival of winter. As the first snows melted to slush people stopped going outdoors during the day, and it wasn’t profitable enough for the company to continue running his stand.

He’d secretly been grateful. He could use the extra time to catch up on sleep.

He was selfish.

Less than a week later Papyrus was in a panic about the decrease in household income. Sans had tried to tell him it was okay, they’d figure it out, but that had only drawn his brother’s ire.

Lazy.

They had talked about it a few times, and Sans had been looking around for another job as he could, but he hadn’t found anything yet. It was after the holidays, all of the seasonal work had dried up.

Papyrus had finally lost his patience.

He had dragged Sans out of bed early, barely giving him enough time to get dressed before locking him out.

“COME BACK WHEN YOU’VE FOUND A NEW JOB.”

Sans had been all over the city, filling out applications and hoping to hear back from someone.

Anyone.

He’d been busy.

He lost track of time.

Excuses.

He hadn’t meant to come home late.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

Sans kicked off his shoes in the entryway.

“i was lookin’ – looking for a new job, pap,” he explained softly.

Papyrus huffed, stepping in front of Sans to prevent him from getting further into the apartment.

Frustrated and tired, Sans glared up at his brother, only to see the orange tears in the corners of his eye sockets.

Guilt strangled his Soul.

He was such a shitty brother.

He was supposed to be back ten minutes ago. Papyrus must have been worried sick.

After all, with his low hp …

It wouldn’t take much.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL?”

Sans flinched as Papyrus’ voice broke on the last word, looking away.

There was a small pile of dust in the corner.

Strange, for how fastidious Pap was with the cleaning.

Sans closed his eye sockets with a soft sigh.

He didn’t have a good excuse. There was nothing he could say to explain this away. There was only the truth.

Papyrus would not like the truth.

“didn’t have my phone.”

Papyrus had always been fast. Agile. Even as a babybones he had been able to match Sans.

The only reason Sans could beat him was because he had better reaction time.

But between a couple hours of sleep and a day walking the city, he was slow.

Bright stars bloomed in his vision as his head hit the wall with a loud crack.

Far too slow.

Sans would have fallen as his senses came back, had Papyrus not been holding him up by one arm.

“BROTHER.”

His voice was calm, gentle, almost sweet, at odds with the way his hand tightened around Sans’ humerus.

“YOU KNOW YOU’RE TO HAVE YOUR PHONE WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES.”

Sans shrank away from Papyrus’ stern glare, wincing as his grip became painful.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU HAVE IT?”

“i-i-“ Papyrus’ grip tightened at Sans’ stuttering, cutting him off. He clenched his teeth, trying to breathe through the pain.

He couldn’t think of a way to deescalate the situation, and anything he said could set Papyrus off.

He closed his eyes, praying for a miracle. 

“i … ” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. The dry click was deafening to his ears.

He took a deep breath, trying again.

“… i left it.”

Papyrus’ eyesockets darkened, and his grip on Sans’ arm tightened enough that Sans worried he’d crack the bone.

He fought the whimper that threatened, a lump in his throat.

“WHY.”

Sans struggled with himself. His instincts telling him to fight back, to run, warring with the knowledge that he needed to not struggle.

Struggling would make it worse.

Papyrus’ had flexed.

“i forgot it,” Sans yelped. He looked frantically down the hallway, toward his room. “i was in a rush this morning!”

Orange flushed across Papyrus’ cheekbones as he realized what Sans meant.

As he remembered rushing his brother out of the apartment, not giving him enough time to get everything.

“OH!” He dropped Sans, covering his mouth with both hands. “OH DEAR.”

Sans shuffled back a step, inching his way down the hall.

“WELL!” Papyrus said after a moment. “I SUPPOSE THAT WAS PARTIALLY MY FAULT. … WELL … NO MATTER! THE PAST IS IN THE PAST AND TO BE GREAT WE MUST LOOK FORWARD TO THE FUTURE!” Papyrus flashed a bright smile down at Sans, the entire incident forgiven and forgotten. Sans returned the smile, smaller and with caution.

“WITH THE FUTURE IN MIND … WERE YOU ABLE TO FIND WORK, SANS?”

Sans shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away from Papyrus, unable to meet his brother’s eyelights.

“not yet,” he was ashamed to admit. “i applied everywhere i could. even talked to the company that owns the hot dog stand. they sell hot cocoa for the holidays.”

Papyrus sighed, rubbing at his nasal bone in frustration.

“THAT’S ALRIGHT, BROTHER. MY EXPECTATIONS WERE OBVIOUSLY TOO HIGH! I WAS HOLDING YOU TO MY OWN GREAT STANDARDS!” he laughed loudly, hands on his hips. “I NEVER SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED A LAZYBONES LIKE YOU TO FIND GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT IN A SINGLE DAY!”

Sans forced his smile wider, winking and pointing finger guns at Papyrus.

“got me there, bro. i’ll never be as cool as you.”

“EXACTLY! WE CANNOT ALL ACHIEVE THE SAME GREATNESS OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS! NYEH HEH HEH HEH!”

Sans grinned at his brother, glad Papyrus had forgiven him so easily. For forgetting his phone, for coming home late, for not finding a job …

Paps was so cool.

“GO WASH UP FOR DINNER, SANS,” Papyrus said before heading into the kitchen. He opened the oven door and Sans was assaulted by the acrid smell of something burning. “IT’S NEARLY READY!”

“you got it, pap.”

It had been nearly two weeks since he and Red had exchanged numbers.

He had told Papyrus when he got home.

“WAIT FOR HIM TO TEXT FIRST,” Papyrus had suggested. “YOU DON’T WANT TO SEEM PATHETIC AND EAGER, AND I DON’T WANT YOU BOTHERING MY FRIENDS.”

Sans had waited.

And waited.

And  w a  i   t    e     d .

He had held onto his fraying hope, patiently waiting for a call or a text. For something, some communication from Red.

Sans stared at his phone, lying on the mattress next to him.

By the end of the first week, Sans would’ve accepted a carrier pigeon.

But Red didn’t call. He didn’t text.

He didn’t send any pigeons.

Then, over their dinner of burnt mystery casserole, Papyrus had made a gentle suggestion.

“MAYBE RED WAS JUST BEING … NICE?”

And Sans felt the hope in his Soul fade under the weight of doubt and anxiety. He had explained his concern to Papyrus, but the other hadn’t had many words of comfort to share.

He flipped his phone open, saw no new messages, and closed it again.

He must have annoyed Red at the museum somehow.

But there were too many things to apologize for. He had done so many things wrong.

He’d talked too much, too obsessed with astronomy.

He’d focused on his own interests, not even asking Red what he wanted to do. 

He had taken advantage, letting Red get him a ticket to the planetarium.

He was an idiot.

Sans frowned, as he opened his phone again, navigating to the text Red had sent him.

Red had traded numbers after all of that. 

Why would he do that if he hadn’t meant it?

“text if ya wanna hang out.”

Why would he have said that if he hadn’t meant it.

“HE WAS PROBABLY AFRAID OF MAKING YOU ANGRY.”

Sans sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at his dark ceiling.

He wished he was brave enough to demand answers from Red.

The first outing could have been a prank, something Sans had accepted. Papyrus had warned him that Red’s sense of humor could be mean.

But …

There was no reason for him to ask again.

No reason to invite Sans to the museum.

If that had been part of the same prank …

… Red wasn’t that cruel.

Right?

Was Sans really so horrible that Red had decided to torment him?

“HE DOES JOKE ABOUT HIS STANDARDS BEING LOW, BUT … “

Sans sat up, playing with his phone idly as he thought.

Whether it was a prank or not didn’t matter. Maybe Red had been interested in getting to know him better after the coffee thing went well.

Well … he got what he asked for.

It was obvious when Sans thought about it. Red had just been too … nice to tell Sans that he wasn’t interested anymore.

Too nice to tell Sans the truth.

(To tell him that he was a  stupid, worthless, lazy trash bag)

“… NOBODY HAS STANDARDS THAT LOW.”

Red had been trying to have a good time. Sans had ruined it by being ungrateful and selfish.

Once he’d gotten home, after giving Sans his number, Red would have had time to think out the day. He would have realized how shitty Sans had been. Maybe he had talked to Edge.

Maybe he’d talked to Papyrus. It would explain why he’d brought it up at dinner.

Maybe he didn’t tell anyone, ashamed to have even given Sans a chance.

Sans had been self-interested, self-centered, only caring about his own enjoyment.

He hadn’t even asked Red if he wanted to see anything else in the museum.

Sans resisted the urge to hurl his phone into the trash tornado, instead shoving it into his pocket. He didn’t need to break it further, it was already near-unusable.

It didn’t really matter. Nothing did.

The outcome had been decided and nothing could change it.

Red didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

He sighed, slumping against the wall.

Red probably regretted his decision to exchange numbers as soon as he sent a text to himself. Too late to take back.

He probably hoped Sans wouldn’t contact him.

Sans didn’t want to be annoying.

With a groan he rubbed at his eye sockets with the heels of his hands and focused on his breathing. Trying to calm down.

He didn’t want Papyrus to see he was upset. Didn’t want to bring his brother’s mood down like he always did.

If Papyrus was right – and he rarely wasn’t – then Red would text. If (when) he didn’t it was because he had more important things to do than entertain someone like Sans.

In all likelihood, he did have better things to do than talk to Sans.

In the end, Sans’ best option was to do … nothing.

Fortunately, that was the one thing he was good at.