Part One: Trust
Sans looked between the paper in his hand and his human “owner” as she rushed down the hallway. He couldn’t believe that this wasn’t some sort of cruel prank.
With every step he expected her to stop, turn around, order him to come with her.
To take away the small taste of freedom she had given him.
She would come up with some excuse to justify it. Explain everything away like she had done this morning.
“I can’t trust you here alone.”
She wasn’t done playing around with him.
“It’s too much of a risk.”
She wouldn’t let him out of her control.
“I’ll lose my lease.”
She was going to change her mind.
She didn’t.
He pulled the apartment door closed as Terra reached the stairwell. The soft click of the bolt sliding home resounded in his skull with finality.
She had actually left him alone.
Sans let out a nervous chuckle as he leaned against the door, overwhelmed by emotion. He was shaking, his bones rattling against one another.
Relief.
Skepticism.
Hope.
The skeletal monster couldn’t remember the last time he had been left alone like this. No orders or commands to keep him busy while his “owner” was away.
It was just him. His own choices.
It was almost like freedom.
He turned, leaning back against the door as he slid to the floor. A wave of nervous exhaustion rolled over him, and he found he couldn’t stop laughing.
Hysterical. He was having a mental breakdown from someone showing him kindness.
It had been so long since he had been able to make choices. Real choices. He’d gone years without agency, unable to choose how to fulfill even his most basic needs.
Years of being told when to eat, what to eat. When to sleep, how long to sleep. What to wear.
Every action compelled and regimented, regardless of his feelings.
The paper crinkled in his hand, and the reminder of it made the edges of his smile drop.
This was what he was getting excited over? Being allowed to stay home?
With a growl Sans shoved himself to his feet, clenching the paper in his fist. He kicked off his shoes as he looked around the common areas of the apartment. Trying to decide what to do with his now-empty schedule.
There wasn’t much he could do.
With a sigh he walked to the counter to put down the paper the human had given him, trying to flatten ou the creases. He felt out of place in the empty apartment.
Like some sort of intruder.
The longest he had been in one place had been six months.
(How much longer would he be here?)
Sans shook his head, clearing the thoughts as best he could.
I should take advantage of what I’ve got.
He shrugged out of his filthy hoodie. He hadn’t wanted to take it off with Theresa around, where she could take it.
He had to protect it.
It was all he had left from before everything went wrong.
Before the Act had passed, before the Barrier broke, before the Resets.
Sans opened the door to the washing machine and threw in a detergent pod. He was grateful Theresa spent more for them. It was easier than trying to measure out the liquid. Less likely he would mess it up and flood the apartment with bubbles.
As the cycle started and the tub began to fill, Sans rubbed the fabric of one of the pockets between his fingers.
The red knit, so different from the blue of his hoodie, worn and needing mending.
He couldn’t bring himself to change anything about it, to fix the stitches, reinforce the material.
Not when Papyrus was still out there somewhere.
Not when this was all he had of his brother.
Sans gave a silent prayer to gods he didn’t know, didn’t believe in.
Please let Papyrus be safe.
Sans dropped his hoodie into the washer and closed the lid. The bang as it fell into place a wordless amen.
Sans had explored the apartment while the human slept. Learning the layout, trying to understand the strange girl who owned him.
Trying to figure out what kind of person she was from her belongings was impossible. Like trying to see the rings of Saturn without a telescope.
Any decoration was impersonal and unremarkable. The furniture bland and utilitarian. Functional, but lifeless.
Except every available window sill held at least one houseplant. Succulents, mostly, if Sans had correctly identified them. Easy to care for, especially when she wasn’t home often. In the kitchen, under a bright light, was an herb planter.
Sometimes when Sans walked near the sink he could smell the fragrances.
Rosemary, basil, thyme, oregano.
The scent made him homesick.
He avoided the kitchen as much as he could.
More shocking than the plants was the dusty, disused bedroom-turned-office.
When Terra had pointed out the office that first night, Sans had expected a closet with a table or desk.
He had not expected the largest bedroom in the apartment. A desk in the corner and walls lined with overstuffed bookshelves.
The organization was a mess. Cookbooks were next to sociological treatises and memoirs. A handful of well-loved children’s classics were scattered about. Secondhand math and science textbooks shelved next to romance novels and comic books. Encyclopedias and reference materials shared space with poetry and mysteries.
There were even a handful of textbooks on monster history and society.
Most of the books were fantasy or science fiction.
Sans had already read a couple of the books. Dog-eared paperbacks that he knew wouldn’t show more damage if he happened to open them too wide.
He read them at night, when he didn’t sleep.
Couldn’t sleep.
The skeleton didn’t know or care if he was allowed, but the human had told him to make himself at home.
The worst she would do was kick him out.
So he read novels when he couldn’t sleep and she didn’t know.
But now he had a chance that he hadn’t had before.
He had explored every inch of the house. Opened every cupboard. Rifled through every drawer. Read through all the papers on the dining room table. Chasing a reason to distrust the human, looking for any hint toward her motives.
He had searched everywhere, explored everything. Only to come up with more questions than answers.
Everything, except for one room.
Hers.
Sans sighed and looked at the key in his hand, debating with himself.
Why was she keeping him around?
What did she want from him?
Would he regret trusting her?
(How would she betray him?)
Sans slid the key into the lock, turning the mechanism.
He shouldn’t be doing this.
It was a stupid risk, one that he wouldn’t forgive if their positions were switched.
(They would never be, he would never own a slave.)
The human hadn’t given him the key to her bedroom for this. She had given him the keys to the apartment so that he could lock up when he went to Grillby’s.
Solar’s.
The fact that the key to her bedroom was on the same ring was happenstance. Chance.
He shouldn’t be doing this.
(He had only given Frisk the key to his room when he could trust them. They’d had to prove themself, first.)
Terra had trusted him enough to leave him alone in her home. He was about to invade her privacy, spitting on that trust.
But who locks their door unless they have something to hide?
He turned the knob, feeling the door unlatch.
He couldn’t figure her out.
Theresa was different from every other “owner” he’d had. He had been able to read them, figure out what they wanted. When he couldn’t, they let him know.
Labor. Entertainment. Protection.
Information. Company.
Satisfaction.
“Love.”
It had been horrible.
It had been easy.
Clear expectations, clear boundaries.
Two options: “Do what I say, or suffer.“
Theresa was different.
He didn’t understand her.
It had been one surprise after another.
She swung from one extreme to the next like a pendulum. She never slowed long enough for Sans to get his feet under him.
First she stepped in to defend him, getting herself hurt in the process.
Then she dragged him around the city from job to job. Expecting he’d follow like a well-trained dog.
(What other choice did he have?)
Then she asked him for his input on decisions, like she cared.
Like his opinions mattered.
Was it all an act? Was she toying with him?
Lulling him into a false sense of security before she tore everything away from him?
(Again.)
He was waiting for the punchline of this cruel, unending joke.
He shouldn’t be doing this.
(He didn’t have a choice.)
Sans pushed the door open and entered the human’s room.
Sans hadn’t expected to find much, but he had expected more than this.
Theresa had chosen the smallest room for her own. A glorified closet, barely large enough to fit the few pieces of furniture she had. He wasn’t sure there was even enough room for a trash tornado – self sustaining or otherwise.
Although it was cluttered enough for one.
Her bed was a single step up from a mattress on the floor. A basic metal box frame held a worn-looking mattress. The fitted sheet, threadbare and thin, was coming off of one corner. A tangle of blankets cascaded to the floor. A flattened pillow, disappearing into the darkness under the bed.
Beside the bed a beat-up nightstand held a lamp with a torn shade and a digital alarm clock.
Above the bed was his first point of interest. A cork board that held the most personality Sans had seen from the human woman.
There was a photograph of her sister and her family, all wearing funny hats and grinning in front of a castle. Another of Theresa at a protest or rally, fist raised in defiance and face contorted in an angry shout. Hidden under other things was a strip of four photos, cheap and colored with age. A much younger Terra and a blond haired male human who, for all his differences, was obviously her sibling. They looked like twins, one dark, one fair.
In the first picture they smiled, side by side.
In the last they had their hands in out, pushing each other away, faces caught in hysterical laughter.
Sans hadn’t realized Theresa could look so happy.
Notes written on scraps of paper and post it notes covered the board. They all bore words of encouragement and love. A “Get Well Soon” card, covered in pinpricks and it’s edges soft and fuzzy, was the background for the middle of the board.
A small, simple drawing of two stick figures standing side-by-side under a large sun. ME AND AUNT T written in a childish scrawl that took up most of the paper.
Warm bright things, sparks of happiness in her life.
Sans frowned as he looked through the board.
She had told him she had four siblings. There was only evidence of two.
There were no portraits of parents or the other two brothers.
No candid photographs of friends.
Sans pulled away from the board, turning his attention to the small dresser. Smaller than the one she had chosen at the thrift store for him. It was pushed against the far wall, and wasn’t used much if the clothes on her floor were any sign. Most were shoved against the closet door, effectively blocking it.
Aside from a wooden box the top of the dresser was clear of anything but household dust. Sans ran his fingertips over the delicate image carved into the lid. A bird in flight, intricately carved and detailed in blue, green, and red. He opened it, finding jewelry that he had never seen. He was surprised she had any to begin with, she hadn’t seemed the type.
Beneath the assortment of rings and chains was a knife, the sight of which almost caused Sans to drop the box.
It was more heavy-duty than a normal pocket knife, and looked cared for. Sharp. One of the humans he had worked for had owned something similar, had called it a “tactical blade.”
Sans hadn’t cared much.
(Until that human had pulled the knife on him.)
He debated removing the knife, hiding it somewhere else in the apartment.
Instead he closed the box and replaced it on the top of the dresser.
Her dresser held the same nondescript clothes he had seen her wear every day for the last week. Blacks and greys, plain and uninteresting.
Her closet held boxes of memorabilia that he didn’t investigate further. He didn’t the he could learn much from high school yearbooks and old essays.
He opened the blackout curtains over the window, taking in the view. The same as the one from the balcony in his room. A car park with a clear view of her car, dingy buildings of brick and glass.
More plants.
Hanging from the upper trim of the window was some kind of fern or grass, striped green and white. He knew it was a common houseplant, had seen it before.
He couldn’t remember its name.
On the sill were two pots. A poorly painted clay pot with an unknown sprout. It looked healthy but was unidentifiable.
He suspected the pot had more meaning than whatever was growing in it.
And … an orchid.
A strange plant for someone who had as little spare time as Theresa. Orchids were finicky, tricky to keep alive and difficult to coax into blooming.
Perhaps that was why this one had no blooms. It was only green leaves, the flower stalk dead and yellowed.
Part Two: Judge
A tension Sans hadn’t realized he was carrying melted away as he left the room and locked the door behind him.
He still didn’t understand the human.
(He still wasn’t safe.)
At least she wouldn’t come home and find him literally betraying her trust. She’d never know he was in her room.
He sighed as he dropped her keys in her bag, looking at the paper he had left on the counter.
He didn’t want to go to Grillby’s – Solar’s– until his hoodie was clean and dry, but he was at a loss of what else to do.
He could sort his new clothes to wash them, but … that sounded like a lot of work. He had decided on just throwing everything into the washer together. Two loads, if there was too much for one.
Terra’s laptop was in her bag, and Sans took it over tot he coffee table. But once he opened it, he had no idea what to do next.
It wasn’t like there was anyone updating their status on the Undernet anymore.
He could look up his friends’ statuses on the registration site, but he already knew what he would find.
They were all missing, dead, or missing and presumed dead.
Except for Papyrus.
He checked his brother’s registration page.
Alive.
No other information. Nothing about where he might be, what sort of work he might be doing. Just that one word. The only thing he had to cling to.
Alive.
Sans closed the laptop with a sigh.
The paperback he had been reading this morning was still on the coffee table, but he couldn’t get back into the story. He reread the same page three times before putting it back in annoyance.
Irritated annoyance drifted to calm boredom, and Sans shrugged and moved to lay down. Best to do what he did best.
Nothing.
As soon as he got comfortable the washing machine beeped, signaling the end of its cycle. Sans forced himself up and moved his hoodie to the dryer. He took halfhearted notes on new spots that needed patching (if he could get the materials).
He went to the room he had claimed returning with the paper bags of clothes. He began dropping in shirts and pants one at a time as he removed the tags.
He was a little more than halfway through when he ran out of washer space.
“Two loads it is,” he muttered as he dropped in the detergent and closed the lid to start the cycle.
He teleported to the couch to renew his contemplation on how to spend the evening. First reconsidering and rejecting the idea of napping.
He remembered Terra saying something about streaming services, and turned on the TV.
Maybe he could find something to watch.
Sans was startled from his half-sleep by a knock on the door and the jingle of keys in the lock.
His first thought was to relax, the human was home.
His second thought was panic.
The human wouldn’t have knocked on the door if she had her keys. It was her door.
The human didn’t have her keys. Sans did.
Who else had keys to the apartment?
The skeleton summoned his magic, feeling it surround him, unformed but ready.
He didn’t know what to do. He debated between teleporting deeper into the apartment or to Grillby’s. Uncertain which would be better.
He wasn’t near the hall pass, so would going to Grillby’s be dangerous?
The door opened.
“Hello?” a familiar voice called out, and Sans released his magic with a grateful sigh.
“She’s not here,” he called from his spot on the couch, willing his soul to calm. “Abigail, right?”
The human’s giant of a sister entered the apartment with a bright smile, her arms loaded with canvas bags.
“Please, it’s ‘Abby,’ ” she said with a laugh. “Hello again, Sans.”
Sans picked the paperback up off of the floor as he nodded in acknowledgement. He must have knocked it off of the coffee table when he jumped.
Abby was immediately at home in the kitchen, even more than Terra. She flitted about, unloading canvas bags and filling the near-empty fridge.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said as she worked. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here. I just stopped by to drop off some leftovers, for you and my sister.”
Sans shrugged as he picked up the controller to continue, trying to find something to watch.
He felt exposed without his hoodie, and he resisted the urge to rub at the visible parts of his humeri. To pull his shirt sleeves further down.
He felt uncomfortably like he was on display. Almost as bad as if he were wearing nothing at all.
He hoped when she glanced up she wouldn’t see the tension in his features and posture.
“S’fine,” he said, his voice carefully casual. “Didn’t know you had a key.”
Abby hummed an acknowledgement and waved a hand at the living space. “This was my apartment. Or … it was Xander’s. Theresa took over the lease when we moved out. I still have a key, in case of emergency.”
The feeling of not belonging, of being an invading stranger, weighed on Sans as she spoke.
Along with an ache of loss.
He didn’t belong here.
He belonged in his house in Snowdin, with Papyrus. Annoying his little brother with bad jokes and misplaced socks. Eating greasy food and illegal hot dog stands.
He swallowed down the feeling of homesick nostalgia, reprimanding himself.
There was no ‘going back.’
There were no more Resets.
Never would be again.
He could only move forward.
He compared the two sisters as he watched Abby work.
Terra was small and dark and confusing as hell. She was … exhausted. But she never stopped. Always on the move, succumbing to sleep with a grudging acceptance.
It would be admirable if it wasn’t so concerning.
Her soul held a deep, twisted rage. Primal and violent.
Spite.
It consumed her.
It frightened him. A reminder of nightmares he wanted to forget. Lives he wanted to forget.
Made him worry when that darkness would turn on him.
He didn’t understand her. She was indecipherable, inscrutable.
A puzzle.
His thoughts turned to Abby. Big and bright and shining like a star. Warm and open, radiating optimism like a goddamn sun. Confident that everything would work out, that she could set it all right.
If the way she treated her little sister was any indication, she was soft hearted, eager to help.
But … there was something off. Something wrong.
Sans didn’t trust her.
(She was both too much and not enough like Papyrus. A funhouse mirror version, twisted and uncanny.)
Abby closed the refrigerator door and turned to show Sans a covered plate.
“I brought enough leftovers to last a few days, but I also made up a couple plates for you and Terra,” she said. “If you want it, I mean. I put a bit of everything on this one, so you can figure out what you enjoy.”
Sans tilted his head at the woman, appraising her.
Judging her.
Sans hadn’t asked for the Judge. The gift and the curse that let him weigh the SOULS in front of him. The voice in his head that didn’t let him form his own opinions.
He couldn’t deny it hadn’t come in handy since coming to the surface.
Abby’s soul shined from the center of her being. Bright, gleaming gold. Justice.
A trait Sans was intimately familiar with.
But deep within the gold was something darker. Violent and angry.
Vengeance.
Sans wondered what had occurred to cause the corruption. What twisted her reason to the extreme of revenge.
He noted the similarities between the sisters’ Souls. The same darkness, although Terra’s ran deeper.
He wondered if they shared a source.
“Thanks,” he said with a shrug, collapsing back into the couch. “Means I don’t have to go out.”
The woman snorted, somehow sounding dignified. “I’ll leave it here for you. Mister Lazybones.”
Sans felt some of the tension go out of his smile, becoming more sincere with the teasing.
He wondered, if things were different …
Would he trust this human?
“Where were you planning to go?” Abby asked. “I can go get something for you if you want. My cooking is pretty good, but even I can’t compete with everything.”
Sans waved a hand dismissively, “Nah. I was just gonna go to Grill-” he cut himself off with a curse, a years (decades, centuries) old habit difficult to break. “To Solar’s.”
The human’s smile wavered. Just a brief moment, a flinch of disgust before it was back to casual friendliness.
Sans almost didn’t notice it.
“You go there often? With Terra?”
Sans wouldn’t have heard the tension if he hadn’t been listening for it. Strain hardening the edges of her words.
“Most days I’ve been here,” he said with a nod and a shrug.
Abby rubbed at her temple with her hand, walking to the couch. She was saying something to herself that he couldn’t make out. Then she turned her attention back to him with a sigh. “Would you do me a favor?”
Sans hoped she didn’t notice him tense at the question. That like most humans she was unable to “read” skeleton body language.
“Depends on the favor,” Sans said, hoping his voice was casual. Shrugging, like he wasn’t panicking at a stupid phrase. “How much work it’ll be.”
The human chuckled again, her own tension draining away as she leaned against the island.
“Fair enough,” she said. “Nothing too difficult. Just … keep an eye on my sister when she’s at Solar’s? Especially if the owner, Apollo, is there as well?”
“Why? She seems to get along with him, except when he steals Grillby’s tips.” Sans said darkly. If the human didn’t realize what sort of person the asshole was, he wasn’t sure she could be helped.
“Apollo … can be a jerk.” Abby said with a sigh. She gave him a tired smile. “I’d feel better if she had someone looking out for her.”
Sans shrugged again, not answering. He wasn’t making any promises.
Not to a human.
Not to someone he might not (probably won’t) see again.
He might ask Grillby to keep an eye on Theresa next time he saw the flame elemental.
If he remembered.
Abby sighed, accepting his silence with a shrug of her own. She glanced at the television, where he was scrolling through a list of “Trending” shows.
He had apparently stopped on a sitcom about a pair of twins. It looked … boring.
“Glad to see someone is using that account besides my kids,” she said brightly. “Find anything good to watch?”
“Nothin’ has caught my eye,” Sans admitted.
Abby smiled and beckoned at the couch. “Mind if I join you? Maybe we can find something together.”
“Don’t y’have a family waiting’ for you at home?” Sans asked. He furrowed his brow at her even as he shifted over on the couch to give her some room.
Abby laughed brightly, almost musically.
“They’ll survive one night without me,” she said warmly. “It’s Xander’s turn to cook, which means takeout. Probably pizza. So I made my own dinner arrangements. James is out with friends and won’t be home until late, even though it’s a school night,” she said with a sigh. She shrugged as she flipped through the menus. “It’s what teenaged boys do, apparently. I can watch an episode or two. As long as I get home to read Chloe her bedtime story.”
Sure, they’ll survive one night. But you should hold ’em close while they’re here. Never know what might happen.
The thought was bitter and sharp, and he thought better than voicing it. He shrugged at her explanation and motioned for her to sit.
After a moment of scrolling through menu options Abby glanced at him.
“So, what are your favorite genres?”
Partway into the pilot episode the laundry chimed.
The show was a series, something Abby said he’d love when he told her he liked science fiction.
Trust me on this one.
So far she had been right.
She was already up, making them popcorn in the kitchen.
“Sounds like laundry’s done, want me to switch it over while I’m up?” the human offered.
Sans stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.
“I got it,” he said as he walked over to the laundry machine.
He almost couldn’t wait to throw his jacket over his arms. He barely repressed the impulse to hug it close to him now that it was back.
He moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer before beginning the slow fill for the other half of his clothes.
“Wait!” Abby said as he reached to turn on the machine, startling him.
He flinched, expecting anger or violence as he slowly turned to the human. He was ready to dodge if needed, but tried to look calm.
Abby was holding her hands up, like she was trying to tame a wild animal.
Look, I’m unarmed! I’m not going to harm you. You’re safe.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just … mom brain?” she winced. “That’s not quite right … you put new jeans in with everything else?”
She sounded uncertain, like she expected him to lash out.
Sans nodded, wordlessly staring at her.
“Some denim bleeds the first time it’s washed,” she said quickly. “They should be washed separately. Unless you want your clothes to look … dingy?”
Sans blinked and glanced at the clothes.
Both of the sisters were … confusing.
He pulled the pair of jeans out of the washer drum, dropping them on the door beside the washer.
When he turned around Abby was holding the bowls out to him and motioning to the couch with a wide smile on her face.
Like nothing happened.
Like it wasn’t a big deal.
She let him choose which bowl of popcorn he wanted.
She wasn’t angry when he chose the one with more.
Part Three: Deliberate
“They aren’t even gonna feed the one that was tortured?” Sans said as the credits rolled.
Abby shrugged as she stood to take the popcorn bowls to the kitchen.
“Space jellies seemed like they just wanted to get the eff out. Can you blame them?”
“No but … ” Sans frowned, unable to think of a response. “Why didn’t the humans study them?”
The woman hummed as she washed the bowls.
“Takes place in the far future,” she said, raising her voice over the sound of the water. “Not all of the crew is human.”
“Seems unrealistic,” Sans snorted. He tugged at the collar around his neck, suddenly aware of its weight and heat. How unnatural it felt.
Abby dried her hands and turned to Sans, leaning against the kitchen island. “It’s something for humans to strive for. The best of us. Aspirational.”
Sans snorted and paused the show, not wanting to watch another episode yet. He lay back with his paperback. Pretending to read.
Looking away from her.
She wouldn’t want to hear his opinions on “the best humanity had to offer.”
He could feel her eyes on him, judging her. So similar to how he had Judged her, but so different.
Even without magic, he felt her peer into his SOUL.
He tried not to think about what she saw.
“What is it like,” she asked after a moment. “Living with my sister?”
Sans tipped his head back, meeting the human’s eye.
It wasn’t a question he had anticipated.
“Confusing,” he said with a shrug, honesty winning over tact.
Abby snorted as she pushed herself away from the island. She began folding canvas bags, cleaning up.
“Sounds right. She’s not very good at … interacting with other people.”
“Why is she – ” Sans began before he could think better of it, cutting himself off suddenly.
He wasn’t entirely certain how that question was going to end.
– like that?
– doing this?
– so strange?
Why is she – ?
“Keeping you around?” Abby supplied when he didn’t continue the question. “I’m sure you’ve noticed her … unease with how monsters are treated.”
Sans thought for a moment before nodding, sitting up to face the woman.
She sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.
“She was supposed to talk to you, but knowing her she forgot as soon as she started running late.”
Abby was quiet for a moment, lost in thought.
Sans considered defending Theresa, since she had spoken to him.
Abby continued before he could.
“My sister has always been … protective,” she said, sounding uncertain on the word. It was tolerable, but not quite correct. “She makes sure she never comes first.”
She paused, face contorted as she thought out what she wanted to say.
Her expression brightened and she rushed herself out of the kitchen and into the office.
“Hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.”
Curious, Sans got off the couch to follow. He leaned against the jamb, watching as Abby searched the bookshelves for whatever had sparked her interest.
It took her a while, the organizational system apparently having changed since the last time she had looked for a book, and she pulled it out with a gasp and a smile.
“Ah! Here it is.” She brought it over to him before motioning back to the living room. “I want to show you something, maybe it’ll help you understand her more.”
It was a scrapbook.
Abby pulled the pages apart, apparently at random. She smiled and held the binder out to him.
On the page was the same photograph from the cork board in Terra’s bedroom. Or a very similar one.
She was younger. Her eyes lacking the dark circles and exhaustion. Her fist in the air as she shouted in anger or solidarity. Behind the picture was a news article from the Ebbot Times about Monster Rights.
“When monsters Surfaced, Terra was one of their earliest defenders and advocates,” Abby explained. “She went to protests, collected signatures, called and wrote to politicians. Between the Barrier breaking and the Act passing … every waking moment was devoted to the fight for monster personhood.”
She flipped through pages as she spoke, pausing occasionally to point Terra out in a group photo.
Pamphlets and fliers mixed with news articles and photographs of Monster Rights advocates and events.
Some he remembered. Many he didn’t.
Sans was only partially listening, lost in his own thoughts.
His own memories.
There were journal entries interspersed with the photos and news headlines. Written in the same messy handwriting as the note on the counter.
Abby turned the final page. A news article about a vigil, a picture of dark figures with candles in hand. He felt his Soul crash.
He remembered that night, the quiet anxiety as monsters waited their fate. Passed down by humans who had shown them little but distrust and distaste.
The damn kid, all optimistic determination, signing at him from Papyrus’ shoulders.
It’ll be okay! I promise!
It was the last time he had seen any of the Dreemurs.
Sans focused back on the picture, on the shrouded figures.
He couldn’t tell which, if any, was Theresa.
“When the ruling came down, denying you all … everything… she was destroyed,” Abby said, her voice thick with emotion.
“A lot of us were,” Sans muttered.
Abby snorted and gave him a half smile. “Fair. It’s … not the same. I wouldn’t compare the two.” Her voice became somber and hushed as she went on.
“Terra believed she had failed monsterkind. As if she could have done more. Should have done more. As if she could have prevented everything with a little more work. One more call. One more protest.”
She looked back down at the photograph, running a finger over one of the figures. “She stopped sleeping, stopped eating … stopped taking care of herself.”
She looked up, meeting Sans’ eyelights with a strained smile. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes shining with emotion and unshed tears.
“We almost lost her.”
Sans flinched like the words were a physical blow he could dodge. He looked back at the photograph, the way Abby traced the figure.
“She fell?”
“Not exactly,” Abby said as she closed the binder and placed it on the coffee table. Her voice was distant, haunted. Too thin, like when you lose something precious. When you feel like you’re being torn apart.
(When you find a dusty scarf in the snow.)
“Humans don’t ‘fall’ like monsters,” she said with a defeated sigh. “For better or worse, we can survive without a will to live. When our hope dies … we have to take matters into our own hands. Our souls won’t do it for us.”
Sans was silent as he stared at the binder, the words working their way into his bones.
Suicide wasn’t unheard of in monsters, but it was exceedingly rare. Depression was common, but by the time it deepened enough for a monster to make a plan … their dust was already scattered. Their soul unable to maintain a physical form, they fell into a coma from which they never woke.
Their bodies faded to dust.
It was becoming more and more common in the years before the barrier broke. As hope became harder to find, an elusive bit of light in the darkness of the Underground.
Abby continued to whisper, almost to herself.
“For humans it’s a more … deliberate act,”
The human cleared her throat, looking away and blinking to clear her eyes of tears.
“Terra hasn’t had an easy life,” Abby said. Her voice warmed with gentle pride as she spoke, the edges of her words sharpened with bitter regret. “She didn’t have anyone helping her. When she sees someone suffering, she does whatever it takes to help them.”
She put a hand fondly on the binder.
“Terra never wants anyone to suffer.”
She turned back to Sans with a soft smile that warmed him like the sun. “That is why she keeps you around. I know it has been challenging, both here with my sister and before you met. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I can’t imagine what your opinion on humans must be and I don’t blame you for it.
“But I know my little sister. She’s smart and stupid and beautiful and very confused. She’s been hurt too much and loved too little. She is a lot of things, but above all she is good. She only wants to help you. In whatever way she can. I hope you’ll let her.”
Sans nodded, struck silent by the soft passion Abby had for her sister.
(The same affection he had for his brother.)
He shouldn’t trust her.
This could all be a cruel joke.
(But he wanted to.)
The moment was broken when Abby jumped and fished her phone from her pocket.
“Oh, time to go,” she said as she stood. “Tell Theresa I said ‘hi,’ if you would?”
“Sure,” Sans said automatically, his brain still recovering from Abby’s speech. Still trying to fit her earnest adoration into his model of Terra.
Abby smiled and moved to gather up her belongings.
“Remember there’s a plate for you here,” she said with a smile and a wave at the kitchen island.
The monster nodded, finally getting up to put it in the microwave.
He wanted to press Abby on Theresa’s motives. If he had more information, just knew a little more about her, maybe he could let his guard down.
His gaze landed on the piece of paper on the countertop, and all his questions fled his mind.
“What’s a ‘hall pass’?”
Tiny Raven 