Tiny Raven

By the time I trudged up the stairs to my apartment it was well after midnight. I leaned against the door as I knocked, soft but firm.

I just wanted to sleep.

I listened for any response before pulling my hand back. Readying to knock again.

The lock clicked and I stopped mid-swing, shifting back half a step. I didn’t want to fall on top of Sans when he opened the door.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as I walked by him, not caring that I was being kind of rude. I kicked off my shoes and wandered to the fridge.

I was beyond hungry. Starving.

Nothing I could think of sounded edible. My stomach clenched in response to everything I considered. Everything that sounded like I could keep it down was expensive or too much time and effort.

I grumbled as I got to the fridge door. I knew once I pushed away the nausea and started eating I would be fine. This was just me being picky for no reason.

Still, I was considering skipping dinner altogether and going straight to bed. I thought I could hear my blankets and mattress calling to me from deeper in the apartment.

“Long day?” Sans asked. He’d come over to the island, leaning on it as he watched me.

I grunted in reply as I opened the fridge, blinking in surprise at the leftovers that weren’t mine.

Right at eye-level was a paper plate covered in plastic wrap. I pulled it out and looked at the sticky note stuck to it.

Angel –

Take care of yourself.

– Abby

“Your sister came over to check on you,” I half-heard Sans say as I read the note again. “Brought leftovers.”

I took off the sticky note and plastic wrap before shoving the plate into the microwave to heat.

Roast beef with gravy. Mashed potatoes with a little butter. The sweetcorn she made that I loved.

It was the same dinner our mom used to make when things were good.

“I’ll need to text her a thanks,” I said, distracted by bittersweet thoughts.

I knew, to Abby, the meal was a reminder of good things, of warmth and family. It was one of her favorite traditions after she and Xander got together. Making a big, traditional family dinner at least once a month.

The microwaved beeping pulled me from my thoughts, and I reached in to test the food. The potatoes would probably need to be stirred to heat more evenly.

When I turned back around Sans was staring at me over the kitchen island. The bone of his brow barely wrinkled in concern.

“You okay?”

I shrugged as I stirred the potatoes around and put the food back in the microwave. ” ‘m exhausted. Headache. Starving,” I turned toward the microwave, watching the plate spin. “I’m fine. Just need t’eat and get to sleep.”

“Starving?” Sans asked as he frowned at me. A strange expression, given his permanent rictus grin.

I shrugged again and opened the microwave at just the right second, clearing the timer. “Haven’t had more than a granola bar since my first shift.”

I pulled out the plate and put it on the island, opting to eat standing.

If I sat down I was pretty sure I would pass out.

“That was over twelve hours ago, and I’ve been on my feet running the warehouse.”

I stirred at my food, desperately trying to push at the nausea in my stomach and willing myself to just take a bite.

Sans watched me for a few minutes. Staring as I stirred the entrees together without eating. Before it became awkward he shrugged, wandering deeper into the apartment.

I started shoveling food into my mouth when I heard his door latch. Brain switching off.

I ate and cleaned up after myself on autopilot, catching myself about to throw away my fork. I tossed the utensil in the sink and hurried down the hallway, pausing outside Sans’ room.

“G’night Sans,” I called out. “Thanks for letting me in.”

As I changed my clothes I began to worry that Sans had misunderstood me. That he thought I was upset with him.

I had been terse, short. Annoyed and a little panicked. Rude.

He hadn’t said anything, but he was so hard to read. I couldn’t trust him to actually tell me if something was wrong.

I’d need to apologize in the morning. Even if he wasn’t upset, I wanted to make sure he understood that I wasn’t upset with him. I didn’t blame him for my condition.

While it was true that I hadn’t eaten because our change of plans to get him clothes, that was on me. I should have planned better. I could have figured out a way to at least stop at a convenience store or something. Spent money on the stale snacks in the break room vending machines.

I’d have to apologize in the morning.

I fell into my bed with a grateful whine.

There were three hours before my alarm.

I pulled my blankets over myself with a groan.

Five days and I’d have a break.

I didn’t dream.

I got up. I went to work. I worked three jobs, crossing the city on foot and public transit. I came home. I slept for too few hours before it started again.

Sans spent the mornings with me, but I made sure to give him my keys and a new “hall pass” every day. He went home before my warehouse job, taking everything I had but my ID, bus pass, and fifty bucks.

I felt safer walking at night without my bag. I was less of a target. It helped knowing I wouldn’t lose anything troublesome if something happened.

I wanted to look for ways to give Sans more freedom, but I was already stretched thin. I had been balancing on a knife edge before, and now I had to look out for someone else.

I had no time, no energy.

I didn’t have anything to spend on navigating the intricacies of “owning” someone to my overtaxed mind.

It was easier to write down the same information every day.

Wednesday night, while I waited for my dinner to heat in the microwave, he leaned against the island.

“How far away is your sister’s cafe?” he asked. I glanced at him, surprised to find him looking away, like it was just an idle question. Pure curiosity.

I considered. I usually drove, but Sans would have to walk. “It’s a long walk – an hour and a half, maybe two, from here at normal-human-walking speed – but it’s doable. Pretty sure I’ve done it before.”

“Normal human?” Sans asked.

“Also known as the ‘Not-Terra’,” I said, my tone academic. “A totally real value of measuring speed.” I smiled at a distant memory. “My brother used to hate going on walks with me because I walked so fast. He’d be sprinting while I took a leisure stroll.” I muttered to myself, deep in thought and memory. “If I remember correctly, one Not-Terra is equal to two kilometers an hour, give or take.”

The microwave beeped and I turned around to get out my food. When I turned back toward Sans his face was neutral.

“Could you add it to the list of places I can go?” Sans asked. “Well Roasted?”

I straightened up a little, surprised. “Of course,” I said with a nod. “I’ll add it to my notes. Anywhere else?”

I pulled out my phone, adding “Well Roasted” to the list I transcribed every day. I’d need to look up the address, but I could do that later.

Sans’ answer was immediate.

“That park you stop at before housecleaning.”

I nodded and added the park name to my list.

The park made sense, it was a relaxing space. Big enough you could be somewhat anonymous … although maybe not so much if you were a skeleton.

My sister’s cafe, while also relaxing, was small and intimate. The anonymity didn’t exist. I loved it there, but Sans had to reason to prefer it over a closer venue.

“I’m surprised you want to go to Well Roasted,” I said before my tired brain could catch up to my tongue. Annoyed at the feeling that I was undermining him somehow. Questioning his choices.

But if he thought he didn’t have other options …

“I like the pastries,” Sans said with a shrug.

“I know some places closer that sell Spider Pastries,” I said as I looked down at my food.

“There’s a Rainbow operated cafe somewhere near Solar’s. They almost certainly have them,” I continued. “You don’t have to go to my sister’s place, if you don’t want to.”

I shoved some of my dinner into my mouth, preventing myself from blurting anything else for a few minutes.

Sans didn’t say anything in response as I chewed as swallowed.

“I get wanting to go somewhere familiar. You’ll probably get stuff for free there,” I said with a shrug. “Let me know if you think of anywhere else.”

I wasn’t positive that my sister had instructed her workers to give Sans free food, like she had with me.

But she had a candid photo of me up in the back room. Her employees knew I didn’t pay for anything. They’d note it down and Abby would cover costs from her own paycheck.

I wouldn’t be surprised if as soon as she knew about Sans, she had added “Skeleton monster” to the board next to my photo. Probably other identifying information, depending on what Jamie and his coworkers said.

“Yeah,” I repeated after I finished eating. The silence awkward and stretched. “I’ll write down Well Roasted.”

Sans wasn’t there when I turned around from rinsing my plate and fork.

I went to bed with a shrug and a gentle, “Hope you sleep well, Sans,” as I passed his door.

If I ranked all the jobs I had ever had, my current night-shift warehouse job was the worst. Even below mucking out stables.

The gigantic building was both too hot and too cold. I had to run from end to end looking for items based on cryptic codes. Every second counted, a timer ticking down as I struggled to meet a quota.

I was faster at it than a lot of other employees, because I ran all the time anyway, but it was still grueling.

I always felt like I was running behind, a tightness in my chest. And sellers kept giving their products paragraph-long names.

I was looking for a garden gnome. I had the warehouse code and the first 20 letters of its name. I was having trouble finding it.

“Hey, chica,” a voice said behind me, an overly-saccharine lilt to his tone. “I’m Jason.”

“What do you want?” I asked, not hiding or pushing down my annoyance. I didn’t turn toward him, my focus centered on finding the item on my list. It had to be here somewhere.

“I noticed you don’t have your ‘bodyguard’ in the break room anymore,” he said. He leaned on the shelving next to me, trying to look cool next to a pile of rubber ducks. He wasn’t unattractive, if you were into white frat bros.

When I didn’t respond to him he tilted his head. “What happened? Someone dust his ass?”

He laughed, like it was a joke, and my skin crawled.

But no sign of my quarry. Maybe it was creeped out by this guy too and had fled the premises.

Sucks for me, but godspeed little dude. May you find greener lawns out there somewhere.

“No,” I said.

“Not a very good bodyguard if he lets his owner go off on her own,” he pressed. I leaned away from him, uncomfortable with him looming over me as I crouched to look on a lower shelf.

I shrugged, trying to look busy as I sifted through a box of identical cellphone cases. Hoping that if I didn’t respond to him he’d get bored, leave.

“Hey so … ” he said in a low, conspiratorial whisper, bending further over me. “I’ve heard some girls get wet for monster dong. You one of them?”

I froze at the question, my thoughts catching on the edges of it. The implications.

“No,” I said as I took a breath and kept looking, comparing aisle and bin number to what I had written down. I was definitely in the right place.

“Leave me alone,” I said, trying to ignore my pulse. “I have work to do.”

“Aw, chica, you don’t gotta be like that,” he said, tone right back into the playful lilt.

Was the garden gnome a cryptid? Where the hell was it.

“Not everybody would, but I believe you,” he said, a little closer to me as I stood up. He held his hands near my stomach, not touching me, but very close.

I held very still as his eyes rolled over my body.

“Body like that? You don’t need to stoop to fuckin’ a monster,” he said before he backed up half a step. Letting me breathe again, and letting me see the garden gnome on the shelf by his head. I reached past him for it, hoping I could cut off the conversation here.

“I’m not interested and here’s what I’m looking for,” I said. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Jason wasn’t finished, yet. He grabbed my wrist, stopping me from grasping the lawn ornament. With an almost-gentle twist he pulled me off balance. I half-stumbled against him, and he pulled me to his chest.

I took him in, unable to ignore him any longer.

He was a good foot taller than me, broad shouldered and solid. He definitely did something athletic. American football (he looked like a line backer) or weight lifting or something.

I felt very, very small with his hand on my wrist and his arm around my waist.

I couldn’t move.

“Let’s go out for dinner, Saturday night. My treat,” he said. “I’ll pick you up around … how does seven sound?”

He spoke as though everything were going to plan. Like everything was happening in his favor.

Like no wasn’t an answer he would accept.

My brain sparked at the irony. Had he led with the offer of food, I probably would have agreed. Dating for a free meal wasn’t beneath me. Even if I knew it wouldn’t (couldn’t) go anywhere.

Instead, he had ambushed me. Talked about Sans’ hypothetical death like it was nothing. Implied that I was abusing the skeleton monster.

Touched me without consent.

Unfortunately, my rage drowned, overtaken by a much more primal instinct.

Fear.

My skin burned where he touched. I desperately fought to focus on my rational mind as my lizard brain reacted with panic. My options were fight, flight, or freeze. I was already freezing, and it wasn’t helping, and I couldn’t flee.

I was like a cornered animal. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I wondered if anyone would help if I called out. The warehouse was massive, and I often didn’t see my coworkers. I didn’t have a radio, either. There weren’t enough to go around.

“C’mon, chica,” he said, the unwanted pet name feeling like a threat. “Give me a chance.”

His cologne was overpowering, cloying. It filled up my nostrils and mouth, over-sweet and nauseating.

I tried to pull away from him again, but he pulled me closer as I stiffened further.

“Dinner and dessert,” he said, mouth so close to my ear I felt his breath on my ear. It made my spine prickle.

Like a horror movie.

“If you don’t like what you see, we can go our separate ways.”

“No.”

Straight and to the point. I didn’t trust my voice with any more syllables than that.

I was drowning.

It was too much.

Everywhere his body pressed felt like it was on fire. My wrist was going to have blisters from his heat against my bare skin.

His voice wasn’t right. Smooth, silky, edged in a dangerous threat.

My nerves were raw, my mind repeating a single phrase.

A mantra.

Get away.

“No,” I repeated as I shifted my stance. “Let me go.”

He twisted my wrist, too tight and in the wrong direction. I flinched at the jolt of pain.

“Am I not good enough for you?” he demanded, voice raised. He looked at my face and laughed. “What, was I actually right about the monster cock?”

I pulled away from him, disgust, anger, and anxiety warring inside me.

“I was! You prefer fucking a skeleton that a real man!” he laughed. “Is it because you know he can’t do anything? You like to be in control, chica?”

I felt sick but finally found something to focus on.

“You haven’t been with me,” he said, although I barely heard him. “I could change your mind.”

The way he spoke about Sans was derisive, his tone haughty.

He talked like humans were better than monsters.

Humans. Who weren’t literally made of magic and hope.

Monsters. Who were compassion incarnate.

It was so small.

But it broke me out of flight, and dropped me right into the middle of fight.

“Let me go,” I hissed, my voice low in warning. I dropped my hand from his chest, letting him pull me closer.

I pulled the utility knife off of my belt. “Unless you want to see how your intestines look as a necktie.”

He scoffed, about to say something else, twisting my wrist until it felt like it might break.

Until he felt the tip of my utility knife pressed against his stomach, my threat becoming a little more real.

“Let. Me. The Fuck. Go.” I repeated, each word enunciated . I emphasized the last word with a push of the knife. I didn’t think it was enough to break skin, but I wasn’t quite in the mindset to care.

He released me and danced back a good two meters.

Still too close, but better.

“What the fuck, bitch?”

I snorted. Such bravery when he was out of arms reach.

“I said no. Didn’t anyone ever fucking teach you that ‘no’ means fucking no?” I demanded, trying to keep my emotions in check. I felt like I was about to cry, or laugh, or scream.

“I don’t know you! Why the fuck would I want to go out with you?” I snapped as the reins on my emotions began to slip. “You think you’re such a fucking catch that you can degrade me? My friend? That I’ll go out with you after you threaten me?!”

I laughed, adrenaline making me feel manic and wild. “Come near me again and I will gut you and stuff you like a fucking piñata.”

I waved my box cutter, emphasizing my words. “Fuck you, fuck your entitled masculinity bullshit, and fuck your fucked up idea of seduction.”

I turned around and grabbed the garden gnome off the shelf.

I stormed to the front of the warehouse, away from Jason the Asshole.

Fuck this shit.

I went to my manager to report the incident immediately. She advised that if I “didn’t want that kind of attention” then “maybe I should button up my work polo.”

As if my work polo – worn over a high collared, long sleeved shirt – was somehow scandalous with two buttons undone.

Like hers was.

I took my legally mandated break.

I wanted to break something.

I wanted to smoke.

I wanted to stop shaking.

I sat in the break room, regretting giving my phone to Sans. I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off of the tension taut in my chest. Over and over, I read the notices on the wall. Motivational posters, instructions on workplace safety, a flyer for an employee gift-exchange. Anything to calm my racing heart and thoughts.

It didn’t help.

I was on edge, angry and volatile.

I worked the rest of my shift with an anxious anger in my gut, snapping and growling at anyone who looked at me funny.

I didn’t see Jason the Asshole for the rest of my shift.

Good riddance.

I clocked out early, unable to stay in the building any longer. I spent the bus ride fuming, distracting myself with the adverts. Trying to think of anything but how I felt. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore the stinging, angry tears in my eyes. Trying not to let them fall.

I wanted to talk to someone.

As the bus drove away, I almost turned toward Solar’s.

Last call had been over an hour ago. The bar would be long closed. But I kept thinking about how perfect Grillby was to vent to. He was quiet, calm, nonjudgemental. What words he did speak were well-thought out. His presence was warm. Calming.

I wondered if I knocked on the restaurant door, would he open shop for me?

Invite me into the little apartment above the bar to talk?

What even were we?

I sighed, turning toward my apartment.

Whatever we were, it wasn’t friends.

Grillby worked hard. He deserved his evenings to himself.

He didn’t need to spend his time babysitting a stupid human having a panic attack.

I didn’t want to bother him. Didn’t want to be a nuisance.

I turned toward home, my footsteps slowing as the adrenaline finally faded.

I was sad.

Lonely.

Exhausted.

By the time I got to my door all I could manage was a weak knock.

I heard the deadbolt slide with a click and waited for the door to open like it had every previous night.

It didn’t, and I blinked at the handle. I hadn’t heard footsteps walking away from the door.

Did I mishear?

Am I so tired I’m hallucinating?!

I reached for the knob and pushed, blinking when the door opened.

So I wasn’t going insane, yet.

Sans was on the couch, watching a sci-fi looking show. It was familiar, but not enough that I had seen it before. A reboot or something popular, I guessed, but I didn’t look too close. I didn’t have time for TV.

I slipped out of my shoes, trying to keep my breathing steady and calm. The anxiety bubbled up, and I straightened I glared at Sans’ back. Resenting his intrusion into my apartment when I wanted to be alone.

The feeling faded as I reminded myself that it wasn’t exactly his choice.

He said nothing in greeting, but he did pause whatever was watching. He was alert, tracking my movement through the living areas without looking at me. Aware of where I was.

“You eaten?” I asked as I headed into the kitchen. My usual greeting, even though his answer was always the same.

“Yup,” he said, and he pointed at a pile of coins on the coffee table. “There’s the change.”

“Thanks,” I said as I put together a plate of leftovers, most of my attention elsewhere.

“Why don’t y’give me the exact amount?”

I shrugged as I put my plate into the microwave and started shifting leftovers back into the fridge.

“Coins are annoying to deal with,” I said. “I usually drop them into tip jars. What makes it back here gets collected for those counting machines.”

I thought about it for a moment longer as I opened the door of microwave, leaving the timer at 0:01.

I hissed softly as I burned my hand on the plate, moving it to the island so I could eat.

“My spare cash was, until recently, a bunch of larger bills. Twenties, mostly. Some fifties.”

This was better, talking about something that didn’t mean anything. Something concrete I could focus on. A distraction from the exhausted emotions that battled in my chest.

“So that’s what’s easiest to give you. But … I also want to give you enough that you can change it up sometimes. Get a drink, or a milkshake. Get two burgers. Whatever. Go wild.”

He sank deeper into the couch somehow, shrugging in response.

“Sounds like work,” he said with an exaggerated huff. “Speaking of, how was it?”

I stilled, just for a heartbeat, as the anxiety flared up in my chest again.

Am I acting weird? Did he notice something?

I shifted into a shrug, hoping he hadn’t seen the tension.

It was a normal question. Act normal.

“Fine,” I said in a practiced calm. For all the years it had been since I’d used that tone, I fell back into it easily. Like wearing your favorite t-shirt when you were sinking in of a swamp.

It was comforting.

It was suffocating.

“Lots of … running and finding random shit. People buy the weirdest things. People sell the weirdest things. You know garden gnomes?” I asked.

Sans nodded, looking at me with a brow raised.

“How about Godzilla? Kaiju?” I asked. “Giant, city destroying, radioactive, lizard monsters?”

Sans looked at me, confusion obvious. “What kinda monsters?”

“Fictional,” I clarified. “It’s a whole genre.”

“Never heard of it,” Sans said. “Guess it wasn’t popular in the Underground.”

“Not surprising,” I said with a shrug. “No big deal. It was just something I had to find tonight. Silly.”

I dropped my plate in the sink to wash, not quite ready to go to bed.

Behind me, Sans started whatever he was watching. I listened to the cadence of the dialogue, tuning out the actual words.

The noise was exactly what I needed. Sound. Unobtrusive but there.

By the time I finished washing dishes, I was done.

“Night, then,” I said as I left the living room with a wave and a yawn. “See you in the morning.”

Sans made a noise somewhere between an acknowledgement and a snore. I didn’t turn around to see if he was asleep or not. My exhaustion was overwhelming, and my hold on my emotions was weak.

I just wanted to be alone and sleep and forget.

I closed the door to my bedroom behind me, locking out the world.

---

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’?”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sans shrugged, the motion tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was making it worse.

“What’s going on?” I pressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sans let out a frustrated groan and turned to me.

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

“Better?” I repeated, confused.

Then the puzzle pieces fell into place.

I understood.

I remembered feeling the same way.

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

Things that could be destroyed.

Lost forever.

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

It was better to not have anything you cared about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Including the badass skeleton pirate.

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

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

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

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Wasn’t too picky. Couldn’t be.”

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

I had already crossed too many boundaries today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sans reached out to grab them.

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

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

“Thought you said it was my choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I found what I was looking for almost immediately.

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

It was so ugly .

But it was so perfect .

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

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

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

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

Someone had hated this particular piece of furniture.

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

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

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

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

No visible surface had remained untouched.

It was horrible .

It was perfect .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say a word.

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

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

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

I frowned, again concerned I’d overstepped.

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

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

My head hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

A skill I had never managed in my life.

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

“One-forty-three, seventy-five.”

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

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

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

I groaned in frustration.

Sans held the money out to me, instead.

I blinked at it in confusion.

“Take it,” he said.

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

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

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

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

Which she offered directly to Sans.

I looked at her, completely confused.

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

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

He had the perfect poker face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I bought the dresser, then asked for a manager.

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

What did I do wrong ?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

And possibly also borrow Jamie.

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

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

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

I was done being in control.

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

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

As usual I had forged ahead like I knew best.

I had no idea what time it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was also one of the more taxing.

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

Like Ohio, and North Dakota.

Exotic locales.

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

It was six hours, including travel.

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

So she would be gone until morning.

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

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

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

FAQ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disbelief? Confusion? Skepticism?

A mixture of all three and more?

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

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

“What about your lease?”

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

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

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

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

“How will you get back in?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sans grabbed the bills from my hand, silencing me.

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

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

His eyelights flickered into existence, dim but visible.

His grin softened into something almost … real.

“Thanks,” he said.

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

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

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

I was late.

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

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

Our apartment.

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

I smacked the snooze button with a groan, silencing the blaring of my alarm.

My migraine wasn’t gone.

I forced myself into a sitting position, doing my best to ignore how my head pulsed in agony at the movement. Without looking I grabbed the bottle of pills from my nightstand. I took another of the migraine tablets, grimacing at the taste as it dissolved on my tongue.

It tasted like a piece of chalk looked at a mint leaf once.

A decade ago.

Homeopathically minty.

It was disgusting.

I hated it, but it was better than being unable to function.

I glanced at my phone, considering calling in sick, before sliding out of bed. I could make that decision after I ate something and moved around some. Let the medication actually kick in. Maybe it would be enough.

I hoped it would be enough.

I didn’t want to risk any of my managers being angry with me. I needed the jobs I had.

I needed the money.

I fumbled around in the dark, grabbing the nearest cleanish clothes I could find. Like hell was I turning on a light before my medicine kicked in. I stumbled from my room, heading to the bathroom. I sped up as I passed the guest room door and remembered I was only wearing panties and a t-shirt.

The bathroom was lit by a dim nightlight, which was gentle enough on my pounding head as I considered the shower curtain.

I was tired.

I was in pain.

I really didn’t want to shower.

“Prob’ly not safe, anyway. Not when I could have a dizzy spell,” I muttered to no one. I huffed a soft chuckle. “Guess I could’ve stayed in bed an extra few minutes.”

Not wanting to risk Sans seeing me half-naked, I changed clothes in the bathroom. I swapped my ratty tee for another and pulled on a mostly-clean pair of jeans.

I needed to do another load of laundry.

I made a mental note to throw it in before I left for the day.

As I turned to leave the bathroom I caught a glimpse of my reflection. The sight stopped me in my tracks.

I stared at the stranger in the mirror.

I looked like shit.

Not that I ever looked particularly great. But the evidence of an exhausting week of guilt and stress was plain on my face.

The apparently permanent dark bags under my eyes were the least of my concern. My skin was dull, lacking any glow or luster. If I was pale, taking after my maternal side, I’d look ashen, grey. I was thinner than I remembered, my cheeks hollow and my eyes sunken.

I looked like a zombie.

More dead than the literal skeleton in my home.

No wonder Abby had acted like I was made of spun glass. I looked like I would shatter.

I pulled myself from my reflection and found that I was shivering. I tried to tease myself about being a narcissist, lighten my darkening mood.

It was fine.

I was fine.

I grabbed my discarded clothes to toss back into my room. I’d deal with the laundry later. If I ended up calling out of work, I was going back to sleep. It wouldn’t be any harder to sort my clothes later, and I didn’t have the energy to spare.

I used the wall to balance and guide me as I wandered from my bedroom to the kitchen. I winced as the light from the living room blinded me, causing me to throw my free arm up in front of my eyes as they adjusted.

Sans was lying on the couch, his eyelights skimming over something in his lap. In addition to the ceiling lights he had turned on the pendant lights in the kitchen. Which were right at eye level.

I flicked the switch off, darkening the room enough that I could get around without squinting.

I rubbed at my eyes as I entered the kitchen, mumbling an apology.

“Sorry. Still got a migraine. Light is … ” I trailed off, unable to think of the appropriate word, before finishing lamely, “bright.”

I waved toward the skeleton as I stumbled to the fridge. “Mornin’, Sans.”

I reached for the handle of the fridge, wondering if I even had anything I could stomach eating.

I stopped when I saw there was a note written in my sister’s neat, exact script.

Terra –

It was very nice to meet your friend! You’ll have to bring him around sometime so I can get to know him better.

I left some food for you!

I figured you wouldn’t be up to making breakfast, so I left some plain overnight oats in the fridge. Blue container.

Lunch is in your bag, on the top shelf. It’s packed with enough for both of you.

Don’t worry about dinner, either! I’ll be over to leave something and make something that will last for a few nights.

Don’t work too hard, take care of yourself.

Put your own mask on first.

All my love, Abby

Below that was a scrawl from Xander. His handwriting was chicken scratch print next to my sister’s, small and slanted.

Tess

We miss you around the house. Get better and come see us.

X

I smiled and opened the fridge to take the oats out. I could try to eat a little, since Abby had gone to the trouble of making food for me.

Maybe it would help my nausea.

“So,” Sans said from the other side of the refrigerator door. I closed it and stared at him, somehow unsurprised and a little annoyed at his ninja skills. “What was yesterday about?”

“I had a migraine,” I said as I moved to the island to put down the bowl then moved to get some dishes from the cupboard. “Still do.”

As I was about to grab two bowls I hesitated, uncertain.

“Uh,” I started, feeling awkward as I glanced over my shoulder, not quite seeing Sans in my peripheral vision. “Do you like oatmeal?”

When he didn’t answer I withdrew my hand to turn toward him.

His black eye sockets were fixed on the countertop, refusing to look at me.

“Sa-?” I ask, but he cut me off before I could finish.

“No.”

I glanced over him, uncertain how to proceed before deciding to act normal. It was clear something was bothering him, but I didn’t want to push.

I gave him an acknowledging shrug and turned to get a bowl for myself.

“Well, assuming Xander got everything on my list we should have the stuff for toast or eggs. Or eggy toast,” I said as I spooned some of the oats into my bowl. “I … realize I don’t know if you can cook or not, but they’re all pretty simple.”

I walked by him to put the oats away.

“I don’t get you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

I shrugged, walking around him again to get cinnamon and sugar for my breakfast. “What’s there to get?”

I realize I’m being flippant, and I’m about to turn around and explain myself.

Sans explodes.

“What do you want from me?!”

I flinch away, spinning to keep him in my sight and taking a step away from him. Then I freeze, worried I’ll set him off more if I move too much.

Like a rabbit staring down a fox.

“I-” I start, but Sans cut me off.

“I don’t get you! You drag me to your million jobs. You tell people I’m your ‘bodyguard.’ Am I?”

He took another step forward. I stumbled another half step back.

I didn’t mean to, and I wince guiltily as I do.

I’m not afraid of him, not really. I don’t feel like I’m in danger.

It’s just … he looks bigger, stronger.

Dangerous.

Except for a sputtering flicker of cyan and yellow in his left eye his eye sockets are dark.

When he speaks again his anger is palpable in the soft whisper. I avoid taking another step away, but only barely.

“You haven’t said a word to m e  about what’s going on.”

I blink as my mind swirls in fear and confusion.

His tone is wrong.

I expected the rage, red and hot.

I didn’t expect the pain and confusion that hitched at the edge of his words.

Hidden, but familiar.

“Am I supposed to work with you? For you? Am I supposed to be your bodyguard?!”

“No,” I said as I turned around to grab the cinnamon and sugar, hoping my intuition is right and showing him my back wouldn’t aggravate him more. “I tell people you’re my bodyguard because ‘I got punched and accepted him as a bribe to not press charges for assault’ isn’t a better answer. It would lead to more questions that I don’t want to deal with.”

I’m mixing my oatmeal around a bit, stirring my additions in. Sans is watching me, and I hop onto the counter to eat while we talk.

The rage is gone, replaced with uncertainty. He looks around the room, his mouth set in a tight smile and his eye sockets dark.

Lost.

“Am I supposed to play ‘maid’ and clean up after you at night?”

I nearly choked on my oatmeal as an image of Sans in my shitty housekeeping uniform popped into my head.

I swallow, coughing and laughing and feeling like the worst person on the planet.

He asks a serious question and this is my response.

“No,” I finally managed to cough out as I tried to get my laughter under control. “I’m sorry … It’s just … I just … ” And the image is back, only this time with Sans in an outfit that wouldn’t be out of place in a maid café.

I laugh harder, putting my oats to the side while I lose it to hysterics.

“I’m just imagi- … imagining you as a maid,” I said as the last of my giggles died down and I looked away, embarrassment taking over.

I pick up my bowl, staring the oatmeal as I try to think of what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” I say after a moment. “That was … a really dick move on my part. I just got this image in my head and I couldn’t help it. Sorry.”

I took a deep breath before looking back up, feeling horrible about how insensitive I was being.

Sans has every right to be angry at me. He’s obviously concerned, scared, about this, and I hadn’t talked to him about any of it.

And when he brought up his concerns, I laughed in his face.

“I don’t expect you to be my … ” I falter as the word maid threatens to reignite my laughter. “ … my janitor, Sans.”

“Then what is it?” The skeleton demanded, slamming a fist onto the island countertop. The bang of bone against stone is loud and sudden enough that I jump. I glanced up at the ceiling, concerned my neighbor would be angered by the noise. Sans noticed and lowered his voice without softening it any. “Does it get you off? Is that it?! Making me follow you around like a dog? Is it some sort of fucked up fetish?”

I choked on the last spoonful of my oats as the accusation hit me like a punch to the gut.

This breakfast would be the death of me.

“No!” I said, defensive. My chest tightened at the suggestion that I was using him as some sort of … sex toy. “It isn’t any-“

“Were you just waiting for me to give up and beg? Is it a power thing? Humans won’t put up with your shit, so you need a monster to order around?! Somebody who can’t fight back?” Sans’ voice was full of cold fury.

It snapped me out of my confusion and anxiety, bringing my anger to a boil.

“No!” I snapped, barely keeping my own volume under control. “It isn’t a fetish or something. You have been with me every waking hour of the last week! You know why I haven’t been able to get you clothes!” I slid off the counter, taking my empty bowl to drop in the sink. “When?! When would I have had a chance to stop by the store?”

“You have a two hour lunch break every day!”

I groan in frustration and annoyance.

If I had just acted like an adult and talked to him, this fight could have been avoided.

And I was in no shape to be fighting with the skeleton.

“I saw you and Grillby knew each other,” I said as I rubbed my temples, trying to soothe my worsening migraine. So much for my medication. “I … decided to makes sure you had time to hang out with him.”

I frowned and dropped my hands. The migraine wasn’t going anywhere, and I had a choice to make.

I already knew I wasn’t calling out of work.

I really couldn’t afford to.

I glanced at my oven clock and sighed at the time. “I should’ve asked you what you wanted, what your priorities were. I’m sorry.” I pushed away from the sink, heading to my bedroom with a beckoning wave at Sans. “I – uh, we have to get to work. I’m not blowing you off, I can explain anything you want to understand. I just … I can’t afford to be late.”

“Why do you take me with you if I’m not supposed to do your job for you?” he asked.

I glanced at the clothes on the floor. I was running low on time.

I would sort them when I got home.

“I can’t leave you here for more than an hour or two. Not when there’s a chance the landlady might come to check on anything suspicious. Not when you’re not on the lease.”

I replaced the medication bottle before double checking my bag. Everything was in its place.

“It’s just a precaution. It would suck for both of us if I was evicted.”

“Why haven’t you put me on the lease?”

I left my bedroom, waiting for Sans to exit before closing and locking my door. I went back to the kitchen to get the bagged lunch Abby left for us.

“Haven’t had the time,” I explained. I went to the entryway, sitting to put my shoes on. I glanced at Sans and find him zipping up his tattered hoodie, staring at me with an expression I couldn’t place. “I would have done it yesterday, but she wasn’t working. My schedule rarely intersects with hers. She’s here from eight to maybe two, six days a week.” I sighed as I finished tying my shoes and stood back up. “I was hoping to stop by sometime this week during lunch.”

Another check that I have everything I’ll need for the day, then I open the door. I wait for Sans to pass before I leave the apartment, pulling the door closed behind me. I fumble with my keys and the lock for a moment.

“You doin’ okay there?” Sans asked once I got the bolt to slide home.

I drop my keys in my bag with a shrug and start walking to the stairwell.

“Between me and the hamster I have a whole two braincells to rub together. You have their full attention.”

Sans doesn’t respond and I realize he might not understand the “hamster” thing. I turn toward him and walk (well, stumble) backwards down the hallway.

“I’m not doing great,” I admit. I signed headache, wondering if the word translated into Hands. “Still got a migraine.”

He looked at me skeptically. I wondered how he can raise an eyebrow despite lacking the necessary facial features. His face is surprisingly emotive for being something made of solid bone.

“Will you be able to work with that?”

“Don’t have much of a choice. Hopefully. Only one way to find out,” I say. I stopped walking as I passed the stairwell, opening the door for him and looking away. “I know I’m acting weird. I wish I could sit down and … talk this out over hot cocoa and Sea Tea. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of time, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.”

Sans doesn’t respond as we begin our descent. I continue as we reach the first floor landing. “Ask me what you want to know. I’ll answer as much as I’m able, but I think I left my attention span in my other pants.”

I glance at my phone and see that I still have a decent buffer between now and when I need to get to work. I sigh in relief.

I needed Abby to make me breakfast and lunch every day.

I’d be able to squeeze in at least another half hour of work.

“What do you want with me? From me?” Sans asked, pulling me from my wandering thoughts.

“Nothing,” I said immediately. “I want exactly zero things from you. As far as I’m concerned, you are a guest in my home, and you can stay as long as you’d like. Or not.”

“So if I wanted to leave?” Sans asked as we stopped at an intersection.

I glanced at him, but he was looking straight ahead, eye sockets dark and skeletal face in a neutral grin.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” I said with a sigh. “Do you want to leave?”

The walk sign lit up and the indicator sounded, informing us that it was safe to cross. We stepped off the curb and onto the street in silence, continuing on across the city.

We were halfway down the next block when Sans finally answered.

“No.”

I couldn’t help the way my lips quirked upward in a small smile. At least I hadn’t fucked up completely.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” I said. As I thought about the situation more I frowned. “I can’t free you, as much as I wish I could. But … I can try to help you find somewhere better, if you don’t want to stay.”

We continued on in silence, nearly all the way to the factory.

“What’s your plan?” Sans asked.

“Plan?” I repeated, confused. “What plan? Do I seem like the kind of person who has a plan?”

He sighed, frustrated. He was barely restraining himself again.

“With me, with this? Are you plannin’ to just … drag me around with you forever?”

“Of course not,” I said as we entered the factory. “Sometime this week I’ll get you on the lease, and then you can stay home. I know there’s regulations for letting you move around on your own. I want to know what they are so I can do whatever I need to in order for you to have that freedom.”

I clocked in at the computer in the foreman’s office. I gave the man a quick hello and a smile before taking the maintenance checklist.

I got under one of the conveyor belts that another employee had said was showing signs of wear. As I looked for anything loose or dangerous I continued my conversation with Sans. “My goal is for you to have as much freedom as possible, while still having the legal safety my existence grants.”

I found a loose nut and grabbed my wrench to tighten it.

“I can’t offer much, but I can give you a roof over your head, a bed, and food. I can’t treat you like a king, or half as well as you deserve, but I can treat you as my equal. If that’s good enough, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. If you want something else, ask for it. I’ll see what I can do.”

I sat up to look him eye to eye socket. “This is my first time in this situation. I’m pretty lost too,” I said. “But if you’re willing to help me, I’d like to try to figure it all out.”

Sans grunted an acknowledgement before picking up my bag and wandering off.

I went back under the conveyor belt to keep working, doing my best to focus on the work at hand.

---

Sans didn’t ask any more questions while I worked my shift, and I left him to his own devices.

Or my devices, since he was on my phone for the better part of the time.

Regardless, I only had so much attention to go around. If he wasn’t asking me questions, I was going to focus on my job.

As I clocked out I checked my numbers, wincing as I saw how low they were compared to last week.

“Boss man isn’t gonna like that,” I muttered as I took my bag from Sans and left the building.

“Problem?” Sans asked as we walked.

I glanced at the park across the street before turning away, deciding to go to the one closer to my next job. I had completely spoiled myself by going there. Now the empty lot of a park wasn’t good enough.

“Low numbers,” I explained. “I’ll probably get a ‘talking to’ tomorrow over it.” I sighed and shrugged, “It’ll be fine, I just need to not fuck up again for a while.”

Which seemed fairly likely, now that I thought about it. I had held that job for nearly a year at this point.

It was a personal record.

Sans and I ate at the park, both of us having a full meal this time.

Sans attacked his sandwich with a viciousness that reminded me of this morning.

“You didn’t have breakfast!” I cried, hand to my mouth in shock and shame.

He shrugged as he took another bite. “Not the first time I’ve gone without a meal.”

I frowned and looked at my own sandwich with a glare. “Doesn’t really make it better,” I said. “I’m sorry that this time, it was my fault.”

We ate in silence for a few more moments before I glanced over, checking to see if Sans seemed awake.

“I never did ask: Can you cook?”

“A bit,” he said as he opened up a bag of chips. “Enough to keep me and my bro fed.”

I nodded, ignoring the questions the conversation had raised.

I could ask them later.

“For second lunch, do you want to stop by Solar’s and chat with Grillby, or go to the thrift store?” I asked as I washed the last bite of my sandwich down with some water.

“Thrift store,” Sans said instantly.

I winced a little at his certainty. It wasn’t surprising, but I hadn’t realized it was so high a priority for him.

Then again, I realized it would be uncomfortable to walk around half naked. Even without the scandal of exposed skin.

“Sorry,” I said again, beginning to worry I was overusing the word. “For not talking to you sooner. I was … too caught up in my own head. Thanks for letting me know how much I’ve been fucking this up.”

Sans didn’t respond.

I finished my lunch in silence, watching people go about their mornings.

Sans napped.

---

In the employee locker room of the hotel I changed into my work uniform. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as another intrusive image of Sans in the outfit invaded my brain.

Sans in a tiny mini skirt, with thigh highs over his legs, but just enough bone showing to be intriguing. His deep baritone pitched up to a falsetto as he cried out, “Welcome home, Mistress!” like in some harem anime.

It was just too absurd.

“Navarro,” a sharp voice said, causing my laughter to die in my throat. I turned to meet my boss’ eyes, trying not to flinch away from her.

She wasn’t my direct boss, but she was the manager of the hotel, and she had the ability to fire me.

The woman was all sternness and disdain for the world around her.

I was pretty certain she was an evil cartoon librarian who fed on the souls of the innocent.

I didn’t want to interact with her more than absolutely necessary.

So of course she found me giggling to myself in the locker room like a crazy person.

“Yes?” I asked as innocently as I could, closing the locker with my non-work clothes inside.

“You’ve got ten rooms to do today,” she warned as she held the list up to me. “Best not waste time.”

A pit formed in my stomach as I crossed the room and took the paper.

Another strike.

I picked up my bag and rushed to the lobby to get Sans and start cleaning.

Hours later my shift ended and I peaked into the manager’s office, hoping that the evil librarian was gone. Luck was with me, and my direct manager was at the desk, looking through paperwork.

I explained that I was dealing with a migraine. I went over the rooms I hadn’t been able to clean, and apologized for only finishing half of my workload.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a wave of her hand and a gentle smile. “I’m sure you did your best. Get better soon.”

“I’ll do my best!” I agreed, although we both knew that my best was ‘Do nothing but take my medication and hope it goes away.’

It wasn’t very proactive, but there wasn’t much else I could do.

I found Sans in the lobby waiting for me with my bag. I hurried over to him with a smile that I hoped hid my unease with how my day had gone so far.

“Alright Sans,” I said, fake cheer in my voice. “Let’s go shopping!”

I winced against the afternoon sunlight as we left the government building. I dug my sunglasses out of my bag, hoping the shade would buy me some time before the aura became a full migraine.

There was a bottle of pills in my bag for this, but until I had pain they wouldn’t help.

I found myself wishing the pain would hit so I could take them and get it over with.

Sans and I walked back to my car in silence, the monster following me like a gloomy shadow. He was even more withdrawn now and I could only attribute it to the fact that I had calibrated the collar.

He was mad at me.

He had every right to be.

I turned on the car and pulled out my phone to tap the address into the GPS, before realizing I wasn’t entirely certain where I should go next.

Groceries were important, vital even. But I knew I had enough food to last one more week, even if it would be a week of rice and instant noodles. Unhealthy and lacking in most major food groups, but it was food.

Although, I frowned to myself, I was completely out of fresh produce, and my lunch supplies were nearly gone as well.

I knew the grocery store well, and with my list in hand I was confident I could get my shopping done within an hour. I knew exactly where to go and what to pick up. The biggest hurdle would be checking out.

However, getting Sans some new clothes was also important. Aside from general hygiene, I knew it sucked to wear the same thing every day. I had budgeted two hours to get him outfitted. Time to find clothes, try them on, and purchase them.

Of course, that assumed Sans wasn’t too picky about what he wore. If he was it could take a lot longer.

I hoped he wasn’t too picky and stuck with my initial time estimate.

Three hours.

Three hours and we would be home.

I could do that, aura or not.

Still … which was more important? Groceries or clothes?

If I could only get through one errand, which was my top priority?

I set my GPS to my usual supermarket.

I was glad Sans wasn’t in a talkative mood. I wasn’t either. I didn’t want conversation with how my head was feeling.

I also didn’t want to drive in silence.

I turned on the radio and set it to a classic rock station, hoping I would have a decent chance of knowing the songs and being able to hum along.

I glanced over to check my mirrors and see that the skeleton had buckled his seatbelt.

As I pulled my car out of the parking spot I hoped I could complete everything before the migraine hit.

A girl could hope.

---

Aura

As I pulled into the supermarket parking lot I cursed past-me for the hundredth time. I shouldn’t have had coffee yesterday. At the time I had been desperate for the caffeine boost, but now that I was suffering I didn’t feel the trade-off had been worth it.

I parked and got out of the car, pulling my list from my bag.

My hands were shaking. I glanced over at Sans, considering asking him for help.

Guilt washed over me, settling in the now-familiar pit in my stomach. How could I ask him for help when I was dragging him everywhere on my errands?

“Hey, I forgot to ask – Are you okay coming with me for all of this? I could take you home, if you wanted.”

Sans shrugged at me and I frowned at him in annoyance. The silent treatment was getting old.

“Sans. I don’t want to make you do things you don’t want to do. If you’d rather go home, you should tell me,” I said, letting my frustration bleed into my tone.

“We’re already here,” he said with another shrug. “Let’s just do this.”

I sighed, unable to argue with that logic. I wondered if he would have said differently if I had thought to ask him earlier.

My stomach was in knots from the calibration. I was second and triple-guessing myself about it. I wondered if I could have figured out a better way to keep the skeleton safe without making him feel owned.

I wanted to protect him, keep him safe.

He probably wanted to protect himself, not rely on some stupid human girl like me to do it for him.

I wouldn’t want to rely on me.

I shook my head, pushing my thoughts aside as I grabbed a cart and we entered the store.

Even with my sunglasses on my symptoms worsened as we worked through my list.

Frustratingly there was still no pain.

In the produce section my vision doubled and bright spots flickered in and out of existence. I ignored it as best I could, stopping and closing my eyes as I leaned against the display, waiting for the worst to pass.

I hoped Sans would think I was just serious about finding the best five pound bag of potatoes.

As we walked by the aisle labeled Ethnic Foods I noticed a display of Monster food. I paused, having never paid much attention to it before.

“Hey, Sans? Do you like any of this stuff?” I asked. “Or … is there anything you need? I never thought to ask if you can eat human food.”

Sans shrugged but came around the cart to look at the display. “It’s not as good as monster food, but it’s fine. Won’t make me sick or anythin’.”

I skimmed over the shelves, eventually grabbing a bag of monster candy. The one I kept at home was running low, and I liked keeping it around. As I turned back around I noticed a tin labeled Magic Powder.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.

It looked like a tin of hot chocolate or instant coffee. I flipped it around in my hands.

No ingredient list, but it claimed to be safe for humans to eat.

Sans glanced at the tin before returning his black-socket stare to the shelves. “It’s a food additive. Makes human food easier for monsters to digest,” he explained.

I checked the price, tallied my budget in my head, and added it to the cart.

“What’s the difference between human and monster food, anyway?” I asked.

“Magic,” Sans said as he turned around empty-handed. “They don’t have anything I like.”

I rolled my eyes at his non-answer and continued on. We had more groceries to get.

The bright spots lingered longer and longer each time they flashed across my vision. I compensated by relying on other clues for what I needed to get. They weight, shape, and location of items, along with half-visible hints on packaging was enough for me to hide my growing disability.

At least, until I got to the pasta and realized I couldn’t read any of the package labels. Half my vision was a bright blur while the other was doubled and distorted.

I squinted at the box in my hand, as thought that would make the letters clearer.

I was almost certain it was lasagna. But I couldn’t feel the shape and the packaging was the same as the boxes for all the other types of noodles.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I glanced at Sans. The monster was a blue and black blur leaning against the shelves on the other side of the aisle.

I held the box out to him with a sigh. “Can you tell me what kind of noodles these are?”

He took a step forward, accepting the package from me.

“Lasagna?” he asked. I wondered if he thought I was trying to play a trick on him.

“Is it whole grain?” I asked.

Sans was silent long enough that I figured he didn’t understand my question.

“Uh … are the noodles brown or white?” I asked.

“White?” he said, sounding even more uncertain. “Or at least … they aren’t brown.”

“Could you see if you can find some of the brown ones?” I asked. “They’re supposed to be healthier.”

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” Sans asked as he moved to put the package back. I leaned against the cart when it seemed like he was doing as I asked.

“Four boxes, if you find it. Please. Oh! And whole wheat spaghetti noodles would be great, too.”

I smirked as I thought of how to answer his question. “Wow, I’ve gone this long without you realizing I’m terribly illiterate? I guess I pass better than I thought!”

Sans turned to me with an unreadable expression and I snorted.

“I’m joking,” I said. I looked away and ran a hand through my hair, feeling awkward. “I’m … having trouble seeing at the moment. I can’t read the boxes, or see the pictures on them.”

“That’s … not good?” Sans said, concern obvious in his voice.

Enough concern that I blinked in surprise. Why was he worried about me?

I tried to hide my shock behind a shrug and a wave of my hand. “It happens sometimes, I’ll be fine. It usually goes away in an hour or two.”

I felt self-conscious under his concern. I didn’t want him worrying over me, so I didn’t mention that when my vision was better I wouldn’t actually be in better shape.

I could take my medication when that happened.

He wouldn’t even notice.

“Usually?”

I nodded as Sans put some boxes in the cart. He was more careful with them than I expected, placing them gently so the noodles wouldn’t break.

“Yeah, usually,” I said. I glanced at the list in my hand and tried to remember what was on it. Before I could even try to focus it was pulled out of my hands.

“If you can’t see why are you trying to read?” Sans asked. He looked at the list. “How do you even read this normally? Next on the list is Pasta Sauce, then Beans.”

“Sauce is right there,” I said, pointed to the shelves behind him. “Beans are a couple aisles over.”

Five minutes later I was reaching for a bag of Goldfish crackers and my vision went black as my legs gave out from under me. I stumbled into the shelf, desperately grabbing onto it as I tried to regain my balance and catch my breath.

My heart was beating hard and fast with the sudden burst of adrenaline.

“Whoa!” Sans shouted, suddenly beside me to help keep me upright. “You okay?”

I tried to shrug out of his grasp, uncomfortably aware of how close he was to me. I couldn’t manage it, not with my arms weak and shaky and my nervous system going haywire.

I growled softly in frustration. I didn’t want him worrying over me.

I don’t have a choice.

“No,” I admitted. “I’m … really not. Can you help me find somewhere to sit?”

Sans made a noise of agreement and helped me back to the front of the store where there were benches. I collapsed when he let me go and dropped my head into my hands with a groan of frustration.

“Are you sure this is normal?” Sans pressed. I looked over at him, glad my vision had somewhat returned, even if it was still unfocused.

At least I had sight in both eyes again.

The skeleton looked so worried, the bone between his eye sockets knit together in concern.

Concern for me.

Why was he worried about me?

I looked away, leaning my head back against the brick wall and closing my eyes.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you just passed out in the cookie aisle. You’re sweaty, your hands are freezing,” he said. “That doesn’t sound like ‘fine.’ Are you sick? Do you need a doctor or somethin’?”

I shook my head and immediately regretted it as the movement made my stomach churn.

Great, now I was getting nausea.

Still no pain.

“I’m not sick, not like you’re thinking,” I muttered as I shifted again, propping my head on my hands, elbows on my knees. “I don’t know if monsters get these, but you ever heard of a migraine?”

“A bad headache, right?” Sans asked.

“More or less,” I said as I waved a hand from side to side. “I get them sometimes. I have a few triggers.” I counted them off on my fingers as I named them. “Stress, lack of sleep, poor diet, no diet, caffeine … ” I glared up at the store lights. “Fluorescent lights.”

I dropped my head back into my hands, eyes closed against my palms.

I was out of options.

I’d been out of options for a while.

I had just been in denial.

I couldn’t finish my errands like this. Not with my legs barely supporting my weight, not with my vision so blurry I couldn’t read.

Even if I could manage to finish shopping and get everything to my car, I couldn’t drive. I didn’t even think I could walk the half mile to my apartment, let alone climb three flights of stairs.

I dismissed the idea of asking Sans to drive. Monsters were required to have special certifications to operate anything more complex than a bicycle. The certificates were notoriously difficult to obtain.

As far as I knew there were only a handful of monsters allowed to drive. All of them were owned by taxi companies.

I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket with a sigh, unlocking it and holding it out to Sans.

“You know how to work a phone, right?”

“Uh, yeah? I’ve been using yours all week.”

I shrugged, uncertain why I had even asked.

“Can you go to the contacts and find the name ‘Abby’? It’s spelled with two As, to keep it near the top,” I said.

Sans made an affirmative sound and took the device from my hand. I noticed he was careful not to touch me directly. I relaxed as best I could while I waited, but nervous, anxious energy had me shifting positions every few seconds.

I hated feeling like this.

“Found her, now what?” he asked after a moment.

“Send her a text saying ’S-O-S Migraine,’ ” I said. “She’ll know what it means.”

After a moment Sans asked, “She wants to know where we are?”

“Open the Maps app, that should have a way of sharing our location,” I said. I waited moment before continuing. “I can do it if you can’t figure it out. I can’t remember well enough to explain, but I think I have the muscle memory to-”

“She’s on her way,” Sans said, cutting me off.

“Oh!” I startled. I turned away from him, feeling awkward. “Thanks.”

He tapped my arm and put my phone back in my hand. I was about to slip it back into my pocket when I changed my mind.

“It’s gonna be a bit. If you want to play a game or something, you can,” I offered.

Sans was silent for a moment before taking my phone back. I sighed and dropped my hand. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Sans asked, confusion clear in his voice.

Right, he had no idea why I was suddenly apologizing.

“For dragging you out on our one day off. For getting a migraine. For calibrating the collar. For … For being … like this,” I said with a wave at myself.

It wasn’t enough. There was so much more.

I had an ever growing sense of guilt that had begun when I accepted him as a bribe. It grew every time our relationship was mentioned.

Every time I had to demonstrate my ownership of him.

I was sorry that I owned him.

That he was stuck with someone as useless as me.

“I’m sorry we won’t be able to get you clothes today,” I said, annoyed at how stupid I sounded.

It wasn’t enough, but I couldn’t say anything else. Guilt and self-hatred blocked my tongue and throat.

It wasn’t bad enough that I was a slave owner.

Of course not.

I had to be the shitty owner who couldn’t even find time to get her slave basic necessities. Like clothes.

I was the worst.

Sans shifted on the bench next to me, but I didn’t open my eyes to see why.

I was tired. So very tired.

I rested my head in my hands and groaned.

At least this time there was no static in my ears.

---

Abby

My sister and I are opposites in every way.

On my best days I look like I just rolled out of my bed and threw on whatever was clean. She never looks less than perfect.

I’m short and dark, taking after the abuela that I’d met a grand total of three times in my entire life.

Abby is gorgeous. She’s glamorous without being showy. Tall and imposing, she commands the room when she enters. She got her looks from our mother’s side, all golden hair and blue eyes.

When Abby left home she didn’t just blossom into herself, she flourished.

I loved her.

The best thing about her is how I feel whenever I’m near her. That I’m safe and protected.

Wanted.

Loved.

She’s commanding in a way that isn’t domineering. She says to do something and it is always the right thing to do. People fall over themselves to follow her instruction.

“List,” she demanded, hand out for it, as soon as she found me on the bench by the store entrance.

I took the list from Sans, who was staring at her dumbly, and handed it to her.

“Hi,” I said, with a bob of my head.

Abby held the list out to the side for her husband to take, and I frowned as I realized what she was doing.

“Wait, I have – ”

“Nope. No arguments from you,” Abby said with a hand up to silence me.

“Hey there, Tess,” Xander said warmly. “Don’t worry about this, I got it.”

I frowned but relented. There was no arguing with Abby when she made up her mind, and it wasn’t like I could finish my shopping.

“I abandoned a half-filled cart in the cracker and cookie aisle, it should still be there,” I said. “Thank you.”

Xander nodded and gave Abby a small kiss before disappearing further into the store to do my errands.

Abby looked down at me and I looked up, trying to focus on her blurry form.

“Let’s get you home,” she said with a smile. “Keys?”

I nodded and fished my keys from my bag, dropping them into my sister’s waiting hand. I shifted my feet under me to stand, and Sans moved to my side to help.

Abby frowned at him and looked at me. “Are you okay to walk?”

I waved Sans away and got to my feet, testing my legs. I was still wobbly, with a heavy numbness that disconnected my brain from my feet, but I could walk.

I nodded.

“It’s mostly visual,” I said, waving a hand in front of my face. “Double vision, blind spots, bright spots.”

I heard Sans make a noise of disapproval so I quickly added. “I do have weakness in my legs and some dizziness, that sort of thing. But I can walk.”

“Have you taken anything?”

I started to shake my head before remembering why I really shouldn’t, I put a hand to my mouth as I waited for the nausea to pass.

“I’m not supposed to until there’s pain. This is all prodrome and aura.”

Abby made an affirmative huff and turned to leave. Before I followed her I stopped to look where her husband had disappeared into the store. If he was still visible I couldn’t make him out among the various blurry figures.

“I should give Xander some money to pay for all that.”

Abby waved a hand in dismissal. “If you want to make it up to us, come visit more often. Or introduce me to your friend.”

I blinked, suddenly realizing I hadn’t done that.

Abby had done what she did best – entered a situation and immediately taken charge. It was a skill I had never learned, and was something I greatly admired in her.

It served her well.

“My car is parked down aisle … L?” I said, trying to remember.

“I,” Sans said. “There’s not an L.”

Abby nodded and turned int hat direction before repeating, “So, who is your friend?”

I sighed, not prepared to have this conversation now as I tried to focus on walking and not tripping over my own shadow.

“His name is Sans,” I explained, “He’s my roommate. Moved in last week.”

Abby made a thoughtful hum but didn’t say anything as we got to my car. She unlocked it, opening the back door so I could lay down for the brief ride home.

Sans paused for a moment, uncertain of where he should go.

Abby smiled widely at him. “You get shotgun. Hop in!”

They both settled into the front seats.

Abby immediately had to reposition the driver’s seat to accommodate her height.

“Who drives this normally? A child?” she teased, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Is this a car for ants?”

“Ha. Ha.” I snarked back at her. “Not my fault you got the Frostgiant genes and I ended up a dwarf.”

“You’re more like a halfling. Or a gnome,” Abby said with a smile. “You just need one of those pointy red hats and you’d fit right in.”

She adjusted the rearview mirror and our eyes met as I shifted to lay down.

“It’s good to see you, Angel,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. “Let’s go home.”

Abby parked in my usual spot and helped me out of the car. She had a contemplative look on her face as she watched me sway on my feet.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to handle the stairs,” she declared after a moment.

“I’ll be fi- ”

“Nope. You’re wobbling more than a newborn calf,” she said. She knelt down, her back to me. “Come on, it’s piggyback time.”

“Abby,” I whined.

“Just do it,” she said.

I climbed onto her back with a sigh, but I was secretly relieved. I wasn’t entirely certain I could manage the stairs with my numb legs and reeling head.

Abby carried me down the stairs of the parking garage and back up the stairs to my apartment. Not once did she complain about the number of stairs or my extra weight on her back. She wasn’t even breathing hard when we got to the door.

“Can you get to your room?” she asked as she unlocked the apartment, stepping aside to let Sans in first.

“Yeah,” I said as I took my keys from her.

“Go lay down, I’ll bring you something to drink.”

I shouldered off my jacket in the doorway and dropped my bag off the side of my bed and gratefully collapsed.

My relief was short lived as I glared at my window. The sun was at the perfect angle to reflect off the windows across the street, sending the glare of the afternoon sun directly into my eyes.

I had blackout curtains but now that I was laying down I didn’t think I could get up again. Or across the room.

Before I could seriously contemplate getting back up, Abby was there. She handed me a water bottle and then turned to pull down the curtains, blocking out the intruding light. I turned on my lamp, bathing the room in a mellow incandescent glow.

I pulled myself up enough to settle into the corner, giving Abby space to join me on the bed.

“Need anything else?” she asked as she sat next to me.

I took a sip of water and gave her the tiniest shake of my head.

“I’m fine. Given time, darkness, and quiet I’ll be okay.”

Abby looked me over with concern, her stare lingering at my bared arms. I squirmed, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I grabbed a pillow to hug to my chest, and pulled a blanket over my shoulders, hiding my arms from view.

She got the hint and looked toward the door instead.

“Tell me about him,” she encouraged. She turned back to me, smile wide and eyes bright. “Tell me about Sans.”

Her eyes held no judgement, no hate, no disappointment. None of what I felt toward my self. Instead they were curious, filled with a desire to understand. I looked away, unable to meet her eyes with my own.

“It happened last week, after I visited mom,” I explained. “I was just so … so angry at her. I didn’t want to come home and stew in it, so I went to Solar’s.”

At the name she flinched. A grimace flickered across her face, there and gone in a blink. Abby looked at me, concern furrowing her brow. “I wish you wouldn’t hang around Apollo.”

“I mostly don’t,” I said. “I mostly go there because there’s a monster working the bar. He’s nice. Friendly. I like talking to him.”

Abby still looked uncomfortable, so I continued. “I maybe see Apollo once every couple of weeks. He isn’t there very often, not out front at least. Even when he is, I barely talk to him.”

She let out a conflicted groan, but didn’t press the issue. Instead she just caught my eyes with hers.

“Be careful around him, alright?”

I nodded and wondered where this was coming from. Abby and Apollo had never been close, but they had been friends once. They had gone to and graduated high school in the same class. It was how I knew him.

“Anyway,” I said, looking away again. “I was on my way to Solar’s when I started feeling weird. It was like an aura but I never got a migraine, and it only lasted a few minutes. I walked right by the bar. Didn’t even see it.”

I frowned, recalling how disorienting the moment had been, wondering why I had an episode like that. “When I stopped, I was in the middle of a fight.”

Abby’s hand flew to her mouth as she made a sound of protest.

I held up my hands defensively, letting the pillow flop forward and the blanket fall from my shoulders. “I didn’t mean to, it just … happened? There was a crowd and I somehow managed to get to the middle of it.”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself for the next part of the story. “There was an old guy beating on Sans with his cane.”

My chest rekindled the ashes of the white-hot rage that I had felt during the fight. “He ordered Sans to stay still. To take the beating. The collar accepted it.”

I saw Abby’s hands and jaw clench in anger. She couldn’t stand seeing the defenseless take a beating.

“Sans was going to get hurt so … I stepped in. I grabbed the old guy’s cane. He spun around and sucker punched me.”

I motioned to the mostly-healed bruise on my cheek. Abby hadn’t mentioned it, so I assume she hadn’t noticed it. Her eyes narrowed as I continued.

“He gave me Sans to stop me from calling the cops on him, pressing charges for assault.” I looked away, ashamed. “I accepted. I … I didn’t want to leave Sans with some bastard who would beat him on the street. Who wouldn’t let him defend himself.”

I had taken my fair share of beatings, but I had never been unable to defend myself. I had always had the option to try to protect myself.

I was never so helplessly defenseless.

The thought was terrifying. Horrifying on a visceral level.

I shuddered and bundled my pillow back up to bury my face in it. I didn’t want Abby to see the tears stinging my eyes.

“And now I own a slave,” I cried, the words catching in my throat as I choked them out, voice thick with misery and regret.

“I’m no better than mom.”

Abby stared at me as my words sank in, processing the full meaning. Before I could protest her arms were around me, pulling me into a tight embrace, crushing the pillow and me against her chest.

I tensed against the touch, fighting the urge to push her away, to escape her hold.

Then … the dam broke.

I stiffly returned the hug, trying desperately to stop my tears, to somehow hide them from her.

A week’s worth of guilt, regret, and self-loathing had been set free. I couldn’t stop.

Abby waited for a lull in my quiet sobbing before whispering, “You are nothing like her, Angel. Nothing.”

She pulled away, smiling at me in apology for invading my space. I rubbed at my arms, looking away and unable to stop the tears.

Abby looked at her hands, tracing the lines on her palms with her eyes. It was something she did when she was thinking about something, trying to decide the best order to the put the words in.

I wondered what she was trying to figure out.

We sat in silence for a moment or two as I regained control of my tears. When I was finally able to breathe normally she spoke, her voice calm and soft. Gentle, like when she would talk Jamie down from a tantrum years ago.

“What have you actually done to Sans?”

I blinked at her, confused and off balance from the question.

Wasn’t it obvious?

“I … I own him, Abby.”

She tilted her head for a moment, before giving it a little shake. “No, that’s not what I mean. I want to know what specific actions you have taken against him. How have you exerted your authority over him? Do you beat him? Order him around? Tell me what exactly you have done to cause Sans harm?”

I blinked at her again, frowning. “I … I control his entire life now. Everything. He has no agency and it’s my fault.”

Abby shook her head. “No, it’s not. Angel, if you vanished from existence what about his situation would change? Do you think he would be better off, or worse?” You are not the problem. The system is the problem.”

I didn’t respond and she sighed and looked back toward the door.

“What choices should you have made differently?” she asked. “Should you have come home instead of going to Solar’s?”

I shrugged, “It’d probably be a good idea for me to save money.”

She rolled her eyes with an annoyed huff. “You know that’s not what I meant. Was it morally wrong to go to Solar’s?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Was it wrong to stop a fight in the street?”

“No..”

“Then was it wrong to try to help someone out of a volatile, dangerous, violent situation?”

“ … No,” I said with a frown. “But it was wrong for me to accept Sans as a bribe! Like … like he’s an object that can be traded around!”

Abby wobbled her hand back and forth. “Perhaps, but what was the other option? You press charges against the man and Sans … what? Goes back home with a violent human who is willing to beat him in public? Or perhaps he would be better off at a dealer. Or an auction house! Just waiting to be sold off to someone even worse. Or you’ve heard of the black market slave trade. You know how easy it would be for him to end up there.” She sighed and looked back at me, reaching her hands out but not pushing for anything.

“Theresa, you need to stop thinking about this in black and white. Life has nuance, Angel. Stop thinking about the labels society imposes on you. Stop thinking of Sans as a slave. Stop thinking of yourself as a slave owner. That’s how mom thinks. How Apollo thinks.”

“How!?” I demanded, more venom and volume to my voice than I meant. “He is a slave. I am a slave owner. He’s my property! I can’t … I can’t just … ignore that.”

Abby frowned at me, disappointment finally darkening her eyes. “I didn’t know you believed the government had the power to take away the basic personhood of sentient beings. You have asserted, for years, that the government cannot claim ownership of these people. That their claim of that power is unjust and invalid, no matter what the law says.”

She put a hand under my chin, guiding me to raise my head without touching me. Our eyes met and the disappointment was gone, replaced with unconditional love. “Why are you letting them decide who and what you are? What you do?”

I stared at her as the words embedded themselves in my brain.

“The government that says you’re a slave owner is the same government that said I was a boy for most of my life,” Abby said. “But we both know I’ve always been your big sister, right?”

I nodded and she smiled warmly at me.

“Do you truly believe you can own another person?” she asked.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“I didn’t think so. If you don’t believe you can own another person, you shouldn’t feel guilty and berate yourself for doing so. Forget the labels. Forget what other people have defined and labeled this as.”

She thought for a moment before asking, “What do you want from Sans?”

“I don’t want anything from him,” I said.

“What do you want for him?”

I blinked at her, caught off guard.

I chewed my lip as I considered the question.

“I … I want him to be safe from abuse. I want him to have a home and food and everything he needs to survive. I want him to live. I want him to thrive. I want him to be happy,” I felt more confident as I spoke, the list getting longer the more I thought about it. “I want him to not have to worry that he’s going to be forced to do something he doesn’t want. I want him to have the autonomy to do what he wants.”

I looked away as I realized the simplest, fullest answer to her question.

“I want him to be free.”

“Do you think mom would answer the same? What about Apollo?”

I shook my head.

“That is what makes you different from mom. From Apollo. From the majority of slave owners,” she said gently. “You don’t want Sans to do anything for you. You want to help him live his own life.”

I felt my chest swell with something like hope as I considered her words.

Maybe I’m not a bad person?

Abby looked back to the door with a chuckle. “Your situation reminds me of my clients, in some ways.”

“How does this remind you of work?” I asked, tilting my head in confusion.

“Sans is disadvantaged. He is in a society that doesn’t accept his right to self-determination, instead giving that responsibility to you,” she explained. “That’s not so different from the children I help. You’re like a guardian ad litem. You are his legal representation. Your job is to ensure that Sans is treated fairly, both in the eyes of society, and in the eyes of the law. To make sure he has as much autonomy as possible.”

I looked to the door with a frown. “How do I do that?”

Abby stared at me for a moment before letting out a snort. A surprised huff that quickly devolved into whole-hearted, head-thrown-back belly laughs that brought tears to her eyes.

I shifted further into my corner, confused and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” she said as her laughter died down to persistent giggles. “It’s been so long … sometimes I forget that you’re one of the smartest morons I’ve ever known.”

I pouted, annoyed and frustrated that I was missing the joke.

I felt like a little kid, not able to keep up with her cool big sister. It was uncomfortably familiar.

Abby settled down and took a few breaths, calming herself. “The way you do that is by talking to him,” she said, emphasizing the words. I rolled my eyes, a thousand arguments coming to mind. “Whenever you can, you should delegate decisions about his life to him. When you can’t, you should make the decision you think he would want you to make. Or the decision that is best for him.”

“He won’t talk to me,” I argued.

“Then keep trying. Treat him like a person. A broken, scarred, scared person who has been screwed by the system. A person who is in your care.” She put a hand near my cheek, not quite touching me, just offering. I leaned into the touch, and we both softened a little. “He’ll come to see you as the wonderful person you are. It just might take some time.”

I leaned against her hand, trying to come up with another argument, something I could say to prove I was in the wrong.

But she was right.

It was a shitty, fucked-up situation that none of us wanted to be a part of.

I had been given more control over Sans’ life than I wanted, than I was comfortable with. The system declared he was unfit to have that autonomy.

The system was wrong.

But it was the system we were in.

I needed to make the best of it. I needed to make sure Sans had the best he could, until the system changed.

Abby smiled at me, “There’s the fighter I know. There’s my Angel.”

I smiled back at her, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders and the pit in my stomach shrink.

I wanted to do better. I wanted to make things right.

Abby pulled away from me, a serious look on her face. “Every time you call yourself a ‘slave owner,’ you are endorsing the system as legitimate,” she said. “I’m ashamed to hear you say it. Reject their illegitimate authority.”

“I will,” I said with a nod that set off a small spark of pain behind my eyes. “I do.”

“Good,” she said with a gentle, soft smile. My favorite smile. She stood and stretched. “My dear Xander should be here soon, if he hasn’t made it already. We’ll get your groceries sorted and then head back home. Is there anything else you need? How’s your head?”

I had been so involved in the conversation that I hadn’t noticed the aura fading.

I also hadn’t noticed the pain growing,

“It’s starting to hurt,” I admitted. “I’ll take some painkillers and go to sleep.”

I shuffled around in my bag for the pill bottle before glancing back up at her as she reached for the door. “Um … could you also make sure Sans has something to eat? He’s probably vanished into his room – I don’t know which one – but if you call for him he’ll usually appear.”

“I’d be glad to,” Abby said with a bright smile. “Get some rest, and tomorrow make sure you talk to him. Even if he doesn’t talk back.”

I nodded, wincing as another explosion of pain burst behind my eyes.

“I will. Thanks, Abby. For everything.”

She ruffled my hair, much like I had done to James a few hours before.

“Of course, what else are big sisters for?”

I smiled as she left the room, noting that she remembered to lock it behind her. I took a pill and popped it into my mouth, grimacing as it dissolved on my tongue.

The relief was worth it, but damn did these things taste nasty.

I turned off my lamp, undressing in the dark. I was too exhausted to bother changing into actual pajamas, so I curled up in bed in my t-shirt and panties.

I double checked my morning alarms before cuddling into my nest of blankets.

For the first time in a week I felt … okay.

I am a good person.

I am going to prove it.

---

Sans and I crossed the street to the parking garage, and I led the way up the stairs and to my car.

He stared at the vehicle while I pulled my keys from my shoulder bag.

“You have a car?” he asked.

I unlocked the doors with a nod, confused by his confusion. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you use it?” the skeleton asked as he settled into the front passenger seat.

I checked the mirrors and turned the ignition. “You mean to get to my jobs? It’s faster to walk. Well … run. Seatbelt.”

He stared at me blankly until I pointed to my own.

“Seatbelt. Car doesn’t move until everyone’s buckled in.”

The skeleton nodded and pulled the belt across his chest and lap. I pulled up the GPS on my phone and typed in the address for my sister’s café. I knew the way, but it was nice to have directions anyway.

“I used to drive to work,” I explained. “Early on. Between traffic and finding parking, it wasn’t worth it. I can get anywhere in the city on foot or with public transit, as long as I time it right, and my jobs outside the city are usually shuttled. I don’t drive unless I have to.” I pulled out of my space and made my way out of the garage. “Besides, driving uses gas and gas is expensive. And owning a car means I have to have insurance. Which is also expensive. I have one of those pay-by-the-mile car insurances. So not driving saves me money.”

“Then … why are you driving now?”

“Groceries,” I said simply. “I try to buy around two weeks worth at a time It’s a pain trying to lug that back home on foot.” I pulled onto the main street and fixed my eyes on the road. “First, though, we’re going to my sister’s café. It’s called ‘Well Roasted.’ ”

Sans was quiet for a moment, watching the city pass by as I drove. Then he snickered.

I grinned. I hoped he and Abby would get along, and it seemed they were already off to a good start.

I just hoped my sister was at the café today.

---

Sea Tea and Crabapple Tarts

Well Roasted was a trendy upscale coffee shop just outside of the popular tourist part of the city. As Abby had grown her business she had added a chocolatier and patisserie to the business.

It was well outside my price range, like all coffee shops, but Abby had promised me that as long as she was the owner, I would never have to pay. Which meant as long as Well Roasted existed, since I didn’t see Abby selling the place for all the money in the world.

It was her dream.

It was the only coffee place I went to.

It didn’t hurt that they made the absolute best hot chocolate I had ever had, on top of having excellent coffee.

I held the door open for Sans and scanned the dining room. It was near empty, which made me relax. I had worried that we would be confronting midday crowds.

It was so much nicer to not be surrounded by people.

I glanced up at the menu boards, reacquainting myself with the café’s offerings. I hadn’t been here in months, but aside from seasonal drinks the menu tended to remain fairly static. There were, to my surprise, two new boards.

The first had seven hearts along the bottom, each a different color. “In collaboration with Seven Souls Bakery, Well Roasted is now serving Spider Pastries!”

The other new board had a drawing of a sea turtle drinking a bubble tea and said, “Proudly Serving SEA TEA!”

I smiled as I felt a rush of pride for my big sister.

She had done it.

“Aunt T!” a voice called, breaking me from my reverie.

I looked toward the speaker and my expression brightened into a happy smile.

“Jamie!” I called out in response, giving the teenager a wave.

He looked like he was about to jump over the counter to rush me. As he was hoisting himself up and over one of his coworkers grabbed his arm to redirect him. I waited where I was so he could tackle me in a hug.

I felt Sans tense next to me as my nephew ran at us, but I didn’t have time to ask why.

I hugged the kid back for a moment before pulling away to reach up and ruffle his hair.

“God kiddo, you’re getting big,” I teased with a smile.

James had only been five when Abby had started babysitting him. Shortly afterward he had attached himself to me as his “Aunt T.” The kid and his baby sister were some of the only people who never failed to cheer me up.

“Nah, you’re just shrinking in your old age,” James joked as he led me to the counter. I wasn’t certain he had even noticed the skeleton following us. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to run errands,” I explained. “I’m going over to the Department of Monster Services after this. But I wanted to stop by and see my favorite nephew while I was in the neighborhood.”

“Is there another protest?” James asked, looking concerned.

“No, nothing like that.” I shook my head as my mood fell under the weight of reality. I looked around for a moment before asking, “Is your mom here? I need to talk to her about something.”

“They’re at church,” James said, shaking his head.

I nodded, unhappy but unsurprised. I had hoped to see her, but I hadn’t expected anything different. Sunday was the Sabbath, and the Sabbath meant church.

I may have lost my faith a long time ago, but Abby still had hers.

“Is she gonna be in today at all?” I asked, hoping there was still a chance I could see her.

“Nope,” James said as he shook his head again. Then he brightened. “We have family dinner tonight!”

I nodded, trying to brush off my disappointment. “That’s fine. I’ll schedule something with her.”

James sighed and frowned, making me think I had missed something, but I ignored it and looked at the menu boards. “I’ll get my usual cocoa, and an almond croissant. Also, whatever he wants.”

I jerked my thumb toward the skeleton behind me, catching Sans and James off guard and making them both jump.

They both stared at me, confused for different reasons.

I rolled my eyes.

“James, this is Sans. He’s my … roommate. He’s part of why I need to talk to your mom,” I said before turning back to Sans. “This is my nephew, James. And I’m not going to drag you to a coffee shop and not get you something. Whatever you want, drink and pastry.”

Sans recovered first.

He stared at me, black eyes and lazy posture, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You keep trying to feed me,” he drawled. “Trying to fatten me up?”

I snorted at the accusation. “Obviously. Look at you! You’re all skin and bones … except, you know, sans the skin.”

Sans stared at me for a moment before bursting out in a full-on laugh, his eyelights sparking into existence.

“Fuck yeah!” I said as I pumped a fist to the air and turned back to my nephew. “Add a cookie to my order, James. I need a reward for that one.”

James was still staring at the skeleton, slack jawed and confused. I tapped his hand gently to get his attention. “You okay, kiddo?”

He nodded slowly, then started tapping my order into the tablet in front of him. He turned to Sans with a wide, open smile that started strained but quickly slipped into comfortable.

“What would you like, Sans?”

The skeleton looked taken aback, and I wondered if it was because of James’ attitude or the general idea that I was going to get him something here. I wondered, unhappily, how often the skeleton had been dragged places and not fed, or simply left behind alone. I dug my fingers into my palm to keep my anger in check.

Sans looked up to the menu boards and his eyelights dimmed. I glanced up and remembered just how overwhelming the options were.

I glanced behind us, relieved that we were still the only customers. Then I turned back to James. “He might need a minute. I saw you guys are serving sea tea now!”

James beamed, his bright smile rivaling the sun. He stood up a little straighter, prouder. “Yeah! We got the first shipment in on Wednesday. It’s been selling like crazy.”

I couldn’t help but return his proud smile. “Your mom did a lot of work to get approval, she should be proud of herself. She’s also working with Seven Souls now?”

James nodded, enthusiasm plain on his face. “She got the contract with Seven Souls first, actually. They helped push through the sea tea approval. We’re officially the first non-Rainbow company in or out of Ebbot to sell monster food!”

Sans glanced between us, our conversation distracting him from the overwhelming menu.

I pointed up at the two new boards. “My sister has been trying to get approval from the city council to sell monster food here for years. She started almost immediately after the Barrier fell.”

James nodded and explained, “Mom told me she went to visit the Underground right after the Barrier broke. She was on a class trip or something. They went to … Frozen? Snowing? … I can’t remember the name – ” Sans muttered something I didn’t catch as he turned back to look at the boards. James didn’t hear him at all and kept talking. “ – Anyway, she had what she said was the best cinnamon bun ever. She’s been looking for the monster who sold them ever since. Mom wasn’t able to find her, but she did meet someone who got her in touch with Rainbow. Now we can sell monster food!”

James looked so happy, beaming with pride at how hard his mom worked. Sans looked between my nephew and I for a long second, silent and calculating. When he finally spoke his voice was softer, lacking the sharp edge I had become used to.

“Yeah … yeah. I’ll get a sea tea and a … ” he glanced at the display case. “ … crabapple tart.”

I smiled and moved to pull my wallet out as James typed the order in, only to have my nephew put up a hand to stop me.

“You know the rules, Aunt T,” he said, suddenly every bit a surly teenager.

I rolled my eyes at him. “ ‘Family doesn’t pay,’ ” I quoted at the teenager, sarcasm thick in my voice. I pointed at Sans. “Your mom hasn’t even met him yet. I’m paying for his order, at least.”

James shook his head as he printed out the order and handed it to the barista who had stopped him from leaping across the counter. “Nope. He’s a friend of yours. That means he’s family.”

I glared at him, but the edge was dulled by playfulness. “You wouldn’t do that for any of your uncles, would you?”

James responded with a wide grin. “That’s why I specified a friend of yours, Aunt T! Do you want to choose your pastries?”

I dropped a couple bills into the tip jar before he could stop me and shook my head.

“You’re the professional, I trust you to choose me the best one.” I glanced back at Sans, who I noticed was looking very uncomfortable. “Wanna choose your apple tart?”

He shook his head and I glanced behind him and pointed to an empty corner booth.

“If you wanna go sit over there, I’ll bring our drinks and pastries once they’re ready. You don’t need to wait around on me.”

Sans looked at the table I indicated and shrugged acceptance before meandering over.

“Don’t tell your mom about him, okay?” I asked James as I turned back toward him.

“Why not?” James asked as he plated Sans’ tart. “Is he a secret?”

“No … I just want to explain some things to her about the situation first,” I said.

James frowned, biting at his lip, He slid the two pastry plates across the counter to me. “Aunt T … mom isn’t going to hate you if you have a monster.”

I flinched and was about to argue but James cut me off before I could speak. “She won’t be disappointed or mad or anything. If you got a monster, there must have been a good reason.” He bit his lip again before continuing. “You don’t need to schedule time to see her, either. You should come over to dinner tonight!”

“Jamie – ”

“Mom and dad would love to have you, and Chloe has been missing her favorite auntie,” James insisted, ignoring my interruption. “Come to dinner. Bring Sans!”

It was tempting. It had been a long time since I had been around the good parts of my family. Or since I had eaten food that wasn’t greasy and fried or leftover lasagna.

But … I didn’t feel comfortable either leaving Sans home alone or taking him with me. Both options felt like rubbing what I had in his face.

If I left him home I would get a nice family dinner, and he would be alone with leftovers.

If I brought him along with me he would be surrounded by something that was taken from him. Violently.

I glanced over at the skeleton. He had his head on the table, apparently asleep. I gave a little snort and turned back to my nephew.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “It’s … complicated.”

James’ shoulders dropped, but he nodded despite his disappointment. I was about to explain myself when his coworker brought over our drinks.

“Angel and Sans?” she asked as she placed them on the counter in front of me. I nodded and she pointed at the mugs. “Hot cocoa with hazelnut milk and extra whipped cream, and a sea tea. Enjoy!”

I thanked her and picked up the mugs, balancing them and the plates of pastries in my arms.

“I promise I’ll think about it,” I told James as I got everything situated. “If nothing else I’ll call your mom tonight, okay?”

He nodded again before going back to work.

I took the food to the table

I glanced at the mug of sea tea as I placed it on the table. I wondered who had decided to draw the turtle drinking bubble tea, when apparently sea tea was standard tea.

The china it was in was different than the usual mugs Well Roasted used. It was white, like all the café’s china, it had a different logo on the side. In the place of the café’s logo there was a purple shield with a symbol I recognized, but couldn’t place.

“Huh, that’s new,” I said as I slid the cup in front of my skeletal companion.

Sans lifted his head to look at what I was talking about. The edges of his smile drooped a little.

“It’s the Delta Rune,” he explained as he sat back up. “It’s … the symbol of monsterkind.”

“Sounds like it’s important,” I said as I sat across from him.

Sans shrugged and took a sip of the drink. “They print it on all monster stuff.”

I blinked and realized that’s where I had seen the symbol before. It was on the packaging of the monster candy I bought. I looked up at the menu boards and saw it there, too, next to all monster food and drink.

“Is that disrespectful?”

Sans gave me a blank stare before shrugging and looking away. “I dunno.”

I winced and reached to pull my book out of my bag. “Stupid question. Forget I asked.”

The skeleton was silent, looking out the window with a faraway stare.

“Hey, listen,” I said as I opened my book. I grinned as I tried to find where I had left off, not looking at Sans. “I’m sorry I’ve bean so awkward. I know I mess up a latte.” I looked up at him, my tone turning serious. “I’m … not really used to … people. Or being social.”

Sans turned to look at me before giving a soft chuckle.

“Fuck yeah,” I said, looking back at my book. Maybe I would get another cookie and share it with the skeleton.

Except James didn’t give me my first cookie.

Well, if I had to go get a cookie anyway, I might as well grab two of them.

“Why do you do that?” Sans asked. I blinked up at him.

“Do … what?” I asked.

“The ‘fuck yeah’ thing,” Sans clarified.

“Oh! That,” I said. I slid my bookmark in between the pages as I thought about how to answer. “Habit. My younger brother hates those kinds of jokes. Puns and wordplay. When I was a kid I started celebrating every time I could make him laugh with them.”

I rubbed a finger across the cover of my book, imagining my brother’s surprised expression when I could get him with a really good pun.

Sans chuckled and I turned to stare at him, completely confused. His eyelights were bright and his features were soft.

“A little brother who hates puns,” he said as he laughed. “I can relate.”

I was about to ask him more about his family, about his brother, when he asked another question.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Four,” I said holding up my fingers. “Three brothers and a sister. What about you?”

The question was reflexive and I immediately regretted it. Any family he had was either a slave or dead.

I stiffened, feeling like I had stepped directly on a landmine. One wrong move and everything was over.

But … Sans wasn’t angry. He just looked sad. Sad and tired.

“Just one,” he said as he looked away again.

I picked at my croissant, wanting to know more but unsure and unable to ask. I worried about bringing up bad memories. The landmine ticked beneath my feet.

“Five kids, huh?” Sans asked after a moment. “Must have been a big happy family.”

I blinked at him, my train of thought off course for the topic at hand.

“Big … yes.” I said after a moment. I frowned at my croissant. “I wouldn’t say ‘happy,’ though.”

A thick uncomfortable silence fell over the table, and my thoughts churned.

Would I want to talk about family if we were separated?

That … wasn’t really a fair question.

I didn’t want to talk about my family now. We were separated, distance kept by a mutual understanding that we just ‘weren’t that kind of family.’ I didn’t even know the last time I had spoken to either of my older brothers.

I wondered if Josh and Alycia had more kids. Last I’d heard they just had their fourth, but I only learned about her existence when she was around six months old.

“What’s he like?” I asked finally, trying to distract myself from my own thoughts. I held up my hands as the skeleton turned his eye sockets on me. “If you want to talk, I mean. I’d like to know, but you don’t have to tell me.”

Sans stared at me for a moment and then his expression changed. Gone was the cold, distant calculating glare. In its place was a wide smile and bright, warm pride.

“He’s the best,” he said simply.

The warmth and love in the skeleton’s voice took me off balance.

That’s how family is supposed to feel about each other.

I wanted to respond, but my voice caught in my throat.

Memories rose, unbidden and unwanted, from the depths of my mind. A broken family, twisted into a macabre imitation of what it could have been. What it should have been.

Something tightened in my chest as I pushed away my darker thoughts and went back to my croissant and book.

I was not going to be envious of Sans.

“How’s the tea?” I asked after I had calmed down enough.

Sans jumped at the question and I realized he had been people watching. Or daydreaming. Or … possibly simply dreaming? I wouldn’t put it past the skeleton to be able to sleep with his eyes open, given how many other ways I had seen him nap in the last week.

The skeleton stared at his drink for a moment, before taking another sip.

“It’s really good,” he said, voice soft and emotional.

There was a wistful, nostalgic hitch to his voice that I recognized. It was the same as when I would visit Abby and we would drink hot cocoa and talk. The feeling of hugs from James or Chloe.

It tastes like home.

---

Ebbot City’s Department of Monster Services

After we left the café, the skeleton became gloomy again. The lights vanished from his eye sockets and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

He followed me as I led the way to the government building, guided by my phone.

It was easy enough to find the building, but I was grateful to have the GPS anyway.

We approached the plain, three story office building that blended into the city around it. A plaque above the double doors labeled the building as The Department of Monster Services.

Human-monster pairs milled about outside. I frowned at some of the humans who held leashes attached tot he collars of their monster.

What did they think was going to happen? The monster was going to run away?

Wasn’t that what the stupid kill switch was for?

I grumbled under my breath as I entered the building and looked for a directory.

I wanted to talk to whoever dealt with the collars, calibrate Sans’ to my soul, and get out.

Inside the building was bright but dingy, with aging decor that had been out of date long before the monsters had come to the surface. Hand-me-downs and leftovers from other government offices, I assumed.

Near the back of the foyer was a help desk with what looked like a directory. Perfect.

I strode across the room to the desk, eager to get on my way.

The woman behind the desk looked bored and annoyed. She didn’t look up as we approached.

“Welcome to the Ebbot City Department of Monster Services. How may I help you today?” she asked, voice monotone and disinterested.

I glanced at the desk in front of her and saw she was working on a crossword puzzle. With a shrug I turned my attention to the map, trying to find the right department.

“I’m just looking for … ” I mumbled and let my voice drift off without actually saying anything to her.

She was as interested in helping me as I was in talking to her. She made some noncommittal noise and wrote something on the puzzle margins before erasing it with an irritated groan.

“Ugh. ‘7 letter word for ‘funny bone’?’ What does that even mean?” she mumbled to herself.

I stopped my search and thought about it for a moment,.

I was counting letters on my fingers when Sans said, “Humerus.”

The lady looked up, confused, so he spelled it for her. “H-U-M-E-R-U-S.”

She wrote down his suggestion, her face breaking into a smile as it fit. “Thank you! I’ve been struggling with that one for an hour.”

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about bones,” Sans said in an easy tone.

I noticed that his voice lacked the humorous lilt it had when he joked around at Solar’s.

The lady chuckled and pushed her puzzle tot he side.

“So, what department are you looking for?” she asked, smiling and friendly now.

I glanced at Sans, perplexed. How did he get her to drop her guard and turn on a genuine smile? Whenever I tried to do that I just made people uncomfortable.

I pushed the thought aside and pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. I held it up to the woman, browser open to the website that had brought me here. “It said I needed to do something with the HPD?”

“Ah! Yes, of course. You’ll want the Human Protection Device department. Second floor, first door on the right from the stairs. There’s the stairs you passed when you came in, or there’s an elevator bank just down this hallway. Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” I said as I glanced at the map, making sure I knew where I was going.

“Great! They’ll get you all set up,” she said. As I turned to leave she quickly added. “I believe Adam and Sadie are working today. Talk to Adam – he’s young, but respectful. And he knows his stuff. Have a nice day!”

She waved at both Sans and myself and I led us to the stairs.

The door was frosted glass with “Human Protection Device Department emblazoned across it in all capital letters. Some of the stickers were peeling, and they weren’t lined up properly.

Inside was an intake room, with chairs off to the side and a large front desk. I could see a line of closed office doors leading down a hallway behind the desk. Everything was bright, lit by florescent tubes that made me wince. The slight flickering always made my head ache.

At the front desk were a young man and woman. The young man was looking at his computer monitor, eyes glassy and completely bored. The young woman was reading a book.

I walked up to the desk and cleared my throat to get their attention, since opening and closing the door hadn’t. The woman glanced at me before nudging her partner with her elbow.

“Your turn,” she said.

He jumped, pulling earbuds out as he hit a few keys on his keyboard. I saw the screen blink as whatever he had been doing was replaced with more “productive” work.

“Hello! Welcome!” he said, voice too loud and obviously startled. “I’m Adam. Russell. Adam Russel, is my name.”

He took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. I wondered if he wasn’t used to working with the public. The woman gave a quiet laugh and turned a page.

“How can I help you?”

I held up my phone, still on the webpage from before. “I need to do this?”

Adam glanced at the page and nodded. “Soul calibration? That’s easy, Come back to my office and I’ll show you how to do it.”

He stepped away from the front desk and led us back to the offices. He opened the door to one that had the names Adam Russell and Skylar Jenkins next to it, written haphazard on computer paper.

I waved Sans through first and followed him in as the young man spoke.

“Have you ever had a finger stick before? To do a blood typing test? Or maybe to check your blood glucose?”

I thought for a moment before shaking my head. “Probably? But I don’t remember it at all.”

He nodded as he closed the door behind him, beckoning for me to sit on one of the two computer chairs as he pulled out the other.

There wasn’t a chair for Sans.

I ignored the proffered seat, waving the skeleton toward it instead.

Adam shrugged and offered me his seat instead.

Musical chairs decided, I sat and Sans followed suit, leaning back and seemingly at ease. I could see his grip on his jacket. He wasn’t comfortable here.

I really wasn’t either.

Adam turned away from us and started pulling things out of the drawer of his desk, laying them on the tabletop as he spoke.

“That’s not unusual. Blood typing tests are done on kids, usually before they can really remember them. And if your not diabetic, there’s not many reasons to track your glucose.” He turned back to me with a gentle smile. “It’s a simple procedure. You take a lancet and put it in a device that’s made for this.”

He was demonstrating as he spoke, his hands moving with the efficiency of practice.

He screwed the top onto the lancing device and showed me the assembled tool. “When I – or you – push this button, it jabs the lancet into your finger to draw a small amount of blood.”

He pushed the button and the device made a clicking sound, which I assumed was the lancet shooting forward as the spring released. He reset the device as he continued. “It’s … fifty-fifty if it’ll hurt or not, but it should only be a pinch. Better than getting a shot! The numbers here indicate the depth of the lancet. I usually keep it around 1.”

I looked at my fingers, calloused and rough. “I’ll … probably need it to go deeper than you think.”

He nodded and turned it so the number read 3 instead.

“The highest is 5, but I’ve only needed to go that far once or twice,” he explained. He then looked at Sans’ collar, not really seeing the skeleton wearing it.

“Do you know when the collar was last calibrated?”

The question was for me, even though he wasn’t looking in my direction at all.

“No. He came into my … company unexpectedly,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I haven’t had time to go through all of his information.”

Adam looked at Sans’ face. “Do you know when it was last calibrated?”

The skeleton thought about it for a moment, somehow screwing his eyes up like he was really thinking, before shrugging. “Longer than six months, shorter than a year,” he said in a lazy drawl. “I’ve lost track.”

Adam turned to his computer and pulled something up. “What’s the serial?”

“UDSKST001S,” Sans said before I could even process the question. His voice was monotone, void of emotion. I couldn’t tell if it was a collar-forced response or just an unhappy reminder.

The young man typed the series of numbers and letters in quickly before pulling up a page similar to the one I had used to register Sans. He skimmed the page before nodding.

“Looks like it was around seven months ago,” he said as he turned to me. “It’s useful to know. The more recent a calibration, the more likely it will interfere with the new one. Six months is usually safe, but it might be worth it to wipe the data of the previous calibration.”

“What does that entail?” I asked.

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a hard reboot of the collar. Your monster would be sedated while the – ”

“No.” I said, cutting him off and surprising all three of us with my tone. I shook my head. “I’m not sedating Sans for something like this. Not unless I have no other choice. How much of a problem will it be without the wipe?”

“Since it’s been longer than six months it really shouldn’t be a problem. The magic tends to weaken within that amount of time. A new calibration should overwrite the old one,” Adam said with a shrug.

I glanced at Sans, “And if it doesn’t?”

The young man sighed. “It’s possible that without a full reboot the previous human the collar attuned to will be able to override your commands. Aside from that there’s not much risk.”

I nodded and considered. It seemed like an acceptable risk to me. If whoever had last done this was seven months in the past, I was fairly certain they were no longer an issue. Especially given the stack of paperwork in my bag.

“Alright then, what do I need to do?”

“You’ll need to prick your finger, and put a drop of blood into the inlet on the HPD.” Adam turned toward Sans, his eyes focused on the collar again. He motioned to the device. “Do you mind if I … ?”

I looked to Sans, since it was his personal space Adam would be invading. The skeleton shrugged. “Do what you need to, pal.”

Adam nodded and reached for the thickest part of the collar, where the lights and electronics of the device were. He pulled off a rubber protective cover, revealing a pinhole.

“This is the inlet. You put a drop of blood here and the light will blink red as it processes. If everything goes okay the green light will come on for about thirty seconds. That means the collar is calibrated.”

Adam let go of the collar and waved at the objects on the desk.

“I can talk you through the process if you want,” he offered. I nodded and we began.

I cleaned my finger with an alcohol wipe, then put the lancing device against my skin. I took a deep breath and pushed the button, flinching at the click as the spring released.

There was a brief spark of pain, but it was less than I expected. I moved the lancing device away to see a droplet of blood growing from the tiny wound.

“Perfect,” Adam said. “Now all you need to do is put that against the inlet on the HPD.”

I put my bleeding finger against the pinhole Adam had exposed and watched the lights of the collar blink. Only when the light turned solid green did I pull my hand away. I covered the pinhole back up as I moved.

“And that’s it!” Adam said with a warm smile. “You’ll want to do this every four to six months, as long as you have the monster. I can give you some one-time-use lancets as well. They’re not as nice as this one, but they’ll work. Do you have any questions for me?”

I frowned, since I had a thousand questions but I didn’t know if Adam would be able to answer any of them. I didn’t know which were the most important.

He pulled me from my thoughts with a quick noise.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He turned back to his computer and turned the monitor fully toward me. “It takes up to a day for the database to update, but you can check the status of the calibration here. It’s really important to keep up to date. If you don’t, the monster can be repossessed. You might have to pay fines to get him back.”

I nodded since that lined up with what I read earlier.

Adam began to clean up, ejecting the used lancet into a sharps bin. I considered the questions I had about the collar and this calibration.

“What exactly does this calibration do?”

“The result is that the monster’s magic will resonate with your SOUL,” Adam explained He frowned apologetically at me. “I don’t honestly know how it works, but it means your commands get a higher priority than, say, mine.”

“So … “

“So say I were to tell … Sans, you said his name was?” I nodded and Adam continued. “Say I were to order Sans, ‘Do a thousand jumping jacks.’ If you had told your monster to not do any extraneous activity, the command would be ignored. Or if you came over and told him to stop, that would override my order. If the calibration wasn’t in place, the priority of commands would be determined through other means.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Intent,” Adam said as he pulled something out of the file cabinet in the corner and I rolled my eyes in frustration. “You might think of that as will. Whichever person has a stronger will would win. Does that make sense?”

“I think so?” I said. It was still too fuzzy for my liking, but I thought I understood what he meant. I would need to keep the collar attuned properly. That way none of this conversation would matter, since my will would override anyone else.

I tried to sort through my thoughts again, attempting to figure out what else I wanted to ask. I couldn’t think of anything else. My mind was suddenly completely blank.

I frowned as I realized there was visual snow creeping into the corners of my vision.

I needed to leave before the flickering lights made this any worse.

“I think that’s everything for now,” I said.

Adam nodded and handed me a plastic bag, like what I used to get at the dentist when I was a kid.

“Here’s some single use lancets and my card. If you have any more questions about the HPD, feel free to call or email,” he said. I took the ‘goodie bag’ from him and glanced inside, seeing exactly what he said was in there.

I slid it into my messenger bag with a nod.

“Thanks, Adam,” I said, trying to disguise my growing uneasiness.

He led Sans and I back to the entryway and wished us well as we left.

I forced myself to walk, not run, from the building.

---

Saturday night. Ten-forty-seven.

I leaned against the door as I locked it behind us, sighing with relief.

I slowly peeled myself away from the frame and kicked off my shoes. I was so done.

Except I wasn’t.

With a groan I dragged myself to the kitchen to do an inventory.

I checked the list on the fridge, noting that Sans hadn’t added anything. As my inventory went on, I began to realize he hadn’t finished anything off, either.

Technically.

He was meticulous. A single cherry tomato. A spoonful of vanilla ice cream. A single cracker in an otherwise empty box.

Half a cookie.

The skeleton thought he was clever.

I was irritated. His prank made my night even longer, when all I wanted to was to go to bed.

But even as I felt myself getting angrier, I found it endearing.

Sans was testing limits and boundaries. I recognized the behavior. But more than that, he had taken up my offer of an open kitchen.

He had no reason to trust me when I said he could have whatever he wanted.

But he did.

I felt a little lighter.

I grabbed the list off the refrigerator door.

“G’night, Sans!” I called out as I passed the spare rooms. I didn’t know which he had chosen, and the lights were out in both. I didn’t even know if he was actually in one of the rooms. As usual, he had pretty much vanished the moment we walked into my apartment.

For all I knew he was teleporting to the moon.

Still, I hoped he heard me. “Sleep in tomorrow, it’s my day off!”

I closed and locked my bedroom door and changed into my pajamas before situating myself on my bed. I grabbed a notepad and began making a plan.

First thing – find employment for the week. My standard Sunday-morning-routine. Wake up and call all my employers to find out when and where I was needed.

Fortunately my work was pretty stable.

I needed groceries. Food was my second highest priority. I either needed to go shopping first or last.

First meant I would definitely take care of it, at the cost of having to come home afterward. I didn’t want to have ice cream melting in my backseat. Breaking up my “outside” time meant risking not leaving again to do my other errands.

Last meant I would be exhausted by the time I got to it.

I would have to decide that in the morning.

I wanted to stop at Solar’s for lunch, but I was running low on spare cash.

I glanced at my dresser. At the old jewelry box my grandfather had made for me.

It was a simple wooden box with an intricate inlay of a Quetzal, his favorite bird. It was one of my most precious belongings.

The jewelry inside on the other hand … I didn’t wear any of it often. My jobs were either too rough or had strict rules about jewelry for safety reasons.

I was quite attached to my limbs and appendages. I didn’t see a reason to change their current number.

Thievery was a problem, too. I didn’t keep anything in my bag that was worth stealing, normally, and all my coworkers knew it. That’s why I didn’t worry too much about having the extra cash. But if I wore jewelry to my jobs and someone noticed, it wouldn’t take long for the item to wander off.

I could pawn something.

I added “pawn shop?” to my list.

If I couldn’t manage it I could stop at my sister’s café instead. It would be nice to see her.

That left the thrift store.

Sans needed clothes. He didn’t seem to have much body odor of his own, but he had picked up some interesting smells from my workplaces.

Not good interesting, either.

There was only so much showering could do when your clothes were filthy.

I had shown Sans where the washing machine and dryer were, but he hadn’t used them. His showers took at least an hour, but he kept his clothes with him, so I couldn’t throw them into the washer or dryer myself, either.

That meant groceries were my top priority, followed by the thrift shop. If I could stop at a pawn shop we could go to Solar’s for lunch. Otherwise, we’d go to my sister’s café.

Equally important was getting Sans registered. I could do that from home. I had planned on doing it from home.

I kept putting it off. I spent all my spare time focused on researching magic and collars and intent.

That was the absolute first thing I had to do, right after finding work for the week.

“I have the paperwork for that monster, right? I could just … not submit it!”

I groaned as my brain reminded me of last Sunday. I really hadn’t understood why Grillby had looked so … concerned when I suggested it.

I understood now. In fact, I had a really good idea why trying to game the system like that was a horrible plan.

It probably would have ended with Sans dead.

Monster slaves were tracked and monitored in a whole variety of ways. The legal paper trail was just the beginning of a mountain of bureaucratic crap.

It was all strongly enforced.

Assuming the angry old dude had owned Sans long enough to bother, he had certainly filed his side of the transfer paperwork already. He could get some of the registration fee back, and having been around stingy old men like him before, I was certain that would have inspired him to act.

If he hadn’t owned Sans long enough to bother, then Sans was still registered to the person who had him before the old guy I met.

The further you went back in the transfer paperwork, the more likely it became that someone had either not registered Sans while the person before them had transferred their ownership.

It was pretty likely that Sans appeared as “unowned” in the system, and since he wasn’t with a dealer or auction house it wouldn’t be surprising if he was listed as “missing.”

Depending on how long he had been “missing,” officers could be looking for him.

It wouldn’t be hard. The collars included GPS tracking.

If they found him when Sans happened to be alone, and if he wasn’t able to convince them that he had a human owner …

He could be marked as a runaway monster.

A rogue.

It meant he could die.

I circled “Register Sans” a bunch of times and put stars around it for good measure. As soon as I had my work schedule figured out I would get Sans registered.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just my name on a few legal documents.

It didn’t mean anything.

---

My absolute favorite part of every Sunday was never written on my list, but was always on my plan.

Sleep the fuck in.

So why was I awake at … six-oh-three with my muscles aching and my joints stiff?

I groaned and put my hands over my eyes.

“Why?” I whined at my ceiling. “Why can’t you let me sleep?” I tried to ignore how my voice twitched up in a desperate whimper.

I felt like I had been run over by a train.

Twice.

Maybe once more. Just to be real sure I felt it.

I groaned again as I rolled over to grab my bag and fumbled out a bottle of painkillers. I tossed a couple back and dry swallowed while reaching for my water bottle.

Once I washed the pills down I turned on my light, wincing at the sudden brightness.

I looked at my list.

Find employment. I could start on that immediately, and it would only take me an hour or two. I could do that before breakfast.

I grabbed my calendar and began calling my usual job sites, figuring out who needed me this week.

As I filled out my schedule I considered working next Sunday.

I decided against it.

My Sundays were sacred. I wasn’t going to give them up.

I thought of my dwindling savings and cringed a little.

I wasn’t giving them up yet, at least.

I could rework my budget and get it balanced again. Things would be tight for a little while as I adjusted, but I could do it.

My outdoor jobs were drying up as it got closer to Halloween. The apple orchard still needed laborers, especially now that a lot of the migrant workers had moved further south. It made it more difficult to find day labor, but I had pretty solid indoor jobs this year, so I wasn’t too concerned.

It was a little after eight when I finally emerged from my room, humming a victory theme.

Quest “Find employment” completed. Obtain 100XP.

I looked up from my phone as I entered the kitchen, only to stop just short of the threshold.

Sans was asleep on the couch.

I had never seen the skeleton so … at ease.

He was always tense. On edge. Like he was trying to focus on everything around him all at once.

Like he had to always be on guard. Even while asleep.

Maybe especially while he slept.

He had to be ready in case something happened.

I knew the feeling.

But right now his expression was softer, less strained.

Relaxed.

Real.

He looked like he belonged there.

He gave a small snort in his sleep as he rolled over, and I found myself having to stifle a laugh. Somehow that noise was both adorable and hilarious. It broke the trance I had fallen under as I stared at him.

I laughed quietly as I made my way into the kitchen.

I did my best to be quiet as I dug out a slice of pasta and reheated it.

Sans seemed to be out cold, but I didn’t want to wake him if I could help it.

The skeleton did not like me. It wasn’t exactly comfortable sharing all my time with someone who radiated anger. He spent most of his day glaring daggers at the back of my head, all black sockets and hatred.

If looks could kill, I would be a skeleton by now. That’s how dead I would be.

The empty sockets wouldn’t bother me so much if I knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Because sometimes, like when we went to Solar’s and he was talking with Grillby, I saw those bright white pupils.

His face was downright mesmerizing when he had those lights in his eyes. He seemed so much more … real. Tangible.

Emotive.

The lack of them was a warning.

The arched back and flattened ears of a cat.

The flared hood and angry hiss of a cobra.

The bright colors of a poison dart frog.

“Don’t mess with me or you’re going to have a bad time.”

It felt like I was always walking on a tightrope.

I didn’t, couldn’t blame him. His entire race had been screwed over by humans at least twice now.

We didn’t keep records about their being literal monsters trapped inside the mountain. I didn’t trust that we kept records about what happened before we imprisoned an entire people underground.

I had no idea if humans had done anything else to monsters.

Even if we hadn’t, none of that truly mattered. There was plenty humans had done since the Barrier fell that monsters had every right to be angry about.

I talked about believing in monster rights. I spoke out against monster slavery.

I was a hypocrite.

I had a slave.

If someone like me could own another person … What did that say about the rest of humanity?

I wasn’t surprised Sans hated me.

I kind of did too.

Distracted by my thoughts, I had autopiloted my breakfast. Opening the microwave to stir at the unevenly heated lasagna and putting it back in for another minute. A comforting, normal routine while I thought about things.

Sans and I spoke, but it was never deep. My sleep-deprived ramblings about intent aside, we talked about my plans for the day. Or I would say “goodnight” in his general direction every night.

I didn’t think I should count myself yelling into a Sans-shaped void as “talking.” It certainly wasn’t a conversation.

We spoke in cordial, necessary communication. There was no familiarity or warmth to it.

I threw jokes at him, and occasionally I got a sad little half-chuckle.

It was like talking to a rock.

I wondered if that was how my mother felt when she talked to me about my siblings.

… Probably not. The woman had the social awareness of a preying mantis. Everything was about her, always, and if it wasn’t she was liable to bite your head off.

Sometimes only figuratively.

I popped the microwave door open right before the timer ran out and took my breakfast. I glanced at Sans once more and smiled, feeling a warm pang in my chest. I was glad he looked so relaxed.

I wanted to give him more.

I sighed and wandered back to my bedroom.

If I wanted to make Sans safe, I needed to register him as ‘belonging’ to me.

Personal comfort be damned, I was going to protect the skeleton.

I got comfortable on my bed and opened my laptop. The pit of guilt in my stomach was gone, replaced with the warmth of a goal and determination to see it through.

The website for Monster Slave Registration was bland to the point of impressive. For a government website it was surprisingly bare.

I clicked the “Register a Monster” link, and took a bite of lasagna as it loaded.

The page opened up to a fillable form requesting my information. I filled in my name, address, email … all standard identification stuff. Double check that I’m on a .gov website and click “Next.”

Verify my information. “Next.”

Now I needed Sans’ information.

There were two options, either put in the information manually or search by identification number.

I grabbed the mass of disorganized paperwork from my bag and looked at the top page, the transfer paperwork from the old man to me.

Sans’ identification number was printed right there at the top.

UDSK-ST-001S

I typed in the number and clicked “Search.”

“Is this your monster?”

And there he was. A photo that was an eerie mixture of school portrait and mugshot, rictus grin and void-black eyes.

I clicked “Yes” without reading further. I didn’t need to know Sans’ history and I felt bad prying. I doubted there were many skeletons that looked like the one asleep on my couch.

The page loaded again and I typed in my payment information for the registration fee. It was cheaper than adopting an old dog from the shelter.

“I agree. Next.” Click.

And … that was it.

I was now the registered owner of my own skeleton monster.

Wouldn’t mama be proud?

My breakfast of lasagna wasn’t sitting right in my stomach anymore, and the lingering smell of tomato and basil was slightly nauseating.

The page reloaded to give me a confirmation number. I sent the receipt to my email and scrolled down the page, skimming the information and double checking what I had submitted. It was too late to retract it, but it would be better to fix it now than in a couple of weeks when I got physical documentation.

There was a link at the bottom of the page.

“Next Steps!”

I clicked and waited for the page to load.

Human Protection Device and SOUL Calibration

Your Monster’s Human Protection Device (HPD) will need to be calibrated to your SOUL as soon as possible. The easiest way to do this is by inserting a drop of blood into the collection port on the HPD. Please contact of the manufacturer of your Monster’s HPD to learn where this port is and how to give a small blood sample.

If you require assistance, please visit any of the following locations …

That was … concerning.

I didn’t want my blood anywhere near Sans, let alone “calibrate the HPD to my SOUL.”

Why was SOUL written like that, anyway?

I frowned as I continued reading, looking for loopholes.

I quickly realized that this was a definite requirement.

If I didn’t calibrate the collar to my SOUL, then anyone could give Sans a command and I wouldn’t be able to override it. The magic wouldn’t recognize me as more important.

And SOUL calibration was yet another way monsters were tracked.

Every time the calibration was changed or updated the collar sent a ping to some government server that recorded it, marking that monster as owned.

If I delayed, or if I didn’t keep the collar attuned by feeding it a drop of blood every six months, Sans could, again, be listed as missing.

And there was a thin, pale line between missing, runaway, and rogue.

Between being in danger and being a danger.

I had known there was a kill switch on the “human protection devices.” The addition had been controversial.

Bigots had shouted the protestors down, claiming it was too dangerous to not have a remote kill switch.

“There must be a way to stop a renegade monster!”

Protestors hadn’t been able to stop the addition of the kill switch, but we had been able to make the usage extremely limited. There was supposed to be a whole legal process to allowing the switch to be used.

As I read I realized that those legal limits had been legislated into meaninglessness. Worth less than the paper they were written on.

Any monster could, at any time, be executed.

Their only protection was their human caring enough to keep the collar attuned.

It was thin, fragile armor.

Every time I thought “it can’t get any worse … ” the world threw another brick at my face.

Honestly I should have known better.

Powerful humans pushed for control. It was what they wanted, what they needed. It wasn’t enough to simply control the actions of another being. To monitor their every move and control the very words they spoke.

Some needed to be able to kill any monster at any time for any reason.

They got their wish.

I swallowed hard, pushing my anger back down along with my nausea.

I read through the list of locations and found one that was close to Abby’s café.

I scribbled down my plan. Solar’s and the pawn shop were out, but I could get everything else done.

I shoved the paperwork back into my shoulder bag and got up to get dressed.

---

“Hey Sans, I hate to – oh!”

Sans was awake and tying his shoes when I left my bedroom. I hadn’t had a chance to tell him we had errands to run.

I spoke without thinking.

“Going somewhere?”

I resisted the urge to smack myself in the face. What kind of question was that?

“I mean … Glad to see you up? I wanted to let you sleep, but there’s something we need to take care of.”

The skeleton gave a shrug and a nod, then stood and watched as I slipped into my own shoes.

I didn’t want to talk about registering him as ‘mine’ or what I’d discovered about the collars and SOUL Calibration. He probably already knew about the latter, anyway.

But I didn’t want to drag him to some government building just to flaunt my ownership of him in front of him.

“So this morning I got you registered under my name,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible about the situation. I felt like I’d eaten a knife. “I didn’t know about having to get the collar calibrated to my SOUL. I assume you know about that?”

As soon as I mentioned the collar Sans’ demeanor darkened. He gave a silent nod to my question.

“Great. Here’s my plan,” I said, offering him the paper. “We stop at my sister’s café for some food. Then we go do the calibration thing. After that you can come back here and chill while I take care of my weekly shopping.”

He stared at me, expression unreadable. Emotions I couldn’t name flickered across his face in rapid fire succession.

He ended on a mixture between confused, surprised, and … annoyed.

“So you’re willing to leave me alone now that you’ve … ?”

I blinked at him, shocked at the accusation in his voice.

I frowned.

I wasn’t concerned about leaving him alone in my apartment anymore. At least, not for the hour or two it would take me to buy groceries. It wasn’t because I owned him now, either.

He didn’t like me, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would destroy my stuff for no reason.

His sort of revenge was eating everything but half a cookie.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t about that. I wanted to give you a chance to relax. It just happened to be that the day I can give you that chance is also the first day I’ve had a chance to do any of this shit.”

I sighed, “I trust you to not get into trouble for two hours. There aren’t enough old men in my apartment to cause a brawl, and it’s only a grocery run.”

He held the paper out to me and I took it and shoved it in my back pocket as I stood up. “I also planned on stopping at the thrift shop and getting you some clothes. What do you like to wear?”

For some reason I had assumed he didn’t care about what he wore, and I had planned on buying him some t-shirts and athletic pants. Maybe a winter coat since his own jacket was so threadbare.

Sans didn’t answer, so I shrugged and turned to open the door. “Well, if you don’t mind coming on my grocery run with me, we can stop at the thrift shop and you can choose some stuff. Sound good?”

I turned back toward him with a smile, which he responded to with a shrug.

“All right then, let’s go!” I said as I waved him through the door.

I didn’t look at his expression as he passed me.

---

Sans and I fell into routine.

Or, rather, I returned to my routine and Sans followed along as my skeletal shadow.

Every day was more or less the same. Wake up way too early, rush to get ready. Run around the city doing low skill, low pay jobs. Sans napped during my breaks. Grab lunch at Solar’s and chat with Grillby. Work some more. Go home, eat a late dinner, crash around midnight.

Wake up and do it all again the next day.

The closest any of my managers came to caring about Sans was to warn that I was responsible for “any trouble he caused.”

One manager reminded me more than once. Like I had forgotten in the last half hour.

I had a shit memory, but I had thought I was more put together than a neurotic goldfish.

Some of my coworkers, however, were more vocal about the skeleton.

“Since when do you have a slave?”

It was a valid question. I understood the curiosity, and the accusation in their tone.

I had been a vocal supporter of monster rights for years.

And here I was, a human with a monster slave all my own.

The question was almost physically painful. A reminder of my hypocrisy.

I retreated to the lie I had given on Monday.

“I live in a rough area. I needed a body guard.”

It was easy enough to believe. Those who knew me well enough to feel comfortable asking about Sans had seen me come to work with bruises or worse. Simple enough to believe that I was a magnet for bad luck.

None of them knew that the dangers I faced were more domestic than being mugged by violent street thugs.

Which was fortunate for me because I kept carrying around the extra cash to get Sans some new clothes.

Time kept conspiring to keep me from taking him to a thrift shop.

Where I had been a regular at Solar’s before, I only ate there two or three items a week. Now I was stopping by every day for lunch.

I wanted Sans to have a chance to talk to someone he knew, someone he could trust.

He always seemed more at ease when talking to Grillby.

When the two monsters talked Sans had those lights in his eyes. It was the only time I saw them, outside of the very rare occasions that I managed to surprise the skeleton. I hoped that, maybe, for at least a couple of hours, he could forget that he was a slave.

That I owned him.

It didn’t lessen the pit of guilt growing in my stomach, but I hoped it made things better for him.

---

It was Saturday morning. I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the first two pieces of toast to pop.

“How many jobs do you have?”

I had mostly adjusted to Sans appearing behind me out of nowhere, but it startled me when I was half asleep.

I groaned as I realized I had jumped and spilled some of my coffee. On my work shirt. I would have to change clothes before we left.

I glared at Sans as I put down my coffee mug, annoyed.

“Freaking ninja,” I muttered as the toaster popped. I divvied up the slices before putting two more in.

I leaned against the counter and nibbled on my breakfast.

“I think I have five or six jobs consistently right now.” I counted them on my fingers as I went. “The factory and housekeeping jobs are my most stable. I also have a pretty stable gig at the warehouse packing shipments. I’m on call for event staff at a nearby bar, but I don’t get called often for that. Loading trucks for shipments, that one is pretty stable.”

I picked up my coffee mug with a frown. I desperately needed the caffeine but it was a double-edged sword. Maybe I would escape the migraine this time.

Unlikely, but a girl could dream.

“I have some side-gigs. General labor, contract cleaning, that sort of thing. None of those last long. I’m only brought in as-needed.”

I thought about it a little more as I sipped my cooling coffee.

“I do some freelance stuff, too. Mostly web design. I’ve written for some magazines and blogs, though. And I work for a temp agency that has me do stuff like stuffing envelopes or sorting mail. If I’m desperate I’ll donate plasma or sign up for a medical trial.”

Another double-edged sword. Plasma was one thing, but the medical trials could be extremely draining.

The toaster popped and I took my piece to eat while I worked on lunch, leaving the other for Sans.

“I guess it really depends on what you mean by ‘job.’ ” I said with a shrug. I paused and tilted my head at him. “Why do you ask?”

Sans seemed thoughtful as he ate his own jam-covered toast, and I wondered if he knew why he asked.

I pulled stuff for a sandwich out of the fridge while I waited for him to answer. Or not.

Outside of Solar’s our conversations tended to be one-sided, so I didn’t expect the skeleton to answer my questions.

He shrugged. “I thought I knew about working multiple jobs, but you’ve shown me a ton.” He winked at me, “A skeleton.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes as I layered meat and cheese on the bread, silently praising my rationing. I had just enough for today, and tomorrow I was going grocery shopping. Perfect.

“That was a terrible skele-pun,” I retorted. Then I looked up at him, grinning mischievously. “I thought I said if you made bad jokes this early you’d be toast, but I guess I was getting a-bread of myself.”

He gave me a surprised chuckle, a real laugh, and I pumped a fist in victory.

“Fuck yeah!”

It felt nice to talk to him like this. Like we were friends. Hanging out, enjoying each other’s company.

Bad jokes, mediocre food, good company.

It reminded me of being a kid, getting ready for school with Abby and Sam while mom slept and …

I pulled myself from my memories with a shudder, frowning at the sandwich I was putting together.

I had wanted to ask Sans about the collars, how magic and intent worked. Right now felt like a good time to have that conversation. These moments were always the ones that Abby and I would talk about important things. Moments where we were both calm, relaxed, neither of us in a rush.

But the skeleton’s eyelights were bright, and he was actually talking to me. He laughed at my stupid joke.

I didn’t want to ruin this moment.

I put the sandwich in a bag with a sigh, then started cleaning up.

Moments passed and my questions were important.

I tried to ignore the nausea gnawing at my stomach.

“Hey, Sans?” I hedged, voice soft, not looking at him. “Can I ask you something about the collars?”

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. I shivered as I turned to look at the skeleton.

He was staring at me, eyes black voids and all humor gone from him. I’d snuffed out the easy atmosphere like a candle, and it wasn’t coming back.

“I mean … I guess it’s more about magic?” I said, my voice tight with anxiety. “Monsters are made of magic, right?”

He grunted at me, which I took as an affirmative.

“What does that mean exactly?” I asked. “I mean … I thought magic was a type of energy? But you’re physical. You can touch and … interact with the world. And … I know we can measure energy? Like … watts and joules and amps and all that? But you have mass and weight and physical properties. So … what is magic?”

Sans stared at me and I realized I was way off track. I waved my hand as though I could sweep aside my tangent. “Hold on, let me start over. That part isn’t important.”

I grabbed an apple out of the fridge and chips out of the cupboard while I thought out my questions better.

“Okay. The collars. They do something with your magic, right? I mean … assuming you even know how they work.”

He nodded and finally looked away from me. I barely heard him mumble, “Somethin’ like that.”

“Alright. I know they’re technological, too. I guess they’re technomagical?” I shook my head, annoyed that I couldn’t stay on topic. I needed more sleep. “They were supposed to be mini polygraphs or something, right? Polygraphs work by measuring heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, and skin conductivity. Or … something like that.”

I stopped and looked at the skeleton in my kitchen.

The skeleton without a heart or blood. Who lacked lungs to breathe. Had no skin or sweat glands.

I downed the rest of my coffee.

“Uh, except the collars must track something different for monsters. Which I guess is … intent?”

I looked at the empty mug in my hands and debated pouring another cup. I glanced at the oven clock and cursed under my breath. I was running late.

I put the empty mug in the sink and rinsed it with water. Then I ran into my room to pack my bag for the day.

All the while I kept attempting to explain my question.

“I’m off track, again. What I actually want to know is: What is intent? What does that mean when it comes to magic, specifically the collars?”

I glanced behind me, not surprised to find Sans in my doorway.

He wasn’t glaring at me like I had become accustomed to, although his eyes were still black voids.

If anything, he looked … tired.

“Uh, maybe I’m not – ”

“Why?” Sans asked, cutting me off before I could try explaining myself more.

Probably a smart idea, with how this morning had gone so far. I was likely to get even further into the weeds if I started rambling again.

“I’m trying to understand how it all works,” I said, I waved my laptop at him before sliding it into my bag. “I’ve been researching the collars for the last few days.”

I reached for my phone with a frown as I continued. “I can’t do anything about Grillby’s collar or the commands on him. I’ve figured out what a lot of his commands are … or I’ve figured out how to talk around the commands. Mostly through trial and error. Apollo told me a couple of the commands, but he left a lot out.”

Most of it, really.

Apollo wasn’t really a ‘friend.’ We weren’t close. He was some guy I knew from high school who happened to run a pretty great bar.

Still, it was distressing seeing how comfortable he had become with being a slave owner.

Sometimes it seemed like he enjoyed ordering the fire elemental around.

Like he got off on the power it gave him. The authority.

It made me feel sick.

I worried that would happen to me.

My stomach twisted unhappily, threatening to evict my breakfast of coffee and dry toast.

I rubbed my eyes as I left my room, closing and locking the door behind me.

“It’s different with you,” I continued as I walked down the hall. “Aside from the … pre-programmed commands? … mine are the next highest priority, right?”

I glanced back to see Sans nodding, his eyes dark and his expression becoming angry again.

“I don’t want to give you a command by accident,” I explained as I turned away from him. “I don’t want to give you a command at all.”

I stopped by the door to put on my shoes and looked back at the skeleton.

The anger was gone, replaced with a wary, confused expression that I couldn’t name.

His eyelights were back, small but bright.

Disbelief. That was the expression.

I looked down to tie my shoes. “From what I’ve read, the important part behind a command is intent. But I don’t … understand what that means. In a metaphysical sense, I guess.”

He didn’t say anything.

I felt like I had crossed too many boundaries.

I stood up and adjusted my jacket and messenger bag awkwardly.

“This was too heavy for this early in the morning. Never mind. Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted. Trying to ignore the tight anxiety in my chest. “We have a whole day of work ahead of us. New liver, same eagles.”

The comment seemed to snap Sans out of whatever he was thinking and he stared at me in complete confusion.

“W-What?”

I smiled as I held the door open for him. “What? Never heard of Prometheus?

---

I left the bar bathroom after washing my hands to find Sans in his regular seat. He was sitting across from Grillby, gesturing with his hands.

I watched him as I walked over, feeling like I recognized some of the motions.

Some of them looked like hand signs, a few enough to be recognizable words.

Chemistry … Alcohol … Solution …

It made me think of a joke I’d heard before. A poster on a chemistry teacher’s wall.

Technically, alcohol is a Solution.

Grillby flared in faux anger and as I got closer I could see Sans was laughing.

It clicked.

“You know ASL?!” I shouted at the pair as I ran the last few steps to them. I turned to Sans, “You’re telling jokes in ASL?”

Both monsters stopped what they were doing and stared at me.

Realization that I had just randomly screamed in the middle of a busy restaurant for no apparent reason hit me. I glanced around at the other patrons of Solar’s. I had quite a few people staring at me. Some amused, others annoyed. I felt myself turning red under the scrutiny and I clambered up onto my usual seat.

I threw back my drink, letting the burn of the alcohol mix with the heat of embarrassment.

I started to explain my outburst, signing as I spoke. The motions were slow with disuse, but I found I remembered a fair amount.

“I didn’t know you knew sign language, Grillby. I would have asked you to sign instead of being verbal if I had known!”

Sans was watching my hands, eyelights visible and expression curious.

“Not all monsters can speak,” the skeleton explained. He began to mimic me, speaking and signing at the same time. “We call it Hands. Most monsters know it.”

Grillby nodded and helpfully signed, “I didn’t know you knew Hands.”

“Not Hands,” I mimicked the unfamiliar sign as I shook my head. “I took some American Sign Language – ASL – courses a few years back. I’m not fluent. But I can follow what you two are saying!” I turned to Sans. “You said nearly all monsters know sign? That’s amazing!”

Humans, at least the ones in Ebott, generally only learned ASL if they absolutely had to. It wasn’t particularly well known outside the Deaf community.

Sans shrugged, “Some monsters can’t speak a language others understand. Some can’t speak at all. Most have hands or something similar, though. It’s pretty rare to meet someone who doesn’t know at least a little Hands.”

“That’s so cool,” I said. “Usually the only people who know sign are either deaf or hard-of-hearing. Or they know someone who is. I wish more humans knew it.”

“Why did you learn?” Grillby asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I was just interested to learn it, I guess. I like languages, linguistics, that sort of thing.”

In truth there had been a lot of reasons. I was interested to learn it, of course, but at the time I had hoped that maybe I could get a job as a translator.

I had wanted to be useful, to help people enjoy their lives more.

But I’d failed.

Story of my life.

Now that I knew monsters had a version of sign language, I wanted to learn everything about it. I pulled out my phone to start searching some of my questions.

Grillby tapped the plate of food I had been ignoring, gently pushing it toward me.

A reminder that I should eat before my lunch break was over.

He could tell that I had found something interesting to focus on. He knew how single minded I could get when I found an interest.

He probably had also noticed that I hadn’t been eating as much this last week.

My stomach hadn’t fully settled since bringing Sans home. Even thinking about eating made me feel nauseated and ill.

But I couldn’t afford to waste food. My budget was already tight.

I sighed and took a bite of my burger to appease the fire elemental, who gave a flare of acceptance. He turned back to Sans and the two picked up the conversation they had dropped when I had interrupted.

I watched for a moment without really processing the signs.

ASL was related to French Sign Language, but both were “new” languages. ASL specifically had only existed since the 1800s. But the Barrier went up, trapping monsters in the Underground, long before that.

Of course, monsters also spoke English, which hadn’t been in the area much longer than ASL. At least, not on the sort of time scale I was working with.

I wondered how that all worked.

I pulled out my notebook to write myself a note.

Look into Monster History courses/books.

Linguistic history?

Hands

I thought for a minute if I should add anything else, then put the notebook to the side and picked up my phone. I pulled up my social media to distract me while I ate.

When it came to humans, Sans hadn’t expected much.

After living life on repeat at the hands of a human child he didn’t have the greatest opinion of the species. Four years of living on the Surface hadn’t improved his opinion.

Monsters were made of love, hope, and compassion.

Sans had a theory that humans were made of greed, suspicion, and fear.

Or maybe he was just lucky and got all the shit ones.

His current owner, an angry old man who had wanted a babysitter in for his retirement, was dragging him to an auction house. He kept ranting about what a useless waste of space the skeleton was.

Sans followed with his hoodie up and bare skeletal feet scuffing along the hard pavement.

“Why I ever wasted money on you in the first place … ” the old man growled.

He had been ranting for the last fifteen minutes, winding himself into an angry frenzy.

“S’not my fault you spent your money on trash,” Sans snarked.

The old man snapped.

It was a good thing Sans paid more attention to his surroundings than people thought.

It was an especially good thing he was excellent at dodging.

The old man whipped his cane at where Sans had been, missing the skeleton as he jumped out of the way. The monster thought that would be it, but the old man’s anger wasn’t going to let them disengage.

The old man began to swing his cane around like a club, trying to catch Sans with it.

A crowd began to gather.

Sans wasn’t surprised.

Humans surrounded the dueling pair, pulling out cellphones, laughing and joking. Sans thought he could hear someone taking bets.

Most of them were against him.

One thing Sans had learned quickly on the Surface was that humans did not fight fair. They didn’t take turns, they didn’t wait for their opponent to summon an attack or block.

Not that the skeleton could summon an attack against a human anyway. The collars prevented it.

All he could do was dodge, and he couldn’t dodge forever. He was already reaching his limit, his energy and magic low.

He ducked a swing and danced back a few steps.

He ran into a leg that wasn’t there when he started his retreat.

Another way humans didn’t fight fair: It was rarely a one-on-one fight when a human was attacking a monster.

The skeleton fell.

He put his hands out to catch himself, but the ground wasn’t there. He landed on the edge of the sidewalk and couldn’t compensate for the extra foot of air.

His weight landed heavily on his wrist, which twisted and buckled under him.

He felt it snap under the stress.

He hissed through his teeth, trying to keep his face neutral through the pain.

He couldn’t deal with an injury right now. He had to get back up, keep dodging.

The emotion in the crowd shifted from entertained to vengeful. Cheers and good natured heckling turned to jeers and calls for violence against him.

His hood had fallen back. Many in the crowd were just realizing he wasn’t some punk kid.

He was a monster.

He tried to ignore them.

He had to dodge until the old guy ran out of steam. Then they could keep going to the auction house and Sans could be traded away.

Maybe he’d actually end up with someone tolerable.

“Stay still and take it !” The old man screamed.

Sans hadn’t expected that .

He felt the collar accept the command. His control over his own body was overridden. Every joint went stiff, locking him in place.

His magic, his very essence was torn from his control and he became a passenger in his own body, unable to move.

The old man raised his cane.

It was a waking nightmare. Sleep paralysis turned to eleven, made worse by the fact that it was real.

Sans’ mind screamed at him to do something, anything.

Attack.

Dodge.

Block.

Move.

His mind fought against his locked body.

All he could do was watch as the cane reached its zenith.

He let his vision go dark, not wanting to see his death coming.

True death, this time. No saves, no resets. No waking up in his room in Snowdin, safe and whole.

Such a stupid way to die.

Sans hadn’t expected help.

The sound of flesh against flesh.

Another shift in the emotion of the crowd.

No pain.

Sans looked and found the old man had turned his back to the monster.

He didn’t understand.

How was he still alive?

A voice, rough and feminine and filled with mirthless laughter.

“Well, that’s one way to greet a new friend.”

Sans listened to the exchange in confusion. Slowly, painfully slowly, he began to realize what had happened.

The feminine voice had intervened. She had been attacked in his stead. Now they were arguing about police and assault.

As the old man’s intent shifted from controlling the skeleton the command eased. Sans was able to move again.

He didn’t pull himself to his feet, instead shifting to get more comfortable as the exchange took place.

Why stand when he didn’t need to?

He wasn’t sure his legs could hold him at the moment anyway.

He was shaking hard enough that his bones were rattling. He had come close to death before, he had died before (in another time, in a world that no longer existed).

The adrenaline of near death was always overwhelming.

He reached for his magic, reassuring himself that it was still there. That it would still respond to him.

That even if the collar could tear it from him it would come back.

He tried to tell himself he wouldn’t always be helpless.

He focused on breathing.

His rattling eased until he was only shivering slightly. His bones no longer imitated maracas.

“Take the money and the skeleton!” The angry man shouted. Sans looked up, surprised by his sudden inclusion in the conversation. 

The old man had turned to point at him, and he could see the girl who had saved his boney ass.

She was a young adult, maybe in college, with short dark hair and large dark eyes. She was dressed plainly, wearing a hoodie similar to his own. Old, rough around the edges, well worn and well loved.

And if looks could kill, the old man would have long since passed on. The girl practically radiated hatred and anger like heat as she glared at him.

He seemed oblivious to her mood. He had pulled a folder of paperwork from his briefcase and was holding it out to her.

Sans snorted as he recognized the papers. Another street transfer.

It wasn’t the first time he had been traded like a baseball card. It wouldn’t be the last.

Honestly, this was preferable to being stuck in an auction house. Those places were depressing.

Sans looked at the girl, sizing her up. He wondered how long she would last with him.

Older folk tended to keep him around longer. Their age granted them the patience and mulish determination to put up with the worst of his bullshit. They wanted to prove something. Force him to submit.

Giving him up would mean defeat.

Younger people didn’t last as long.

Sans gave the girl a week, tops, before she did the exact same thing the old guy had been on his way to do. Selling the skeleton off to an auction house or a dealer, getting him out of her hair forever.

College Chick was his sixth owner in a month.

A new personal record.

---

Sans sat at the bar, eating fries and a burger that weren’t quite as great as what he ate at Grillby’s. They were still the best thing he had eaten in months.

It didn’t hurt that it was the first food he had eaten in well over a week.

The skeleton and the elemental talked about better days. They reminisced about Snowdin. Recounted the story of how the kid saved everyone.

Remembered the hope everyone had when monsters had finally, finally reached the Surface.

Remembered his own hope when he realized that this time it was going to last.

They caught each other up on friends from the Underground, although there wasn’t much to share.

Muffet was nearby, working in a bakery.

Alphys had been missing for years. There was still no information about where she had gone.

Undyne was missing and a fugitive. Wanted, dead or alive.

Asgore and Toriel had both disappeared. Both presumed dead.

Frisk had vanished.

They spoke around the truth. Neither wanted to ask about the most important people in their lives.

It was Sans who finally broke the trance.

“That circus … ” he started, voice soft. Grillby’s flamed dimmed, knowing the question on his friend’s mind. “Paps was there too, right?”

The fire elemental nodded, but looked away. “ … I don’t know where he is now.”

Sans gave a half hearted chuckle and a resigned shrug, laying his head on his arms. “Didn’t think you would. … Figured it might be worth it to ask.”

The pair were silent for a moment, then Sans asked, “What about Pyre?”

“I don’t know,” Grillby said with a sigh. “I can only hope she’s safe.”

The skeleton nodded in grim understanding. That was all he could do with Papyrus.

That was all anyone who had lost their family to the Slavery Act could do. Hope their missing loved ones were safe. Hope they would meet again.

Hope they would live long enough to see one another.

The bartender was pulled away by other customers, leaving Sans to sit and think.

He was still in shock.

He had come way too close to dying. He was rescued like a damsel by some college kid who now owned him.

That same kid had dragged him to a dive bar where he found one of his oldest friends. A friend he hadn’t seen in years.

He looked at his wrist, fully healed from the monster candy.

Why did she have monster candy? Did she already have a monster at home?

College Chick wandered back up to the counter, causing Grillby to return to refill her drink. Sans tried to figure out how much she had already had, but with Grillby watering it down he wasn’t certain.

All he knew was she was wasted.

He hoped she didn’t get like this every night.

Drunk humans were incredibly stupid. He had more than his fair share of being dragged into their nonsense.

As she wandered away, sipping her drink and giggling at her phone, Sans pointed a thumb at her.

“What’s up with her?”

Grillby sparked a little in surprise, then thought about his response.

“She is a good person,” he eventually signed.

“A good person who accepted a slave off the street,” Sans said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“A good person who wanted to help you,” Grillby responded.

“Didn’t need help,” the skeleton grumbled. The bartender flared a little, not believing him for a moment.

“Give her a chance,” Grillby said. “She’s not a bad person. She’s helped me.”

Sans raised an eye at that, wondering how the girl could have possibly helped the elemental.

The cynical part of him helpfully added that she obviously hadn’t helped enough. Grillby still had that stupid fucking collar around his neck.

The more reasonable part, almost too soft for him to notice, gently reminded him that there was only so much one person could do.

The skeleton sighed. “Fine. I’ll give her a chance. Just don’t be surprised when she sells me off in a week.”

---

Sans looked at the apartment and then back at the drunk girl who was barely keeping her balance as she took off her shoes.

It was quite the juxtaposition.

She shrugged and waved at him to follow her on a tour.

“Kitchen and living room,” she slurred with a vague wave at the open front area of the apartment. The living room had a big window on one side, which looked to lead out to an unused balcony.

College Chick opened doors as she walked down the hallway.

“Spare, office, spare, my room, bathroom, other bathroom. Pick whichever room you want.”

She unlocked her own room and disappeared inside for a moment, and Sans looked at the two spares.

Both were pretty bare bones, only furnished with a mattress on the floor.

The light pollution was horrible in Ebott City, but he could still see the brighter stars. If she wasn’t going to tell him which room he had to take, he would take the one with the balcony.

It would be nice to watch the stars when he couldn’t sleep.

“Hey, Bone Dude? The girl called out. Sans teleported to the kitchen, appearing right behind her.

She turned, screamed, and dropped what she was holding. Bottles of pills.

He had to admit he was impressed by how quickly she regained her composure. She picked up the bottles and went right back to what she had been doing.

“You said the old bastard lied about you needing to eat?”

Sans nodded.

She muttered something and waved at the kitchen. “Kitchen and pantry are open to you. I don’t have much, but anything I have is yours.”

Sans stared at her as she turned away to fumble the bottles open. He looked at the refrigerator.

The skeleton had more than his fair share of human owners. Some had been better than others.

None had ever given him full access to their kitchen.

“ … anything?” Sans asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, anything,” she said. She pushed him gently out of the way, opening the fridge and pulling out a plastic water bottle. She was still slurring, but either he was starting to understand her or she was sobering up. Her speech was becoming clearer. “If you use up the last of something or want anything specific, write it down for me. I’ll try to get it next time I do a grocery run. Which’ll be next Sunday. The list’s on the door.”

Sans had stopped listening and was just … staring. Taking in the sight of food. The knowledge that he could eat any of it. He was allowed.

College Chick waved a hand in front of his face, breaking his silent reverie. “Don’t let all the penguins out.”

Sans closed the door with a grunt and looked around.

He tried to push down the hope that this would last. That maybe she wouldn’t get sick of him.

Maybe he could stay here.

He knew it was empty hope.

She said something, soft and gentle, that he didn’t hear at first.

“This is your home, now.”

It was too much. Sans shut down.

Don’t get attached.

It won’t last.

---

Sans wasn’t asleep when College Chick – Theresa – had started moving around again. He had been on the balcony of the spare room, watching Venus traverse the sky.

He didn’t know the time – he had no watch or clock to reference – but he knew it was early .

Very early.

Didn’t humans need sleep?

Theresa had a quick shower and was in the kitchen by the time Sans wandered back inside. He teleported directly to the kitchen, finding himself behind her again. He glanced at the stovetop clock.

4:13

She was taking a piece of toast out of the toaster.

“You’re up early,” Sans said.

He hadn’t meant to scare her, and he hadn’t expected her to throw the bread at him like a weapon. He jumped a foot over as the bread flew by and watched as it disappeared into the dark apartment.

“Guess that bread is … toast?” he asked.

The girl groaned, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. It made him think of Papyrus a little.

“Make a pun that bad this early again and you’ll be toast.”

Sans snorted.

“Fuck yeah,” the girl muttered as she turned away from him. Before he could consider a response she whirled around, pointing at his nasal cavity.

“Fuck no! I have to go to work!”

Sans blinked, thrown by the sudden change in her demeanor.

Plenty of his previous humans had worked. Usually they left him in their homes alone, often with a list of chores to have done by the time they returned.

“And?” he asked, truly lost.

Theresa turned and grabbed the remaining slice of toast and tore it in half. She held part of it out to Sans while she started ranting.

“I can’t leave you here. You’re not on the lease. I don’t even know if this place allows monsters? I mean I’m pretty sure they do … but I’m pretty sure they have to be on the lease. And I can’t have a stranger just … in my home while I’m gone.”

Sans couldn’t think of a response. He was staring at the bread she held out to him while she ranted.

He couldn’t figure out what she wanted

He couldn’t figure her out.

She  had offered him the bigger half.

It won’t last.

---

I dreamt of nothing.

Nothing so thick I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. There was no movement, no sensation at all. I was suffocating, but there was no need to breathe. I couldn’t see, but everything was inky blackness and blinding light. I couldn’t feel, but I was being compressed and pulled apart all at once.

I dreamt of everything.

Hands made of shadow and ink reaching for me. Grabbing and grasping, trying to catch me, only to phase through my arm, shirt, body. Faces oozed in and out of existence, their mouths open in unheard screams that were too loud.

I saw –

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

It was too early for anyone to be awake.

I rolled over with a groan and hit the “snooze” button on my alarm clock, glaring at the glowing time display.

Four hours of sleep was not enough.

I considered calling in sick to my first job, claiming I had the flu or something. Getting a full night’s sleep would definitely help my hangover.

Four oh one.

With an unhappy grunt I forced myself to sit and turned on my lamp. I closed my eyes against the light before it could sear into my dark-adjusted pupils and make my head throb.

As my vision adjusted I grabbed my pills and threw them back, swallowing them dry. I broke the seal of the water bottle, and drank the entire thing to chase the medication.

No time to waste, I needed to start my day.

I climbed out of bed and looked for clean clothes.

My organizational system was not working as well as I thought.

I eventually found a pair of jeans and a tee that I was reasonably certain were clean and I made my way to the bathroom.

I checked the bruise in the mirror, happy to notice that it wasn’t as prominent as I had feared. It was dark but it was small enough that I would probably avoid having coworkers ask about it.

I stripped and took a quick shower, water near scalding. Towel off, clothes on, and into the kitchen for breakfast.

My morning routine hadn’t changed in years, and I fell into a rhythm.

Two pieces of bread into the toaster, and I flipped through the news on my phone while I brushed my teeth.

The toaster pops and I spit into the sink.

I had just grabbed the first slice of bread when –

“You’re up early.”

I screamed.

I threw my toast at the unexpected and too-close voice.

It ninja-starred across my apartment.

Bone Ninja dodged. Not that he needed to, my aim was way off.

I’d never be Hokage at this rate.

“Guess that bread is … toast?” the skeleton asked, looking where my breakfast had flown.

I groaned, thrown off by the break in routine. “Make a pun that bad this early again and you’ll be toast.”

He gave a sort of half-hearted huffing chuckle.

A for Effort, I guess.

“Fuck yeah,” I muttered as I reached for the second piece of my breakfast.

I stopped as a realization hit me.

“Fuck no.” I spun on the skeleton, pointing and glaring at him. “I have to go to work!”

He blinked and part of my brain wondered how. How does bone blink? How do you blink without eyelids?

“And?” he asked.

I turned back around and grabbed the toast, tearing it roughly in half. I held out half to the skeleton while taking a bite out of the other. “I can’t leave you here. You’re not on the lease. I don’t even know if this place allows monsters? I mean, I’m pretty sure they do … but I’m pretty sure they have to be on the lease. And I can’t have a stranger just … in my home while I’m gone.”

My brain, sleep deprived and high on adrenaline, spiraled.

He could be a pyromaniac and would burn everything down. He could be a violent sociopath and set up maniacal traps. Wasn’t there some legend about monsters loving puzzles and those puzzles being deadly? He would start a cult with my neighbors and work to revive some Great Old One and bring destruction on humanity from my apartment, since that was the place where the Ley lines connected this world to the next and …

He was looking at the bread I was holding out confused, not taking it and was not on my train of thought.

Granted, the train had definitely left the tracks at this point.

“Hungry?” I asked, waving the half of toast a little. “Take it.”

He did and looked even more confused. I swallowed the last of my piece and washed my hands.

I needed to get back onto my routine.

I went into the bathroom to run a comb through my hair and style it enough that it wouldn’t frizz.

My brain kept going.

Shouty Old Guy had been on his way to get rid of Bones. There was an auction house somewhere near here that dealt with Monsters, and with the paperwork all filled out and just requiring a signature …

Why?

He hadn’t even fought that hard when I raised the amount of money I was extorting out of him. What had he said? ‘As long as it gets rid of him’? Something like that.

What had the skeleton done?

I glanced at the skeleton as I went to my bedroom to throw my bag together. I raised my voice to keep talking to him, uncertain if he was listening or cared.

“I can’t leave you here, so you’ll have to come to work with me.” I paused as I ran through my mental list of things I’d need today. “Is that a normal thing people do? Is that even allowed?”

I shook my head, trying to reign in my wandering thoughts. “I don’t really have a choice until I figure all this out and I know you aren’t insane or something.”

I shouldered my bag and rushed to the kitchen.

“No offense. I just … don’t feel comfortable leaving a stranger in my home. I’m sure you’re a polite skeleton with no predilections toward the eldritch.”

I stopped to consider our interactions so far. Lots of glaring and angry silence from him, and a whole night of drunken antics from my dumb ass.

I definitely had plenty of reason to believe he was polite and not evil.

I started putting together a lunch. Two water bottles from the fridge, a mental note to restock, an apple, a bag of chips.

“Hey, Boney!” I called out. He waved from the couch. I hadn’t noticed him laying there.

“Turkey or ham?” I asked as I looked at my packages of deli meat. “Have a preference?”

He shook his head and I decided on ham and cheddar. Put together the sandwich, cut it in half, add it to the bag with everything else.

Couple of granola bars and I had a lunch for champions.

“Anyway, you’re coming to work with me and hopefully I don’t end up fired. And you don’t get in trouble. And everything goes great and we celebrate our newfound friendship tonight. You ready for work, Bones?”

I turned to look at him and frowned.

He was standing by the door, staring at me all black eyes and barely masked hate. His hoodie was zipped but he still had no shoes, and his athletic shorts were looking even more ragged than they had yesterday.

I did some quick mental math and figured we would be able to swing by a shop between two of my jobs. I checked my bag to make sure I still had the two hundred from the old man.

Perfect. I could use it to buy the skeleton some clothes. It felt more appropriate than spending it on myself, anyway.

That meant I was carrying a lot of cash, but with any luck I’d be left alone since I had a spooky scary skeleton with me.

“Hi ho, hi ho,” I said to the skeleton as I walked toward the door. He furrowed his brow at me and I blinked. “You’re … not familiar with Snow White? ‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go?’ ”

Another shrug and I remembered he hadn’t had much time to explore the surface before … well, before. I held the door open for him.

“Gonna have to marathon all the Disney classics, then,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

---

My first job was one of my closest places of employment. Maintenance on the lines at a factory, then quality assurance testing earbuds. Unfortunately it started so early that I couldn’t take a bus, so I had to rush across part of the city on foot.

I hoped my shadowing skeleton would follow my lead as I wove through city streets and alleyways, moving at a jog. I checked on him a few times, when we passed windows and I could glance at his reflection, or when there was a fence to jump.

Somehow he kept up with me, despite walking at a leisurely pace, hands in hoodie pockets.

Impressive, but it only added to the terror I felt from his blank glare.

As we got the warehouse I pulled out my phone to check the time. A little before five. Right on time.

I sought out my foreman. He was the son of someone important and he got the position through nepotism rather than merit. At least, that was my theory. He wasn’t a bad manager, he was actually one of my better bosses. He did his best to treat everyone humanely and was humble enough to ask for help when he was in over his head.

He was often in over his head.

I found him in his office and explained that I had someone with me as I clocked in.

He was about to argue when he saw that “someone” in the doorway.

“Oh, a monster. Strange for you to have one,” he said and I felt my cheeks redden with shame. “If that’s it, then it’s fine, Just don’t let it mess up the line. If it breaks anything it’ll come out of your paycheck,”

“Of course.” I nodded and he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I spent the next hour doing maintenance. Fixing minor issues and wear and tear on the line, ensuring everything would run smoothly.

Officially I didn’t do this job. The maintenance guys were overwhelmed and the owners wouldn’t hire more people. “Everything works fine, why do we need more mechanics and engineers?”

Somehow the overnight maintenance guy learned I was all-but-certified to do some of the work. He worked out a deal with the foreman and I was asked to come in an hour early. I would then take care of some of the easy, routine tasks each morning.

It sucked, I missed the hour of sleep, but I needed the money.

I had nearly finished when my first coworker arrived.

She was a college girl, working her way through school. She was studying something in the hard sciences or maybe mathematics. Astrophysics or Cosmology or something. I wasn’t really sure. She was a sweetheart, and had made me a cupcake for my last birthday.

Her name started with an H. Hannah or Heather or something.

She stopped short when she saw the skeleton sitting on the ground near me.

“Who is this?!” She asked, somewhere between a shout and a screech. She looked between Boney and me a few times. “You have a monster? Since when?”

I sighed and finished tightening the nut I was working on before pulling myself to my feet.

“Yesterday through a series of unfortunate events. He’s … ” I stopped short.

I never asked his name.

He spent all day with me and had slept in my apartment and I owned him and I had no idea what his name was.

“He … He’s my bodyguard,” I finished, the lie sounding lame on my tongue.

“Oh! You do live in a rough area, don’t you? Well, I understand. Sometimes we have to compromise on our values so we can survive, right?” She gave a casual shrug as she walked away. I couldn’t help but shudder under the judgement in her tone.

I methodically put my tools back into place in their toolbox.

“Hey, Bones.” I said as I finished. Even without looking at him I could feel his eye sockets on my back and I knew they were black voids. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the uneasiness in my stomach, and not looking at him as I sorted my thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been acting like a very good person.”

I took a deep breath and spun around, holding a filthy hand out to him. I plastered a big smile on my face.

I tried not to feel the weight of my guilt.

“Hi. My name is Theresa Navarro. It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

The anger and hatred dropped from his face for a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise. He glanced between my outstretched hand and my face, trying to see how sincere I was being.

After a lifetime he took my hand.

“Sans,” he said, voice soft and edged with confusion. “Sans the Skeleton.”

I shook his hand once then let it go and grabbed the toolbox to return it.

“Nice to meet you, Sans,” I said as I turned away. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

I had the impression that few of his owners had bothered to learn his name.

I returned the tools and told the maintenance guy about an issue on one of the lines that I couldn’t fix.

Then it was time to start what I had actually been hired to do. Four hours of mindless drudgery.

Quality Assurance testing for earbuds was an exceptionally basic process. Plug the headphones in. Make sure they scream like a computer being murdered. Then wrap them up and send them down the line to packaging.

It was easy, boring, and paid next to nothing, but it was stable.

Sans watched as I worked, sitting where he wasn’t interfering with the line or my coworkers. Some employees glanced our way as they came in to start their shifts, but no one said anything to me.

Most people didn’t seem to notice or care about the monster in the room.

After an hour of watching me the skeleton apparently got bored and he came over to help. He wrapped the cables after I tested them and my productivity improved immensely. I was grateful for the help, but I worried how it would mess up my numbers.

I only hoped I wouldn’t be expected to do the work of two people every day.

We passed the time in silence, working side by side until my phone buzzed in my pocket, letting me know it was time to go. I checked in with my manager and clocked out. Then I headed across the street to the overgrown park where I usually ate my first lunch.

It was more an empty lot than a park, but there were benches to sit. Most people ignored the area and it was mostly used by the homeless or the drug addicted. This time of day it was empty, and as long as you watched where you stepped –

I stopped just short of stepping off the sidewalk.

“Hey, Sans?” I asked. I gave him a moment to respond and sighed when he didn’t. “Can you catch human diseases?”

He gave me a weird look, confusion and curiosity plain on his boney face. I waved at the lot, “This park sometimes has used needles and stuff around. I don’t want you getting Monster AIDS or hepatitis or something.”

He looked down at his bare, skeletal feet and shrugged. “No.”

“I guess not having a liver probably helps,” I said, mostly to myself. I considered my options. I looked at his feet, then at the park, and then turned away and headed toward my next job. There was a nicer park by the hotel and neither of us would have to watch out for dirty needles or used condoms.

At one point I had one of those fitness trackers, a gift from my sister. She had tried to get everyone in the family to join together in a friendly fitness competition. Just some nice family bonding.

It ended within a week when everyone realized how much I traveled by foot. No one realized that I crossed the city multiple times every day. One of my brothers called me a cheater and the competition was dropped.

It was just as well since I lost the tracker a few weeks later. I had put it with my stuff in my locker one day and it had vanished like magic. I never did figure out which coworker stole it.

I led the way to the park and sat down on one of the benches near the playground. I handed a water bottle to the skeleton, along with half the sandwich, and then offered either apple or chips.

He chose chips.

I crunched the apple and people watched.

Or rather, skeleton watched.

Sans was leaning against a tree, watching the little kids on the playground. There was an almost soft expression on his face.

The pinpricks of light were back in his eyes.

I remembered the kid from the news stories, the one who had freed the monsters from the Underground. I couldn’t remember their name.

I assumed Sans didn’t know them. There were something like a million monsters in the Underground. Only a handful had interacted directly with the human child. I wondered if thee was any folklore or legends about the kid. Stories passed around the refugee camps in the early days on the Surface.

I couldn’t figure out how to ask Sans about them.

“I’ve got four hours here, then a couple hours as a sort of lunch break,” I said after I finished my apple. I threw the core at a trash can. I missed. I sighed and stretched. “There’s a strip mall a block or two from here. We should have enough time to stop there and get you some clothes.”

Sans said nothing, which I had come to expect. I threw the apple core into the trash and considered my remaining half of the lunch with a frown.

I was hungry.

I really didn’t feel like eating.

I glanced back and saw that Sans seemed to be waking up. Apparently the skeleton could sleep standing up. What a useful skill.

“Want some more sandwich? I’m not gonna eat it,” I said as I packed everything up.

“You keep feeding me,” the skeleton noted. “Trying to fatten me up?”

I laughed, “Yeah, you’re too skinny. I can see your ribs.”

He snorted in response as he took the other half of sandwich.

“Fuck yeah,” I said with a grin. I pointed at the building we were heading to, “Time for job number two.” I waved my hands in mock excitement. “Housekeeping. Yay.”

As we entered the hotel lobby I pointed to some of the plush couches and asked Sans to wait for me there. I headed into the employee area and put my belongings in one of the little half lockers.

This was one of my nicer jobs. The pay was okay and the conditions weren’t horrible. I had a safe place to keep my things while I worked, I didn’t have to work with people, and the whole place was air conditioned. It was also incredibly unlikely that I would get injured.

It was better than a lot of other options.

I changed into my work outfit and threw my regular clothes into the locker with my bag. As I clocked in I explained that I had a monster with me to one of my managers. Like before I was told as long as he didn’t distract me or cause damage it was fine.

And any damage he did cause would come out of my paycheck.

I left the employee area to collect Sans. He took one look at my outfit and damn near pissed himself laughing. The bones of his face were tinted blue.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, numbskull.” I growled in good nature.

It wasn’t like I particularly enjoyed cosplaying as a French maid to clean hotel rooms, but a job was a job.

“C’mon,” I said, motioning for him to follow me. “We have rooms to clean.”

I spent the next four hours playing maid. I stripped beds and replaced linens. I vacuumed, swept, and mopped. I scrubbed toilets and showers.

Meanwhile, Sans sat in various hotel room chairs and watched. He was occasionally taken over by a fit of giggles and I would roll my eyes.

I did look pretty dumb in this getup.

Eventually I gave him my phone and charger. I wanted him to have something to do besides watching my every move.

By the end of my shift I was hot, sweaty, annoyed, and more than ready to be back in my regular clothes.

I told my manager which rooms I had completed and which were unfinished. There were only two. One was a disaster that was way higher than my pay grade and I thought would need a biohazard team to get it back to normal. The other was locked from the inside and obviously occupied.

I clocked out and changed back into my normal attire.

It was so much nicer to be in a tee-shirt and jeans.

I met up with the skeleton in the lobby and led the way to the shopping center.

I was starving.

I didn’t want to eat.

Sans needed shoes.

---

I normally only shopped at thrift stores, but I had learned a long time ago not to buy thrift store shoes.

Cheap shoes were more expensive in the long run.

I led the way to a discount shoe store. New shoes, half the price. Most  were the perfectly reasonable shoes … if they had been black or white. Instead their designer had chosen the most garish colors and patterns.

Most of these shoes were abominations to the eye.

Sans found a pair of pink and white sneakers that fit his boney feet well. I chuckled at the color choice, but he seemed happy with them, so I was too. At least his shoes looked normal.

I grabbed a bag of socks and we paid and left. No bag necessary since he was wearing the shoes out.

I debated between the thrift store and Solar’s before settling on the latter. Getting Sans clothed was important, but I needed to try to get some food in me for my next job.

“Food, then fashion,” I said and I led the way to the bar.

Around three thirty we walked into Solar’s and I learned that my stomach did not appreciate the idea of food.

I walked up to the counter and sat in my usual spot, giving a tired wave to Grillby. My short night was catching up to me.

“Heya hot stuff,” I said with a smile as I lay my head on the counter. I giggled as he flared red.

“Welcome to Solar’s Bar and Grill, can I get you anything to start with?” Grillby asked and we pretended he didn’t.

I glanced at the skeleton beside me. “You gonna order?”

“I’m broke,” he said as he returned the look. His pupil lights were back.

I snorted, “So am I. People still gotta eat. If you’re hungry, get something.”

He paused and I hoped that I hadn’t just issued a command.

I had figured out Grillby’s commands and their limitations through trial and error. But was it different when the speaker was also the owner?

I put my hand on my stomach in an attempt to ease my sudden queasiness.

I wasn’t certain how the collar understood what a command was. Was it the literal words used, or was the tone of voice important? Was it somehow the speaker’s intent? I had heard somewhere that intent was very important to monsters. That it could effect their magic in a lot of different ways.

I dug into my bag for my notebook to write down a reminder. I needed to read up on this.

“How about a burg?” Sans asked. It almost sounded like he was asking for permission. My appetite shrank further.

“Great! Eat mine, I’m not hungry.”

Sans gave me a look, which Grillby apparently took note of.

I ignored them both.

Grillby pushed my drink to me, and I took a swig of it gratefully. The alcohol burned in all the right ways and I started to feel a little better.

Then the burger and fries appeared and I pushed them to the skeleton, taking a couple of fries as I did.

“Thirsty?” I asked, lifting my drink.

The skeleton got a mischievous look in his eye then said in a voice meant to carry, “I’d ask for water but Grillby doesn’t – ”

“Shouldn’t touch the stuff!” I finished with him, laughing. “I thought of that yesterday!”

Grillby made a cracking huff, which set me off laughing even harder. I took another couple fries and waggled them at him.

“Oh, c’mon. That was a good one,” I said with a smile. “Anyway, seriously Sans, do you want something? There’s a magic machine over there that will give you almost anything your … uh … heart? desires.” I waved at the fountain drink machine and Grillby proffered a glass to the skeleton.

Sans took the glass and wandered over to fight with the touch screen on the machine. I wondered if he could do it without fingertips.

I turned back to Grillby, “You and Sans knew each other before, right?”

I tried to make it more a statement than a question.

The fiery bartender looked surprised, but nodded. “… lived in the same town,” he said, his voice crackling softly.

“Neighbors,” I said with a nod. I looked back over at the skeleton, then sighed and finished off my drink. “I’m in over my head, Grillbz.”

The bartender was silent. I assumed that meant he agreed. Now that the adrenaline, anger, and anxiety from yesterday was out of my system I just felt sad. Defeated. Like I had made a terrible mistake.

“Sometimes we have to compromise our values to survive.” But what about when it wasn’t about survival? What if it was a selfish need to … Protect? Help one of millions? Not feel like the worst person imaginable?

“ … you’ll manage,” Grillby said softly. He put the check down next to me and I fumbled in my bag for my wallet. “ … stay determined.”

I chuckled and tried to mask my expression as I handed him my payment. I didn’t want him worrying about me, not when he had so many other concerns.

“Oh! Sorry Flame-bo, but times have been a bit tough,” a rough, booming voice said from behind me.

Too close.

I winced, grabbing the barstool to keep myself from jumping at the intrusion into my personal space.. Apollo reached over me to take the money from Grillby. He counted out what I owed then took the tip for himself.

I glared at his retreating form. “Asshole.”

I sighed and pulled my wallet back out. I still had a little backup money, my spare cash in case something happened.

I looked around, making sure the greedy bar owner wasn’t around, then held out some of what I had.

“It isn’t as much, but it’s what I got,” I said, voice thick with apology.

The bartender made a move to reject my offer, but I insisted. He took it gratefully before hiding it in his waistcoat pocket.

We didn’t end up leaving Solar’s until an hour later. I had decided it was more important for Sans to have a friendly conversation than making sure he had shirts. He was pretty well covered up in the hoodie when he kept it zipped.

We could get him some shirts in the next week.

My last job of the day was stuffing envelopes for some political campaign that I didn’t care about. I got to sit down and the biggest risks were either a sore back or a paper cut.

I ended the day with a lot of paper cuts.

It was nearly ten by the time I was done, well past the time I could go cutting through back alleys without fear. So I hopped on the bus to my apartment, Sans close behind me, and I paid the fare for us both out of his money. I made a note that I owed that fund some money.

We rode in silence. Him all blank eyes and rictus smile, me doing my best to ignore the other passengers.

Then we walked the two blocks to my apartment in silence.

Then up the stairs in silence because the elevator was still out of order.

I had a feeling that Sans was not very talkative.

Or he didn’t like me, which was entirely reasonable and most likely.

Sans all but vanished as soon as he stepped through the front door.

I slipped my shoes off just inside the door and looked at my kitchen. I still needed to make dinner.

I sighed and went to collect ingredients.

Noodles, cheap canned marinara, cheese.

Lasagna was one of the easiest dishes I knew and it kept well. I made it a lot and it was all I would eat for weeks.

While I was waiting for the water to boil I pulled out my laptop.

I had to actually tell the government that I was a slave owner and get the paperwork filed. I also needed to email the property manager and get Sans on the lease as a permitted resident.

I wanted to research how the collars processed commands, too. I didn’t want to unintentionally use a command on Sans.

I worked on everything while I cooked, sighing every time I caught sight of my clock.

After I pulled the lasagna out of the oven I took a small slice for myself. I left a slice for Sans on the counter before packing the rest into the fridge.

“Sans, there’s some lasagna if you want it,” I called out as I passed the spare rooms, uncertain which he had chosen. “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”

I locked my door behind me and sat on my bed to eat and continue my research.

I glared at my alarm clock with an angry sigh.

There were never enough hours in the day.

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