Tiny Raven

The Great Pet Debate continued all the way back to the apartment.

And then some.

I was sitting on the floor by the couch, sorting through a toolbox full of mismatched tools. Looking for the right cross-head screwdriver to replace Sans’ doorknob.

“I think we’ve narrowed it down,” I said, leaning back and counting off the rules on my fingers. “As long as the pet makes no mess, no noise, requires zero care, and is cheap or free to get, I’m fine with it.”

Sans snorted from his place on the couch. “That all?”

I considered the question. Trying to think of any loopholes in the rules that would let him bring home something terrible.

The image of a taxidermy eyesore sitting in the living room came to mind.

Like my life was some sort of dramedy on prime time TV.

“I can’t have once been alive. No dead things in the apartment. Unless we’re eating them.”

I pulled a screwdriver out of the box, comparing it to the screws at my side. Close, but I thought I had something closer. I set the screwdriver aside and kept looking.

“Except, y’know, you,” I teased.

“I resemble that remark,” Sans quipped back. I grinned, adding the interaction to my ‘success’ pile. Not quite a “fuck yeah” success, since he didn’t laugh, but it was close enough.

Like horseshoes and grenades, jokes got points based on proximity.

“Whatever this magical no-work pet is? I get to name it,” I added. I pulled out another screwdriver and tested the tip in the screw. Perfect fit. “Here’s the right screwdriver for the job. I’ll leave it on the coffee table.”

I glanced at my phone before standing, checking the time. Ninety more minutes before I needed to leave to get to my job.

I picked up the toolbox and took it out to the balcony storage, debating how to use the rest of my free time.

My first thought was taking care of some pending research on how to be a good “owner.” Draining and exhausting research that it left me feeling like shit, but important.

I slumped on the couch at Sans’ feet, planning on pulling out my laptop, when I finally noticed the book in his hands.

“Hey! That’s my old copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide,” I said, feeling the grin light up my face. “That’s one of my favorite trilogies! I’m pretty sure there’s five books total? Maybe six, but the last one was written by someone else.”

Sans looked at me over the top of the paperback, brow raised in curiosity.

“That’s double a usual trilogy.”

“Yep!” I agreed with a shrug. “How are you liking it?”

The monster shrugged as he turned his attention back to the story.

“S’alright.”

I realized I wouldn’t be getting much more out of him.

I went back to my previous task of figuring out what to spend my time on.

I got up to get the notepad I had been using to write his “hall pass” on.

“I don’t remember if I’ve told you,” I said as I made my way to the kitchen table. “Any books in the apartment are free to read.”

Sans relaxed and my chest tightened at the implications that subtle movement meant.

Reading had been my only escape from real life as a kid. It was … sacred. Something I would never take from someone else. The very idea was terrifying.

Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised that my fellow humans didn’t think the same.

I pushed the thought from my mind, turning my attention to the task of copying addresses from my phone to the list. I had managed to memorize nearly all of them with daily repetition.

Except for Solar’s, which kept giving me trouble. For some reason I wanted to write it as 2460 instead of 2604.

Annoyingly I did it again, even as I was thinking about it.

I spent my remaining time in a sort of waiting time fugue state. Chipping away at my “to do” list and constantly checking my phone.

I showered, since I hadn’t this morning, which led me to realize I was nearly out of long sleeved shirts. So I sorted laundry and started a load. Then I saw the dishes were piling up in the kitchen, so I washed some of those.

As it got closer and closer to the time I needed to leave an anxious knot began to grow in my stomach.

I didn’t want to deal with Jason, but it was almost guaranteed that he’d be on the same shift as me. The best I could hope for was that he’d leave me alone.

I wasn’t going to start anything with him.

I couldn’t sit still, fidgeting and pacing the apartment, looking for something to do.

Eventually I sighed, giving up on waiting and leaving early.

I hoped tonight would be better.

---

I checked the buttons on my polo again before I entered the warehouse.

I knew my manager’s response the night before had been sexist at best, but I wanted to be covered.

Just in case.

I resisted the urge to button the top of my work polo. The only thing that would accomplish would be strangling me.

I knew I should escalate the situation to HR, but I didn’t know how to contact them. I highly doubted they would do anything, anyway. “Human Resources” protected the company first, then the workers. Then contract workers like me.

I knew where I stood. I was a temp. Easy to fire.

Easy to replace.

Better to let the issue die as it was.

I clocked in, grabbed a scanner, and set off in search of the first item.

Thoughtless monotony, exactly what I wanted.

It was a surprise when I was paged only an hour into my shift. My internal debate between finding the next item first or not was decided for me when my scanner locked me out.

Which … was not a good sign.

Fortunately my manager wasn’t the woman from last night, but instead was Tony. A good guy who was too old for most of this shit, but needed to do something to pay rent. He waved me into his office, gesturing for me to close the door behind me.

“Please, sit,” he said, his voice low and tired.

I did as told, sitting on the edge of the seat.

Important Conversation Time With Boss was rarely a good thing.

Tony slumped in his chair on the other side of the cheap desk, heaving a heavy sigh.

I realized what was happening.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been fired, after all.

“Whose kid is he?” I asked before Tony could say a word.

He grimaced, looking away from me.

Unwilling to meet my eyes.

“I fought for you,” Tony said heavily, leaving my question unanswered. “Spent most of the damn day trying to get the higher ups to listen to reason. You’re one of our best workers.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I simply nodded an acknowledgement of the hollow praise.

“Jason is the son of the district manager,” he said, glaring at his hands.

I winced, inwardly cursing myself even though I didn’t think I’d actually done anything wrong.

“He went crying to mommy and … I don’t know what he told her, but it wasn’t good.”

Honestly, I assumed he told her the truth. If he left out his aggressive actions, the confrontation could be summed up fairly neatly: “I asked her out to dinner and she pulled a knife on me like a psycho.”

I didn’t say anything to defend myself.

“Why didn’t you report the incident last night when it happened?” Tony asked, his voice strained with emotion.

I tensed at the question, frowning. “I did. Immediately. Told … what’s-her-name and everything.” I desperately grasped for the woman’s name. Melissa? Megan? Mothra? (She did sort of act like a rampaging behemoth sometimes … ) I swallowed back the sour taste at the back of my throat. “She told me that I shouldn’t have been dressed so ‘provocatively’.” I finger quoted the word with disgust. “I didn’t know she hadn’t bothered to record my complaint.”

Tony’s expression filtered through the stages of grief all at once and out of order. Eventually he landed somewhere on angry acceptance.

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Fucking again, Melinda?” before turning his attention back to me.

“I can’t save your job, but could you tell me what Jason did to provoke you? Did you really pull a weapon on him?”

“Yep,” I said, words clipped as I thought about the incident. “He threatened me. Had me pinned against a wall and wasn’t letting me go when I asked him to. It wasn’t a misunderstanding, either,” I added as Tony raised an eyebrow. “I specifically told him to let me go. Used the exact words and everything.”

“And you were unable to get help from the floor managers?”

“Didn’t have a walkie or a way to signal for help,” I said. I sighed, looking at my hands. “I shouldn’t have pulled my box cutter on him, but I felt trapped. I didn’t have many other options outside of letting him assault me.”

Tony sighed again but made note of what I said. I hoped he would add it to some sort of file on Jason.

Maybe it would help the next girl he set his sight on.

“If you were my daughter I’d tell you t’hell with it. You made the right choice,” Tony said softly, and I jerked in surprise.

Of all the things I’d expected in this meeting, understanding hadn’t been one.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Doesn’t mean I can get your job back,” he said, defensive and clearly unhappy about it. “And being right doesn’t pay anything. But I don’t fault you for what happened, and if it were up to me it’d be Jason sitting across from me, not you.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, truly at a loss for words. It was … honestly one of the nicest things a manager had ever said to me.

Usually they were yelling at me for screwing up.

I knew, intellectually, I hadn’t done anything wrong. This termination was bullshit and probably illegal. I had a perfect record – Never late, never missed a shift without a call at least two hours before. I had one of the best pull rates on the night shift, and I didn’t spend my breaks getting high.

Aside from one day off a week I only took a single day off a year, on Halloween. It wasn’t even a major holiday.

Part of me was furious. I was being fired for defending myself against an asshole who shoved me against a wall to try to coerce me – force me – into dating him.

I was being punished when I was in the right, and it made no fucking sense.

But I didn’t “play well” with others.

It had only been a matter of time before I screwed up somehow.

“I’m sure you’ve got everything you need, but … if you need a reference, I’d gladly give you a good one.” Tony slid a business card over to me across the cheap laminate of the desk. He’d crossed out the work number and scrawled a new one above it.

I took the card, contemplating the significance that had.

“Thank you.”

I slipped it into my pocket.

It was … nice having someone on my side.

Even if he couldn’t do much to help me.

Bittersweet.

I sighed, overwhelmed with sudden bone-deep exhaustion. I didn’t have the energy to fight this battle. Metaphorical or otherwise.

I stood up and took off my badge, placing it on the desk between us. “I can stop by sometime tomorrow to return my spare polo and get my last check. Is there a good time to do that?”

“Any time after noon should be fine,” Tony said after a moment’s thought. He held up a hand as I started untucking my polo. “You can drop that one off then, too. It isn’t too urgent.”

I awkwardly crossed my arms, uncertain what to do with my hands. The shirt I had on under the polo was thin, so I was grateful to leave the thicker shirt on anyway.

“I’ll come by around noon, then. Thanks.”

I turned and left the small office, leaving the door open some.

I left the building without a word.

---

Throughout my commute home I expected anger to flare in my chest. I offered it kindling and fuel, thinking about the injustice of it all, the stupid office politics.

Of why this had to happen today, when I’d already missed my two other jobs. A day’s worth of wages, gone.

But it didn’t.

I stared blindly at the ads, swaying with the movement of the bus, thinking of other night jobs I could do.

I had a cushion of savings. Not three months worth, but enough. I wasn’t too concerned about the loss of income.

In all likelihood I’d have a replacement soon.

I was furious over the firing. Spiteful passion in my soul sparked and raged.

But I couldn’t feel it.

It flickered, light without heat.

I was exhausted.

Disappointed.

Frustrated.

But all I felt was numb.

What was one more former job on a ten page resume?

If anything, it was a surprise I’d held onto the job as long as I had.

Acceptance.

Grudging, resentful, and angry, but acceptance nonetheless.

I stood in front of my door, fist up and ready to knock when I remembered there was no need.

I had given Sans a key. He didn’t have my keys anymore, because he had his own.

I dug my keys out of my bag and unlocked my apartment, glancing around the entryway.

The light of the setting sun cast long shadows in the living room. The only lights were from the hallway.

It was quiet.

It was … empty.

I ignored the painful twinge in my chest. Ignored the pang of loneliness and isolation. It was stupid to get emotional about. Until a couple of weeks ago, this is what I came home to.

This was more than I came home to. I never left the lights on for myself.

It wasn’t worth getting upset over.

Slowly, deliberately, I untied my shoes, kicking them off as I headed into the kitchen for some food.

It wasn’t like Sans was avoiding me on purpose. He had no idea I’d be home early. I hadn’t known I’d be home early. In the less-than-a-month he’d known me I had never come home early.

It wasn’t a thing that happened.

He had no idea that I was usually holding on by my fingertips, one step away from unemployment at any given moment.

I made myself dinner, heating up what looked like the last of Abby’s leftovers. I would need to wash the containers to return.

I made a note that I would have to make more food tomorrow. Lasagna, probably. After Abby’s cooking I hoped Sans would be able to stomach mine.

I frowned at the thought of the skeleton monster.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts with a huff.

I wouldn’t be good company right now anyway. What would I say?

“Hey, I got fired for bullshit, but it’s not that much of a surprise because this always happens and I … kinda fail like this constantly! Sorry you’re stuck with such a useless sack of shit!”

I sighed again, taking my dinner over to the couch and deciding I was done thinking for the night.

I shifted into autopilot as I ate, letting my mind go blank. Relying on muscle memory and habit to eat and clean up. I stumbled to my bedroom, calling out my routine salutation to Sans halfway down the hallway.

I pulled off my work polo, then flopped into bed. It was too much work to change out of the rest of my clothes.

It was still early, the sky still light although the sun had set. I could get something done.

I could read more about the laws regarding Monster Ownership, figure out ways to subvert them.

I had slept in.

I had only worked an hour of one job.

I closed my eyes, telling myself it would just be for a moment.

I don’t remember dreaming.

---

I was surprised to see Sans on the couch when I stumbled from the shower. I gave him a bleary wave as I started a pot of coffee for myself.

I was glad I’d gotten extra sleep last night, even if the circumstances sucked,

Today was going to be a long day.

“Why’re you up?” I slurred at the skeleton as I popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

Sans looked at me, brow raised.

Hadn’t I … ?

I hadn’t been explicit enough.

Dammit.

“You’re on the lease now,” I said. “You don’t need to come with me to work. Congratulations, it’s your day off. For as long as you want.”

His face flashed through expressions so quickly I couldn’t read most of them.

What I did see were confusion, suspicion, anger, fear … hope?

I looked away when the toaster popped, feeling like I’d been staring.

In my defense: His face was fascinating to watch.

“I told you I was dragging you around because you weren’t on the lease. Now you are,” I said with a shrug as I buttered my breakfast. “There’s no barrier to you staying here all day. It’s your home as much as mine.”

I took a bite of the toast, pointedly ignoring the crumb pile on the counter. That was Future Terra’s problem. She could clean it.

“We’ve already discussed blood rituals, cults, pets … I’m pretty sure we’re good as far as I’m concerned.”

I tried not to be put off by how Sans was staring at me, watching me like I was playing a prank on him. I turned away, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

“I want you to be as free as possible. I don’t want to be a jailer or warden. I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

I sat on the floor by the coffee table, across from where Sans was reclining. He was still staring at me, sockets wide with disbelief. I took a sip of my coffee, grimacing at the taste. I’d never grown to like my coffee black, but I needed all the caffeine I could get.

“If you get bored staying home all the time … ” I stalled, biting my lip as I considered how to say what I wanted to. It felt like a topic that should be addressed with care.

I wasn’t very good at that.

“If you want to look into getting a job or finding something to do out of the house? I’ll help you figure that out.” I kept my eyes on my coffee mug, hoping he didn’t misunderstand. Hoping it didn’t sound like I was telling him to get a job.

I worked at least three jobs. They let me survive and maintain a small cushion.

I chose that for myself. I had made the choices that had led me here. I had chosen to bring Sans into my meager existence, coincidence or not.

I wasn’t going to force him to work.

I refused to use him for my gain.

“I won’t force you. You don’t have to,” I emphasized as I looked up at him. “But if you want to … just let me know.”

Sans stared at me until I broke the gaze, self conscious and uncomfortable.

I flinched when he got up off the couch, repressing the urge to apologize.

“Thanks,” he said as he walked by me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And then he was down the hall.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding when I heard his door latch click.

I was halfway out the door when I realized I hadn’t told Sans about the change of plans for tonight.

I glanced at my phone before rushing back into the apartment to write a quick note.

     Won’t be back until late.

     I’ll try not to wake you.

     No promises.

          – T

I left it with the hall pass on the counter. Hopefully Sans would see them both.

A quick double, triple check – phone, wallet, keys, shirts – and I ran out of the apartment.

I wanted to be early for my factory job to smooth things over with my foreman.

---

My foreman wasn’t happy with my absence the day before. He gave me a lecture about reliability and spent my entire shift glaring at me.

I did my best to ignore him and not let it get to me.

When I clocked out he grudgingly spat, “Good work today. Keep it up.”

I stretched as I left the building, deciding what to do next. My options were blowing off the warehouse for another day or dealing with it now. The site was out of my way and would be a hassle to get to.

But I didn’t want to carry the polos in my bag longer than necessary.

And I wanted my money.

The manager on duty was ready for me, and gave me my last paycheck without issue. Then he had security escort me out.

Guess Jason’s story had spread around, and I was considered a threat.

I am terrifying. All five feet and a hundred pounds of me.

I put the check in my wallet and headed to Solar’s where I ate in a rush. I was already running a little behind. I left with an apology to Grillby and a decent (although not great tip).

Then I sprinted to The Amber Lounge, getting there five minutes late.

The guy behind the bar laughed at my apology, promising me he wouldn’t tell. I appreciated it.

I worked at the bar occasionally when they had live shows.

The tips were excellent. People were happy, and happy people tipped well. It made for a nice atmosphere. Unfortunately I tended to either not care for or outright hate the music.

More than that I abhorred trying to shout over the music. It was nearly impossible, and my voice would be shot for days.

And I’d be deaf.

But … the tips would more than make up for missing … all my jobs yesterday.

My actual job was manning the coat check, but that came with a fair amount of downtime until after the show. So I offered to help the bar, passing along cocktail orders and opening bottles. Dispensing beer and water. Simple tasks that didn’t take a lot of knowledge.

I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the music was good. Enough that I noted the band’s name into my phone to look up later. I bounced along to the music as I worked, enjoying myself more than I thought I could.

Last call came an hour before the concert was over, and I helped clean up. Taking it upon myself to deal with the mundane, nonspecialized tasks so the bar staff wouldn’t have to. Sweeping, mopping, wiping down countertops, whatever I could find to help out.

I was handling the last coat check customer when one of the bartenders came over.

“Thanks for all your help,” she said as the guy walked away with his leather biker jacket. “Pretty sure helping clean up isn’t part of your contract. At least, it usually isn’t … Unless the boss has been contracting assholes.”

I shrugged as I cleaned up what little remained in the coat check area.

“Both, probably,” I said.

She was right that it wasn’t part of my job to help serve customers or to close out the bar. My only job was to handle the coat check.

But I wanted to help. I didn’t like sitting back and doing nothing while other people worked. It didn’t sit right with me.

And I hoped I might get a little more money for helping out, too. Although that wasn’t why I did.

It was the bartender who greeted me that suggested we pool our tips, and I readily agreed. I ended up taking home a little more than I would have otherwise.

I stayed with the bar staff until they locked up, planning my route home. It was late, after three in the morning. I was uneasy about walking home with my tips in my bag and in single-digit weather.

I shivered at the prospect.

The woman who had thanked me for helping offered me a ride home.

I didn’t want to accept.

I didn’t like owing people things. Especially when I wasn’t sure if I would see them again or not. I was wary of her holding something over me.

A small thing, sure, but it still had weight.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to walk home at three in the goddamn morning with nearly half a grand in my back pocket.

She dropped me off with a concerned expression, and I knew she was evaluating my walk home. Likely realizing how many sketchy blocks I would have traveled down.

Including the somewhat-sketchy block I lived on.

I got out of the car before she could throw sympathy at me, thanking her for the ride and jogging into the building.

As soon as I was inside I heard the car accelerate away.

I trudged up the stairs, each step draining away what little energy I still had.

Like the coffee had evaporated straight out of my system.

I don’t remember getting to my floor. Or unlocking my door or getting into bed.

---

When I woke up it was late for me, but still early by normal-human time.

Especially considering it was Sunday.

I was trying to find a replacement night job. Everywhere I’d called only had openings for a regular graveyard shift. Few wanted to take on a contract worker, either.

I lay back on my bed after another failed phone call, pondering the possibility of being in two places at once.

Sans was magic. Maybe he could duplicate me or something.

Drag an Alternate Universe version of me here. One that has her shit together and works a normal, 9-5, Monday to Friday job. Like a functional human.

… Hah. As if that could happen.

A knock at my bedroom door startled me awake, and I blinked blearily at it.

“One sec,” I said, loud enough that Sans could hear me, and I stumbled out of bed. My body was still hazy from sleep and I lurched across the room like I’d forgotten how to walk.

It was a passable imitation of a zombie.

I opened the door, expecting to see Sans.

Definitely not expecting Xander and James.

James quickly appraised me, looking me up and down.

“You look like shit,” he said after taking in my sleepless glory.

“James,” Xander warned in a stern tone.

The effect of which was ruined by me mumbling “You’re shit” and mussing the kid’s hair in an awkward pat.

I turned to Xander, had still on Jamie’s head. I stared at my brother-in-law, sleepily trying to figure out what the pair were doing in my doorway.

They were here to … help me with something?

Because I needed something moved in their …

“Truck. Thrift store. Fuck.” I glanced down at myself, still in my clothes from last night and not at all ready to move furniture. I probably smelled like the bar. “I completely forgot. Gimme … ten? Ten, and I’ll be ready to go.”

James shrugged, pulling his phone from his pocket and going to the living room. Xander looked at me with concern.

“You okay to go out, Tess? James wasn’t lying when he said you don’t look great.”

“I’m fine,” I said, dismissing his concern with a wave of my hand. “Just tired. Had a late night.”

Xander’s eyes widened in alarm as he glanced at the living room then back at me. He furrowed his brow, getting ready to lecture.

I rolled my eyes.

“I had a shift at Amber Lounge,” I said. “Concert. I was working coat check.”

He didn’t quite relax, but the tension shifted. Concern about my night job shifting to concern about my health.

“You sure you’re okay? James and I can deal with it on our own.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated with a shake of my head. “I have a couple things that I need to take care of and then we can go.”

Xander nodded, taking a step back into the hallway.

“Take your time,” he said as he turned toward the living room. “We’re not in a rush.”

I nodded and closed my door behind him, sighing as I reprioritized my to-do list for the day.

It took almost another hour to find a job to fill my empty slot. It had been a long time since my last job shuffle. A lot of my connections weren’t available anymore.

Some places don’t care when their janitorial staff come in. Ss long as the place is clean the next morning, they’re happy.

Lucky for me.

Xander and James were watching something when I finally made my way out into the kitchen. Or, Xander was watching something. James was on his phone, only kind of paying attention to the TV.

I pulled out the notepad and started writing down addresses, careful to double check them against my phone.

“Whatcha doing?” James asked.

He was behind me, looking at the paper over my shoulder. I jerked away from him, surprised, and he took a step back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said as I grit my teeth and told myself to breathe. “It’s for Sans. It lets him go where he wants without me being around.”

“Is he gonna help us with the dresser?”

“We can ask, but I don’t know.” I said with a shrug. “I bought it on impulse, so it’s my thing to deal with. Besides, there’s not enough room in the truck for all four of us.”

“He could help us get it up the stairs.”

It was almost like my nephew wanted to do as little work as possible.

I sighed, but agreed that things might go smoother if Sans helped.

“I’ll ask. But I’m not going to force him.”

Sans answered my knock quickly, which I hoped meant I hadn’t woken him.

“Xander and James – if you remember them – are here to help me bring that ugly dresser home. Would you help us get it up the stairs?”

“Sure.”

I pulled out my phone to hand him along with the hall pass.

“I’ll call from Xander’s phone once we’re back. Shouldn’t take longer than an hour.”

Sans nodded, opening the door fully to take the phone.

“Sounds good,” he said.

“Great!” I said with a smile. “It’ll be a lot easier with your help.”

I turned and marched into the living room, arms in the air. “Let’s go! Wardrobe, Get!”

---

It was a nice day.

Jamie teased me mercilessly about the dresser, calling it a Pretty Princess Nightmare. He also offered to help me paint it, if only to protect the world from its gaudy horror.

Sans helped us get it up the three flights of stairs.

He was surprisingly strong for someone who had no muscle. With his help the dresser felt like it was half its weight.

We put the dresser on the balcony so I could paint it.

Which is when I realized I had forgotten to buy paint at the hardware store.

“Hey, Sans, next time we’re out we should stop at the store, get some paint,” I told the skeleton monster. “You can pick it out and everything.”

I wondered if I should add the store to his list, give him a chance to go look at paint swatches or something.

I would ask him later, once my family was gone.

It was nice having them here.

Xander and Jamie stayed for dinner. Xander ordered pizza, and we all ate until we were stuffed.

Xander implied that James had a girlfriend, but my nephew wouldn’t divulge anything about her.

“We’re just friends,” he said. “It’s not like that.”

I shrugged, “Well, if you do find someone, let me know. I’d love to meet them.”

They left after eating, leaving the remaining pizza with me. Which I was grateful for.

I went to bed early, calling out a goodnight to Sans. He had disappeared sometime during dinner. I was worried he felt uncomfortable around my family.

I hoped he wasn’t.

I changed into my pajamas, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

I was exhausted.

I couldn’t fall asleep.

I felt … Empty.

Numb.

---

Landlords and Leases

I had expected to find my landlady at the front desk. Her bright red perm a beacon in the building lobby.

Instead it was her dark haired daughter behind the desk. She had her head down, busy with something I couldn’t see.

“Moira!” I called as I walked over. I tried not to fidget too much with the sleeves of my shirt. Part of me wanted to bolt back upstairs, back into my bedroom, find something to cover my arms further. Arm warmers or fingerless gloves. I didn’t. “It’s been a while!”

The woman jumped, looking up to smile at me.

“Theresa Navarro!” she said with a wide grin. “It has been a while. How is your sister?”

“Doing great,” I said.

Moira was one of Abby’s friends. Her first client when she was a new lawyer, fresh out of law school.

Moira had married a real piece of work. He had cheated on her and when she called for divorce he flipped on her. Claiming she was abusive and neglectful toward their kids. Near the end of the proceedings, when she had sought out Abby, Moira had little left.

It was looking like she wasn’t going to even have visitation with her kids.

Abby had happened to learn about what was going on, and had offered Moira help. Moira hadn’t dared hope for more than weekend visitation. Her ex-husband was vindictive, rich, and had friends in the right places.

Abby was tenacious. She spent all her time on the case, eventually finding proof that the ex was abusive. Both to his former mistress and to the children.

Moira left court with full custody and generous child support.

Her ex left with supervised visitation. He’d even been forced to pay Moira’s legal fees.

Every year or two he dragged everyone back to court.

Every year or two Abby continued to win the case against him.

She had joked once that he kept her in business.

Moira held her phone out to me, flipping through photos too fast for me to see them.

“My Mizuki just had her eighth birthday! Can you believe it?”

She paused on a picture and I finally recognized the little girl int he photos. She had a big gap toothed smile and a plastic tiara.

“Little girl’s growing up,” Moira said with a sigh as she pulled her phone back. She stared at the image with a fond smile. “I’m in your sister’s debt.”

She stared at the picture on screen for a few more seconds before placing the device screen-down on the table in front of her. “Look at me, gushing about Mizuki when you’re a busy woman. What can I do for you?”

“I need to get him on my lease,” I said with a glance back at Sans.

The monster was standing behind me and to the left, looking bored and disinterested. He tensed when he saw my eye on him, then shifted into a scowl, rolling his shoulders forward.

Moira hummed in acknowledgement, opening her laptop.

“Never thought you would own a monster,” she admitted as the computer booted. Her tone was conversational and curious, enquiring without demanding explanation.

My chest tightened with self-accusatory anxiety, and I forced myself to remain calm.

“It’s a surprise for me, too,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. I shrugged and chuckled, ignoring the discomfort that settled in my gut.

“Well, I’m certain you have a good reason,” Moira said gently. She knew how uncomfortable I was. I hadn’t exactly hidden it.

Then she laughed.

“I’m glad you caught me instead of mom! She would have all sorts of questions. You’d have to listen to her ramble while she found the paperwork.” Moira rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation. “She doesn’t trust computers. Still sends me the physical files once a week to digitize for her.”

“With how much she prints out I wouldn’t have guessed,” I admitted with a laugh.

I was convinced that the landlady was keeping the paper industry alive single handed. She printed handouts and notices for the entire building, occasionally daily. Whenever she deemed something important enough to share I’d find a new note pinned to my door. Or in my mailbox. Chain emails, inspiration quotes, quirky memes … I never quite knew what to expect.

She seemed to be quite comfortable with computers.

On the other hand, it had taken nearly six hours to transfer the lease into my name. I’d waited as she figured out where the preprinted paperwork was filed.

I had suggested printing new paperwork, since that would be easier, but she refused.

I was still a little salty about it. I had ended up missing a shift and losing a job because of it.

“There is a small fee for monsters, but I’ll waive that in honor of Mizuki’s birthday,” Moira said with a wink. She put her laptop on the counter so I could see the details. “You have plenty of room, and I assume he’s not dangerous. He is well … controlled, right?”

“He’s not a wild animal,” I said, gritting my teeth in an attempt to be polite. When she stared at me, waiting for an answer, I sighed. “Of course he’s not dangerous.”

I couldn’t blame her. The media was constantly demonizing monsters, making them out to be little more than beasts. A lot of people believed the propaganda and lies, even though the evidence wasn’t there to support it.

Since breaking the barrier no monster had harmed a human outside of self-defense. The opposite was not true.

“How much is the fee?” I asked getting the topic off of the mistreatment of monsters.

I didn’t want to get into that particular argument right now. Certainly not with Moira.

I also didn’t like the idea that I was getting something for free. Abby had helped Moira, not me. I felt like I was using my sister, and it felt like a scummy thing to do.

“One fifty per monster,” Moira said, and my conscience cleared. I could afford it but only barely. If Moira was willing to waive the fee, I wasn’t going to say no.

Moira sighed, “We had to put it in place after someone in another building had … well … Monster insurance is new and it’s still full of problems. The monster did massive amounts of damage – nearly burned the place down. We had to gut the entire unit, as well as the ones above and below. We’re lucky no one got hurt. We’re lucky we didn’t lose the building entirely.”

I stared at Moira, wide-eyed and wondering what the monster had done to cause that much damage.

“After that we found a good insurance company,” she continued. “The deposit goes to cleaning costs usually. If something happens it goes to paying our deductible. It’s just like any other security deposit.”

“Recurring?” I asked with a frown, already trying to figure out where I could find an extra hundred fifty dollars a month.

“No,” Moira said. “No. It’s more like a pet deposit. There will be no increase to your rent.”

I nodded, relaxing a little.

Moira switched from friendly conversation to customer service in a blink, leaving me behind.

“Let’s see … do you have his ID number handy?”

I scrambled to pull Sans’ paperwork from my bag, disoriented by the switch back to business. I stopped when he began saying the number instead. Slow and clear, enunciating it so she could type it in and he wouldn’t have to repeat it.

Moira verified the number as I watched, out of place.

“Your full name?”

“Sans,” he said in that same clear way. “S-A-N-S.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sans,” Moira said with a bright smile. She held out her hand to him. “My name is Moira Edamura.”

Sans looked at her outstretched hand uncertainly, before cautiously taking it in his own.

“You too.”

She smiled as she pulled away, returning to the form on her laptop.

“Do you have a last name? A surname, family name, patronym, anything like that?”

“Nope,” Sans said with a shrug.

“Most monsters don’t, I’ve gathered,” Moira said. She tried clicking away from the box but the computer kept highlighting it in red. “Ugh, why can’t I leave it blank?”

“Put ‘the Skeleton,’ ” Sans suggested. “That should be enough to differentiate me from any other ‘Sanses’ out there.”

I blinked at him. His words had a bite to them, sarcastic and cynical.

Was ‘Sans’ a common name in the Underground or something? I wasn’t sure.

“Thank you!” Moira said, ignoring or ignorant of Sans’ change in tone.

The computer accepted the additional information and Moira turned to me. We went through my information, verifying that everything was correct. Simple to do even if I had to pull out my wallet to check my license number.

“And your emergency contacts,” Moira said as I put my bag back together. “They’re still Alexander Moore, Abigail Moore, and Karen Mi-”

“Take her off,” I said quickly, speaking over my mother’s surname. “It’s only Abby and Xander now.”

Moira frowned and I could see the conflict in her. She had known Xander for over a decade, Abby nearly as long. She was familiar with the dynamics in my family.

She was someone who believed family, for better or worse, was important. That they should stick together.

She wanted to pry, get me to explain why my mom was getting the boot. At the same time she wanted to respect my privacy.

“We got in a fight,” I explained with a sigh, half expecting a lecture. “It’s been a long time coming. I cut her off.”

Moira hummed and removed my mother from the paperwork. I almost didn’t hear her mutter.

“About time.”

I grinned.

“The last thing I need is both your signatures,” she said. I heard the laser printer in the office start up.

“By signing you are agreeing to not destroy the apartment,” she said to Sans. Then she turned to me as she continued, “And if Sans does destroy it you will be responsible for damages not covered by the insurance and deposit. It’s the same as any other security deposit and otherwise your lease is the same.”

“Sounds great,” I said with a nod. Moira got up and walked into the back office.

I turned to Sans.

“She’s the daughter of the landlady,” I explained. I didn’t know if he cared or not, but I felt less awkward. Filling silence with meaningless chatter. “Abby helped her get custody from an abusive ex.”

Sans didn’t respond, hands in pockets and eye sockets dark. With a sigh I turned back to the office, standing a little straighter when Moira came out of the back office.

I skimmed through the documents she handed me, making sure there weren’t any surprises. I didn’t expect any, but my sister was a lawyer.

I never signed anything without reading it first.

I scrawled my messy signature on the line and slid the pen and paper to Sans.

He “signed” his name in bold, almost childish block letters.

sans

He must have heard me snicker at it a little, or he saw my grin as he passed back the paperwork.

“My bro got the fancy writing genes,” he said with a shrug.

I pointed at the first letter. “I was actually laughing at the fact that you’re too lazy to capitalize your own name.”

Sans shrugged again, deeper this time, and winked at me.

“Bro got the capital letter genes, too.”

Again it seemed like he was joking. That it would be funny, if only I had more information.

Sans was confusing me, and I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t even certain it was him, or if I was still hypersensitive from this morning.

I sighed and pushed the thoughts away.

“Can I get a copy of this?” I asked as I flipped through the paperwork again.

“Of course! Email? or would you like it printed out?”

“Email,” I said. A physical copy would only serve to get lost in the paperwork vortex of my apartment. Better to have it digital and be able to find it.

“I’ll get that to you as soon as possible,” Moira said with a nod. She pulled out a sticky note and scribbled herself a note. “Anything else you need today?”

I thought for a moment, about to tell her there wasn’t, when …

“Actually, yeah,” I said. “What are the rules on what I can do with the apartment in terms of … customization?”

Moira looked at me, her expression guarded.

“What are you wanting to change?”

“Replacing some interior doorknobs,” I said. “Adding locks.”

“Oh!” Moira said with a relieved sigh.

What had she been expecting me to say?

“That’s completely fine,” she continued. “If you bring the old hardware to us we’ll deal with disposal. As for general customization, anything nonpermanent is allowed. As long as it’s easy to cover up or patch. We do ask that you limit painting to accent walls.”

I nodded even though I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying near the end. I didn’t want to paint the walls anyway.

Too much work. Beige was fine.

“Awesome,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” Please tell your sister I say ‘hello,’ would you?” Moira asked as I pushed away from the counter.

“I will,” I said before I turned back to Sans.

“Solar’s?”

---

Lock and Key

I pulled the door open for Sans as I went through my mental “to do” list. I still had plenty of time before my last shift.

I could run one more important errand. At least.

“Hey,” I said as Sans passed me, stopping him. “I have another errand to run,” I said when he turned to look at me. “Could you order for me and hang out for a while?”

Sans’ expression went through a few emotions, before settling on a confused stare.

“I don’t think Apollo will give you any problems,” I said. “You shouldn’t need a pass. I’ll be back pretty quickly … an hour at most? Half that, more than likely.”

“Sure,” Sans shrugged and turned away from me. He tilted his head back a little, “Burger and fries?”

“Perfect,” I said with a nod. “I’ll be back soon.”

I waved and jogged down the street to the hardware store.

Once independent, it was now owned by a larger company while operating under its former name.

I glanced around as I entered, noticing the Halloween displays and decorations for sale.

I wandered over to glance through them, since I loved the holiday.

The general decor hadn’t changed much in the years since monsters became a reality. I knew some monsters were bothered by it.

Some felt hurt that there were only horrific, twisted versions of themselves.

Others didn’t care, or chalked it up to more human intolerance.

I wondered which camp Sans fell into.

I flinched barely repressing a yelp as one of the motion activated ghouls jumped at me. I glared at it as it laughed at me.

I fucking hated the motion activated nonsense.

I took the shock as a cue to get on with my errand. I pulled myself away from the Halloween decor and made my way to the aisle of doorknobs and locks.

It only took me a few minutes to find ones that more-or-less matched what was already in my apartment. Not identical, but close enough to not matter. I grabbed two, one for Sans’ room and one for the empty spare.

Then I looked for the key cutting machine.

It was near the front, a little offset across from the seasonal section. Within eyesight of the registers, but far enough that it wouldn’t drown out the cashiers.

I grumbled under my breath when I saw it needed an employee code to use, despite looking automated.

Of course I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own. That would be too easy.

I walked to the nearest manned cash register and got the attention of the bored-looking teenager behind it.

“I need a key cut?” I said, more question than statement.

“Sure,” he said, monotone and nasal. He sounded almost like he had the flu, and I took a step back. “Let me get my manager.”

“Thanks,” I said, in what I hoped was a friendly manner. I pointed back to the machine. “I’ll be over there.”

“Whatever,” he said.

He was definitely bored.

I looked through the cheap, plain key blanks until I found one that looked similar to my own. Then I made the mistake of looking at the more expensive blanks.

I went to the animal prints first, chuckling at the idea of a keybra or a keytah – although the latter was a leopard print. I briefly lamented the lack of any monkeys.

I snorted at the Mickey Mouse, which felt close to a good joke, but not near enough.

I wasn’t sure Sans knew who the famous mouse was, anyway. He hadn’t shown any recognition when I had mentioned Disney before.

My puns didn’t improve any as I continued on. All boiling down to replacing syllables with the word “key”.

It was starting to not sound like a real word in my head.

“You need a key cut?” A deep, rumbling bass asked behind me.

“Yeah!” I said as I turned quickly.

And found myself face to chest with a man who wrestled bears in his spare time.

I was dwarfed. He was over six feet tall and built like a truck. His arms were thicker than my calves, and his calves – while covered by a pair of blue jeans – were as thick as tree roots.

Middle aged, red and black flannel, a full beard that would put one of Tolkien’s dwarves to shame.

All he needed was an axe, a red toque, and a thermos of soup and he would have been a stereotypical lumberjack.

“Y-Yeah,” I stuttered as I held out my house key and the blank. “Just the one.”

The lumberjack took my house key and the blank before turning to start up the machine.

“This the blank you want to use?” he asked, attention on the machine as he fit my house key in.

“Ye-” I started, but stopped as something caught my eye.

I hadn’t seen the blank during my previous perusal, but it … it was perfect.

A molded skull.

“Hold on,” I said as I reached for the blank. I was already working on thinking up a joke to go with it. “Can I use this one instead?”

I had never cut my own keys. I knew there were different sizes and shapes for blanks, but I didn’t know how to tell them apart. Or how interchangeable they were.

He picked up the key and looked at it before nodding.

“Want two keys or just one?”

“Just one,” I said.

He grunted an acknowledgement, putting the plain blank away and setting the machine to cut the fancy one. I watched him work, frowning in frustration as I realized how much a waste of time the process was.

The most complex part of the operation was reading the clear directions on the touchscreen. I could have done this whole thing myself if I’d had access.

Of course, if I did it myself I wouldn’t be getting the best key ever since I wouldn’t have known if the blank was appropriate.

I glanced at the display again.

I wondered if I should get a keychain, too.

“Got a boyfriend, then?” The lumberjack asked as the machine started up, shrilly carving away at the metal. “Maybe a girlfriend?”

I blinked, pulled from my thoughts about key rings.

“New roommate,” I answered without really thinking. I looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“When young ladies come in to get a key made it’s usually so they can give it to their partner,” he explained. He pointed at the machine. “You got an expensive key, so you care about whoever it is. Might be out of touch but I assumed that the badass keys are more popular with guys.”

I nodded, understanding and uncertain how best to respond. It made sense, but I hadn’t even looked at the key as badass.

I had chosen the skull because it was for a skeleton monster and I thought I was clever.

That wasn’t something I was going to say out loud.

The man nodded back and turned back to the cutter, watching as the process finished.

I chose a few keyring and carabiners, hoping one of them appealed to Sans.

“Here you go,” the mountain of a man said as he handed me my things. I juggled them to slip my keys into my bag.

The newly cut key was warm, and I slid it into my pocket.

“Have the cashier scan this receipt for that cut key, and you’re good to go.”

“Thank you,” I said as I took the slip of paper.

“Of course,” he said. “Have a wonderful day.”

---

Souls

Sans was at the bar, signing something I couldn’t see. Grillby stared at him for a moment before his flames flared in a little poof and he walked away.

I could see the skeleton’s shoulders shaking as he laughed.

I snorted. Definitely a joke. Probably a bad one.

I slid into the empty seat beside Sans, giving Grillby a smile and a wave as he left to attend to other customers. It was still lunch rush and I didn’t expect to be talking to him much today.

“Hey Sans,” I said, my voice thick with humor. I pulled the key from my pocket. “Do you know what boney people use to get into their homes?”

Sans turned to me, his smiling skull devoid of emotion. He didn’t seem interested.

I placed the key on the counter in front of him, covering it with my hands.

“It’s a … skeleton key!” I said as I lifted my hands and waved them in a little fanfare.

Sans looked from my hands to the key and then back to my face before picking the object up.

“It’s to the apartment,” I explained. “You won’t have to use mine anymore. That means you don’t have to stay up all night waiting for me to get home. Once you get home I dub you free of responsibility.”

“You made a key for me?” he asked. He tried to hide it, but I could hear the edge of disbelief in his tone.

“Yeah, of course. I told you it’s your hom too. I meant it.”

He turned the key over in his hand.

“How long did it take you to find one with a skull?”

“I almost didn’t see it,” I admitted. “But not long. I was gonna get you a normal, boring key. But as soon as I saw it I knew it was the key for you.”

He didn’t respond and I fretted. Worried I had overstepped or offended him. Maybe I should have gotten the boring key instead –

He laughed.

Just a snort, but it was enough to banish my fretful anxiety.

‘Fuck yeah,’ I thought with a mental fist pump.

“I couldn’t resist,” I said. “You like it?”

“S’alright,” Sans said as he stared at the key. His eyelights sparked, a flicker of a glow. His smile looked softer. “Thanks.”

I smiled, putting a checkmark in my mental “win” category. Grillby Brough my burger and fries over, sliding the plate across the counter to me.

“ … Drink?” He asked.

I considered.

I didn’t want to deal with the leftover bullshit from last night sober. But if I had a drink it was early enough that I’d probably be sober by the time my shift started.

And if I wasn’t, well … despite not wanting to be sober, I didn’t want to be incapacitated if I had to deal with Jason again.

“Just water,” I said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t I tell you that you can use AS- er … Hands if you’re more comfortable?”

Grillby’s expression softened as he handed me a water bottle. He signed ‘Thank you’ before returning to work.

Sans glared after him as he left.

“His human told him not to use Hands unless asked.”

I frowned at my burger, the information settling in my gut like a rock. Uncomfortable and heavy.

“That … doesn’t really sound like Apollo.”

“He’s an asshole,” Sans said.

“He can be,” I admitted as I took a bite of my burger. I swallowed before continuing. “But … he’s usually not. His soul is green and yellow. Isn’t yellow justice? And green is kindness, I thought.”

Sans stared at me, his expression unreadable. I glanced over at Grillby with a frown.

I remembered all the times Apollo had taken Grillby’s tips, claiming it was for the good of the business.

I remembered how the fire elemental had dealt with broken glasses for months while Apollo knew. They had eventually been replaced, but I didn’t know how much that was because of Apollo. How much of it was due to me tipping Grillby so well.

I thought of how often Grillby was the only employee working a full shop. Dealing with the anger of impatient humans all on his own.

“He’s … not very fair to Grillby, though,” I said softly. More to myself than to Sans.

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?” I asked. How did I know Apollo didn’t treat Grillby well? Wasn’t it obvious?

“How do you know about his soul?”

Ah. That made more sense.

“How do I know the color? He told me,” I said with a wave of my hand, not understanding the monster’s shock.

“He told you?” Sans asked, looking up from my fries in shock.

“Yeah,” I said as I put my burger down. “The colors aren’t any different than your blood type or your horoscope sign for most people.”

When Sans didn’t say anything I sighed and continued on, staring blankly at the wall.

“Before the Barrier broke, humans considered souls to be something spiritual. Intangible, unprovable, under the domain of philosophy and religion, not science. Then monsters came to the surface and suddenly souls were real. They could be called forward by a monster,” I noticed Sans eyeing my fries, so I pushed my plate over to him. “There was a huge craze to learn your soul color. People would find a monster and have their soul ‘read’.” I reached over and picked up my burger again, contemplating it as I spoke. “Most only cared about the color.”

I wasn’t hungry. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t eat more, but my appetite was completely gone.

“Someone released an app that claimed to tell your fortune based on soul color. Like a daily horoscope. That was when Apollo got into it. As soon as he found out his colors he started incorporating them into everything.”

He had bleached his red hair and dyed it green.

It had not been a good look.

“It was short lived, but intense.” I forced myself to eat another bite. After I swallowed I cocked my head at Sans. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about it.”

“Didn’t hang around humans much,” Sans shrugged and popped a fry into his mouth. “So, what. You found a random monster to take out your soul?”

“A lot of people did,” I said with a nod. I picked up a fry and played with it as I spoke. “I know some monsters made a business out of it. I didn’t. It felt too personal. I didn’t have any monster friends, either.”

An understatement to say the least. I hadn’t had many friends. Monster or otherwise.

Not that my number of friends had increased any since then.

“I ran in pro-monster circles, but I never actually got to know any monsters.”

Even if I had, I didn’t know that I would ever trust someone with my soul like that.

I didn’t know if I trusted myself with my soul.

“I didn’t want to know my color.” I explained, refusing to look at Sans. “Even if I’d had a monster friend back then, I don’t think I would have asked them to show me. I wouldn’t now.”

I had been curious until I went with Abby when she had her soul read.

I don’t remember the monster who did it at all. But I remembered feeling overwhelmed with the presence of Abby as soon as her soul manifest over her chest. My own heart reached for the feeling, for the gentle smiles and warm laughter. For her dedication to the innocent and determination to make wrong things right.

I could even feel the darker parts that made up my sister, although I couldn’t name them. Trauma, mistakes, regrets, guilt.

Her soul had been … her. Honey gold and bright and beautiful. Blinding. A miniature sun concealed within her chest, on display for an eternity wrapped in the briefest heartbeat.

It was Abby, distilled to her purest form.

And I knew, if I ever had my soul read, I would feel the same thing.

But for myself.

I shoved the fry in my mouth, determined to stop thinking about it.

“You learn about traits the same way?” Sans asked as he took another fry.

Which he used to scoop up a full tablespoon of ketchup.

I shuddered, holding my revulsion at bay despite the excessive condiment use. I shook my head as I answered.

“Most people only found out the color. They didn’t care to pay attention to what the colors meant. I think a lot of people didn’t even realize the colors correlated with traits. Even the app I mentioned only listed broad color categories.” I frowned, listing them off on my fingers. “I think they used red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and violet, but I can’t fully remember. Might have had some other colors in there too, like magenta or something.”

I shook my head, realizing I had gone off on a tangent. I forced myself back on topic, “Anyway, there was a lecture on souls at Ebbot U. Free to the public.”

It had been an effort toward peace. An attempt to bring understanding to humans who lacked magic, to share knowledge across the racial divide.

It was supposed to explain how weak monsters were compared to humans, as well as why monsters collected human souls over the years.

Unfortunately, that had been spun into “They collect human souls!” and people stopped listening. The auditorium had been nearly empty when I had gone to the lecture.

“The presenter talked about the differences between monster and human souls.

I picked up the rest of my burger. I was going to finish it, even thought I didn’t want to. “She discussed her theories on how human souls develop traits and colors, why traits and colors seem to correlate … She talked about how souls change throughout life.”

Although there were large gaps in her data. Human souls had only become important after the Barrier went up. At that point they were precious commodities, tools of survival. They weren’t something that could be studied easily.

I took a bite of my burger as my thoughts turned dark.

Best case scenario, the scientist who had given the presentation was a slave now. Working in some lab on something that would make her owners a lot of money. If I remembered she had credentials in a few fields – particularly soul biology and robotics.

“She went over the broad colors and traits, focusing mostly on the traits of the Fallen Humans,” I said, pushing my dark thoughts away. “She talked about how the traits influence people’s actions and beliefs. It’s one of the few things I remember from her talk.”

The list of colors and traits was actually one of the few things I still had from the lecture. I had tried to find the presenter’s research afterward but … everything turned sideways and I lost most of the coursework.

I didn’t even remember the monster’s name.

I finished off my burger and remembered the bag at my side. “I got you something else, too!”

I handed the hardware store bag to Sans with a smile after wiping my hands off.

“There’s some keychains and stuff, you can take whatever you like. There’s also a new knob for your door. One that locks. I can install it on Sunday, but if you want it before that I can show you where the tools are.”

Sans took the bag from me, glancing inside to confirm that it contained the items I said. He reached in to shuffle the keychains around.

“The other knob is for the spare room,” I said. “Privacy is important and I want you to have a place that’s all yours. If you want to give me a key to your room, that’s great. But if you don’t, I get it. The room is yours. I’ll only enter with your permission.”

I pushed the empty plate across the bar counter and stretched, wincing as I felt my back pop. I waved at Grillby, motioning that I was ready to pay.

“Please don’t get us evicted,” I said with a smile. “That’s my one rule. No death cults or animal sacrifices.”

“What if they’re small animals?” Sans asked.

I snorted at his tone, but considered the question.

“How small,” I asked for clarification. “I mean … compared to an elephant a goat is small, but sacrificing a goat – while traditional – is still out of the question. I don’t even know how you would get it up the stairs.”

Before Sans could answer I held up a hand.

“Actually, no. No sacrifices. I’d rather not deal with the tortured souls of a bunch of roaches or bedbugs. They’re bad enough when they’re alive. And anything bigger than that would be too messy.”

“Alright, no death cults,” Sans agreed. “But what are your policies on pets?”

---

It’s late.

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

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

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

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

I sit down and start reading.

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

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

I drop it under the table.

“Sorry.” It comes out as a mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m covered in slime.

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

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

She’s right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing but darkness and void.

I scream.

---

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

Shadows taunt me from the dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I should at least tell Abby what happened.

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

Two-sixteen in the morning.

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

Guess I was up for the day.

. . . . Sans . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

Something was wrong.

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

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

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

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

Someone was in the living room.

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

Sans frowned, considering the options.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she shouldn’t be awake.

Something was wrong.

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

She was … crying.

. . . . Terra . . . .

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

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

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

I’m such a stupid crybaby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somehow he looked both spookier and softer.

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

“Don’t worry about it.”

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

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

He waved off my apology.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That didn’t have romance.

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

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

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

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

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

The real monster is inside of us.

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

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

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

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

Marketable things.

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

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

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

Future me be damned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That all?” he asked.

I glared at the bruise circling my wrist.

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

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

I closed my eyes.

---

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

First: I was well rested.

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

Finally: I was not in my bed.

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

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

…

…

…!

No.

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

It was there, plugged in and charged.

It was after twelve.

Shit. Fuck!

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

Maybe I wouldn’t be in too much trouble.

Maybe I wouldn’t lose my job.

Someone answered and my mind blanked.

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

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

“Oh?” I asked, confused. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I could smooth things over.

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

Nothing to do about it now.

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

He looked surprised to see me awake. 

I must have been pretty out of it last night.

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

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

Before potentially facing Jason the Asshat again.

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

. . . . Sans . . . .

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

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

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

He hadn’t expected her to be awake.

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

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

Stars knew she needed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We nearly lost her.”

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

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

It didn’t paint a pretty sight.

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

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

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

Because you felt nothing else at all.

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

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

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

Suicide was another thing entirely.

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

Seeing the evidence of a failed attempt was visceral.

How long had she suffered before those scars were made?

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

So many friends, neighbors, acquaintances.

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

His thoughts turned dark.

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

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

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

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

It pissed him off.

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

What made her more worthy than any of them?

Why were humans the ones who could survive without hope?

Was it surviving when they hurt themselves to keep going?

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

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

Did anyone deserve to carry that weight?

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

Hiding the scars from view.

Why were humans so goddamn determined?

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

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

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

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

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

The knowledge that even in dying, you failed.

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

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

He was angry.

He didn’t trust the human.

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

He hated knowing more about her.

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

… The way she had hidden herself so quickly.

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

He was angry.

He didn’t trust her.

But he couldn’t hate her. Not anymore.

. . . . Terra . . . .

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

Sans had seen my arms.

He had seen my scars.

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

Those who did got a well-rehearsed excuse.

Usually I slept in long-sleeved shirts as well.

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

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

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

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

He saw my scars.

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

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

It drove people away.

It made me feel broken.

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

When I had tried to opt out.

When my self harm had turned into suicidal ideation.

And ideation turned to action.

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

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

It was just Sans.

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

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

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

It’s not like he’ll care.

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

At least I looked like a functional adult.

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

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

Assault.

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

I buttoned up the second one.

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

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

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

Schrödinger’s cat.

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

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

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

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

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

They itched.

---

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.

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