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Sans’ sockets fluttered open to see beams of bright light streaming through the window.
He shuddered, hands moving instinctually to pull up his hood… but before his phalanges could reach it, they hit the edge of a fluffy comforter first.
He blinked, once. Twice. A third time, before chancing a backwards glimpse to visually verify what he was feeling.
The denim-blue jersey material that lay over his sheets that lay over him was soft, still somewhat new, the faint smell of department-store funk permeating from beneath the far richer one of linen-scent detergent, not yet crusty with being constantly balled-up and having poptato-chisp grease stains wiped onto it. Sans bunched his fingers into the fabric over and over like a sprawling cat, grounding himself with the sensation that reminded him of where he was.
The Surface.
Another minute spent kneading at the comforter, and Sans finally began to go through the motions of rousing himself off of the mattress. He gingerly folded the corner of the comforter and sheets away from him, all in one piece, so that he could swing his feet out from under, letting them dangle over the edge of his mattress, which nowadays was elevated off the floor by a cheap, new metal frame. He grunted with the exertion, rubbing at his lids with the back of a fist as his vision struggled to focus on his socked feet.
Once his eyesight had cleared a bit, he glanced up, to the side table, also new, that held his phone, and an alarm clock (also new). 10:46 a.m. He’d done worse for waking up on his own.
He shivered as he tried not to think about the accidental implications of that thought.
Angling his chin higher, he contemplated the blinding rays that were making their way through his bedroom window, the dividing line between sun and shadow stark and relentless, unforgiving in their luminosity. He thanked his lucky stars that none of the flooring in this apartment was square-tiled.
As frequently as his nightmares plagued him, he’d never needed as much as a nightmare to shake his faith in the present.
Setting his jaw and steeling his SOUL, Sans bravely stood and marched slowly over to the window, the last ritual of every morning that helped ease his too-ready-to-sing nerves. He stopped just before he got past the edge of the frame, drawing a breath and holding it.
Then he forced himself suddenly in front of the window.
The only thing he first perceived was white, white white white, cold and harsh. Sans fought down his panic, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sun, gritting his teeth against the pain of the light until he could make out the flyspeck drifts of snow that littered the street below.
Right, street. City. Ebott. His sight soon righted itself, taking in the view of the trees lining the lane visible from the back of their apartment building – trees that, rather than being eternally wreathed in green needles, at this time of year were devoid of leaves, thin branches bearing half-frozen coats of ice. The dried sheaves of brown that had been the remnants of those trees’ summer dress poked out from underneath the heavy dusting of powder that wasn’t quite sufficient to blanket the trash piles here and there, but enough to bury the grass of the large, bare lot that stood vacant behind their building, surrounded by poorly-paved alleys and a sad-looking brick edifice that also served as apartments. A fresh flurry of snow must have fallen last night, too, judging by the thin layer that covered the tops of the ugly industrial lampposts and the occasional parked car.
He wasn’t back Underground.
Sans continued to watch the scene for a minute, before turning away with a sigh and shuffling back to his nightstand. His alarm hadn’t gone off today, no need for resetting it, so he instead picked up his smartphone, hiking it up to his face to double-check the date that, in absence of timeline changes, he was pretty sure it had to be.
December 25.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand bleakly. Heh. Welp. Time to get to it.
It took a scant minute for him to locate his cozy sweats, plus a familiar custom-knit green sweater, and put them on. It took another for him to dig out a Santa hat that had been sheltered in a cardboard box in his closet, and don that as well. He’d pull his blue hoodie on later, once he got to the door where it now hung, for a sanity-securing finishing touch.
The last thing he did before exiting his room was to head back to his bedside, where he slid his phone into his pants pocket, then un-folded his sheets and comforter back over, semi-making his bed. He patted the comforter fondly as he laid it in place, with a small smile.
His bro had gotten it for him, after all.
At last, adequately gathered, Sans left, yawning as he ambled down the hall and towards the kitchen, from where the sounds of breakfast sizzling were echoing loudly.
Another long yawn was giveaway enough of his presence for Papyrus to shift his skull, spotting his shorter brother over his shoulder as he flipped pancakes at the stove. Bacon was hissing and popping angrily in another pan. “AH, BROTHER, YOU ARE AWAKE! JUST THIS ONCE I RATHER GENEROUSLY THOUGHT TO LET YOU SLEEP IN, SINCE IT IS GYFTMAS TODAY!” he called out in a slightly-cheerier-than-his-usual-cheerful tone.
Sans grinned half-sleepily at him from the wall bordering the kitchen entrance, which he was now lazily leaning upon. “heh, thanks, bro. ‘preciate it.”
“YOU ARE WELCOME!” the lankier skeleton responded, fixing his attention back on the stovetop. “HAD YOU SLEPT IN ANY LONGER, I WOULD HAVE HAD TO WAKE YOU, HOWEVER. WE ARE DUE AT TORIEL’S IN AN HOUR, WHICH IS PROGRESSIVELY APPROACHING US!”
“-yup, noon. i r’member.” Sans padded over to the pantry, where he snuck a jar of dark powder out of the shelves – as he was the only coffee drinker in their household, getting a proper coffee maker hadn’t been a priority, and until they got one, he’d have to do with instant. “we still gonna do our own presents before we head over?” he asked, fetching a mug to fill with water at the sink.
“YES, SEEING AS BREAKFAST IS ALREADY HOT, DUE TO THE EVER-EXCELLENT FORETHOUGHT AND PLANNING OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” his brother replied, plating the last of the pancakes and separating the now-cooked bacon into two portions to join the pancakes. “-AND YOU ARE THANKFULLY ALREADY DRESSED AS WELL, TO MY EXTRAORDINARY SURPRISE AND GRATITUDE! THAT WILL ONLY BUY US MORE TIME BEFORE WE MUST DEPART.”
Sans chuckled to himself as he stirred the coffee powder into a mugful of the hottest water he could get from the kitchen tap. “heh, yep, ready t’ go. it’s a gyftmas miracle.”
“… IF I DIDN’T RECOGNIZE THAT FOR THE JEST IT WAS, I MIGHT HAVE AGREED WITH YOU.” Papyrus set their plates at their places at the table, his happy temper considerably subdued.
After Sans was done giggling hysterically, he sat down with Papyrus. “aw, bro, it’s gyftmas, lighten up a little,” he coaxed, lifting his mug in preparation to drink from it. “havin’ a bad mood on gyftmas wouldn’t leave ya lookin’ present-able.”
“-NO. NO. I WILL NOT LET YOUR HEINOUS PUNS RUIN THIS, OUR VERY FIRST GYFTMAS ON THE SURFACE.” Papyrus had schooled his expression into something calculatedly indifferent and unbothered, even though, as he took a gulp of brown gunk, Sans could tell from his bond with his brother that Papyrus was very much bothered and annoyed and disappointed even atop of his filial love and affection.
He still couldn’t help but to poke the bear. “heh, that’s a good mindset t’ have, bro. always best to set your intentions straight right at the bacon-ning of the day,” he said, picking up a piece of the bacon and waving it as he did.
It was incredibly rewarding to witness Papyrus struggle to keep his face calm as long as he did before he finally exploded into frustrated “NYEH!!”s.
A few minutes of hurried breakfast and a second mug of instant shit-water later, and the brothers had shifted to sit on the couch by their tree – a tradition Papyrus had asserted himself on partaking in this year, a six-footer strung haphazardly with colored lights and decorated liberally with grocery-store baubles and silver tinsel, barely too tall for Sans to help entirely with. Luckily, Papyrus had, in his excitement, taken that whole task on himself. One less thing for Sans to expend effort on.
But as for things he did put effort into – Sans took longer to actually sit down, urging that Papyrus unwrap his gift to him first. He re-emerged from his bedroom, where he’d hidden the thing all month, with a rather large box, nicely wrapped in glittery candy-cane paper.
“OH GOODNESS, SANS! IT’S EVEN PROPERLY WRAPPED!” his seated brother exclaimed, overjoyed enough for his sockets to shine as he appraised the red ribbon that ended in a fluffy, fancy bow. “I MUST COMMEND YOU ON YOUR ENDEAVORS THIS YEAR! THIS IS QUITE A LOVELY WRAP JOB!”
Sans shrugged, trying desperately to hide his discomfort (why on Earth had the store employee picked red? Not that they could’ve known, but the way the ribbon was striped diagonally across the package was…) and channeling it into a lazy smirk instead. “heh, nah, not me. got the store gift-wrap.”
“… I DON’T KNOW WHY I EXPECTED ANY DIFFERENT.” Papyrus quickly recovered from his second-time-deflated mood of the day in order to enthusiastically tear off the wrapping, flinging both paper and ribbon to far corners of the room (thank stars, where Sans would no longer have to see it).
As soon as he could distinguish the writing on the box, Papyrus tilted sideways to read it. “… AN ERGONOMIC OFFICE CHAIR? SOME ASSEMBLY REQUI- OH! OH OH OH! THIS IS FOR MY OFFICE AT THE STUDIO, ISN’T IT?!!”
Sans’ grin stretched all the way across his mandible at his brother’s realization and glee. “heh, yup. this way your bones’ll be well-supported ‘nd comfy between classes and when ya gotta sit through paperwork. if ya sit in a hard chair too long, you’ll get sore, and you won’t be able t’ teach ‘s well if you’re in pain.”
“-INDEED! OH SANS, THIS IS SUCH A THOUGHTFUL GIFT!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!” Papyrus sprang up and instantly corralled his older brother into his long arms, hoisting him clear off the floor and spinning him around in overflowing jubilation.
Once his eyelights had un-shrunk from being picked up so abruptly, Sans laughed, truly happy his present that he had spent his scant savings on had gone over so well. “heheheheheh! merry gyftmas, paps.”
His bro really did deserve it.
“-OH! YES! NOW IT IS TIME FOR ME TO GIVE YOU YOUR GIFT!” Papyrus cried out, rearranging Sans onto the floor and fetching a box that had been wrapped under the tree in tasteful, edgily dark blue-and-gold before handing it to Sans, who tried not to grimace at the (stylish, yes, yet too close to the shades of his magic in ways he’d rather not recognize) color choice.
Papyrus dashed back to his place at the couch, primly planting his rear down, and ogled Sans expectantly. Sans was a little bit slower to get to his own spot, wondering at what the heck this gift could be that had Paps so excitement zealous avid to show him as he moseyed over.
Only when Sans had safely seated himself did he begin carefully pushing the metallic ribbon off of the corners and loosening the navy paper at the taped margins. Within the decorative coverings was a nondescript white box, and inside that, delicately protected by layers of tissue, was… “… a telescope bag?”
Papyrus was now grinning himself, much too proud and gratified. “YES! INDEED IT IS!”
Sans ran the tips of his distal phalanges over the seams in the fabric, marveling numbly at the high-grade construction. Weather-treated nylon canvas, well-padded on the inside, with internal and external pockets for mount and parts storage and a cushioned shoulder strap. If this thing wasn’t professional-tier, it was at least approaching it. It was a far better, more protective bag than the old leather one his telescope from the Underground was stored in.
But said bag wasn’t ripping or the leather even crumbling yet. It was still fully and totally functional.
Sans buried his guilt and mortification and other rapidly-welling emotions as he shakily turned towards his brother. “… paps, h-heh, th-this is awesome, a-and i’m really grateful, really!, but – but i have a perfectly good bag for my telescope already. it’s still working just fine. ya don’t need t’ waste money you still need for your dance studio on somethin’ unnecessary like this.”
Papyrus simply smiled at him. “SHUSH, YOU ARE MY BROTHER AND I LOVE YOU. I DO BELIEVE THE SUPER-COOL PAPYRUS IS ALLOWED TO DOTE ON HIS BROTHER-WHO-IS-ALREADY-COOL-MERELY-BY-ASSOCIATION EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE!”
If Sans’ eyelights hadn’t left him yet, surely they were gone now. “paps-”
“-BESIDES, IT WAS AN OLD BAG FROM THE DUMP, RIGHT? EVEN IF IT WAS REFURBISHED, IT IS BOUND TO GIVE OUT SOONER OR LATER. THIS BAG CAN BE FOR THAT INEVITABLE FATEFUL DAY. EVEN IF IT IS NOT NEEDED NOW, IT WILL BE NEEDED – LATER.”
Strange pause aside, it was hard to argue with that logic. In fact, Sans’ SOUL was more fit to argue with the overwhelming adoration gratitude elation excitement admiration thankfulness smugness gratitude love that was rolling off of his little brother. What was that gratitude for? He hadn’t done anything worth that much of it.
Sans beamed back, his jaw quivering, still sincerely touched by the gesture even if he couldn’t bring himself to understand it, but relenting anyway because if Papyrus was already going to rationalize it to this extent, then fighting less civilly with him on the issue would go nowhere. The chuckle that came from him was uneasy at first, threatening to spill out everything he felt, but he somehow steadied it. “… thanks, paps. you’re the coolest.”
Papyrus’ own smile held as brilliant as before. “I KNOW.”
Papyrus had been annoyingly insistent upon driving his convertible to Toriel’s house, but, still nearly overwhelmed by their gift exchange, Sans had no energy to push his suggestion of shortcutting them there. If Papyrus was okay being “fashionably late”, as he put it, then so be it.
Even so, when they arrived at Toriel’s house in its gated neighborhood (a logical security measure –she’d picked the neighborhood on purpose, even with it being mostly-human, given the household’s identities) and pulled into her driveway behind Undyne’s car, Sans had something to insist upon in return.
“-WHILE THESE DO NOT IRK ME NEARLY AS MUCH AS YOUR HIDEOUS PUNS, MUST YOU INFLICT MY NONEXISTENT EARS WITH A KNOCK-KNOCK JOKE TODAY AS WELL?” Papyrus whinged as he drew up to Toriel’s front stoop, in line behind Sans, a bag of presents slung over his shoulder.
Sans snorted, winking back at him. “aw, c’mon, bro, gyftmas or no, this ‘s a tradition with me and the old lady. ‘sides, bein’ a good guest means compromise with th’ host, right? you know she loves this stuff.” Papyrus’ complaints amply quieted aside from one final eyeroll and soft “NYEH”, Sans faced forward and raised his fist – first to press the doorbell, then to rap on the sturdy front door. Shave-and-a-haircut.
He was promptly answered by the homeowner’s merry completion of ten-cents, followed by a trilling and musical, alto reply: “Who is there?”
Sans smirked. “ho ho.”
“Ho ho who?”
Sans whistled in a sharp inhale, a mockery of a vicariously-embarrassed hiss. “oof, gotta tell ya, your santa impression needs work.”
Full-on belly-laughter rang out from the other side of the door, which soon opened to reveal the loomingly tall boss monster, who today had traded out her usual purple day-wear tunic for a green velvet one, with red-and-white winter floral embroidery. Her maroon irises sparkled at them as a grin of her own tugged at one side of her cream-colored snout. “Ho ho ho. There, is that any better?” Toriel wryly hummed, peering down at Sans.
“hmmmmmm, wellllllllll~… yes. yes, i’d definitely say that was better…” Sans showed off the smaller bag of gifts that he was carrying in his off-hand. “-buuut ya’d need t’be carryin’ a sack to complete the gig, probably.”
“Well, it is a good thing that you both have gift sacks to provide, then!” Toriel’s eyes twinkled all the brighter, her increasing delight crumpling her snout further as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to allow them passage. “Heeheehee! Merry Gyftmas, Sans! – And a Merriest Gyftmas to you, Papyrus! Long time no see, you two!” she quipped. “I am quite pleased to see you both wearing my sweaters from last year.”
“MERRY GYFTMAS, TORIEL! ALTHOUGH IT HASN’T BEEN LONG AT ALL, WE LAST SAW EACH OTHER YESTERDAY! AND OF COURSE I WOULD BE WEARING YOUR SWEATER, IT IS TOO FITTING OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ TASTE, STYLE, AND STATUS TO DO OTHERWISE ON SUCH A WONDROUS DAY!” Papyrus stepped inside after Sans, brandishing his own free hand at the snowflake-and-crimson-ornament detailing on the red-orange sweater he was now sporting. After he’d finished stepping out of his boots, he asked, “-I PRESUME EVERYTHING GOES BELOW THE TREE, AS PER USUAL?”
“Yes, Papyrus, thank you for remembering! Thank goodness, you are as clever as ever!” Papyrus’ features lit up at the praise, rivaling the lights on the enormous tree that was standing in the opposite corner of the living room, and, ribcage puffed up, he swiftly nabbed the bag Sans had carried, knelt at the foot of the tree, and got to work meticulously arranging their presents alongside the many wrapped boxes that were previously there.
Sans chuckled. Thank the stars for Toriel knowing exactly how to handle his brother. He closed and locked the door behind himself, and stared back up at the goat-monster, tapping his own skull in demonstration. “heh, somethin’s wrong with your horns there, tori. looks like they grew out all funny.”
“Why, whatever gave it away?” Toriel jested back, her voice smooth and lilting as always, her own paw reaching up to brush against the felt reindeer headband that she was wearing. Her amused and joy were easy to detect. “Hee hee, do you like it? I thought it would be another new and entertaining touch, since trinkets like these are now much more readily available to us.”
“heheh!, they look good. very festive.” Sans scouted out the room, which, from the staircase rails and balusters to the ceiling wainscoting to the mantel over the roaring fireplace, was now strung and hung and altogether jam-packed with greenery and garlands. “-whoah, tori, ya really went all-out, huh?”
“Why, Sans, you seem so shocked at my investment in this holiday,” Toriel giggled behind a palm.
Sans shrugged. It was unusually hard to hide his or any emotions from the long-lived goat-lady. “heh, i mean, i know you were celebratin’ this long before ya met us, just, this time i’m seein’ a bunch of new stuff up that i’ve never seen ya do before, ‘s all.”
“Mmm. It was a tad hard to help getting excited, I admit.” Toriel pivoted away from him, proceeding towards the sizable kitchen in the back of the first floor, continuing to converse as she traveled; Sans trailed her closely. “You know… back on the Surface! A new house! By the time I had finished charting out what the décor would be like and executing it all, I had gotten rather carried away.”
“heh, well, it still looks nice.” He more closely perused a particular set among the garlands, which consisted of dried sliced rounds of apples and oranges, strung with cranberries and whole cinnamon sticks. “… you didn’t make those all by yourself, didja?”
Toriel became sheepish. “I may have done the slicing and drying myself. Although Frisk did assist me with assembly.” She halted, sighing as she beheld the garland that Sans was clearly referring to. “… I had thought to build a theme, you know, centered on my cooking and the dishes that will be on our table, but this ended up being quite a lot of work. Not technically difficult, but rather time-consuming.” Toriel’s nose dipped slightly. Wistful, disappointment, regret. “For future years, at least, I will know better than to undertake something as intensive as this.”
“heh, uh oh, don’t start takin’ after me anytime soon.” Sans winked at her, then began searching tentatively in other directions. “speakin’ of the kid, where’s-”
-He heard the near-whispered cry of “Sans!” and felt the pulse of excitement ecstatic impatience joy mischief in time for him to dodge the sneak-attack that was coming at him from behind. As the would-be offender altered their steps into a slick pirouette so that they could recover their stance, Sans shot them a smug smirk. “-heheheh! gotta try harder than that t’ catch me, kiddo.”
Frisk pouted in front of him, arms briefly crossed in front of their own blue and purple sweater (their Gyftmas one, which near-perfectly matched their everyday stripes, save for the presence of shimmery silver-and-gold snowflakes within the chunkier weave) before they freed their hands to sign. [No fair! Can’t you let me hug you first just one time?]
“nah, not happenin’,” Sans gloated, before taking a powerful lunge towards the human. Frisk attempted to spin away from his grasp, but Sans’ footwork was too quick – before the young human knew it, they’d been caught in Sans’ arms.
They tried to wriggle out, although their efforts were futile (and also, they weren’t trying as hard as maybe they could have). Sans cackled. “heheheheheh, gotcha.”
When Frisk went limp and let out a soft whine, Sans set them down gently, although he was still snickering. “heh, hey, don’t complain at me, you’re the one who started the hug race back when.”
[I would’ve stopped it by now, too, if you’d let me initiate the hugging one of these days!] they signed back indignantly. [You deserve hugs, so you should let me give you more of them!]
Sans simply ruffled their hair. “heh, that may be true. doesn’t change the fact that i can outpace ya any day of the week,” he challenged with a hearty wink.
Frisk frowned as his fingers came to a rest. [I will get the first hug one of these days.]
“keep tellin’ yourself that, kiddo.” He finally moved his hand off of their head, only to drape his arm around their shoulders – as much as he could, anyway. “-oof, kid, i’m gonna have t’ issue you a cease-and-desist on growin’ any taller.”
[-You can’t do that!! I’m fourteen! I still have growing to do!]
“nope, not allowed.” He used the same arm to yank them down a bit so that they had to bend their back, just by an inch. “can’t leave me in the shorty club by myself, now.”
Their palpable frustration became extra-potent. [No! I do ballet, I’m going to be tall!]
“dreem-r all you’d like, bein’ five-foot-nothin’ at thirteen puts ya behind your peers for height, kiddo.” Frisk’s scowl deepened drastically at his pun, which only made Sans crack up harder. “-heheheheheheheh! c’mon kiddo, you should expect the wordplay from me by now! you oughta know t’ stay, on your toes!”
Frisk’s face went oddly flat and neutral at the second pun.
Toriel, who had been convulsing with repressed guffaws at their antics all that while, rallied enough to add, “-Come now, Sans! Even then, you would not be in that league by yourself! What about Alphys?”
“W-what about m-me?” came a timid, soprano voice from the direction of the kitchen, curious apprehensive anxious.
A gravelly and husky voice soon followed: “-Al, what’s up? Where’re ya-” before it broke off, supplanted by the thunderous footfalls of Undyne running and then skidding into the living room. “Hey, the guys are here!!” She made her way to the tree, where Papyrus was finishing settling the presents in and poorly feigning that he hadn’t heard Sans’ puns, and she promptly head-locked Papyrus to grind her knuckles into the top of his parietal plate. “There’s the new studio owner!!” she yelled with pride affection joy. “How’s the first two months of teaching been, nerd?!”
“-I AM NOT A NERD, THAT IS MY BROTHER’S AND YOUR MATE-TO-BE’S JOB! ALSO, PLEASE DON’T NOOGIE THE SKELETON.”
“Nope! You teach full-time now, that’s solid nerd territory!” Undyne kept noogieing him for another second before blessedly releasing him. She then whirled on Sans, palms on her hips and a grin on her jagged teeth. “Heya, lazybones! Haven’t seen you since your brother’s studio’s ribbon-cutting. How’ve ya been?”
“been alright. yourself?” Stop mentioning himself alongside the studio, starsdammit. Sans’ hands found their way into his pockets, where his fists clenched involuntarily.
Undyne’s lone good eye narrowed at him. “… You don’t have to pretend to be okay around us, y’know?”
“ain’t pretendin’.” Sans winked in a bid to deflect, even knowing the damn fish could feel his worsening nervous loneliness annoyance nostalgia sorrow. “seriously, though. how’s life? how’re wedding plans goin’?”
“-Don’t change the subject, bonehead,” Undyne growled. “You know we’re just worried about you.”
Sans gritted his teeth, trying to remain courteous. “welp, the answer t’ that one’s ‘no change.’ ‘n fact, the only change from the usual ‘s that there’s currently too much magic in my caffeine system. speakin’ of which…” he pointedly addressed Toriel. “-hate to ask, but, y’got any coffee today? if it needs makin’, i’d be happy t’ help do it.”
“Oh, no, I thought of that already,” Toriel stated benevolently. “There is a pot of it keeping warm on the stove.”
“-perrrfect, ya know me so well.” He threw a grateful wink at her, before his feet began moving him towards the kitchen (and away from the pestering interrogation). “gonna go get a mug, be right back.”
He endured it until he was at least past everybody, keeping his eyes lit until he had made it to the entry of Toriel’s kitchen. It still wasn’t far away enough for him to be out of earshot of the whispered discussion that resumed in his absence: “That was too harsh, Undyne!” “How are we supposed to get him help?” “Will it work?” “If he won’t tell us anything…”
Echoes of frustration love nervous perplexion remorse regret concern worry swept towards him.
Sans did his best to ignore it as he rapidly found a mug from Toriel’s cabinet, gracefully rising on tip-toe to reach it, and filled it from the dark-copper kettle that sat over a low burner. As he took his first sip (thank the stars, real coffee, maybe after another mug or so of this he could start truly feeling aliv- less sluggish) he heard the clicking of clawed feet on the tiled flooring.
He didn’t need the steadfast feed of anxiety caring self-reproach to know who it was. He lowered his mug, not even turning around. “… heh. hey, al.”
“… H-hey S-Sans.” The footfalls ceased not two feet behind him. “… P-pass me the k-kettle? I-I need a-a r-refill.”
“sure thing. here, do ya one better.” He twisted lithely on his heel, nimbly pouring into the mug Alphys held out to him without spilling a single drop, before replacing it on the still-powered stove. Out of the corner of his socket, Alphys took a gulp.
Anxiety worry wistfulness nervous trepidation hopeful
He knew what was coming, sooner or later.
Alphys froze, likely having sensed his gloomy guilt resigned, peeking up at him above the rims of her glasses. “-I-I’m n-not gonna a-ask about c-coming b-back to th-the lab today, I-I p-promise! I-it’s Gyftmas!, I-I…”
Sans sighed. “it’s okay, al. just… spit it out.”
“O-oh, you kn-know I c-can’t do that,” Alphys whimpered, shutting her eyes as if to protect her own fragile confidence.
“heh, sure ya can,” Sans encouraged her. “c’mon. deep breath in, jump in on the exhale.”
“-Ugh, m-my style doesn’t d-do that so m-much, y-you know,” she griped, before inhaling. “… O-oh, stars. S-Sans, I – Iwantedtoknowifyouwantedtobemybrides- uhm, u-uh, w-well Iguessit’snotreallyabridesmaidbecauseyou’reaguysoIguessit’sjustbridalpartymemberohgosh-”
“-al, breathe,” Sans laughed, placing a comforting hand on his onetime-boss and longtime-friend’s shoulder. Once her panting had slowed, Sans spoke: “… first of all, it’s your wedding, here. i don’t think it’s about what i want so much ‘s what you want. so~,” he winked at her, “ya want me in your wedding party in february?”
Alphys was still shuddering slightly, but she managed to pull herself together and continue talking. “U-uh, u-uhm, y-y-yes. Y-you’re one of th-the c-closest p-people I h-have, a-and, u-u-uh…”
“-i’d be honored, alph.” Sans was genuinely beaming this time. “seriously, thanks. i’d be happy t’ be there for ya.”
“-Phew.” Alphys was wide-eyed, finding her complete composure again. “… Oh stars that was difficult.”
“but it turned out fine, didn’t it?” … Sans had a minor epiphany. He started chuckling. “… heh, undyne’s gonna ask paps for her side of th’ aisle, isn’t she?”
A loud, shrill gasp from the other room immediately confirmed his theory.
Even Alphys giggled slyly at that familiar sound. “H-heh, no, sh-she did ask.”
“heheheheheh! welp, that bad timing’s my own fault.” He gave Alphys’ shoulder one last pat, then withdrew his hand. “heh, but yeah, no, i’m happy ya asked me, pal. anythin’ i can do to help, let me know.”
Alphys’ smile this time was lax and joyful, deprived of her anxiety for a blessed moment. “Thanks, Sans.”
It was then that Toriel sauntered into the kitchen herself, Frisk hot on her heels with a grumpy expression glued on. “Whyyyyy,” they were moaning in their muted voice, seeing as Toriel wasn’t facing them to enable signing.
“Now, my child, I know you are excited to distribute your gifts to your friends!, but we cannot do that until Mettaton is here,” Toriel responded plainly, making her way to a section of the pantry from which she began pulling out china and silver. “-Until then, perhaps setting the dining table in advance will – eat – away the time? I have the tablecloth on already, so if you could place the dishes, that would be very helpful.”
Frisk groaned audibly, then appealed to Alphys. [Have you heard from Mettaton? Is he almost here?]
Alphys wavered. “O-oh, u-um. N-no, I h-haven’t?… I-I c-can check…?”
“-check with paps, kiddo. once he’s calmed down from findin’ out he’s gonna be the greatest bridesman ‘dyne could ever ask for.” He winked at Frisk, then sidled up to Toriel, taking up the forks and spoons and (ugh) knives she had just laid out. “… heh, knock-knock.”
Toriel immediately brightened. “-Oh! Who is there?”
“elf.”
“Elf who?”
Sans swiveled his skull, locking his eyes with Frisk’s for the punchline. “elf me set the table, kiddo.”
Frisk aimed another neutral expression at him.
The jape had Toriel chortling outright. “-Hahahahaha! Oh, goodness, Sans! – Oh, remind me to tell you the holiday knock-knock joke I have been saving for today when you two are finished, before I get swept up in greetings and preparations again!”
“will do.” He carried the silverware out to the dining room that had its own entrance from the kitchen. Better that he was the one to hold them.
Hanging their head, Frisk carefully took hold of a stack of plates that Toriel had counted out (making room for her to count out dessert plates and serving dishes as well) and followed Sans to the dining room.
The number of chairs that were arranged around the dining table hadn’t changed from the last time they’d gotten together, so it was easy to discern where each set of utensils should go. Sans was half done by the time Frisk arrived at the table, gently and cautiously placing the plates down.
As soon as Frisk’s hands were free to sign, Sans’ fist rose. [Knock knock]
Frisk perked up. [Who’s there?]
“holly.”
[Holly who?]
Sans smirked wickedly as he angled his skull to indicate the progress he’d already made. “holly up and elf me set this table.”
Somehow Frisk’s expression seemed even more neutral than their last. After a moment of dead silence, they hurriedly protested, [I was carrying the plates slowly so I wouldn’t trip with them!]
“heheheh, i know, kiddo, i know. you know me, though, anythin’ for the sake of a joke.” He positioned the next set of utensils, making sure not to touch the knife any longer than strictly necessary.
… Frisk noticed. Their chin lowered, pensive, awash in remorse guilt shame regret anxious. “… I’m sorry,” they murmured.
Sans glanced up at them with a start. “-hnh? wha-” Then he saw where their gaze was resting on. “… oh.” He looked a touch lost, but he quickly shook it off. “-kid, ya can’t go gettin’ set off every time ya see any bitty reminder. that’s a bad habit t’ get into.” His smile suddenly seemed a little emptier, a little more hollow. “… trust me, i’d know.”
He only felt the shame humiliation remorse flow fiercer from them. [That still doesn’t change the fact that I hurt everyone. Or you. … Or that everyone’s now bothering you all the time. I’m sorry for that, too,] they appended.
“that’s not your fault,” Sans grumbled. He paused in the laying-out of his share of the table. “that’s on them.”
If they couldn’t read his signals, his emotions, or even his very clearly worded warnings to leave him alone… that was on them.
… He resented that he was reduced to taking up stupid menial tasks like table-setting in order to avoid them.
Frisk winced at his expression, racing in thought for something to say to reassure him. [… I’m still doing what you said, at least! I’m not dwelling on it too much, or trying too hard to fix everything. Just trying to fix what I can.]
“… good. doesn’t have t’ turn out perfect, remember. hardly anything ever does.” Sans fought to get his teeth into a facsimile of welcoming and relaxedness, forcing his shoulders along the same lines. “… no resettin’ just because some detail didn’t come out quite right. capiche?”
At Frisk’s fervent nod, Sans felt his shoulders fully loosen up at last (except for that last, microscopic piece, that trace that always seemed to persist whenever he was close to the kid). He exhaled, pushing his own tension out, hoping to clear the soured air sooner rather than later.
Frisk was still inspecting the carpet glumly.
Sans watched them… then grinned. “… hey, knock-knock.”
Frisk’s head wrenched up to him. [Who’s there?]
“yule.”
[Yule who?]
“yule be sorry if ya don’t holly up and elf me set this table.”
This time, Frisk’s face was a brand of inert that could be described as aggressively neutral.
Sans was doubling over as much as he could without losing his balance (a nearly impossible task for him anyway, what with his high level of physical control). “-heheheheheheheheheheheh!!! heheheh, aw, c’mon, kid, lighten up with me, heheh. it’s gyftmas. let’s talk about nicer things t’day, huh?”
… A shy smile finally wound its way along Frisk’s mouth, and they began splitting the stack of plates to put one at each place setting.
Sans stood back as soon as he’d put the last of the silverware down, and concentrated on Frisk. “heh. pretty sure you’re fed up of talkin’ politics, so… how’s school goin’ these days?”
Sans dutifully sat through the next hour or so of Gyftmas festivities – singing carols, drinking hot chocolate (which was actually just fine, if it was spiked with coffee), eating sandwiches and homemade cookies and finger-foods to tide them over until the hot meal Toriel had in the oven for dinner, Mettaton’s arrival and the subsequent unfortunate discovery that the dumb tin can was going to be in Alphys’ wedding party too (the gloating, overzealous calculator he was, starsdammit, it was going to make being in this wedding a minor hell, though at least the notion had his brother in a good mood). Throughout it all, he did his best to maintain a devil-may-care facade, to keep a lackadaisical grin plastered on as he lounged the afternoon away, curled up by himself in the only other armchair besides Toriel’s oversized one. (His throwing out a few more puns here and there helped him maintain his good attitude, though – even if it didn’t help Papyrus’.)
At least people were avoiding prodding him, after the events of earlier on. He didn’t need any more reminders that he could never dance again, thanks. But it still made him feel deeply lonely to observe that he was the only person not part of a pair in their cobbled-together ‘family’. Paps and Mettaton, Undyne and Alphys – heck, even Tori and the kid formed a tight-knit parent-child twosome that kept them mostly tied to one another throughout the afternoon. The whole arrangement meant he was often left isolated, solitary and wistful, while everyone else got to pal around and share jokes and laugh with and be comfortable and warm with someone else.
It wasn’t their fault, really. And if the other option was to be harassed over his well-being, he didn’t mind that. It just made that part of him that knew he’d never truly be able to confide in anyone hurt.
He felt about as useless as a third wheel, which, heh, he should know about, given his job.
Not like he’d ever been all that useful anyway…
Sans tried not to sip at his coffee-and-cocoa too morosely as he surveyed all of their interactions. He let his occasional puns be his subtle revenge.
At least when it came time for gifts, he could feel part of the schedule again. He still didn’t expect Undyne to jump up restlessly and rush to get a box from under the tree, wrapped messily (characteristic of the fish-woman) in anime-themed paper, and hand it to him. “-Here ya go, bonehead! Alphy and me ‘ve been waiting to give you this one,” she exclaimed, with a grin suited for a hungry shark.
Sans’ precarious chuckle wasn’t at its peak strength. “heh, what, i get th’ first one today, huh? alright.” After a moment’s analysis to deduce how to initiate unwrapping, he delicately commenced removing it from the shoebox it contained. An excess of tissue paper bunched up within the shoebox’s interior eventually revealed its contents: a variety of changeable eyepieces, filters, and other lens accessories.
“I-it’s for your t-telescope!” Alphys stated, proud excited caring as he gaped at their joint gift dumbly. Undyne nodded in agreement, equally smug joy proud.
Well, he knew that much. He knew what pieces like this were for. But he also knew for fact, having used his old telescope from the Underground for many, many years and knowing the thing and its quirks inside and out, that these wouldn’t fit. Not without some hefty retrofitting and engineering on his part, at least.
Sans still set his befuddlement aside as best he could, focusing on his genuine gratitude instead. It was the thought that counted, right?. The smile he sent back to them was polite, but it was also honest. “aw, thanks, ladies. i appreciate it. these’ll be really great.”
The affianced couple appearing pleased by this, the celebrations fell into their usual procedure; the gift-giving, which was done from households to individuals to ease the burden on everyone, rotated around the room, so that each person got to unwrap something (MTT spa certificates for Undyne and Alphys, with their wedding in mind; new pointe ribbons for Frisk; a desk organizer for Pap’s studio office…) before it was once again Sans’ turn. This time, it was Mettaton (the only person who was giving gifts on a solo basis – he could afford it, anyway) who extended a present to him – this one, long and thin and wrapped in abominably sparkly paper and ribbons – vivid pink, of course.
Sans couldn’t resist giving him an affable wink-accompanied jab – “heh, jeez, tin man, you really oughta consider usin’ the color pink one of these days!” – before opening the gift to unearth… a really nice tripod mount.
Sans launched into a cackle, having caught on to the theme by now. “ohhh, for my telescope!” he said aloud, with a wink, before examining the box a bit – at which point he began merrily flipping out over the tripod’s specs. “-oh! oh man! hold on, this one’s an alt-az with an equatorial wedge!, and – oh man – double-axis ultra-smooth ball bearings, adjustable-height reinforced steel legs with levelers, high payload, three different counterweights, locks separately on each axis-” He zeroed in on Mettaton, the lower edges of his sockets scrunched up. “-oh man, thank you so much. thank you. no, really, you guys don’t even know,” he went on, speaking to the group at large now. “you have no clue how much a steady nonvibrating stand is absolutely crucial to stargazing. ohh man, this’s gonna be amazing, i – stars, i’m gonna make this thing fit if i have to. ‘least mounting plates ‘re cheap. h-heh, ya know ya didn’t have t’ try this hard to win me over, right?” he asked, directing the question at Mettaton again.
Mettaton merely smiled. “That’s not what it’s about, darling! I only want my beloved datemate’s beloved brother to have a lovely, joyous holiday!” Papyrus gripped his metallic boyfriend’s hand tightly at that, his own sockets wrinkling.
“-heh, well, whatever made ya do this. thanks, mettaton. sincerely, thank you.” Sans’ eyelights were blown up huge as he studied the box again, then regarded the gang one last time, who had to a man all been beaming back at him with joy and love and proud. “you guys have no idea. no idea.”
He missed the knowing looks the entire group was exchanging between each other as he began re-reading the box yet again, with all the Gyftmas excitement of someone a fourth of his age.
The next round of gifts for everyone came and went – novelty snail-shaped cookie cutters for Toriel, a gaudy picture frame with Paps’ image already in it for Mettaton – and it was finally Sans’ turn again, for the final time (at least, until they got to the stockings much later on, anyway, with whatever hand-knit goodies and tiny chachkis Toriel had inevitably wrapped for them in there). By process of elimination, this last present had to be the joint one from Toriel and Frisk. It was also easily the largest of the gifts he’d gotten all day.
“-whoof,” Sans exhaled in surprise as the heavy box in green-and-blue was carefully heaved into his lap by a very eager Toriel. He opted to set it partially on the floor in front of him – it would definitely still be in reach for him, propped on one of its ends – before scrutinizing the mother-child duo. “… heheheh, lemme guess, for my telescope, right?” he drawled, with yet another wink.
The two only smiled back, proud smug mischief anticipation.
Sans let out a snort – “heh!” – and got to work unburying the gift.
… Which turned out to be a brand-new, he was its first owner!, high-quality (with a large aperture and good focal ratio!), high-portability telescope.
Sans was absolutely speechless at first, his sockets utterly pitch-black as he simply stared at the thing.
A moment later, he started laughing instead, so hard that streaks of blue were forming on his cheekbones.
Everyone in the room was howling along with him, all proud and smug and happy ecstatic joy love joy stronger than he had been feeling up until now, the crafty clever bastards. When he was finally capable of articulating actual goddamn words again, he declared: “-okay guys, you got me good, i had no idea.”
Really, truly. It had taken until the last goddamn second for the final piece to hit him, for the penny to drop. Undyne was the first to be able to answer him: “-Really? None at all?”
“-really. none.” He wiped some lingering stray tears from his maxilla before continuing: “this is the best gift you all could’ve ever given me: you pranked me back successfully.”
That got a few collective snickers from the room, as well as from Sans himself, but he went on to say, “heheheh!, j.k., the telescope rocks too. this is amazing you guys, thank you… thank you so much. thank you.”
And dammit, he was ready to cry for an entirely different reason now.
From their seat on the side of Toriel opposite Sans, Frisk was grinning just as much as the rest of the gang, even if their laughter wasn’t as loud. On the other end of the spectrum (and the couch) was Papyrus, who was now joking gloatingly, “I DID SAY YOU WOULD NEED THE TELESCOPE BAG LATER!”
Sans could only offer a giggle back at him. “yup, bro, ya did.”
Papyrus got more of his own giggles out, before suddenly sobering. “… I MUST ADMIT THAT WE MAY HAVE ALL MUTUALLY CONSPIRED IN THIS GIFT FOR YOU, IF IT WASN’T OBVIOUS BY NOW. YOU DESERVE IT, BROTHER.”
Next to him, Frisk nodded, and, repeating for emphasis, quietly said: “You deserve it Sans.”
Sans went motionless. He understood, now. Everything.
The kid had to be the lead orchestrator on this.
Damn kid didn’t know when to quit trying to make it up to him.
His sockets still squinted from trying to hold his tears back, instead of the alternative. “heh, nah, i’d picked up on that much,” he replied to his brother. He let his eyes slip shut, in joy, contentment, comfort, gratitude, love. “… thank you, everyone. it means a lot to me.”
For all of Frisk’s counterproductive apologies and trying doggedly to make things better for him instead of just sticking to the big-picture situation for monsterkind, because that’s all that could be done – for all of the shaky, tenuous pacts and the unorthodox bond of uneasy trust that he’d formed with the young human, after all he’d had to do to help them – for all that it could and would never take away his new sense of hypervigilance, or soothe his nightmares, or undo any of the very permanent changes that had been wrought in him and him alone, and he would hide how haunted he was by that until the day he dusted-
It really did mean a lot to him. Even if it was just a stop-gap for the deep-seated aching.
Later on, after the last of the presents were unwrapped, Sans made sure to find a moment to sneak up on Frisk and snatch them up into another hug – noogie included, of course. After hearing the kid’s guttural, wordless protests, Sans put them down, laughing. “… heh, thanks for the gift, kid. it helps.”
It did. Just a bit. Continuing problems aside, he was still gonna have a goddamn blast with this thing.
Like the kid had been asking him to try, in exchange for their promise to him…
He’d keep walking forward to find happiness, somehow.