The Hell He Created (SansXReader)

Chapter 4 ~ Killer

This is a fucking nightmare. Your thoughts screamed in your head as you watched the horrors happening before you. This isn't real. This can't be real. God....

Someone please save me.

"Hey! Are you paying attention??" Frisk nudged your shoulder and you snapped out of your inner turmoil. "C'mon, Kali! This is the best part of the movie!"

You nodded and stared at the screen filled with multi-color ponies and joyful singing. It was a mess of magic and rainbows, harnessed with the energy of friendship and happiness. It was revolting, and you could tell Sans had managed to tune it all out and still look like he was awake and attentive.

Babysitting. This was something you had little experience in, but most days it consisted of watching Frisk while taking a walk in the snow or keeping her entertained in the house. Sans had suggested a movie, and after a long debate he handed Frisk control of movie night Then this happened, and you caught each other staring with regret.

Still, the last couple of weeks were a strange, but warm transition from your usual routine of old Chinese food and silent nights alone. The occasional cooking lesson with Papyrus would get a little messy, especially when trying to keep him from putting something inedible into the sauce, and trying to get Frisk to bed sometimes ended in a pile of pillows and bodies, but it was all something you had missed. Arriving to work with Sans caught attention from some workers, but you kept to the back room and continued working until the early morning, where you two would set off toward home until being picked up in Papyrus' car (...bed?).

No available apartments in your price range, and it was getting close to the holidays. Sans kept telling you not to worry about it, but you knew this wouldn't last.

Something always happens.

A crash suddenly came from the kitchen, and you hopped up from the navy blue sofa immediately.

"Whoops, better go check on him." You say quickly, escaping from the living room.

You open the door and see Papyrus sitting on the floor with a large pot on his head. You lifted the pot, and his expression was fearful.

"HUMAN! ER.. BIGGER HUMAN! IT WOULD SEEM WE HAVE GHOSTS! SPAGHETTI-HATING GHOSTS!" He exclaimed, waving a wooden spoon in the air.

"Or you spilled oil on the floor again." You giggled and helped him up. "Where are these paranormal pasta-haters?"

"I... I DON'T KNOW, ACTUALLY."

You looked on the floor. Yep. Olive oil was streaked all around the linoleum tiles, and the bottle hung half off the counter, still dripping out of the nozzle and sliding down the front of the cupboard. You grabbed the bottle and set it upright, though now it contained less than a tenth of its contents before he started cooking.

"Well, I'll keep an eye out for 'em in the living room."

"EXCELLENT! I'LL CONTINUE COOKING THIS DELICIOUS SPAGHETTI TO ENTICE THEM OUT OF HIDING!" He set off to take the pasta soaking in oil off of the floor and back into the pot.

You sighed and wandered back into the room, and sat back in your seat next to Frisk. She looked over at you, then leaned against your left arm. You smiled and leaned back a little, settling into the seat and into this post-card night with this strange, happy family.

The movie rolled the credits, and you looked to see Frisk fast asleep, clutching your arm and resting against it like a pillow. You looked at Sans, and saw he was snoring lightly, leaning against the arm of the couch. You couldn't help but smile.