In a panic, you turn back toward Sans.
…And come across Frisk sitting over his head, grinning and giggling, while you frown and huff.
"Get down from there," you exclaim, though there's really no reason for you to be shouting, as you're taller than both them and Sans combined. "And let's go! I need to do a few things before we go to the library."
"Can't I stay with him while you're done?" they sign, mouth pouted and eyes puppy-eyed. "We can unpack later!"
"No, you can't," you reply, glaring at them. "Now…" You grab them from Sans's head and prop them over your shoulders for a piggyback ride. "Stay put, and don't you dare scare me like that again."
★ ★ ★
Fifteen more minutes of walking and Frisk's whining, and you're starting to feel like you don't need to exercise anymore than you have this week throughout the whole moving process.
Nor go to church to confess any sins, because it's been a long trip, and there aren't any stop signs or red lights to help you catch a break and regain peace.
The second you enter your new home – with your shoes kept on, a face mask worn, and coat thrown over the nearest (and cleanest) flat surface – you feel your body weaken and your head hurt. The apartment's dim and dusty, and there are several shadows by nooks and crannies you fear are all sorts of insects and critters waiting for you to move stuff around to attack. All the discounts you received before accepting the offer make more sense the further you look around, and what tops it off is the window you break as soon as you brush the slightest bit with it to try opening it, air as stifling as your surroundings. Even so, there's one good thing you can say about this so far: there aren't any weird stains or bad smells around – only signs of old age and neglect. Other than that, you figure a little sweeping, dusting, mopping, and scrubbing will get most of your problems solved.
"Do I actually smell like wet dog, dear?" you ask, looking toward Frisk. "You would've told me, wouldn't you?"
As if they haven't caused enough panic already, Frisk is crouched in a corner of the living room, feeding half of a cheese stick from their lunchbox to a mouse.
They nod and look toward you, signing, "You smell like wet earth. It's nice. I like it."
"Smelling like mud isn't a good thing!"
"Not mud. Earth."
Like child like mother, you pout, hands clenching and forehead wrinkling when you can't find a way to win against that logic.
"That's the same thing."
"No, it's not."
You warn them to stop playing with the mouse – to no avail.
Instead, they return to the topic about how 'earth' smell is different from 'mud' smell, and how they don't mind cuddling up to you when smelling like the former of the two.
You at least give them props for being so passionate about those seemingly subtle differences – and for being cautious with their fingers while feeding the mouse, as well as for not choosing to poke around an unclean house.
"Either way, not everyone likes that smell. Could you tell me next time?"
They nod.
…And proceed to continue feeding the mouse, despite your now second warning of how dangerous that is, no matter the precautions they've taken.
Knowing it's a lost battle, you take a second to write down 'schedule discipline lessons' on your impromptu to-do list, rewritten on the back of an advertisement for not-so cheap perfumes. And while you're a hundred percent sure there's stuff you've forgotten from the original list on your broken phone and drenched notebook, it's better than starting from zero, and you're just glad your memory hasn't failed you that badly yet. At the very least, you've written down the essentials for this week, and that should be enough for now.
Maybe you will forget something super important, but that's a problem for another day.
"Don't waste your snacks like that," you scold, crouching in front of the nearby pile of boxes in search of the one marked with 'toiletries'. "We don't have time to go grocery shopping today, and I'm sure there aren't any places like that nearby."
"There's a pizza place, a diner, and Sans owns that grocery store across the street, but I think it's closed today," Frisk replies, grinning. "I'm sure he'll let you in early if you're nice enough. Or I can try to sneak in." Their ears perk as they giggle. "Or we can wait until it opens, and eat pizza today!"
You search through the organized mess for a towel, soap, shampoo, perfume, sanitary pads, roll-on deodorant, and toilet paper, plus cleaning cloths and disinfectant products from a different box labelled with 'cleaning supplies' when reminded of how much work is due.
And once you check all that out of your mental list of things you will need simply for a quick shower, you close both boxes and pick them up – toiletries above the cleaning supplies.
"We can talk about that later," you say, standing up. "I'm, um… I'm gonna leave the bathroom door open, just in case…"
"In case you see a spider or something. I know, mom."
Sighing, you brace yourself for a quick clean up, yet – for once in this entire day – you're pleasantly surprised to see the bathroom's the cleanest place, brick rubble, soap scum, and liner mildew the three biggest enemies to deal with, and these can be dealt with later .
Currently, you simply want that 'earth' smell gone from your body.
"Don't open the door for anyone unless I tell you to. Got that?" you call out, setting the boxes down next to the shower, keeping just enough distance so as to not dampen them with stray drops.
From the same corner of the room they have been in since you arrived here, Frisk gives you a thumbs up.
They're now feeding a smaller mouse the second half of their cheese stick, though you accept that as another lost battle, plus a third (...Or fourth? You've lost count.) reminder of how you need to work with their behaviour in the near future.
"Be careful, alright? I'll be done in a few minutes. You can wash your hands when I'm done here… And when you're done playing with those mice."
They nod.
Finally, they stand up, stretch out, and sit on one of the cardboard boxes, kicking their legs back and forth as they wait.
"I won't move from here. Promise."
"I'll take your word for it, dear."
You step into the shower, legs shaking as you try not to look around too much at the corners, walls, or ceiling – because it's more than likely the moment you do, you'll see the biggest, hairiest spider you'll ever meet in your entire damn life.
★ ★ ★
"Oh, hey. Welcome back," Sans says, when you enter the library. His attention falls on your limp leg and steady walk toward the nearest wall you can grab onto, pressing your back against it for support. "What happened?"
Frisk lets you go and runs off to the bookshelves, leaving you to fend for yourself. You'd told them you didn't need their help to cross the street, so you really can't blame them for this now. You rejected their offer, though they persisted in holding your hand on the way here, and that's enough of a reminder that you should stop rejecting that help, then complain about their energetic behaviour seconds later.
"I thought I saw a spider in the shower," you reply, lips forming a firm line – the type of expression that says: 'I don't know what I expected, thinking that would go well' . "I sprained my ankle… trying not to fall after I got scared." A forced laugh accompanies your attempt at a smile. "And when I checked to see what it was, it was just a clump of hair and thread stuck to the wall."
"Lemme see."
While you're aware he crouches to get a better look at your injury, it still feels uncomfortable to have him this close. Worse yet, there's the urgent need to pull your skirt back when his forehead brushes against it, although you fear that would only bring more attention to the fact he's that close to begin with. You're left with no other choice but to stand awkwardly as he checks your ankle. The library's as quiet as it's empty, and the only sounds around are of the librarian typing letter by letter and Frisk turning a page every few seconds. So, it goes without saying this only makes you want to escape from your situation more.
"Looks like you've got a bad bruise already," Sans states, his face covered by your dress – another thing that makes you wish you really hadn't been such a scaredy-cat a few minutes ago, and maybe then you wouldn't be in this situation: having a guy you barely know kneeling in front of you to tend to a stupid injury. "Don't you wanna get yourself checked at the hospital?"
And now you've done it.
As soon as that last word's processed by your already tired mind, you remember you've forgotten the most important thing of all.
Your wallet.
"Oh, no…"
You grab your scalp and huff, facing down to avoid crying.
"I…"
Your throat closes up, and – by this point – you don't care anymore, ironic as it is with how much you've panicked.
The world's spinning, and your stomach hurts.
"I… I left my wallet at home. Outside!"
You stand up straighter and try to lower your voice, while Sans steps back and fixes himself up.
The last thing you want is to cause a scene on your very first day here – not like you'll ever want to cause any sort of scene here, either way.
"My credit card, five-hundred dollars, and… And the ID I'm supposed to show to the Mayor today! When my phone fell, my- my wallet must've…"
Before you can deflate like a helium balloon with a hoarse voice, you feel something nudge your shoulder, and you lower your gaze to see Sans is offering you a phone – his phone, you assume.
"Call somebody," he says, handing it over. "I'm sure a friend or a neighbour must've seen it. Maybe they can ship it to you or drive here? You can sweeten it up by inviting 'em over for dinner or something." He grins. "Oh, uh… You're actually crying now, huh? Gimme a moment."
Cracking and popping noises follow as he says that, and when you blink through the stream of tears, you see he's stretching his bones out.
"I'll take you to the hospital, and then when they treat your ankle, we can get some food at the diner nearby. I can lend you my phone, so you can call the Mayor, too, and just straight up tell her you're not having a good time. And that you can't meet her today – that you're sorry and all that, but you hurt yourself and stuff."
Sans turns around and holds his hands out behind his back, waiting.
"...I'm much bigger than you."
He seems unfazed.
"And?" he asks.
"I'll crush you," you reply.
"Fine by me." He winks. "Good way to go, actually."
He looks toward Frisk, who's been reading books since you got here.
"Hey, kid," he calls out, gaining their attention. "You okay being here for a lil' while? Gotta take your mom to the hospital."
They lift their nose from the book to nod and give a thumbs up, signing, "Told her so, but she said she was fine and walked faster to get here", before going back to reading.
"I can walk," you exclaim, when Sans attempts to drag you forward for the piggyback ride. "Stop that!"
"Don't wanna."
Smack!
You push him aside, though it hurts much more than you care to admit – and that leads you to realize he's still mostly bones, despite being able to talk and move.
"Let. Go."
"Sheesh, alright then."
He looks far too amused as he stares at the hand you're subtly trying to rub the pain away from.
"Gonna get that hand checked, too?"
"I don't think I can even go anywhere but home, so it's fine. And… And I don't have my medical insurance card with me – cuz that's in my wallet, too!"
A sigh denotes your surrender.
You say nothing and storm out of the library.
And by 'storm out', it means you ever so slowly limp toward the exit, ankle hurting more and more with each step.
He opens the door for you and steps back.
"Piggy?" he asks, chuckling.
"No piggy," you reply, huffing.
"Well, okay." He closes the door again and points toward where Frisk's at. "I'll go ahead and look for a first aid kit. You stay here, unless you wanna follow me to my place."
"You don't have to-"
"I've got a balcony, so I can treat you there. It's a longer walk, but we can have this done faster, and I won't charge you." He winks. "Until you get your wallet back, of course."
He again gestures for you to hop on his shoulders.
"Last chance for a ride, if you wanna come with."