"Does it hurt less?"
Just as it was awkward having him kneel in front of you to check your ankle, it's just as uncomfortable having to sit still while he treats the injury, ticklish body leading you to squirm and being alone with him forcing you to hold that feeling back.
Perhaps you're at the balcony, but the streets are empty, and you figure they'll stay that way until school and work end.
"...You good? You've been quiet for a while now."
Though you know he's asking you questions and that questions require answers , nothing comes out – not a word, and not a whine. Your throat has closed up, and any attempt at saying something results in your heart racing until it hurts. Either that, or your voice breaks, and all that exits is a mumble.
"Hey," Sans calls out, the change in his tone compelling you to look at him. "I'm sorry about-"
He cuts himself as his phone rings, and once he answers, he holds it out for you.
"Frisk."
You take the phone and press it close to your ear, sighing.
"...Yes, dear?"
You hear hustle and bustle from the other line: teenagers shouting and laughing, a few teachers telling them to be quiet, loud and quick footsteps, and sneakers screeching against the floors.
"Cuz I know you're busy and stuff… Could I stay at Miss Toriel's place?"
"Your teacher's home?"
It's surprising to have them speaking so fluidly like this when you assume they're at a place far from peaceful, so you take that as a positive thing; despite everything, they seem comfortable wherever they're at, and that's good enough for now.
"Yeah! I met her kid, and they didn't mind when I asked them if I could…"
You don't realize what's happening until you feel a hand against your back and have the phone taken away.
You've grown light-headed – more so than when you were showering. And with the tendency to mindlessly walk around while you answer a call, you'd been slowly leaning to the side and headed well on your way to the floor, hadn't you been unintendedly assigned a personal bodyguard today.
Sans grabs your arm, though he quickly lets you go as soon as you return to a stable posture.
Then, he checks the ongoing call and presses the phone to where his ear canal is.
"Hey, kid," Sans says, huffing. "You met your teacher already, didn't you? Miss Toriel?"
You hear a quiet response from the other line.
"Your mom's caught a fever, so just keep doing what you were doing. You'll be fine. You've got some money with you, don't ya? Have it handy, in case ya need it for food or somethin'."
"Sans," you shout, when he plans to hang up. "What are you doing?!"
Standing up again results in twice the amount of wooziness hitting your face like a punch with no gloves.
You swallow nausea and bring a hand to your forehead, letting out a pained huff.
"Alright, so… Sit down."
"Don't tell me what to-"
A wobbly world forces you to keep quiet and do as he says.
"Ya see that? Just listen up and let me help you."
He sits on the chair next to yours and lays back.
"So, you've been on an empty stomach since… two in the morning, I take it? You got rained on, and now, you've sprained your ankle."
You nod, not really sure what to say or do.
"Part of that's my fault, I'll admit – Shouldn't have said you smelled bad, when… you really didn't. Musky, maybe, but not 'wet dog' bad." Sans closes his eye sockets and sighs. "And cuz I didn't read the mood well, you responded with a shower that led to, uh… this," he says. He points at your ankle despite keeping his eye sockets closed, and his skull faces forward rather than next to you, actions matching with the defeated tone in his voice. "I screwed up on that one, so I'm gonna try to make it up to you by… Making your day less awful, instead of contributing more to it. Ya feel me?" He opens his eye sockets to grab his phone again and stare at the screen for a while. "Wherever Frisk is, I'm sure they're fine. They, uh, walked off to school, from what they told me. And based on how little stuff goes on in the neighbourhood, I doubt somethin' bad'll happen."
"I can't just leave them alone like that!"
"We can go over to the school to see what they're up to, but in your current state, you'd be better off calling their teacher and telling her about all this."
You're barely convinced by anything he's said so far, though you're hardly in any position to be fighting against his suggestions. You don't feel too well, and you could certainly use a trip to the hospital, but you thoroughly refuse to, given the circumstances. Having a guy you've only known for two days carry you off to his home to treat your ankle is one thing. Asking him to carry you off to the hospital and cover your bills while you recover your wallet is another. You don't want to owe Sans, and much less do you wish him to pity you. The best you can do's try to bargain for something to eat and hopefully gain some energy to walk back home.
"Mind eating some veggie stew?" he asks, putting his phone away. "I can whip that up in a few minutes, and you can rest until then. For now, just lay down and sit still."
With how earnest and calm he sounds, it's hard to take him seriously – a paradox you don't have time to think about with how much everything hurts.
"...You don't have to do this."
"It's either that, or I'll buy you somethin' at the diner. No buts or backies, cuz I'm sure you'll pass out if ya keep on like this. So… Stew or diner food?"
A debate between which of those is the lesser of two evils forms in your mind.
You choose stew? He has to cook and use his own groceries to make it.
You choose diner food? He has to pay and walk there to get it.
The latter seems like the best choice, considering you can repay him twice as much in the future – if and when you get your wallet back.
"I'll pay you later, so…"
"Stew it is."
He stands up.
"W- Wait. No!"
And gives you his phone again.
"Read this while I cook. It's from Frisk."
Sans told me ur not feeling good, so… I went to the school to check it out and met my teacher!!!
I told her he told me you're not feeling good, and she was like: Oh dear! Well… Would you like to stay over? You could meet my child. I am sure you will both get along! Why, were it not for your ears, I would have mistaken you for them when they were younger!
And that happened so…
Have fun… getting better… with… the guy who said you smelled like wet dog
I guess??? 🤨
Sounds… unfun.
Btw
He told me he was sorry and that you didn't actually smell like wet dog.
I want to punch him!!!!!
Gently.
But still punch him!!!!!!!!
Make him apologize to you
If he hasn't already.
Anyway, love you n see you later
<3
A new message pops up right as you lock the phone, though you doze off, limbs growing numb.
The scent of spices lingers as you close your eyes, and your breaths steady when you allow yourself to fall asleep.
There's the sound of the phone ringing again, yet it grows distant, and the last thing you hear is Sans's voice, quieter than usual as he picks up.
"Yeah, I'll check. Thanks for telling me, kid."
A chuckle – soft and airy.
"Owe ya one."
★ ★ ★
"Low blood sugar," you hear Sans say, his voice the perfect example of 'Are you kidding me right now?' "...No wonder."
You feel something press your index finger, then hear a beep.
"Low oxygen, too." He chuckles. "A little more, and you're a walkin' corpse."
Out of all the points in this situation where you could have woken up, you assume this has to be one of the worst ones, yet that's admittedly not much of a surprise with how the day's went so far. Hard and vaguely warm fingers slip your shirt off, though when these brush against your bare stomach, they're much, much colder. It's too awkward of a moment to open your eyes, so you continue pretending like you're still asleep. The task heightens in difficulty when you're fed sugar water, unable to figure out just how loose you should allow your body to be. And to make matters worse, being ticklish comes with the torture of having gentle touches send you into a giggling frenzy – something you're forced to hold back as he throws on a dryer, warmer shirt, then fixes your head and neck to a better position.
"You know it's obvious you're awake, right?" he says, and you can almost imagine his face: eye sockets squinted and grin cheekier than normal. "Just cuz you're human doesn't mean I don't know how you work, pal."
He presses a hand over your chest when you try to sit up straight.
"Not sayin' this so you stand up. Not a good idea to open your eyes, either. Just sayin' you could've said something, instead of displaying how bad of an actress you are and how bad of a poker face you've got."
"How do you have all this stuff?" you ask, choosing not to play along. You do, however, try your best to do as told: no eye opening and no standing up, despite how much your mind insists.
"Grocery store," he replies. "Figured I'd stock up on human necessities, cuz, ya know, Kris lives here and all. And now you, too, so… Guess the extra inventory's worth it more than I thought it would. Monster necessities, also – in case you're looking for actual fur shampoo for your kiddo, instead of, ya know, the other stuff." He rubs a thumb under your earlobe, while the rest of his fingers go under your chin, lifting it. "Open your mouth."
You do as told, then feel a glucose tablet slip in.
"Now chew, and try to fall asleep again. I'll be back in a few."
"Wait," you call out, feeling the bed lift with the absence of his weight.
His footsteps come to pause, and the bed creaks, lowering once more.
"Yeah?"
"Where are we?"
"Uh… My bedroom."
"And what time is it?"
"Around two thirty."
He stands up.
"Frisk's already made friends with… half of the neighbourhood by this point, I think, so they're gonna invite some friends over to your place tomorrow to help you out."
There's the sound of footsteps and the door opening.
"They'll stay at their teacher's place tonight, and you'll stay at mine. My brother won't be back until a lil' while, so I'll take up his room, and you'll stay here."
More footsteps, then the door closing and opening.
"By the way," he says, sounding farther away. "The stew's in the fridge. You can heat some up on the stove, and there's a microwave, too."
"Um… Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
The door closes, and the footsteps stop.
You figure you're alone now.
An unshakeable need to look at your surroundings hits you, though you know better than to worsen the situation by doing exactly what you've been told not to do. But you reach a compromise: take a peek at what you're wearing, and that's it – maybe at the bed, also. It's only a quick peek, after all.
The first thing you see as you open your eyes is…
Fortnite patterned sheets, and an ICE-E plushie at a corner of the bed.
Then, you look down to see what you're wearing, and it's…
A t-shirt with 'Parole Baby' written at the center, neon green and red words contrasting greatly with the pink and orange fabric.
You look to your left and see…
Another shirt, this one with more placid colours: light blue and dark blue, though with 'CHEST WORDS' written on it.
You look to your right and see…
A glass of water, a bottle of isopropyl, and a packet of acetaminophen.
Finally, you look behind you at the bed's headrest and see…
Your bra hanging out.
And you call that a night, hitting the sheets again and ignoring your burning face.
★ ★ ★
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