The first thing you see as you wake up the next morning is…
You're not even sure, exactly.
There's a shapeless blob for a stuffed animal over your chest – sort of like a Ditto, but not quite.
Until you realize it's both backwards and upside down, and then it turns out to be the ICE-E plushie once at the corner of the bed.
How it got here, you're not too sure of.
"You're finally awake," Sans says, stepping into the room after a while of you looking around, and him returning from… what you assume is a shower?
Because he has a towel wrapped around him, and you most certainly doubt having gone down any sort of spicy routes yesterday with what happened.
"Started to think maybe you'd fallen into a coma, or that I failed as your doctor," he adds, chuckling. "Guess not."
"Um…"
When you've finished gathering a few of your bearings, every part of you hurts – your forehead, chest, arms, legs…
Everything.
"If you can't talk right now, it's fine."
Sans retrieves a full set of clothing from the nightstand nearby, then throws it over his shoulder and steps back.
"I can leave you alone for a lil' longer, if ya need me to."
"It's… It's okay. But… Thank you." You sigh. "I shouldn't be like this – not being able to talk to you after you've done so much for me. I…"
No matter your protest, words fail you as you try to overcome the tightness in your throat and the mess of your mind. You've no doubt overstayed your welcome since waking up yesterday evening and eating the full meal he'd prepared for you. Hell, you weren't even welcomed here, in the first place. You'd fallen ill at a near stranger's home, and he'd taken proper care of you until the next day. He's done more than enough, and quite beyond, too – a fact highlighted by your observations yesterday. One of these was coming to terms with a more than absurd reality you still refuse to accept: having had him undress you to deal with your comatose, feverish state, judging by the brassiere you'd seen hanging out and the fresh change of clothes he'd changed you into. Had he a partner or anything of the sort, you would be in dire need of explaining what you were doing, occupying the room like that and having him look out for you to such extents.
But, then again, you're laying on a twin bed with colourful sheets, and that should be sufficient of an insinuation that Sans lives alone – or only with his brother, at least.
You clutch the back of your neck and hide your face between your knees, huffing in an attempt at letting your chest loosen a little, and hoping to ease the unbearable sensation of having both old and new troubles press down on your thumping skull.
"Thank you for taking care of me yesterday, Sans," is the only thing you manage to say after a while.
"No problem."
By the time you've said that, he's already dressed up.
And that means either you waited too long to speak up, or that he was fast in returning to the bathroom and putting those clothes on; being so distracted with your doubts, it could even be both of these combined.
He sits next to you, so you deem it your mission to fix yourself up better in bed and leave more space for him.
"It's the least I could do – to make up for what I said yesterday."
Either Sans genuinely doesn't seem to have acknowledged your inability to hold up a conversation with him, or he's chosen not to comment on the matter.
"Now, before we go anywhere, lemme do a check-up sorta thing."
The second he scoots closer, warning sirens sound in your mind, and you both move and look away, self-consciousness forcing you to keep more distance than you would prefer to.
"Could I freshen up first? I feel like I sweat a lot during the night, and…"
He grins.
"Feelin' stinky?"
You frown.
"...Yes."
★ ★ ★
Almost an hour later, you've showered, brushed your teeth after mistakenly asking if you could borrow some toothpaste – resulting in him bringing you a spare toothbrush along with it – and dressed up with the 'CHEST WORDS' shirt he'd left as an extra, paired with some baggy blue pants and – embarrassing as it may be – a pair of men's underwear he'd stated were new, all while pointing at the freshly opened package, plus the bra you'd seen hanging over the headrest, washed and dried.
You've barely gotten over the dreadful, persistent reminder that he had to undress you yesterday, and now, you're forced to stay still and avoid eye contact as he checks your temperature, oxygen pulse, and blood sugar levels. The last one is easy enough to endure, but the rest had been an awkward hell, first by being forced to look as he placed his palm against your forehead and waited there for a while, the lack of an adequate measuring tool making it a more tedious process. And then, the pulse check had been the most hellish of all, with your hand almost grazing with his and you trying not to show stress by controlling your trembling body. That last one had to be done twice even, with how bad that shaking was. But he didn't say anything about it, so you silently hope he either has patience in abundance, or he's had prior experiences similar to this one.
Safely said, it's been a journey, and you're more than ready to wrap it up.
"All good," Sans says, when he's done with the check-up.
"Great," you exclaim, smiling like you're definitely not tempted to zoom out of the room and hide away in the comfort of your own bed, the second Sans either so much as looks the other direction or leaves entirely. "I'll just… move along and make my way-"
"Hold up. I gotta give you somethin' first."
He exits the bedroom, and you're left to wait for the next few minutes.
You breathe out and let your mind find some semblance of peace while he's back.
"Here ya go."
His return is quicker than expected, though at least you've achieved being alone with your thoughts for what… felt like a minute or two.
And may the heavens bless his soul, because – incomparable to a family member who's known you for longer – he immediately notices you're uncomfortable, and he further waits until you adjust yourself better in bed.
When you've recovered some more, you take the water bottle he offers you, along with two large pills from an unlabeled, blank jar, these he states will help with the fever.
"...You tryna drug me, hon?" you ask, nudging his shoulder. "Cuz those sure don't look like regular painkillers, if I'm gonna be honest."
"Think about it real good," he replies, cockiness in his tone. "Would I go outta my way to drug someone who's already been unconscious before? Woulda taken that chance, if that were the case."
He places a hand over your shoulder, making you stare down to see stern irises, plus a faintly humoured smile.
"Sorry for being an ass yesterday. Shoulda been more attentive to what you were going through; what you were here for. And maybe I woulda helped you out better that way."
Though disoriented and a tad bit suspicious at the lack of a label, you inspect the oddly-shaped, strangely-coloured pills one last time, then sniff them just to be certain, and – once and for all – gulp them down with the water, only after also making sure it hadn't been opened prior to being given to you.
"All good? I can take you straight home, if you still don't trust me."
You nod.
Sans stands up and gestures for you to come along.
"But before we go, I think there's somethin' you should know."
The subtle, almost gentle uneasiness in his voice makes you sit up straighter and stare directly at him.
"What is it?" you ask, when he doesn't push forward.
"Well…" he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. "Frisk kinda… used me as a venting vessel while you were recoverin', and some stuff kinda slipped out. Not sure if you'd wanna hear about 'em or not."
You stay seated, mind processing the weight of those words.
"...Like what?" you press on, feeling cold despite the thick clothing worn.
"Your, uh, former husband…" He trails off for a second, pacing back and forth across the room. "And about hunting trophies, creepy neighbours, and the like."
Sans could say less, and you would still understand what he means with that.
And he seems fully aware of that by how he avoids your gaze.
"I'm not about to trauma dump on you when we barely know each other, and when I'm pretty sure you saw me naked yesterday, so…" You smile, then toy with your borrowed shirt's sleeves and collar. "I had a neighbour who was a little too curious about monster, um… monster biology? And who found a way to… to trophy a part of my husband, without turning him to dust."
You huff, breath caught in your chest.
"Then I made the mistake of charging at that… neighbour – practically wrestling them down when I saw what they were doing, and… The rest is complicated."
You tighten your jaw and glare at nothing in particular.
"Long story short, after what happened… Frisk can't bear to look at their own feet ever since, so when they don't have shoes on, they slip on some socks with their eyes closed and hands shakier than mine when I tried confronting that person."
Finally, you stand up, wobbling and swaying just a bit, though you're able to stabilize yourself shortly after.
"And that's… the gist of the gist of it," Your eyes burn, your mouth sours, and your heart twists, but you ignore that to clear your throat and return a touch on his shoulder. "...Do you like hugs?"
"Not against 'em."
"...May I?"
"Sure."
Sans laughs, then stretches his arms out, and so you slip yours around his back, pulling him against you.
"You're warm," you say.
"And you're soft," he replies.
"Is it okay if I hug you for a little more?"
You feel him nod against your neck, his head resting above your shoulder.
"Um… By the way…"
"Yeah?"
Happy for a possible change of subject, you hug him tighter, then let him go.
"How much do I owe you? For being my replacement doctor, I mean."
"Nothin'."
He tries to leave the room, though you stop him by grabbing his arm tight and tugging him back.
"Please. Your help shouldn't be left unrewarded."
"Some coffee at the diner, if you're gonna be like that."
"But-"
"That's all."
His grin tenses, and he looks at you like he's contemplating a bad idea.
"I don't wanna be rude, but… I gotta say it." Sans meets your eyes, a frown in his irises. "Yeah, I saw you half-naked, and I didn't really care. Like you said… You were my patient, at the time, but then you were also a neighbour in an emergency I had the chance of helpin' out, and that's that. If you're worried 'bout me taking your clothes off and dressing you up, you can rest easy knowin' I pictured you more as a patient than the latter."
He offers his hand out and winks.
"Anyway, let's shake on it. A cup of coffee for all the trouble. Deal?"
His hand nudges itself forward when you look at it for a while, and you're prompted to close off distance and place your palm over his.
"Deal."