"Sans! Come help me!"
"Sure kid!"
She stands in the kitchen, reaching above her head for the highest cabinets. She waves me over, still looking up. As I step closer she places her hand on my shoulder, ready to push herself up. I laugh and take her hand off my shoulder. She turns around.
"I thought you were going to help me?" she says, placing her hands on her hips.
"I am going to help you, but I'm not going to let you climb all over my shoulders," I tell her, backing away.
"Then what are you doing?" she says, folding her arms.
"This."
I watch as the blue glow surrounds her. She laughs as her feet leave the ground.
"What are you looking for?" I ask her.
"Knives."
"WHAT?"
I drop her instantly. She lands in my arms, but I let go and head for the door.
"Sans! It's not what you think!"
"Then what the hell were you going to do with them?"
I turn around, starting to get angry.
She falls onto her knees.
"I swear I'd never do it."
Her voice quivers. It's still unsettling.
I walk back over to her and pull her up to face me. Her hair falls over her face, but she looks me in the eye.
"I never would hurt any of you," she whispers, softly.
"Promise me," I say, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"I promise. I'd never want to hurt any of you."
My hands slacken, and she falls back down.
"What do you need them for?" I ask, the knife rack floating down towards us.
"I was going to make dinner for all of us," she says, looking up at me.
"What ya' going to make?"
She points over to a recipe book, sitting open on the kitchen counter.
It's Toriel's old cookbook, open to a page titled Butterscotch Pie.
I smile at her. Toriel hasn't baked pie since we left the Underground. It'll be a nice surprise for her.
She smiles back and takes the bluntest knife from the rack. She holds it out from her, dangling it in the air. It's rather obvious she doesn't like holding it any more than I like seeing her hold it.
She carefully places it on the counter, instantly backing away and grabbing flour from the cupboard behind her.
As she continues getting ingredients, she doesn't look down at the knife. I don't leave the room until she's used it to cut up the pastry.
It's not that I don't trust her with it. I just want to help her if she reaches for the temptation.
Before I go into the living room, I say, "Put the knife away when you're finished, okay Frisk?"
She nods her head, but she doesn't turn to face me.
I sit down on the couch, placing my chin in my hands, leaning my elbows on my knees. I stare at a piece of paper on the floor. Drawn on it is a sketch of a small spider. I pick it up, and flip it over.
This is for you, Miss Muffet.
I hope it's good enough.
Lots of Love, Frisk.
I smile at the message. Placing it down on the table, I close my eyes.
In no time at all, I'm asleep.
I open my eyes groggily, trying to rememberer where I had fallen asleep.
I groan as I see the dark green couch I'm sitting on. Chairs are always so uncomfortable.
The smell of cinnamon coming from the kitchen reminds me of the pie, so I get up to check the oven.
"Frisk," I call, "Is the pie out the oven yet?"
I get no response. Something isn't right. There's no pie, but there is a tiny piece of lined paper.
I race into the kitchen, grab the note and read it.
I'm sorry Sans.
It's written in Frisk's handwriting.
Getting scared, I run to her bedroom, crying her name.
"Frisk! Where are you? ANSWER ME!"
There's still no response.
I throw the door open.
Frisk sits on the floor in her semi-dark room, her back to me, holding a knife towards her throat.