"Alright sweets, lets go over it again-"
Sans had been running you through the rules of the gang long into the afternoon. It was a tiresome exercise, A repetition till Sans was satisfied. He wasn't being lenient with you, which was good. That was how you wanted it. He was a surprisingly good teacher- not that you'd ever tell him, he'd parade smugly around for the rest of the day with an over-inflated skull if you had've. You were back home- before Sans could've decked the receptionist that seemed more than happy with the sudden departure.
So far, of the course of the week you had learnt the turf, the rules of the gang, (which were surprisingly simple: "Don't rat, don't cheat, don't shoot each other up- oh— and don't touch the mustard-" See? Simple.) enemy territory, their operations and so on- For now, he was quizzing you- "Alright, we've been over taxing as a protection service- You know that we separate taxing into zones, right-? -Family on 5th Avenue, how much to we tax?" He fired. "Thirty dollars." You answered, a proud smile rising to Sans' features. "Good. Old man on Seventy-third?" "Ten- it's a poorer district. Y'know, I think it's sweet you guys lower the price for them- that's really kindhearted." You smiled, leaning your back against the table. Sans only bashfully scoffed, mumbling as he rubbed his skull, gaze ground-cast. "It ain't nothin'..."
He shook said skull, clearing his throat. "A guy on Lanemoore refuses to pay up and threatens to set his Rottweilers on ya- whaddya do?" "I-" "-Ya call for me and let me handle it!" Sans cut off simply, you rolling your eyes. He was still being overprotective. It was admirable and sweet of him, but he had to let you go out on your own at some point-! "Yes, yes- I let you come and wag your gun in his face-!" You threw your arms up. Sans only leaned back in his chair, sighing. "Bub, it's only because I-"
"I know...." you conceded, making your way over to him as you placed your hands on his shoulders comfortingly. He patted them with his own, relaxing slightly. He was being patient with you. Now that you were in- he didn't have to resort to scaring you out of things to protect you— he HAD to protect you. Physically. He was stressed, he knew you didn't belong in this life- this mob, this danger- but you did it for him. And that's what terrified him. You rested your head atop of his skull, a sweet thing. In his mind- you now had to rely on him.
He'd let you do this- only if he were at your side at all times, it would be the only thing to keep him calm- knowing he could stop anything and everything these monsters threw at you. It'd be exertion, but it'd be worth it... for you that is. He'd gladly be exhausted with you alive to kiss it better- rather than stare in defeat at your dead body. He raised your hand to his skull, kissing it gingerly. He wasn't ready to lose you. "How's about we go do your first drop in?" He murmured. You kissed his cheekbone gently with a smile.
"I'd like that."
—
You sat perched above a grimy laneway, looking down upon the dust-coated windows of a factory. It was noon, the sun beginning to set over the folds of the earth as the wind ruffled your striped coat. There was a drug deal about to go on in the gang's territory. Your mission? Put an end to it. "Almost showtime sweets-" Sans mentioned behind you, lighting a cigar. You glanced at him. "Won't that attract attention to us? Roofs don't exactly smoke themselves." Sans looked up, grinning. "Old habit." He shrugged, stubbing it out with a crunch against cement.
You willed your attention back to the window- this was your chance to show Sans he needn't be so- "The pinstripes suit you." He inclined his skull towards you with a leer. You turned to him before looking down at your attire, white pinstriped black coat, tight black slacks- all vested up, white collar shirt tucked underneath. You pinked. "Now's not the time Sans-!" You groaned, returning to the window with a frown. "Ya know, if this wasn't a serious case I'd much rather be spending time doin' somethin' else much more fun with ya." He whispered against you, suddenly close.
You felt yourself surrendering to the closeness, the comfort he brought, giving in to the sweet talk- before you shook your head, resolve firm. "I'm sure you would Sans." You answered quickly, assuming position. "You can bet on it, wifey!" He chuckled against your ear. "But it's what Boss assigned us.." He sighed in disappointment, leaning against the ledge of the roof. There was an echoing knock against the rusted factory doors, you both snapping to attention.
Two men stood outside the jarred open door, their voices muffled from the height in which you were both situated from.
They were pulled inside abruptly before the doors closed with a metallic squeal. "Let's go!" You bounded, clambering down the iron ladder. Sans followed suit. You half expected Sans to already be at the bottom, not bothering to look up above so it surprised you to arrive without being towered over. Sans landed after you, brushing off himself the flecked paint that clung to his coat. He looked up to be met your stare. "What?" "Why didn't you teleport?" You quizzed. He quickly looked for an excuse. "I'm saving energy-" Technically not a lie! Well, it counted as a truth in his books.
You eyed him a second more, confused before shaking your head, racing towards the back door, eager to begin. He only stalked after you- he didn't want to tell you he was storing magic so he could break however many necks before bullets could leave their guns- let alone touch you. You'd tell him he was being paranoid. And then you'd die. Horribly. See? He wasn't being paranoid. He was being graphically realistic! By the time he had reached you- you had already jimmied the door open, grinning at him. He smirked to himself. He had taught you well.
You both slid through the threshold of metal, Sans tugging you towards the staircase stealthily. You crouched once you reached the top, peeking through the metal bars down at the dimly lit warehouse floor below. There was a whole set up down there; wooden chairs, coffee table and a pre-occupied burgundy love-seat sat amongst the machinery below. You squinted, two figures in your vision. A greasy-looking guy of forty years or more watched the men seat themselves, a scantily-clad monster of eight arms nestled affectionately in his side.
You couldn't help the gasp you drew in at the sight of it before Sans' phalanges clamped down on your mouth, effectively stopping you. You whirled to him, disbelief scrawled across your face. "Muffet-?! I thought it was only us...!" You exclaimed, muffled against him. "She's only intel-!" He whispered to you, your wide gaze falling back on her. "But I thought she and Mr. Gaster were-!" You flailed. "You know-!!" You exclaimed, him shaking his head simply. "They're not together sweets... it's.... it's complicated between them." He rumbled. You turned back warily, gazing down. For a monster with such good sense of style- the one that dressed you today for Pete's sake— she certainly didn't show it through the clothes she lacked.
It turns out you were both staring. You turned to Sans, gaze fixated on the scene below. You frowned, slapping him upside the back of the skull. He hissed, rubbing it. "Fuckin' hell sweets! What was that for?!" He growled, you shaking your head at him. "I can't believe you!" He reared his head back to the group, socket cocked before he palmed his skull. "That's not what I was lookin' at-!" He sighed, grabbing your head and gently poising it towards the briefcase that laid on the table, centre stage. You bit your lip guiltily. "Sorry..." you mumbled remorsefully, Sans chuckling. "Didn't know ya were capable of getting jealous wifey-!" He grinned teasingly.
You shook your head as he hugged you into his side, hushing you. "I've only got eyes for you- for now." You whirled on him. "For now-?!" He laughed, peppering your cheek in light kisses. "I'm only teasin' sweets-! I'm just teasin'!" "When you're quite done with playing 'happy couples' up there- perhaps you'd like to tell us what you're doing here..." a voice interceded, echoing through the steel walls. You both perked up, embarrassed as the group below stared up at you. Muffet only averted eye contact with a wince. You were caught. "Shit..." you both hissed in unison, hanging your heads. How was there any hope? You guys couldn't keep your mitts off each other for two seconds- already acting like a happily married couple.
Guns were tracing your every step as you both made your way down the staircase, hands raised, eyes locked ahead. You stopped a foot away from the group stiffly, the assumed leader sneering. "Well, the gangster and his imitating Molly.... to what do we owe you?" He spoke, eyes trained on Sans' sockets. "You owe us gettin' off our turf is what!" You folded your arms, scowling. Sans had to bite back scooping you up with a pride that could put a parent's to shame. He lowered his arms, instead raising his gun. "What my little lady said— get out now and we'll spare you from getting torn a new one-!"
The gesture was ignored, the man on the right eyeing you. "How did a monster like you even get a moll like that anyways-?" He lifted a dark brow, sending you a suggestive smirk that you grimaced at. "Come on over, moll-!"He reached for you- only to have is bone jutting out sharply from his wrist. You didn't have to look behind you to tell that Sans had a most loathsome, disgusted look on his skull. "Hands. Off. My wife." He ushered grimly, the man falling to his knees to clutch his wrist, trembling. He couldn't even scream as the pain was so severe, white-hot poker of shock lancing through his chest. His hand flopped backwards, disjointed as he whimpered at the sight helplessly.
You swallowed your need to vomit as your gun clicked to the left hand side, the man in view of the terrifying barrel shooting his hands up in surrender. Sans' words echoed within you, the reality of your situation ringing in your ears. 'My wife.' You fought of your grin— Because in his mind- he had already married you- you were his, we've been over this! Muffet's revolver was pressed against the ring leader, legs folded daintily, polite demeanour returned.
She yawned. "That was simply awful! You should've heard him madame! Calling me and monster-kind most indecent things..." she clicked her pincers in disapproval, sending a hungry look to the man of the minute. "I have half a mind to feed you to my dear muffin for afternoon tea!" Needless to say, the briefcase was secured, your first mission a success. You you no idea what happened to the trio of men afterwards- however, Muffet's pet got a three course dinner and extra loving scratches that night for good behaviour.
After securing you back home with a warm coca for the shock and a few dozen tantalising victory kisses- Sans stalked off into the night with a final ruffle of your hair. His breath was visible on the sheet of night air that hung above him, phalanges in pockets. He had somewhere he needed to be, somewhere to cool his head off. He was still reeling at the fact that 'gentleman' of the drug ring practically cat-called you- no, he HAD cat-called you! The more he thought on it, the more his anger festered and stewed. He had something to do. Something that would shove it in the face of all—
He had reached his destination.
A small twenty-four hour jewellery repair shop stood proudly at the end of the lane. It was dinky and the neon lights were flickering lifelessly, but the owner had a heart of gold. It was easily overlooked by observers but Sans had been coming here for a while- the turtle had quickly earned Sans' respect and became his most valued customer when it came to taxing. (Not that he would ever tell you, but he had a soft spot for the senior turtle. Shh!) the bell chimes as he entered. "Ey, Gerson!" Sans called out into the seemingly empty shop. It was cluttered with different cleaning contraptions and hanging junk from the roof but Sans didn't pay it any mind. A cackle came from behind the counter, a leathery, spotted green head popping up, grey goatee bristly with labour as usual.
"Wa ha ha! Sans my boy! I've been expecting you to visit! Tax time already, eh?" He squinted humorously. Sans raised his hands, shaking his skull. "Naw, I'm not here on business." "Eh? Not on business? Well, what can I do ya for? Crab apple? Sea tea? One of a kind keychain?" He craned his scrawny bobbed neck, yellowed teeth in a grin. Sans only smiled, gaze falling towards the glass display cabinet.
"I'm lookin' for somethin' nice."
(A.N: Welp, here we are! Four more chapters till this book closes- I almost don't want to finish it! T w T I hope you guys enjoyed, as always: Please comment, vote, stay indoors and keep being awesome! I'll see you guys in the next chapter! ;) TURTLE MAN GERSON FOREVERRRRRRRRRRRR-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Author out! )