Soul Bone

by Syrn_Call

Summary:

A creative slump sends you searching for inspiration in the wilderness, but one misstep lands you under a mountain instead of on top of it. As you navigate a world filled with puzzles, quirky monsters, and an unsettling sense of déjà vu, a certain skeleton keeps popping up—startling you with his sharp wit and toothy grin. There’s something about him, though… something your heart can’t ignore, as if it was always meant to lead you here.

Chapter 1: Here we go.

Notes:

I started playing Undertale (again), and the premise behind this wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are!

The crunch of snow beneath your boots was oddly soothing. Each step pressed into the frozen powder, its sound echoing faintly through the silent forest. For the first time since you stumbled into this strange place, it was a sensation that felt familiar. The silence of a Winter’s Snow.

 

You paused mid-step, your gaze drifting upwards; Snowflakes swirled lazily from above, their icy touch dissolving on your skin. But… you were underground. How was it snowing?

 

Tilting your head back, you stared at the cavernous expanse above, where a darkened void served as the sky. The soft glow of scattered lights mimicked stars, but their cold brilliance felt different—unearthly. A sigh escaped your lips, warm breath forming a fleeting mist before vanishing into the chill. None of this made sense, and dwelling on it wouldn’t help. Tugging your scarf higher, you shoved your hands into your pockets and pressed on.

 

Your thoughts wandered as you trudged through the snow, the memory of that morning surfacing for you to pick through. It had seemed so simple then—a hike to clear your head, to shake loose the stubborn creative block tethering you. The book you were writing had stalled, the words locked tight. Even painting, your usual refuge, felt like a chore. A walk through the scenic route seemed like the perfect escape.

But it wasn’t supposed to be this mountain.

You should have ignored the pull, that strange, silent song calling you since you were a child. Should have turned back the moment the air grew too still, the woods too quiet. Yet here you were, lost in an impossible world, a strange mix of the beautiful and the terrifying.

 

With homicidal buttercups and monsters who smiled.

 

You hopped over a heavy, discarded branch in your path, the wood slick with frost. The forest was quiet except for the crunch of snow underfoot, and the stillness made your skin prickle. You pulled your borrowed coat tighter around yourself, the soft fabric a reminder of Toriel’s kindness. The memory of her voice echoed in your mind—pleading, warm, and trembling.

“Stay here. You’ll be safe.”

But you couldn’t. Not when the way forward called to you as an unsolved riddle. Not when staying meant giving up everything you knew back home and answers you were now searching for.

Crack.

The sound snapped through the silence like a whip. Your breath catch as you froze, your heart skipping a beat before being set lose to thunder in your chest. Slowly, your gaze dropped to the path behind you.

The branch you had carefully stepped over just moments ago lay split in two, jagged edges jutting out like broken bone. Something—or someone—had stepped on it.

Your pulse quickened as you stared at the shattered wood, your thoughts racing. Was it an another fallen branch? A creature? Something worse? The beginning of your time Underground had already proven one thing: trust nothing too quickly.

With a deep breath, you turned back to the path ahead, your every sense on edge. The weight of unseen eyes crawled up your back, and the muffled crunch of snow reached your ears—faint, but the unmistakable pace of foot steps.

“Heya.”

The voice came from behind you, casual and disarming, but you still jumped, spinning around on instinct. Your eyes met two glowing pinpricks of light set in a grinning skull. The figure lounged against a tree as if he’d been there all along, his hands stuffed in the pockets of a tattered blue hoodie.

 

“That’s no way to greet a new pal,” he said, the grin widening just enough to make you wonder if he was joking—or if there was something sinister beneath the surface.

 

You stared, throat dry, a dozen questions clamoring in your mind. His tone was friendly, almost lazy as if he weren’t too interested, but there was a precision to his presence, a sharpness that suggested he missed nothing.

 

“Uh… hello.” You managed to steady your voice, forcing confidence into the single word. Confidence. Friendliness. That strategy had gotten you this far without any mishaps. Toriel also encouraged it in the beginning and it worked with all the monsters you’d run into in the ruins; the encounter that started out starling ending in a merely friendly chat. But… that was before you tried to leave. It was then Toriel turned, demanding you fight her instead of talking it out. While you’d refused then and it seemed to work out, you couldn’t help but wonder why. Could the outside be so different?

 

Was Flowey right? Your fingers curled in your coat as you regarded the skeleton propping up the tree, wondering it it would work this time… or if maybe you should have taken that knife from the kitchen drawer.

 

“You’re a human, right?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly, the glowing lights in his sockets seeming to flicker in interest.

 

You nodded stiffly, trying not to let his unwavering grin unnerve you. But then it stretched impossibly wider, and for a moment, you wondered if he was about to eat you.

 

“That’s hilarious,” he said, the words punctuated by a soft, raspy chuckle.

 

The line caught you so off guard that you almost snorted. You coughed quickly, burying your mouth in your sleeve to stifle the sound. The unexpected laughter bubbled up anyway, forcing a reluctant smile to your lips as you peeked over your sleeve at the monster. “Hilarious?” you echoed, your tone half-amused, half-wary.

 

“Yeah,” he added with a shrug, one socket narrowing in a gesture that might’ve been a wink. “You’re just walkin’ around here like this place isn’t a total death trap. Takes guts. Or maybe you’re just bad at reading signs.”

 

“Signs? There weren’t any…” you mumbled, raising an eyebrow glancing behind him to make sure you did not not in fact miss a warning of impending doom in the drifts of snow.

 

“Y’know, like ‘Turn back, dangerous monsters ahead,’ or ‘Beware of falling skeletons.’” He gestured vaguely to himself, his grin somehow managing to look proud and self-deprecating at the same time.

 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Guess I missed those. Probably covered in snow.”

 

“Lucky me, huh?” he said, straightening from the tree. “Most humans don’t make it this far. Papyrus is gonna flip when he hears about this. He’s been on ‘human patrol’ for days now. Real go-getter, my bro.”

 

Your eyebrows raised at the word patrol, and Sans chuckled, catching your expression. “Relax. But, uh…” He stuffed his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, his grin turning a shade more mischievous. “I am technically supposed to be on the lookout for humans too. Part of the ‘Capture a Human’ initiative. Real big deal.”

 

Your stomach tightened at his words, and your feet shifted slightly, ready to bolt. His glowing sockets flicked to your movement, and he held up a hand, a half-hearted attempt to calm you. “Don’t worry, kid. Capturing people? Not my style.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Too much effort. Besides, I’m more of a ‘kick back and enjoy the show’ kinda guy.”

 

You eyed him warily, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though his casual demeanor still put you on edge. Something about him seemed so… deliberate. Like every lazy gesture and slow drawl was carefully placed, calculated. Sans noticed your hesitation, and his grin softened, just barely. “You’re a cautious one, huh? Can’t blame ya. Being Underground isn’t exactly a five-star vacation.” As he spoke, he stepped closer, his movements unhurried but somehow weightier. You tensed as he leaned in slightly, his sockets narrowing, the glow of his left eye flaring briefly—blue, then yellow, then gone in an instant. The flicker sent a strange ripple through the air, like the charge before a thunderstorm.

 

“Hmm.” He straightened again, giving you a once-over like he was inspecting a rare artifact. “Yep. Definitely a human.”

 

“Positivity, a human… but what about you?” you said slowly, your heart still racing from the sudden flicker of light.

 

Sans’ grin returned, wider than ever. “Name’s Sans. Sans the Skeleton.” He extended a hand, his movements seemed inviting, but the grin on his face was impossible to read. “Welcome to the Underground.” You hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to take the gesture seriously. But as his hand remained outstretched, you tentatively reached out and clasped it. The moment your palm met his, a cool chill seeped into your skin—a strange familiar sensation that was neither uncomfortable nor entirely natural. Before you could process it, a loud, unmistakable farting noise ripped through the silence.

 

Your eyes widened as the sound dragged on, comically long and exaggerated. Your hand still rested in his bony grip, frozen in place, while the skeleton grinned back at you, as if daring you to react.

 

“Ehehehe…” Sans finally chuckled, his sockets narrowing in amusement. “The ol’ whoopee cushion in the hand trick. Gets ‘em every time.”

 

You stared at him, half-confused, half-amused, trying to decide whether to laugh or roll your eyes. The absurdity of the moment hit you, and despite yourself, a small, incredulous laugh escaped. “That’s… really your big move?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Hey, don’t knock it,” he replied, finally releasing your hand with a casual shrug. “Comedy gold, my friend.”

 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips as you wiped your hand on your coat out of reflex. “So, what? Is this how you welcome all the humans you’re not planning to capture?”

 

“Only the lucky ones,” Sans said with a wink. “Consider yourself officially initiated into the Underground. It’s a gas, huh?”

 

Before you could respond, his gaze shifted past you, his sockets narrowing slightly. “Hey,” he said, his voice as casual as ever but carrying a hint of amusement. “I think that’s him over there.”

You blinked. “Him?”

Sans jerked his head toward the path ahead. “Yeah, my brother. Papyrus. He’s a real human-hunting fanatic.”

 

You turned to look where he indicated, spotting a tall, lanky figure in the distance, pacing back and forth just beyond a wooden station. You couldn’t make out the details, but the figure was definitely skeletal and moving with dramatic purpose.

Sans shifted closer, his grin sharpening. “I’ve got an idea. See that wooden gate up ahead? Follow me through it.” You glanced at the gate, then back at Sans, frowning. “Uh, are you sure? Isn’t the whole point of a gate to stop people from going through?”

 

Sans chuckled, already walking toward the gate with his unhurried stride. “Usually. My bro made the bars a little too wide to stop anyone.”

 

Sure enough, as you approached, you noticed the gate’s spaces were laughably oversized—easily wide enough for you to stroll through without even turning sideways. Glancing back at Sans, you hesitated before stepping onto the snowy ground on the other side. Just as you were about to look for him, he seemed to materialize beside you, stepping forward as if out of thin air.

 

“It looks like he’s coming… quick, behind that conveniently shaped tree,” Sans whispered, his voice barely above a murmur but tinged with amusement.

 

You furrowed your brows at him, glancing to where he pointed—a tree standing suspiciously close to the post and an oddly placed lamp nearby. “Convenient” didn’t begin to describe it; the tree’s shape seemed carved to fit your figure, coat and all. With a resigned sigh, you gave him a quick nod and hurried to hide behind it, barely managing to squeeze into place before the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears.

 

“’Sup, bro,” Sans greeted casually.

 

“YOU KNOW WHAT’S SUP, BROTHER!” boomed a voice so different from Sans’. It was loud, higher-pitched, and carried the energy of someone who lived for dramatics. “IT’S BEEN EIGHT DAYS, AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T RECALIBRATED YOUR. PUZZLES. YOU JUST… HANG OUT OUTSIDE YOUR STATION.”

 

Peeking through the branches, you saw the tall, lanky skeleton who must’ve been Papyrus. He gestured wildly as he spoke, his posture as animated as his voice. He was everything Sans wasn’t—earnest and brimming with dramatic flair.

 

“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?” Papyrus demanded, crossing his arms in exasperation.

 

Sans leaned lazily against the post. “Staring at this tree. It’s really cool. Wanna look?”

 

Your heart skipped as his gaze flicked briefly toward you, and your glare burned into him. What is he doing? you thought furiously. He was going to give you away.

 

“NO! I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT,” Papyrus declared.

 

Oh.

 

You drew your head back in confusion as Papyrus launched into an impassioned rant about being prepared for a human encounter. The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his "human-catching" aspirations were less about menace and more… wholesome?

 

“WHEN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, FINALLY CATCH A HUMAN, I WILL BE ADMIRED! RESPECTED! I WILL BE… POPULAR!” He struck a dramatic pose, his voice swelling with excitement. “I WILL HAVE FRIENDS! AND WILL WAKE UP EVERY MORNING WITH KISSES AND AFFECTION!”

 

You raised an eyebrow, struggling to process his bizarre mix of ambition and innocence. The tension that had been coiling in your chest steadily melted away. What was this?

 

Sans’ grin widened. “Hmm. Maybe this tree will help you.” His gaze flicked toward you again for the briefest moment, and you resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him. He’s enjoying this way too much.

 

“SANS! YOU ARE NOT HELPING! YOU LAZYBONES!” Papyrus fumed, his arms flailing with indignation.

 

Your lungs burned as you fought to hold in a laugh. You’d only known Sans for a few minutes, but you couldn’t imagine a name more fitting.

 

“Hey, take it easy,” Sans replied, his tone as calm as ever. “I’ve gotten a ton of work done today.” His grin stretched wider. “A skele-ton,” he quipped, his voice thick with amusement as he winked.

 

Papyrus groaned audibly, throwing his hands in the air. “SANS!”

 

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. A quiet snort escaped you, quickly stifled by your hand, but Sans’ eye flicked toward the tree. The corner of his grin twitched upward—he’d heard it. Fortunately, Papyrus had not.

 

“Come on, you’re smiling.”

 

“I AM, AND I HATE IT!” Papyrus shot back.

 

You couldn’t blame him. You were smiling too—for the first time in what felt like forever—and it left you feeling oddly conflicted. You pressed yourself against the tree, trying to remain invisible. The sound of Papyrus’ frustration mixed with Sans’ easy laughter had an odd way of easing your nerves. The bizarre dynamic between them felt… warm. Familiar, almost.

 

As Papyrus launched into another dramatic monologue about his human-catching duties, you risked another peek through the branches. Sans was still leaning casually against the post, but his gaze was no longer on Papyrus. He was looking right at you.

 

The intensity in his sockets caught you off guard. For a moment, it felt like he wasn’t just seeing you but studying you—like you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. The glow of his left eye flickered faintly again, the brief flash of yellow-blue sending an odd chill through you. L

 

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME!” Papyrus’ voice snapped you back to the moment.

 

“Bro, it sounds like you’re really… working yourself to the bone,” Sans quipped, his tone as flat as ever.

 

You pressed your forehead against the bark of the tree, shoulders shaking as you tried to contain another laugh. How were these horrible puns landing so well? Maybe it was the way he said them—completely deadpan, without a hint of effort.

 

“UGH, I WILL ATTEND TO MY PUZZLES. AS FOR YOUR WORK? PUT A LITTLE MORE… BACKBONE INTO IT!” Papyrus shouted, huffing dramatically before scurrying off into the trees. You stayed behind the tree until the sound of Papyrus’ footsteps faded, only peeking through the branches when you were sure he was gone. Sans, of course, was still leaning against the post, his grin as smug as ever.

 

“Okay,” Sans said, his voice breaking the silence that followed. “You can come out now.”

 

You craned your neck around the tree for a moment before doing so, glaring at him as you stepped into view. His grin remained undeterred, hands tucked lazily into his jacket. “You told me to hide only to almost give me away?” you snapped, summoning your best dagger-sharpening glare, you were certain would have no effect on him.

 

“But I didn’t,” he replied with a casual shrug, tilting his head slightly as his sockets narrowed in faint amusement. “You oughta get going. He might come back. And if he does… you’ll have to sit through more of my hilarious jokes.” His grin sharpened just a fraction. “Though somethin’ tells me you wouldn’t mind.”

There was a subtle lilt to his tone that made your stomach flip. Could skeletons flirt? Could they purr? Should a skeleton flirting with you be this successful?

 

You sighed, shaking off the thought as you stepped fully into the open path, glancing into the snowy darkness ahead. While the brothers’ banter had worked wonders for your nerves, the quiet that followed only brought them back. Kill or be killed. And yet…with moments like this how could anyone—

 

“What’s the hold-up?” Sans’ voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of. Just a dark cavern with skeletons and horrible monsters.”

 

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to look at him. “Thanks for the pep talk,Sans.” you deadpanned.

 

“No problem,” he shot back, his grin widening.

 

With a resigned sigh, you adjusted your bag and turned to leave. He had a point—fear wasn’t going to help you now. But just as you took your first step, his voice stopped you. Closer this time.

 

“Actually… hey.”

 

You turned, startled to find him much closer than before. Sans had closed the space between you without a sound, his frame now just inches from where you stood.

 

You sucked in a sharp breath as he tilted his head slightly, the glowing orbs in his sockets narrowing, studying you. His gaze was quiet but intense, as if he were searching for something in your face.

 

“What are you—”

 

“Hate to bother ya,” he interrupted, his voice low and even, “but can you do me a favor?”

 

You flinched as an odd, almost physical sensation gripped you. A faint tug—gentle but undeniable—seemed to reach into your chest, pulling at something deep within you. It wasn’t painful, but it left you breathless, like your very essence had been momentarily touched.

Your hand flew to your chest, clutching the fabric of your coat. “What was that?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

 

Sans didn’t answer right away, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. Then, as if deciding something, he leaned back slightly, his usual grin returning. “Relax. You’re fine. Probably just my bad timing.”

 

Your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, it felt like he was letting you in on some unspoken secret. The feeling faded as quickly as it had come, leaving your heart pounding in its wake.

 

“Depends on the favor,” you said cautiously, trying to steady your voice and deciding to move past it.

 

His sockets seemed to crinkle at the edges, like he was pleased by your answer. Lifting a hand, he caught a falling snowflake on the tip of his phalange, watching it melt.

 

“I was thinkin’… my brother’s been kinda down lately,” he said, his voice softer now. “He’s never seen a human before. And seein’ you might just make his day.”

 

You blinked at him, thrown by the sudden shift in tone. First, he was helping you hide from Papyrus—barely—and now he wanted you to parade your humanness for him?

“I don’t know…” you murmured, unsure how to process the request.

 

“Don’t worry,” he added, the grin back in his voice. “He’s not dangerous. Even if he tries to be.”

 

You pursed your lips, glancing at him as he waited for your answer, still far too close for comfort. But despite his proximity, he wasn’t pressuring you. He just stood there, watching, as if he had all the time in the world.

Chapter 2: : Spooky Scary Skeletons : :

Summary:

Puzzling through the woods.

Notes:

Thank you all so much! I recently got back into Undertale and wanted to contribute some makings to it. Your comments warm my heart and make me giddy.

You couldn’t believe you’d let that skeleton talk you into playing the hapless victim for his brother. No matter how much you tried to dismiss the idea, the memory of Papyrus’s dramatic proclamations about “wanting friends” gnawed at you. Add Sans’ toothy grin and the subtle sincerity in his glowing eyes, and your resistance crumbled faster than you cared to admit.

 

“All right, fine,” you sighed, letting your arms drop from their defensive cross over your chest. “I’ll play along.”

 

Sans grinned at you then—a real grin, or at least, it felt like one. Sure, it felt like he was always grinning, but this time, something about it seemed genuine. Maybe it was the twinkle in his eyes or the faint hint of relief that softened his usual smirk. He had a certain charm to him that twisted your heart and arm.

 

“Thanks a million,” he said, nodding appreciatively. Before you could say anything else, he added, “I’ll be up ahead,” and promptly disappeared into the snow, leaving you to wonder how exactly a skeleton pulled off such a neat vanishing act.

 

And so here you were, trudging through the snow, trying to figure out where “up ahead” even was. The forest felt endless, the quiet occasionally broken by the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the soft rustling of wind in the trees.

 

It didn’t take long for you to run into your first challenge—a monster geared for the cold weather, just like everything else in this bizarre place. Its name was Snowdrake, and its sharp-tongued humor matched the icy spikes it flung your way from its wings.

 

Dodging a particularly large shard, you quickly realized brute force wasn’t going to work here—not that you’d planned on using it. So instead, you tried a different approach. Between your nervous laughter and the strained smiles, you managed to laugh at a few of its ice puns.

 

To your surprise, the monster seemed to soften, its frosty demeanor melting into a pleased smirk. “Finally, someone gets my sense of humor!” it declared, puffing out its chest proudly. With that, it stepped aside, accepting your offer of mercy and allowing you to pass.

 

Relieved but a little shaken, you pressed on, the encounter leaving you with the growing realization that this wasn’t going to be easy. You weren’t just navigating through a strange new world—you were trying to find a way to navigate them.

 

“So as I was saying about Undyne…”

 

The now-familiar voice carried through the snowy path just ahead—Papyrus, no doubt talking to Sans. Your stomach tightened with anticipation. It was time to put on a show. Should you pop out of the bushes and shout “Boo!”? Sans assured you Papyrus was harmless, and for some reason, you believed him. Still, the idea of "holding up your end of the deal" felt a bit like walking into an improv comedy sketch without the prompts everyone else was privy to.

 

Taking a deep breath, you stepped around the corner and approached the brothers slowly. Papyrus, as expected, was the first to notice. His sentence cut off mid-thought, and he froze, his eye sockets widening as he stared at you. Then, as if confirming he wasn’t seeing things, he turned sharply to his brother. Sans glanced at you, then back at Papyrus. You had to fight the urge to laugh as they both began to repeatedly turn their heads—at you, then at each other, then back at you again. The exaggerated back-and-forth was almost cartoonish.

 

“Sans…” Papyrus finally whispered in a voice that could only be described as failing to whisper. “OH my god… Is that a HUMAN?”

 

Sans didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he turned back toward you, his sockets narrowing slightly as his expression shifted to one of mock seriousness. He raised a hand to his chin as if deep in thought before finally shaking his head. “Uhhh… actually… it’s a rock.”

 

You squinted at Sans, gawking at him in disbelief. A rock? Incredulous, you turned to glance over your shoulder—and sure enough, there was a rock. A small, unassuming one, sitting just behind you in the snow. You whipped your head back around to glare at Sans, your expression practically screaming, Really, why are you dragging this out? He met your gaze, his own brow quirking slightly, though his serious expression held—barely.

 

“Oh,” Papyrus mused, nodding sagely. “So it is.”

 

If you could flick Sans off, you would’ve done it right then and there. You knew he was going to turn into a thorn in your side.

 

“But… what’s that in front of it?” Papyrus pressed, his excitement building again.

 

Sans turned his glowing eyes to meet yours, holding your gaze for just a beat longer than necessary.

 

“Oh, that? That’s a human,” he said, smirking.

 

Before you could even think about introducing yourself, Papyrus launched into a new grandiose rant. His voice rang out, brimming with excitement as he rambled about the praise he’d receive from someone named Undyne. Popularity, admiration—never had your presence inspired such unbridled jubilation. After it all, he turned to you, head held high.

 

“HUMAN!”

 

You cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice. “Yes?”

 

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS THIS AREA! FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL STOP YOU!” He struck a pose, pointing dramatically in your direction. “You will be captured AND delivered to the capital! AFTER WHICH…” He paused, seemingly lost in thought. “Well, I don’t know what happens after that… BUT PROCEED IF YOU DARE!”

 

You nodded, merely looking on as his cape swept behind him with theatrical flair. Papyrus let out a triumphant cackle— “NYEH-HEH-HEH!”—before bounding off into the forest like he’d just declared war on the gods.

 

“Well, that went well,” Sans remarked, suddenly back at your side. You flinched, examining him, then the space he’d seem to cross instantly. He’d been standing further up ahead a second ago. Teleportation—you were sure of it now.

 

“Well, that’s a word for it,” you replied, shifting your backpack on your shoulders. “Apparently, I’ve just been promised capture.”

 

“Oh, don’t sweat it, kid,” Sans said with a low chuckle. “I’ll keep an eye socket out for ya.”

 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop a smile. “You keep calling me ‘kid,’ but I’m pretty sure we’re the same age, pal.”

 

Sans tilted his head, his grin widening ever so slightly. “Heh. Maybe. But I’ve got a few lines on ya in experience.”

 

The way he said it made your chest tighten, like there was a weight behind the words that you couldn’t quite place. But before you could dwell on it, Sans began his stroll along the trail, nodding toward the path ahead.

 

“C’mon. You’ve got more puzzles to solve.’ My bro’s just gettin’ warmed up.”

---

 

Puzzles, indeed. So many puzzles. And… dogs?

 

You leaned heavily on the table, catching your breath. In front of you sat a plate of frozen spaghetti and a microwave with buttons that seemed designed more to confuse than to cook. The snow-dusted landscape outside was deceptively peaceful, but the series of increasingly bizarre challenges you were facing was anything but.

 

Through it all, you’d picked up on a few key details.

 

Sans was the older brother. That much was clear. His laid-back demeanor didn’t mask the way he subtly kept an eye on you. You could feel his gaze burrowing into the back of your head as you worked through Papyrus’ puzzles. It wasn’t just a watchful gaze of suspicion, though. No, you were pretty sure Sans was more concerned about you hurting Papyrus than the other way around.

 

Not that you ever could.

 

Papyrus had a way of disarming you—not with malice, but with his earnestness. You couldn’t help but grin when he complimented your “excellent puzzle-solving skills,” his voice brimming with pride. And when you admitted your love for riddles, the way his face lit up was almost blinding.

 

“THE NEXT ONE WILL PROBABLY BE TOO EASY FOR YOU,” he’d declared before rushing off to set it up.

 

Now, as you rested at the table, you let yourself enjoy the brief pause. Your muscles ached from trudging through the snow, and your mind buzzed with everything you’d encountered so far. The puzzles themselves weren’t difficult—though you suspected Papyrus believed they were—but the sheer absurdity of some had left you chuckling to yourself. And the dogs. You still weren’t sure what to make of the dogs.

 

Beside the table, the usual golden dancing light shimmered faintly, casting a warm glow that only you seemed able to perceive. You hesitated for a moment before reaching into it, the now-familiar wave of comfort washing over you. The aches in your muscles faded, and your mind cleared. For a brief instant, the word “Saved” flashed before your eyes before disappearing, as it always did.

 

Your brow furrowed, the comforting glow replaced by a quiet confusion. What was this power? You’d first seen it in the Ruins and thought better of interacting with it then, wary of the unknown. But curiosity had won out in the forest, and now, after using it several times, you couldn’t deny its benefits. Still, its origins—and why only you seemed to notice it—remained a mystery.

 

You sighed, your gaze shifting to the plate of frozen spaghetti sitting in front of you. Was this another one of Papyrus’ traps? Knowing him, it probably was. Still, the sheer dedication behind it made you smile.

 

The snow crunched softly behind you, and you turned to see Sans leaning casually against a nearby post, his grin as ever-present as the snowflakes drifting through the air. “Taking a break?” he asked, his tone light but his glowing eye sockets studying you closely.

 

“Yeah,” you admitted, rubbing your arms for warmth and pulling your hat down against your forehead further. “Your brother’s enthusiasm is… contagious.”

 

Sans chuckled. “He’s somethin’, huh? Gets really into the puzzles.”

 

You smiled, shaking your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so…” You paused, searching for the word.

 

“Cool?” Sans supplied, the corner of his grin twitching upward.

 

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing. “Yeah. The coolest.”

 

For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the only sound the faint rustle of wind through the trees. You lowered your gaze to the frozen table for a moment, brushing away a stray thought. Then, on impulse, you craned your head up to peer into Sans’ face. His glowing pupils flickered toward you, and for the briefest second, his grin faltered—surprise?—before smoothing back into his usual nonchalance.

 

“What about you?” you asked, leaning in slightly. “You keep saying how harmless Papyrus is… but what about you? Why do I get the feeling there’s a cold-blooded killer hiding under all that laid-back charm?”

 

Sans’ grin widened, just a fraction. He tilted his head, his sockets narrowing in curiosity with the motion. “Oh?” he hummed. “What makes ya think I’ve got it in me?”

 

There was something both teasing and unnervingly calm in his tone, but you didn’t back down. “Call it a survivor’s intuition.”

 

The chuckle that followed was low and deliberate, a sound that rumbled through the space between you and seemed to linger in the air. It sent a shiver down your spine, the hairs on your arms prickling as you tried to discern whether the unease curling in your chest was fear or something else entirely.

 

Sans leaned forward, his form casting a shadow over you, and for the first time, you truly felt the weight of his presence. The easygoing slouch he typically carried was gone, replaced with something sharper, something that commanded attention. He braced one hand on the table beside you, his skeletal fingers curling slightly against the surface as he tilted his head.

 

The closeness was electric. The air felt thinner, your pulse a steady drum in your ears as you instinctively drew back, only to find yourself unable to pull away completely.

 

His sockets slid closed for a beat, and when they reopened, the familiar glow in his eyes was gone. The hollow darkness left behind wasn’t just unsettling—it was magnetic. It pulled at you, and though you knew you should look away, you couldn’t. You felt pinned in place, every nerve alight with the strange energy of the moment.

 

When he spoke, his voice was a murmur, low enough that it almost didn’t register. “Let’s just say,” he drawled, his face tilting closer to yours, “messin’ with me guarantees a bad time.”

 

Then, just as abruptly as it had disappeared, his right pupil flared with a sudden, brilliant blue. It was fleeting but vivid, the pupil quivering in his socket as he took you in. The glow in his sockets returned, softer now, almost teasing, as though daring you to break the spell.

 

You stood still, the moment stretching long enough for you to become acutely aware of your own heartbeat. Despite the unsettling tension—or maybe because of it—you felt your lips curve into a faint, uncertain smile. “Are you trying to scare me?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

 

Sans straightened slightly, the edge of his grin reappearing, though there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Maybe,” he replied, his tone shifting back to that familiar, lazy charm. “How am I doin’?”

 

Your pulse slowed, but the strange thrill remained as you shook your head, finally releasing the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Whatever that moment had been, it left you feeling more awake than ever, as though the frost in the air had seeped under your skin and sparked something alive.

 

For the briefest second, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of amusement in his sockets before he pulled back entirely, his casual demeanor settling over him like a well-worn coat.

 

“Guess you’re tougher than you look,” he quipped, stepping back to give you space. His smirk returned to its usual lazy charm, and he shrugged as if nothing had happened. “Enough ‘bout me,” he said casually, jerking his head toward the path ahead. “Paps might start thinkin’ you’ve gotten lost. Or worse—bored.”

 

You let out a shaky laugh, finally exhaling. “Right. Can’t have that.”

 

With one last glance at him, you pushed off the table and started toward the next puzzle. It was interesting, you realized, to see another emotion from Sans—something that wasn’t indifference or laziness. Whatever had flashed across his face in that moment… it wasn’t nothing.

 

And you couldn’t help but wonder what else might be hiding behind his grin.

---

 

You weren’t sure where Papyrus got the idea that this next puzzle was going to be easy, but it was shaping up to be anything but.

 

You stood on one end of a clearing, with Papyrus—brimming with excitement—and Sans—casually indifferent—on the other. Between you, a grid of dull, grey tiles stretched across the ground, looking deceptively innocent.

 

“Human! You’re going to LOVE this puzzle!” Papyrus exclaimed, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. “It was created by the GREAT Dr. Alphys! You see these tiles? Once I throw this switch, they will begin to change color! Each color has a different function!”

 

Your eyebrows shot up. This already sounded… complicated.

 

“RED tiles are impassable!” Papyrus declared dramatically. “You cannot walk on them!”

 

Okay, simple enough.

 

“YELLOW tiles are electric! They will ELECTROCUTE YOU!”

 

Your head whipped toward Sans, your expression a mix of panic and disbelief. Surely Papyrus knew humans didn’t handle electrocution well? Sans met your gaze with an unreadable look before turning back to his brother, his grin unchanged. No help there.

 

“GREEN tiles are alarm tiles!” Papyrus continued. “If you step on them, you will have to fight a MONSTER!”

 

“Wait, Papyrus—” you tried to interject, but he was already moving on.

 

“ORANGE tiles are orange-scented! They will make you smell… DELICIOUS!”

 

You blinked. Delicious? That didn’t sound promising.

 

“BLUE tiles are water tiles!” Papyrus pointed at the grid with gusto. “You can swim through them if you like, BUT… if you smell like oranges, the piranhas will BITE YOU!”

 

Piranhas? In water tiles?

 

“Oh, and if a blue tile is next to a yellow tile, the water will ALSO zap you!” Papyrus added, nodding confidently as though this made perfect sense.

 

You shot Sans another desperate look, your silent plea for clarification—or mercy—falling flat as he just winked at you. A wink. You groaned quietly, staring back at the grid.

 

“PURPLE tiles are… slippery and lemon scented!” Papyrus went on, oblivious to your growing dread. “You will slide to the next tile! BUT, the piranhas do not like the smell of lemons, so if you smell like purple tiles—WAIT! I mean, if you smell like lemons, then…” He paused, seemingly tripping over his own explanation.

 

By now, your brain had officially checked out. You crossed your arms over your chest, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Sans. He gave you a thumbs-up, his grin wider than ever. You turned away, glaring into the trees as Papyrus rallied himself for the grand finale.

 

“FINALLY! PINK tiles!” Papyrus announced triumphantly. “They don’t do ANYTHING! Step on those all you like!” He puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his thorough explanation. “SO! HOW WAS THAT?! UNDERSTOOD?”

 

You hesitated, opening your mouth to answer. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sans again, casually flashing you another thumbs-up as though this entire mess was perfectly reasonable.

 

You sighed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah. Yes. I… understand.”

 

Papyrus beamed at your response, entirely oblivious to the weary tone in your voice. “EXCELLENT! NOW, PREPARE YOURSELF!”

 

He turned to the machine, puffing out his chest as if the contraption were a masterpiece of engineering. With an overly dramatic flourish, he lifted his hand toward the lever, pausing just long enough to make you wonder before throwing the switch.

 

You braced yourself as the grid of tiles in front of you lit up, the colors flashing in rapid succession: red, blue, yellow, pink. Faster and faster, they whirled in an overwhelming blur, and in the back of your mind, you scrambled to remember Papyrus’ rules.

 

Stick to pink. That seemed like the safest bet. You could probably jump over a few if you needed to. Maybe even deal with a monster fight if it came to that.

 

The floor let out a loud ding of completion, and you snapped your attention back to the grid. What you saw… was something you were pretty sure had a one-in-over-a-septillion chance of happening.

 

The entire path before you was pink. A straight, uninterrupted line of harmless pink tiles, bordered neatly by rows of impassable red.

 

You blinked. Once. Twice. Expecting it to change.

 

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief—yours, and undoubtedly Papyrus’, though he stood frozen by the machine, his cape still fluttering dramatically from his earlier gestures.

 

“Well… that’s convenient,” Sans muttered, as he rubbed his chin , staring down at the floor.

 

You looked at the path, then back at Papyrus, who was still rooted in place. He seemed to be processing what had just happened, his skeletal jaw slightly ajar. For once, his endless stream of dialogue was nowhere to be found.

 

Tentatively, you took a step forward. Nothing happened. Another step. Still nothing.

 

You glanced back, half-expecting Papyrus to swoop in with an indignant outburst, but he wasn’t even looking at you. Slowly, he stepped away from the machine in stunned silence, his posture unusually subdued.

 

Sans, ever unbothered, sidestepped to give Papyrus room as he trudged off, his normally exuberant aura dimmed.

 

“Oh,” you said softly, though whether the word was for yourself or Papyrus, you weren’t sure.

 

Sans slid up beside you, his steps nearly silent on the snow-dusted ground. He glanced toward his retreating brother, then back at you.

 

“Welp,” Sans smirked, “Guess he wasn’t ready for your incredible skills. Can’t fault the guy for tryin’.”

 

You tilted your head, your curiosity piqued. “Does he always get this… excited?”

 

Sans grinned, his sockets narrowing in what you now recognized as his carefree amusement. “Pap’s dreams are big enough to fill the Underground twice over. And, well…” He paused, his gaze flicking to the pink tiles beneath your feet. “...it’s kinda my job to make sure he doesn’t trip over ’em.”

 

You raised an eyebrow, catching a subtle undercurrent in his words. “Sounds like you care about him a lot.”

 

Sans shrugged, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. “Yeah, well, he’s my little brother and someone’s gotta keep an eye socket on him.” His voice dropped slightly, a hint of sincerity breaking through his usual laid-back tone. “The kid’s got his head in the clouds, but he’s got good bones.”

 

You snorted, shaking your head at the pun. “You’re incorrigible.”

 

“Thanks,” he said with a wink, clearly taking it as a compliment. “But seriously, you’re not so bad at keepin’ up with him. Most folks would’ve bailed by now.”

 

“I’ve had worse hiking companions,” you said lightly, glancing ahead. “At least Papyrus seems like he genuinely means well.”

 

“Yeah, that’s the thing about Pap,” Sans murmured, his tone softer now. “He’s got a way of makin’ ya wanna stick around.” You weren’t entirely sure if he was talking about his brother—or if, somehow, the comment applied to you, too.

 

He chuckled, the sound low and warm now. “C’mon, kid. Let’s keep movin’. He’ll bounce back. He always does.”

Chapter 3: : Starlight : :

Notes:

Whatcha think of the chemistry so far?

Mhmm mhmm... I agree we can chemistry harder.

The eerie stillness of the forest deepened as you pressed forward, your breath visible in the frigid air. Thankfully, your bundled layers kept the cold at bay for the past few days, despite all the dog-petting and deer "un-decorating" you’d been roped into. The monotony of snow and trees finally gave way to a change in scenery. The light dimmed as towering evergreens opened to reveal a long, rickety bridge stretching across a vast chasm. Below, the cliff plunged into shadow, and beyond, twinkling lights glimmered faintly through the haze. A town, perhaps? Relief bubbled in your chest. At least this forest didn’t go on forever.

 

Your pace slowed instinctively, boots crunching against the frosted wooden planks as you crossed the precarious bridge. The creaks and groans beneath your feet did little to ease your nerves. You glanced back at the forest, then ahead at the lights. A comfort lay just out of reach.

 

With a wry grin, you muttered, “Could really use a teleporting skeleton about now.”

 

Sans had a knack for showing up when you least expected him—whether you were trudging through snow, taking a nap or untangling Christmas lights from a deer.

 

“Are you lost, or are you following me?” he’d purred earlier, appearing from nowhere after your latest escapade as you dumped the string lights on the ground.

 

“Both,” you’d teased back, pleased at how his grin had stretched wider. You’d started to enjoy his presence more than you cared to admit.

 

But now, with only the groaning wood underfoot for company, you wished he’d appear again. Maybe you could bargain for a quick teleport across the bridge in exchange for… a bonemeal. You snorted at your own pun, then groaned, shaking your head. It’s contagious.

 

“HUMAN!”

 

The sharp voice jolted you from your musings. There, at the bridge's far end, stood two figures emerging from the fog—one tall and lanky, the other slouched and grinning. Papyrus’ vibrant red scarf flapped dramatically in the wind as he pointed an accusatory finger your way.

 

“Oh, there you two are!” you called, relief blending into playful exasperation. “I was starting to think you ditched me.”

 

Papyrus straightened with an air of importance, placing his hands on his hips. “DITCH YOU? ABSURD! We would never—Well, I would never ABANDON MY DUTY! THIS IS YOUR FINAL CHANCE TO TURN BACK!” His voice boomed across the chasm, but the flourish in his tone left you biting back a grin.

 

“My final chance?” you replied, feigning dread as you quickened your pace toward them. “I’m trembling in my boots.”

 

Sans snickered at your quip, his grin somehow managing to grow. “Don’t let it rattle ya bones, ” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth to call to you.

 

Papyrus, undeterred, raised a hand dramatically. “PREPARE YOURSELF! THIS SHALL BE THE GREATEST CHALLENGE YOU HAVE EVER FACED!”

 

You stopped mid-step, your gaze snapping upward at the sound of creaking metal. The bridge was now framed with an array of bizarrely dangerous weapons: spiked balls and chains swung lazily above your head, spears gleamed menacingly, a bomb hung ominously nearby, and… was that a dog suspended by a rope? Flames licked at the edges of the bridge below, the flickering heat clashing with the frigid air.

 

Papyrus puffed out his chest, his bony hand gesturing grandly to the contraptions. “WHEN I ACTIVATE THIS, THERE WILL BE NO ESCAPE! PREPARE YOURSELF, HUMAN!” Your breath stilled as his finger hovered over an unseen switch. This wasn’t a puzzle—it was a death trap. The weapons swayed menacingly, the flames seeming to creep closer in your peripheral vision. Your grip tightened on itself as you shifted uneasily. How in the world were you supposed to get out of this?

 

The silence dragged on, stretching long enough to become unbearable.

 

“Paps,” Sans finally spoke up, his voice breaking through the tension, “What’s the holdup?”

 

“There’s no holdup!” Papyrus sputtered, his bravado faltering as his chest deflated slightly. “I’M… I’M ABOUT TO ACTIVATE IT NOW!”

 

You glanced at Sans, whose face betrayed a flicker of genuine curiosity. He met your gaze and gave a casual shrug, as if to say, Don’t look at me.

 

Another pause. The air hung heavy with expectation. Still—nothing. Sans tilted his head, squinting at the swaying dog in particular. “That, uh, doesn’t look very activated.”

 

Papyrus stiffened, his sockets darting to the array of traps. He hesitated, his raised arm lowering by a fraction. “W-WELL… This challenge” His voice wavered, losing steam. “IT SEEMS… maybe… TOO EASY TO DEFEAT THE HUMAN WITH.”

 

His words stumbled over themselves, his sockets turning away as if he couldn’t meet your gaze. Slowly, a smile tugged at your lips. Relief washed over you, followed by a quiet, unexpected warmth.

 

He doesn’t want to hurt me.

 

Papyrus straightened suddenly, clinging to his dignity. “YES, that’s it! We can’t use this one! I’M A SKELETON WITH STANDARDS! My puzzles are very fair, and my traps are EXPERTLY cooked! BUT THIS METHOD…” His gaze flicked briefly to the flames beneath your boots and the spiked ball above your head. “ THIS METHOD? IT IS TOO DIRECT, TOO CRUDE! IT HAS NO CLASS AT ALL!”

 

Your gaze flicked to the spiked ball swinging precariously above your head and the flames licking at the bridge. “Direct” was certainly an apt description.

 

Papyrus clapped his hands together decisively. “AWAY IT GOES!”

 

He fumbled with a hidden lever, and with a loud clunk, the traps retracted. The flames snuffed out, the bomb disappeared, and even the swaying dog was hoisted to safety. Somewhere in the background, you heard Papyrus whisper, “Whew.”

 

Then, in a flash, he whirled to face you, pointing a dramatic finger. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? THIS WAS ANOTHER DECISIVE VICTORY FOR PAPYRUS!” His triumphant laughter echoed as he spun on his heel and dashed off across the bridge.

 

You sighed, shaking your head as you watched him go. “I’ve been utterly defeated,” you murmured, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Sans appeared at your side as casually as ever, his hands stuffed in his pockets as you looked down at a broken plank on the bridge. “Heh. Don’t take it too hard,” he said, his grin tilting lazily. “Though… I gotta admit, I’m not sure what my brother’s gonna do now. Not exactly used to someone slippin’ through the cracks.” He stepped closer, extending a hand toward you. “But you look like you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Here.”

 

You blinked at the gesture, a mix of surprise and gratitude warming you as you accepted his hand. His grip was steady, the coolness of his bones contrasting with the lingering heat in your palm. As he steadied you for a leap, you miscalculated the step and stumbled, bumping into his chest.

 

The contact was brief, but the sensation lingered. He was unexpectedly warm, the kind of warmth that seeped through your layers and made your skin prickle.

 

How was his chest so warm…?

 

“Thanks,” you murmured, stepping back quickly to regain your footing—and your pride.

 

“Anytime,” Sans said, slipping his hand back into his pocket with an easy shrug. But the humor in his tone softened, replaced by something quieter. “Still… if I were you, I’d take some time to get familiar with blue attacks.”

 

“Blue attacks?” you echoed, turning back to him as you lifted a brow.

 

His grin didn’t falter, but the glint in his eye felt almost serious. “Yep. It’s best if you… Don’t move.”

 

You raised a brow at Sans, who returned your look with his ever-present grin. Shaking your head, you smiled and nodded. Another riddle for another time, you supposed. For now, you were determined to get into the town.

 

As you crossed the snowy ridge, the faint glimmer of lights grew brighter, and the hum of activity reached your ears. You stepped into what could only be described as a bustling village square. Monsters of all shapes and sizes milled about, going about their day. Despite the snowy chill, there was warmth in the air—a sense of life that felt oddly familiar.

 

You shuffled through the streets, smiling and nodding as monsters inclined their heads in greeting. Each friendly gesture chipped away at Flowey’s grim words that still lingered in the back of your mind. Eventually, you found yourself pausing before a tall, decorated tree standing proudly in the square. Its branches were adorned with baubles, tinsel, and sparkling lights. You tilted your head, wondering if the deer you’d undecorated earlier had anything to do with it.

 

You continued to explore, speaking with the residents and soaking in the town’s charm. Everyone seemed welcoming and eager to chat, though their words revealed more than just the surface cheer.

 

They… they were all trapped here. Under this mountain.

 

Your gaze drifted down the street, taking in the monsters busily moving through their routines, trying to make the best of their lives despite their circumstances.

 

But why… why are they trapped here?

 

A warm brush against your arm made you start. You turned to find Sans at your side, his hands locked behind his head now. “Getting to know our neighbors, huh?” he asked, his laughter light but his eyes flickering with a faint glimmer of something else.

 

Suspicion maybe?

 

You smiled back at him, albeit wistfully, and nodded. “A bit,” you admitted. “But it’s leaving me with more questions than answers.”

 

“Sounds like you’re overdue for some knowledge,” Sans quipped, his grin widening.

 

You frowned at him, confused for a moment, before following his gaze to a building across the street. A crooked sign above the entrance proudly proclaimed: “LIBRARBY.”

 

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Really? Overdue?”

 

Sans shrugged, his grin never faltering. “What can I say? I’m a pun-librarian.”

 

You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you headed toward the building. “Alright, Mr. Wordsmith, let’s check out what this place has on the books.”

 

This time, Sans fell into step beside you instead of disappearing, and together you both made your way toward the “LIBRARBY.” The warmth of the building greeted you immediately as you stepped inside, a pleasant contrast to the biting chill outside.

 

The library was modest—cozy even. Shelves lined the walls, their contents neatly arranged, though it quickly became apparent that the selection wasn’t particularly vast. A monster with large glasses sat behind a desk, giving you a polite nod as you passed.

 

Sans wandered a few paces ahead, his glowing pupils scanning the room. “Huh. Been a while since I’ve been in here,” he remarked, inspecting the ladder against the shelf.

 

You grinned, trailing your fingers along a shelf of neatly stacked books as you moved down an aisle. “What? Did you read all their pun books already?”

 

Sans chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Nah. All my material’s original.”

You rolled your eyes, though a laugh escaped you anyway. “Sure it is.”

Reaching for a book on history, you pulled it from the shelf and flipped it open. The pages were slightly worn, but the text was clear. As you skimmed, a particular passage caught your eye.

“Monsters, unlike humans, are made entirely of magic. Their very essence is intertwined with their emotions and intentions. Humans, in contrast, are composed of water and physical matter—a fascinating dichotomy. This is why their bodies stay behind when they die.”

 

You tilted your head, a bemused smile creeping onto your face. “Made of water, huh?” you muttered, turning the book to show Sans. “Well, I guess that’s true… mostly.”

Sans leaned over to glance at the passage, his grin widening. “Guess that explains why you’ve been floatin’ through all these challenges, huh?”

 

You snorted, shaking your head. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

 

“Not if I can help it,” he chuckled, but his glowing pupils lingered on the text for a moment longer before he straightened.

 

For a brief moment, the two of you stood there in companionable silence, the weight of the Underground’s troubles momentarily held at bay by the warmth and simplicity of the library.

 

The moment didn’t last long, though, as the heat of the room began to work its way under your layers, making you shift uncomfortably. You moved to a nearby table and sat down, leaning back in your seat with a sigh as you dragged a sleeve across your brow. You’d been bundled up in your coat, hat, and scarf for so long that you’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be without them.

“You’re looking like you’re getting a little toasty,” Sans called from across the table.

You nodded, already tugging at your scarf. “Just a little. I suppose I can finally shed a few of these layers.”

The fabric unraveled in loop after loop, and you sighed audibly as the cool air touched your neck and chest. Finally free, you draped the scarf over the back of the chair and reached for your hat. The snug wool resisted for a moment before sliding free, and a cascade of curls spilled out, falling in loose, pale ringlets around your face and shoulders.

 

“Much better,” you said, beaming as you raked your fingers through your hair. The relief was immediate, and though you weren’t one to obsess over your looks, you couldn’t deny a certain pride in your hair. Its unique color—a soft, silvery grey—always felt like a piece of you that stood out in the best way.

 

As you worked through a few lingering knots, you turned to Sans with a teasing smile. “I don’t know how you manage with just a jacket—I’d be chilled to the bone.” You hummed, pleased with your pun, but when your gaze landed on him, the words froze in your throat.

 

Sans was staring at you. Not just looking—staring. His sockets were wide, his grin faltered, and his glowing eye lights flickered faintly. He wasn’t just surprised; he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

 

“Uh… Sans?” you ventured, your voice quieter now. “You okay?”

 

His eyes flicked over your hair again, scanning it as though confirming the impossible. Slowly, he leaned forward, his hands slipping out of his jacket pockets as if drawn by some unseen force. His grin faded entirely, replaced by a quiet, stunned expression.

 

“That hair,” he murmured, the words almost inaudible. “It… it reminds me of a star.”

 

You wrinkled your nose, confused by the odd comment. “A star?”

 

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze racking over your face and hair as though it held the answers to all the questions neither of you could bring yourself to ask. “Yeah,” he finally said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Starlight. That’s what it looks like.”

The word sent a jolt through you. Your breath caught, and the room seemed to blur at the edges. A flash burst through your mind.

 

“Hey, it’s okay… don’t cry.”

 

“...It hurts...”

 

“Yeah, I know. But you’re not alone, okay? I’m here.”

 

“…”

 

“…What’s your name? I’m—”

 

“I… I don’t remember… I’m sorry…”

 

“That’s okay… how’s about Starlight for now? Your hair reminds me of the stars.”

 

“O-okay…”

 

“Come on, — can help. He’ll know what to do.”

 

The memory evaporated, leaving you breathless. You gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself, your pulse hammering in your chest. “Hey, you alright?” Sans asked, his tone resuming its casual lilt. His hands were back in his pockets, the expression on his face carefully neutral.

 

You searched his face, wondering if he saw the memory as well, before you nodded slowly, letting the table go and pushing your finger back through your hair. “Yeah, just… spaced out for a second.”

 

“Guess that fits.” Sans’ grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, his smile as easy as ever. “So, Starlight, you gonna finish your joke about being chilled to the bone?”

 

The nickname caught you off guard. It lingered in the air, like a soft breeze brushing your cheek. A flicker of warmth spread in your chest, and you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips.

 

You turned back to your book, trying to mask the blush creeping up your face. “Maybe I will,” you said, waving him off with faux nonchalance. “But don’t expect it to be a bright idea.”

 

Sans “Heh”-ed softly, the banter between you slipped back into place with ease, but your thoughts strayed, pulled by the name he’d given you.

 

Starlight.

 

It wasn’t just the name; it was how he’d said it—like a caress; and it fit in a way you hadn’t realized was possible.

 

Your gaze dropped to the table as memories surfaced, hazy and fractured. You thought about the nights after your adopted dad had found you, how you’d sneak outside and stare up at the stars. The sky felt like a tether to something bigger, something you couldn’t remember. You couldn’t recall your past, but those stars brought you comfort—a pull you’d followed for so long, one that had led you to the mountain.

 

Now, here you were. And here was this nickname, this tiny piece of familiarity that felt just as

 

“Careful, Sans,” you said suddenly, glancing up at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “If you keep this up, I might start thinking you like me.”

 

You grinned, waiting for his reply, but the chair across from you was empty. Your smile faltered in surprise, your eyes darting around the room. He was gone—vanished as quietly as he always did.

 

Leaning back, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Guess I should’ve seen that coming,” you muttered.

 

Still, the warmth lingered. You traced your fingers absently along the edge of the book, a smile ghosting your lips as you whispered to yourself, “Starlight, huh?”

Notes:

READER HAS MYSTERIOUS BACKGROUND.

I hope you like.

Chapter 4: : Sans ::

Notes:

A little side bar from our favorite guy!

As soon as you looked away, Sans vanished.

 

He needed space. Needed air. Away from you.

 

Starlight.

 

The word echoed in his mind, haunting like a melody that wouldn’t let him go.

 

What in the world had possessed him to call you that? It wasn’t just a pun or a whim. The name had risen unbidden, tied to a feeling he couldn’t quite place, like the faint scent of something nostalgic but long forgotten.

 

He materialized in his lab with a sharp inhale, his form solidifying in the dim, sterile light. Gripping the back of his chair, he spun it around and dropped into it, exhaling slowly. His sockets flickered to the monitor in front of him, its glow casting long shadows across the cluttered workspace.

 

This wasn’t like the usual puzzles life threw his way. For as long as he could remember—or as long as memory allowed—he’d been battling the chaos of the timelines. One anomaly was always there: massive, unpredictable, dragging everything back to a singular, immutable point. No matter how hard he tried, he could never pinpoint its origin, never remember enough to stop it.

 

And then…you.

 

Sans leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the latest report. Another anomaly. No—two.

 

The first was the usual: chaotic, twisting the timeline into incomprehensible knots. But the second… The second was different. It didn’t disrupt or unravel; it settled. It smoothed the jagged edges, muted the chaos. It was quieter.

 

It was you.

 

“But who are you…” Sans muttered under his breath. The nickname slipped out again before he could stop it. “…Starlight.”

 

The name felt heavy now, too heavy to shrug off as just another pun. Seeing you unwrapped from all those layers, your hair tumbling free in that distinctive silvery shade… It was like a sledgehammer to his ribs.

 

The color tugged at something deep in his soul. A memory, or maybe just the echo of one. Someone else… someone with hair like that. Some one important. But the details felt just out of reach, hazy and crumbling the harder he tried to grasp them.

 

Sans groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slouched back in his chair. His memories—fractured, incomplete—felt more like a liability than a comfort.

 

His gaze flicked to the monitor again, where your data pulsed faintly on the screen. The computer had traced a faint magical signature tied to you in its files, something intrinsically impossible. Humans couldn’t wield magic now, not as far as he knew. Yet there it was: a direct tie to a point in time, an anomaly all its own.

 

But, of course, the details were locked.

 

Not corrupted. Not inaccessible by chance.

 

Locked.

 

Sans’ smirk returned, though it didn’t reach his sockets. “Thanks a ton, Gaster,” he muttered, his fingers tapping idly against the desk. The screen hummed softly, the encrypted file taunting him.

 

Whoever you were, whatever had brought you here, Sans couldn’t shake the feeling that you were more than just an anomaly.

 

And he wasn’t sure if that made him excited… or terrified.

 

Sans sank further into his chair and grumbled under his breath. All this work and keeping an eye on this new human was taking it out of him. “Really bustin’ my bones,” he muttered, his words trailing off as his eye lights dimmed.

 

He leaned back, letting the chair creak beneath his weight as he tilted his head against the backrest. The lab’s gentle hum, punctuated by the occasional beep of the monitor, filled the silence. His sockets fluttered shut, the tension in his frame melting away for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

 

“Just… a quick break,” he mumbled. The thought barely formed before sleep claimed him.

 

The soft glow of the monitor illuminated his still figure, casting long shadows on the walls of the lab. Outside, the underground remained in motion—monsters going about their lives, puzzles being solved, and…

 

Somewhere not too far away, trouble brewed.

Chapter 5: What Timeline is this ?

Notes:

What timeline is this ?
What timeline is this ??
What timeline is t—

TW : Dark Themes, bloody imagery, non-permanent Death,

Summary at the end if you don’t want to read.

Blood.

 

It was everywhere—on the ground, in the air, painted across the snow like a grotesque masterpiece.

 

The trail of bloodied footsteps led deeper into the forest, each print stark against the unbroken white. Sans followed silently, the bitter chill gnawing at his bones. He barely felt it.

 

The human child who felled Papyrus had come from this way. Their feet bloodied, leaving a path as clear as their intentions. But there was only one person in the Underground who bled that color.

 

Another human.

 

Starlight.

 

The thought made his chest tighten, a visceral ache in his bones he couldn’t ignore.

 

Starlight.

 

He didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to see what he feared most.

 

But then he did.

 

Sans stopped in a clearing, the breath in his chest growing still. There she was.

 

What remained of her.

 

Her body lay motionless in the snow. Silver hair fanned around her, some strands clinging to the blood-slicked ground. Her face was partially obscured, but there was no mistaking her. The once-pristine snow around Starlight was stained crimson, a macabre halo of what life had left her.

 

Beside her lay discarded bones, their edges dulled with cracks and fractures. Two massive skulls of Gaster Blasters rested near as well—one turned slightly in her direction, as if it had tried to protect her in her final moments. Or maybe comfort her.

 

Sans’ knees threatened to buckle. He felt his magic stir, wild and angry, burning beneath his ribs like fire and frost colliding. His sockets burned, but he didn’t dare let them overflow. He couldn’t—

 

Not yet.

 

As much as he wanted to stop, his legs moved on their own. His slippers crunched softly against the snow as he approached. There was no point to this. She was gone. He knew it.

 

And yet…

 

Sans crouched beside her, trembling fingers reaching out.

 

When he lifted Starlight into his arms, she was limp, weightless in a way that felt wrong. The familiar way she used to curl into him, clinging when he held her, was gone. Instead, her head lolled back, lifeless, curls of hair catching on the ridges of his phalanges. Her limbs dangled uselessly, and her once-vivid eyes stared blankly, half-closed, as if even in death, she was reluctant to leave him behind.

 

Sans drew in a shallow, unsteady breath, pulling her closer to his chest.

 

She was cold. Not the cold he knew. Not the comfortable chill of a snowy night that she’d brush off with a laugh. This was a bitter, biting cold that seeped into her very essence. A cold that told him she was never coming back.

 

His hand hovered over the wound in her torso. Deep. Too deep.

 

He had seen death more times than he cared to count, but this—this was different. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

 

“It… shouldn’t be you,” he murmured, his voice cracking, barely audible. He pressed his forehead to her, his frame still as he held her.

 

For a moment, he stayed like that, cradling her in the silence of the forest, the snow continuing to fall around him.

Notes:

Summary : Sans finds Starlight’s bloodied body after a deadly encounter with Frisk.

It’s suggested this is a timeline where a Genocide run is taking place.

🥺 Sorry you guys; I love a little all is lost moment. It’ll make sense soon.

Chapter 6: : Safety Blanket ::

Notes:

Because Safety is important!

Your eyes squinted open, a hazy blur of green fabric filling your vision. Where were you?

 

Soft cushions cradled your aching body, the faint scent of dust and warmth settling over you like a cocoon. Home? No, this wasn’t your bed. This wasn’t even a bed.

 

You shifted, wincing as your leg slid free of the blanket's protection. Your arms throbbed, a dull burning beneath your fingertips as you instinctively touched the sore spots. A bruise? Maybe. Your chest tightened with unease. What happened? Why did your body feel like it had been through a war?

 

Tugging the blanket down, you blinked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, its shadowed beams foreign and faintly ominous. A lump formed in your throat as clarity began to seep in.

 

This wasn’t your ceiling.

 

It hadn’t been a dream. The last few days hadn’t be a dream. You were still Underground.

 

You closed your eyes, your mind reaching for the familiar words that had anchored you so many times before:

 

“Breathe... Reach within…”

 

Your dad’s voice, calm and steady, echoed in your thoughts, guiding you as you fought back panic. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, the fog in your memory began to lift.

 

Before… What happened?

 

You remembered leaving the library, the weight of a notebook tucked into your coat. The bitter chill of the wind had gnawed at your face, but the extra layers had shielded you from its worst bite. The library had been a treasure trove of history and lore—some helpful, some simply curious. Each fragment painted a clearer picture of this strange world beneath the mountain.

 

You’d learned about the war between humans and monsters, the barrier that kept them trapped here, and the absence of any clear way to undo it. Knowing humanity’s tendency to lock away what they feared or didn’t understand, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

 

“They won’t understand—and I have to keep you safe.”

 

Another memory of your father’s murmured words surfaced, his hands gently sliding gloves over your glowing fingertips. You hadn’t understood then, but adulthood had made it painfully clear.

 

Being different was dangerous. It invited fear.

 

And these monsters—different as they were—felt oddly familiar. Comforting, even. Maybe that’s why this place felt a little like home.

 

But what happened next?

 

You remembered searching for Sans for a while. The confusion about the blue attack still gnawed at you, but after stocking up on supplies and waiting for him to show, you’d decided to move on. If he didn’t appear now, you figured he would later. If he cared to, that was.

 

The memory shifted: exiting the town, the river running alongside you, the sudden shift in weather as the wind whipped snow into a frenzy. The thick fog rolled in, cloaking everything in white.

 

And then Papyrus. He wanted to fight—and go on a date?

 

Papyrus?!

 

The jolt of realization shot through you like lightning. You sat up too quickly, wobbling as the world spun. Gripping the arm of the chair beneath you, you steadied yourself and took in your surroundings: a living room. Striped carpet. Maroon walls. A television flickering softly in the corner.

 

And... a sock?

 

You stared at it, lying conspicuously in the middle of the floor. It became your anchor as the dizziness ebbed. How did you get here? And where was here? Your gaze wandered, catching sight of a framed picture on the far wall—a single, proud bone displayed like a family portrait.

 

You were in their house.

 

Your breath stilled as your hands darted to your chest. Your coat and scarf were gone. Panic rose until you spotted them neatly hung on a coat rack by the door. The sight of something so normal, so mundane, allowed your shoulders to relax a fraction. Safe. You were safe… probably.

 

Fatigue tugged at you, the tension in your body finally releasing as you sank back into the cushions. Shutting your eyes, you retraced the events in your mind.

 

The fight with Papyrus.

 

You’d refused, of course. Fighting wasn’t your preference, not here, especially not with him. But he’d insisted, his voice brimming with pride and determination. To capture you and gain friends by becoming a Royal Guard? His conviction was as endearing as it was misguided. Even then, it hadn’t felt like his heart was truly in it—which was probably how the date thing had come up.

 

A small laugh escaped you, weak but genuine, as you recalled the absurdity. A date with Papyrus. You almost couldn’t believe it. Almost.

 

Then the memory darkened: blue.

 

Your eyes slitted open as the weight of it washed over you again—bones, gravity shifting, the strange force pulling at you. That’s what blue was: some kind of telekinesis, a magic that wrapped itself around your soul and turned every step into a battle. You remembered the helpless flailing, your limbs refusing to obey, as Papyrus stood tall and proud.

 

“You’re blue now,” he’d announced, almost gleeful.

 

A groan slipped from your lips, and you dropped an arm over your face. It ached. Everything ached. Probably from the desperate, awkward dodging, the impact of bones you couldn’t avoid, and the sheer effort of moving through the crushing weight.

 

You winced as another detail surfaced: the moment you stumbled into a blue bone. It hadn’t just hurt—it had lingered, a strange secondhand damage that didn’t feel entirely physical. It had left you shaky, your strength draining faster than you’d thought possible.

 

None of the other fights had been like this. They hadn’t made you feel so cornered, so overwhelmed. Papyrus hadn’t even seemed to realize the full extent of what he was doing.

 

But something else had happened. Something you couldn’t quite explain.

 

Your brow furrowed as you pieced the memory together. You’d stumbled, your body too tired to leap over another attack. A bone—large, spinning—hurtled toward you. You were certain it would hit.

 

Yet it hadn’t.

 

You remembered reaching out instinctively, your fingers spreading as a panicked thought echoing through your mind: Stop. Please…stop.

 

And it did.

 

Instead, the crushing pressure of the blue magic seemed to shift. Not away from you, but… toward the bone. It had stopped midair, suspended as though caught in the same invisible force that held you down.

 

The bone hovered for a moment, trembling in the air before disintegrating into soft blue particles. The weight around you had lessened for the briefest second before slamming back down, leaving you breathless and trembling.

 

Your fingers twitched against the sofa as the realization hit you. That wasn’t just the blue magic affecting you. That was you, wasn’t it? A chill ran through you, the memory of your father’s worried murmurs resurfacing as he hid your hands.

 

They won’t understand—and I have to keep you safe

 

He’d known. Even before you did.

 

That was where everything seemed to end. You and Papyrus stared at each other in shock before everything faded to black and you sank. You felt the chill of snow on your face then nothing at all.

 

And now you were here… on their sofa.

 

Safe.

 

The word repeated in your mind, almost like a mantra. Your fingers absently gripped the hem of your sweater, tugging it upward and over your head in a fluid motion. The blanket shifted slightly as you moved, its warmth contrasting with the sudden coolness against your skin.

 

Despite the security the sweater had offered, it felt suffocating now—too heavy, too close. You needed space. Air. A moment to breathe.

 

Safe.

 

Safe. Yeah, you were….

 

“Hey.”

 

You jolted awake, the sudden voice pulling you from the haze of sleep. You didn’t recall drifting off again, but you had, and now you were blinking groggily as your vision refocused. Hovering above you was a familiar grin, lopsided with …concern?

 

“Finally,” the grin began, “I was startin’ to worry we had a bone-afide problem on our hands.”

 

Sans.

 

You blinked up at him, still piecing together the world around you. His grin tilted slightly, a lopsided attempt to mask the unease in his eyes.

 

“How… how long was I out?” you croaked, your voice thick from sleep.

 

“Almost two days,” Sans replied, leaning back slightly to give you some space. “You really know how to keep a guy waitin’.”

 

“Two… days?” You sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket tighter around your form. Your muscles ached in protest, and you winced, though it wasn’t as bad as when you’d first woken up alone. “What happened?”

 

Sans exhaled, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before meeting yours as he perched on the edge of the sofa. “I’m still piecing it together. Paps freaked out. Burst in here carryin’ you like you were on your last leg—bruised up, out cold. He didn’t know what to do, and honestly? Neither did I.”

 

“Papyrus,” you murmured, guilt twisting in your stomach. “I don’t think he… I know he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Sans replied, his tone sharper than usual. “But he pushed too hard, and you pushed yourself even harder. He’s not built for this kinda thing, and—no offense—you aren’t either.”

 

You frowned, his words stinging more than you expected. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just… I didn’t want to fight him. But I couldn’t turn back either.”

 

Sans leaned back slightly, his expression softening into something more thoughtful. “And I get that. You didn’t wanna let him down, didn’t wanna back out. But sometimes, you gotta know when to step away. If you don’t, you’re just askin’ to get hurt.”

 

“So you think I should’ve run?” you asked, your voice tight.

 

Sans shrugged, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Yeah. Doesn’t make you weak; it makes you smart. Stickin’ around when the odds are stacked against you?” He tilted his head, his grin gaining a sharper edge. “That’s not bravery, Starlight. That’s just a shortcut to gettin’ yourself hurt.”

 

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling over. “I can’t just give up, Sans. If I don’t try, then what’s the point?”

 

Sans’ grin faltered, his sockets narrowing slightly as he studied you. “What’s the point if you’re just gonna fail?” he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself.

 

His words struck something deep within you. “You don’t really believe that,” you said softly.

 

His grin returned, but it was smaller now, tinged with something harder to read. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve seen enough to know what happens when someone picks a fight they can’t win.”

 

“But what if I can win?” you countered, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “What if trying is the only way to find out?”

 

Sans stared at you for a long moment, his sockets unreadable. Finally, he shook his head, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Just… don’t let ‘em get you in too deep.”

 

You exhaled slowly, glancing down at your hands. Your fingertips tingled faintly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of light before it disappeared. “I think…” You hesitated, the memory of the bone freezing midair resurfacing. “I think I stopped one of the bones. With… with my mind.”

 

Sans straightened, his sockets narrowing slightly as he regarded you. “Yeah, Paps mentioned somethin’ about that. Said you stopped his attack right before you collapsed.”

 

“I didn’t even know I could do that,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “It just… happened. I was desperate.”

 

Sans was silent for a beat, his gaze lingering on you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost cautious. “That’s… not somethin’ you see every day. Not from a human, anyway.”

 

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the blanket as you folded them against your lap. “Is that… bad?”

 

“Bad?” Sans echoed, his grin returning to its full brillance, though now with thoughtfulness. “Nah. Just… unexpected. I’m a bonehead when it comes to humans, but you’re full of surprises, Starlight.”

 

Before you could answer, the front door slammed open, startling you both. You turned with a jerk as Papyrus strode inside, his arms laden with large paper bags of groceries. “HUMAN!” he declared, his tone bright and triumphant. “You are awake! And just in time! I, the great Papyrus, have decided to prepare my world-famous spaghetti to aid in your recovery!”

 

You couldn’t help but smile, the dramatic flare in his tone lifting some of the lingering heaviness in the room. “Thanks, Papyrus,” you said warmly, shifting slightly beneath the blanket as you watched him march to the kitchen counter.

 

Papyrus placed the bags down carefully before turning back to you, his expression softening with remorse. He drew in a deep breath, his bony shoulders rising, before he stepped closer.

 

“Human,” he began, his voice quieter but still carrying his enthusiasm, “I… I must apologize. I, the GREAT Papyrus, should have been more mindful of your fragile human body! My strength can be… overwhelming.” He wilted slightly, his hands clasped behind his back. “It was not my intent to harm you. Merely to capture you.”

 

His earnestness tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Oh, Papyrus, it’s fine,” you assured him, waving a hand in dismissal. The motion caused the blanket draped around your shoulders to slip further down, exposing your bare arms and collarbones. The chill in the room prickled against your skin, and you instinctively clutched the blanket tighter, suddenly recalling your earlier decision to remove your sweater in your daze.

 

Papyrus tilted his head, oblivious to the shift, already rambling about his plans to perfect his recipe. But Sans? Sans had frozen. His sockets flickered, his grin faltering as his gaze caught on you—then darted away just as quickly. His face seemed to tense, and a faint blue glow sparked to life in his left socket. You caught it in your peripheral vision, and before you could speak, the blanket around you shifted.

 

With a faint hum of energy, the fabric rose and draped securely back over your shoulders. The soft glow lingered for a moment, reflecting off Sans’ grin, which had returned—though it was tighter than before.m“All set,” Sans murmured, his voice tinged with a teasing lilt, though the flush on his cheekbones betrayed his feigned ease. “Can’t have you catchin’ a cold now.”

 

You stared at him for a moment, your cheeks warming as you realized what he’d done. “Thanks,” you murmured softly, adjusting the blanket for good measure.

 

“Think nothing of it!” Papyrus interjected, completely unaware of the moment as he bounded back to the table with a flurry of determination. “Soon, human, you shall taste recovery in the form of pasta perfection!”

 

Sans chuckled, leaning back against the wall with his hands tucked in his hoodie pocket. The glow in his socket dimmed to nothing, but his gaze lingered on you for a fraction longer before he spoke again.

 

“Yeah, Starlight,” he drawled, his grin widening again, “stick around long enough, and you’ll learn one thing for sure: Papyrus’ spaghetti is… unforgettable.”

 

Papyrus turned with a flourish, misinterpreting the remark entirely. “Indeed! My culinary genius is unmatched!”

 

You laughed as you sank further into the blanket. Maybe getting captured wasn’t so bad after all.

Notes:

"Humans shouldn't be able to do that, right?" Papyrus, as he stands over Starlight's unconscious body, which he dumped on their couch.

 

* Shrugs * Sans

Chapter 7: : Defying gravity ::

Notes:

Practice makes perfect, right?

It had been a few days since you began staying with the Skeleton brothers. Papyrus insisted you remain until you were fully healed, and while Sans only offered a nonchalant shrug at the suggestion, his lack of protest felt like quiet approval. Each time you attempted to step outside, Papyrus was at your side in a flash, urging you to rest or distracting you with some new "important activity." His insistence that you rest and recover thwarting your plans to reach the save point at the village entrance.

 

Not that you were sure you wanted to touch it anymore.

 

The discovery of your newfound powers made you wary of the glowing warmth you’d once relied on. What had felt like a boon now unnerved you, the instant healing that once gave you the confidence, now brought a sense of hesitation. What else could it do? What else could you do?

 

Still, staying wasn’t all bad.

 

The couch had become your makeshift bed, and you quickly grew familiar with the peculiarities of the household. The ever-present sock, a source of constant argument between the brothers, often ended up draped over the armrest beside you. Sans’ pet rock, inexplicably dressed with googly eyes, became another silent companion during the quiet moments.

 

You weren’t entirely sure what the rock’s story was, but it fit the odd charm of the brothers perfectly.

 

The pause in your journey had given you time to learn more about your hosts and the underground alike. You enjoyed the chance to explore the brothers’ lives and the area they guarded so diligently. Papyrus, in particular, took pride in showing you the village and the hidden corners of Snowdin, explaining its history, and pointing out every detail of the puzzles that guarded it.

 

“And this, human,” he declared one afternoon, gesturing to a particularly elaborate maze of spikes and switches, “is a masterpiece of puzzle engineering! Of course, I made it myself.”

 

“It’s impressive,” you replied earnestly, though you weren’t entirely sure how it worked.

 

He beamed, clearly pleased with your response, before launching into a detailed explanation of how it was meant to stump any intruder, especially of the human variety. Except for you,of course. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying these excursions, despite their eccentricities.

 

Sans, on the other hand, trailed behind you and Papyrus during your tours through Snowdin, offering dry commentary that neatly balanced his brother’s boundless enthusiasm. His laid-back posture and need for a nap gave the impression of someone barely engaged, but the longer you stayed, the more you noticed the subtle ways he kept watch—on you, on Papyrus, on everything. Like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Like he always was.

 

There was something hiding beneath that lazy grin and half-lidded gaze. You could feel it—resting heavy in the space between his words. Maybe it wasn’t entirely hidden… but enough to make you wonder.

 

That wondering had led you here, standing in the hallway, hands on your hips, staring up at his locked bedroom door.

 

You’d been in Papyrus’ room more times than you could count by now. He welcomed you in like a proud host giving a royal tour. But Sans? He never even let you close to this door. And somehow, that stung more than you expected.

 

You tilted your head, frowning slightly. What was he hiding? Bones? More socks? A forbidden stash of pun books?

 

You squinted at the door. Then narrowed your eyes further. Would it open if you focused hard enough? Just a little nudge of whatever strange magic buzzed in your veins?

 

The doorknob shifted.

 

Your eyes widened.

 

The door creaked open slowly.

 

A shadow stretched into the hallway. Someone was there.

 

Panic flared in your chest. You darted your gaze around, desperate to act like you hadn’t just been caught trying to mentally break into Sans’ private space. Your eyes landed on the kitchen, and you hurried toward it like it owed you an alibi. You pressed your back against the cool wall, hiding your face in your hands. God. Had he seen you? Just staring at his door like a complete creep? Maybe you could’ve played it off. Curiosity. Boredom. Harmless wandering. But that wouldn’t erase the deeper truth, the one gnawing at you from the inside: you’d thought about breaking in. Just to feel a little closer to him.

 

You groaned into your palms. This was crazy. You needed to lock in. You didn’t have time to be investigating skeletons with skeletons in their closets. You needed to focus—on what was happening to you, on getting home. Not on a low-voiced, sharp-eyed monster who made your heart stutter just by looking your way.

 

“Hey, Starlight.”

 

Your breath caught—not from shock exactly, but something quieter. A pause in your thoughts. Sans voice came from just around the corner, that low, almost lazy tone he always had… but something about the way he said your name made it feel more personal. You lowered your hands slowly, turning just as Sans stepped into the kitchen, a crooked smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets.

 

“What’s up?”

 

You blinked, surprised at how long it took your brain to catch up. “Oh—uh, nothing. Just thinking.”

 

He gave a small shrug and moved past you, the soft shuffle of slippers on tile the only sound. He slipped his jacket on with one shoulder first, then the other, moving with a kind of thoughtless grace you hadn’t expected from someone who made so many jokes about naps and shortcuts.

 

Then, with that same casual fluidity, his hand moved to the drawstrings of his shorts. You glanced—only for a moment, really—watching as he cinched them snugly over the gentle sloped curve of his hip bones. You stared before looking away quickly. It was ridiculous. He didn’t even have skin. Or muscles. There was nothing traditionally human about him and yet… And yet, there was something magnetic in his ease. The way he moved, like nothing phased him. Like the world could fall apart and he’d still have his hands in his pockets and a pun on his tongue.

 

You cleared your throat. “Just… figuring some stuff out,” you added, hoping it sounded casual.

 

He didn’t press. Just leaned against the counter, his grin a little more relaxed now. “Well, careful. Too much thinking’ll fry your brain.”

 

You huffed a quiet laugh, grateful for the cover it gave you to reset your thoughts. You turned away from Sans, pretending to study the half-empty fruit bowl on the counter. Your cheeks were still warm, but you were doing your best to push the moment aside. He was just… adjusting his shorts. Normal. Innocent. Bone-standard behavior.

 

Still, your heart had no interest in calming down.

 

Sans leaned against the cabinet, arms crossed lazily over his hoodie, watching you with a faint grin. His eye lights, usually teasing or tired, had softened—more curious now than amused. “Y'know,” he started, scratching the back of his skull, “I’ve also been thinkin’...”

 

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Now, that sounds dangerous.”

 

“Heh. Cute.” He pushed off the cabinet, his steps unhurried as he moved toward you. “Nah, really. I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said—about stoppin’ that bone attack mid-air.”

 

You nodded slowly, turning to look at him. “I still don’t really understand it. It wasn’t like I did anything. It just… happened.”

 

“Yeah,” Sans murmured, now only a breath away. His gaze dipped to your hands, then back to your face. “That’s the part that bugs me.”

 

You held still as he leaned forward slightly, peering at you with quiet intensity. There was no blue glow this time, no dramatic flare of magic—just him, close enough to notice the dusting of flour on your shirt, close enough that you could count the faint cracks in his skull.

 

He wasn’t trying to scare you now. He was searching. For what, you weren’t sure. And despite yourself, you liked the way his attention settled on you—focused and still, like the rest of the world had fallen away.

 

“Magic doesn’t just ‘happen,’” he said softly. “Not like that. And not with humans.” He straightened again, exhaling a sigh as he turned his gaze toward the window.

 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter. “So… what are you saying?”

 

Sans shrugged, his hands finding his pockets again. “I’m sayin’ maybe we oughta test a few things. See what triggers it. What you can do. What you can’t.” His voice lowered slightly. “Before someone gets really hurt.”

 

You raised a brow, trying to smile and poke fun at yourself to lighten the mood. “You mean before I get really hurt.”

He hesitated, his weight shifting on one heel.

“Exactly.”

The humor had drained from his voice entirely, and that—more than anything—made your chest tighten. That was another thing you were noticing about the skeleton: Sans didn’t drop the act often. When he did, it meant something.

You studied his face, trying to find the usual cracks in his composure, but there were none. Just quiet worry. “…Okay,” you started, your voice softer now. “Where do we start?”

 

His grin came back slowly. You could also compare it to a sunrise over fresh snow. It was one of the genuin.e ones. “Was thinkin’ we’d take a little walk. Out past the edge of town. Somewhere quiet.”

 

You blinked. “The forest?”

 

“Yeah. Plenty of space out there. And hey, consider it… practical field research.” His grin twitched. “Plus, you’ll get a feel for moving in the snow again. Before the next monster decides you’re overdue for a sparring match.”

 

You looked down at your fingers, flexing them slightly. The memory of the bone freezing midair came again, electric and surreal. Something had changed in you that day, and it wasn’t just the bruises.

You lifted your gaze back to him. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He nodded once, slowly. “Grab your coat, Starlight. Not that you’ll need it—I’ll be the one breakin’ a sweat.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across your lips. With a quiet shuffle, you moved into the living room and reached for your coat by the door.

 

---

 

You followed Sans through the forest, the snow crunching softly under your boots. The cold didn't bother you as much now, though the chill still kissed your cheeks and nose. This part of the Underground had become strangely familiar, even comforting.

 

Your eyes drifted to the trees lining the path. Sparse, crystalline with frost, their shapes twisted upward into the darkness of the cavern ceiling. You couldn't help but wonder how anything managed to grow down here, but then again, it was snowing underground. At this point, you were learning not to question too much.

 

“Say, Starlight.”

 

You glanced up, gaze catching on Sans’ back as he walked a few paces ahead, hands deep in his hoodie pocket.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You seem real comfortable out here.” His voice was casual, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it. “With everything goin’ on, I’ve yet to see you lose your cool.” He slowed, glancing over his shoulder. The pale white glow in his socket was soft, almost lost in the snowfall. “Kinda surprising. For a human.”

 

You gave a quiet laugh, shifting your coat tighter around yourself. “Yeah, well... the forest isn’t anything new to me. I grew up in one. Camping, bushcraft, survival stuff. My dad always said panicking is a luxury we couldn’t afford.”

 

Sans let out a low whistle. “Sounds like he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

 

You smiled, your eyes lifting to the cavern ceiling above. “He does. I came into his life when he was already older, so I think I got the best version of him—wise, calm, kind of stubborn. All that good stuff.”

 

At that, Sans slowed to a stop, turning slightly to look back at you. There was no teasing in his expression—just quiet interest, maybe a bit of softness in the way his shoulders dipped.

 

You met his gaze for a second, then kept walking, moving up beside him. If you wanted him to open up eventually, you figured it was only fair to go first.

 

“I was adopted,” you said, brushing a low branch out of your path. “Well, found, really. He was out collecting firewood and found me instead. A little bruised, scraped up... but alive. The weird part?” You let out a breath that was part laugh, part sigh. “I didn’t remember a thing. Not even my name.”

 

Sans’ gaze followed you closely now, his steps quiet in the snow beside yours.

 

“You don’t remember anything?” he asked.

 

You shook your head. “Not from before him, no. Just waking up in that cabin. Just his voice. Everything else starts from there.” There was a beat of silence between you—just the crunch of snow and the distant howl of wind through the rocks.

 

“That’s rough,” Sans said at last. “Not knowin’ where you come from.”

 

You shrugged, but the motion was small. “I used to think so. But he gave me everything else. A home. A name. A reason to keep going.”

 

He was quiet again, but this time the silence felt heavier, more thoughtful. And when he finally spoke, there was something unreadable in the way he said it.

 

“Guess not all good things start with a full story.”

 

The words lingered in the quiet air, softened by the snow falling gently around you. Your lips curved into a bright, genuine smile. “Well, of course not. We make our own story, right? It’s not about where we come from—it’s about where we’re going.”

 

Sans looked at you, almost like he hadn’t expected that answer. His grin stretched a little wider and there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Admiration, maybe. Or understanding. “Yer quite the Optimist,” he finally murmured.

 

You looked away for a moment, pretending to scan the trees, trying to bury the way his voice left your chest fluttering. He disarmed you too easily—with jokes, with glances, with words that somehow hit deeper than they should’ve.

 

“That being said…” Sans exhaled with theatrical weariness, “Looks like our epic journey’s reached its thrilling conclusion.”

 

You followed his gaze as he motioned ahead with a tilt of his skull. The forest gave way to a small clearing beneath a rocky cliffside. It was still, quiet, and spacious enough for what you guessed he had in mind. You stepped out into it slowly, taking it in—the hush of falling snow, the way your footsteps broke the untouched surface. You turned in a slow circle, inspecting the space with calm interest.

 

The forest path opened to a wide, snow-dusted clearing beneath a sheer cliffside. Icicles hung like frozen spikes overhead, and the falling snow made the world feel small and private. Your steps were slow as you walked forward, measuring the ground with quiet awe. You wouldn’t have admitted it, but this felt strangely sacred—different from the forest by town, more alive with silent possibility.

 

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly.

 

Sans gave a noncommittal shrug, though you caught the glint of something fond in his eye. “Eh. It’ll do.”

 

You took a few more steps forward, then stopped and looked back at him. “So… this is where the experiments begin?”

 

He stepped into the clearing after you, shoulders slightly hunched as usual—but his posture felt more deliberate now. Focused.

 

“Yup,” he said. “But don’t worry. We’re not gonna start throwin’ bones just yet.”

 

You laughed gently, your breath fogging in the air. There was a brief pause as you both stood there in the falling snow, the silence not awkward but full, like a dramatic pause before the turn of fate. Then, as if the moment had reached its natural end and Fate was satisfied with the return of its two capable subjects, Sans looked toward you again, one socket lighting up in a soft glow.

 

“Alright, Starlight,” he said, his tone shifting just slightly. “Let’s see what that magic of yours can really do.”

 

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. There it was again—his voice, steady, confident… but gentle.

 

“I… I’m nervous,” you admitted softly.

 

Sans paused, looking at you before his brow lowered with unexpected warmth. “You don’t have to be scared,” he waved it off, more sincere than you’d ever heard him. “I’m right here.”

 

That one phrase—so quiet, so earnest—lit something in you. A spark of Determination. You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s start.”

 

He stepped back a few paces and raised a hand, tilting his head to the tree. “Alright, when you’re ready… aim for that tree. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

You drew in a breath, shoulders stiffening as you focused. You pushed forward—like trying to throw your will through the air itself. There was a strange tug deep in your diaphragm, like your body remembered how it was supposed to feel.

 

But nothing happened.

 

You stared, willing something—anything—to happen. Another push. Another breath.

 

Still, the tree stood there in perfect, indifferent silence.

 

“Fascinating,” Sans quipped, behind you. “Absolutely nothing. A real showstopper before it even started.”

 

You turned, shooting him a glare over your shoulder. “Helpful.”

 

He smirked and plopped down in the snow, reclining like he had all the time in the world. “Hey, I’m just the support staff. You’re the one with the weird misplaced sparkly powers.”

 

You exhaled sharply and crossed your arms. “Last time… I didn’t mean to do anything. It just happened. Papyrus turned me blue, and it felt like gravity had me in a chokehold.”

 

Sans nodded, leaning back against a rock, his gaze suddenly a bit more focused. “Right. That’s something I can work with.” He tilted his skull thoughtfully. “Though fair warning—my methods are… let’s just say, not FDA-approved.”

 

You blinked at him. “I’m not even sure that applies down here.”

 

“Exactly.” He shifted upright again, brushing some snow from his shorts. “Thing is, magic like that? It’s rarely about thinking hard. It’s about pressure. Emotion. Instinct.”

 

You straightened slightly, bracing yourself without even realizing it. You remembered how Papyrus had mentioned—somewhat proudly—that Sans was frighteningly good with his magic when he actually used it. That little flare of blue when he’d adjusted the blanket around your shoulders days ago was the last time you’d felt its pulse closely.

 

Now, he stood again, brushing snow off his hands. One socket narrowed as he looks at you.

 

“You trust me?”

 

You looked at him, surprised by the shift in his voice. It was quieter now—serious, even. One of his eye lights dimmed, leaving the other glowing its usual white, waiting.

 

“Uh… I guess I—”

 

“Good.”

 

You barely had time to gasp.

 

The air around you shifted, as if someone had pulled the floor out from under your soul. It wasn’t violent—but it wasn’t soft either. It was controlled. Familiar, in a way that made your chest twist.

 

Because you’d felt this before.

 

That first time, on the bridge… when Sans had gripped your soul to scare you. Then, it had felt like a fist around your heart—tight, cold, foreign. Something that wanted you to feel small and insignificant.

 

But this?

 

This was different.

 

Still powerful, still unnatural—but now it was careful. Measured. Like he was holding something instead of testing it. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to use, and more importantly—how not to hurt you.

 

The pull lifted you from the snow, your breath catching in your throat as your boots left the ground. You flailed instinctively, twisting midair to look for something—anything—solid.

 

Your gaze landed on Sans.

 

He stood calmly, one hand raised. His stance was easy, and unconcerned—but there was focus in every inch of him. One of his sockets was dark, but the other was lit up bright blue, glowing with an eerie brilliance. The pupil inside had expanded—larger than before, more intense than you remembered. Not the casual glow from jokes or shrugging off danger. This was concentration. Control.

 

And still, somehow… gentle.

 

He gave you a crooked grin. “How bad do ya want down, Starlight?”

 

“Very,” you squeaked, arms flailing as you twisted in the air. Your fingers grasped at nothing, feet kicking at the wind as gravity became a stranger.

 

“Then do something about it.”

 

You stared down at the lazy skeleton below, then around at the pine-lined clearing. The trees swayed gently, indifferent once again to your distress. This wasn’t like the forest training you grew up with. Survival, sure. Tracking, fighting, camping through storms—you had all that drilled into you since you were able to pick up an axe. But this?

 

This was different.

 

A power that wasn’t supposed to be yours. Humans didn’t have magic. Not really. And even if Sans was trying to help… he didn’t exactly offer instructions.

 

So what did that make you?

 

And where—

 

“Starlight,” Sans called, his voice a little sharper now, “get your head outta the clouds.”

 

You blinked, and realized with a jolt that he’d lifted you higher. You were level with the cliffside now, the snow-laced ledge not far from your boots. The world seemed smaller from here. Colder. You felt like a kite on a string he hadn’t quite let go.

 

“Sans, this isn’t helping!” you shouted down at him, waving your arms in exasperation. “How am I supposed to fight something I don’t understand?!”

 

From the ground, his grin widened—and the glow in his eye flared. The soft blue light twisted, deepened… and then, without warning, snapped to a sharp yellow.

 

“Wait—” you gasped.

 

A bone zipped past your shoulder, whistling through the air with terrifying speed. You jerked to the side instinctively, your heart leaping into your throat.

 

“SANS!”

 

He cupped a hand around his nonexistent ear. “Sorry, Starlight! Can’t hear ya over the trees!”

 

Another bone burst from the snow beside him and launched upward.

 

You twisted midair again, panic fluttering beneath your ribs—but something else was rising too. A pressure. A spark. Not fear.

 

Instinct.

 

“Stop throwing bones at me!” you yelled, dodging another one as it zipped past your ribs, far too close for comfort.

 

Sans was absolutely grinning now, both hands back in his hoodie pockets, that glowing eye still fixed on you with devilish amusement.

 

“Make me.”

 

You let out a furious noise—something between a growl and a desperate yelp. “I swear to—Sans! Put me down!”

 

The glow in his eye flared again, and for a second you thought he’d ignore you—but then, something snapped.It wasn’t a sound exactly, more like a feeling, a tension breaking deep in your gut. And suddenly the air dropped out from under you.

 

“Wait—!”

 

You plummeted for all of a second before he caught you again—suddenly but still with restraint, cradling your weight in midair. Sans’ expression had shifted; that amused smirk faltered just a little as he extended both hands toward you, eye still glowing blue, bones tensed with focus.

 

“Okay, okay—gotcha,” he muttered. “Yeesh, you really weren’t kiddin’. You broke my hold.”

 

You huffed, arms wrapped tight around yourself as you floated, his magic holding you carefully above the snowy ground. “Yeah well…I don’t kn-”

 

But even as you said it, the feeling inside you surged again—stronger this time. A pressure without direction. Without warning, another invisible snap echoed in your chest.

 

Sans cursed just before his magic faltered completely—and you dropped again.

 

This time, there was no pause.

 

Only impact.

 

Well, almost.

 

Sans lunged forward at the last second, catching you in his arms in a mess of snow, limbs, and a startled grunt. The two of you hit the drift together, his hoodie catching a pile of frost as you collided, tangled and breathless. You gasped, blinking up at him as you found yourself half-laying across his chest, your hands braced on his ribs. His arms were still curled protectively around you. The snow muffled everything—his breathing, the forest, your own thoughts. Only his glowing eye remained lit for a beat longer, fading back to white as he stared down at you.

 

“Heh,” he muttered, the smirk slowly returning. “Told ya this would be groundbreaking.”

 

You let out a breathless laugh, burying your face in his hoodie, just glad to be back on the ground. “You’re the worst.”

 

“Yeah, but admit it—ya feelin’ a little more grounded now?”

Notes:

Did you guys see what I did with the title there?

Do you get it?

is it funny?

Am I fu-

Chapter 8: // FILE LOG 043-A

Summary:

>> Loading Gaster archive
>> WARNING : Unauthorized access of CLASSIFIED LOGS may result in timeline destabilization.

Notes:

Quite some time ago, A Young Sans found a Star. Gaster documented it.

 

// FILE LOG 043-A  
// >> #001-ST★RLIGHT
// AUTHOR: W.D. GASTER  
// ASSISTANT: SANS  
// CLASSIFIED LEVEL: TOP CLEARANCE ONLY – LAB_OMEGA_ACCESS  
// ENTRY TYPE: INITIAL INTAKE REPORT
// SUBJECT: FALLEN STAR PHENOMENON / INTERSPECIES CONTACT  
// DATE: [REDACTED]  
// LOCATION: CORE-SUB LAB 3, STASIS HALL

---

 

STATUS: Subject contained.
Vital signs: stable.
Cognitive response: active.
Vocal: minimal.
Behavioral: subdued, alert.

Event timestamp aligns with seismic anomaly recorded three hours prior—magnitude 8.2, centered at Mt. Ebott’s outer perimeter. Initial field hypothesis: tectonic rupture. 

Updated hypothesis: impact event .

Atmospheric breach confirmed by satellite echo signatures. Light trail observed by multiple surface-level monitors. Readings were inconsistent with meteorological activity—too slow, too controlled. Descent arc narrowed within a 3.7 km margin of precision. Impossible without propulsion.

We believed a star fell.

We were half right.

---

 

Sans brought her in.

 

I was still reconfiguring the lab’s seismic shield when the boy materialized at the chamber doors, panting, jacket off, and cradling something in his arms. At first, I assumed an injured monster child—then I saw the glow.

 

The figure was small but adolescent. Her skin a muted dusk tone, glowing faintly at the edges like an ember in its final breath. She was dressed in little more than scorched fabric and Sans’ jacket, which hung off her like a blanket.

She pulsed.
Not metaphorically. Literally .

Celestial light shimmered just beneath her skin—rippling like heat mirages, only more rhythmic. Structured. Her hair spilled in waves of incandescent silver. Her face was buried against his chest, but even that close, I could feel it.

 

Radiation. Power. Pressure. Gravity.
Too much. All at once. But somehow, contained.

 

“What happened?” I asked.

 

Sans was sweating. A rare thing. His magic was jittery beneath his bones in panic, barely held together.

 

“She fell,” he said. “From the sky. It just… spit her out.” His voice cracked halfway through.

 

I asked how he knew she wasn’t dangerous.
He didn’t answer.

 

Instead, he looked down at her again—arms tightening, like he was daring me to try and take her away.

 

I didn’t.

I ordered the scanner activated.

---

 

Diagnostics Log:

• Human vitals: detected. Stable.
• Blood pressure, temperature, oxygen saturation: within humanoid adolescent range.
• EEG patterns: elevated neural activity consistent with REM sleep and—possibly—memory suppression.
• Energy signatures: unprecedented. Readings exceed containment parameters. Cosmic magic? Theoretical until today.

There is a soft, rhythmic pulse of energy centered just beneath the sternum.
It flickers like a heartbeat—brighter than anything we’ve recorded.
Not a foreign object. It’s embedded in the tissue. Organic. Native. Sentient, perhaps.

She began to stir beneath the scanner.
Her eyes opened slowly—luminous, wide, and strangely calm.
No fear. Just quiet curiosity.

She flinched when the scanner beeped.
Then, almost instinctively, turned her head and looked for him .

Even dazed and half-conscious, her hand found Sans’ sleeve.
She held onto it like an anchor—like she knew if she let go, she’d drift into space.

Sans didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.

“Did she tell you her name?” I asked.

“Nope,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his skull. “She… said she didn’t remember. So I gave her one for now. She said she liked it.”

“And what name is that?”

“Starlight.”

She looked at him when he said it.
And—despite everything—she smiled.

A soft, small thing.

Her readings spiked. Pupil dilation. Heart rate. Neural activity.

She reacts to him.

---

 

Her body might be humanoid, but her core magic is celestial. The markings along her spine are constellation maps. When exposed to light, they animate—tiny stars trailing across her skin in living sigils. Some of them match archaic sky charts. Others? Completely undocumented. Possibly undiscovered.

I cannot determine her origin.

Is she human?

She has human cells. A human brain.
A human heartbeat.

But also:

• Neutrino trails inconsistent with terrestrial formation.
• Dimensional phase echoes.
• Energy wavelengths observed only in failed quantum fusion experiments.
• Radiation patterns older than recorded history.

She is something between a girl and a singularity.
And yet—

When Sans said her name, she smiled.

She should be terrified.
She should be feral , confused, fighting to understand where she is.
Instead, she remains calm—so long as he is within arm’s reach.

Her nervous system exhibits elevated cortisol levels, but the moment Sans speaks, the stress markers plummet.
Her entire system synchronizes to his presence.
This is not nurture. Not proximity.
This is imprinting.

---

 

Note:
Further tests will determine the nature of this bond.

But from what I’ve seen…
It is mutual.

He hasn’t left her side.
He doesn’t look like he plans to.

---

 

:: FILE END - 043-A >> #001-ST★RLIGHT
:: NOTES:
- CONTINUE ROUND-THE-CLOCK MONITORING.
- MARKED FOR PSIONIC AND QUANTUM TESTING.
- DNA SAMPLE COLLECTED—RESULTS INCONCLUSIVE.
:: ASSISTANT SANS ACCESS: TEMPORARY, CONDITIONALLY APPROVED.
:: ADMIN TAG: “CELESTIAL SUBJECT EXHIBITS UNEXPLAINED BOND WITH SANS. DO NOT SEPARATE.”

 

Chapter 9: : Pandora's Box ::

Notes:

Flowey is a lil mean.

You sank into the couch with a groan, the cushions swallowing you whole like a long-lost friend.

Today had been exhausting—not the kind of exhaustion from running or fighting, but something stranger. Deeper. Like you’d been flexing a part of yourself you didn’t even know existed until now.

Power.

The forest had given you more than bruises and frostbite. It had given you answers.

Sort of.

You now knew that you could cancel magic. Sometimes. That you could push it off when it pressed in too close, like brushing off cobwebs that didn’t belong. But more than that—you could mimic it. Not just defend, but throw it back.

 

That second discovery had come when Sans, ever the menace, hoisted you into the air again. Tossing bones your way like snowballs and watching with that damn smirk.

 

"Do something, Starlight,” he’d said, so calmly it made everything worse.

 

You’d been ready to yell at him—again—until one of the bones cracked against your shoulder and something snapped into place. Instinct surged.

 

Your hand shot forward and, without thinking, you summoned one of your own. A single white bone, glowing faintly, hurled right back at him. You could still see the flicker of surprise that broke across his grin before he caught it mid-air, brows raised.

 

It hadn’t been clean. Or graceful.

 

But it worked.

 

Now you were sprawled across the couch like a discarded marionette, limbs heavy and brain buzzing. You felt like you’d used every ounce of energy you had and then some.

 

You heard Sans walk past behind the couch, his footsteps soft against the carpeted floor. He paused briefly, gaze flicking down at you. “Very interesting,” he murmured.

 

You cracked one eye open to look back at him, face still pressed to the pillow. “Tell me about it,” you muttered.

 

Before he could respond, the front door burst open.

 

“WHAT is interesting!?” Papyrus boomed, marching into the room with the same dramatic urgency he applied to everything. “I hope it’s NOT that YOU overexerted the HUMAN again, SANS. We DISCUSSED this.”

 

Sans, leaning over the sofa craned his head to look at his brother, barely lifted his brow. “Nah, bro. She’s fine. Just a little magically winded.”

 

You groaned and offered a feeble thumbs-up from under the blanket.

 

Papyrus gasped and knelt beside you as though you were on your deathbed. “YOU POOR THING. YOU NEED SPAGHETTI. You will need your strength!”

 

You blinked blearily at him, your voice no more than a sleepy murmur as you shifted in your blanket, your limbs seemingly not willing to cooperate. “Think I need a nap first…”

 

Sans chuckled behind him, clearly tired himself but still grinning. “Heh… maybe hold off on the carbs, bro. Let her crash first. She’ll eat later.”

 

Papyrus blinked, then nodded with great solemnity. “Very well. But I shall prepare it in advance. NO EXCEPTIONS!”

 

You barely registered him marching off to the kitchen when a familiar warmth scooped you up—Sans, guiding your arms and legs back into the proper sprawl of the sofa, your blanket tucked around you again with surprising gentleness.

 

He settled you in like it was second nature, his fingers brushing your shoulder in a way that made you too tired to react—but not too tired to notice.

 

You blinked up at him from beneath pale heavy lashes as he chuckled, muttering low under his breath, “stubborn humans… magic faintin’ spells… never a dull moment.”

 

Your lips parted, the last of your energy bubbling up in a whisper:

 

“Sans…”

 

He paused, one eye light flickering faintly, but whatever words were on your tongue slipped away as sleep finally took you—pulling you down into warm darkness, safe and held by the quiet rhythm of the room.

 

---

 

When you opened your eyes again, the room had gone dark.

 

The steady hum of the heater replaced the muffled noise of the day. Shadows striped the walls in soft, dusky lines, cast through the blinds by what little artificial light still flickered outside the window. You blinked slowly, your body heavy and limbs tangled in your blanket cocoon, every muscle warm and slack from sleep.

 

How hard did you crash?

 

You sat up with a quiet grunt, rubbing your face as your thoughts slowly caught up to the present. The training. The magic. The forest. The teasing glint in Sans’ eye when he floated you off the ground like you weighed nothing. Your stomach fluttered unhelpfully at the memory.

You didn’t want to think about him like that—not really. Or maybe you did. But it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when you were tangled up in mystery, magic, and monsters.

 

Still, the image of his grin lingered.

 

You sighed and stood up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders as you padded softly into the hallway. The house was still—Papyrus had probably retired to his room, and Sans… well, you rarely knew exactly where Sans was, only that he had a habit of turning up when you least expected him to.

 

Your stomach growled, dragging you from your thoughts and into the kitchen.

 

The cold from the fridge kissed your skin as you opened it, and there on the middle shelf sat a bright red container with a crooked sticky note pressed proudly on top:

 

“EAT UP, HUMAN!
Strength and flavor guaranteed.
—The Great Chef Papyrus”

 

You couldn’t help the soft, tired laugh that bubbled up as you pulled the container out. It was oddly touching—simple, sweet. For all his theatrics, Papyrus had a generous heart. You were lucky to have landed in this home.

 

You cradled the container in your arms for a moment longer than necessary, a fond smile tugging at your lips. You wondered, for a fleeting moment, what it would be like if this could last. If you stayed.

 

Then, turning back toward the counter—

 

You froze.

 

Your breath caught mid-laugh. The container slipped in your fingers, clattering onto the counter.

 

There, at the kitchen window, a pair of hollow eyes stared back at you.

 

Flowey.

 

That grin. That monstrous, too-wide grin split across his face like a wound carved into flesh. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. He just watched you.

 

Only for a second.

 

Then he was gone—like he’d never been there at all.

 

But you knew what you saw.

 

Panic slammed into your chest like a freight train. Your heart thundered. Before you even realized it, your hand had already yanked open the front door. No coat. No shoes. No hesitation.

 

The snow bit into your skin like a thousand tiny needles, but you didn’t stop.

 

You couldn’t stop.

 

You didn’t know why it felt so urgent—only that it did. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

 

You ran. Into the cold, into the trees. The echo of the crunch of snow beneath your feet and the burning in your lungs. The forest swallowed you whole, shadows bending around branches, your breath rising in frantic plumes.

 

And still you ran.

 

Driven by something deeper than fear.

 

Something close to dread.

 

Something telling you that if you didn’t catch him now…

 

…you’d lose something you couldn’t get back.

 

And so you ran. The world narrowed to the pounding of your heart and the sting of the wind on your face. Your breath tore from your lungs in white bursts, and still, you pushed forward. He was out here. Somewhere. You didn’t know why you had to find him, only that you did—like something inside you had snapped awake. A tug in your chest, sharp and urgent, dragging you through the dark trees.

 

The forest twisted around you. The same snow-covered branches that had once felt peaceful now loomed like claws. The wind whispered wrong, and every shadow seemed to move just beyond your vision.

 

Why now? Why here?

 

You came to a stop, chest heaving, surrounded by silence.

 

And then—

 

“Well, howdy.”

 

Your gaze snapped to the side. The golden flower swayed lazily in the snow, half-sunk, his grin slicing through the gloom.

 

“Y’know… you’re taking your sweet time here, idiot.”

 

A golden flower, half-buried in the snow, grinning like he'd been waiting just for you. His petals bobbed with every word like they were listening, like they enjoyed this.

 

Your stomach dropped.

 

Flowey.

 

Of course.

 

“Tch. Wasting it on those skeletons,” he sneered. “You really think this ends well for any of you? You’re stupider than I thought. You’re all gonna die.”

 

The cold seeped deeper into your skin, but it wasn’t the snow. It was his voice—casual, amused, like he was discussing the weather.

 

Your throat tightened, bile rising in your chest.

 

“You are a miserable little flower,” you hissed, taking a step toward him before you could stop yourself. “Why are you like this?”

 

You didn’t expect an answer. Part of you hoped he’d just vanish. Part of you wanted to stomp him into the ground.

 

Flowey tilted his head. His petals shifted, too delicate for the malice curling behind his words. “Why?” he echoed before laughing. “I told you before. It’s kill or be killed.”

 

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Flowey—”

 

“I’ve killed them before, you know.”

 

The world stopped.

 

You stared at him.

 

No. He didn’t say what you thought he said.

 

“What.”

 

Flowey shrugged, like he was talking about stepping on ants. “Yeah. It’s been really boring around here until you showed up. I needed something to do. Something to change it up a bit. So I did it. I killed them and everyone else. Papyrus loses his head—literally. Sans doesn’t say much. Just stares at me with that dumb grin until it cracks.”

 

Your ears rang.

 

No.

 

Papyrus—sweet, Papyrus. You pictured him laughing, offering spaghetti, swearing his friendship and protection.

 

And Sans… his dry voice, his quiet loyalty, the way he called you Starlight like it meant something. Your heart twisted at the idea of anything happening to them.

 

He couldn’t have meant it. He had to be lying.

 

You took a shaky breath. “You’re lying,” you whispered. It was all you could manage.

 

Flowey’s smile only widened.

 

“Oh? Now why would I do that?” he said brightly, looking around like he’d lost something in the snow. “Wow. Actually It was right about… here.”

 

The world tilted. Your breath caught, and your blood thundered in your ears.

 

Here?

 

You took a shaky step back, eyes locked on the space he motioned to so casually. Something ancient stirred in your chest—like a thread being pulled tight, fraying at the edges. The fraying ends felt like they were reaching out… reaching for something when it… found it.

 

Something in another place reaching for you.

 

And then—

 

The snow shimmered.

 

At first, it looked like heat mirage, the air rippling above the ground. But this wasn’t warmth. It was wrong—too still, too heavy. Like something was watching. Then the shimmer deepened, twisting the world around you.

 

Your heart stuttered. The clearing around you blurred, washed over in pale light.

 

Loading save state.

 

You saw them.

 

It was like looking through fogged glass… or a dirty mirror.

A flicker—Papyrus, standing tall and defiant, his voice raised, too far away to hear.

Then—

A blur of motion.

A crack.

A bone snapped. A body fell.

Papyrus crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, his scarf fluttering uselessly to the ground followed by a wave of ash.

You staggered forward without thinking.

No.

The image shifted. A flash of blue.

A jacket—torn, soaked through with blood. Sans was on one knee, breathing hard—he was still breathing—until a vine lashed through the vision like a whip, striking too fast to scream.

 

His eye light vanished.

 

You felt something inside you snap.

 

No.

 

The memory hit like a weight to the chest. You dropped to your knees in the snow, your hand digging into the ice for balance, but there was no ground anymore—just that moment repeating, flickering like film caught in a reel.

 

Papyrus collapsing.

 

Sans bleeding out.

 

Ash.

 

Alone. Again.

Your hands curled into fists as your vision swam. It wasn’t just sadness. It was rage. Your throat burned. It wasn’t a memory you’d lived, but it felt like one. Like something carved into your soul, just waiting to be uncovered.

 

And then—like a flash, like a bolt of power lanced through your ribs—

 

A word seared across your vision:

 

RESET.

 

Just like before. Just like the SAVE light.

 

You rose slowly, trembling with fury, your breath frosting in the air. You turned to him—to it—that flower grinning up at you like it hadn’t just desecrated everything sacred.

 

“You…” The word escaped you like a hiss of steam. “You monster.” The words left your mouth without your permission, trembling with rage and horror.

 

Flowey giggled.

 

“Oh wow… you saw it, didn’t you? You remember.” His voice was delighted, childlike. “You’re strong. Stronger than the others.”His eyes narrowed. “But not like the human child here now. You’re… different.”

 

The air shifted again.

 

Different.

 

A different kind of strong?

 

What did that mean?

 

And…

 

“A child—? There’s a human child here?” Your voice cracked on the word.

 

His grin stretched.

 

“Oops. Guess I shouldn’t’ve told you that.” His petals swayed in mock innocence. “Oh well. Time to—”

 

He stopped. Everything stopped.

 

You felt it—the same gravitational lurch you’d felt once before when you’d first arrived under ground. A pull. Something trying to drag you back, erase the moment, fold it in on itself like it never happened.

 

No. Don’t let him.

 

You braced yourself, eyes narrowing, magic humming under your skin. You took a step forward—and the pull faltered. The air skipped, like a skipped beat in a song.

 

Flowey’s grin faded.

 

“…What?”

 

His voice had lost its sing-song lilt.

 

“You blocked me?”

 

The disbelief in his tone curdled into something darker. You watched his form change, stem twisting, petals curling inward like fangs, vines slithering up from the earth and encircling his stalk.

 

“Ohh… how fun.” His voice was no longer innocent.

 

It was deadly.

 

He grew taller, wider. Thorns jutted out like daggers, and his face split into something jagged and inhuman, mouth widening too far across the bloom.

 

“This is new. This is fuuun.”

 

Flowey’s voice curled through the trees like smoke, gleeful and grotesque. “I guess you’ve got more control here than I thought, for something not human. Which means…”

 

His voice dropped—low and jagged—echoing like a gunshot through the clearing.

 

“I’ll have to kill you first.”

 

You took a step back, head tilting defiantly as he rose taller, his stem stretching, twisting. Roots cracked up from beneath the snow, slamming into the earth with bone-jarring force. Bark split. Soil tore. The ground itself seemed to shudder.

 

“Don’t worry,” Flowey hissed, his petals twitching like claws. “I’ll reset after I do. And you? You won’t remember a thing. Then we’ll start again. And again. And again. My fun little toy. I’ll make you into the perfect toy. Even if I have to break you into pieces to do it.”

 

Something ripped up your spine—something hot and bright and furious. Rage, not just your own, but protective. Like a shield snapping into place over something precious.

 

He kept talking, voice curling around you like a noose.
“You don’t even belong here. They don’t love you. You’re just a novelty. A puzzle. Papyrus is naïve enough to fall for anything. But Sans?”

 

His grin split wider. “He doesn’t want you. He’s afraid of you.”

 

A snap in your chest—like steel drawn across flint.

 

A spark.

 

You took a step forward, rage and light gathering at your fingertips. “You talk too much,” you snarled. Your hands burned—literally burned—with light so white it was almost silver. Like starfire made solid. It raced along your arms, crackling, pulsing with intent.

 

“You’re just trying to sew the same doubt you live in. You want me to break—so I can’t fight back.”

 

Your fists clenched.
Not empty.
Not empty anymore.

 

In your grasp, the light solidified, folding in on itself with impossible weight. Metal without metal. Magic with memory.

 

A weapon.

 

You stared down in awe as your fingers gripped the haft of a great silver axe, humming with soul-deep power. Etched lines shimmered faintly along its edge, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat. It didn’t feel foreign.

 

It felt like yours.

 

Flowey recoiled slightly, the grin slipping just a fraction.

 

“You shouldn’t have shown me this,” you breathed, lifting the weapon, the blade flaring as if echoing your voice. “You shouldn’t have made me remember.Your hubris will be your downfall—I’ll stop you.”

 

You glanced down at the weapon in your hands—this impossible thing born from light and rage. The silver axe pulsed with the rhythm of your soul, as if it had been waiting for you all along.

 

It was heavy, but not with weight.
It was heavy with meaning.

 

The same way the word “SAVE” had glowed before.
The way “RESET” had echoed in the snow like a warning.
Game language. That’s what this was.
Like the world was built on rules you hadn’t been told—but had felt.

 

Your fingers tightened around the haft.
Was that what Flowey was doing this whole time? Resetting like loading a save file? Like this was all just…

 

A game?

 

No. No, it wasn’t a game. Not to you.

 

Your gaze rose again, landing on the flower—twisted now, monstrous and towering—but still smiling like nothing could touch him.

 

Maybe Sans was afraid of you. You’d felt it. The way his voice changed when you brought up your magic. The way he studied you with that strange, silent worry behind his grin.

 

He had a right to be. Because right now? You weren’t sure what you were becoming.

 

But fear didn’t matter. They mattered.

 

You planted your bare feet in the snow and lifted the axe, the glow from its blade casting long lines of silver across the trees. Protect them. That was the only thing that felt certain now. Papyrus. Sans. Even if it meant burning up like a star in the process.

 

Flowey tilted his massive, thorned head, his smile stretching into something razor-sharp. “Stop me?” he cackled. “That’s rich.” He leaned closer, vines twitching like antennae.
“I’m just a weed, friend. Yank me out and I grow back. That’s the beauty of this place. Of this little cycle.”

 

The snow shuddered beneath his roots as his voice dropped lower.

 

“And the best part? I’ll drag you with me.”

 

Your stomach turned—but you didn’t flinch. The axe in your hand flared brighter, reflecting not just light… but resolve.

 

Determination.

 

The silver axe blazed in your hands, cutting through the cold like a beacon. You surged forward, snow crunching under bare feet, the chill forgotten under the flood of heat rushing through your veins. You didn’t know what you were doing—not really—but you knew you couldn’t let him win.

 

Not here.
Not now.
Not again.

 

Flowey lunged, vines snapping through the air like whips, but you twisted low and swung the axe wide. The blade arced, and with a sharp cry, one of his roots split clean through, spraying petals and thorns in its wake.

 

The monster reeled back, snarling with a voice far too big for his size. “You don’t even know what that thing is, do you?! What you are?!”

 

You didn’t.
But right now, it didn’t matter.

 

You spun again, fueled by fury and something else—willpower? instinct? rage?—and hacked downward. Another vine came loose, writhing as it hit the ground.

 

Magic pulsed through your arms like fire, the axe glowing brighter with every strike—but it was too much. It clawed up your spine and sank into your ribs like lightning. Each swing made your vision dim a little more, like your soul was burning itself as fuel.

 

“Too slow,” Flowey growled, and before you could lift the axe again—he struck.

 

A vine burst up from below and snatched your ankle, yanking you violently off your feet. You hit the ground hard, the axe tumbling from your grip and landing in the snow before shattering into light but before you could scramble up—

 

Another root slammed into your side, launching you into the air like a ragdoll. You hit the tree behind you with a sickening crunch, the breath exploding from your lungs.

 

You slid down the bark in a daze, stars bursting behind your eyes.

 

The cold finally bit through the heat.

 

Your bare feet. Your hands. Your face—all stung with winter, the power finally ebbing from your limbs. You gasped, one hand clawing at the snow as Flowey loomed through the haze.

 

“Well, that was fun,” he said cheerfully, his petals ruffling like he was fixing his hair. “But playtime’s over.”

 

Roots surged toward you again.

 

You barely managed to lift your head.

 

The root surged toward you—massive, gnarled, aimed to impale. You flinched, arm rising weakly—

 

But it never hit.

 

Instead, a blur of motion cut between you and death.

 

A sound cracked the air—a pop, like reality folding in on itself—and suddenly, he was there.

 

Sans.

 

You blinked up at him, your breath caught in your throat. The snow swirled behind him in a storm of magic, blue light blazing in the socket of his left eye. His face was drawn—no grin, no sarcasm. Just fury, coiled tight.

 

He didn’t say a word before reaching for you.

 

You felt the twist in your stomach again—teleportation—and then the world tilted sideways.

 

In an instant, the tree, the snow, and the monstrous form of Flowey jerked left, and you were suddenly standing beside Sans to the right of the clearing. Your feet stumbled to catch up, the cold biting again, but you hardly noticed. You gaped at him clinging to his side as you did so.

 

“Sans…” you breathed, dazed as your fingers bit into his jacket. “How did you…”

 

He didn’t look at you. His gaze was locked on the flower.

 

Flowey turned slowly, vines twitching with irritation. “Took you long enough,” he cooed, eyes gleaming. “I knew you were lurking. Watching over your little freak.”

 

Sans didn’t answer.

 

His hand lifted.

 

The snow in front of him split with a deep, vibrating crack. And from the white, something rose.

 

A skeletal maw—long, curved, and enormous—emerged from the snow like a beast breaking free of the grave. Hollow sockets flared, and a swirling light charged behind its jaws like a storm ready to break.

 

Your knees nearly buckled.
Not from fear—but recognition.

 

You stared at the summoned skull of the monster—gleaming bone, spiraling jaws, and glowing maw—your breath caught mid-gasp as a strange pressure coiled tight in your chest. Something deep. Primal. Ancient.It wasn’t fear.

 

It was memory.

 

Your soul remembered it.

 

Gaster Blaster.

 

The name bloomed in your mind… remembered. Like smoke curling from a long-extinguished fire, the word floated up through your consciousness. It belonged to something. To someone.

 

Then—

 

A flash.

 

A pale room. Tall metal walls. The humming of machines.
And a voice—distorted, garbled like it was underwater—but still warm.

Still kind.

Still scary.

 

Speaking in a language that wasn’t English. Yet you understood it.

 

[Be careful, human. Sans is still learning to stabilize both of your magics in the Gaster Blaster. Don’t distract him. Let him focus.]

 

Your heart slammed against your ribs.
You staggered back a step, your fingers still fisted in the soft fabric of Sans’ jacket like it was the only thing tethering you to this moment.

 

The bone-beast hovered, its skeletal mouth wide open, jaws splitting with eerie grace as it charged up, glowing hotter by the second—aimed straight at Flowey.

 

And then—
Sans stepped forward.

 

One arm shot out behind him, guiding you back, shielding you with his body. The other hand lifted slightly, fingers twitching with tension. The glow in his eye ignited, a sharp, bright blue, filled with quiet wrath. His stance shifted. Not lazy. Not slouched.

 

A wall. A warning.

 

“Back off, Buttercup” Sans growled, voice stripped of humor, cold enough to sting the air.

 

The wind had picked up, or maybe it was just the pulse of the magic between them—pressurized and dangerous.
Flowey’s smirk didn’t waver. Not at first. He lifted his leaves in mock surrender, blinking wide, soulless eyes.

 

“Of course, of course,” he cooed. “I’m merely doing my duty—capturing the human. It’s what’s best for all of us, right? I didn’t realize she was your… pet.”

 

The Gaster Blaster roared louder in response, the glow intensifying. Its lower jaw split open with an unearthly sound, mouth yawning wide like a star about to explode.

 

Sans face tightened in rage.

 

Flowey’s smirk cracked. Then it broke. He let out a sharp giggle—forced, off-key—and vanished into the ground in a flurry of petals and soil.

 

The silence that followed was crushing. The Gaster Blaster flickered once and vanished with a low hum, leaving behind only the cold and the faint afterimage burned into your eyes.

 

You realized you were still holding onto Sans’ jacket—your knuckles white, your hand trembling. You hadn’t even realized you were shaking until you felt his hand close gently around yours, steadying. Holding.

“… you okay?” he asked, not looking at you just yet, but his voice had softened again. Rough around the edges. Protective.

 

You swallowed, trying to process what just happened—what you remembered. But instead, your eyes flicked to the spot where Flowey had vanished.

 

“What… what was that?” you whispered.

 

Sans didn’t answer right away. His expression was unreadable, his eye light dimming to a low glow. He looked… worried, not about Flowey.

 

About you.

 

“You tell me.”

Notes:

I also think Flowey knows more than he's letting on

Chapter 10: : We're having a blast ::

Notes:

Sorry my schedule got thrown off a bit!

LET'S SEE WHAT OUR FAVORITE BONE HEAD IS UP TO.

Sans stood in the living room, staring at the open door and your abandoned bed.

 

The blanket you’d usually be found snuggled up with you was crumpled at the edge, half-dragged toward the threshold like a ghost had slipped through the cabin and vanished into the cold. Snowflakes drifted in on the wind, melting into the floorboards beneath his slippers.

 

Somehow, he’d known something was wrong.

 

He’d been yanked out of sleep like a hook to the ribs—sudden, sharp. Not from a noise, not even from a dream. Just a feeling. A wrongness in the air.

 

He’d rolled out of bed, rubbed the static from his skull, and stepped into the hall. And that’s when he saw it—the open door, the faint trail of your footprints vanishing into the dark treeline beyond.

 

A chill had crept over his bones then, colder than the snow outside.

 

“Sleepwalking, are we, Starlight?” he’d chuckled under his breath, trying to push the tension off his shoulders. Humor was always his first weapon. Always had been. But now, standing in the doorway, staring out at the forest swallowing your path—Sans closed the door slowly, fingers tightening around the handle until the wood creaked. Then he stepped out into the snow.

 

What he found…
He didn’t know what to make of it at first.

 

He’d barely broken the treeline when he saw you.

 

You were tangled in vines, thrashing in the flower’s grip, your eyes wide and dazed, snow kicked up around your bare feet as you struggled. What looked like a massive axe fell from your grip, shattering into stars in the snow.

 

Flowey was laughing. Loud and cruel and high-pitched, like someone who thought he’d already won.

 

Sans’ soul snapped tight in his chest.

 

Then Flowey flung you.

 

Your body hit the tree with a sickening thud, snow shivering off the bark as you crumpled to the ground. Your silver hair dragged through the frost as you struggled to sit up, dazed, breath misting in short, panicked bursts.

 

Something cracked open inside him.

 

His eye light blacked out, then flared blue. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

 

Flowey kept talking. Rambling. Gloating.

 

He always did talk too much.
Sans didn’t mind.

 

It gave him the moment he needed to move.

 

To get to you.
To step between you and the thing that had dared to lay a vine on you.

 

He appeared, coat still fluttering from the teleport. You were crumpled in the snow, and the way you looked up at him—eyes wide, dazed, searching—It made something inside him threaten to break open. He wanted to erase Flowey from the face of the Underground.

 

His reached forward , closing his arms around you—light but firm—and he blinked you both out of reach just as Flowey launched another vine toward your body.

 

As you both stepped out of the teleport back into the clearing, Flowey was several yards away away. Sans furrowed his brow, pushing you were behind him now. Safely out of the flower’s reach. But not out of danger.

 

Sans didn’t look back at you.
He wanted to. Badly.

 

His mind was screaming at him to drop to his knees and check you over, feel your pulse, wrap his coat around your shoulders and ask what the hell happened—
But Flowey was still here.

 

Still breathing.

Still smirking.

Still talking shit.

“—Your little freak,” Flowey sneered.

 

Sans felt his temper flare as the air shimmered. The Gaster Blaster roared into existence beside Sans, its massive jaw stretching open, glow charging like a star being born. It had been a long time since Sans remembered being this angry. The air was tight with magic—tense, buzzing, volatile.

The Gaster Blaster hovered at Sans’ side, summoned in an instant, its hollow skull snarling, jaw open wide with light flaring in its throat.

 

He could end it. One shot. One second. One less problem.

 

Don’t kill him.

 

It wasn’t mercy. It was strategy. Barely. His fingers twitched near his side, magic pulsing behind his sockets like a migraine. He’d felt this pressure before—where grief and rage blurred together and all you wanted was to make something stop.

Then—
A gasp. Short, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through it all.

 

Sans turned, instinctively. Looked back at you. You weren’t staring at Flowey. You were staring at it.

 

The Blaster.

 

Your eyes wide. Breath caught. Your lips moved on reflex:

 

“Blaster…”

 

Time bent strangely for a second—tight around his ribs. His breath strangled in his ribs. You knew it. Not just what it was, but what to call it.

 

No monster knew that name.

 

No human should have.

 

How the hell do you know that…?

 

The Gaster Blaster crackled at his side, snarling but held back—barely.

 

You looked… not afraid. Not horrified. Like something old had shaken loose inside you, dragged from a place neither of you had a name for yet.

 

Sans exhaled slowly, his voice low, stripped and dry: “Get out of here, Buttercup.”

 

Flowey’s smile didn’t falter, but his petals twitched—just barely. “Of course, of course,” he cooed, lifting his leaves like a martyr. “I’m merely doing my duty—capturing the human. It’s what’s best for all of us, right?” A pause. That grin curled tighter. “I didn’t realize she was your… pet.”

 

Sans didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The Gaster Blaster snarled again—louder this time, jaw snapping shut with a thunderclap of restrained magic.

 

The Gaster Blaster’s growl rose louder, the glow in its maw flickering violently. He felt your hand grip his jacket—tight. Desperate. He didn’t look at you, but he felt it. And the fire in him only burned hotter.

He wanted to blast Flowey straight into the CORE.

Fortunately—for everyone—Flowey seemed to get the message. He giggled, before he disappeared in a shower of petals and churned-up snow.

 

The Gaster Blaster flickered once, then vanished with a hum.

 

Sans let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The air rushed back in cold and sharp, burning at his sockets. The magic around him settled—tense, still humming like a struck wire—but Flowey was gone.

 

Good. Because if that little bud had stayed one second longer…

 

His thoughts stalled as he felt it—your hand, still clutched in his jacket, shaking.

 

You were trembling.

 

Slowly, he looked down at you.

 

You hadn’t let go.

 

He loosened his stance, grounding himself, and reached down to cover your hand with his. His fingers wrapped gently around yours, trying to steady the shaking. Small movements. Quiet.

 

“...you okay?” he asked, not looking at you fully yet. His voice was softer now, roughened only by the frost still lingering in his throat. The edge from earlier had dulled, but it hadn’t vanished. Not completely.

 

You didn’t answer.

 

He glanced over and caught the way your eyes drifted—to the patch of snow where Flowey had vanished. You didn’t speak for a long moment, and when you did, it was barely more than a whisper.

 

“What… what was that?”

 

Sans didn’t answer right away.

Because truth was, he didn’t know. What you were referring to. Why Flowey seemed hell bent on doing more than just capturing her like he said.

Not really.

Not all of it.

He could guess. He could piece it together—your bare feet, your enraged stare, the distant look like you weren’t here even when he’d found you. The way you’d spoken the name of something he never told you. Something you shouldn’t have known.

And then there was the way you looked at the Gaster Blaster.

Like it wasn’t the first time you’d seen it.

His eye light dimmed, flickering low. His thoughts raced, but his face stayed still. He didn’t want to scare you. He didn’t want to assume.

But damn if it didn’t leave something cold curling in his ribs.

Not fear. Not of you. But of the past reaching up from under the surface again.

His gaze lowered back to your face.

You looked so confused.

So cold.

So small.

So familiar…

Sans looked at you like you were a ghost in reverse—someone he hadn’t lost yet, but maybe had once before. Someone who didn’t quite fit the world as it was, and yet, somehow… fit perfectly in the space left in it.

Who and what were you, Starlight?

“You tell me,” he said quietly.

Not an accusation.Not a challenge. Just... an invitation. A breath of truth left hanging between you.

 

You looked at him for a long moment, eyes soft and tired, then a crooked little smile broke across your lips. “That was one hell of a gardening session,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

 

Sans blinked, and to his own surprise, a quiet laugh escaped him. He huffed. “You’re worse than I am.”

 

You gave a little shrug, arms wrapping around yourself. “Only on the good days.”

 

He looked you over, the remnants of cold still clinging to your t shirt, your legs trembling under you. Then, without another word, he bent down and scooped you up.

Your eyes went wide. “S-Sans!” you gasped, squirming in his arms. “I can walk—!”

He gave you a flat look, one brow ridge lifting, the faintest twitch of his mouth betraying the amusement behind his deadpan tone. “Uh-huh. Sure. You ran off into a frozen forest barefoot and coatless, got wrangled by a sentient dandelion, and took a solid hit to the skull. But yeah, no biggie.”

 

He readjusted his grip and reached one hand down, pulling open his coat. And then—without asking—he tucked you inside.

 

Carefully. Deliberately.

 

Your limbs pressed close to him, your weight settling against his chest. The lining of his coat was warm, still clinging to the heat from his magic. You stiffened at first, face burning, but the warmth... the safety... it was too much to resist. You melted into it. Into him.

 

Sans tightened the coat around you, wrapping it like a shield, his arms closing around your form. And he held you.

 

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Snow crunched beneath his slippers as he started walking, pushing through the forest brush without complaint. Brambles tugged at his sleeves. Wind hissed through the trees.

He didn’t teleport. Not this time. It would’ve been easy to take a shortcut back home.But something about this—walking you home tucked against his ribs—felt important.

Felt right.

He glanced down at you, felt your breath against his collarbone, soft and warm. Your chest rose and fell gently with each inhale. And he could feel your heartbeat. Just faintly. Like a reminder that you were here and alive and breakable.

His jacket swayed with each step, your body curled tightly against his ribs. So soft. So trusting.

It made something twist deep in his chest.

Because the truth was— Flowey and Papyrus were right. He should be turning you in. That’s what this was all supposed to be, right?

He was a sentry. A watchdog. A guardian of the Underground.

You were a human. The thing that could both upset and bring peace everything.

He was supposed to stop you. Track you. Report you. Capture you. Kill you. For your soul.

But instead…

He adjusted his hold just slightly, tugging the coat tighter around your shoulders so the cold wouldn’t sneak in. His fingers lingered at your back.

And as the snow whispered around them, his thoughts drifted—

 

not to Flowey.

 

Not to what just happened.

But to her.

 

And that damned file. The one Gaster left behind. Buried deep in the code, sealed behind corrupted entries and static strings.

 

"Subject: ██–██–ST4R–##LOCKED##"

 

He’d tried to break through it. More times than he could count now. Tried every bypass he knew. Tried scraping it from the root directory, running loops, watching memory echoes. Nothing worked. It was locked in the kind of way that wasn’t just encrypted.

 

It was hidden.

 

Hidden by the old man himself.

 

Why?
Why keep it secret?
Why bury it beneath redacted entries and soul-class data?

 

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was just leftover noise from an experiment gone wrong. That you—the human in front of him now—couldn’t possibly be that little girl.

 

That quiet kid who he found in the snow when he was just fresh little bone. Who used to sit beside the lab table, legs swinging. Who tried to teach him how to fold paper stars even though he was all thumbs and phalanges. That curious voice he remembered speaking in half-code, half-giggles, always asking about “soul harmonics” and “what starlight feels like.”

 

He told himself you couldn’t be her.

 

But now…?

 

Now you were curled against him like a puzzle piece that had finally fallen back into place. Now your voice echoed with buried familiarity. Now you’d looked at the Gaster Blaster like you’d known it.

 

And suddenly, it seemed impossible to keep denying it.

 

Sans exhaled slowly, watching his breath drift through the moonlight. He lowered his gaze, searching your face. But you were half-asleep now. Breathing slowly. Clinging faintly to his shirt.

 

You’d already told him you couldn’t remember much about your life before the surface.

 

So he didn’t ask.

Not tonight anyway.

He just held you a little closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your back. And he kept walking.

Notes:

SO MYSTERIOUS.

 

Lemme ask you something really quick though :
How would ya'll feel about some potential AU: Mafia Boss Sans + Starlight? I'm digging it tbh.

Chapter 11: //FILE LOG 057-B

Summary:

>> Loading Gaster archive
>> WARNING : Unauthorized access of CLASSIFIED LOGS may result in timeline destabilization.

Notes:

Quite some time ago, A Young Sans summoned the power of a Star. Gaster documented it.

// FILE LOG 057-B //
// >> #001-ST★RLIGHT
// SUBJECT: Controlled Soul Fusion Test – Alignment #7
// SANS: Primary conduit
// [REDACTED]: Celestial origin – stabilized
// NOTES: Resulting construct—viable. Receptive to both entities.
// Host resonance: unusually high. Response unpredictable.

 

[TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS]

 

The lab was still when it began.

 

Only the quiet hum of the monitors, the pulse of sigils breathing light across the floor—white, blue, steady as a heartbeat.

 

Sans stood inside the circle, hands twitching faintly with restrained magic. A nervous tic he inherited from me.

 

“Relax,” I instructed from the alcove. My voice carried sharper than I intended. “You’re aligned with her—her starprint. That’s the key. Don’t fight it.”

 

She was already waiting for him. Barefoot, lingering just outside the ring like she belonged there, one fist on her hip as though she could stare the universe down.

 

The girl.

 

Her limbs still too slight for the weight of power written into her skin. Constellations flickered faintly beneath the surface—ink of galaxies against dusk. A map. A starprint unique to her and her alone.

 

A reflection of the heavens, bound in what most would assume to be mortal flesh.

 

And her eyes—glowing not with magic, but with joy. “You’ve got this,” she said to him. Bright. Unwavering. “I feel it. You’re close.”

 

She was not wrong.

 

I watched the corners of his mouth twitch. He almost never smiled here. Yet for her, he did.

 

Then he raised his hand. Magic swelled in his chest—raw, wild, but sharpened through the sigils I had built around him. My design. But her alignment. Her print. Without her, there would be no resonance.

He focused—
—and the world bent.

Light fractured. The air rippled.

And then it came into being:

 

A cannon. Skeletal in form. Floating. Alive.

Its core flared bright, thrumming with an energy that was not solely his. Blue. Silver. And a violet trace that shimmered like starlight at the edges.

 

Her stars.

 

His soul.

 

A synthesis neither of them understood.

 

She gasped—hands flying to her mouth. She stepped closer, breathless: “That’s me,” she whispered. Her gaze met the construct’s glowing eye, wonder spilling from every syllable. “That’s us!”

 

He flinched—visibly shaken. But I could see it in him too: recognition. Connection. The Blaster was more than weapon; it was tether.

 

The girl beamed. “It worked! It worked!”

 

He dismissed the summon too quickly—nervous. The construct blinked out in a flash of violet light.

 

And she crossed the distance in a heartbeat. Arms thrown around him, laughter bubbling. “You did it! You actually did it! You’re amazing, Sans!”

 

He did not return her embrace right away. His eyes slipped past her, toward me. I was still recording, pen scratching, formulae spilling.

 

But I caught it—that look. The weight in his chest.

 

“He’s gonna use it,” he muttered to her, voice low.

 

Her head tilted. “What?”

 

“The Blaster. It’s not just protection. He’s gonna weaponize it. Use your stars to break the Barrier.”

 

The words landed heavy. She faltered—only briefly. Her smile dimmed, shifted, but it did not disappear.

 

“Then let him.” She reached for him again, cupping his face with glowing hands—her magic still sparking faintly where it lingered on his skin.

 

“I want to help. If this is what it takes to free everyone… I’d rather it be you holding that power than anyone else.”

 

He stared at her, torn. “But it’s yours.”

 

Her voice softened, steady as starlight:
“It’s ours. I gave it to you because I trust you. Because I care about you. And I want you to be free.”

 

He froze. Words failed him.

 

She leaned forward—resting her forehead lightly against his.

 

“Promise me something?”

 

“…Yeah. Anything.”

 

“If you ever have to use it to hurt someone… make sure they deserve it. You’re a good judge of people, Sans. Better than anyone I know.”

 

He didn’t breathe. Then—slowly—he nodded.

 

“I promise.”

 

My pen stilled. For just a moment. And then—quietly, half to myself, half to the recorder—I confessed:

“The fusion’s stable. Almost… reverent.”

 

A phenomenon beyond the scope of calculation.
And though I was the one who had built the circle, drawn the sigils, and orchestrated every variable—

 

I was not certain I had made this.

 

[FILE END]

//:: FILE END - 043-A >> #001-ST★RLIGHT

:: NOTES:
- Subject’s *affection* toward Sans is unmistakable.
Her encouragement appears to accelerate resonance. Alignment is not mechanical alone—it is emotional. Unmeasurable by instruments. Disturbing.
- Sans demonstrates reciprocal attachment. Protective instinct compromises detachment. This “bond” is an unforeseen variable, yet…
…also the stabilizing constant.
- Risk: Sans’ judgment may override obedience to instruction. He trusts *her* above all others.
Opportunity: He trusts *her* above all others.
-Personal annotation [REDACTED]: This is not weapon alone. This is communion. Dangerous. Sacred. Both.
-Must remember: for science. For freedom. Not sentiment. Never sentiment.

Notes:

It’s them, guys!

A GAINT SKULL CANNON THAT FIRES LASERS BEAMS FED BY THE COSMOS.

Chapter 12: : Star -Born ::

Notes:

Hey, I'm back!

And we're reaching for the stars.

You turned in front of the mirror, bare and quiet in the soft yellow light. The air was cold against your skin, but your mind was elsewhere—drawn to the strange silver pattern now etched across your body.

 

 

It began at your right arm, curling over the shoulder like a river of light carved into dusk. You lifted your arm and slowly turned it, watching the lines shimmer faintly as if lit from beneath the skin. The closer you looked, the more intricate it became.

 

 

A map.

 

 

No—a sky.

 

 

Webs of constellations arched across your skin, familiar clusters of stars glowing faintly in motion. They shifted, gently—like you were watching the night sky unfold in real time. Orion. Cassiopeia. The Little Dipper. But here, underground, the real stars were far above layers of stone and snow.

 

 

This was something else.

 

 

You traced one of the lines with a fingertip and exhaled. It hadn’t hurt when it appeared. It hadn’t even itched. You’d simply woken up the morning after your encounter with Flowey and found the markings beginning to form.

 

 

Now, days later, they stretched farther.

 

 

Down your shoulder blade. Across the collarbone. A story written in light across your body. You didn’t know what it meant. Only that it felt connected to the magic. To the axe you’d summoned. To the stars.

 

 

To the part of yourself you didn’t fully understand yet.

 

 

You sighed, letting your arm fall as you turned away from the mirror and pulled on your underclothes and sweater, tugging the fabric over the markings with a slight shiver.

 

 

You should talk to Sans.

 

 

You’d been telling yourself that for three days now, and yet the words never came. Not about the markings. Not about the visions. Not about the Gaster Blaster. Not about the way Flowey spoke of resets. Not about how you’d seen the skeleton brothers die—not in this timeline, but somewhere else. Some other version of now.

 

 

Your hand hovered over the door handle. You could laugh at how ridiculous it all sounded if it didn’t feel so terrifyingly real. And yet… wasn’t everything absurd already? Dormant powers, magical immunity, glowing weaponry—and living in a house with two skeletal brothers.

 

And still… the fear of sounding crazy rooted your tongue to the back of your teeth.

 

You opened the door anyway.

 

The hallway was quiet, chilled, and dim. You padded softly down the corridor, the old wooden floor creaking beneath your steps. When you reached the top of the stairs, you slowed. Down below, the living room was cloaked in the low blue shadows of early morning. The couch sat in its usual spot, soft light spilling over the edge of the blanket draped across it.

 

And there he was.

 

Sans.

 

He was slouched deep into the cushions, his arm propped up on the side of the couch. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, the faintest noise of breath echoing from his nasal cavity. At this angle, he almost looked… peaceful. Vulnerable, even.

 

Your fingers curled over the railing as your chest gave an uncomfortable little flutter.

 

Sans had changed that night. Or maybe it was you who had. Maybe both.

 

Maybe it wasn’t just the magic you were afraid to talk about.

 

Maybe it was him and how he’d begun to make you feel.

 

Your fingers curled into the chest of your sweater as you lingered at the top of the stairs, watching him sleep. The memories washed over you—of how he’d stepped in front of you without hesitation, like Flowey was just another bloom in his path. Of how he’d carried you home tucked in warmth. Or how he’d stayed beside you afterward, sitting in quiet vigil through the night, as if daring the world to try again.

 

He always looked so casual. Like he didn’t care. But you were starting to see the cracks—no, the seams. The way he held it all together.

 

You twisted the fabric of your sweater slowly between your fingers, your stomach a tangle of nerves and warmth as you stepped down.

 

He was still on the couch, his skull resting at just the right angle to make his eyes disappear entirely from view. You could almost imagine slipping down the rest of the stairs, quiet as a mouse, and easing yourself into the space beside him. To curl into his side, nestled between his ribs, where you could rest your head and shut your eyes.

 

You pictured it too clearly—your hand tucked against the cool edge of his spine, the faint hum of his magic pulsing near his soul, a rare comfort in a world that you were still adjusting to.

 

You imagined him murmuring your name against your hair and him staying with you when you peered up at him and asked him not to leave.

 

The thought left you aching.

 

A shiver crawled up your spine—gentle, but electric—and your breath caught in your chest. It was that feeling again—the one that made your breath still and your skin prickle, like some invisible thread had pulled taut between you. The same feeling you’d get when Sans would study you too long, eyes half-lidded and unreadable, like he could see more than you were saying. Like he already knew.

 

You slowly turned your head, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest. But down on the couch, he hadn’t moved. Completely still. Completely silent. His ribs rose and fell in that slow rhythm him had. At a glance, he was asleep.

 

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to shake the chill that lingered on your skin. He’s not watching. You told yourself.

 

You almost believed it. But something inside you whispered otherwise. And so you stood there, heart thudding against your ribs, sweater clenched in your fists like it could anchor you to something real. Something safe.

 

But what did safety even mean anymore?

 

You’d seen something twisted bloom from a flower’s smile. You’d seen shadows of the past rise up like ghosts—and your own power rise to meet it, barely understood, barely controlled. You were marked now. Changed. Everything was different.

 

There was clearly something you were meant to find down here. And standing at the edge of it, afraid to even ask someone you trusted… that wouldn’t help anyone.

 

You drew a slow breath and descended the stairs. Each creak underfoot sounded louder than it should have. When you reached the bottom, Sans hadn’t moved—but something about the way his body stilled let you know he was clearly no longer asleep.

 

“Sans?” your voice came out softer than you expected, almost unsure.

 

No response. But you saw it—just barely. The flicker of one eye light behind a cracked lid. Watching you.

 

You came around the couch, standing in front of him. “I know you’re awake,” you said, trying for casual, but the tilt of a question was still present.

 

He let out a familiar, dry breath of a chuckle and finally opened both eyes, blinking up at you. “Guess I lost the element of surprise, huh?”

 

You smiled and shook your head slowly, hesitating as you took a step closer. Your fingers lifted, dragging back through your hair as you tried to find the right words.

 

“Sans… that night in the woods. You used something. That skull. The—”

 

“Gaster Blaster,” he finished for you, his tone perfectly even. The name hung in the air like a memory neither of you had fully unpacked.

 

“I-I need to see it again,” you said, folding your arms around yourself. “I need to know what I felt. I know it sounds crazy, but ever since that night, I keep getting these flashes—memories that aren’t mine...or so I thought. Feelings that aren’t fully mine, either. Like… I knew what that thing was, even though I’ve never seen it before.”

 

Sans didn’t answer right away. He just exhaled—quiet and long—and slowly pushed himself upright. The usual grin was gone, tucked away like a blade sheathed in caution. His hands sank into his hoodie pockets, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the floor like it might answer for him.

 

“You’re not crazy,” he muttered eventually. “But askin’ me to summon that thing again? It ain’t like tossin’ a snowball. Takes somethin’ outta you.”

 

“Sans, please, ” you said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

 

Sans' gaze lifted immediately. Not glowing. Not flaring. Just… soft. Searching.. “Why?”

 

You paused, the question not registering. “What?”

 

“Why do you wanna see it again?" His voice didn’t accuse. It was quieter now, almost gentle. "You afraid of it? Or…” he trailed off, then leaned back, voice quieter. “Or is it somethin’ else?”

 

You hesitated, breath catching in your throat like a warning. But you didn’t pull back. “Because I think there’s something important I’m missing. And if I’m going to figure out who I am—why I’m really here—I have to stop being scared of my own questions. And I trust you, Sans.”

 

Something flickered across his face. Not quite a smile. Not quite surprised. But warmer than either.

 

“…heh. Alright, Starlight.” He stood, brushing dust from his hoodie as he moved toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s not blow a hole in the living room.”

 

---

 

The trees along the river swayed in a lazy rhythm, their limbs brushing against one another in soft creaks. The water beyond glittered in fractured light, a quiet murmur threading through the air. You walked beside Sans, your hands shoved into your sweater pockets as you kicked a stone from your path. The snow had melted here in patches, revealing dark soil and damp grass. You didn’t need your coat—not with how warm it was growing close to the water.

 

For a while, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… weighted. As if each of you were waiting for the other to crack the stillness open.

 

Then his voice came, startling you slightly.

 

“We don’t have much further.”

 

You glanced sideways at him. His hands were in his jacket pockets, and he looked as relaxed as ever. But then his sockets cut to you, lingering—just barely—on your right arm. Your sleeve had ridden up slightly in your stroll. The silver constellation marks shimmered faintly against your skin and you saw the moment he really noticed.

 

Sans stopped walking. His gaze dropped. Not accusing. Not even surprised. Just... quiet. Still.

 

“You were hidin’ that.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

You rubbed your arm instinctively, trying to tug the sleeve down. “I didn’t know what to say,” you admitted. “I didn’t even know what it was at first. It just… showed up after Flowey. I figured it was tied to the magic. Everything.”

 

He was still staring. Not at you. At the stars mapped on your skin. There was a pause, a breath. Then—

 

“Lemme see?” he asked, voice low and unusually gentle.

 

You hesitated–Then slowly extend your arm, uncovering more of the markings. The chill kissed your skin, but you barely noticed, your focus drawn instead to how the star flared, tilting towards the skeleton. Sans reached out, brushing two fingers just shy of your skin—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of you. His grin was tainted by thoughtfulness now. Unease. Something almost like wonder.

 

“It’s... a star chart,” he murmured. “Not just random. There are patterns. Movement.”

 

You nodded. “I noticed that too. It shifts sometimes. I don’t know what it means. I’m assuming it’s the stars above all of this.”

 

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers hovered near one of the constellations near your elbow, as if recognizing it. You caught the way his sockets narrowed—deep in thought.

 

Then he slowly closed his grip on your arm. His touch was firm, not rough, but steady in a way that made your breath catch. “You don’t gotta be afraid of this, y’know,” he said, voice more sure of its self now. “Whatever this is… it’s part of you. Might’ve been for a long time.”

 

You searched his face. “You sound like you’ve seen something like it before.”

 

He let go of your arm and turned, retreating a few steps toward the river, hands shoved back into his pockets. “Maybe I have. Not on a human like this, though,” he said. “Maybe that’s what’s been botherin’ me.”

 

You watched him go, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed to your skin.

 

He stood with his back to you, shoulders hunched just slightly—like whatever he was carrying had grown heavier. The river murmured between you, and above, the trees shifted with the breeze, scattering light over both of your footprints.

 

Whatever this was—whatever tethered you both to that buried magic, to the echoes of something long forgotten—it wasn’t going away. Not anymore. And you were determined to find out what it was.

 

“Is this far enough?” Your voice came out a little stronger than you meant, your renewed determination already taking root, “Can you summon it here?”

 

He turned at the sound of your voice, gaze lingering on you for a moment before shifting back toward the water. “Yeah… here works. Haven’t used it much lately—outside of, y’know, impromptu gardening duty.”

 

You frowned. “Why not?”

 

Sans shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t need to. Not exactly the kinda thing you use unless you have to. It draws attention. Raises questions.”

 

You nodded, rubbing your thumb against your chin in consideration. “It is intimidating looking. But it felt like I knew it.”

 

His expression darkened—just for a second. “Yeah. That part’s… harder to explain.”

 

He let out a breath and sank down onto a flat rock by the riverbank, elbows resting on his knees. “Ain’t exactly common magic. Not for monsters. Not for anyone, really.”

 

You crossed your arms, slowly stepping closer. “So it’s from your past.”

 

Sans gave a faint grunt. Not quite in agreement. Not quite denial. “From a past, maybe. Not one I talk about much.”

 

The silence stretched again. You sat down beside him—not too close, but near enough to feel the warmth of his presence.

 

“Do you think it’s tied to mine?”

 

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved over you again—not the starlight on your skin, but your face. Like he was searching for something behind it.

 

“…Maybe,” he said at last. “There are things about you that don’t add up. Stuff I’ve been tryin’ to make sense of since the day you showed up.”

 

“Like what?”

 

He was quiet for a long moment as if trying to decide which secret he was willing to give up. “Like the way you looked at it. Not afraid. Not confused. Just… familiar.”

 

You looked down at your hands. “So… you think I’ve seen one before.”

 

Sans finally glanced at you again, his smirk grim. “I think there’s a lot you’ve seen that you don’t remember. Yet anyway.”

 

The silence between you stretched again, neither of you moving. But your hand did—just barely—shifting closer to his, where it hung between his knees. You hesitated. Then your fingers slipped over his, warm against cool bone.

 

He blinked, his eye lights lifting to yours. You gave him a bright, confident smile. “Whatever this is… whatever I’m remembering, or uncovering, or walking into—let’s just face it. Together. We seem to be a pretty good team thus far.”

 

Something subtle shifted in his expression. The edge of tension that had been lingering around his eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk. “Heh… you really are somethin’, Starlight.” Sans pushed himself back to his feet, cracking his knuckles with an idle roll of his shoulders. “Alright then. You asked for it.”

 

He took a slow breath and extended a hand, fingers curling in a smooth motion. The air around you shimmered with a low hum. The snow cracked ahead, splitting in a wide circle—and from that glowing fracture, the Gaster Blaster rose.

 

A towering skull of smooth, bone-white material emerged, its eye sockets glowing white from deep within. Its jaws were locked open in a permanent snarl, and a faint, pulsing light buzzed low in its throat like a furnace preparing to fire.

 

You stared—barely breathing. That hum…it wasn’t just a sound. You could feel it in your chest. Like a tuning fork pressed to your ribs. Like it was answering something inside you. Your feet moved before your thoughts could catch up. One step. Then another.

 

“Hey—careful,” Sans said, suddenly tense. You heard the shift in his voice— cautious, guarded. “It ain’t just for show.”

 

But you didn’t stop.

 

The Blaster shifted slightly as you neared, massive jaw dipping just an inch. Not a threat. Not submission either. Like it was... watching you. The glow in its sockets narrowed. Focused.

 

You hesitated—hand suspended midair—your heart pounding. You weren’t sure if you were about to connect with it or be vaporized.

 

“Kid—” Sans stepped forward, his stance tightening, like he was ready to pull you back.

 

Your fingers brushed bone. Warmth—not heat, but resonance—thrummed up your arm, like plucking a string deep in your soul. A jolt sparked through your chest, and the Blaster’s sockets flared—then softened.

 

It didn’t growl. Didn’t charge up.

 

It blinked.

 

And for the briefest moment… it seemed like it nodded.

 

You exhaled sharply, your palm flattening to its skull. “I know this. I really know this.”

 

Behind you, Sans stood frozen—eye-light flaring a little too bright. “No one’s ever touched one before and just… got away with it,” he murmured. “Not even Pap.”

 

You looked back, your hand still resting on the Blaster’s crown. “What does that mean?”

 

Sans' eyes shifted between you and the Blaster slowly, as if he were working out a math problem that just wasn’t coming to him. “…I don’t know yet,” he said finally. But his voice was softer now. Less like a warning.

 

The Gaster Blaster loomed between you both, unmoving but undeniably present, its pale glow casting faint shadows across the snow. Something about it felt like a held breath—like if you reached for it now and breathed a word, the moment might shift into something else entirely.

 

You turned, circling the Gaster Blaster slowly, fingertips trailing along the bone-smooth curve of its skull. It didn’t snarl, didn’t flinch—just hummed under your touch like a machine half-asleep. The pulsing glow in its eye sockets flickered, steady and rhythmic, as if it were breathing.

 

It was… beautiful.

 

You continued your inspection, dragging your hand along its surface as you went, lost in the surreal familiarity of it. “You’re not just a weapon, are you?” you murmured. “You’re… something more.”

 

A faint pulse fluttered through your fingertips. The Blaster almost rumbled in response.

 

“It’s more like a projection,” Sans said behind you. “From a piece of my soul.”

 

You paused mid-step, glancing back at him. “So… this is you?”

 

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, avoiding your gaze now. “Technically? Yeah.”

 

You turned back to the Blaster, gaze narrowing with fresh curiosity. Slowly, carefully, you stepped closer and ran your hands down its jawline, smoothing across the ridge of its snout. Your fingers traced each curve and dip with almost reverent care.

 

“Then that explains it,” you said softly, half to yourself. “Why it feels familiar.”

 

Behind you, you heard Sans shift. His voice came, a little more strained this time.

 

“Y’know… most people don’t try to pet it.”

 

You glanced back at him, catching the usually stiff line of his posture. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, but you could tell he was tense—maybe more than tense.

 

“Oh?” you said innocently, turning back toward the Blaster. “Why not? It’s kinda… handsome.”

 

The Blaster rumbled again as you placed your hand right between its eye ridges and gave it a slow stroke, like you were calming a wild animal.

 

“Who's a good boy,” you murmured, voice lilting with amusement.

 

The Blaster’s eye-lights flared once, and behind you came a strangled, sputtering noise.

 

You turned just enough to glance over your shoulder—and caught him in the act. Sans was watching you closely, his usual disinterested mask cracked wide open, eye-lights flickering with a startled emotion. He masked it quickly under a squint, but not quickly enough.

 

“Y-you talkin’ to it, or…?” he managed, voice dry but not entirely steady.

 

Your smile curled slow and sharp. “Why, Sans. Are you blushing?”

 

“Skeletons don’t blush,” he said way too fast—then added, “we just… glow under pressure. Happens to the best calcium-based lifeforms.”

 

You laughed, turning back to the Blaster, tracing your fingers down its curved snout. “Oh, but your soul’s a little flustered,” you teased. “And this is you, right?”

 

The Blaster rumbled again, tilting slightly to push against your palm. Your brows lifted, lips tugging into a grin. “You like that?” you murmured, leaning in closer—your forehead brushing lightly against its bony ridge. “Good boy.”

 

Sans made a sound—half groan, half muttered curse—and when you turned again, he was staring up at the sky, hood yanked up like he could hide inside it. His shoulders were tense, hands clenched deep in his pockets.

 

“Heh—careful, Starlight,” he muttered, voice rough. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gonna short out my magic.”

 

You could help but laugh at him, thrown by the note in his voice. “What?”

 

He cleared his throat—if he even had one—and waved a hand without looking at you. “Nothin’. Just… tryin’ not to explode from secondhand flattery.I made it after all.”

 

You finally relented, dropping your hand from the Blaster with one last fond pat. It lowered its head slightly, as if reluctant to let you go. You turned toward Sans, arms crossed, brow raised.

 

“I think your special attack likes me.”

 

He rubbed the back of his skull with a sheepish huff, as though trying to casually exorcise the blue-pink flicker still clinging to the edge of his eye-light.

 

“…Yeah, well,” he said, glancing at you—really looking this time. “Can’t blame it.”

 

That wasn’t a dodge.

 

You stared at him, surprised—and for a heartbeat, so did he, like the words had slipped out without a filter.

 

He cleared his throat, glancing at the Blaster’s snout. “So uh… if you’re done seducin’ my special attack, maybe we can figure out why it didn’t bite your hand off.”

 

But your heart was still catching up. Because maybe that hadn’t just been a line. Maybe—just maybe—it was something he meant. Your shock broke into a grin and you laughed hard, a laugh that seemed to come from the very heart of you.

 

And suddenly, the snowy riverbank felt a little warmer.

Notes:

He said, " Where ya from?"

Tell 'em "Outer space."