Would That Make You Happy?

Frisk is your child, the result of a teen pregnancy, but they've always been told that you're their older sister. In an effort to get away from your own abusive mother, the two of you end up falling into the Underground, where Sans is startled by this abrupt change in what had become a predictable pattern of events. Maybe your presence is what is needed to stop the endless cycle of Resets.

After many struggles, both internal and external, you and your found family reach the surface, only to face even more difficulties from the society you weren't sure you'd ever see again. You meet new friends and encounter people from your past, though for good or ill, you're not sure. Sometimes it's difficult to tell kindness from cunning.


105. Do As You Will

"Deacon you can't go back there," you blurt out the second you're out the door, trailing after him as you head to the car.

Arching an eyebrow, still grinning like he just won the lottery, he glances over his shoulder at you. He slows his pace to let you come up alongside him. Then he pulls his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and puts them on. "What happened to 'I'm sure you're in need of a good lay'? Bring that Hope back, I liked her."

"Grillby is one of Sans's best friends," you say, giving him a serious look as he unlocks the passenger door. You wave him away after he opens it, knowing you'll handle the loud slamming sound better if you do it yourself.

He circles around to his side and slides into his seat, watching you as you yank your door shut. "Push on it, make sure it's latched," he says, reaching for his keys. You test the door and it holds fast. "And I'm sorry, I didn't realize that Sans could just call 'dibs' on people. Does he lick things to claim them? Can he lick?"

"Yes he can lick, and—"

"Ooh, one more question answered. How does that work?" he asks, smirking over at you as he puts the car in gear.

You're blushing now, caught off guard. He tricked you! "That is not what we're talking about."

"It's absolutely what we're talking about. If you tell me a bit more about how Sans works, maybe I'll know what I'm getting into later. Or, well, what's getting into me." He waggles his eyebrows but keeps his eyes on the road as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

You tip your head back against the seat, groaning in dismay. "Deacon no."

"Deacon yes."

"You two just agreed to put that animosity behind you, this isn't going to win you any points with him," you say, doing your best to try and sound serious.

Deacon seems to finally pick up on your tone, his expression growing more solemn. "Hope I'm not going to live in constant fear of pissing off Sans. He doesn't control me or his friend," he says, glancing over at you for a second. "I mean, you get that right? Not letting other people tell you what you can and can't do?"

You do. It's only in the past seven, well, almost eight months that you'd really been able to let yourself live your life. To be the mother you were afraid to let yourself become, to be independent from Kim, to work a job you technically didn't need to, but because you wanted to. No one told you to do those things. You did them for yourself, sometimes in spite of what others wanted.

Sighing, you purse your lips and roll your eyes. "That's a pretty serious point to try to make for the sole purpose of trying to get laid, Deacon. But yeah, I get it."

"So speaking of getting laid—"

"I'm not explaining to you how I have sex with Sans," you say, trying not to smile but failing.

"Fine, fine. Then we can talk about that dream of yours instead. I've waited four whole days without saying a thing!" He's grinning again, arching an eyebrow and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "How was I?"

"Deacon!" you splutter, embarrassed but laughing. "I never said it was a sex dream."

"Your mouth says 'no' but your beet red face says 'it was totally a sex dream'," he teases, wicked smile widening as he shakes with laughter.

"You're the worst," you say, wishing that you could be angry but failing spectacularly.

Deacon chuckles to himself, shaking his head as the two of you fall quiet. The radio is turned low, playing some classic rock song you recognize but can't name. The sun is warm on your skin and even in the car you can smell the crisp, fall air. Settling down into the seat, you can feel the rumble of Sylvie's engine. You're struck with the sudden urge to roll the windows down, blare the music, and play hooky from school like you did as a kid. Christopher had a friend three years older than you with a car, who was more than happy to take the two of you along with him. It was one of those days, skipping school, that had gotten you pregnant. 

The wave of nostalgia passes and you let out a soft sigh, a small ache in your chest. You'd never give up anything you have now to go back to those days, but you don't regret them. How can you, when they gave you Frisk?

"Hey," Deacon says, sounding hesitant to break the silence between you. He glances your way, then focuses back on the road. "I just want to say that I'm glad that we're still friends. After that whole dream thing."

You shift a little in your seat. "What? Why wouldn't we be?"

He runs his hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. "I didn't know if things were going to go bad with Sans. If he was going to try and tell you not to spend time with me anymore. I... I was worried."

"He never tried to tell me not to hang out with you, even when I think he wanted to," you say, biting your lip. "I never even knew for sure that he didn't like you until Saturday. He... he knows that I've been happy, being friends with you, and he didn't want to ruin that. He obviously still doesn't."

Deacon nods, letting out a slow breath. "Yeah. No, I get that. I mean, why else would he come apologize? But I just wanted you to know that I'm happy we're friends, too. You're, uh, kind of my only friend. Definitely my best friend."

You rest your hand on his arm and he looks down at it, mouth twitching a little into a smile. He pats your hand for a second and takes hold of the steering wheel again. "I'm glad you moved here, Deacon," you say.

"Yeah, me too."

It's nice to have your normal evenings back. You get home at your usual time (around three) and spend the next hour reading while Frisk plays outside with Asriel. It's familiar. The old routine, just enjoying the peace and quiet of having the house to yourself for a little while. It reminds you of the good times back in Snowdin, waiting for everyone to come home from work and school. Family dinners. Speaking of, you start dinner around four, interrupted only by a text message from Deacon. 'I'll let you know how it goes. ;)'

You shake your head and reply, 'Good luck. Try not to get any more scars.'

It takes him a minute or so to answer. 'Wait, how did you know about that? The only time you've seen me naked is in your dream.'

'Saw it on Sunday. Your shirt was riding up in the back. Also, I'm not dignifying that second part with a response.' You send the long message, then, biting your lip, send a second one. 'Sorry, should I not have brought it up?'

'It's fine. Just surprised.' 'Anyway, talk to you later.' 'Or tomorrow.'

You stare at your phone for a second, trying to decipher if he's upset or not. It's not like you have any idea how he got that scar, it's probably personal. God how wouldn't it be? It was sort of big, you think. Grimacing, you go ahead and text him again. If anything he'll see it later.

'I'm sorry, I hope I didn't upset you. It was a dumb joke.' You stare at the words, drumming your fingers on the counter before just hitting send. There. The apology is out there, you can't take it back. Just get back to cooking.

You barely have time to measure something before you get a response. 'Don't be sorry, please.' 'It's my fault.' 'Somehow.' 'LOOK JUST DON'T WORRY.'

Letting out a small sigh of relief, you key in a reply. 'lol okay. Got it. Have fun.'

'That's the idea. ;)'

Frisk and Asriel dart into the kitchen, trying to find snacks before you shoo them out again empty-handed. They don't need to eat a snack, not when dinner will be ready in less than an hour. You're struck with how motherly that whole scenario was, and it makes you smile despite yourself. It's nice. This, your life, your home, your family. It's more than you could have ever dreamed of just a year ago.

God, a year ago you'd be waiting tables, scraping together tips to help support Kim and Frisk. Listening to your mother scold your child and get frustrated with their homework while you cooked. Serving yourself up the smallest portion at dinner and still not losing any of the baby weight as your mother liked to remind you. Or, as she liked to say, "It stopped being baby weight five years ago, now you're just fat."

Why are you thinking about her? You haven't thought about her in weeks, you think, but no that's not true. You thought about her earlier, when Deacon slammed the car door. It's unfair, the way that just one simple thing, one completely innocent act can just send you into a tailspin. Leaving you apologizing for little things, being oversensitive... Normally you can go weeks without feeling this familiar weight in the pit of your stomach.

You finish preparing dinner and do all of the dishes before Sans and Papyrus get home, even though the dishes aren't normally your responsibility. Even though in your head you know that it's okay to just leave the mess in the sink, your chest feels tight at the sight of it. You're in the middle of scrubbing the stovetop when the brothers arrive.

Sans notices immediately that something is off, eyeing the dishes in the drying rack and you working diligently on the burners. Leaving his jacket in the foyer —he must have had a good day, you're glad— he sidles up next to you and takes hold of your hands. "hey, where's my welcome home kiss?" he asks, tugging you away from the stove.

"Hun, I'm in the middle of—" He cuts you off, wrapping a hand behind your neck and pulling you down to him. With a brief press of his mouth against yours, you're distracted enough that he manages to lead you a few steps further away from the oven.

"look at me. hey, i said look at me," he says, holding your face in his hands as you try to glance back at what you were doing. "what's bothering you, huh?"

"I was just—" No, you weren't 'just' anything. Catching yourself, you let out a ragged sigh and look down at the wad of paper towels in your hand. "Bad day. No, not a bad day. Just feeling anxious. Y'know?"

"did something happen?" he asks, letting go of your head and running his hands up and down your arms instead. The feeling is soothing.

"Just got startled by a loud noise. It's stupid..." Biting your lip, you just feel ashamed. You'd been doing so well, not letting these feelings get the better of you.

"it's not stupid. do you want to take it easy tonight? watch a movie or something?" He gives your wrists a gentle squeeze, studying your face.

You nod, glancing back at the stove again. You got half of it done, it looks uneven with grease splatters still marring the stainless steel finish.

"will you feel better if you finish that?" he asks quietly.

You nod again. "Yeah. But, you could keep me company. Dinner still has another ten minutes in the oven anyway."

"sure, babe. sounds good," he says, but seems hesitant to let you go. But he does.

"Okay, because I guess I should tell you about something. About Deacon." You get back to scrubbing the stove, spraying the top with cleaner as you avoid Sans's eyes. He circles around the island to sit at the bar, folding his arms on the counter.

"what about deacon?" Sans asks. His tone turns suspicious. "wait, does he have something to do with why you're upset?"

"Sylvie, dammit, the car is old and he has to slam the doors to keep them shut. That's all. But that's not what I need to tell you," you blurt out, glancing up at Sans. His expression is passive, if not a little curious. "He's going out on another date tonight. Or, god, I think it's a date? Honestly they might just be hooking up, it's unclear."

"and i need to know about this because...?"

"...I took him to Grillby's for lunch. He was hitting on Grillby," you admit, cringing. Oh god you shouldn't have said anything, but that would have just made it worse. He's going to be angry, right? Why isn't he—?

Sans starts laughing. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but that definitely wasn't it. As you look at him, bewildered, his shoulders are shaking. "sorry, i know you were probably nervous about telling me, but good for him. grillby, i mean. been a while since he's bothered being with anybody," he says, resting his head on his hand. He's smiling at you. "he can, uh, let off some steam."

Relieved that he's not upset, you give him a weak smile. "Okay, but what's so funny? Why are you laughing?"

"you just had me worried babe. i thought something serious happened."

"I thought this was serious!" you blurt out, embarrassed. "Grillby is like, your best friend. I thought you'd be mad."

"grillbz is his own monster. he wants to screw your friend? fine by me," he says. He gives an amiable shrug. "i mean, no accounting for taste, i guess."

You roll your eyes at him but leave it at that.

Later, after Frisk and Papyrus are both in bed, you and Sans are watching a movie on the couch as promised. Laying against his chest, wrapped up in a blanket and content with your lot in life, you've all but forgotten about Deacon until you hear your phone chime. With a flash of blue and a flick of Sans's wrist, he guides it from the coffee table and into your hand.

'I think I burned my tongue.'

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