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.


6. Scars of Two Kinds

The bathroom is foggy with steam when you get out of the shower. You were in there a bit longer than you should have been, but the heat was a relief after walking around in cold, damp jeans. You're not exactly sure why the brothers have a bathroom in the first place. The rest of the house is pretty normal, all things considered, and it's easier not to try and figure it out.

The mirror squeaks as you wipe away the steam with your hand. You look at yourself. Somehow, after all the weird things that have happened so far, you still look just like yourself. Like nothing has changed. It's still you. You run a hand over the pale stretch marks that curve on either side of your navel like parenthesis, feeling the divots in your skin. Below those, right beneath your panty line, is a pink, uneven scar. Your finger trails over its surface. It's flush against your skin in places, raised and bumpy in others. The scar is unattractive, you think, but at the same time it comforts you. The marks on your skin are permanent reminders of Frisk. That they are yours, no matter what.

Frisk. You really should get dressed and make sure they're doing okay with Sans and Papyrus. There's a part of your brain that's still trying to cling tightly to some kind of rationality. It's questioning your decision to leave your child in the care of two skeletons, but for the most part you ignore it.

The last you heard, Papyrus and Frisk were going to have their date while you took your shower. You laugh softly to yourself at the thought and finish drying off with a beige towel. Sans promised you he'd make sure they didn't get into any trouble while you took a little time to yourself. It had been easy to succumb to the lure of hot water.

You find yourself wishing you had a brush after you towel off your hair. Frisk inherited your coloring. The long brown locks are a bit tangled now, but you make due with running your fingers through it as best you can. You wind it up into a damp, messy bun and secure it with an elastic tie.

That will have to do.

With your own clothes still drying after your trip through the forest, Sans and Papyrus lent you a few things. Papyrus is too tall, and if you're being honest, too thin for any of his pants to fit you. He offered up a loose t-shirt that made you laugh the moment you saw it. The shirt itself is black, with a white, silk screened ribcage on it. Is this the skeleton equivalent of a tuxedo shirt?

The black exercise shorts with the white stripe down the side are from Sans. They're identical to the ones he's wearing, though on him they go past his knees. On you, they fall right above them. You're surprised that they fit you as well as they do. Compared to his brother, Sans is quite literally big-boned. His proportions are all wrong for a human skeleton, at least as far as you can tell from his tibia and fibula.

You remind yourself, again, that Sans and Papyrus aren't human skeletons. They're monsters that look like skeletons.

You're grateful for the borrowed clothes. They'll be perfect to sleep in later. That was another thing that had come up. Papyrus insisted that you and Frisk stay the night with them and refused to hear a word to the contrary.

Honestly, you're happy for the excuse to put off trying to figure out what to do next. You hadn't wanted to stay in the Ruins with Toriel, but Snowdin is a friendly little village. And you've already made friends here, much to your surprise. What do you really have on the surface anyway? An abusive situation you successfully escaped (albeit in a rather unconventional manner) and a job you tolerate. Frisk seems happy here too.


Well, there will be plenty of time to worry about that. For now your grumbling stomach is more of a priority.

You can hear Frisk and Papyrus in the kitchen, and Sans is sitting on the couch as you come downstairs. The couch is a bit of a monster itself, nearly the length and width of a twin sized bed. You figure this has to do with Papyrus's height. At least it will serve well as a makeshift bed for you and Frisk later.

Sans's eyes shift over to look at you as you enter the room and you think you see his grin widen. It makes you a little self-conscious, so you glance down at your clothes and smooth them a bit. "nice shirt. feeling left out?"

"This was what Papyrus decided to give me. I didn't really want to seem ungrateful," you say, a little embarrassed and defensive.

Sans holds up his hand in a placating gesture. "heh, it's okay. i was just ribbin' ya."

You groan, rolling your eyes.

"it looks good though. better on you than papyrus."

You raise an eyebrow.

He raises both his brows in response, giving you a questioning look. "what, don't believe me? i wouldn't tell a fibula."

That one catches you off guard. You try to stop yourself from laughing but you can't, which makes it come out as an undignified snort. Your face is burning, even more embarrassed, as Sans shakes with laughter. When you collect yourself, you notice that his cheekbones are a little blue, like a blush.

"I'm going to go check on dinner before I make more of a fool out of myself," you say, raising a hand to scrub your face as if you can remove your blush through sheer willpower.

"what, don't be embarrassed. it's cute when you snort on accident."

You cringe. "No, no way. It's awful." It used to happen a lot more when you were younger, when you weren't afraid to laugh around your mother. Her lip would always curl when you snorted. ("My god. Stop embarrassing yourself. I can't stand that sound.")

"it's not. it's even better than applause. i'm making it my new goal." Sans slips his hands behind his head, slouching even further down the couch. His slippered feet are dangling above the floor.

You're not sure how to feel about that. If he was... well, honestly, if he was a human you'd think he was teasing you. The fact that he isn't makes you question his intentions, helps you give him the benefit of the doubt. What reason does he have to make fun of you? Still, it doesn't help you feel less embarrassed. If anything, your cheeks feel hotter.

"A-anyway, I'm going to check on dinner," you repeat, hurrying out of the room.

"suit yourself."

Frisk is sitting on top of the counter, tapping their heels against the cabinet beneath them. Papyrus is watching a pot of noodles boil over as he furiously stirs the contents of a saucepan, water hissing as it hits the stovetop. You resist the urge to both take over cooking and tell Frisk to get off the counter. It isn't your kitchen, and if Papyrus is fine with Frisk sitting up there, it isn't your place to say otherwise.

Frisk grins as you approach, leaning against the counter by their side. They laugh a little and tug on your skeleton shirt, but don't comment on it.

"So, how was your, uh, date?" you ask, glancing over at Papyrus's back.

"It was fun," Frisk says.


Frisk is trying not to laugh.

You pat the top of Frisk's head. "That's okay, Papyrus. It's not your fault."




Dinner is... indescribable.

Somehow Frisk wolfs down their own serving and even has seconds, much to Papyrus's delight. Sans watches you with that grin on his face as you brace yourself and soldier through your own dinner. You can't bring yourself to hurt Papyrus's feelings, but quickly refuse when he asks if you want more. You never actually see Sans eat his dinner, but when you check his plate it's empty.

Afterwards, you're alone in the kitchen while everyone else piles on the couch to watch TV (an Underground, monster television station, who knew?). Letting Papyrus cook for you was uncomfortable enough, that being one of your many responsibilities back home. Just seeing the dirty dishes in the sink is enough to make you anxious. You can almost hear your mother's voice in your head. ("Lazy, worthless... get off your ass and earn your keep, I don't care if you're 'tired.' What do you think I did all day?")

Maybe it's strange, but scrubbing at the burnt tomato sauce is relaxing. It silences the nagging feeling, and at least for the moment you don't have to worry about anything else. The familiarity is comforting.

You aren't sure if it's because you're distracted, or if it's just how he does things, but you don't notice Sans until he's sitting on the counter beside you. Jumping with a gasp, the soapy glass you're holding slips out of your hand and shatters in the sink. Your heart is hammering wildly in your chest.

"Oh god, I'm sorry!" you blurt out, trembling as you set aside the dripping scrub brush.

"don't worry about it," he says as you start fumbling with the shards of glass in the sink. You're putting the pieces in the remaining base of the cup to try and contain them. "hey, stop, let me do it. it's my fault."

"No, it's my fault," you choke out, tears springing to your eyes. You're still expecting him to get mad at you, for someone to start shouting. You broke their glass, damn it, how could you let that happen? Biting your lip, you try to hold back a shuddering breath but instead a sob escapes you. "I'm sorry, I can't believe I just did that."

As you drop another piece of glass with the others, Sans is standing beside you and pulling you away from the sink. "it was just an accident, buddy. go sit down. i can't get cut, so let me handle it."

You're frozen, unsure of what to do. His kindness is confusing and you don't know what to do with it. Nothing was ever 'just an accident' as far as anyone else was concerned. You broke something, you screwed up. It's your fault.

"c'mon, don't make me patella you twice," Sans says, nudging you towards the kitchen table. His smile is a little strained, you think.

Something in the concerned way he looks at you brings you back to yourself a little bit. You nod, blinking back the tears that thankfully never fall as you go to sit down. Your hands are wet, you realize, so you rub them on your borrowed shorts.

Sans is silent as he turns off the water and scoops up the remaining fragments in the sink. He doesn't even have to be careful about it, because like he said it can't cut skin he doesn't have.

"i came in here to ask if you were still hungry," he says, his back to you as he works. "i appreciate you humoring papyrus, but i know his cooking is pretty terrible. figured you could use some real food, if you're up for it."

"It's fine, I'm used to it," you say, without thinking. Shit.

He goes still for a moment, pausing in his movements before speaking. "used to what? being hungry?"

You don't answer, but he's right. You ate okay, but there was never quite enough to fill you up. Making sure that Frisk had as much as they needed was more important, and your mother would throw a fit if she didn't have enough on her plate. What was a little bit of hunger before bed when it came to taking care of Frisk?

You jump when Sans drops the remains of the shattered glass in the trash. He pulls off his blue jacket and shoves it into your hands. "put this on and get your shoes, we're going to grillby's."

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