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.

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106. Secondhand Accounts

Deacon is sitting at your usual table in the break room, waiting for you. His mouth curves into a wide grin, and you feel his eyes watching you as you go to the fridge to get your lunch that you left here yesterday. You're not sure if you've been anticipating or dreading this moment all morning. Part of you is dying of curiosity, the other equally chilled by that self-satisfied look on his face. His food is sitting on the table, untouched, when you take your seat under his watchful eye.

He looks like he's about to explode.

"Okay, let's just get this over with." "So I'm sure you're dying to know what happened!"

You look at each other, and you cover your mouth as you start to laugh. "Oh my god, were you always this much of an oversharer?"

He blinks at you, looking a little abashed. "Am I oversharing? Is this not what friends do?"

Oh god, was he really not exaggerating when he said you were his only friend? How can that be possible? Look at him, how could anyone resist this sweet human being? You give him a reassuring smile, wishing you could go back and show him the enthusiasm he was clearly hoping for. "It is. Absolutely. I was just teasing, I want to hear how things went," you say with all sincerity, leaning forward a bit in your chair and resting your elbows on the table.

There's a moment where you think he's not going to tell you. He glances away, rubbing the back of his neck, but when he turns back around to face you he's grinning. "Do you want me to tell you everything, or should I just explain that text from last night?" he says with a wink.

"Please keep in mind we are in a school," you warn, trying not to laugh. "And other people use this break room."

He waggles his eyebrows at you. "You didn't answer my question."

Settling back in your chair, you sift through your lunch. "Everything. Within reason," you add quickly, seeing his smile turn mischievous. "I don't need a blow by blow recount of your night."

"Oh, you have no idea how accurate 'blow by blow' is," he says, making you blush as he shakes with laughter, trying, you think, not to be too loud.

"Deacon oh my god," you say. You cover your face with your hand as you accidentally squash part of your soggy sandwich in the other.

"So I go over there around four, like he said, and the place is empty. I guess he closes early on Wednesdays?" He gives you a questioning look and you nod. Grillby closes early on Wednesdays and opens late on Sundays, to give himself some time off. "Anyway so the place is empty, except for Grillby cleaning up the bar. I'm not really sure what to expect, and he doesn't say anything when I get there, just points at a barstool. I realized he wanted me to wait while he finished what he was doing. So I'm trying to make small talk which is going as well as you can imagine —I don't normally go for the strong, silent types but uh, I'm glad I made an exception let me tell you— anyway so I'm sitting there, trying to make conversation, and then he just comes over and grabs my shoulders, turning the barstool around so that I'm facing him. For a second I thought maybe I was annoying him, you know?"

He pauses, giving you a chance to respond. It takes you a second to realize it, and you hurriedly swallow the food in your mouth. "Yeah. He just doesn't say much. So what did he do next?"

"He, uh," Deacon actually hesitates, his sly grin turning a little embarrassed as color rises up the sides of his neck and up to his ears. He swallows. "He kissed me. I didn't even realize he had a mouth. It felt a little weird at first, but he was really warm, as you'd imagine. And, for the record, he has a tongue. I have intimate knowledge of Grillby's tongue and I'm not at all ashamed of it."

"If you guys had sex at the bar I'm going to scream," you say, torn between amusement and horror.

Deacon laughs, that sly look coming back at your discomfort. "Okay, that's jumping ahead but no we didn't do anything inside or around the bar area. Relax, your favorite restaurant is safe and undebauched. Well... mostly."

"Deacon."

"I love when you say my name like you're all scandalized. It's probably my new favorite thing," he says, downright giggling at you. "So I don't even care if this ends up sounding like one of Sans's puns, because it was hot okay? Like, he wasted no time. It was all hands and mouths and it was great."

"Did he talk to you at all?" you ask, feeling a little confused. "Did you... just hook up? Was there a date anywhere in this encounter?"

Deacon shrugs. "He made me dinner after. Upstairs in his apartment. And I mean we know that I can do enough talking for the both of us, I guess," he says, some of his amusement fading away as he starts to pick at his lunch. Catching himself, he gives you a crooked smile, his tone lightening. "Hey, you're getting me off track again. So we're at the bar, making out, things are getting steamy, clothes are unbuttoned, unzipped, etcetera. And right as he's got his hand around—"

You flash him a warning look as the break room door swings open. Glancing behind you, you and Deacon give the other staff a polite greeting as they claim a table on the other side of the room.

He rolls his eyes. "So we go upstairs instead, at that point. Which was good because I was starting to get uncomfortable with the edge of the bar pressed into the middle of my back. And considering you don't want a 'blow by blow' retelling, I'll just say again that 'blow by blow' is exactly right," he says, with a shit-eating grin that might put Sans to shame.

"Thank you, for sparing me the details," you say, chuckling and taking a drink of water.

"Also his cum burned my mouth."

Choking, and barely managing to avoid not spraying Deacon with a mouthful of water —though maybe you should have— you gape at him. "Deacon! Oh my god."

Somehow he manages not to dissolve into laughter. Instead he just gives you this placid look, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I'm fine, by the way. It was more like... really hot coffee."

"Please stop," you beg, coughing and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes as you're trying not to laugh because it hurts.

"Hope, are you okay over there?" one of the other teachers asks from across the room.

"She's fine, her water just tried to attack her lungs," Deacon says, waving them away. He reaches over to pat you on the back, trembling with suppressed laughter. "Really, are you going to be okay?" he asks in an undertone, doing his best to look concerned.

You draw in a few shallow breaths, nodding as you clear your throat and take another careful sip of water. "Yeah, I'm okay. But, what the hell?" you blurt out, eyebrows shooting up towards your hairline.

"I'd apologize but that would be insincere," he says, eyes twinkling with joy as he picks at his lunch again.

Shaking your head, laughing weakly, you rest your chin on your hand and you give him a scrutinizing look. You're not sure if he's happier about the great sex or being able to tell you about it. "Are you going to see him again? Maybe go on a date?"

"I don't know about a date, but absolutely. I'm going over again tomorrow after they close."

"Grillby's closes at two am on Fridays."

"It's the weekend. I will sacrifice sleep for amazing sex in a heartbeat," he says dismissively, finally starting to eat his lunch in earnest now that he's finished his story.

"So is that all it is? Just sex?" you ask, feeling a little sobered as you look down at what's left of your own food.

He arches a brow, chewing. He covers his mouth to speak as he swallows. "Yeah? Is that a problem?"

You shrug. "No, I mean, if that's what you want. Sorry, I guess I just assumed you'd want a relationship."

"With Grillby? Hope, I tried talking to him, I really did, but I can't get a read on the guy. You say he's friends with Sans?" He pauses, waiting for your nod of affirmation. "How does that work?"

"He's a great listener?" you offer.

Deacon shakes his head. "My brilliant sense of humor doesn't do well in a vacuum. I need someone to play off of. When I was talking to Grillby I just ended up getting nervous and I start rambling when I'm nervous. You know."

You do know.

He lets out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his hair and slumping back in his seat. After a second he gives you a small, resigned smile. "I'm just going to enjoy this while it lasts. Because unless he starts talking to me, which I don't think he will, it isn't going to work. Which is fine. Things don't need to last for the long haul to be good for the moment."

That's true, you guess, but you get the feeling that this says more about Deacon's life than he intends. He came to Ebott with no friends, no family that he's told you about, and a small trailer full of belongings. Just what were things like for Deacon before he came here? Maybe, one day, he'll tell you.

Sans has been feeling better since Halloween. Better about you, even though he had no real reason to worry. Better about Deacon, if only through his own desire to put it behind him. Just better in general. But there's one thing that he's still worried about. One person. Well, two people.

His brother and Mettaton.

As far as he knows Papyrus hasn't spoken to the robot about how he's been feeling. Things there seem to have stagnated, or maybe he's just waiting. All he knows is that if Mettaton does one more thing to hurt his brother's feelings —accidentally or intentionally— he's not going to stay quiet again.

It hasn't even been a week since the festival, so maybe his brother is just trying to be patient. But when has Papyrus ever been patient? If he wants something he does everything in his power to seek it out, almost immediately. Is he nervous? Well, he's always been sort of shy when it comes to that stupid, overgrown calculator.

"—Mettaton's expecting me."

Pulled out of his own head by the sound of Mettaton's name, Sans glances over at Alphys where she's sorting through some schematics. He's supposed to be helping her, but after sifting through a second stack his mind started to wander.

He blinks. "run that by me again, alphys? sorry."

She adjusts her glasses, shoulders sagging as she sighs. "I need to get going a little early. Mettaton's e-expecting me," she says, the tip of her tail twitching distractedly. "Not right now, but maybe an hour early."

"ok," he says, trying to squint down at the papers beneath his hands and hope they make more sense. It's not doing much good. The handwriting is small, cramped, and nearly illegible, which renders the diagrams almost useless. He thinks these were done by whoever built the machine sitting in his workshop. With a frustrated noise, he looks up from them and rests his elbow on the table, cupping his jaw and looking over at Alphys again. "so what's going on with mettaton?" he asks with what he hopes is a casual tone.

Alphys flips through a few pages, tail tapping against the floor as she compares a few items before glancing over at him. "Huh? O-oh, I uh, I need to fix one of his arms," she says, picking absently at one of the ridges at the back of her head.

He arches a brow. "what happened to his arm?"

"Undyne broke it," she says, pointedly not looking at him as she peers down at the schematics in front of her.

"what?" he blurts out. He tries to keep the happiness out of his voice, and thinks he does a pretty good job.

"L-last night. He came over, wanting to talk to me about something for the hotel, and she wanted to talk about Papyrus," she says, and that certainly grabs his attention more than she already had. Alphys casts him a cautious glance, and he spots a few dots of sweat gathering on her brow. "Your brother t-told us a little about what happened, on Halloween. With Mettaton. U-Undyne was pretty upset, but he asked us not to say anything to him about it."

Sans nods, clenching his jaw. "yeah. i don't doubt it."

"But you know Undyne. She thought she might t-try to say something anyway? Indirectly. A-at least, indirect for her," she mumbles, shaking her head. "So she asked him when the last time he talked to Papyrus was, and he s-said on Saturday, and she started yelling at him, and a-accidentally sort of... broke his... arm."

"so, uh, what did he have to say for himself after that?" he asks, unable to keep from grinning.

"T-they just sort of yelled at each other and M-Mettaton stormed off," she says pitifully, hiding her face behind her hands. His own amusement is tempered by just how miserable she looks. "I had to ask Undyne t-to not be home when he comes over later. I h-hate being caught in the middle."

Sans feels guilty, knowing that this is how you must have felt getting stuck between him and Deacon. He also just feels bad for Alphys. Trying to deal with Undyne and Mettaton at the same time must be like dealing with two forces of nature. It wouldn't faze him too badly, but Alphys... He gets up out of his chair to come up next to her, rubbing between her shoulderblades. "where's she going?"

"P-probably to your house. She m-might be going home with Hope after work. I talked to her at lunch and she said that she'd catch her before she left," she says. She lets out a ragged sigh, peeking between her fingers to look up at him.

Sans grits his teeth, wondering if he's going to regret the words about to come out of his mouth. "how would you feel about me sending pap over to your place?"

   
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