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The 'Extra' Terrestrials

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Notes:

It's been a while, but hopefully you forgive me! More a character driven relaxed chapter than anything.

For parts of this chapter I have kept what monsters are saying in italics rather than phonetic "RATSAHATA" for the reader's amusement.

Chapter warning, some sexual content.

Chapter Text

Sans considered this restarting his ‘relationship’ with Lola, the semi-charming monster bunny who was always up for a good time, the hastily agreed details still hovered at the edges of his mind. Their previous interactions had been warm, a source of comfort in the routine mundanity of life underground. And always more frequent than he intended. Neither of them were fully compatible with each other, so despite the frantic scrabbling and release, they always became something of an itch the other couldn’t scratch. Despite Lola’s understanding of the situation, there was an emptiness that lingered in him—one he couldn’t shake off with a quick laugh or casual flirtation. Despite his easy-going exterior, the weight of loneliness was something Sans had carried for so long he barely recognized it anymore, save for the moments it grew heavier, such as now.

But for now, he needed to take the edge off Toriel’s rejection. The too-kind eyes. So Lola would work.

He made his way back to his room, hands in his pockets, steps slow. As he rounded the corner, he saw the Captain—the human who had recently become something of a curiosity to him—leaning casually against his doorframe. She looked up, her expression shifting from mild surprise to a gentle smile as she noticed him.

“Hey, Sans,” she greeted, adjusting her stance. “Papyrus hasn’t poisoned you yet?” she joked, glancing down the hall with a slight laugh. Papyrus had been trying to lure her to the monster’s dorm for food for a few days now, not seeming to understand or care that monster food was not beneficial to humans. Her tone held warmth, but her gaze was studying him, like she was trying to understand the quiet sadness he was trying to hide.

Sans shrugged, brushing it off with a smirk, but there was something in her eyes that drew him in—a sense of patience he hadn’t expected from a human, especially not one called “Captain.” He motioned toward his room and then between the two of them, raising his brows in a silent question.

She tilted her head, clearly trying to decipher the invitation, then finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll come in for a bit.” The Captain followed him in, taking a seat in the well-worn chair across from his bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her posture was relaxed, but there was an alertness to her—a curiosity he found amusing.

“So, how’s your day been?” she asked, breaking the silence with a casual smile, knowing he wouldn’t answer in words. She’d gotten used to the idea that he couldn’t speak her language, and by now, she almost seemed to find his pantomime responses endearing.

Sans shrugged, miming a mountain of work by stacking his hands atop each other, then rubbed his forehead in mock weariness. With a slight smile, he pointed to her, inviting her to share her own day.

“More of the same for me too,” she replied, chuckling softly. Definitely amused at the idea that what she believed was a child was laden with a fortune of work. “Helping around and…well, trying to figure out the whole situation down here.” She gave a little sigh, her eyes softening. “It’s strange, really. I haven’t been able to understand anyone—at least, not the way I’m used to. But somehow, I feel like I’m getting the hang of it.”

Sans offered a small nod, appreciating the Captain’s openness. It was new. This gradual softening. Outside of the room she stood with her feet shoulder width apart, unflinching in the face of the weirdest tasks asked of them. Always capable, or at the very least amused. The more time passed the less estranged from the current situation she seemed. Somehow, despite the barrier between them, her presence made things a little easier. He felt like he could relax, like he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t hurting. Her voice, even if he couldn’t respond to it in words, was a comforting sound that filled the quiet of his room with a warmth that soothed him.

The Captain settled further into the chair, occasionally glancing around his room, taking in the little details with a slight smile. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her expression softening. “Look, I know you can’t…talk back or anything. But, I don’t know—I just want you to know I’m here to listen if you ever need. It’s…a little strange, but I think sometimes we can understand each other without words.”

Sans paused, giving her a long look. It wasn’t something he could say aloud, but the sentiment resonated. With Lola, things are simpler—easy flirtation, soft laughter, moments that had filled the void, if only temporarily. But here, with the Captain, he felt something he hadn’t realized he’d missed: the comfort of shared silence. The fact that she didn’t seem to mind the language barrier meant more than she likely knew. He lifted his hand, tapping his chest twice, a gesture he hoped she would take as gratitude.

A small, thoughtful smile spread across her face, as though she sensed the sincerity behind his actions. She tilted her head, her gaze warm, and reached over to gently pat his shoulder. “Whatever you need, I’m here,” she said quietly. “Maybe we don’t have to say everything to understand each other, huh?”

He gave her a slow nod, wondering if she could sense the truth in his gaze. He didn’t need the Captain to know about the ache he felt from losing Toriel or the bitterness he held at the end of every fleeting connection he’d dared to enjoy. But this—a quiet companionship, shared without expectations—was enough for now.

They sat in silence a while longer, her voice occasionally filling the air as she shared small stories or observations, talking about things that seemed to strike her in this strange underground world. Sans listened, letting her words drift over him like a soothing rhythm. Finally, she rose, stretching with a slight yawn.

“Well, I should probably get going,” she said with a small smile. “When he realised we hadn’t a challenge in the schedule today Papyrus actually caught Alphys to translate and guarantee my presence at this cooking... demonstration. She tried her best to get me out of it... but, well, I couldn’t understand but I do think Papyrus bulldozed over her. Apparently Papyrus wants to tell me about his latest culinary experiment, which sounds…well, it’ll be interesting, that’s for sure. And probably not contain real words.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

Sans chuckled too, imagining his brother’s dramatic enthusiasm, even if it was likely to end in some bizarre dish only Papyrus could think up. He raised a hand in his usual lazy salute, watching as she gave him a final nod and slipped through the door, closing it softly behind her.

She stood, glancing at Sans as she did so in confusion.

"Not coming, little guy?"

Sans shook his head, surprising himself after the fact but pushing it from his mind quickly.

Sans chose not to dwell for too long on the fact that he was perfectly happy to allow this human that he didn’t know too well to spend time around his precious brother without him to supervise, but abandoned the thought quickly.

The quiet of his room settled back around him, but something felt different. The ache of losing Toriel hadn’t faded, but the memory of the Captain’s presence, her easy warmth and willingness to simply sit in the silence, lingered. She’d left him with a small, precious reminder of the comfort that could come from understanding that didn’t need words.

For the first time in a while, Sans felt his shoulders relax, and he leaned back, his gaze softening as he glanced at the door where she’d stood. He sighed, letting his eyes close, feeling the lingering warmth of her presence soothe him. It was a small comfort, a sense of companionship that didn’t demand anything of him—and in a way, it felt more significant than he’d anticipated. He laid out his makeshift bed in the corner of the room in anticipation of staying over later.

He still had one visit to make before he returned to sleep, one that would hopefully temporarily take this itch from his bones. The itch in his soul would, unfortunately, remain the same.

 


It feels strange to be going to the monster dorm without a purpose—a purpose other than "hanging out," that is. You’ve grown accustomed to the monsters' dorm being tied to one kind of challenge or another: challenge-based, task-oriented, survival-of-the-fittest. But tonight, you’ve come to visit simply because… well, it seemed like the right thing to do. After Papyrus’s earnest attempts at cooking and Sans’s quiet but persistent friendship gestures, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t hurt to spend time here as more than an impromptu competitor.

As you walk across the courtyard you feel eyes on you from both directions, both humans and monsters alike, most watching with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and curiosity. Humans seem to glance at you as though wondering if they’d missed a new challenge announcement, while the monsters look at you with a sort of guarded intrigue. This area was typically a sanctuary for them, a world-within-a-world that humans tended to avoid outside of formal matches or exchanges. Yet here you are, weaving through it all, determined to go through with this.

A few humans shift uncomfortably, murmuring as you pass. You catch snippets of words here and there.

“Did you hear there’s still no challenge scheduled?”

“…what’s the Captain doing going that direction? She never…”

“Her little monster woke up but... maybe he’s sick again and she’s checking on him?”

The monsters, too, watch your approach with wide, curious eyes. One of them—a short, cyclopean creature with a round, smiling face—nudges a friend, pointing toward you with a stubby finger. They exchange a look, and then one of them offers you a cautious wave. You nod back, giving a small smile that’s returned with an eager grin. It strikes you then, a little surprisingly, that some of these monsters actually look… happy to see you here. Though there's a sense of apprehension, there's also a current of curiosity that you’d never noticed before.

As you enter the actual building and reach the common area, the buzz of chatter lowers by a few decibels, and you feel the eyes of at least a dozen monsters focused on you. You hesitate in the doorway, feeling slightly out of place. It’s a strange reversal from the challenges and missions, where you’d always felt centered, confident, and in control. Here, though, without your usual purpose, you feel a flicker of doubt.

And then, in the middle of the room, you spot Papyrus and a series of what looked to be dogs in unusual matching jumpsuits. Papyrus is waving his arms animatedly, talking at a rapid pace in his typical monster-language jumble, while both dogs are leaning back, looking vaguely entertained by Papyrus’ enthusiasm. Papyrus notices you first, his eyes lighting up in a way that, despite the language barrier, translates as an unmistakable welcome.

Papyrus jumps to his feet, his face breaking into an enormous grin as he calls out, “CAPTAIN! YOU HERE FOR… FUN?” His understanding of human speech may be limited, but he puts so much joy into each word that the meaning comes through loud and clear. All you could hear was the usual "RATSAHATA".

You nod, giving him a casual salute. “Hey Papyrus.”

Papyrus nearly bounces in excitement, nudging one of the dogs repeatedly and pointing to you as though you’re some rare species. You can tell they’re a couple based on the picture of each other they have on their jumpsuits, but can’t tell if they have assigned genders or not. The one with the curlycue gives you a small nod and a wide grin.

After a while, you notice that other monsters are slowly drifting closer, curious about your presence. One brave little monster, a small, birdlike creature with a long beak, sidles up and gives you a hesitant wave. It doesn’t say anything, just tilts its head and blinks at you with enormous eyes. You give it a small wave back, and it seems satisfied, darting back to its friends who are watching from the edge of the room.

Gradually, the initial shock of your presence begins to wear off. Conversations around you pick back up, though you still catch the occasional glance or whispered word. A few monsters drift past your group, sneaking curious peeks at you.

Eventually though even the preening Papyrus tires of the attention. He snatches your hand up in a vice like grip, and leads you with longer strides than you could comfortably keep up with out of the common area.

You find yourself in the monster dorm’s kitchen—a bustling, strange little room filled with mismatched pots, pans, and jars of substances you can’t quite identify. Most of it, you're sure, is food... probably. The dim lighting gives the place a surreal vibe, shadows flickering against the walls as the oven warms up, the stove humming in anticipation of whatever will (hopefully) cook on it.

YES! WELCOME, HUMAN!” Papyrus greets you with his signature fervor, hands flung wide, his voice booming through the kitchen like he’s addressing an audience rather than just you and a few curious bystanders. He is speaking in Monster, but his expressiveness bridges the gap. He’s outfitted in a chef’s apron that reads, in loud, mismatched letters, “I AM FOOD.”

There is a fire elemental monster standing in the corner who you have heard of by reputation alone, he had not been assigned a human. Lacked the necessary mouth parts to ever communicate with a human, apparently. The Elemental, who seems to have appointed himself the fire-safety marshal of this exercise, stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, the flames of his body flickering and pulsing slightly, as though in an anxious rhythm. Beside him is a blue male rabbit monster, who seems entirely unfazed by the scene, his interest purely in the chaos potential.

OKAY, HUMAN,” Papyrus announces proudly, gesturing grandly at a chaotic assortment of ingredients. “TO MAKE... FOOD—YOU... MUST...” He pauses, staring intently at the various bowls and jars he’s collected. “...STAB IT. MANY TIMES!

Why is he speaking in broken sentences, does he think that helps?”

He’s still the only one who can speak any human at all.”

Point taken.”

The Fire Elemental and Rabbit were muttering under their breaths together, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be too concerned with whatever they were up to.

You were a little concerned that the only word that was a word there was ‘Stab’. You hoped he hadn’t heard that anywhere too concerning.

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a wooden spoon, holding it aloft like a mighty weapon. “STAB!” He thrusts it at a bowl of something green and mushy, splattering a bit of it onto the countertop.

You’re almost certain he doesn’t mean “stab,” but you gamely pick up another spoon and give the bowl a few exaggerated pokes, which seems to satisfy him immensely.

Papyrus gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up, clearly pleased with your “stabbing.” “GOOD! YOU STAB... VERY... HANDSOME-LIKE!”

“Um, thank you?” you respond, unsure if that’s a compliment or some Papyrus-brand gibberish.

You glance over at the Fire Elemental, whose flames have brightened to a noticeable degree. He takes a cautious step closer, eyeing Papyrus as though he’s one wrong move from leaping into the fray. You feel a twinge of concern as Papyrus grabs another bowl with an unidentifiable substance that somehow glows faintly.

WE WILL... MARVEL!” Papyrus declares, lifting the glowing bowl over his head like he’s about to call down divine forces. “MARVEL AT... POTATO?” He gestures to you, as if to ask for confirmation. Another new word. You supposed he had been hanging around the human kitchens...

You don’t have the heart to correct him, and it could be potato… possibly. You nod, and Papyrus beams at you, clearly emboldened by your silent agreement.

AND NOW, FOR... MAGIC!” Papyrus picks up what looks like an entire jar of salt and dumps it in, his fingers shaking the last few grains with great reverence. “TINY STONES,” he clarifies, looking at you proudly.

You can’t help but laugh, but the Fire Elemental looks deeply pained. He clears his throat—a faint crackling sound—and you’re pretty sure he’s about to intervene, but Papyrus is already moving on.

TO MAKE THE PERFECT FOOD,” Papyrus says, “YOU MUST... SING TO IT!” He gives you a serious look, then launches into what might be his rendition of a lullaby—or maybe it’s a war cry. Whatever it is, it involves a lot of arm gestures, off-key humming, and a word or two of “SPAGHETTI!”

You glance over at the Rabbit Monster, who’s doubled over with laughter. He’s clearly enjoying this whole spectacle, every minute of it.

Feeling emboldened, you give the mystery bowl a little hum of your own and add a few exaggerated arm motions. Papyrus nods vigorously, clearly delighted by your enthusiasm. He gives the Fire Elemental a triumphant look, as if to say, See? the Fire Elemental, however, does not look convinced.

Papyrus grabs a raw vegetable that might be a carrot but is definitely not quite right, shoving it toward you with great determination. “EAT!” he demands, another new word, his “chef’s intuition” apparently requiring a taste test at this very stage.

You glance at the Fire Elemental, who shakes his head subtly, his flames turning a shade brighter, maybe warning you. But Papyrus is watching you with wide, expectant eyes. Not wanting to crush his spirits, you gingerly bite down.

It tastes like… bitter dirt and something vaguely chalky. You give a strained smile, trying not to cough. Papyrus laughs, interpreting your reaction as delight, apparently.

YES! YOU ARE... VERY STRONG! FOOD STRONG!” He pumps his fists, looking as proud as if he’s just conquered a culinary mountain.

You pat him on the shoulder, trying not to laugh. the Fire Elemental, however, is edging forward, and you can practically feel his concern for whatever comes next. Papyrus doesn’t notice—he’s too busy eyeing the stove with an expression of deep, if slightly misguided, concentration.

NOW WE... MAKE FIRE,” he declares, reaching over the burners.

At that, the Fire Elemental clears his throat and makes a sudden move, stepping in front of the stove with his arms stretched out protectively. He shakes his head firmly at Papyrus, his flames pulsing a little faster, and gives you an apologetic look, as if trying to convey, Sorry, but I cannot allow this.

Papyrus huffs but concedes, muttering something in monster language that sounds both indignant and very random. You can catch only a few words in English, all expletives. And possibly actually meant, for the first time.

The Fire Elemental gives Papyrus a very serious look, and Papyrus huffs and gestures to you, apparently agreeing to some supervision, albeit reluctantly.

As the Fire Elemental begins to demonstrate a simpler way to cook whatever concoction Papyrus has dreamed up, the Rabbit Monster gives you a light nudge, shaking his head with a knowing grin.

This is normal,” he whispers something, though you can’t understand a word. But the look says it all.

After a few more theatrical displays from Papyrus and a few worried sighs from the Fire Elemental, the session somehow concludes with a dish that, while deeply questionable, does not actively look like it will explode. You’re unsure of its flavor, but Papyrus beams at you proudly, giving you an exaggerated thumbs up. the Fire Elemental sighs with relief, his flames settling back to a calm glow, and the Rabbit Monster is still shaking with silent laughter.

As you glance at the dish that Papyrus has proudly placed before you, you realize it might be one of the least edible things you’ve ever seen. The concoction on your plate, a swirl of unidentifiable colors and lumpy textures, seems to ooze and harden in turns. Bits of overcooked, charred whatever-it-was cling to pieces of nearly-raw mystery vegetable, and it gives off a smell that’s something between burnt toast and a swamp.

But Papyrus is looking at you with such hopeful, proud eyes. He practically radiates with delight, his wide grin saying everything he can’t put into words. the Fire Elemental, who has migrated back to his post at the kitchen entrance, is still observing with caution, as if he might need to intervene again. the Rabbit Monster, meanwhile, has taken a seat across from you, his hands clamped over his mouth in a valiant attempt to suppress the fit of laughter that’s threatened to burst forth any second.

Papyrus looks at you, hands on his hips, chest puffed out like a chef awaiting a Michelin star review. “HUMAN! EAT... PLEASE... NOW!” He gestures wildly, clearly excited for you to dig in.

You swallow, steeling yourself. You’ve faced dangerous missions, impossible odds, and numerous horrific training sessions—but this? This may just take the cake… or, whatever the closest approximation in monster food might be. Carefully, you lift a forkful of the colorful sludge, keeping your face neutral, trying not to grimace.

Papyrus watches you eagerly, eyes wide, practically bouncing in place. The forkful is… dense, and when it finally reaches your mouth, the taste is just as wild as you feared. It’s somehow both burnt and sour, bitter and salty, with an aftertaste that’s… strange, to put it mildly. The texture is sticky and gritty, like a raw dough that didn’t quite survive the cooking process. It takes every ounce of control not to cough or gag, but you manage to choke it down, nodding as if it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever had.

“DELICIOUS!” you say, giving him an encouraging smile. “Really… interesting… flavor.”

Papyrus beams, practically vibrating with pride. “YES! YOU HAVE GOOD… FOOD TASTES, HUMAN!” He pats you on the back, nearly sending you sprawling forward. “YOU EAT LIKE A... FIERCE… DOG!

“Thank you,” you manage to say, trying not to laugh at his enthusiasm. You cut off another tiny piece of the creation, hoping maybe a smaller bite will somehow be more palatable. The Rabbit Monster has to look away, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. The sight of your forced smile and the sheer determination in your eyes is apparently too much for him.

The Fire Elemental, who’s caught the full view of your valiant attempt, gives you a sympathetic look. He mimics taking a breath—a gentle exhale of flame—and seems to mouth, You don’t have to.

But you press on. For Papyrus. You scoop up another bite, doing your best to chew as quickly as possible, and manage a strained, “Mmm.”

YES! HUMAN APPROVES!” Papyrus practically cheers, hands clapping together as he looks back at his dish with pride. “YOU ARE... TASTE! CHAMPION! STRONG HUMAN!”

You nod, trying not to let your eyes water from the taste, and reach for a glass of water, desperately washing down whatever remnants linger in your mouth. the Rabbit Monster’s eyes are shining with tears of laughter, his hands clasped in silent applause as he watches the scene unfold.

Papyrus, entirely unaware of your struggle, gestures to the dish, clearly preparing to serve more. “HUMAN NEEDS… MORE?” he asks, already scooping another massive portion onto your plate before you can even try to protest.

You bite back a yelp as the plate tilts with the sheer weight of it. You plaster on a grin, wondering how you’re going to survive. “Oh, um, you know… I think this might be enough. Really!”

MY FOOD IS FILLING, IT IS TRUE!!” Papyrus crows, nodding enthusiastically. He leans forward, studying your face with an earnest intensity. “YOU NEED... STRONG... BONES, HUMAN!

You nod vigorously, trying to subtly nudge the plate aside. “Right! Lots of… bones,” you manage, desperately hoping Papyrus will let you off the hook.

The Fire Elemental, sensing your plight, steps forward and gestures to Papyrus, pulling him aside. He mutters something in monster language that you can’t understand, his flame flickering as he speaks, his hands making subtle calming gestures. Papyrus listens intently, nodding now and then, his face falling slightly as if trying to work out some grand new idea. Finally, he looks back at you with a nod, his face breaking into a grin again.

YES, HUMAN,” Papyrus says with new intensity. “I WILL... IMPROVE... FOOD!” He clenches his fist, determination blazing in his eyes. “NEXT TIME, YOU WILL... SEE... FOOD OF LEGENDS!”

You give him a thumbs-up, relief flooding you. You can guess what he’s saying, it was finally over. “That was great, Papyrus. You’re really… a natural chef!”

The Rabbit Monster, who’s now clutching his stomach from laughing so hard, slaps his hand on the table in solidarity, nearly falling out of his chair. He finally manages to get enough breath to let out a single word that you can’t understand: “Epic.”

Papyrus nods, accepting this praise with immense pride, his hands on his hips as he surveys his handiwork. He nods with satisfaction. “YES. EPIC… IS CORRECT WORD.”

The Fire Elemental gives you a nod and a small thumbs-up, the closest he can come to showing sympathy. As Papyrus starts bustling about, proudly planning his next recipe with excited murmurs of “cheese wizard” and “spaghetti dragon,” you sneak the rest of your food back onto the tray, subtly sliding it toward the Fire Elemental. He watches it with a glint of curiosity, but when he realizes what it is, he shudders faintly, carefully moving it aside. Even the Fire Elemental, it seems, has his limits.

As you exit the kitchen with the Rabbit Monster trailing beside you, still chuckling, you glance back at Papyrus, who’s already scouring cupboards and drawers for his next culinary adventure.

The Rabbit Monster gives you a pat on the back. “Captain,” he says with a wide grin, barely containing his amusement, “you’re a braver person than I ever gave you credit for.

You laugh, rubbing your eyes. “I shouldn’t be able to get what you’re saying, but somehow... Papyrus does transcend the common tongue.”

It is with a light heart, and queasily rock heavy stomach, that you leave the monster dorm.

The compound is quiet at this hour, the deep blue of early night settled around you, casting the faint lights from the windows in a softened glow. You let out a sigh of relief. Strange as it was to step into their space for something other than duty, it had gone better than you’d expected.

A faint sound—a scuff on the gravel pathway behind you—draws your attention. Turning, you see a familiar figure approaching, his gait steady, shoulders squared in the crisp way only Ken could manage. His face, as ever, is carved in a look of intense focus, the same one he wore during briefings and debriefs. He’s the compound’s lead handler, and his presence tends to lend a seriousness to any interaction.

“Captain,” he greets you, his tone formal but not unfriendly. He glances over his shoulder at the dorm you’ve just exited, then back to you. “Didn’t expect to find you over here at this time.”

You nod, offering a casual smile. “A change of pace, I suppose.”

Ken’s brow lifts slightly, a hint of curiosity slipping through his typically stern expression. “How are you finding them?”

The question is casual, but it’s hard to tell from his face if it’s genuine interest or something else. You’ve never known Ken to show clear approval or disapproval when it comes to the monsters. Many of the others thought he disliked them, but you weren’t too sure. He seemed to dislike pretty much everything equally. His expression remains impassive, giving nothing away, as he waits for your answer.

“They’re… interesting,” you say carefully. “Different, sure, but they’ve got their own way of doing things.”

Ken hums thoughtfully, his gaze drifting back toward the monster dorm as he considers this. He crosses his arms, and after a pause, he asks, “Is it very different from the team going to Mars?”

You blink, surprised by the question. Ken has been briefed on the pending Mars mission, of course, but you’ve never known him to ask about the finer details of operations that didn’t concern him directly. He’s always been a “just the essentials” kind of leader. But now, his curiosity seems real, and his gaze sharpens as he waits for your answer.

“Well,” you begin, organizing your thoughts, “the Mars team is more… disciplined, obviously. We’re on strict schedules, no room for deviations. Everyone knows their roles, and we operate like clockwork. Monsters, though… they’re a bit more unpredictable.” You glance back at the dorm, remembering Papyrus’s enthusiastic cooking demonstration. “They improvise.”

“Improvisation,” Ken repeats, his tone giving no indication of approval or disapproval. “And how does Owen take it, reporting to you?”

You shrug, a slight smile tugging at your lips. “Owen grumbles sometimes, but he’s good at following orders. Once he gets over his initial complaints, he works well with the team.”

Ken’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile but close. “I thought he’d find the challenge of being subordinate… interesting,” he remarks. “But I can see why they chose you for command.”

For a moment, you’re thrown by the comment. Praise is rare from Ken, and while his words are brief and his expression still impassive, there’s something almost encouraging in his tone. He straightens, and you wonder if he’s about to turn and head back toward the compound.

Instead, he nods slightly, his gaze narrowing as he looks back to the monster dormitory. “You’re keeping up your training here until your expedition to Mars, the instructors seem to be keeping you on your toes. How do you find the setup with the monsters? How has it been adjusting to a team like them?” And this gives you pause. There’s a new heaviness to this question that seemed as if Ken was asking more than he was.

You consider his question carefully, unsure whether he’s probing out of professional interest or something more personal. His continued use of the word 'team' with relation to the monsters made you uneasy. “It’s… challenging. There’s a lot of miscommunication, obviously. Papyrus can speak a few words, but that’s it. Sans seems to understand a lot more than he lets on, but he can’t respond in a language I understand. And I’m sure the others think I’m just speaking gibberish half the time.”

Ken nods thoughtfully. “But they’re cooperative?”

“More than I expected, honestly,” you say, meeting his eyes. “They’ve got a strong sense of loyalty to each other. They might approach things differently, but once they commit to something, they give it their all. It’s… admirable.” You surprise yourself with how genuinely you mean it.

Ken tilts his head, studying you with a sharp gaze. “So you’re saying you see potential.”

There’s something intense in his expression, and it leaves you uncertain. He could simply be evaluating the monsters’ place in the compound—or maybe, you think, there’s something more, something personal that he’s weighing in his mind. You hesitate before answering, but in the end, you opt for honesty.

“Yes,” you say. “They’re unpredictable, and there’s a lot of room for error… but yes, I think they have potential.”

Ken’s gaze doesn’t waver, and for a moment you think he might be about to offer some insight into his own perspective on the monsters. But instead, he only nods, his usual unreadable mask slipping back into place.

“I’m glad to hear it, Captain,” he says, voice once again carrying that careful neutrality he’s known for. “If anyone could help bridge that gap, be it the human monster relationship or just our understanding of them, it’d be you. Keep at it.”

And with that, Ken turns and heads back toward the employee half of the compound, leaving you alone with his words and the quiet hum of the night. You watch him go, feeling strangely uneasy, still unsure about his true thoughts on the monsters, or why he’d taken such an interest in your relationship with them. So far, despite the oddity of your profession in comparison to the other humans gathered here, you had been treated as one of many. Not someone worth paying much more attention to than any of the other high powered professions around.

It made little sense, especially as others were starting to get along better with monsters too, you’d seen it.

Humans were funnier creatures than monsters sometimes. While unlikely to spend time with monsters in their spare time beyond the one night you needed to cohabit a room, you had undoubtedly seen people petting bemused monster’s fur, talking to them in cutesy voices, and just generally getting attached.

The boxer Alfie, paired with Temmie, had even taken to carrying it around in his arms while berating its lack of intelligence in a kind voice. Much like the way you would talk to an elderly dog that kept walking into doors.

But there were still some pairings, Papyrus' own with Manon, that could be seen as nothing but a total failure. Every attempt to approach the pastry chef went own in flames, very dramatic ones.

Last time Manon had shrieked at the top of her lungs the kind of insults that would make most flinch. The emotion behind the words, accompanied by the sad glimmer in Papyrus' sockets following and his rapid backing away, made you feel more sad than the possibly worse words Alfie was halfheartedly tossing at the Temmie.

Racism was still a problem within humanity itself, you were unlikely to be the person to crack this particular code, especially with a full different species thrown into the mix.

You step into the human dormitory, moving through the dimly lit corridors, when a muffled noise drifts toward you. At first, you can’t quite place it—a thumping rhythm, punctuated by groans that quickly become unmistakable. You almost roll your eyes, amused and a little bemused that someone’s gotten so obviously… amorous this late in the evening. The sounds grow louder as you continue down the hall, growing even more distinct, accompanied now by words you were starting to be able to make out through the walls.

“OH! Aaah... Aaaagh.” The voice, definitely male, was pealing louder. Screaming really.

And getting rhythmic.

“Un... Ugh... Ah... Ah... AH!!!! AH!!! Please, PLEASE!” Each squeak of a bedspring was accompanied by a noise forced from the lips of the man who was getting increasingly desperate in his pleas. The slur to the sound made you suspicious of whether he even realised the source of that cacophony was himself.

“My, ah! I... ah! MORE!” A sentence had been attempted, cut off abruptly in the throes of extreme pleasure.

With an inward chuckle, ears burning red and trying desperately not to recognise the voice even though it was pricking at the edge of your consciousness, you decide it’s best to keep moving, hoping to reach your room without having to witness any sort of embarrassing exit on someone’s part. Your footsteps quicken, but the sounds reach a crescendo just as you hit the top of the stairwell, that guttural and distracted voice hitting a climax that leaves no doubt about what just happened. You shake your head, half-stifling a laugh. Humans can be unpredictable, sure—but some things are universal.

As you round the corner to your floor, still chuckling, the sound of a door opening catches you off guard. You freeze, hoping you’ll escape without running into whoever was in the middle of that not-so-private moment. But as the door swings wider, you recognize the figure stepping out, and your amusement shifts instantly to stunned disbelief.

Five eyes and a set of pigtails greet you.

The spider monster adjusts her short, ruffled apron, smoothing it over her multiple arms, her spindly fingers moving with a casual grace. Her spider-like eyes flit around, widening just slightly when she spots you, her usual air of mischief tempered by a glint of recognition. She raises one eyebrow, meeting your shocked gaze with a look that could only be described as nonchalant.

She says something, the words a curious purr as she leans against the doorframe, her smirk widening.

You can feel your face heating up, though you’re not sure why, and you force yourself to regain composure. “N-no, continue on. Just, uh, passing by.” You glance at the door behind her, and the reality dawns on you as you recognize the number.

This is Owen’s room.

Your mind spins, processing the details. Owen, as far as you knew, was not one for monster company—he kept his distance, professional and formal, often with a hint of gruffness in his tone. But there’s no denying it now. The spider monster, of all monsters, had been in Owen’s room, and based on what you’d just overheard… they weren’t in there sharing battle tactics.

His arachnophobia, apparently, wasn’t as big a problem as you had originally thought.

The spider monster hums, her voice lilting with amusement as she picks up on your confusion. She starts down the hall, her movements smooth and self-assured, and you’re left blinking, stunned.

Before you can even begin to process what you’ve seen, the door behind her swings open again, and Owen steps out, pulling on a crumpled t-shirt, his eyes still slightly bleary. He freezes when he sees you, and a new layer of awkwardness settles over the moment. His face turns an impressive shade of red.

“Uh… Captain.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you, clearly aware that the whole hallway had likely heard everything.

Forcing your expression to stay neutral, you give him a tight nod, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. “Owen.”

Neither of you seems able to break the silence that follows. Owen’s mouth opens as though he wants to explain, but no words come out. You decide to save him the trouble and spare both of you the awkwardness.

“Have a good night, Owen,” you say, voice steady as your brain spins and trying desperately not to think about that spider woman’s six arms. You turn and continue down the hallway, feeling his eyes on your back until you turn the corner. Only once you’re safely out of sight do you let your expression crack.

The compound had more surprises than you’d anticipated, and apparently, more unique alliances than you could have ever expected.

And now you had to go back and sleep in the same room as a child. Your life had become so strange.