Chapter Text
Monday, October 15. 12:25
It’s a beautiful day outside… the wind is blowing, trees are dying… and on days like these, Sans is once again in front of your house, watching like a hawk. Well, he isn’t exactly right by your house, just in a park opposite of it. He’s sitting on his usual bench, the one that has the best position for his research. A perfect view of one of your windows and the front door, what more could he hope for?
With one leg over the other, Sans lounges back, arms on the backrest, cigarette between his teeth. It would be another uneventful day, if what he’s gathered proves to be correct. You only leave your home on Thursdays for your grocery trip. He’s done his fair share of internet browsing, looking up why humans would act a certain way. What he found was interesting and actually quite useful information. You might have something called Agoraphobia, ‘ an anxiety disorder that causes an intense fear of becoming overwhelmed or unable to escape or get help. ’ He recalls from the wikipedia site he found.
Basically—you’re scared. Constantly . Of everything outside of your safezone. Which is your home. Hence, you don’t leave it as much. He’d honestly be concerned if he just didn’t give a shit about some random human, it makes his job of keeping an eye on you much easier.
He pushes some smoke out from his nasal cavity, watching your silhouette hush by the window for the third time by now. ‘ busy as a bee today, huh? wonder what’s gotten her so riled up… ’
You appear for a fourth time, closing the window now before hurrying back out of sight. His non-existent stomach drops, shoulders tense. Did you notice him? Shit, he had to think fast, should he shortcut away? No. What would you even do about it? For all you know, Sans is just sitting in the park having a smoke. So he remains, eyelight glued onto the window until suddenly, the front door flings open and you rush out—just a bag over your shoulder.
Sans’ sockets widen and he’s up and on his feet near immediately when he watches you hurry somewhere. ‘ where’s she goin’?? ’ His phalanges twitch by his side, the cigarette falls from his mouth, landing in the dirt. He doesn’t bother to pick it back up, or even extinguish it before he shortcuts to the side of the street, the shift jarring as he lands, asphalt crunching underfoot.
A phantom chill creeps along his skull as your hurried steps echo through his mind. His mouth opens, then closes, your name dying on his teeth. He wanted to call out to you, but how would that look? ‘ calm the fuck down, she ain’t runnin’ from you… ’ he tells himself, taking in a breath as you cross the street to the small, run down train station.
…
…
Train station? Where the hell would YOU be going by train??
Even worse—how would he follow you? A train isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous way of transportation, with people crammed in there like sardines. Yes, he tried it before because Papyrus forced him to join on an out of town grocery trip…
Why did it matter where you were going anyway? It didn’t. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as his legs moved on their own. Shortcutting ever closer, Sans now stood at a corner, watching you stand on the platform, your feet parallel, back straight but slightly swaying from one side to the other in a strange, almost bouncy rhythm. Your chest heaves with hurried breaths, probably from the way you practically ran the short distance.
There is only one other person there with you, a stranger it seems since they’re sitting on their own somewhere off to the side. Lucky, neither of them notice him. Other than that, the train station isn’t much to look at. A single platform stretches out, its cracked concrete barely wide enough for a few passengers at a time. The metal railing is streaked with rust, and weeds creep through every crack they can find. Overhead, the station sign dangles precariously, missing several letters as if even they’d decided to leave. The only sounds are the faint hum of power through the tracks and the occasional chirp of a bird, cutting through the thick, heavy silence.
That this thing is even still in use baffles Sans, but judging by the staticky tune and the slightly warped sound of a voice announcing a train arriving, it very well still is. He watches you tense, clenching and unclenching your hands by your sides, standing still now.
The train arrives shortly after, screeching to a halt. The loud, grating noise made even Sans cringe, but he isn’t deterred. His eyelight is still firmly on the back of your head as you approach the wagon door. Pressing the button with your knuckle, your chest raises then falls with a heavy sigh, taking in the last bit of the cool, fresh air before you enter.
“damnit… what now?” He grumbles under his breath. He can’t lose you—not with this new development. The doors hiss as they begin to slide shut.
Shit.
His eyelight flickers toward them, then back to where you disappeared inside. A normal monster would let it go—but he isn’t normal, and he sure as hell isn’t letting you get away that easily. Before he can think it through, his magic flares, and in a blink, he’s standing at the other end of the train. A rash and admittedly very stupid decision, but he just couldn’t stop himself; his curiosity and need to see where you’re going was too strong.
The wagon is cramped, the air stale and tinged with sweat and metal. The sudden jerk of motion throws Sans off balance, making him grab for a pole with a hissed curse. It’s stuffy, loud, and the faint hum of too-close conversations grates against his skull.
He notices the stares almost immediately—wide eyes, gasps, even a kid pointing like he’s some circus act. It grates on him, and he shoots them a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. They look away, except for the kid, who just keeps grinning like Sans is the best thing they’ve seen all day.
Ignoring them, he scans the wagon. He spots you sitting by a window, focused on the phone in your hand. His soul thrums in his ribcage, fingers twitching at his side. What to do, what to do… It’s not like he can just ask where you’re going. ‘ best to just lay low n’ keep an eye on her. ’
Monday, October 15. 12:48
Getting on the train relatively unnoticed was a piece of cake compared to getting off. As the train slowed, you rose to your feet, and Sans felt his soul start to speed up, his whole body tense, eyelight glued on your back. You gather your bag, sling it over your shoulder and luckily don’t turn to face him, choosing to leave through the door you came in from. Once you’re off the train, Sans finally moves too, following the flow of people leaving the cramped space. It is difficult keeping you in his sight with you manoeuvring through the small crowd like you do this regularly.
Is this a piece he’d been missing?
Do you do more than what you let on?
Following you to the other platform as well as he could through the thinning crowd of people gaping and glaring at him. At one point, someone even brushes shoulders with him, mumbling something under their breath and Sans has to bite his tongue to not tell them where to stick it. Still, he wonders how you appear to be the only one who just doesn’t seem to notice him. Like you’re so stuck in your own little bubble to care.
For some unknown reason, it infuriates him. Maybe it’s the way you move, like you own the space around you despite being so small. Or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t see him—don’t notice him—like he’s just part of the scenery. For someone like him, that wasn’t normal. That wasn’t right.
Shaking his head, he pushes those unwanted feelings down just as you come to a stop near the edge of the platform, starting your little swaying dance once again. He pushes out a sigh, taking the moment of reprieve to inspect his surroundings.
This station looks more modern, well kept and clean. The signs aren’t missing letters, looking like they’ve just been granted a fresh coat of paint not too long ago, reflecting the cold, fluorescent lights overhead. The concrete lacks all the cracks, no weeds, the only imperfections being the occasional piece of old gum wedged between the bricks. Even the speakers sound more crisp and lack the staticy ting. The metal seating is equally well kept, no rust to be seen and there was a long roof covering both of the platforms, providing some shelter from the elements if it were to rain or snow. Hell, there were electronic looking signs with the upcoming trains listed with times and everything!
His eyelight settles back on you. Just like before, you stop swaying, standing straight with a tight grip on your bag when a jingle rings through the speaker, followed by the voice of a woman: “Platform two, the train to Ebott City is now arriving. Please keep behind the yellow line and hold onto strollers and other items.”
‘ ebott city… ’ The words snag in his mind, sharp and sudden. He raises a hand, teeth worrying at the edge of his thumb as he waits for any reaction from you.
Nothing.
You stand there—idly.
Are you going to get on the train? Or is there someone on it you’re waiting to meet?
The screech of brakes cuts through the air, making you flinch. Sans notices the way your hands dart to your ears, shoulders tensing as if to block the sound out. He files that reaction away—something about it feels… significant.
The train doors open, releasing a wave of people onto the platform. Some move with purpose, others drift aimlessly, phones in hand. A few glance at him—wide-eyed, annoyed—but he doesn’t move, doesn’t care. His sockets stay locked on you, even as the tide of bodies begins to thin.
And then you step forward.
Damnit. Sans grits his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. This was starting to wear on him. The sneaking, the waiting, the wondering—it had been fun, at first. A way to kill time. But now? Now it felt like a chore.
Was it worth the effort?
Yes.
Before he can second-guess himself, he’s on the train again, shortcutting to the opposite side of the wagon you entered. His gaze sweeps the space, noting the cleaner, more spacious interior. It’s nicer than the last one, but he barely registers the difference. The humans here don’t smell as bad, and the air isn’t as stifling, but their glares are just as sharp. Not that it fazes him. Not one bit. Especially if enduring them means being close to you furthering his research.
Sans shakes his head. Why the hell does this matter so much? It shouldn’t. But then again, nothing should’ve mattered, and yet here he is, skulking through train stations like some two-bit stalker. Real dignified. But no—this isn’t stalking. Not really. It is… research.
Just research.
Once again, he spots you. This time, you’re standing by the doors you entered from, focused on your phone like before. Stuck in your own little world. Judging by the smile on your face, you’re either looking at something funny, or you’re messaging someone.
The second realisation made Sans’ soul tighten with a feeling he’s unfamiliar with. Jealousy? Nah, couldn’t be. He didn’t get jealous—he got even. And yet… his soul felt like it was twisting in on itself, sharp and irritating, and no matter how much he tried to push it down, it stuck. Gripping the pole hard enough to make his bones creek, he forces a calm facade. Giving himself away now would only ruin all the efforts he had gone through to get this far in the first place. Wherever ‘this far’ is.
The train begins to move, causing you to shift your weight, pressing more against the separation from the seats, your smile disappearing.
Sans scoffs quietly. Wherever this little adventure is leading, it better be worth it. And it better give him some good information on you as well. The more he knows about you, the more accurately he can point whether you’re playing him for a fool or you’re actually being genuine with your so-called kindness.
Monday, October 15. 13:00
People board, get off. Not much of note happened for a long time and Sans started to regret following you. He let out a yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth to make a point by showing his sharp teeth, golden tooth glinting in the soft glow of the train's interior lights. A silent warning to not get on his nerves for all the people staring at him like he’s a two headed horse or some shit.
A tune chimes before the robotic voice of a female announces: “Next stop: South Ebott City.” That is what suddenly gets your attention and you stuff your phone into the pocket of your hoodie, your eyes on the door.
Sans silently hopes now that you’re getting off this damned vehicle, mostly for himself. He is slowly approaching the end of the rope with his nerves and the non-stop glares, the atmosphere and overall the whole ‘being with people’ thing is only making it so much worse.
Going out and about has never been his cup of tea, preferring to stay in the comfort of his home—the underground. But that changed now that he’s found something that caught his interest, and he has to get used to it eventually. ‘ it’ll be worth it in the end. ’
The train stops and you step forward, pressing the button to open the door with your knuckle. The doors hiss open and you get off. Once again, Sans waits a few beats, tracking you through the window until he feels it is safe enough to step out of the wagon as well.
Being discreet is near impossible, with him sticking out like a sore thumb. But luckily, you’re still oblivious, weaving through the crowd of people waiting to board, your destination unknown. This new station looked much like the other—clean and uninteresting with the odd advertisement flashing on LED screens of some monsters and humans shaking hands… Humans are really trying to push the whole ‘get along’ crap as much as possible, huh? But besides that, his gaze always manages to find you in the crowd, moving around like you belong here. Like the world wasn’t constantly watching, waiting for you to mess up. It made him grit his teeth harder. How could you be so at ease when he wasn’t?
Sans hasn’t been to this part of the city a lot, the people here seem to still shoot the bulky skeleton the occasional glance, but they don’t linger like in the less ‘civilised’ towns he had been to. They’re near the main part of Ebott City where the epicentre of monsters live. It would be odd if people here hadn’t gotten used to the sight of them by now.
He sighs, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. Whatever your game is, he isn’t going to back out now. Not when he’s this close to a breakthrough. Your destination will be another huge piece to the puzzle that is you, and he’d be a fool to let that slip through his fingers.
As the crowd thins near the exits, you appear to have some more purpose in your steps than before, and soon after, Sans finds out why: you enter a small bakery.
…a bakery.
“seriously?” He grumbles out under his breath, stopping in his tracks as you disappear into the store. Is that really why you came here? To get some dumb pastries? All that effort for this? No. There has to be more to it. Is this your workplace? Or does someone close to you work here? Family? Friends? A partner? Was that why you smiled at your phone? A date?
Why did he care, anyway? You weren’t even his problem. But no matter how hard he tried to shove that thought aside, it stuck like gum on the sole of his shoe, nagging him, pulling him deeper into this stupid mess you’d roped him into without even trying.
His hands ball to fists in his pockets, his jaw tight. What significance could this place be holding? It’s just a dumb, niche of a store with one window and a glass door. It didn’t even look fancy!
Sans is seconds away from barging in there to have a look for himself when you reappear with a sandwich of sorts and a bottle of ice tea in your hands.
Ah. That’s why you went in there. Just to grab some food. But that seriously can’t be it, right?
It appears to be, when you finally leave the premise of the station, crossing a road to a park and take a seat on one of the benches. Did you really come all this way for a damn picnic in a park? You have a perfectly good one right in front of your own damn house! So why come here ?!
He scans the park, sockets narrowing at every passerby who even dared glance in your direction, all while you sat there, minding your own business, looking unbothered like it was a walk in the park for you. Heh… No—Humour isn’t getting him anywhere now either. He needs to focus.
What is he missing?
Monday, October 15. 13:10
With a satisfied sigh, you crumple up the paperbag in which your sandwich came in. It tasted great, just like the other times you had it before. Good—they didn’t change the recipe. You raise from your seat, straighten your hoodie and toss your trash into the nearby can.
This was one of the best parts of having to go to these stupid appointments—the short period between the stress of the train rides and the relaxed moments you have before needing to move on. Though, somehow today feels even more pressing than all the previous times you had to go here. Maybe it was the addition of the occasional monster passing by that put you on edge?
You still aren’t used to the sight of the various creatures going about their day, and you find your eyes linger on them whenever one of them passes by. But not in a judgemental way—no. Curiosity fits it better. You are quite interested in them. How they used to live in that damned mountain. About their culture. Their apparent abilities… Oh how you wished you could just have a monster friend who you can bombard with all those questions that plague your mind.
But that has to wait. At least until you see that skeleton the next time. Your stomach flutters as you think about him, excitement mingling with the knot of dread already tightening at the thought of your appointment. Though, there is still that small part of you that worries about what would happen if he were to reject your proposal of friendship. You still hope it will all turn out well.
Huffing, you turn on your heel, ready to continue to your dreaded appointment. You hate those checkups—The bland lookin rooms, all the questions they are going to be asking again and again, losing all their meaning and becoming just words rather than actual interest in your wellbeing…
A shiver runs down your spine when you take the first few steps, a nagging feeling telling you to check your surroundings. Nothing unusual, just the familiar sense of paranoia you get whenever you leave your home. So you dismiss it, walking through the small park, looking at the trees lining the path as a distraction.
You’re already a bit behind time for your liking, so your pace quickens, now speed walking towards the centre of the small town that called itself ‘South Ebott City.’ If it weren’t for the dread you feel each time you leave the comfort and safety of your home, you’d love to go to Ebott City directly. See the mountain for yourself and maybe learn more about monsterkind.
Maybe one day, you’ll stand at the base of Mount Ebott, staring up at its jagged cliffs, trying to picture how a whole civilization lived beneath it. The thought alone sends a thrill through you—but not today.
You reach a crossroad, steps slowing, then coming to a halt at the edge of the road.
‘ Left, right, no cars, cross. ’ You resume walking.
As you near the centre of the town, more people are buzzing around, muffled conversations reaching you through your earpods over the song that played. Buildings are set more tightly together and the pedestrian zone is lined with shops. You pass the occasional bench and flower decoration, the sun starts to peek out between the clouds, warming you up a bit. Good, you were starting to regret not wearing a proper jacket or at least a beanie. You live and you learn.
As your ‘adventure’ continues, you mouth along to the lyrics of Karma by AJR, not caring about how you might look. If anyone decides to be a judgemental asshole, they can shove it where the sun doesn't shine. It’s your life. You can do what you want as long as you’re not hurting anyone.
After a lot more walking, you finally approach the building you dread entering every time. It looms ahead, its washed-out pink walls looking sickly in the sunlight. It stands out like a sore thumb amidst the livelier town square, as unwelcoming as the memories tied to it. Next to it was something more pleasant: another bakery—just for sweets and cakes. The smell of something delicious hits your nose, making you debate if you have time, maybe you could grab something for yourself after you’re done here.
You check the time on your phone. About five more minutes until you have to head inside. Though, you like to be early, so you decide to head in now.
Gripping the hem of your hoodie, you stop at the door, fingers hovering over the handle. For a moment, you think about turning around, grabbing that sweet treat, walking back to the park, and pretending this place doesn’t exist. But you can’t. You sigh, push the door open and take one last look around.
As you glance at the glass door of the bakery next to you, something catches your eye. A shape, a figure… You blink, and it’s gone. Just your nerves again, you tell yourself. But the hairs on the back of your neck don’t settle.
Monday, October 15. 13:25
Shit, that was way too close. Sans presses himself further against the wall he shortcutted to, his back firmly against the rough exterior of the building next to the one you just went to enter. He had NOT expected you to turn around. Especially since you hadn’t turned around ONCE the whole time he’s been following you.
His soul thrums in his ribcage and the saccharine smell that clings to the air sticks to his nose in a way that makes his sockets twitch. Too sweet. It’s like the scent’s mocking him. Holding his breath, Sans waits for something to happen.
1… 2… 3… 4…
The sound of the door falling shut cuts the air.
5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10…
Nothing.
Just a car driving by and a bird flying overhead.
Sans lets a few more beats pass until he forcefully releases the breath, pushing himself off the wall. Relaxing slightly, Sans forces his shoulders down, though tension still buzzes beneath the surface. There is still the mystery of what the fuck this place is and your business here. Around the corner, he scans the area, his gaze darting to every potential clue. The building itself doesn't give anything away, not from where he is standing anyway. So he approaches, caution in his steps as he draws ever closer to the door you had just entered.
A sign next to the door finally gave him a hint as to what this place is.
“psychosocial service..?” he drawls out with a cocked brow, already reaching for his phone. ‘ Figures this dumb thing’s finally earning its keep.’
With a swipe of the stylus, it unlocks and he opens the browser, typing in the address of this place followed by the name of it.
Tapping the side of the phone with the pen, Sans’s eyelight flicks between the screen and the door, deciding to cross the road in case you’d come out just as quickly as before with the bakery.
The screen flashes, indicating it’s finished loading and he focuses on the results:
The Psychosocial Service provides mental health and social support to individuals facing various psychological or social challenges. Their services often include counselling, crisis intervention, and assistance with managing life stressors related to mental health, addiction, trauma, or personal hardship.
“mental health and trauma?” He huffs, a sharp edge to the sound. The words tug at something buried deep, but he pushes it aside, like always. Not his problem.
‘blah, blah, blah—mental health crap, counselling, trauma, addiction, blah.’ He skims the rest, his brow furrowing. None of it answers the real question: why the hell were YOU here?
He shoots another glance at the door, straining to catch even the faintest sound of footsteps. Not a damn thing. Still, his shoulders stay taut.
‘ how long is this gonna take? ’
Monday, October 15. 14:42
Seconds turned to minutes. 5, 10, 15, 30.
It's been over an hour now since you disappeared into that building, and Sans has turned to pacing in front of it, cigarette between his teeth. He's checked for any other exits, but he has only found the one door connecting to the outside. He's even gone so far as to sneak a peek inside, only to be greeted by a narrow staircase and an elevator. Not much of use to him if he didn't know where exactly you went.
He passes by the door, biting down on the cigarette harder than ever. What's taking so long? What are you doing in there?
Another pass.
Did you catch on somehow and are now hiding from him? No, that can't be. Other than that one close call he's been laying low. Making sure to keep an appropriate distance at all times.
Another pass.
Or did he actually miss you coming back out somehow..? His steps falter for a moment before he shakes his head and resumes his pacing. Nah, he had the exit in his sights the entire time, so that is also impossible.
Another pass.
So what's keeping you in there? What are you doing? Why could he not just give it up and go home already? It's not like this matters! It shouldn't matter!
Growling, Sans turns on his heels, the pace of his impatient steps gradually getting more agitated as his mind begins to switch between reason and whatever this new feeling is that reared its ugly head. He flicked ash from his cigarette, the glowing ember crackling faintly in the quiet. His muttered curses mixed with the rhythmic click of his shoes against the pavement, a steady beat to his spiraling thoughts.
He needs to know.
He needs to know.
He needs to know.
Just then, when he turned to make another pass by that godforsaken door did something—or rather, someone collide with him.
“ay, watch it!” He grabs the person by the shoulders, ready to tear them a new one when he is met with wide eyes.
Your wide eyes.