Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ebott City, 192X

Beyond the horizon, the sun began to rise, painting the tops of the skyscrapers with a soft, amber glow. Within cramped apartment buildings, the city folk began to rise from their beds, and began preparing for a bright, new day. As the hours passed, and the sun climbed higher into the sky, the roads became cluttered with heavy traffic and blaring horns. Everyone had somewhere to be that morning, and tie was money. Clanking and clattering on decades-old tracks were the local trolleys, providing a somewhat speedier method of traveling from one of the city to the other. Throngs of businessmen, women, and, occasionally, children traveled down the withered sidewalks.

One child in particular was dressed in a particularly ragged set of brown overalls, and a white, button-up shirt. His skin had a yellowish-tint to it, and his eyes were squinted despite the newsy cap on his head providing more than enough shade from the sun. He was quite young, maybe 7 or 8, and judging by his unkempt appearance, it was a wonder where his parents were. Well…he had no parents. Not anymore, anyway. This child, Frisk, had no choice but to take care of himself now, and as he gripped tightly to the box that bounced against his leg, he hollered at the top of his lungs:

“Shoe shinin’! Anyone need a good shoe shinin’!? Only ten cents!”

Frisk walked through the crowd, repeating his offer over and over again. Unfortunately, he was met with silence as people walked on, not giving him the time of day. Frisk tailed a man, lightly tapping his arm. The man glanced back at him, his eyes narrowed. Frisk put on a polite smile.

“Care for a shine, mister?” the boy asked.

“Hmph.” Frisk then gasped as the man swung his arm at him, knocking him back. “Beat it, brat.” Frisk fell on his rump, staring up meekly at the grouch as he walked off. Frisk got up, letting out a huff. He was no stranger to such aggression, but nevertheless, it did get under his skin just a bit. Times could be tough in Ebott City, he knew that firsthand, but there was no need to go around acting like a jerk. After all, things could always get worse.

“Ah--! Hey!”

Frisk turned his head towards the faint yell. Just across the street, a nicely-dressed man was exiting the local bakery, a bag of fresh goods in hand. Some schoolchildren were rushing off down the sidewalk, and judging by the man’s reaction, it seemed they had run into him. He looked down at his shoes with a look of annoyance. Frisk perked. Could it be…?

“Dammit…” the suited man cursed. “My best shoes, too…” Frisk’s heart fluttered. This was his chance! Quickly, the boy raced to the end of the sidewalk. Bouncing from foot to foot, he waited for the light, and as soon as the cars came to a stop, he bolted across the street. The suited man was just about to start walking off.

“Hey!” Frisk called. “Excuse me!” The man looked up, cocking a brow. Frisk skidded to a stop in front of him, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Er…yes?”

“C-Can I…interest ya…in a shinin’?” There was a moment’s pause. The man stared down at Frisk, and Frisk…somehow managed to return his gaze. After what seemed like an eternity, the man nodded.

“Sure, but make it quick; I need to get to an interview.”

“Yessir!”

They moved closer to the wall, making way for those walking along the sidewalk. Frisk knelt, opening his box and pulling out his trusty shoe-shining rag, a tin of shoe polish, and a horsehair brush. Immediately, he got to work, whistling a tune as he dusted off the scuffed shoe, dabbled on some polish, and allowed the air to dry it. In a matter of minutes, the shoe looked almost brand new, the fresh coat of polish making it glint in the morning light. The man stared at his shoe in awe.

“Wow…” he murmured. “That…that looks great! Ha! And here I thought I was a goner…thanks, kid. How much do I owe ya?”

“Just ten cents, sir.”

“Ten cents? Oh no…that’s hardly enough for you to get by. Besides, you did such a good job, ten cents wouldn’t be fair. Here.” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to Frisk, whose mouth fell open in shock.

“A ten…?” he whispered. “…Gee whiz, mister…I can’t accept that…”

“Of course, you can.” The man flashed him a smile. “Take care of yourself alright?” Frisk felt a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He clutched the bill close to his chest.

“I will,” Frisk promised. “Thank ya, sir!”

With that, the man gave Frisk one final nod, and walked off. Frisk shoved the ten into his pocket, grabbed his box, and merrily pranced off. Kindness was rare in the city of Ebott. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and people had to look out for themselves. But to know that there were some people with selfless souls here and there…Frisk couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of hope, hope that…things for him would change. That he would abandon the streets and find a new home, a new family…new people he could call “Ma” and “Pa”. Frisk then let out a sigh as he realized…those were just dreams. What good were dreams in the big city?

The day carried on as usual. Frisk continued his rounds, traveling up and down every sidewalk, offering his services. Some people pitied the child, and stopped to give him a bit of work. Slowly, but surely, the bottom of his pocket was beginning to fill with dimes. Nothing he made that day, however, could top that ten dollar bill. Every time Frisk stuck in his hand to put in a dime, he felt the worn paper of the bill brush his skin, bringing another smile to his face.

At noon sharp, Frisk decided to break for lunch. Leaning against the wall of a building, he reached into his pocket and pulled out some of his earnings: 40 cents. It was more than enough to buy a cheap meal from the local burger shop. Shoving the coins back into his pocket, Frisk prepared to start walking, when suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder.
“Wha--?” was all Frisk could manage to say, before he was pulled into the darkness of an alley. He was thrown back, landing roughly on his rear. Rats, who had been feasting on whatever garbage they could find, scurried off at the sudden movement. Frisk looked up, feeling his heart race as three familiar figures stood over him. They were dressed similarly to him, with white shirts, overalls and hats. Their shoe-shine boxes rested by the walls, allowing them the freedom of cracking their knuckles.

“Well, well, well,” one of them began. “If it isn’t our good, ol’ pal, Frisk.” Frisk flinched as the word “pal”. Never had he heard something so ironic. These boys were in the same boat as him, living on the streets and shining shoes for money. It was understandable that there’d be competition between them, after all, they all had to eat, but this trio in particular was the bane of the good-hearted shiners. The one in the middle, he called himself “Niro”, spoke up.

“‘S’been a while since we’ve seen ya, Frisky,” said Niro, his voice so sickeningly-sweet it nearly made Frisk nauseous. “How’ve ya been? Made any good money today?”
“L-Like I’d tell you,” Frisk replied, shifting over so that his pocket was pinned between himself and the pavement. Niro simply laughed.

“Aw, c’mon, we’re all friends here,” he said, shooting a wink at one of his friends. Said friend pulled out a switchblade from his pocket. Frisk’s heart nearly stopped. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. You give us the money, and we’ll be on our way, ya follow?”

“N-No…” Frisk scooted back, shaking his head.

“No?” Niro chuckled again. “Heh…you always were the stubborn one…Looks like Frisky needs another reminder of why he shouldn’t say no to me, eh, boys?” Niro’s friends joined him in his cruel laughter as they began to advance on Frisk. His heart racing, Frisk grabbed his shoe-shine box, scrambled to his feet, and began to run as fast as his boots would allow. He heard footsteps rushing behind him, followed by the jeering shouts of Niro and his friends.

“Get back ‘ere! It’ll only hurt for a second!”

“You’re not gettin’ away from us, Frisky!”

With each taunt, the determination to get away grew stronger within Frisk. He turned the corners of the alleyway, knocking over trashcans and leaping over sleeping homeless folk. But he could still Niro’s gang following behind him.

“Just leave me alone!” he cried out. “I don’t wanna fight you guys!” His plea was met with more cackling and insults. It seemed running would be the only option. Or so Frisk thought. As Frisk made his final turn, he skidded to a stop. Towering over him was a chain-link fence. A large garbage bin sat in front of it, which would have made climbing over it an idea…had it not been for the barbed wire at the top of the fence. Frisk heart sank as the realization finally kicked in: he was trapped.

“There you are…”

Frisks blood ran cold. Swallowing, he turned to face Niro and his friends. Niro stood just in front of him, while the other two moved to his sides, effectively cornering him against the garbage bin. Frisk stared Niro deep in the eyes, hoping, praying that he would have a change of heart and reconsider…but alas…this was just another of the city’s cruelties. Sighing, Frisk closed his eyes tightly.

“Do your worst…” he whispered.

“Heh…with pleasure,” was Niro’s response.

Footsteps began to draw nearer and nearer. Frisk’s body quivered, but he stayed firm, bracing himself for the first hit…

POW!

Frisk’s eyes shot open at the sound. What on Earth was that!? It nearly busted his eardrums! He wasn’t the only one to have been started by the noise. Niro and his friends looked around, losing their malicious grins.

“H-Huh?” stuttered Niro.

Frisk felt the garbage bin pushing at his back. He, as well as Niro and his friends, backed away from the fence, allowing the bin to be pushed away from it. Appearing from behind the garbage bin was some sort of creature, dressed in a yellow blouse, a red skirt, a cozy-looking jacket, and a brown hat with a cute, little flower decoration. She was tall, with fluffy, white fur, and low-hanging ears. Her eyes, a startling shade of crimson, stared at Niro, into his dirty, little soul. She carried a pistol in her hand, smoke billowing from its mouth. Her finger rested on the trigger.

“What a terrible bunch o’ brats, torturing a poor, innocent kid,” she started. Her eyes softened as they fell on Frisk. “Don’t be afraid, hun. I’m not gonna let ‘em hurt ya.”
“A-A…” Niro tried to speak. “A m-m-monster…” The monstress rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’M the monster? After you tried gangin’ up on this poor boy? Brats like you make me sick. Get the hell outta here, before I pump ya full of lead.”

The boys didn’t need to be told twice. They turned on their heel and ran, leaving Frisk alone with the monster woman. Frisk gazed up at her, unsure of what to do or say. She was a living, breathing monster. Frisk had never met one before, only hearing whispers about them from passing city folk. Monsters were disgusting, soul-stealing creatures, who’d kill a human as soon as they looked at them. It was for that reason that they were confined to a fenced-off section of the city known as the Monster District. And yet…this woman had saved him. What was her motive? To make sure she was the only one who could hurt him. Or…did she truly come to protect him? Frisk couldn’t be sure, but her stare and her gun were beginning to make him rather uncomfortable. Seeing the discomfort on his face, the monstress tucked the gun away in her pocket and put on a smile.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said. “My name is Toriel. I live around these parts, in the Slums. I come here every day to make sure no humans are pokin’ around where they don’t belong. I must say, I’m surprised to see a kid wanderin’ around here all alone. Where are your parents?”

Frisk opened his mouth to reply, before pausing, and looking down at the ground. Toriel’s eyes widened.

“Oh…oh my…I’m…I’m so sorry…” Frisk nodded, sniffling. It had been a while since his parents had passed, but thinking about them never stopped hurting. Toriel knelt, looking Frisk in the eyes. Sympathy glowed in her crimson orbs. “Hey…um…this might seem a bit sudden, but…how would ya like to come with me? The humans who come this way never have a home to go back to and…I wouldn’t mind lookin’ after ya. If you’d like.”

Frisk couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A home? He could finally get his wish? He would finally have a…a mother? The boy then caught himself. What was he doing? He was about to go off with some random monster? Who knew what she would’ve done to him!? But those eyes…Frisk could see a motherly glow in them, one that looked genuine. Could this monster actually be…kind? There was only one way to find out.

“I’ll…I’ll come with you,” he finally said. Toriel let out a soft, happy noise. It sounded like the bleat of some sort of animal, a goat, Frisk determined, judging by her appearance. The monstress stood, and walked towards the fence.

“Alright then,” said Toriel. She beckoned for him to follow her. “C’mon. It’s just through this hole.”

“Hole?” thought Frisk.

He watched as Toriel went behind the garbage bin, and reemerged behind the fence. He followed her lead and found that there was, indeed, a hole in the fence that had been hidden by the garbage bin. It made sense; monsters weren’t allowed to wander beyond their district unless on business. It explained why Frisk had never met one before. But he felt that he could trust his new caretaker. Once on the other side of the fence, Toriel pulled the bin back over the hole, and joined Frisk’s side.

“Well, hun? Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Side by side, Frisk and Toriel walked, going deeper into the Monster District. Every so often, the boy would take a glance behind him, looking back at the fence. It grew smaller and smaller with each passing minute. Frisk couldn’t help but wonder...was he really doing this? Was he really going to leave everything he had known behind for a woman, a monster woman, no less, that he just met? He looked back at Toriel. The monster woman was smiling contently, walking with her hands folded neatly in front of her. She just had an air of pleasantness about her. Surely, Frisk was making the right choice. After all, it would be all be worth it to have a roof over his head again.

Taking a look around, Frisk noticed that they had walked onto a narrow road, sandwiched between ramshackled and incredibly small shacks. Their plywood walls were decayed, damaged by years of rain and snow. Most of their windows were broken, revealing the darkness inside. Doors were either nonexistent, or were replaced by nails and wooden planks. It all gave Frisk a sort of uneasy feeling, and he subconsciously moved closer to Toriel. Toriel looked down at him, a merry laugh escaping her lips.

“Don’t you worry, hun,” she told him. “The Slums might be a bit run down…”

“A bit?” Frisk thought, cocking a brow.

“But in time, you’ll see it’s a nice, little place. Not too many monsters live around here, so you don’t have to worry about unwanted attention. Keep in mind, though, if someone does give ya trouble…” She patted her jacket’s pocket. “I’ll fill ‘em with daylight.” Frisk wasn’t too sure what that meant exactly, but judging by Toriel’s gesture, it didn’t sound too good. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be given the chance to act on that promise.

Onwards, they walked, twisting and turning on the worn, cobblestone path. Many times, Frisk had noticed movements out of the corners of his eye. When he turned to look, he would see an assortment of monsters: large, meowing frogs, timid-looking insect creatures, and even what appeared to be sentient globs of gelatin. They would watch Frisk from within the shacks and around the corners, looking curious, but never approaching. Toriel’s arm suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, and as Frisk glanced up at her, he could see her reaching for her pocket. His heart skipped a beat.

“U-Uh...maybe they just want to say “hello”?” said Frisk quietly.

“Hmph,” Toriel responded, glaring at the other monsters out of the side of her eyes. “They’d better say it away from us, then.” Frisk fell silent. He glanced back at the other monsters, only for them to have disappeared. In their place however was...something. Frisk couldn’t exactly make out what it was, but it was standing off in the distance, watching them quietly. It was covered in the darkness of the shadows; the only thing Frisk could make out were two, white pinpricks of light. Perhaps it was one of the frog things? No...it was much larger. Much...stouter…

“T-Tor…” Frisk began, pulling on the woman’s skirt. No sooner had he began speaking, however, the figure suddenly vanished, as if it had never existed in the first place. Frisk gasped, glancing around. Where had it gone? How could it have disappeared like that? The boy was so dumbfounded, that he hadn’t realized Toriel had been talking to him.

“Hun? Honey? What’s wrong? What’d ya see?”

“I thought...I thought I saw…” Frisk paused for a moment, before shaking his head. “Uh, nevermind...I think it was one of those monsters again.”

“Don’t you fret, hun,” said the monstress. “We’re almost home.” Throughout the rest of the journey, Frisk clung tightly to Toriel. He could feel eyes burning into his back as the thing continued to watch him, but he refused to look back. Whatever it was, it would have to come closer and risk getting blown away if it wanted to cause trouble.

“Ah, there it is.” Toriel and Frisk had finally come to a stop in front of a much nicer-looking shack. The walls were a gentle purple, and by the looks of it, they had been recently painted, making it pop against the surrounding grays and browns. There were two windows, small garden boxes perched neatly on the windows. In said boxes bloomed golden-colored flowers. It was a pretty nice place, Frisk had to admit. He followed Toriel inside, glancing down as he stepped on the doormat. “Welcome Home!”, it read.

Frisk had taken only a single step inside the living room, when he was blasted in the face by a thick layer of herbal-scented smoke. It assaulted his nose and filled his lungs, sending him into a violent, coughing fit. Toriel led Frisk towards one of the windows, opening it up and fanning the smoke outside.

“Great…” a high-pitched voice suddenly said. “The ol’ chunk o’ lead’s back.”

“Oh, hush up,” Toriel shot back. “And put that darned thing out; we have company.”

As Frisk took a few deep breaths of fresh air, he looked around. The living room was very small, sharing space with a dining table and the kitchen. A bookshelf was tucked away in the corner, hold all sorts of books. A sofa and an armchair bordered a mahogany coffee table. Another small table rested beside the armchair, holding a radio and a flowerpot. In the flowerpot was another golden flower, but unlike the ones outside, this one seemed to be sentient. It had a face, for starters, and a rather bored-looking one at that. Atop its “head” was a black, red-trimmed fedora. Hanging out of the side of its mouth was what looked like a cigar, which continued to spew that harsh aroma.

“Pheh…” the flower scoffed. “Why should I?”

“Because I’ll turn ya into golden flower tea if ya don’t,” replied Toriel matter-of-factly. The flower rolled his eyes, and a vine suddenly sprouted from the potting soil, plucking the cigar from his mouth and crushing the lit end against the side of the pot. A triumphant Toriel led Frisk over to the couch, where he carefully sat down. The flower looked him over with his beady, black eyes.

“So who’s the new brat?” Frisk flinched at the insult. Toriel gave him a gentle pat on the head.
“Don’t pay him no mind, hun,” she whispered to him. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

“I heard that.”

“Good.” The grumpy, little houseplant pouted, causing Toriel to chuckle. “And to answer your question, Flowey, this is Frisk. I found him at the fence; some bullies were givin’ him a hard time, so, I stepped in.”

“Ooh.” The flower, Flowey, apparently, now looked interested. “Did ya shoot any of ‘em?” Frisk was taken aback, and by the looks of it, so was Toriel.

“Heavens, no!”

“Rats…”

“And ya wonder why I never letcha outta that pot...”

“That’s why?” A smirk slowly stretched across Flowey’s features. “An’ here I thought it was just ‘cause you were bein’ a bit--”

“AHEM.” Toriel’s brow furrowed, and she was suddenly staring daggers at her floral companion. A beat of sweat ran down his “face”, and he averted his gaze, taking notice of the radio beside him.

“Wonder if anythin’ good’s on…” Flowey muttered, the vine once again sprouting and messing with the radio’s dials. Frisk blinked. He wasn’t entirely sure of what to make of that situation, or Flowey himself, for that matter. But it seemed that Toriel had him under control, so he supposed there wasn’t too much to worry about. He looked up at Toriel, who smiled down at him.

“Make yourself at home, hun,” she said cheerfully. “Can I get you anything?” Frisk was about to respond, when his stomach began to growl. His cheeks turned a light shade of red; he had forgotten that he hadn’t had lunch that day. Toriel let out a soft laugh. “Perhaps something to eat, then?”

“Ha, yes’m,” Frisk replied with a nod.

“Comin’ right up, sweetheart.” Toriel prepared to walk off, when she paused, and looked back at Frisk. “Oh, before I go, I should probably ask...which do ya prefer? Cinnamon or butterscotch?”

Frisk paused. What an...interesting question. He took a moment to think. He couldn’t recall ever having butterscotch, but he had always been a fan of cinnamon.

“Cinnamon,” he finally answered.

“Ain’t that nice?” Toriel cooed. “But now, lemme ask ya this: I know your preference an’ all, but...you wouldn’t be upset if ya found butterscotch on your plate, would ya?”

Again...what an interesting question. Still, it didn’t hurt to try something new, would it?

“No’m,” replied Frisk.

“Alright, I understand. Lemme get to work, and in the meantime, make yourself at home, hmm?” Toriel walked off into the kitchen area. From the comfort of the couch, Frisk watched as Toriel got to work, getting bowls and various ingredients from the cupboards. He then turned away, staring at Flowey. His heart skipped a beat as he realized Flowey was staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. As their eyes met, however, Flowey looked away, back towards the radio. Frisk bit his lip, no longer feeling comfortable sitting near the flower. He got up, deciding the take this opportunity to look around a bit.

Although Toriel’s home was very small, and the majority of it he’d already seen when he walked in, there had been a small corridor near the dinner table that had made Frisk rather curious. Walking down the corridor, Frisk noticed two doors on his right side. Peeking inside of the first door, he was pleasantly surprised to find a tiny bedroom, just big enough for a child his size. It was, for the most part, bare, with a little bed, a small toy box, a bureau for clothes, and a window that allowed the afternoon sun to pour in. Frisk stepped inside, taking a seat on the bed. The blanket felt so soft… Frisk hesitated, before lying down, burying his nose in the material. Toriel must’ve recently washed it, because it smelled like garden in the springtime. It was so nice...FIt would’ve been all too easy to just curl up and fall into a deep sleep...

Frisk’s eyes fluttered open, a mouth-watering aroma filling his nose. The boy sat up in the bed, rubbing away at his tired face. How long had he been out? He couldn’t be sure, but a quick glance at the window told him that it was late in the evening. The sky was a blend of orange of navy blue, and the stars were just beginning to appear. Frisk might as well have gone right back to sleep, but he couldn’t. He had to find out what that scrumptious smell was.

Throwing back the blankets (which he had just now realized he had been tucked into), Frisk hopped out of the bed. The smell was coming from beneath him now. Looking down, Frisk saw that a plate of pie had been put on the floor. Staring at it, Frisk began to remember Toriel’s words just before she left him alone. Cinnamon...butterscotch...Could it be? Had she made him a...cinnamon-butterscotch pie? Frisk felt a smile tug at his lips. Kneeling down, he picked up the plate of pie. The slightest bit of heat still radiated from it, even after all the hours that had passed. He couldn’t eat this pie, not yet, not before thanking the woman who had slaved over a hot oven to make it for him. Frisk exited the room, making his way back down the corridor, and into the living room.

“Ms. Toriel?” he called. No response. Frisk looked around, seeing nothing but a dark and empty kitchen and an almost-empty living room. Flowey sat in his flower pot, facing the radio, which played a piece of smooth, seductive jazz. Frisk’s brow furrowed; he didn’t really want to talk to Flowey, but it seemed he was the only one here, unless...Frisk glanced back to the other door. Maybe that was Toriel’s room? Perhaps she had gone to bed herself?

“If you’re lookin’ for the ol’ hag,” Flowey suddenly spoke up. “She ain’t ‘ere.”

“...Oh,” Frsk murmured in reply. “Um...where did she go?”

“She had to head back to work in the Ghettout.”

“Ghettout?” Frisk echoed.

“Yeah.” Flowey glanced back at Frisk, his eyes half-lidded. “It ain’t too far from ‘ere, but I doubt ol’ Tori wants ya goin’ out that far. Best ya stay here ‘til she gets back. S’nearly closin’ time, anyway.”

“Oh...ok.”

"The Ghettout," Frisk thought, as he took a seat over at the dining table. He stared at the butterscotch pie, his mind racing as he thought about this strange, new place. What was it like over there? It seemed only Toriel knew. For now, at least.

Chapter Text

“G’night, Toriel.”

“See ya tomorrow, Ms. Connie.”

Toriel felt a gust of cool, nighttime air brush through her fur as she opened the back door of Connie’s Shop N’ Bakery. The orange glow of candlelight splashed onto the withered pavement. Toriel carefully stepped outside, the door letting out a pitiful squeal as she pushed it shut. Immediately, she was shrouded in the darkness of an alleyway, a full moon being her only source of light. Shoving a hand into her pocket, Toriel began her journey towards the Slums.

Like Frisk, Toriel had been on her lunch break that afternoon. Her usual routine was to heat up some leftover snail pie and check for humans had the fence, both of which, she had done. It was by sheer luck she had come across Frisk when she did. Had she been a few minutes too late, those brats would've beaten him to a pulp, and being so close to the Monster District, some Froggit or Whimsum was bound to come along and--

Toriel shook her head. No. She refused to think of that. Reaching into her pocket, Toriel pulled out a package of cigarettes. She took one out, placing an end in her mouth, as she summoned a small, white flame just above her index finger. It was a mostly forgotten ability these days, casting magic. In the olden days, monsters often used magic to make their lives easier. As the centuries passed and the intolerance between humans and monsters grew, however, magic was seen as a danger, a threat towards mankind. Humans...such paranoid creatures...

“Phew…” Toriel exhaled, a puff of faint, white smoke escaping her lips. Admittedly, it was a bit hypocritical of her to berate Flowey for his smoking when she did the same, but Toriel liked to believe her cigarettes were beneficial. They worked wonders for anxiety and stress, and Toriel knew quite a bit about both.

“Hey, pretty lady…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Toriel spotted some shading looking monsters a short distance away. They leaned against the brick wall of the building behind them, drinking some sort of alcohol from dark, glass bottles. They eyed her, hunger glowing in their eyes. Toriel snorted. They were all a bunch of pig-headed, young fools, and she...well, she’d been walking these streets before they'd even been conceived.

“Hey,” one of them called, some sort of horned, bear-like monster. He approached, stumbling a bit. “C’mere, baby...you wanna have a lil’ fun?”

The drunken monster was suddenly face to face with the barrel of Toriel’s pistol. His eyes widened.

“Uh, h-heh, hey, baby...there’s no n-need for that…”

“Then I suggest you back away. Now.”

The monster didn’t need to be told twice. He slinked away, and Toriel put her trusty weapon back into her pocket. She took a deep inhale of her cigarette, allowing the blend of tobacco and monster magic to fill her lungs, calming her nerves. The sooner she got back to the Slums, the better.

A yawn escaped Toriel’s lips as she walked onto the worn, wooden porch of her home. The journey from the Ghettout to the Slums hadn’t been too long, but any amount of walking seemed like an eternity when one was tired. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, tossing it to the ground and crushing it beneath her foot. Reaching into her pocket, Toriel fished out her key and slowly unlocked her door.

“heya.”

Toriel jumped in surprise, gasping as her key fell from her hand and clattered against the ground. She heard a low chuckle, one that caused her cheeks to heat up. With a roll of her eyes, Toriel knelt, picking up her key. Behind her, she heard footsteps approaching her. Had the monster behind her been some random stranger, Toriel would’ve been quick to draw her gun. But this monster was one Toriel knew all too well. With her key in hand, Toriel stood and turned to face her guest.

He was an interesting species of monster, one resembling a human skeleton. Oddly enough, despite his lack of fat and muscle, he appeared to be very stocky. He wore a cobalt blue suit crafted from the finest cashmere money could buy, a matching fedora resting on top of his skull. A toothy grin was plastered to his face, stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone. Small, white orbs danced within his eyesockets, his amusement causing them to glow vibrantly.

“heh…” he began, his voice deep and sluggish, as if he would fall asleep at any moment. “sorry. didn’t mean t’startle ya.” Toriel let out a patient sigh.

“It’s alright, hun,” she replied. “S’been a while since ya’ve come ‘round these parts, Sans.” The skeleton shrugged.

“i’ve been busy,” Sans grumbled. “transportin’ goods, dealin’ with clients, runnin’ patrols...the life of a gangsta ain’t easy. but, of course…” He paused, shooting a wink at the monstress. “...you’d know all about that, wouldn't ya?” Toriel rolled her eyes. It was just like Sans, taking shots at her past life. He meant no harm by it, though. At least, not these days.

“Well, if you're so busy, hun,” began Toriel. “What are ya doin’ botherin’ an old lady this time o’ night?”

“what, i can't stop by an’ say “hello” to an ol’ friend?” Toriel scoffed.

“Nice try, hun.” She put a hand on her hips, smirking in slight amusement. “But I know you. You don’t come here unless you want somethin’. How many bottles o’ ketchup do ya want this time?”

“heheh...not exactly why i came here, but i’ll take it. and 7, if ya got that many.”

“Oh? Well then what ARE ya here for then?” The question only made Sans’ smile grow a bit. It made Toriel a bit nervous, not that she’d let him see it on her face. They may have been friends, but Sans had an air of mystery about him that made him too unpredictable for Toriel to let her guard down completely around him.

“we’ll talk about it inside,” the skeleton finally said. “bein’ out this late really…” Sans winked again. “gets my goat.” The older monstress let out a sudden and rather unladylike snort, followed by a loud laugh.

Inside the house, Flowey’s beady eyes flickered open, an irritated groan escaping his lips. He glared daggers at the door, listening to the laughter as it slowly died down. Only one monster could make Toriel laugh like that. Flowey sank deeper into his pot, muttering a few swears. The last monster he wanted to see was that smiling bag of garbage. Unfortunately for Flowey, as the front door creaked open and Toriel walked inside, he could see the skeleton in question following behind.

“Ugh…” he grumbled.

“Hello to you too, Flowey,” replied Toriel as she went to turn on a light.

“Did you have to bring him here?” the flower spat.

“Be nice,” Toriel warned, giving Flowey a stern look. “He’s our guest.”

“A pretty lousy guest…”

“hey,” Sans interjected. “if i’m not wanted, i can always make like a tree and “leaf”.

“Are you FU--!?”

“Flowey!” The monstress tried her best to look serious despite the urge to laugh at the pun. “You will get along with Sans, or so help me, I’ll put manure in your soil.” Flowey recoiled in horror, while Sans’ shoulders bounced from a bout of silent laughter.

“Hmph…” Flowey grumbled, wilting a bit and giving the gangster the stink eye. He then looked up at Toriel. “...Didja at least bring me my cannoli…?”

“Don’t I always?” Toriel pulled a bag from inside her jacket, setting it down on Flowey’s table. The buttercup immediately tore at the bag with needle-like teeth that had suddenly formed in his mouth, wolfing down the cinnamon-covered, tube-shaped treats. Toriel shook her head; at least he’d be kept occupied for a few minutes...She turned to her skeleton companion. “Well...take a seat if ya’d like. I’ll get the ketchup.”

“yep.”

Not needing to be told twice, Sans plopped down on the sofa, following Toriel’s movements until she had left his field of vision. Toriel rounded the sofa, making her way to the kitchen, when she stopped, letting out a soft gasp. Sleeping at the table, his face resting on an empty, crumb-covered plate, was Frisk. She hadn’t expected him to get out of bed, and had she known Sans would’ve shown up that night...Oh...this was not good…

Biting her lip, Toriel shot a glance back at Sans. He wasn’t looking at her, instead looking ahead at the door. Being as quiet as she could, Toriel scooped Frisk up in her arms and crept down the hallway to his bedroom. She laid Frisk down in his bed, tossing the blanket over him before tip-toeing back to the bedroom door. But just as she was about to step out into the hall, she jumped back, her hand covering her mouth as she gasped. Sans was standing in the open doorway, those little pinpricks glowing ominously at her in the darkness of the room. Toriel stared down at him, unable to speak, her heart pounding in her chest. Sans simply smiled his cheeky, little smile, not once betraying just how he was feeling. For a split second, a passing thought formed in Toriel’s mind: Pull out your gun.

“welp,” the gangster finally began. “can’t say i’m too surprised. gaster did say you’d gone soft.” Toriel’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t mention that bastard’s name in my house,” she snapped. “And I ain’t “soft”.” Sans raised his hands defensively.

“hey, hey, he’s the one that said it, not me. “tibia” honest…” The skeleton winked. Toriel wasn’t amused. “i know this isn’t the first time ya’ve done this. what bothers me is the fact that you couldn’t tell me straight up. and here i thought we were friends or somethin’.”

“Sans, you know full well why I couldn’t tell you. You may not be out for my head anymore, but you still work for…” Toriel paused, a distant look in her eyes. “...For Asgore.” There was a moment of silence. Sans stared at Toriel, seeing pain flash across Toriel’s features.

“yeah?” said Sans, shrugging. “so what if i do?”

“Every human that came through that fence is dead, Sans,” began Toriel, her eyes beginning to glisten. “I couldn’t save ‘em, and I know damn well you didn’t try to. As long as Gaster’s your father, you’d never turn your back on the gang. Am I wrong?”

“what can i say? family’s family. ‘sides, this whole plan of asgore’s is perhaps the only good a human’s ever done for me.”

“Sans…” Tears were beginning to stream down the monstress’ face. “I...I can’t let this go on...I can’t let Asgore get this last soul...You don’t have to like humans...not even this one...but as a friend...I’m askin’ ya to help me protect this boy.”

“...”

“Please…”

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Sans finally sighed.

“what do ya need me to do?” Toriel smiled and pulled the shorter monster into a hug.

“Bless ya, Sans...” she cooed, now shedding tears of gratitude. Sans let out a small laugh.

“eh...we’re friends. ‘Sides, if i had said no...well, there goes my free ketchup.” The old monstress laughed, playfully smacking Sans’ arm.

“You are a mess, Comic Sans...thank ya. Thank ya so much.”

Chapter Text

Frisk began to stir for the second time in the past few hours. A soft groan escaped the boy’s lips as he shielded his eyes with an arm, blocking the sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window. His rickety, little bed squeaked in protest as he sat up and stretched. Suddenly, he paused, looking around. Perhaps his mind had still been fuzzy from waking up, but he could have sworn he had been at the table when he fell asleep. His fingers brushed against his cheek. Even the sticky residue from the pie lingered on his face; Toriel had to have moved him.

Frisk’s attention was suddenly caught by a blend of mouth-watering scents: eggs, toast...even ham. Curious, Frisk wiggled out of bed and exited his bedroom. Upon stepping out into the hallway, they boy could hear a chorus of soft, motherly humming and the hissing of a hard-working stove. Quietly, Frisk stepped into the living room, gazing into the kitchen. As he expected, Toriel was cooking at the stove, gently flipping slices of ham in a skillet. No longer wearing her previous outfit, the monstress was now dressed in a plain, white nightgown. Her ears were curled up against the sides of her head with a large pair of rollers, and with the absence of her hat, Frisk could now see two, little horns that sprouted just above her brow. A wave of realization hit Frisk in that moment, and he was reminded that Toriel was, indeed, a living, breathing monster.

“Oh, g’mornin’, hun.”

Frisk jumped, Toriel's voice pulling from his thoughts. The monstress was now smiling at him as she scooped a large helping of scrambled eggs onto a plate.

“G’morning, Toriel,” replied Frisk politely.

“Ya hungry? I’ve made a nice, big breakfast for ya.”

“Yes’m, and thank you. For everything, I mean.” Frisk glanced down at his boots. “Excuse me for saying this, but...I didn't know monsters were so nice.”

“Ah...don’t even think of thankin’ me, honey. I’m just doin’ what needs to be done...If anythin', I should be thankin' ya for trustin' me."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. We monsters don't have the best reputation with humans, so it makes me happy to know you'd give an ol' goat like me a chance to take care o' ya.”

Toriel pulled a plate of food from the counter and stepped out of the kitchen, handing it to the boy. With a polite nod of thanks, Frisk made his way to the table and sat down. Seconds later, Toriel joined him with her own breakfast.

“What about Flowey?” asked Frisk.

“Don’t you worry, hun; he’s had his breakfast already,” answered the monstress. Frisk glanced over to the flower’s little table, and sure enough, Flowey was nibbling on a piece of toast that dangled from his mouth. As rude and aggressive as he was, Frisk couldn’t help but find it kind of cute seeing his little mouth chewing away. Frisk returned his gaze to Toriel, who had began eating her breakfast. It was as he watched her that he realized...he had agreed to stay with this woman, and yet, he still knew so little about her. This was, perhaps, his only chance to engage in conversation.

“Excuse me, Toriel,” he began slowly.

"Yes, hun?"

"Um, I hope this doesn't sound rude, but...I was hopin' I could know a little more about you."

"Is that right?" Toriel mused, popping a slice of ham into her mouth. "Well...I'm afraid there ain't too much to say, young'un. I'm just a silly, little lady who worries too much, haha."

"Ain't that the truth?" Frisk heard Flowey mutter from afar. Toriel didn't respond, either because she hadn't heard the remark, or because she simply didn't care for Flowey's sass at the moment. Frisk wouldn't have blamed her if it was the latter.

"Have you always lived in the Slums?" the boy then asked.

"No, hun. When I was a bit younger, I used to live in The Hotspot, way on the other side of the Monster District."

"Ooh..." murmured Frisk in interest. "What's "The Hotspot?"?

"It's a small area; only monsters who can afford one o' them fancy, little apartments can live there. Honestly, it's more of a place for partyin' rather than livin'. Ha..." Nostalgia began to glow in Toriel's eyes. "I used to love goin' to the clubs and dancin' 'til the sun came up. Y'know, back in those days, they used t'call me, "Toe-Tappin' Tori"."

"Pfft..."

Frisk and Toriel glanced over at Flowey, who was snickering into one of his leaves. The monstress cocked a brow.

"And what, pray tell, is so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothin', nothin'..." Flowey responded, glancing at his fellow monster out of the side of his eye. "S'not like that ain't the cheesiest name I've ever heard or anything..."

"Flowey..." Toriel reprimanded, although she sounded more amused than upset. Looking at her, Frisk noticed the wistful expression on her face. It was obvious she enjoyed and missed those days of her life. Why, then, did she choose to leave it in order to live in some crumby, old shack with only a bratty flower to talk to?

"Could we go to The Hotspot one day?" asked Frisk hopefully. Toriel's smile quickly became a frown.

"I am...afraid not, hun. It's, er...not the best place for a little'un."

"Oh...Well...what about The Ghettout? Can I go to work with you sometime?" Toriel was now beginning to look uncomfortable, her fangs chewing feverishly at her lip.

"I...um..."

Frisk shuffled awkwardly in his seat. In a matter of seconds, the air grew thick with a sense of uneasiness. And to make matters worse, Frisk wasn't even sure what he had done wrong. Toriel suddenly stood, picking up a plate of half-eaten food.

"I should...get ready for work..."

Frisk said nothing, only watching as Toriel walked off into the kitchen. He obviously hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, and yet, he couldn't help feeling guilty. With a sigh, he focused on his breakfast, despite not having much of an appetite anymore.

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

“SANS? SANS, ARE YOU IN THERE?”

“huh? wha…?”

Sans awoke with a start, his eye-sockets squinting at the sudden, white light. He felt warm and, oddly enough, wet, and his head was resting against something hard and cold. Sans forced himself to sit up, only to hear the splashing of water with each movement he made.

“weird…” he thought. "s'almost like i fell asleep in the--aw, shit."

Looking down, Sans realized that he had, indeed, fallen asleep in the bathtub. It was honestly kind of funny, although it did confirm one thing in Sans' mind: he hated waking up early. Still...a promise was a promise.

Gripping the side of the tub, Sans stood up with a grunt and stepped out onto the bathroom floor. Water dripped from his bones, leaving a mess of puddles at his feet.

"eh..." the skeleton grunted. "paps'll clean it." Pulling a towel from the nearby rack, Sans covered his bare bones and made his way to the bathroom door. Opening it, he came face to face...or rather face to spine...with his brother, Papyrus. Sans’ tall, lanky brother stared down at him with wide, surprised eyesockets. Sans simply gave him a lazy wave.

“mornin’, bro.”

“SANS...I'M SURPRISED AT YOU! YOU'RE TOO MUCH OF A LAZYBONES T'BE UP THIS EARLY!"

"eh...had things t'do this mornin'," Sans shrugged. "no big deal." Papyrus didn't seem to agree. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of his eyesockets. Suddenly, he scooped the smaller skeleton, hugging him tightly.

"I'M SO PROUD O' YA, BROTHER!" Papyrus exclaimed.

"heh, thanks, pap," Sans replied, his voice muffled by Papyrus' chest. "now if ya don't mind, i kinda need t'get dressed."

"YES, YES, O'COURSE!" Papyrus set Sans down, not seeing to mind that his pajamas were now soaked with water. Sans squeezed past his brother, making his way down the hall to his and Papyrus' shared bedroom. "OH, SANS?"

"eh?" Sans paused. "what is it, bro?"

"FATHAH WANTED TO JOIN US FOR BREAKFAST."

Sans was momentarily caught off guard. Their father was coming to the Ghettout? Odd...He never left the safety of the Godfather's estate, being more comfortable sending his underlings to pass messages for him.

"...alright," was all Sans said, before he shuffled off to get dressed. Papyrus scratched the top of his skull in confusion. Wasn't Sans happy? It wasn't everyday Gaster came to see them personally. Perhaps he was still a bit groggy...

A blanket of golden sunlight stretched over the Ghettout as morning dawned over the humble monster population. In their cramped, tiny homes, monsters, great and small, prepared for another hard day's work, so that they could maybe, hopefully, make ends meet. All the while, they continued to hope and pray that things would get better, that Asgore would save them from a life of squalor.

Tiny, reptilian claws clicked against pavement as a young monster walked down the sidewalk. He wore the traditional outfit of a shoe-shine boy, and he carried his trusty toolbox with his long, scaly tail. It was an unfortunate truth, but not even monsters were save from the threat of orphanage and childhood labor.

"Yo!" the Monster Kid chirped, trailing after a older he-monster. "Want a shoe-shinin', mister!?" The monster turned to the child, shaking his head.

"Sorry," he said. "I've got no spare change on me, kid. Maybe next time, eh?" Monster Kid watched dejectedly as the monster walked off. His sadness was short-lived, however, when another monster walked in his direction.

"'Scuse me, sir!" he called up him. "Can I interest ya in a--" Monster Kid cut himself off as he looked down at the monster's feet. He wasn't wearing any shoes, preferring to walk around barefoot. Monster Kid's tail sank in dismay, and he was prepared to walk off and pester someone else, when the older monster laughed sympathetically.

"Hey, kid, no need t'leave," he began. "I may not have shoes, but my claws could use a good polishin'." Monster Kid perked, his eyes glistening in excitement.

"R-Really?" he asked. The monster nodded. "Gee whiz! Thanks, mister!"

Monster Kid got to work, setting down his toolbox and pulling out a cloth with his teeth. The poor lad unfortunately lacked arms or hands, but his handicap did little to quell his determination. In seconds, the monster's claws went from dull and dusty to shining like fine porcelain. The monster admired his polished claws.

"Say..." he began. "Looks great, Kid." Monster Kid beamed proudly as he received a polite pat on the head.

"Thank ya, sir!" the child squeaked in reply. "That'll be 10 GOLD." GOLD was the alternative currency used in the Monster District. Since monsters weren't allowed beyond the District without a good enough reason, they were forced to use the money passed down from centuries ago, in the old Monster Kingdom. It didn't bother them, however. Why would they want to use the currency of such a bigoted race, anyway?

The older monster reached into his pocket, pulling out ten gold pieces. Monster Kid pulled off his hat with his tail, the money from his past earnings jingling inside it. The GOLD was placed into the hat, but unfortunately, one had slipped from the monster's hands, rolling off into the street.

"Whoops," he murmured.

"I'll get it!" exclaimed Monster Kid as he eagerly dashed after the gold coin.

"Wait, Kid! NO!"

SCREEEEEEEEECH!

Monster Kid's life flashed before his eyes, and he could only brace himself as his untimely death swiftly approached him. But...he felt nothing. He dared to open his eyes, and found himself staring at the bumper of a luxury car. He looked up, seeing the car’s driver, a finely dressed faun, glaring down at him.

HONK!

In a panic, Monster Kid scrambled to the sidewalk, forgetting his lost GOLD. He felt eyes staring into him, and when he looked back, he could see a large, white, dog-like monster glowering at him from the backseat. But more terrifying was the glowing pair of white pinpricks in the darkness just behind the dog monster. Monster Kid gulped, his little body beginning to tremble. The car slowly began to pull off, driving down the road and disappearing behind the corner. Monster Kid let go of a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. His customer came to his side, resting a hand on his back.

"You ok, Kid?" asked the monster in concern.

"Y-Yeah..." stammered the boy. "Was that...?"

"Yep...WingDings Gaster..."

"Stupid kid..." the faun chauffeur muttered under his breath. He glanced back over his shoulder at his three passengers. Aside from the large dog, there was a second dog, one not quite as large as the first, at the opposite end of the seat. They sat shoulder to shoulder with a tall, thin, skeletal figure that was dressed in black, from his suit to the fedora on his head. Above his right eye-socket and below his left were two long cracks, trophies from past battles.

"Beggin' ya pardon, sir," said the faun, his voice now soft and polite. "Jus' a small delay. We're just pullin' up to your sons' complex."

The dark figure said nothing in reply, merely gazing out of the window at the approaching apartment complex. It was just as drab and run-down as every other ghetto and complex in The Ghettout. The only thing that set it apart was the Christmas decorations lining one of the windows. That Papyrus...It was only the beginning of November. Not to mention, it didn't exactly help them blend in with the low-lifes.

The car stopped at the side of the road, the chauffeur stepping outside and opening the back door. The three passengers stepped out, WingDings slipping a bag of GOLD into his hoof-like hands. The faun perked, a smile growing on his muzzle.

"Thank ya kindly, Don Gaster."

"SANS!"

Sans jolted awake, letting out a confused snort. His eyelights darted about, and he realized that he was seated at the breakfast table. A plate of overcooked noodles and chunky, poorly-made tomato sauce had been placed in front of him. Ah, yes...Papyrus' "wonderful" spaghetti...Sans glanced up at his brother, who was looking down at him disapprovingly, his hands on his hips.

"YA KNOW WHAT I'VE TOLD YA. NO ELBOWS ON THE TABLE. YOU WANT FATHAH THINKIN' YOU WERE RAISED IN A BARN?"

"yeah..." Sans thought, his smile slipping just slightly. "as if elbows on the table'll suddenly make him start carin'..." To humor his brother, however, he removed his elbows from the table, and even sat up a bit. Papyrus nodded.

"MUCH BETTAH!" he exclaimed happily. Papyrus then paused, cupping his earhole with a hand. His eyesockets widened. "OH! I THINK I HEAR HIM COMING UP!"

"joy..." replied Sans, making no effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Papyrus didn't appear to notice, rushing to open the door. The large dog monster stood there, his fist raised to knock. Upon seeing Papyrus, however, his stoic expression melted away. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, and his eyes twinkled playfully.

"GREATAH DOG!" greeted Papyrus, throwing his arms around the dog monster. "SO GOOD T'SEE YA AGAIN!" The Greater Dog replied by licking Papyrus' cheekbones. "NYEH HEH HEH! YEP! JUST AS BIG AND SLOBBERY AS I REMEMBAH!"

Greater Dog squeezed inside through the tiny door, barking as he made his way to the breakfast table. He greeted Sans the way, to which Sans gave him a light pat. WingDings's eyelights rolled in his eyesockets, and he slowly, and dignifiedly, walked in...only to be pushed roughly by his second canine companion.

"Whine..." the smaller monster whimpered. Papyrus patted his head with a smile.

"AW, I DIDN'T FORGET YOU, LESSER DOG!"

"Yip! Yip!" The pat had gotten Lesser Dog so excited that his neck began to extend.

"...Ahem..." a voice suddenly spoke up, one low and hollow, echoing in a way that sounded like the soft whispers of a ghost. Lesser Dog shrank back, and sweat formed on Papyrus' brow.

"A-AH, AND HELLO TO YOU TOO, F-FATHAH...!"

"Papyrus..." WingDings began, bushing past his son. Lesser Dog followed behind, his head hanging low. "What did I say about calling me "Father" while I'm on dury?"

"E-ER...SORRY, FA--I MEAN, DON GASTAH," replied Papyrus sheepishly. At the table, Sans's eye-sockets narrowed.

"heh..." Despite his laughter, Sans was not at all in a joking mood. "y'know, it never ceases to amuse me how you can think t'call yourself "don" when ol' fluffybuns is alive an' well."

There was a moment's silence. Sans and WingDings caught each other's gazes. Tension began to fill the room like smog on a busy weekday afternoon. Glancing between his father and brother, Papyrus felt it necessary to speak up.

"GASTAH," he started, trying his hardest to stay chipper. "MIGHT I INTEREST YA IN SOME OF MY FAMOUS SPAGHETTI?" Glancing at the spaghetti Sans had been given, Gaster grimaced.

"I will pass," he responded, taking a seat across from his estranged son.

"NOT A SPAGHETTI FAN? NOT T'WORRY! I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, CAN FIX ANYTHING YOUR HEARTLESS RIBCAGE DESIRES! PERHAPS YA'D LIKE A NICE, SPICY MEATBALL?"

"This early in the morning? No thank you. I ate at Asgore's estate before I left anyway." Sans could see Papyrus trying to hide the disappointment on his face as he joined his family at the table, and that added to his bitterness.

"why are ya here, anyway?" Sans demanded.

"WHY, TO SEE HIS TWO FAVORITE SONS, O'COURSE," Papyrus proudly interrupted.

"No," said WingDings bluntly. "I am here because of an...interesting...report from Captain Undyne."

"UNDYNE!?" By some sort of magic, Papyrus' eye-sockets began to glisten and glimmer like a child on Christmas morning. "OH, GASTAH, HAVE YOU ASKED HER IF I COULD WORK FOR HER AS A SOLDIER!? TELL ME YOU HAVE!"

"Again...no. There are more important matters at hand." Sans clenched his fists under the table. "From what I've been told...you, Sans..." Gaster's eyelights fell upon the chubby skeleton. "Have have frequently been disappearing during the evenings when you should be working."

"so i take a break at grillby's every now and again. what of it?"

"SANS..." warned Papyrus. Sans gave his brother an apologetic glance.

"While I would rather you focus on patrolling this godforsaken slum, I have reason to suspect that that little speakeasy isn't the only place you've been heading off to."

Despite his lack of a heart, Sans could feel a fluttering in his chest. No...there was no way he could know about...

"Play it cool, Sans...just play it cool..."

"what are ya talkin' about?" Sans asked.

"Last night, one of Undyne's boys went into Grillby's, and didn't see you at all."

"went out for a smoke," Sans retorted quickly.

"Is that right?" The bony region above WingDings's eye lifted upward, giving the illusion of a cocked brow. "Because unless you can turn invisible, Undyne's boy didn't see you anywhere around the area. Nowhere in the Ghettout for that matter." The chair beneath the slender skeleton creaked as he leaned forward. "Where were you, Sans?"

One of the perks of being a skeleton was the ability to hide one's emotions with a permanent grin. If Sans had been any other monster, the growing dread he was feeling would've been much harder to hide. It would've been easy to tell the truth; gangsters broke promises all the time, especially promises made against the Don and his family. He had everything to gain from being honest. But...Toriel...he just couldn't find it in him to betray her. Was it the puns? The free ketchup? Hell if he knew. But he refused to sell her out, not after all she had been through.

"i don't really understand why you care...pops," Sans finally stated. He turned to the Greater Dog and scratched behind his ears. "last time i checked, you only care about yourself."

"I care about the monsters in this district getting the rights they deserve. I can’t have some foolish monster trying to jeopardize that, even if that monster is family.”

“D-DON GASTAH…” Papyrus nervously interjected. “SANS MIGHT BE A LAZYBONES AND A SLACKER, BUT HE’D NEVER BETRAY THE FAMILY, I KNOW IT.” WingDings paused, smiling pleasantly at his son. Always so innocent, Papyrus was…

“Well, if you’re so sure,” WingDings began. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind accompanying Sans on his patrols for the day?” Sans’ eye-sockets widened just slightly. Gaster’s smile grew; it seemed Sans was hiding something after all. There was another brief pause, before Sans collected himself and simply shrugged.

“eh, fine by me,” he grunted. “it’ll be nice to hang out with my favorite lil’ brother.”

“DON’T BE SILLY, SANS; I’M YOUR ONLY BROTHAH!”

“hmm, i dunno, pap. for all i know, you could be an…” Horror suddenly filled the taller brother’s sockets, realization setting in.

“SANS…”

“impasta?”

“NGHHHHHHH!” Papyrus cried out in anguish, before dramatically banging his head against the table. Gaster watched, silent and unamused.

“How the hell are these my sons?” he thought. He looked at Sans once again, and his eye-sockets narrowed. “Hmm...I’ll find out what you’re hiding soon enough, Sans. We’ll see where your loyalties truly lie."