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yastaghr · 8 years ago

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Our Skeleton: Chapter 5

Our Skeleton

Characters: Sans, Toriel, Asgore, Papyrus, Frisk, Random Human

Pairings: Sans/Toriel/Asgore, Sansgoriel, Toriel/Asgore, Togore, Asgore/Sans, Sansgore, Sans/Toriel, Soriel

Warnings: If you see something you want a warning for, let me know.

Story Summary: The people who love him come to realise Sans may be hiding something from them. (not the best of summaries, sorry)

<–Previous || First || Next–>

Ao3

“so...got any plans for today?”

Toriel felt the slow shaking of the table as Sans’ foot bounced to a steady beat. She smiled at him. His face was relaxed and curious, the only tension in his magic revolving around his hand. Perhaps a trace of anxiety, but no more. She followed the trace of his clavicles under his t-shirt, the broad curve uneven, but somehow stronger for that.

She frowned as her eyes lit upon a stain in the fabric, crusty red trailing down from trim to the bottom of his joint. She made a note to ask him to change shirts before they left the house, and to start a load of laundry with…

“Oh dear. I did not realise - Sans, we two brought you out of your house without a single change of clothing, did we not?”

The skeleton shrugged, “this is pretty much it, tor. i got a few dozen socks, and maybe another t-shirt back home, but that’s about it. pant say i ever saw the need for more.”

She stared at him. Asgore stared at him. Sans blinked back at them, starting to sweat. Asgore’s mouth worked silently. Her own mind had ground to a halt as she tried to comprehend how one could go about living without at least two changes of clothes. She was failing miserably.

Sans’ phalanges worried at a loose thread on the table cloth, “heh. is that...a problem?” His voice rose with worry.

Toriel pushed back her chair, rising to her feet abruptly, “No. Well, perhaps it is, but it is a problem that is quite simple to solve.”

Her eyes met Asgore’s, and he grinned, “Oh yes. That will be perfect, Tori.”

“um...what would be perfect?” Sans looked a little nonplussed.

Asgore turned to him with a grin that bore quite a bit of friendly fang, “Why, shopping! It has been quite a while since I have had someone to shop for, and I must say I find it fun!”

Sans gulped, his blue blush breaking out as his eye lights fixed on Asgore’s smile. She stored that expression away as something to be explored later, when Sans was more...at home.

She moved around the table, pulling Sans up, out of his chair, and into her arms. One of her hands was hooked under his arm, wrapping around his small chest and cupping the other humerus, thumb stroking the clavicle. The other arm brushed the top of his head. His magic hiccuped, then eased back down as his body relaxed into the strokes. She smiled.

Across the table, Asgore watched hungrily. She gave him a look. He blushed, then stood, “I shall go start the car, shall I?”

“Yes, Gorey. Please, do. I shall just get Sans cleaned up, and we will be with you shortly.”

Asgore gave her a hurt look, but she smiled back, bringing her hand down from its task to cup Sans’ left arm. Asgore followed the movement, gulped, and scurried out the door. Poor dear, he really could not handle the sight of wounds of any sort.

In her arms, Sans squirmed, trying to hop down, “uh, tor, you know i can handle getting changed by myself, right?”

She chuckled, “Of course, dearest skeleton. On the other hand , you could use some help bandaging this injury of yours, could you not?”

He stiffened, then loosened, “oh, yeah. thanks.”

His tone made her pause, “Sans, something about that bothers you, does it not?”

His energy dimmed, “it’s nothing, tor. don’t wanna be a nuisance.”

“Sans.”

He sighed, “...being doctored scares me. dunno why. i just...i feel like once i let it start it’s never gonna stop, y’know? i’ll be stuck in some stuffy room and no one will visit me except for the doctors, and then it’ll hurt, and i’ll get worse and the room gets stuffier and lonelier and-”

“Sans,” Her hand returned to the dome of his skull, pads tracing shapes on the smooth bone. Her heart ached as he shook, “It is fine to be afraid. It is fine to worry. It is fine for some tasks to be harder than others. What is not fine is leaving us out of the loop.”

She sent a hum through her own magic, reassuring and comforting, “I promise you that I will never leave you alone like that. I am certain that Asgore will feel the same. We will not let that happen to you, do you understand? If something I am about to do is going to hurt, I will let you know. I only want to put an ointment on your hand to keep your magic flowing freely, healthily, and pain-free through the joint until it heals.”

His magic and body tried to curl up and hide away. She nuzzled his forehead, “I promise, Sans. If you wish, I can go and retrieve my kit, and we can take a closer look outside, in the sun. Does that sound acceptable?”

“...don’t wanna be a bother...”

She kissed the bone. Blue spread out like liquid over glass, “You never will be. Come along, dearest skeleton. I am sure Asgore will enjoy having someone to keep him company while I look.”

The contrast between the inside and outside of this human mall had always surprised her. If one did not know what one was looking at, one might think it were another office building. Inside, colors, shapes, sounds, smells, and hundreds upon hundreds of people assaulted the mind. It seemed as though anything and everything a person could possibly imagine might be hiding within that dull brown exterior...including friends, it would seem.

Toriel giggled as she caught sight of a familiar towering skull peering out from behind a pop-up stand. It might have been a very pale human, of course. However, the confused rambling of the human running the cart seemed to confirm it. They were attempting to explain that, as much as they would like to help this customer, they did not think their hair-braiding stall could do much for someone who did not have hair.

Poor Papyrus. It was not the first time he had followed someone like this, and every time had turned out much the same. Frisk had been amused during that first field trip. Their chaperones less so. Still, the dear monster continued to believe he was good at stealth, and who was she to contradict?

Toriel sat to one side of the changing booth neither she nor Asgore could fit in, smiling politely at the awestruck children walking past. Across her lap was a mountain of fabric, some neon bright, others calm and collected, all of it a rejected, crumpled pile of firm nope’s. Asgore was out on what was at the very least their twentieth trip in search of correctly sized clothing.

The first few shirts she had assumed were a fluke. The next dozen, she had suspected Sans was lying when he said none of them fit in an effort to spare her feelings. Then had come the turning point, a hilarious science pun she was sure he would find humorous. The subsequent laughter did not prove her wrong.

It was the sudden cursing and bumping at the walls that clued her in. She had asked if he was okay, and he had responded with a pun. She had been reassured, until the banging resumed. After two minutes back and forth, Asgore had returned, and eventually the two of them had been forced to barge in anyway.

It seemed Sans, in his excitement and desperation, had gotten his skull trapped halfway through the hole of the shirt. It did not want to come down. It did not want to come back up. Sans had been too embarrassed to accept her help, and more than a little frustrated that everything they found either did not fit over his head or hung off him and exposed far too much ribcage. He wanted the shirts to work. He wanted this to be fun. He liked the shirts, and was annoyed that none of them seemed to like him back.

So Sans had pulled and he pushed at that one stubborn shirt until the creak of protesting bone had forced Asgore to lift the door off its hinges. Very nicely, and with full intent to put them back, which he had done after they had gotten their silly skeleton out of the shirt. They had been forced to cut the shirt off, since, despite all logic, it had only grown smaller as they stretched it. Toriel feared Sans might wake up with some very strange bruising tomorrow.

Still, the skeleton had been convinced to give up trying if he had to force a shirt onto his head, and let them see just how bad the others hung off him. She supposed that was a plus. It was rather cute watching him try to keep the collars from sliding down on his favorites. It was even harder to resist when that grip slipped. He really did have the most adorable bones.

Asgore patiently waited against one of the pylons for his wife to finish checking the map. Beside him, Sans tapped at his phone with his newest sci fi inspired stylus. Asgore had noticed Sans drooling after the quirky little device in the window of one of the shops earlier, and insisted they stop and buy it. Sans had tried to protest, but the look on his face when he held it in his hands betrayed him.

They would have to work on that with Sans, it seemed. Splurging too often was bad, of course, but neither of them were hurting for funds. Sans put altogether too much effort into denying his own interests. It wasn’t healthy, and Asgore did not intend to stand for it. If that also meant spoiling Sans rotten, he would enjoy it all the more.

Asgore blinked. Was that Papyrus’ head he had seen, towering over the crowd? Of course it wasn’t. What would Papyrus be doing here? Then the familiar head emerged once more, and Asgore sighed.

Yes, that was Papyrus, bobbing up and down among the shorter humans, following someone. It would not be the first time. He really should convince Undyne to give the tall monster a few tips on trailing someone in a crowd of people shorter than you. It was something of a knack. He wondered who Sans’ brother was following now?

The skeleton’s skull swiveled. His eye sockets fixed on something. His entire frame stiffened, and his gaze darted back and forth, looking for a way out, passing right over Asgore and Sans. They landed on something, and the depths positively bulged. Asgore deftly scooped Sans out of the way of the rushing skeleton as Papyrus made a beeline for the wedding store they were resting by. Oh, was that what that was?

Sans blinked up at him, “hey gor. what’s the rush?”

Asgore smiled adoringly down, planting a kiss on Sans’ forehead. The skeleton squeaked, and he chuckled, “Nothing. Or perhaps I should say, nothing for me. I was not aware Papyrus had reentered the dating game.”

Sans smile dipped, “yeah. a couple of people have been taking him out lately. none of them clicked, but...well, you know. most of the monsters get it, but the humans have been all over the place.”

Asgore was confused. If that were so, then why had Papyrus...oh well. He supposed it did not matter. Perhaps Papyrus was shopping for a friend? He had heard that two of the former members of the Hotland Royal Guard were planning their marriage for the coming spring. It would not surprise him if Sans’ brother had volunteered to help. He was quite the enthusiastic young monster.

“Oh, there you two are! I did not keep you waiting too long, did I? The map was far more complicated than I had anticipated.”

Both their heads swiveled towards her, “nah, tor, we’re good. gave me just enough time to finish off a new sketch. i think this one’s a real show stopper , heh heh heh. gotta be worthy of a five minute slot. at least, i think it is. at least...probably...”

Asgore dove into the silence before Sans could slip too far into the pit of self-doubt that his reception on the Surface always seemed to conjure up. He’d been trying to get bumped up to a regular slot at one of the clubs ever since they’d made it up here, and every time his acts had been rejected without any explanation whatsoever. It was hurting the short skeleton, and everyone knew it. He only wished he knew how to help.

“You shall have to give us a sneak peak. I used to love going to see your shows in Hotland.”

Sans stared at him in disbelief, “you actually came? burgerpants told me the tickets i sent you never got used.”

Asgore looked sheepish, “I did try to use them. The monster at the doors would never let me finish. He insisted I could go in for free, on the house. Then during your visits, it never seemed quite the right time to bring them up. I believe I still have them, somewhere.”

Toriel took one look at their faces and guffawed, “Oh, my. You poor things. I- Goodness, I am sorry. It is just so amusing. You two- you two-”

She dissolved into another fit of laughter. He and Sans shared a confused look. Sans shrugged, “whatever floats yer goat , tori.”

“okay guys. really? clothes i get, but this really doesn’t suit me.”

Sans gestured at the unhemmed black material draped over him, pulling the pins at the shoulder joint out for the third time. Asgore snorted at the human’s thinly disguised annoyance. Tori only sighed.

Asgore looked at her and saw her patience for Sans’ puns, normally so high, was reaching its end. He remembered the many times Toriel had taken him to be measured for a suit. She’d never seemed to grasp that while she could stand for hours at a time being poked and prodded and encircled, undressed and redressed, hemmed, matched, and captured in a net of fabric and sharp pins, not everyone else could do the same. He decided that, as much as he enjoyed watching Toriel in action, Sans was neither deserving of nor prepared for one of her rants. Time to intervene.

“Sans!” He let a look of startlement cross his face, “I just realised - I know Papyrus has mentioned a collection of socks lying about the house. In fact, he’s seemed rather peeved about it.”

Sans chuckled, earning another glare from the tailor, “yup. don’t tell him this, but every month i rotate which sock gets to stay on the livingroom floor. can’t be favoring one piece over another, right?”

Asgore was not surprised. He had known of Sans almost unbreakable yearning for fairness and equality ever since the letter he had received from a young graduate, all those years ago. Sans had a way of seeing biases, injustices, and other problems clearly when no one else could. It had only grown stronger since, and was one of the things he admired most about the adorable skeleton.

He coughed politely, “Well, I do not know if you had noticed, but there is quite the array of dress socks here on display. I know you will need at least one pair to wear along with these suits, but perhaps we can find a set or two to add to your collection?”

Sans eyes lit up like stars - no, like the crystals in the caverns of Waterfall. The hint of blue was calming; it drew Asgore in like the smell of snail pie on a rainy day. Silver and purple made their appearances too, a kaleidoscope of colors like stoney mountains fading into dusk, always and forever comforting to him. They spoke of deep happiness and home...and if all that was inspired by the idea of socks, well, who was he to judge?

Asgore jolted out of his hypnotism as he remembered the plan. He set his paws on the arms of his chair, making as if he intended to stand, “Well, then, I shall just go and find a few, shall I?”

He did not even manage to draw a breath before Toriel was on her feet and moving, “No, Gorey. Let me do it, you never manage to find the right size, even for your own feet.”

“Is that so? Oh, dear. I suppose you should go, then. I shall wait here while this nice young human finishes measuring Sans.”

He smiled at Sans as Toriel’s footsteps faded into the front of the store. The skeleton’s expression of joy had hardly faded at all, although his head did have an inquiring tilt.

Asgore chuckled, “She has a greater patience for appointments like this than I, and I would be reaching my limit by now, just as you are. I thought you might appreciate not having her give you her disappointed frown.”

Sans expression faded. Asgore felt the slump in his magic, and hastily tried to rephrase, “You are doing an amazing job, Sans! These appointments do not normally last this long. Is that not so, human?”

The attendant looked up from their work to give a silent nod, pins sticking out of the corners of their mouth.

“You see? You are doing quite well. It is only that Toriel spent much of her childhood being measured for official robes and gowns, and she forgets that not every monster had the practice at that she did as a diplomat’s daughter.”

The look in Sans eye sockets did not return to it’s happy glimmer, nor to its usual amiable grin. Still, he was not tearing at himself like he had before, and that was what mattered. Perhaps he could do something more?

The human grabbed the bottom folds of the back of Sans’ jacket, and Asgore remembered his own first experience with the tailor’s arts, “Have I ever told you the story of the first time I got measured for a suit?”

Sans shook his head, and Asgore noticed the gleam of curiosity in the skeleton’s eye lights...and in the human’s brown orbs. With that kind of encouragement, who was he to deny?

“Well, as a child I was always too busy helping my father around the palace to join my mother at official events. I never needed a suit until I was thirty years old - perhaps twelve of your years, human. One of the human kingdoms was having a coronation, and we were close enough allies that we were invited. My father had a bit of a cold, and so my mother was in charge of the staff for the week. She never could organize them like he did. The servant she had sent to measure me was new, a young Whimsum girl who had never worked with someone who had a tail before. She kept forgetting it was there and pinning it to the coat…”

“Toriel, I do not know how to explain this…”

She looked up from her phone. Gorey’s face was a mixture of confusion, pleading, suspicion, apology, reluctance, and amusement. His eyes kept shifting over her shoulder, then back to her, then back to the scene behind her.

She smiled, “You have noticed him then, have you not?”

Asgore’s mouth turned up at the corners in a sheepish grin, “Then I am not imagining it? I noticed him earlier today, too. I thought perhaps he was picking up a gift for someone. This, however-”

“Yes,” she chuckled, “Papyrus is a dear, isn’t he? I take it you or Sans mentioned to him we would be here today while I was getting the kit earlier?”

Asgore frowned, then laughed, “Ah, yes. Sans did send off more than a few messages. It would not surprise me if one went to his brother...Still, why this?”

Her claws tapped out a rhythm on the plastic table. The sounds of laughing children, gossiping teenagers, and hurried lunchers circled around the food court.

Finally, her tapping stopped, “I am not certain, but I believe it is something like an urge to protect. Or perhaps it is curiosity? I do not believe Sans has gone on many dates, if any. Nor has Papyrus.”

Asgore coughed, “Oh. I am sorry, but there you are wrong. Papyrus has been on quite a few dates. He even dated Frisk, if I am not mistaken. Never for long. I think he wants to be in love, but does not know how.”

She frowned, “I see,” Slowly the smile crept back, “Ah, yes. That is much more likely.”

Asgore tilted his head, and she explained, “He is both curious and protective, I believe. Curious to know how his brother acts on a date, and how his brother feels, because perhaps that might explain how he might feel love. Protective because as much as Papyrus wanted this to happen, he and his brother have not had anyone else for a very long time. He wants his brother to be happy, I am afraid. It can be quite the double-edged sword.”

Asgore’s worry eased, “Ah. I am glad our skeleton has someone out there who cares about him in that way...still, the holes he has cut into that newspaper are beginning to annoy me. They are not in the right places for him to see out. Do you think we should mention it?”

A thought occurred to her, and her brows drew together, “Yes. While we are there, perhaps we can inquire who it is who is watching Frisk while he is here.”

Asgore nodded, “They are resourceful, but the surface authorities do not seem to approve of children their age playing all alone.”

The two stood up, and made their way over to Papyrus’ table. The rustling of newsprint grew more and more pronounced the closer they came. It sunk back behind the table, and were she not so anxious about Frisk, Toriel would have felt rather sorry for the poor monster.

“Howdy, Papyrus. The mall is quite popular today, isn’t it?”

Papyrus’ skull rose from behind the paper like a Moldbygg out of a crouch, “GREETINGS, YOUR MAJESTIES. WHAT A SURPRISE. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, DID NOT SEE YOU APPROACH. I WAS FAR TOO ENGROSSED IN...SOLVING THIS WEEK’S JUNIOR JUMBLE! YES! QUITE INGENIOUS, ISN’T IT?”

“It is indeed Papyrus,” She noted the flash of panic as his sockets fixed on something just beyond her shoulder. Ah. Sans must be returning with their food, must he not?

Asgore picked up the thread of conversation, “It is quite a coincidence, isn’t it, us running into each other here. Do you often drive out to the mall to solve these jumbles of yours?”

Toriel caught sight of him now, ambling through the crowd with five hot dogs tucked under his arm. Why five?

“YES, INDEED! I FIND IT...INVIGORATING! YES! THE CHALLENGE OF SOLVING THESE PUZZLES IN SUCH A BUSY, LOUD, DIRTY PLACE...IT IS ONLY FITTING OF A MONSTER AS GREAT AS ME TO TAKE ON SUCH A HANDICAP.”

Sans did not seem to be heading for their old table, nor towards them. His aim seemed to be further to the right of them, where one of the many potted plants in the room sat, staring.

“That is very sporting of you, Papyrus.”

Sans had stopped just beside the short, dense plant. His smile widened, and his eyelights slid between the plant and them. He shrugged. It almost looked as though he were having a conversation with it.

“ISN’T IT? IT ONLY SEEMS- HUMAN! NO, WHY DID YOU BETRAY YOURSELF LIKE THIS?”

Toriel stared in confusion and awe as Sans stacked all five hot dogs on top of the plant. He turned to face them, eye sockets twinkling, “now, bro. you wouldn’t deny them this bit of nostalgia on a day like today, now, would you?”

From behind the plant, hot dogs remaining in a perfect stack, Frisk emerged. Toriel stared in distrust at the plant. How had she failed to notice the human behind it? Admittedly, its shape was rather conveniently similar to Frisk’s, but still. What kind of a mother was she?

Papyrus sighed theatrically, “I SUPPOSE I MUST. YOU TWO AND YOUR SHENANIGANS WILL FOREVER BE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!”

Asgore looked between Papyrus, Frisk, the plant, Sans, the hot dogs, and her. His mouth moved silently. His brow furrowed in that earnest look of his, one of her favorites. Whenever he failed to follow a joke, or understand a subplot, or remember a name, there it was.

“sorry, bro. maybe next time someone asks you not to come snooping, don’t bring the kid. i must have spotted them, what, a dozen times today? i thought you were better at this stuff, kid.”

Frisk turned to face him, deadpan. He grinned back, “seriously, kid. we gotta work on your stealth. can’t have the legendary fartmaster getting caught spying around, now, can we? maybe pap can help me bone ya up on a few new tricks.”

They smiled and nodded. The hot dog stack collapsed, somehow scattering in exactly the right way so that every dog ended up neatly in front of a place at the table.

Papyrus’ eyeballs bulged, “SANS!”

Their skeleton shrugged, “what can i say bro, i’m a punny guy. you could say-”

“SANS.”

The smile grew wider, “that i’ve-”

“SANS!”

She, Gorey, and Frisk all covered their ears, “got it in my bones .”

“SAAAAANNNSSS!!!!!”

Asgore slipped the string of yet another bag over his hand. Both he and Toriel had ignored Sans insistence that he carry some of their purchases. Not out of rudeness, mind you, but Sans had been bumping and banging his hand all day. Giving him a bag seemed like asking for him to hurt himself more, and that was something neither of them wanted. This was why Asgore was now holding 17 separate bags while Toriel finished checking out.

The bright-eyed cashier behind the desk, wearing a blue cabled sweater and khaki slacks, pulled off the next item to be scanned and gleamed, “Oh, you found our sweater vest collection! My son absolutely loved this year’s models. The colors match perfectly, the stitching is neat but still stretchy, and the wool blend isn’t nearly as itchy as the ones we had two years ago. Is this for your child?”

Asgore saw Sans’ smile tense, and drew in a breath to correct the mistake. He knew Sans had heard quite a lot of that on the surface. Apparently, the striped-shirt phenomena did not extend to their human neighbors. While Sans never seemed to take offence, Asgore had noted he never tried to correct the mistakes, either. No matter how common it was, something like that was bound to hurt. Asgore had determined that if he was around to defend the short skeleton, then he would, since Sans did not seem ready to do it himself.

His amazing wife beat him to it, “Oh, no. My child is still in stripes, after all. Moreover, Frisk is quite adamant that they will not wear clothing without sleeves, even in layers. No, this is for our boyfriend, Sans.”

Empty sockets flickered between Toriel and the cashier. Asgore could feel the dread rolling off Sans, and moved a few steps closer to the skeleton, not entirely certain what the problem was, but ready to intervene.

The human glanced over at the two of them and waved, “Are those your boyfriends over there? I’m guessing the shorter one is the one these vest are for, although both of them look like a handful to fit. Don’t take this the wrong way, but the skeleton is such a cutie!”

Sans eye lights returned, uncertain...or perhaps stunned? Toriel noticed, and jumped on the chance to gush.

“He is, is he not? It is amazing how hard it has been to find decent clothing in his sizes, but he has been amazingly patient with us silly old goats today. He is the most thoughtful, kind, adorable monster you could imagine.”

Every adjective drove Sans’ shoulders an inch closer to his ears, until something snapped. His phalanges wrapped around the edges of his hood and threw it over his skull, pulling it down and huddling up.

“I am so sorry to hear that it’s been such a hassle! Clothes shopping can be tricky, I know, but it shouldn’t be that much of a problem. You haven’t been just looking in here, have you? We should have a better array of sizes than that. I’ll have to let the supplier know…”

Asgore smiled at the adorable display of shyness and resisting the urge to drop their purchases and scoop the monster up into a kiss.

“Oh no, the selection your store had in stock was wonderful. You not only had the correct sizes, but the colors are absolutely perfect. These blues match the shade of his blush exactly, and the grey of these slacks makes the white of his bones positively sparkle. It would not be too much of a bother to ask you to pass on my compliments to the designer, would it not? I do wish...”

Asgore’s smile flipped when Sans’ skull impacted with his ribs. His breath was ragged, his bones were shaking almost to the point of rattling, and the hold Sans’ right hand had on his shirt had quite a bit of fur mixed in.

Asgore pitched his voice low, down to the monster huddled against him, quiet enough to go unheard by Toriel and the clerk, “Sans, what is wrong?”

The only response was a tighter grip. Asgore winced at the sting of tearing fur. The barest fraction of an HP ticked away.

He sighed, and carefully leaned down until his muzzle could reach Sans’ head. He nuzzled in, comfort and affection radiating out. He’d never noticed, but Sans’ hoodie smelled wonderful, pine and typha and ketchup and cold dew on a starry night, so many scents mixed into one.

He heard Toriel’s conversation winding to a close in the same moment he realised the growing damp patch on his shirt was probably skeleton tears. Why would Sans be crying, though? Everything Tori had said was true a hundred times over. Was it embarrassment that she was telling these things to a stranger? A human? But none of them were that intimate. Was it the aftermath of being mistaken for a child? No, he’d never seen Sans react like this. Was it…

“Oh dear. Was that too much Sans?” Toriel’s hand cradled Sans against her. He shook his head, then nodded. The shaking intensified, and Asgore gave Tori a helpless look. Her face eased, “Ah. I think I understand. Today has been quite the day, has it not? We have wrought quite a bit of change around you, and you are still healing, and then so many people and colors and clothes...the mall can be overwhelming, even at the best of times, can it not? And then my conversation with the cashier...I think it is time to head home, Gorey. Anything else can wait for another day. Our skeleton has reached the limit of how much input he can take in. Let us take him home to process in peace.”

#sansgoriel #our skeleton fanfic #sans the skeleton #toriel #asgore #papyrus #frisk #chapter 5 #yastaghr

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