castle_perrault | For the people who are still alive

The nightmares come the night after the funeral.

He escorts S-4 and Sans-Serif back to the castle. Makes a couple of attempts to apologize to his other self that don't make it past his mouth. Tucks them both in, reads them both a story, returns to his own room just next door.

Barely an hour later, Sans wakes up blind with panic and crying out in terror. It leaves him huddled in the far corner of the room, his hands over his head, nails digging into his skull, teeth chattering and tears pouring from his eyes thick and fast enough to blind and choke him. Nightmares of what was and what could have been. Dreams of melting smiles and sharp teeth reaching and clawing for him, dragging him down and under and into and come and join the fun.

He resolves not to sleep again, after that. Eating also comes to seem...less important. He's not hungry. What good does food do him, anyway? It doesn't restore his HP. He's always at his best. It's just that his best isn't nearly enough.

One murderous human is dead. Another might arrive. He has to be ready. He has to protect everyone. He can't let those nightmares of dust (or maybe they're visions of timelines yet to be) come true.

Sans immerses himself in his lab. He buries himself in his work, and when he exhausts his old avenues of search, he makes up new ones. Anything to keep moving. Anything to not think of the past, here and elsewhere. When he emerges, it's usually to be found in the library, or outside, armed with his telescope and a notebook. And a pair of boots - the echo of bloody squishes from his old ones had led to Sans tossing them under his bed in disgust, along with his hoodie Otherwise, he gathers seemingly random ingredients from the gardens with an expression of fierce concentration on his face. There's probably no way to get this doseage exactly right.

But he can get close. Perhaps he can even do better.

It's like walking in on the wreckage of his own life. It's like waking from another nightmare all over again.

His brother, exhausted (that was never supposed to be the plan). His other self, lost (and Sans was supposed to show him better). His friends, worried or in some cases so far past worried that they had hit anger (he never asked them to care but of course that's the point).

So much is a mess, he knows he's done wrong and needs to fix it, but sleep isn't coming any easier and he doesn't know where to start. The raging uncertainty and the press of problems leaves him tempted to just curl up in a ball on his bed again and just...tune it all out.

But for others' sake, if nothing else, Sans is good at carrying on. It's just a matter of...shifting focus from what it had been before.

What Sans does know is that, for the first time in days, he's hungry. His soul feels hollow for the need of some proper food. And he's opened his eyes enough to properly see that S-4 and Sans-Serif are both looking a little more spindly again. Lucas' stew had done him some good the first time around. He'd even remembered to take some hasty notes on the recipe.

Maybe he can do it justice, if only for his family's sake.

So anyone who ventures down into the kitchens a day or so after Frisk returns will find a corner of it something of a mess. A pot of hot water is simmering on the stove, Some rather messily chopped vegetables are cooking away inside, along with an admittedly pleasant array of seasonings. A mess on the table testifies to Sans' attempts to continue adding ingredients...

...but, more than likely, visitors will find him dozing right there at the table, half a carrot or potato still waiting on the cutting board.

Anyone worried about his welfare can at least take some comfort in the fact that both the slippers and the hoodie have returned to their rightful place.

((ooc: Replies are likely to be slow as other threads progress. Just consider this Sans putting down a tether to the admittedly busy timeline around here. Either way, just note if you're tagging him before Frisk's return or after.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

lightofthestars

She lets him shape her hand. Her smile grows at the explanation and his careful touch both, until she is grinning.

"That is a good sign indeed, and one that is very true. Thank you for showing it to me."

From:

sansational

"no prob. remind me to show you fistbumps later, too."

But for now, there's soup to finish. And between the two of them, it actually turns out pretty good. With Tauriel's help, it even turns out to do some good for Sans for reasons above and beyond taste. He made it in a big enough pot with enough vegetables to have a bowl for himself, without worrying about the other two skeletons getting less.

After it's done, Tauriel will probably be able to leave Sans safely dozing on a bench outside while she goes about her business. Either way, he makes plans to meet her out in front of the castle when the sun goes down, with his telescope. He'll be there maybe a minute or two late, but when he does appear, it will be with the telescope safely wrapped up in various scraps of fabric and strapped to his back.

"reporting for duty, ma'am." He offers her a jaunty salute of greeting from where he'd appeared just a few feet to her right.

From:

lightofthestars

As soon as she finds who it is who has spoken so suddenly near to her, Tauriel releases the handles of her knives and wills her heart to steady.

"If you do not cease your mischief, you will indeed find yourself stabbed one day," she tells him, then lets loose a breath.

Still, in spite of her pounding heart, a smile does find her lips, and curiosity her mind. "Is that your telescope?"

She tilts her head, trying to see around Sans and beneath the cover.

From:

sansational

Sans takes a smart step back as Tauriel whirls around, but he otherwise doesn't so much as twitch. His grin doesn't even falter, and he even claps his hands. "but if i ceased my mischief, would you love me half as much?"

Still, he sees what she's really interested in, and Sans obligingly turns around to jab a thumb at the telescope. A few glints of metal and brass might be visible, poking out through the fabric. "yep. i figure i'll unwrap it when we get up high. it'd be a pain to just have to bundle it up again, and, uh, i'd rather not risk it going through a bunch of branches." He's only found the one so far. While there are probably more laying around somewhere, or this one would probably just reappear if it was lost, it would be an unnescessary hassle to look.

"trust me. it'll be worth the wait."

From:

lightofthestars

Would you love me half as much?

The question catches her off balance; for the smallest moment, she stares at him with wide eyes.

Yet presently, her smile returns, deeper than before.

"I would not. I cannot truthfully claim otherwise." The smile grows. "Dôl asg."

She cannot now understand the purpose of the metal that she sees, but soon she will. She has need only to be patient (something that has been ever a struggle).

"I will," she says. She ponders briefly, then steps in front of him and crouches, putting her hands behind her to form a step. "Will you be able to hold on as I climb?"

From:

sansational

Sans lets out a huff of amusement as she kneels down. "please. i've been getting carried by people as tall as you for years. i'm practically a professional sack of flour by now."

He barely even needs the step - his slipper just barely brushes her palm as he hops up and wraps his arms around her shoulders, his legs around her waist. Her back isn't quite as bony as he's used to. But Sans still feels pretty secure, all things considered. He's a little heavier than most monsters, but Tauriel will still find that he weighs about as much as one might expect a skeleton in slippers to weigh.

"y'know, whatever you called me just now sounded a lot nicer than what you called me, uh...before. should i ask?"

From:

lightofthestars

She adjusts her arms to better fit beneath Sans' knees, then rises smoothly. His comment about sacks of flour makes her smile; that smile only grows when he speaks of the name that she called him.

"You may," she says, "but maybe I will not answer."

She then walks toward the nearest climbing tree.

From:

sansational

This is...this is very nice. Sans actually has to fight a little, against his almost reflexive response of falling into a nap. But the way his legs swing a little over open air, the feel of someone else walking, still manages to be impossibly soothing.

"oh? so that's how it is, huh?" He tries to look affronted, but doesn't quite succeed. "well, i'm asking. tell you what - you tell me what those names mean, and i'll tell you about henways."

From:

lightofthestars

She feels him relax in her arms and, yet again, her smile becomes larger. She will have to remember how much he enjoys this.

About to pull herself into the lower branches, she stops. "'Hen ways'? That is not the path a chicken takes, is it?"

From:

sansational

Ah, well. It was worth a shot.

...in fact, this might be good enough that Sans takes another shot. "no, see, uh...you're supposed to ask 'what's a hen way'?" he explains helpfully, before ducking his head against her shoulder as a few leaves come tumbling down. Those are really awkward to get in the eyesocket.

From:

lightofthestars

"What's a hen way?" she asks obediently, then boosts up to the first strong limb. Her balance is perfect.

From:

sansational

"oh, about two and a half pounds."

At which point Sans fails to resist the urge to fistpump, before dissolving into a fit of self-satisfied chuckles. Nailed it. Even if he has to grease the wheels, on occasion, there are still few things more satisfying than bringing a good joke in for a landing.

From:

lightofthestars

She stops halfway to the next branch and makes a fond sound of annoyance. "I truly should have known. You are a dôl asg indeed."

From:

sansational

That sort of deadpan response is one of his very favorites, and it takes Sans a second to stop laughing. "probably," he agrees, easily enough. Still grinning mischievously, he tweaks a lock of her hair in his fingers. "but come on. i told you about henways. fair's fair. what's a...'dôl asg?" His pronunciation actually isn't terrible, especially considering his lack of an actual tongue. Magic and intention can make up for a great deal.

From:

lightofthestars

"That is simple." She pulls herself up to the next branch. "It is you."

From:

sansational

Sans rolls his eyelights, letting out a huff of equally exasperated fondness. "somehow, i don't think that 'dôl asg' translates to 'sans' in sindarin." Not least because she'd seemed to have the words a little too ready to use. "and not just because it's not like i need you to tell me that i'm really sans."

Despite everything, it's still you.

"but say for the sake of argument that it is. you gonna try and tell me that 'cum od aisg tarlanc'..." He has a little more trouble getting the pronunciation right there. "...is how you say 'skeleton', where you're from?"

From:

lightofthestars

Ai. She had hoped he had forgotten that.

Though he may not be able to see her blush from where he rests upon her back, he will be able to hear it in her voice. "It is not. That is...'stiff-necked pile of bones' in my language. I am sorry. I spoke in anger."

From:

sansational

"...oh." A beat, and then Sans adds a most eloquent: "huh."

He's quiet for another few branches. It's a thoughtful, heavy sort of quiet, as Sans thinks a little further back to that moment, those words - on both their sides.

When he speaks, he sounds like he's trying a little too hard to sound teasing and unaffected. It's probably a tone Tauriel is well familiar with, by now. "you were speaking in anger, and 'stiff-necked pile of bones' was the worst you could come up with?" He prods her gently in the ribs. "come on, tauriel. i call myself worse than that."

That...didn't quite come out the way he intended.

Sans settles back against her back with a soft sigh.

"...not like i wasn't giving you plenty of reasons to 'speak in anger'. give yourself a break, pal."

From:

lightofthestars

Tauriel had been about to push forth to the next branch when he spoke. Now she remains where she is.

His words do not settle her heart, though he offers his forgiveness. If anything, they leave her perturbed.

"Despite what you say, that was still no excuse to speak poorly to a dear friend."

Especially one so often cruel to himself. She does not need to add to the wounds he already causes himself.

From:

sansational

"hehehe. maybe not where you're from." 'Nerd', 'loser', 'punk' and any number of variations were Undyne's favorite nicknames for Papyrus, and they thought the world of each other. Papyrus, meanwhile, thought nothing of calling Sans a lazybones, for this was precisely what he was even if his reasons weren't properly understood.

"but hey, c'mon." He pushes himself up and forward a little, te better to meet her gaze at least sidelong. "now you've got to tell me what the other thing means, y'know? you were smiling when you said it, so it can't be as bad as you think 'stiff-necked pile of bones' is, right?"

From:

lightofthestars

She still has much left to ponder...but she will set it aside for now. Instead, she turns her head to meet his gaze. A smile returns to her lips.

"It means 'bone-head,'" she says and begins climbing once more.

From:

sansational

Sans is silent in reply to this, for a long moment.

Then he bursts out laughing, hard enough to startle a bird from a nearby nest.

"oh my god. oh my god. you called me a pun. that is beautiful." He actually hugs her tightly from behind in the midst of his enthusiasm. "i knew you could do it, tauriel."

From:

lightofthestars

Were she not so skilled at climbing, she might have slipped at his sudden laughter, so strong it is. Yet she cannot help but join in, her own laughter ringing through the trees.

"Of course I can, dôl asg," she tells him with laughter-shook voice. "I told you before: I do not know how to jest in Westron, but that does not mean I know no jests at all."

From:

sansational

"yeah, but i mean...there's jests..." Sans gestures one way. "and then there's puns." He gestures rather more emphatically in the other direction. "anybody can jest. only masters can pun."

That's true in any sense of the word, but Sans is on a roll anyway.

"anyway. i love it. i am totally gonna tell frisk."