The Mountain East (An Undertale Fanfiction)

Chapter 41

"Well?"

Not to call a judgmental stare a judgmental stare, but the pupils of her eyes were as sharp of a blade as some of the finest metalworks.

Sans felt a shiver run down his spine as he cowered slightly against the breathing confronter he now had to deal with. And, of course, being a self-proclaimed judge, he knew that stare and expression all too well. He had seen it through the lens of a mirror.

In his hand he held an unfinished, hard-boiled egg, and the remains of a coffee mug startled off from his grip lay in pieces, its contents having seemingly either evaporated or siphoned into the ground. It was not entirely uncommon for the beverages in Hotland to take a vacation to the geothermal vents beneath.

"well, um, see, there's - he asked me – actually -" Sans stuttered. Usually, in these trying times of emotional turned physical distraught, he would crack out a pun or two. Made Papyrus run haywire, cause a distraction and change the topic. The socially awkwards' guide to escape the trap of interrogation – be more awkward.

But as he stared up at the towering, white, furry pillar that radiated the rawest and most pure overprotective mom vibes, he had a feeling that the only thing he was going to end up with was a botchy, slapped face. Even though bones are marginally harder to inflict damage to than skin or any other type of hair or fur. She would find a way, and she would manage. Sans did not doubt that one bit.

"I can't hear you, Sans." Toriel looked almost as if she was snickering underneath her stern mask. "What are Asriel and Chara's clothes doing here?"

Sans looked back, not to verify her statement, but more of a utility that he can use to waste half a second of time. They were indeed sitting, slightly lopsided, the sleeves of Asriel's robe dangling slightly over the arm of the chair, and Chara's winter shirt that Sans had removed as, well, they were in Hotland. Kid would have died via microwave before she died of illness.

"uh..." Sans tried to explain. "well, you see... i can't exactly tell – i mean, i could, but i made a promise, so..." He stared at her sheepishly, his shoulders shrugged, and hands placed in an apologetic position, as if this would make the glaring titan yield. He didn't believe it would, but it was worth a try anyway. Such is life.

"Sans, where are they now?" Toriel threatened, a dangerous warning of impeding questions bolstered at her side. "I don't have time for this. Ever since she fell sick, he's not been himself, Asgore is torn between his regal issues and this, and I am definitely not myself. I haven't slept in three days, Sans. I want answers. Now. And I don't care about how I'm getting my hands on them."

The bags under eyes, almost as if on command, manifested and took their rightful place. Sans did not need further elucidation for him to recognize her claim as valid. He knew all too well from the nights where he would sit down next to Papyrus' bed and watch over him to make sure the nightmares go away. He was afraid, afraid that the moment he tore his eyes off his brother, he would wake up to the nightmare that was his brother's scream for help, of a nightmare.

...Such is life.

So, he sighed. He shuffled around slightly, unintentionally kicking apart the pieces of the fallen mug. "it's not the kid's fault, tori. it's mine. even if he did come knocking for a solution, which he didn't, it's still not on him. you're right, it shouldn't be a burden he faced alone, but nothing stands in between them, and – honestly, tori, can you really blame him? for trying to save the one that mattered to him most? because, if you or i were in his shoes, is the outcome really in doubt? logic isn't a factor here. he's just a kid. he's blinded by survivor's guilt, like me, like... you. and, heh – for once, I might not be so hypocritical after all."