The Only One Like Me: Remastered Edition (Sans x Reader)

Chapter Four: Desperately in Need of an Introduction

Sleep wasn't easy. Something in his brain always seemed to be wrong. Sans needed to be busy or else he would go insane. That's what his workshop was for—more than anything, it was an escape from his brain's constant desire to act, even if he could barely muster up the motivation to do anything. It was an excuse to be awake when, in all honesty, he would rather sleep than anything else.

But the problem with sleeping was that there always seemed to be nightmares to accompany it, and once he fell asleep, it was quite difficult to pull him out. Therefore, when he woke up, he was always grumpy and groggy, barely functional by any means. It was only the sliver that was his will to live that managed to get him out of bed.

This logical madness was the self-dubbed Sans Conundrum, and he faced it like an old enemy today.

His eye sockets blearily flicked open, vision fuzzed over. His gaze flicked over to the clock.

1:26 PM.

Oh, come on, why—it wasn't even morning anymore. That perfect morning was barely more than a faraway daydream.

He groaned, almost throwing himself out of bed in frustration. Count on his self-loathing to fuel his motivation to exist.

The downstairs was deserted, save for a rumpled note set down on the table. Sans glanced over it quickly:

Hey Sans, Pap and I are going on patrol. He left some spaghetti for you in the microwave. It's a little chewy, but the taste is nothing some salt can't fix. He's getting better every day! Love you. See you later.

—The Incredible Frisk

P.S. I EAGERLY AWAIT FOR YOUR ARRIVAL! SEE YOU SOON, BROTHER!

—THE GREAT PAPYRUS

Sans chuckled to himself. The kid always seemed to find a way to make him laugh, no matter what. Despite...everything, he was extremely grateful that they had found their way down here.

With a grimace—and a metric crap-ton of salt, as per Frisk's recommendation—Sans swallowed down Papyrus's spaghetti and put the plate in the sink, rinsing it off. He was depressed, not a heathen.

The air tasted crisper today. Sans breathed a hefty sigh of it as he shoved his hands in his pockets, heading down the path to the sentry station, where the dynamic duo would most certainly be. The snow crunched underneath his slippers, a satisfying sound that almost made up for the usual morning misery.

Almost. Not quite. But almost.

His walk was more of a meander, and he arrived at the post some time later—he was honestly terrible at keeping track of time.

Papyrus was pacing, eagle eyes narrowed around him, always vigilant for clues of a human. Frisk was sat down at the post, chair tilted back and boots crossed over their ankles as they rested on the table. They had told him, one time, that it reminded them of a lemonade stand, and then they rambled for a minute about ducks and lemonade and grapes. He could hardly make sense of it, but that was Frisk for you: mind running in circles, always thinking of something else.

The moment the eagle eyes noticed the short skeleton, they shot open, and Papyrus crowed in elation. "BROTHER! THERE YOU ARE!"

Told you he wouldn't be here before 2.

"aw, you're breaking my heart here, frisk."

A bit of a smile brushed the edges of their lips, and their hand signs somehow dripped with a condescending attitude. Not my fault you're a monster of habit.

"SANS, WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG! WHILE BEING LATE EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE IS PERFECTLY NATURAL AND NORMAL, IT IS NOT USUALLY HOURS!"

"well, i was busy."