Fallen (au sans x reader)

Strangers

Og Sans's POV:

It was another ordinary day in the underground, and Sans was sitting at the kitchen table, watching his brother cook. Ingredients were flying all over the place- tomato juice splattered the walls, pasta was stuck to the ceiling and the herbs had fallen out of the containers. There was something... relaxing about this to Sans, however. It was nice to not have to worry about a human coming along and starting another genocide, or freeing him from the underground, just to reset it all again. Sans had become certain that the human was never coming back; it had been several years since the sixth child came to the underground, with no signs of Frisk anywhere. While this meant he would never be able to live on the surface, it also meant he got to live a peaceful life underground with his bro. And really, what more could he ask for?

Sans was snapped out of his thoughts by a plate of spaghetti being slammed enthusiastically onto the table in front of him. Papyrus stood with his hands on his hipbones, looking extremely proud of himself. It was enough to turn that natural smile of his into a full-blown grin... not that the average person would be able to tell the difference. However, as he remembered he had to actually eat the pasta, a sense of dread crept up on him. The sauce would occasionally bubble and gurgle, while the spaghetti noodles seemed to wriggle and writhe of their own accord. Sans could only wonder what Undyne was teaching Papy in these 'cooking lessons', but Sans had neither the willpower nor energy to attend one and find out.

"wow... uh, thanks bro. it looks even better than last week... heh, you sure you're not a natural at this? bone appetite, i guess." With a proud wink, Sans twirled some spaghetti around his fork and chewed a mouthful.

"BROTHER! STOP WITH THE BONE PUNS!" Papyrus lightly scolded, before brightening up again, "SO? WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY MARVELOUS SPAGHETTI?" Sans gave an enthusiastic thumbs up but was holding himself back from throwing the pasta right back up. Somehow, the dish was both piping hot and freezing cold, al dente and mushy, underseasoned and yet bursting with... a flavour. Cooking to such a strange standard must have been more difficult than actually making a decent dish, yet Papyrus continued to make his strange concoctions every week. There was no real improvement being shown, yet the enthusiasm and bright look in Papyrus's eyes was worth every mouthful of 'food' (the quality of which was so bad that many would hesitate to even call it edible) that Sans had to endure. After all, anyone who met Papyrus was immediately enamoured by his eager, yet remarkably naive, demeanour. It was as though when faced with a being as pure and excited with life as Papyrus, every instinct within one's body would tell one to protect him, and that childlike wonder he seemed to possess. Not that Papyrus was childish, no of course not, he was simply happy with life in a way that not many adults were, and it was truly something to cherish.

"it's great, bro. don't think i can have much more- i don't have the stomach for it, i guess. all full up on ketchup." Sans couldn't resist slipping another little pun in there. Papyrus groaned in a melodramatic way, then took the plate and started to store the spaghetti in one of those handy little plastic containers.

"SANS, YOU ARE GOING TO TURN INTO A BOTTLE OF KETCHUP IF YOU DO NOT STOP DRINKING IT! I WILL SAVE THIS SPAGHETTI FOR LATER SO YOU CAN EAT IT WHEN YOU NEXT NEED A SNACK. THE TOMATOES IN MY HOMEMADE SPAGHETTI ARE MUCH BETTER FOR YOU THAN KETCHUP!" Sans highly doubted that- the food he just ingested seemed more hazardous than any bottle of ketchup he had drunk before. Still, he shot his brother a grin and thumbs up, then leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the table.

"sure thing, bro. did ya-"

"FEED YOUR PET ROCK? OF COURSE, I DID! IF YOU WERE ALONE, YOU WOULD STARVE THE POOR THING. YOU MUST START TO LEARN SOME RESPONSIBILITY, BROTHER!" Papyrus chastised, gesturing widely over to the pet rock that sat on the table. It was a plain grey rock, with oversized googly eyes stuck to it with glue, and a collar saying 'SANS'S PET ROCK' strapped around it. It sat in the middle of a small plate, which was covered in lots of multicoloured sprinkles- seemingly, this pet rock was on a strict sprinkle-only diet. But, of course, it was! What else would a healthy pet rock eat, if not sprinkles? Once, Sans had suggested feeding his pet rock some ketchup, only to receive a small telling off from Papyrus, who said something along the lines of: 'NO, SANS! YOU CANNOT, OR YOUR PET ROCK WILL TURN INTO A KETCHUP COBBLESTONE!'. It had been enough to dissuade Sans, that was for sure.