He halts his progress every couple of seconds to check for noises. He's never met anyone else in this place other than the doc, and he should be in his room, according to his schedule. Gaster works like clockwork, like simple programming, neatly fulfilling his duties each day in perfect order, his lab coat crisp and pressed to perfection.
Sans pauses, and presses his body up against the wall. The hallway is dark, except for a small strip of blue light that lines the ceiling. The pills have left his smile a twisted sneer, and he can feel the withdrawal symptoms already. His tremors progress into twitches, jolts that travel up his whole body. Leaning against the wall, he pauses. His bones itch deep inside and he pulls out the last of his pills from his ragged pinafore pocket.
One. Two. Only two left.
He hoped the old doc had a spare pack he hadn't found yet. And where from there? Maybe there was nothing beyond. Maybe there was. Maybe he could manufacture some more before the withdrawal symptoms killed him. He forced down a lump in his throat and pocketed the pills. He had to save them. They had to last.
He claws his way along the walls, his fingers digging into the smooth stone. The door on the left read "Room 303". Sans limps on. Five more doors to go.
There's a rattle and a click and he stops dead, his hands instantly balling into fists. Magic flares up around his clenched, shaking fingers and he spins around.
"Brother?" says the voice.
YOU ARE READING
Handplates - Pills -
FanfictionTwo white pills sit in front of Sans. They're white, whiter than his chapped bones, and they're round and smooth. Where did they come from? Certainly, he never saw the Doc making them, and they haven't been out on his desk... So, by all logic, they...
