Five Places Sans Most Definitely Should NOT Be Sleeping (An Undertale Fanfic)

Chapter Four

  I will embrace my bias and say that this is the most entertaining one because this one was my favorite to write!  

Sans groaned, blinking his eyes open slowly to allow the world to shift back into focus. Judging by his headache and the crick in his neck, he'd fallen asleep outside again. He shifted, eyebrow ridges furrowing when he felt something hard underneath him. That wasn't grass, nor was it his bed, which is where he usually ended up if Papyrus found him. Speaking of which, he couldn't hear his younger brother banging around in their oversized kitchen making breakfast. And it was their week for the kid, and Frisk was usually bouncing around his room and waking him up at some ungodly hour (usually around 8:00am) to help or play a game. Where were they? And was he sitting? He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Stars, it felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to the inside of his skull. He let out another noise of discomfort, feeling his tongue brush against–

Wait, his tongue? That was only summoned if–

Sans' eyes snapped open, headache forgotten as his magic flared up in response to his sudden panic, thin wisps of it trailing from his socket. The room he was in was dark, and very much not in his home, or any of the other monsters' homes. He was sitting, on a hard, wooden chair. His tongue, something that only appeared when something was in his mouth, probed against the strip of cloth shoved between his teeth and tied around the back of his head. He moved to rip it out, but a sharp pain and a glance downward revealed that both his arms were tied to the poles that made up the back of the chair, the rope woven in between his radii and ulnae all the way up to his elbows. Thick ropes were also wound around tightly around his ribcage, ensuring that he was securely pinned to the chair. Further struggle revealed that his ankles were bound equally tight to the legs.

Sans squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head and trying not to panic, even though he was already hyperventilating. His eye was flickering between yellow and blue so fast his magic was turning green. He shivered, not from the cold, but from the pure terror that made him feel like he'd just been doused in frigid, icy water. He wished he had his jacket. His signature blue hoodie had been making rarer and rarer appearances the longer the monsters remained on the surface, preferring to remain in just his t-shirt and basketball shorts. The only times he really wore it nowadays was when he needed the security and comfort. He really needed it right now.

Through his fear-addled mind, he had enough common sense to try and teleport away, to anywhere really, but the second he attempted to do so blinding pain shot down from his neck straight to his soul. He let out a choked cry, the only sound he could manage as he spasmed in place for a solid minute, breathing hard as the effects of the magic suppressor wore off. Whoever had done this to him had clearly done their research and set up all the necessary precautions. It made him feel sick.

He snapped his head up when he heard a noise coming from above him. Sans stopped breathing, not like he really needed to in the first place. Garbled voices drifted down to him, getting closer. He immediately cleared his face of all emotion – his captors really didn't need to know just how scared he really was – but no matter what he did he couldn't get his eye to stop glowing, only managing to get it to stabilize to solid, bright, ethereal blue. He should be disturbed by how easily he slipped into the mask of 'no fear', but, with the amount of genocide runs he'd lived (and died) through, he couldn't find it in himself to be surprised.

He glanced around the room, looking for anything that could possibly aid him, but finding nothing. It appeared empty, save for himself. He let out a muffled growl of frustration, slamming his head against the back of the chair. Again, he poked at the gag with his tongue, loathing the thing and wishing he could get rid of it somehow, when his tongue slipped and brushed his canines instead, the large teeth the only thing separating his anatomy from that of a human skeleton. Sans paused. He would've face-palmed himself if he was able. With a little bit of effort, he managed to shove the edge of the cloth under his fang, biting down and creating a tear. With a lot more shoving and fraying later, the cloth eventually gave way. Sans was quick to spit it out, grabbing the end with his teeth and flinging it to the other side of the room. With the demeaning gag gone, he felt slightly better.