Memories [Sans x Reader]

TEASER

. . .

People like to forget. Often with trauma, we choose to forget. Sometimes, though, we are forced to remember . . .

Imagine. It's cold. Bright. You try to look around, but you can't. You're sore.

...

No, that's not it... You're being restricted.

You feel around, foreign material enveloping you in ways you can't describe.

In the near distance you can hear several voices arguing all at once, but you sense no presence other than your own. Try as you might, you can't recall anything.

You feel...

S M A L L . . .

. . .

With a jolt, you startle awake. Left speechless and with a dry mouth, a cold sweat leaves your body feeling clammy.

You begin to grasp reality, your disquieting dream leaving you wary and in a fog. You try to dissect what remained, but the image quickly faded and left you with a chill up your spine.

You become overwhelmed with the urge to get back in bed and cover your head with your comforter, but there's a knock at the door.

Remembering you live alone, you dismiss it as some solicitor. But the knocker persists.

Groggily, you fight yourself out of bed. Still in your tattered, mis-matched pajamas, you open the door. You squint, the sun shining brightly on your un-adjusted eyes. Instead of straining to see, you decide to just close your eyes.

Leaning on the door frame you mumble a barely coherent, "yes?"

"H-hey... (Y/n)....".

Your eyes open quickly to see a familiar face standing at your door. Suddenly embarrassed by your attire, you fidget slightly.

"H-hey ma-An...!" You respond awkwardly, hating the situation you've found yourself in.

"Sorry it's early it's just uh-..." your visitor scratched nervously behind his head. "Gastor asked me to bring these to you." He rattles an unmarked medicine bottle filled with pills, "Said your supplies might be uh... bone dry."

You can't help but chuckle at the attempt to lighten the mood. "Thanks Sans." You take the bottle from him, opening it. "hey could you wait up? I won't be long."

Sans shrugged, pushing his hands comfortably in his blue jacket pockets. "Sure I don't mind. Do you have any lotion though? My hands are dry and they are killing me."

Rolling your eyes, you respond with "that's because you don't drink water. Ketchup has no hydrating properties." Moving to the side, you let him into your doorway. "Skin needs hydration."

"Blah blah blah." He tosses his hand, ignoring your comment. "It's lasted this long without it. Don't expect me to form any new habits, sounds like too much work." He plopped himself onto your couch.

You sigh, exasperated. Walking into the bathroom, you swallow a pill dry, recoil and place the container in the bathroom medicine cabinet. You give an unnoticeable sigh and  toss Sans a small tub of moisturizer. "I'll be right out."