Sooner or Later You're Gonna be Mine

Chapter 34: Turned Tables

Sans awoke with a grunt, keeping his sockets closed for a second or so, knowing that as soon as he opened them, the light from his living room would painfully pierce his sockets.  He must have drunk harder than usual last night. Normally his hangovers were irritating, but today his skull was killing him, and not only that, his neck felt heavy and his good ol' reliable chair wasn't even offering any comfort to his sore body.  Maybe Papyrus had thrown him in it after scraping him up from Grillby's and his body was laying in it in a weird way.   It had happened more than once.

At that thought of his brother, Sans nearly groaned.  God, Papyrus.  The last thing he wanted or needed at the moment was Papyrus' booming, high pitched voice drilling in his head with a hangover this bad.  Worse still, he also didn't want to have to do Wings' never ending list of chores either. At it stood, thinking or moving weren't on his "to-do" list . 

"Good morning, Sans."  A pleasantly soft crackling voice said, breaking the blissful silence in the room.

...That didn't sound like Papyrus.  Or Wings.

Sans opened his sockets, more pain erupting into his skull as the harsh light from the room entered his sockets, but it was nowhere near as bad as it he thought it was. He couldn't properly focus on the pain, when something much more problematic was distracting him.

Grillby. 

Sitting across from him, at the very end of the small room, legs crossed, drinking what Sans assumed was a glass of red wine with a book in his lap, was Grillby.  Sans stared silently. His mind was a jumbled, confused mess as he watched the fire bartender's emotionless face change from indifferent to the pleasant bartender smile that Sans had seen so many times whenever Grillby passed him a bottle of mustard while his bar in SNOWDIN was still there. 

Even though his mind still a cloudy mess, Sans knew there was something wrong here  He ...he ...he should be home, not ...Sans squinted in his exhaustion... this wasn't Grillby's main bar area either ...where the fuck was he?  Some room Grillby gave to his drunk patrons who had nowhere else to go?

...No, this was just a barren room with a concrete floor.

Nope, something definitely wasn't right.  Never once had he passed out and was still at Grillby's when he woke up.  Papyrus always came during last call to make sure he got home. He should be waking up to his brother's loud voice and angry scowl, not to Grillby's soft tone and welcoming smile.  He tried to get up, only to find that his wrists and ankles had been tied to the armrests and legs of his wooden chair. 

Sans opened his mouth to ask just what the fuck was going on, but when he did, he felt the drool-soaked rag that had been stuffed in his mouth and wrapped around his skull, turning his confused words into soundless muffles.

What the ...fuck ...is...

"Looks like somebody is starting to get some logical thoughts in their empty skull," the quiet bartender laughed as his smile grew into an amused sneer as he stood up, carefully placing his glass on a small table right beside the chair before standing up.  He stretched his body out, raising his arms high above his head, giving Sans the impression he may have been sitting there for some time.

It was a blur, a fucking messy drunken blur, and even though it was pure agony to push his mind to think at the moment, Sans found himself remembering what had happened.  He remembered Noah, that bartender girl with the strange accent, the flyer... Asgore....

Howdy, Sans. Long time no see.

Asgore was here ...at Grillby's bar. 

Frisk.

FRISK!

Feeling the rage and panic hit his SOUL with such force, Sans pulled on his restraints, but as soon as he did a surge of pain ripped through him and he let out a strained, muffled scream of pain, more drool soaking the rag in his mouth, all fight leaving him as he gasped, breathing heavily from the sudden and unexpected shot.  His SOUL. Almost instantly, he felt all his remaining magic vanish, bringing an immense physical exhaustion to his already tired body. Sans slumped in his chair trying to regain his posture as more red drool came out his mouth and soaked the already wet rag around his teeth. If it weren't for the restraints keeping him tied to this fucking uncomfortable chair, Sans was absolutely certain he'd be lying on the floor in a heap of bones.