Fairytale Complex - [Sans x Reader]

Chapter Two | Heartache

"Please, let me through, child."

"Not if you're gonna take (mom/dad) away from me!"

"I'm not. We just need to talk."

"I'm still not gonna-"

You step in before the conversation escalates. Your hair's tucked back with a headband in order to mask a bed head and your mouth's covered with the palm of your hand to block away morning breath.

"Good morning," you intervene, seeing one of the social workers waiting behind the door, this one left ajar and kept blocked by the chain lock. "Could you allow me a few minutes to go freshen up, please? I apologize for not waking up sooner, but it looks like my alarm didn't go off." You cast a subtle, accusatory look at Frisk, who averts from your gaze just as you're about to question them over it. "Did you turn it off by any chance, dear?"

"...Maybe." They meet with your eyes, pouting as they continue with, "And I'm sorry. But you looked really, really tired, so I didn't wanna wake you!"

"Please go ahead and finish your morning routine, (ma'am/sir)," the man behind the door intervenes, face remaining stoic. "I'll take it from here while you're done."

"It's (miss/mister)," Frisk exclaims, grinning. "(Y/N)'s not married anymore!"

"Frisk," you snap, teeth gritted. "Stop telling everyone that." A deep, tired sigh escapes you, mind brought back to when they used to say that phrase whenever someone called you that way. Sometimes, you could tell it was simply to correct the person who said it, while at other times, you felt as if Frisk was quite frankly trying to matchmake you with a person they deemed fit to be their new, second step parent. "I apologize for all… this," you add, unlocking the door and allowing the man inside. "I worked overtime last night until eleven, and then Frisk came home at six in the morning, so it's been a bit hectic ever since then."

The man -- built, dark skinned, clean shaven, and apparently named C. Bubbles based on the name tag clipped to his suit -- only nods in response, his role on the CPS team marked down right below it. Sunglasses shield away his eyes, making his already dignified stance more effective. Still, he softens up when he meets with the child's bright gaze and the tidiness of your home, both sights seeming to ease out the tension he carried with him previously. He sits down at the couch while Frisk joins his side, though not before offering him something to eat and drink, as you so often taught them to do with visitors. He appears surprised at that, though only briefly. "Water's fine, child," he says, breaking out a faint, barely catchable smile. "Thank you."

Your worries lessen a bit with that display and you're able to run off to the bathroom to freshen up. You can hear when Frisk hands him over the water and how they start up a conversation, helping you gain some time to get ready. "Did you really mean it when you said you're not gonna take (mom/dad) away from me?" You keep your hand loose over the doorknob, not wanting to enter the bathroom until you hear the man's response.

There's a sudden beat of silence before anything happens, though it's soon broken when he says, "As long as this house is a home to you and that you will prosper in it, I see no reason to take you away from (L/N)." His voice quiets down, and you have to take a few steps away from the bathroom to hear him, who continues with, "To let you in on a secret, our team is…"

You can't hear anything else besides that, his voice now lowered down to a brief and unintelligible whisper. 

It's hard not to be disappointed, yet you digress, open the door, and step into the bathroom, where you brush your teeth, wash your face, and finish off with a look in the mirror, observing the circles under your eyes. They're awfully noticeable and it's no wonder over why Frisk decided to leave you sleeping for a couple of more hours. There's not much of you that looks ready to face the day, almost two months of fretting over their disappearance being manifested through poor health. You'd stopped doing exercise out of sheer exhaustion from working overtime, both out of choice and as a necessity for both emotional and financial means.