Save Point (Sans x Reader)

Chapter Eight

A knock on the living room’s door is the only thing to motivate you into stepping foot out of bed. Reluctantly, you try to make yourself look decent by throwing on a jacket and slipping some sneakers on. You make sure your (h/c) locks aren't a bird’s nest before stepping out of your room and closing the door behind you.

“Don’t open until I check who it is, Faust!” you yell out, making your way down the stairs.

Your steps are slow and sluggish, your headaches becoming worse to the point of you considering them to be migraines. A feverish tint covered your (s/t) cheeks, and you couldn’t go a few minutes without coughing.

“Who’s--"

You cut your words short after arriving at the living room. Sans is standing at the entrance, a taller skeleton along with Toriel and a human child standing right behind him. Aware of the sudden visitors, you hold back the scolding you wanted to direct at Faust for not following your directions for safety and choose to greet them with a wave instead.

“Welcome,” you mutter, throat dry with your fever and constant coughing. “I, uh. . .  I think I might have the flu, so I wouldn’t suggest you guys get too close to me.”

“It’s fine,” Sans replies, winking at you. “Monsters can’t contract human diseases, so we’re here to make you some company.”

“And to make you heal faster, as well!” the taller skeleton -- Papyrus, from what you assumed based on the stories Sans told you about -- exclaims, directing a bright smile towards you. “I have brought you some hot vegetable soup and juice. You must stay healthy and hydrated if you have a cold!”

“Oh, well. . . Come in, then. Thank you for your troubles.”

Toriel and Papyrus make their way in while Sans approaches Faust, bumping his fist with his, the greeting they’d made for themselves causing you to smile. Your curiosity sparks at the sight of the human child stepping in, extending their hand out towards your son.

Your interest increases when observing how -- right after the handshake -- the child begins to sign their name. ‘Frisk’, you manage to make out, not noticing how long you'd spaced out watching over the two children until feeling someone place a bony hand on your shoulder.

“How’s it going?” Sans asks, casting his white irises up at you when seeing you turn around. “I was worried somethin’ happened when you called to cancel yesterday’s lesson.”

“I didn’t want you getting sick, so I figured it was for the best,” you reply, directing a smile at him afterwards. “But. . . thank you for coming. Did Faust tell you the truth, by any chance?”

“Yup,” he replies, chuckling. “He saw our texts and replied saying you were too stubborn to tell me why you cancelled.”

“That sneaky Faust,” you mutter, feigning annoyance as a laugh makes its way out. “He downright snitched me -- my own son!”

He grins at your dramatical act, humor crossing the glint of his eye sockets as he makes his way with you to the couch set next to the one Toriel and Papyrus were sitting on. Faust and Frisk are still at the entrance, the pair already good friends and playing ‘eye spy’ around the house.

The taller skeleton introduces himself as Sans’s brother, your deduction at him being Papyrus proved correct. He hands you two bowls filled with vegetable soup and places a carton of juice over the coffee table, his smile never faltering as he talks with you.

“Those bowls are the ones you gave us last week,” Papyrus comments, his cheery tone matching with the friendly look on his skull. “May I say. . . You are quite the cook, (Y/N)! I have never had something like that dish before. Where is it from?”

“It’s a Cuban recipe my friend taught me after moving here,” you reply, smiling at him. “She’s native from there, so she’s always teaching me new things.”

“That sounds lovely!” Toriel chimes in, beaming with joy. “I would love to exchange recipes with you sometime.”

“Same here, (Y/N)!” Papyrus adds, matching Toriel’s cheerful nature. “You must tell us how you do it.”

--------------------

The visitors stay for two whole hours, the time flying by with the conversations you shared with them. They arrived around three in the evening and it was now five. Frisk had gone upstairs with Faust to check out his room before leaving, while Papyrus and Toriel were already standing by the door frame, patient smiles on their faces as they wait for the children to finish up what they were doing.

Sans approaches you during the wait, a sheepish look masked by the casual pose he kept in front of you. You face with him, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Are you free next Saturday?” he asks, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I wanna make up for last time.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” you dismiss, chuckling. “But I am. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve been wantin’ to show you and Faust something special from the Underground,” he replies, his smile widening slightly. “We, uh. . . kinda brought here some of the flowers that used to grow there -- They’re at Tori’s garden. She won’t be around that day, but Undyne’ll be taking care of Frisk at their house while she’s gone.”

“Is that what the kids were talking about seeing each other’s rooms?”

“Yeah,” Sans replies, letting out a laugh. “Frisk’s pretty hyped up about it. They’ve been wantin’ to make new friends, so they jump in at every chance they get to meet new people.”

“Well. . . It’s a date, then,” you agree, nodding. “I guess we’ll see you then. . . And on Friday, too.“

“Great. Just don’t get sick again,” the skeleton teases, making his way to the others while you follow close by. “We could drag you out of bed and throw a jacket on you, but then it wouldn’t be as fun. Take care of yourself, (Y/N).”

That last sentence strikes a chord on you, the fever you carried increasing with that feeling. His words came off genuine, more earnest than you were expecting them to be. Thankful your visitors wouldn’t be around long for you to deal with that feeling, you smile at him before waving them off.

“Same to you.”