Chapter Text
A loud slam startled Sans out of sleep. Must have been Papyrus leaving for his guard duty, not bothering to wake him by yelling at him to go to work for once. He groaned and rolled over, falling to the floor. He spent a few minutes contemplating the stains on the ceiling until the walls stopped spinning, considering just going to sleep again on the floor. The sharp headache that was making him wince told him his attempt would be in vain. He dragged himself to his feet, stumbling to the rather bare kitchen.
Two glasses of water and a cold hot dog for breakfast helped, and he almost felt alive again. Shit, he got plastered last night. He got chatted up by some stranger at Grillby's, and it ended up with the two of them in a room at the Inn, drinking liquor strong enough to remove paint and screwing. Hardly the worst night he'd ever had, and it had been a while since he'd been with someone.
Feeling exhausted by just being awake for an hour, he decided to shower to try and wake up. He still had to get to his sentry post or Papyrus would get on his ass. No big deal- it would hardly be the first time he forced himself to keep going when the only thing he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. A hangover seemed mild in comparison to some of the shit he'd walked off.
The bathroom was pretty much empty, save for a single bottle of soap and some Bone-cologne that Papyrus never actually wore. He stripped his hoodie off, dropping it half a meter away from the hamper. Next came the socks, then his shirt, snagging on his head. A decisive tug released it, and he froze with the image he saw in the mirror.
There used to be nothing underneath his shirt until you hit his spine, but now there was a ball of condensed magic emitting a red glow, much like his eye. In the center of it was a dot, and after looking at it in shock he realized it was an upside-down heart.
Shit.
His first impulse was to wreck everything in the house, but after getting exhausted flinging shit into walls and hyperventilating, he was forced to calm down and go over the facts.
He was pregnant. Of course he was. It's not like he ever had luck in his life, why wouldn't he be screwed over as completely as possible? Of course he had to be the one to end up knocked up, not like the other monster could have shit luck, nooo.
Breathe in, breathe out. Enough panicking, what does he do now? What were his options?
Well, single option. A soul removal potion was expensive, but what else could he do? He had one HP, which meant that if anything went wrong with the pregnancy he'd most likely die. He got tired so easily he'd never have the energy to chase a kid around. It was pretty common for children to be attacked in the Underground unless their parents protected them-he'd be forced to constantly protect them as they grew up. He'd stumbled on more than one small pile of dust in secluded places, tiny striped shirts or hats lying nearby. He couldn't even protect himself from everyone, Papyrus' infamy keeping him safe more than his own strength ever could.
Even if the kid survived, one day they'd be so badly hurt, the world beating them down so hard, their soul would crack, just like everyone else's did here in the Underground. The idea of one day having his imaginary child come back home with their bright eyes turned a deep, empty red was nearly enough to tilt him into the beginning of a second wave of panic.
So he straightened his clothes, and, checking that he still had time before Papyrus came back, he shortcutted outside the medicine shop, tucked away in one of the smaller, harder to get to chambers in Waterfall. Pulling up his hoodie over his head, he made a quick in-and-out and shortcutted back to his room, leaving him much dizzier than he would usually feel. Shit, it was a good thing he had the potion, the pregnancy was already sapping at his magic reserves. He lacked the physical stamina and strength to either fight or run away without his magic so he would be royally screwed if this continued.
He gave the bottle a withering look. It seemed very innocuous: light blue with a clear liquid the consistency of oil sloshing inside. He sighed and put it on his desk. The potion was notorious for disrupting the soul of the mother for a while, preventing them from summoning magic and additionally making them nauseous as fuck. Right now, he'd go to his post, work like normal, and then he'd come back home and sleep. He'd take the damn potion in the morning, it's not like it would go anywhere.
In the morning, he was woken up by a shout of „GO TO WORK, YOU LAZY ASS!!!“, followed by rustling and then the slam of the front door. Sans cursed as he sat up, the memory of his predicament immediately making him sweat in agitation. He looked at the bottle sitting on his table and picked it up carefully in a too-tight grip.
He stared at it.
It stared at him.
He swallowed.
The idea of drinking the potion made him start panicking. Why?! He was absolutely fine with this yesterday! This was the correct thing to do! Why was he second guessing his decision?!
He froze up for a second, the bottle almost tumbling out of his fingers, and he was forced to scramble to save it. He took a shaky breath as he set it back on the table, and sank to the floor.
He was second guessing himself. He was actually considering having a kid. What was wrong with him?! Like he could ever be...a decent parent.
He'd just fuck the kid up. He just knew he'd be the one to make their pure soul darken.
He'd already done that to Papyrus.
He curled up harder and shivered. He didn't know what to do. So what was the best course of action?
Why, to ignore his problems, of course.
He has managed to hide his secret pretty well these last 3 months, but it was catching up to him. Considering skeleton pregnancy lasted about 7 months, he was lucky he was big-boned. That and his baggy clothes were the only things that hid his now noticeable belly. He couldn't even walk around with his hoodie unzipped since the red glow of his ecto-belly could be seen through his shirt.
He was getting even more easily tired than usual, as impossible as the idea seemed to him at first. His magic has decided to sputter out at random moments, mostly when it was the least convenient, and even when he could use it, it was...smaller. Like his magic reserves had halved, which, to be fair, is basically what was happening.
His magic became more unpredictable too-sometimes it'd work fine, sometimes it would fizzle out as soon as it activated or run out much quicker than usual. He was forced to start walking places instead of shortcutting, and it left him feeling achy and bone-weary. Heh.
Papyrus noticed the changes but fortunately didn't make the connection with the reason behind it. If he did, he'd find himself strapped to a chair and force-fed the soul removal potion still in his desk drawer. „FOR YOUR OWN GOOD,“ he'd say. As it is, he just got a bigger portion of the usual insults and bitching. These days Sans avoided him, staying in his room whenever Papyrus was at home. He hated lying to his face.
He knew he was on borrowed time. Eventually, Papyrus would notice his large belly and lethargy and increased appetite and make the connection, or another monster would notice his weakened state and attack. Sans was already using far more magic than his body could sustain to seem as threatening and strong as usual, and it nearly caused him to black out more than once.
He couldn't ask Papyrus for help. The tall skeleton was already so busy with his guard duties, but he still protected his short, worthless brother. He couldn't make him protect a child, too. He could only be stretched so thin before he broke- and it's not like he had a right to come crawling to his bro for help.
The last straw was friggin Lesser Dog attacking him, probably looking for a meal. Damn his bony anatomy. He spent that morning crouched behind a bush, throwing his nonexistent guts up, so he fell asleep at his post. He was woken up by a stinking, furry jaw snapping near his face, only his light sleep and fast instincts letting him roll away in time. It was growling, saliva running down its black, furry jaw, and it was protected by heavy Royal Guard armor. Sans threw a few bones, trying to find a weak spot between the metal plates, but there was none.
The next snap of its jaw was aimed at his leg, and soon the dog was biting and clawing after Sans, forcing him to evade faster and faster, his soul and stomach aching at the abuse. The snaps kept coming, one after the other, a flurry of claws-
He could only think of how close some of those attacks came to his stomach.
There wasn't a single place he could think of that would be safe for him while he was running. Not home, not outside. Maybe he'd be able to stay at Grillby's for a bit, no one messed around inside the bar, but not forever. The only other place that popped into his head wasn't a place at all.
He pulled his magic close to his soul and stepped into emptiness.
There was absolutely no other place that was as still as the Void.
Sans stretched his hand in front of his face, shifting his position on the floor slightly. Well, if you could even call it a floor. It was the Void, not like anything was there. He couldn't feel a current of air, or hear any sound, not even his own breathing. He was always surprised when, on the rare occasions he spent longer than a moment in this not-place, he didn't feel cold. Might have something to do with there being no air to conduct heat. Good thing skeletons didn't need to breathe.
It really was...breathtaking. Hehe, Boss would kill him if he said that pun.
His hand was the same shape as it ever was. Same stubby fingers, same chipped bone on his fingertips and knuckles. He turned his palm toward him and summoned a bit of his magic. The familiar red of it enveloped his hand for a moment, right before sputtering out of existence. He cursed under his breath.
He felt like this was the first time he relaxed in the last 3 months. Hiding his weakening magic and general exhaustion was damn hard. Why hadn't he taken a break in the Void before?
Oh, right. There was nothing here. It got boring as hell pretty quick.
The absolute nothingness was welcome this time. Gave him peace to think. And plan.
First things first: apparently he was really determined to have this kid, if his first instinct when the dog was chasing him was to protect it, instead of himself. He could only groan. Why was he even doing this? The poor kid would only suffer with him as its father.
He was so weak. But the idea of losing the child made his soul almost physically hurt now, there was no way he would give it up.
Somewhere in the last few months, he'd started hoping again. Hoping the monsters would stop hurting each other. Hoping they'd all see the surface. He gave up those childish dreams back when he was a baby-bones. But the idea of his child, growing up Underground? Every day praying to the stars he'd see them again, that their soul would still be whole when they got home...
He shook his head. No matter how much he thought it over, it seems he couldn't get rid of the kid. It just felt like, no matter what, his only option was to raise the child, and do his best.
Which wasn't much admittedly, but still.
So what now? He needed a place to lay low for a while, somewhere he wouldn't have to look over his shoulder constantly. Heh, it's not like there was a single place like that in the Underground, or he would have found it by now. He got around.
Wait a second. There was no place like that Underground. That's not the only place there is.
Not the surface, of course. If all the monsters Underground couldn't bust open the barrier, there's no way he'd do it on his own. Staying in the Void was his second thought, but he had a nagging suspicion that time didn't actually flow in this place. He'd just end up stuck as a 3-month-pregnant skeleton. Yikes.
Then he got the idea. The Void led to more than his own universe-it would be simple, in theory, to push through the matter that wasn't there and pop into existence in another world. The idea made him shiver. He'd never been to any universe but his own, and he had no idea what to expect. He was aware that some timelines just ended, saw the graphs detailing the darkness eating them, could remember the feeling of wrongness crawling up his spine. What if he fell smack-dab in the middle of that?
Not to mention that falling into another universe would probably mean he'd be attacked by the monsters that lived there. What were the odds that he wouldn't be attacked on sight? He had no idea.
Well that's actually good. No idea if he'd be attacked in another universe versus completely sure in this one seemed like an easy decision.
Fair enough. He'd go to another universe, check it out. If it was safe he'd stick around until he had the kid, then he'd recover his magic and be able to defend himself. The kid would make things difficult, but he wouldn't be completely defenseless anymore. Then he'd come back. He would. For Papyrus.
He was scared for his kid, and he'd protect it from others as well as he could, but Papyrus needed protecting too. He thought that being one of the strongest monsters Underground meant he was safe, but Sans knew there were...things, out there, that could destroy worlds. A skeleton would be less than dust to them.
So what if his brother looked down on him, insulted him? He brought it on himself. It was his own fault.
He knew his own sins.
He stretched his legs. He made no move to push himself up, it was more like the Void righted itself around him until he was standing. He gathered his magic to his soul and stretched his hand towards the non-matter of the Void. He made the first push that would open into his world and then reached behind it to another layer. He pushed harder. Usually the fabric covering his universe ripped with a mere touch, but this one wasn't budging. Good. That meant he really was opening another universe.
After another few pushes he realized it wasn't working. The fabric felt much too solid to move. So he closed his eyes and sensed his magic. It was pretty high now, fingers crossed that he wouldn't faint until he got somewhere safe. He let it out, letting it form into a familiar skull, and felt the crackle of super-concentrated magic, like static on his bones. He held it tight, building tension like a rubber band, and then let go.
The blast blew into the fabric, blinding in the darkness of the Void. He held the ray for as long as he could, and when he felt his knees start shaking, drew it back. The blaster dissipated, and a hole was gaping into the nothingness. He could see the fraying edges already start knitting themselves together, so he stepped forward, only wobbling slightly, and entered.