Chapter Text
The first time he’d ever felt a jump, Sans had been 17 years old. Food was brutally hard to get, and the winter season was more merciless than any before it. The cold crisp air ate away at monster’s fingers, and the doctors were few and far in between to be at all willing to treat something as minor as digit loss. Even though Sans (Or Rex, as he liked to use instead as real names were far rarely given out.) had three layers of gloves on each hand, the ratty holes let air in, and he felt the chill bite the bone plates upon his fingers. Rubbing his arms only did so much, so he tucked his hands into his armpits to help focus the heat on his extremities. This was going to bust he knew.
“C’MON!” Papyrus shouted after him, gesturing broadly with a flapping arm to get them both moving forward again, ratty boots strapped with belts and elastics from torn underwear to keep them together.
“m’comin’.” Rex muttered sharply to silence him, following the tracks in the ankle high snow as together, the partners in crime scooted around the edge of the decrepit sentry building and stopped beside the fence. This was usually where they made it, and bailed if the guard was walking around. Time seemed on their side, as the guard had already made his rounds, and was probably lazing in his small shack… leaving the food stores for a moment exposed. Papyrus turned, smacking his knees hard and braced into position. Seemed there was no dissuading him this time, and Rex snorted softly, backing up enough to get a running start before charging.
Many errands before Rex had been the one to try and toss Papyrus up like this. His arms were too weak and wobbly, and most times Papyrus scratches his chest or unprotected belly against the barbwire more than Rex wanted to count. Eventually, they both decided that Papyrus had the tossing strength, and thus Rex would be the one to vault and anchor. Scattering snow, he leapt, landing on Papyrus’ waiting arms and was thrown upwards. His gloves and jackets at least, leant to protection as he grasped onto the barrier and wire with prickle in his palms. Rex held, smashing his knees against the links and clunched tightly.
“OKAY. COMING.” Papyrus announced quickly, whizzing his way backwards for running speed and leapt, grasping tight to Rex’s legs as he whimpered and struggled to keep his grip. They may be light from eating so little, but it held no candle to the exhaustion of hunger still hovered over their heads and the sweat was beading. Quickly from much practice, Papyrus started climbing up his ally and gripped to the fence, hopping over to land on the other side with a minor grunt. From here, Rex wriggled, struggling hard to drag his ass upwards enough to lean over the barbed wire and settle his weight there.
“...solid.” He announced with a pant, out of breath from something so simple but he had to ascent. Papyrus only nodded sharply, and darted off towards the storage unit twenty paces from the fence. This was the tricky part of any of their missions. Because like that, Papyrus was left on his own. Sure, he was the older monster of the two, but it was very nerve wracking trying to leap up over a fence by yourself when a boost was needed to get in. Still. That’s what Rex was up here for. Clear vantage, ease of magic that he could give Papyrus that small lift to meet hands and make their escape. He was distracted though, and shook his head to begin counting.
Four spotted crab apples. Five spotted crab apples. Six spotted crab apples. Papyrus was at the door, jimmying it open quietly enough to slip inside. Hurry…. Ten spotted crab apples. Eleven spotted crab apples. Twelve spotted crab apples. Rex glances to the sentry station to keep an eye there, seeing the flicker of blinds from movement and felt his soul stammer. Shit. Hurry-! Their time frame was running thin, and Papyrus wasn’t back yet..! Hurry it up already, man! Seventeen spotted crab apples. Eighteen spotted crab apples. Nineteen spotted crab apples.
Before he could begin to truly panic, he saw Papyrus’ scarf flicker, and he was struggling to get through the gap. Overloaded his pockets, probably. A cuss comes out, and he’s shifting, already getting himself ready to lean further forward and hooked his boot toes into the fence to keep himself from falling. Hurry the fuck up- There’s a distinct sound that echoes through the area, and both monsters foolishly pause. The sentry station door begins to open, and Papyrus snaps out of it first. Drags himself hard through the gap, scratching at his sweater and losing some thread but that didn’t matter. Rex was mouthing his affirmation, ‘go go go’! without any voice, leaning his hands down to prepare to catch his partner.
Then, a bark echoes over the courtyard, and Rex flinches when he realizes that Papyrus was only ten paces to the fence.
“Hey! You! Stop!” The gruff, commanding voice of the posted soldier cracked like a whip upon the soil, but neither headed to stop. Papyrus’ boots crunched as he pelted, arms braced around his middle to keep the rations he’d snatched secure for his lift. Rex’s focus was zoned in entirely on Papyrus’ lanky form, counting every step down and shifted further to lower his arms. Twenty nine spotted crab apples. Thirty spotted crab apples. Thirty one spotted crab apples… There’s a crackle in the air, and a split second to see the blue light beaming towards them. Papyrus leaps, dodging the projectile that would have cleaved off his foot and his arms fling up to catch Rex’s.
More sharp blue magic blades sailed for them, making their retreat tricky but the leader was in focus. Papyrus scaled up, using Rex’s pinned wait to hold into the barbs and get him to the top. There’s the thrill of panic that he may be left behind, a good distraction for Papyrus’ getaway. Rex imagines the scenario faster than it can be dissuaded, locking up tightly as the other clambered to anchor his feet on the pole, crunching the wire. More whistling sounds sail over their heads, the guard coming closer and closer but panic holds.
He feels the barbs clenched tightly to his shirt, and Papyrus rocks him to try and peel him upwards to remove but he’s stuck fast. His soul is hammering hard, and the fear that he may die- that Papyrus may die pushes ozone through his throat and over the tingling flat of his tongue. Magic gathered in his palms, shimmering as Papyrus tugged him harder, trying to free him so they could land safely on the ground but it wasn’t coming-
“Get back here!” The guard barked loudly, already ten paces from the fence when Rex feels it again. The rush of magic, the pulse, like a tether to a fly-away kite-
“REX-!” Papyrus shrieks, nearly falling off of him before he grabbed around his throat to hold on. All at once, the world starts to move faster than he was, and the daze as his jacket tore for freedom sent him up, and backwards. A blade slices through his spattering fabric, where his head had been and his eyes trace the curve of teeth on the blade of pure magic. Watched it waver, conjured from the weilder’s memory and showed scuffs and dents from the original. It was gone, and as he fell back, and back- the tether tugged hard. His chest lifted, and with a splayed hand he latches on.
The rest of him lifts, and the world is gone in a crashing wave of white noise that pressed him flat and small. Was he screaming? Was he breathing? Before he knew it he felt like something shot him out of a canon, and his feet felt anchored down and torn from his waist before everything crushed down on that mid-point. Rex felt sick, dazed, and tried to vocalize his discomfort but the rest of his air left his lungs in a rush. Tugged up, tugged aside, pulled in a curl, he felt his being rend and scatter like marbles from broken glass. Then, as sand, he slid upwards and curled into spools of wool, muffling everything and nothing until suddenly he was spat back down into snow.
It fluttered up as his vision swam, gasping heavily for air as he could finally breathe in the wash of sensation and prickling all the length of his body. He’d been freed from whatever that was, and the rejuvenation was painful over his battered being. Regardless of whatever had happened, he needed to act now. Escape. Safety. Rex jumped up, afraid for the guard, the fence, Papyrus- His arms gangled around, scattering snow and pulling him upwards to his feet, faltering and struggling for balance that never seemed to come. His vision was spotting still as he kept dragging in air, stretching his chest to take it in and feed back his soul to beat harder and harder.
He needed to run-
“P-Pap-” His throat was raw, and Rex coughed, wheezing and tried desperately to get himself lurching, moving. The knife he’d seen, his thoughts spun. Saw it pierce his body, smash his bone plates, over and over… His throat constricts and gags, hands cold from the snow as he smushed it in swipes. Finally finds the path, looking left, looking right-
There’s a figure there, brighter than he could have thought. It sears his eyes to squinting, brilliant crimson fire among the white of the snow. He’s stopped, hunched forward for balance and looks it over. The face, he sees Pap, and he’s staggering aside. A hand reaches for him, but it’s crisp. Clean. Bare. He sees the way the fabric looks tidy, the face wide and open, and he steps back. This isn’t his-
“PAPPY?” A soft, timid voice calls out from behind the worried, creased brow of the outreaching figure; it’s nearly his if the pitch was younger, sharper, more nasal. The terror, sheer iceberg force that scrapes down his back sends him staggering… and the same lurch follows. The kite string attaches to his sternum and goes, compressing his vision and his head and spinning him aside like thrown from a speeding vehicle. Up, down, sliding over the lip to free fall into the abyss. Ravaged by winds and thrown around, breathing a final breath before it closed tightly on his body. Smooth, round pebbles rolled down his being in rows, massaging into the soft pads of leaves that rustled over his nerve endings like droplets of rain.
And all of a sudden, it all removed from him like air into an air tight sack. His lungs fill with air, his body pounds from missing oxygen and spasms uncomfortably. All at once, he’s aware that he’s falling still, that there’s an arm around his throat… and Pap is still screaming. The slow motion picks up again, letting the crystals above the tree line shimmer and glimmer with soft alphalic kisses and humming tunes… like alignments had been made, and there was constellations he could make out.
Something like a dragon, leaping over a boat. Two goats, leaping past each other with horns raised. A maiden with a veil, holding her hands above her head in prayer. A snake, coiled about some sphere. Then, it speeds up. His body flies into the snow poff at the bottom, and Papyrus is still rolling, yanking his form to fold up and compress tight. His spine protests, creaks painfully and he wants to scream but he’s still so damn worn out from that weird experience. His fingers felt numb for a whole new reason, soul pounding like he’d nearly burst but there was no time.
“I’ll kill you both!” Raged the soldier, and more blades were thrown their way, some deflecting off the fence from the magic barriers employed upon the links while others sailed right on through towards them. The monster children seemed to get enough sense to stand, and Papyrus hauled Rex up to his feet as they began to run. Stumbling, almost crying from the pain in his knees, and the ringing in his ear cavities… Rex clasped hands with his only friend, letting Papyrus lead as they made their escape. The shouting continued behind their every step. The mimics hurried to find the first hide away and begin the long journey to their home, tucked for cover as envoys passed them by. Safety was hard, and they waited with baited breath between stones as patrols moved around, shouting for their blood with more ferocity than before.
Such events were normal enough that the pause and crawl was a familiar trail. The street rats bid their time, snaking past run down homes and hiding behind brush until their little hole was found. Rex waits last, letting the one with the goods in first before dipping down and scuttling forward into the den. They are quiet, all the while, allowing the dripping noises to show them when to stand up again, and turning the narrow, tight corner they find their cavern hiding place. It was simple, oblong like a squash with a neat lining of crystals along the top side to illuminate their floor… and the small nests they made.
Coats, blanket shreds, burlap sacks, socks, stove mittens, curtains, shirts; whatever material they’d managed to collect over the years, swaddled up into pads for them to curl up and nestle down for sleep. And their trinkets; bells, shards of cool glass, bulbs, knick knacks of many kinds in little rings behind their nests for safety. It was cozy enough to inhabit, more personalized than any box on the streets could be, and Rex could thank Papyrus dozens of times over for it. At last, home and safe and alive... Papyrus instantly began gushing. His voice rattled quickly about the mission, scene to scene and hopped around the space with glee. His hands flailed, repeating swipes and flapping to display his excitement as he hounded over Rex’s shoulders and howled up into the cavern to diffuse his emotions. Pap had always been the more energetic of the two, but this was more than that.
Despite this victory and the food they could celebrate to eat… Rex felt utterly exhausted, more so than what he felt on a normal day. That strange vision, that peculiar jump… had drained him utterly of his magical reserves. His fingers tingled still from the energy he’d felt and been crushed by, reminding him that it hadn’t been some panic attack induced vision. Something had happened there, and his soul… it felt new. Shaped differently from that brush. Distracted, he wasn’t howling back, or jumping with Papyrus at all. Such lackluster responses dimmed Papyrus’ own by a margin, and eventually the two settled at last to eat on rex’s nest, huddled together to open the taller mimic’s coats to assess their prizes.
Army rations. Compressed, pure compost foods that would restore much of the magic reserves with a single bite. Together, they took two each, and wrapped the bar for later. Even so, Rex was queasy and light headed. Sleep. He needed sleep.
“...heh, we did super.” He managed with the worst grin possible, and Papyrus frowned at him before lightly shoving his face.
“YOU LOOK AWFUL. HIT THE HAY, LOSER.” So the two trade their handshake, brushing palms and bumping fists with a little twist and lock, before Papyrus scavenged his nest for that puzzle book, and settled to read until he could sleep. Rex flopped backwards, eyes shutting straight away and let the drip of water soothe his nerves.
That red hoodie… the soft, replication of his voice. The hell had that been? A vision? His subconcious? It was real, there was no denying it…
Rex yawns, dragged into troubled, restless sleep as that clean, familiar hand reached out for him in the pure white fog of that snow path.