#bitty readers

          “What’s got your panties in a twist, Ink?” Sans asked when their fellow skeleton didn’t immediately start hollering at their attention. In fact, the artist looked rather sick, black ink dribbling from the corner of his mouth before he reached up and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

          “Where’s Error? Or Fresh?” He demanded, voice slightly strained, the way it did when he got over-excited. “Where are those AU hopping asses?”

          Stretch whistled a bit between his fangs and leaned over to Red. “Never heard him swear before,” the Papyrus admitted. “You?”

          “Only when I stole his brush that one time,” Red returned, licking the spilled mustard off his phalanges before taking a swig from the bottle. On the far end of the bar Slim clucked his tongue at the language from the normally-calm (if mischievous and arrogant) Ink and poured himself another shot of hot sauce. The rest of the bar followed suit – in the past twenty years above ground, the antics of the various Sans & Papyrus’ had become common place and not worth turning attention from available alcohol.

          “No need to yell, Ink,” Mobsy kept his voice pleasant, “Not when there’s kiddos around.” He nodded to the booth closest to the bar, where two more skeletons sat: Sans and Papyrus, the adopted sons of Grillby and Gaster, alongside a little Reader in a silver sweater who was glaring daggers at him with frosty gray eyes. Ink immediately stiffened (he always found it odd to see children versions of him and Papyrus, though it also made a warm little flicker appear where his SOUL should have been), then drew back his shoulders and stormed towards the bar as quietly as possible.

          “Where are they?” He demanded, gaze focused on Mobsy and Sans. Out of the time-and-space traveling skeletons assembled, they were the ones who looked sober enough to give him a straight answer.

          “Do I look like an idiots’ keeper?” Mobsy snorted, picking up a tumbler of fine whiskey on the rocks and taking a sip. It burned down his non-existent throat, giving him a shock of awareness followed by a drowsy wash of pleasant numbness.

          “You look like a guy who always knows what’s up,” Ink corrected. He was tugging on the end of his scarf, which was covered with scribbles and designs, none of which made sense to the gathered skeletons.

          “And…?” Mobsy relaxed a bit more against the bar, the wave of booze doing its work. It’d been a hellish day of chasing after shadows, and he wanted to unwind, not fight with the stuck-up Creator. Behind him, Slim snagged the edge of his half-full whisky glass and dragged it over, filling the empty space with hot sauce before throwing it all back. He barely managed to put the glass down before his forehead hit the bar, followed shortly by a soft snore. Mobsy snorted and motioned to Grillby for another round in a clean glass.

          “I’m not trying to draw any conclusions, here,” Sans interjected, “but what do you want with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb? I thought those two drove you nuts. Hell, you’re practically mortal enemies with Error.”

          Ink dropped the end of his scarf, eye lights brightening, one forming a red ‘X’, the other shifting into a white swirling vortex. “One of them has been destroying my Doodle Sphere,” he admitted, reaching back to grasp at the handle of his paintbrush.

          The barstool skeletons sat up straighter (aside from Slim, who had vastly underestimated his ability to hold his liquor compared to Mobsy) and gave him rapt attention. While none were particularly fond of the stuck-up skeleton, and while they often teased him about his role as ‘Guardian’ of the AUs, they understood that he had a job to do. If someone was messing in his Doodle Sphere – especially someone with as much power as Fresh or Error – then their very existence could be in jeopardy.

          “What kind of destroying?” Stretch, level-headed as always (when it didn’t involve his brother), dug straight for the details.

          Ink sniffed, sounding insulted not by the question, but by the very thought of what had been done to him. “Graffiti,” he hissed, “All over the paths and on my house!” There was a pause as he looked at the Sanses, waiting for a similar outrage, only to see relief cross their skulls at the news.

          “Is that all?” Sans relaxed once more, reaching for his bottle of ketchup. Without realizing it he grabbed one of Red’s yellow bottles and squirted a nice, big glob of mustard in his mouth. He immediately spluttered, spitting it out and gagging. Red cackled as he snatched the bottle back, muttering about wimpy clans with no taste for the spice of life. Stretch brayed with laughter at the pun on his other side, exclaiming it was a sweet pun, tipping his honey bottle to Red as he did so. The two burst into laughter, ignoring Sans as he wiped out his mouth and drowned the taste of mustard with chilled ketchup.

          “What do you mean, ‘Is that all’?” Ink demanded, raising his voice to mock Sans as the skeleton recovered. Sans frowned at the attitude, but quietly reminded himself that it was just Ink being Ink.

          “It ain’t that bad,” Sans explained around the nozzle of the ketchup bottle. “Can’t you just use your fancy brush to paint over it?”

          “I do,” Ink said in a tone that suggested he thought Sans was an idiot for suggesting such an obvious solution, “But it just reappears the next day! And it’s always different.”

          “So what, is Error writing dirty limericks or something on your front door? Like,” Papyrus cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his seat before beginning to recite, “There once was a man from Nantucket-“ Before he could get any farther Grillby whacked the back of his head and, with a stern glare, pointed at the booth where his sons were doing their homework. Red snorted, spraying mustard over his jacket, and muttered the last few words of the infamous poem beneath his breath. This time it was Gaster who delivered the hit as he passed by to gather up his three charges and sweep them away upstairs. The two children, bright-eyed and ready for dinner, gave their alternate selves a wave before following their adopted papa into the back. From Papyrus’ shoulder, Silver gave the adults a stern look and, when certain the kids were distracted chatting with their papa, flashed Ink a middle finger.

          The guardian reared back a bit, face flushing in anger at the cheeky move, but before he could retaliate they were gone. Sans chuckled, eyeing the swinging door that led to the kitchen. “Heh, they don’t like it when people swear around their monsters,” he explained, “Takes after Grillby.”

          “Hmph.” Ink crossed his arms and glared at the five in front of him. “Do you know where Error and Fresh are or not?” He demanded, risking raising his voice now that the impressionable youth were gone.

          “No idea,” Sans shrugged, followed by similar answers by Stretch and Red. Mobsy, sipping his new glass of whisky, nudged Slim for an answer but the skeleton was out cold.

          “Ain’t seen or heard from ‘em since you bought us all drinks,” the dapper skeleton said, pulling out his phone and texting his brother for a ride. Slim would need a place to sleep off his hangover without that shrieking banshee he called a brother waking him before dawn. “Speaking of, it’s been three whole days. You sober enough to try out-drinking me?”

          Ink fumed, both eyes flashing to red skull-and-crossbones. “You aren’t taking this seriously.” He accused.

          “So they decided to prank you a bit across space and time,” Sans waved a hand, as though shooing off the problem. “You can fix it with a single stroke of your brush. They’ll get bored, and you’ll have your magical doodle circle back.”

          “Doodle Sphere.”

          “Whatever,” Sans shrugged, pushing himself off the stool and squirting the rest of his bottle in his mouth. “I gotta go read Paps his bedtime story. Night, guys.”

          His fellow skeletons (sans Ink) waved him off. Grillby crackled something about his tab and Sans laughed, thanking him before disappearing out the door. Mobsy stood not long after, dropping several gold coins on the bar top and dragging Slim up, one of the Papyrus’ arm over his shoulder. He gave his own farewell and pulled Slim from the bar to the car where his brother was waiting.

          Ink fumed at their dismissal. How could they not see how important this was? Someone was attacking his home with graffiti! It was a threat to his safety! What if they touched one of the doors? Even a small change, like an extra stroke of paint in the wrong place, could destroy the spell and seal the universe off until he could build a new door. That itself could take weeks – if this was Error or Fresh, they could be doing this on purpose to destroy one of the many AUs that he protected. It was a disaster!

          “What about Dream?” Red suggested quite suddenly, “They can do that AU-hopping stuff, right? Or that one guy, the creepy one with the scythe – Death? Yeah, Death can hop too. So can some of the Gasters, and those creepy River brothers – Delta and what’s-his-face.”

          “None of them can access the Doodle Sphere at will, since they’ve never been there. It has to be either Error or Fresh leaving the pictures.”

          “Pictures?” Stretch was tall enough to glance over Reds head at Ink. “You got any photos?”

          Ink dug out his phone, wiped off a glob of ink, and flicked it on. He’d taken photos of each incident of vandalism before painting over them. The pictures weren’t bad, per say – in fact, with some practice and guidance, the artist could prove to be quite capable. But they were unwanted, which made them a problem in the delicate Doodle Sphere ecosystem.

          Red and Stretch examined his phone, flicking through the paintings. Sunsets, sunrises, various monsters, human-like creatures, sprawling patterns with no real start or end, mandalas of growing difficulty, colored patterns that looked like hopscotch courts, all with the remains of chalk, crayons, or paints about them.

          The Underfell skeleton tapped the screen, a frown on his fangs. “These are all small,” he pointed out, looking thoughtful for some reason. Stretch kept flicking through until he came to the mural painted on the side of Inks house: Queen Toriel riding a triceratops regally while battling what looked like werewolf Whimsuns.

          “These are good,” he admitted, handing the phone back, “Doesn’t look like Error or Fresh’s work.”

          “Can’t be anyone else,” Ink countered, glaring at his phone, still fuming that his bursting in and threatening the skeletons hadn’t worked in his favor.

          “It could be a-“ Stretch was cut off by a sharp elbow in his ribs, curtesy of Red.

          “Couldn’t be,” he cut the Papyrus off, a mischievous sparkle in his eye lights. Stretch raised a brow but obediently shut up, not about to ruin his friends plan.

          Ink, who had been absorbed in mentally critiquing the photos on his phone, glanced up at the pair. “Were you saying something, Papyrus?” He asked, tucking the phone in his pocket.

          “Nothing.” Stretch held up his hands and wiggled his phalanges. “We’ll keep an eye out for your vandals.”

          Ink gave him a mistrustful look, then relaxed and nodded. “Right. Thanks, Papyrus.”

          “Stretch.”

          “Uh-huh.” Ink had already gone back to his phone, squinting at the detail in Toriel’s fur. He muttered to himself about brush strokes and color blending as he left the tavern, nudging a few patrons out of the way without noticing. As soon as he was gone Red cracked open a new bottle of mustard and swung his barstool towards Stretch.

          “How long do ya think it’ll take him to realize?”

          Stretch fished a fresh bottle of honey from his hoodie pocket and sipped it thoughtfully. “I say…a week.”

          “Heh, yer giving ‘im too much credit. I say a month.” Red squirted more mustard past his fangs.

          “Wanna bet?”

          “Wouldn’t’a asked if I didn’t.”

          “Loser pays off the others tab.”

          “Fair ‘nough.”

          The two knocked their condiment bottles together in agreement and cackled at the trouble they were helping to cause. After all, how would Ink, who’d never properly met a Reader, figure out it was one doing the damage?

          Heaven. You were in heaven.

          There were art tools scattered everywhere. The skeleton monster – Ink – was an artist, and left his supplies all over the place. You could only travel on the one large island you’d originally landed on, the other, smaller pieces of floating land out of reach, but that was fine. You had more than enough room to express yourself. Each cobblestone was a brand-new canvas, as the walls of the small house Ink lived in provided plenty of space to experiment. Paint, chalk, charcoal, pencil lead, markers – any and all tools were scattered in the grass or on the patio for your use.

          True, your work didn’t last long – only a day or two, if that, and it reminded you of Rivet and her scrub brush far too much for comfort. But there was something different about how Ink handled the vandalism. Whenever he found one of your masterpieces, he’d growl and gruff, then examine it and talk to himself about the details or the color or the potential. He’d take out his phone and snap a picture of it before painting over it with the giant brush on his back. It still irked you, that your work was being erased, but at least this monster took the time to appreciate your skills.

          In the week you’d been in this odd world – Ink called it a ‘Doodle Sphere’, which was as good a name as any – you hadn’t felt sleepy or hungry once. The sky hung in perpetual twilight, providing enough light to see but still dark enough to let the stars stand out in the ombré evening. There were fruit trees among the thick woods that took up a good chunk of the island, and tangles of raspberry and blueberry bushes in the field by Ink’s house, but you didn’t feel the need to eat like you had in the other world. Sleep was the same thing. You could fall asleep, you’d found. After Ink found your mural on his wall (a companion piece to the one you’d painted for Spice), he’d paced about the entire island for hours. You’d hidden beneath a thick bush and, bored out of your mind, had drifted into a light sleep, despite not feeling tired.

          These were exciting revelations. Not having to stop to eat or sleep allowed you to spend that much more time on what was important: art! Every drawing you created was an improvement on the last, every sketch more detailed, every stroke of the brush more precise. It was as though simply being in this Doodle Sphere was making you a better artist. Or perhaps it was that you could do it freely now, without the worry of persecution? Unless of course Ink was there, but he spent most of his time on the other side of the various doors on the far islands, or one his phone yelling about (or was it at?) someone named Sans.

          Now, on the evening of your second Monday in the magical land, you stuffed your backpack full of all the chalk you’d scrounged up over the past week, and topped it off with a raspberry. Just because you didn’t need to eat didn’t mean you wouldn’t – the fruit and berries here were perfect in every sense of the word. It would make a good celebratory desert when you were finished with your newest masterpiece. Hiking the bag on your shoulders, you left the hidey-hold you’d created beneath a bush and set off for the far side of the island.

          Away from Ink’s house, from the pond and waterfall, from the meadow and the odd spot where Ink opened his portals, was a bluff. The land wound upwards, creating a cliff top that gave a good view of the entire land, and all the door-topped islands beyond. There were large slabs of stone at the top, for use as seats and decoration. They were smooth on the side and would be a perfect canvas for your one-week mural. Sure, it was a few hours hike, and you’d be sweaty and gross by the time you reached the top, but that was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

          Really, what’s the worst that could happen?

           The curtain had mostly kept the snow out of the blankets. All the drawings Papyrus had hung on the walls were gone, as was the tin for food and all the books Sans had collected. Mr. Gaster had come and gotten everything after the boys had moved in, wanting them to feel comfortable in their bedroom. All the scraps of cloth were left, however, and you climbed out of the cold and flopped on the pile of fabric with a relieved sigh. It wasn’t any warmer, but the cloth was soft beneath your face and hands. You wiggled out of your soaking wet clothes to avoid becoming a Reader-cicle and burrowed into the blankets, layering them on you until the chill of the world outside the crate was gone.

           Despite the comfort, you couldn’t sleep. Your choice weighed heavily on you, seeming to crush your SOUL and heart both. Beneath the scrap blankets, you curled up onto your side and hugged yourself, fighting off the feeling as best you could. You knew if you had the boys with you, Papyrus’ soft, squeaky snores mingling with Sans deeper snorts, you’d be able to sleep in no time. In the past few months, they’d become your family, your everything, and without them it felt like you were drowning in nothingness.

           What was that saying you saw on TV once? If you love something, let it go? Well, you loved the boys with all your heart and SOUL, and you would gladly leave a hundred times over if it meant they had a safe, warm home full of love and laughter.

           The warmth in your heart at the thought of them growing to be strong, healthy monsters with a bright future ahead of them couldn’t fight off the encroaching chill of the evening. You pulled the blankets over your head and made yourself as tiny as possible, trying to conserve what little body heat you had. It helped, a bit, and you were able to drift off into a hazy almost-dream state for a while, though true sleep still eluded you.

           You woke to warmth; not just the warmth in your heart, but warmth in your fingers and toes. For some reason you were certain that the warmth wasn’t supposed to be there. Were Sans and Papyrus supposed to be at school by now? Usually the youngest skeleton woke you up with a cheerful yelp and a nuzzle to your head – perhaps Sans had convinced him to let you sleep in today? Ever since they’d turned the lower bunk into a ‘den’ you were able to sleep freely – the boys had made the adults promise to never look inside, unless they said it was okay. The adults, wanting to be accommodating of the abused boy’s quirks, and had agreed.

           The bed shifted beneath you, and you groaned a bit, hoping that Papyrus wasn’t going to try and get you up. For some reason you were exhausted, and you wanted to sleep until the word didn’t sound so wonderful anymore. A finger rubbed your head, and you made a sleepy ‘muuuuuuurrrrr’ sound at the pleasant feeling.

           A deep, crackling chuckle made you tense up – that was a familiar voice. A very familiar voice, but one you weren’t supposed to hear, and one that wasn’t supposed to know about you, and certainly not be petting you. The finger stopped for a moment, then moved to rub your back in small, warm circles.

           “Ah, you’re awake.” The bartender’s voice came from above you, and the bed beneath you twitched. You slowly – very, very slowly because you had a feeling you knew where you were – opened the eye that wasn’t squished against the warm surface and peeked out.

           A stretch of molten skin, undulating with oranges and yellows and reds as flames flickered and spat on the long elegant fingers that extended beyond you. You turned your head, noting absently that the heat from his hand had worked out the kinks in your neck, and squinted up at the monster holding you.

           “Good evening,” Grillby greeted, sounding amused at your gob smacked expression. “I’m glad you’re alright. You gave everyone quite a scare, running off like that.” Your stomach dropped at the thought of worrying your boys.

           “Sorry,” you croaked, sitting up. He’d redressed you in clean, dry clothes – a red hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You scratched at your cast as you looked around, trying to spot the crate. To your surprise, the two of you weren’t in the woods anymore – Grillby was holding you against his chest while walking down a sidewalk, past stores and apartments.

           “There’s no need to apologize.” Grillby shifted his hand so you were cradled closer to his elegant pea coat, where it was warm. “I am relieved I found you. Sans and Papyrus were quite frantic when they realized you’d left.” The guilt reared its ugly head again, and you glanced up at his calm face, then away again. You wondered where he was taking you – were you going to the bar? Or was he taking you to the Reader center?

           That was the only reasonable conclusion – after all, Gaster didn’t want a Reader in the house. Grillby wouldn’t fight his husband on that – you were a pet, after all. Disposable. Expendable. Unneeded.

           “Will you,” you had to stop and swallow hard, clenching your suddenly trembling fingers into fists, “Will you take good care of the boys?”

           Grillby’s gait slowed, and he looked down at you, brows tilted in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked, coming to a stop beneath a street lamp when he noticed your trembling.

           You sniffed, taking a deep breath to fight back tears. “Will you take care of the boys? Since – since I won’t be there, will you take good care of them?”

           “What do you mean, you won’t be there?” Grillby tilted his head, flames flickering in concern about his head. “Do you not want to live with us and the boys?”

           “No! No, I – I want to stay. But Gaster, he – he doesn’t want a pet. I heard him, at the pet store.” You spoke quickly when Grillby began to frown. “But that’s okay, I don’t m-mind! The boys are safe now, that’s what’s important. I don’t mind going to the shelter now.”

           Grillby carefully lifted his hand to his face, so he could squint at you through his glasses. “Silver,” he sounded confused, “I’m nottaking you to the shelter. I’m taking you home.”

           “W-what?”

           “The boys ran away because they thought we were going to get rid of you. Papyrus was hysterical when he realized you were gone – he thought we’d taken you back to the l-lab.” He stuttered over the word, mouth twisting in distaste. “Gaster stayed home to keep the boys calm while I looked for you.”

           Well that explained why the boys hadn’t come to search alongside Grillby. “Did they tell you everything?” You asked, wondering what else the boys had mentioned. Neither Sans nor Papyrus had been comfortable mentioning the lab or their escape – when asked where they came from, Sans would say the forest, Papyrus would create elaborate tales, each more different and outlandish than the last. Neither of them had ever let slip they’d come from the lab, though you were certain Gaster had seen the barcodes chiseled into their upper arms during bath time more than once.

           “They told us that the three of you escaped from a lab, and lived in the forest for a month before Gaster found you. They looked very, very guilty when they admitted you’d been living with us this whole time.”

           You cringed as he brought you back to his chest, beginning to stroll towards the bar once more. “Sorry,” you ran your fingers over the nearest button by your face, tracing the intricate design in a vain attempt to distract yourself from the gnawing guilt.

           “Do not apologize. We knew you were there the entire time.”

           “You what?!”

           Grillby chuckled, flames popping and crackling in delight at your reaction. “Silver,” his voice was warm, full of care as he addressed you, “You put your faith to hide in two children, one of whom is not very good at keeping secrets. Papyrus told me everythingabout you, though he insisted you were his imaginary friend the entire time.”

           “He didn’t.”

           “He did.” Grillby nodded, still grinning widely, “In detail. He drew me plenty of pictures, as well. I’ve got quite a collection of portraits of you.” You flushed bright red and buried your face in his coat, attempting to hide it.

           “How did you find out?” You asked, voice muffled by the charcoal gray wool.

           Grillby took a turn off of Main Street and headed for a line of restaurants and mom & pop shops, one of which was his own. “The second night you all spent with us, Gaster went to check on the boys and almost immediately rushed back, babbling about how he’d ‘screwed up’ at the pet store.” He shook his head, expression torn between fond and exasperated. “I went to check on the boys and saw what he saw – a third little skeleton sleeping between the boys, snoring louder than either of them.”

           “I don’t snore!” You immediately protested, then paused and thought over his words. “And – I’m not a skeleton.”

           “You didn’t see yourself,” Grillby shook his head. “Sans and Paps may be literal skeletons, but you were thin enough to be mistaken for one.” You flushed but didn’t argue.

           “So why didn’t you say anything? Force me out?”

           “That wouldn’t have done any good.” Grillby shook his head as his bar grew closer. The neon sign over the door was out, but the lights on the second floor were blazing brightly. “The boys had obviously come from a bad situation, and we figured you were the same. We could wait until they decided to mention you. Though to be honest, we didn’t think it would be more than a few days.” He chuckled.

           You frowned and tapped the button you’d been tracing. “So…you aren’t mad?”

           Grillby stopped, nice shoes squeaking against the snowy sidewalk. He brought you back to his face, which held a stern look. “Silver,” he said firmly, and you braced yourself for a tongue lashing, “You are just as welcome in our home as Sans and Papyrus. You are important to them, and that makes you important to us.” He shook his head, expression softening. “Besides, if you go, what will Gaster do with the house he built you?”

           You froze, eyes widening. “What?”

           Grillby laughed and returned you to his chest, using his free hand to fish out his keys. Without noticing you’d arrived at the front door of the bar. “Gaster is an engineer in his spare time. He loves tinkering with things. That’s what the basement is – it’s not a lab, it’s a workshop.” When you weren’t introduced to us, we figured the boys were worried you’d be sent away, because of what Gaster said. He made you a house as an apology. I know you love the boys, but everybody needs some along time sometime. He even managed to get working lights and water for you. We thought that since Christmas is next week, it’d be a perfect time to welcome you to the family.”

           “…really?”

           “Really.” Grillby swung open the door and was immediately tackled by two yelling, frantic skeletons.

           “SILVER!”

           You were snatched from the bartender’s hands by small, cool phalanges by a sobbing Papyrus. The guilt from before came roaring back, and you did your best to hug the side of the child’s face when he lifted you up.

           “You’re okay!” He wailed, pressing you against his cheek. “We were so worried about you!”

           Sans patted your head, leaning against his brother. “Don’t do that, Silver,” he muttered, though the relief was thick in his voice. “You really rattled us.”

           Almost immediately, Paps tears stopped and he smacked his brothers shoulder. “Now is not the time for puns, brother!”

           “It’s always the time for puns, bro.”

           “Agh!”

           You chuckled, patting Sans cheek when it was in reach. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

           “You didn’t scare us!” Papyrus declared, sniffing and wiping away the tears with the back of his free hand. “We were just w-w-worried.”

           “Oh, okay,” you knocked your forehead against his cheek, “That’s good. I’m glad I didn’t scare you.”

           The three of you simply stood there for a few moments, soaking in each other’s presence, until someone cleared his throat from behind you. Gaster had moved to stand beside Grillby, who had his hand around his husband’s waist. Now that you could see them properly (without a halo of hoodie fuzz in the way), they made a cute couple. Gaster had a slight blush on his face, and it grew as he stepped out of Grillby’s grasp and knelt in front of the boys.

           “Silver,” he spoke softly, as though afraid to frighten you again, “I must apologize for my words. I’m very sorry for never clearing up what I said at Blooky’s. I do not believe Reader’s should be treated as pets – I believe they should be treated as family members.”

           You and the boys stared at him for a moment, before Sans muttered beneath his breath, “That would have saved us some trouble.”

           You snorted, Grillby laughed, and Papyrus scolded his brother before shoving you into Sans hands and rushing to the bar. “Silver, look! I drew you a picture while we waited!” Just as quickly he returned, holding the piece out for you to examine.

           He had drawn yet another masterpiece, this one featuring himself and Sans, dressed in their newest clothes – a bright red scarf around his neck, a thick jacket with a fluff hood forming Sans upper body. On either side of them were two towering figures – Gaster, with his hand on Sans shoulder, and Grillby with an arm around Papyrus. In the middle, held by both boys and drawn in careful strokes with a silver pen, was you. The ink sparkled in Grillby’s flames, making it stand out from the red heart Papyrus had drawn behind it.

           Tears beaded along the bottom of your eyes, and you gave him the biggest grin you could muster. “It’s beautiful, Papyrus, I love it.”

           Papyrus giggled and knocked his teeth against your forehead. “Nyehehe! We can all be one big family now!” He cheered, and once he pulled away Sans copied his movement.

           “Yeah, we lucked out.”

           “I would argue that we are the lucky ones.” Gaster had stood and was leaning against his husband. He clapped his hands and headed for the kitchen. “Now, what should we have as our first dinner as a family?”

           “Spaghetti!”

           “Hotdogs!”

           “You’re not cooking.”

            You watched Grillby block his husbands path into the kitchen, herding him to the bar alongside the boys. You were set on the bar top by Sans, who sat in the seat right beside you. Papyrus climbed onto Gaster’s lap and leaned on the counter, beaming and content. The librarian sighed and rubbed Papyrus’ back, looking equally content. Sans rested his head on his arms on the counter, and you leaned back against his elbow. This had all turned out better than you ever could have dreamed.

           “Hey, Silver,” Sans moved the arm you weren’t leaning against to grab something from the countertop. “I think we need toketchup.”

           You groaned at the sight of him wiggling the red condiment bottle. “Sans, I can’t mustard the patience to deal with you tonight.”

           As Papyrus yelled at you both to stop, and Gaster cackled and threw in his own pun (“I relish this exchange!”), and Grillby cooked dinner in the kitchen, you felt whole and truly happy for the first time, surrounded by your family.

           Outside, snow began to fall, and the crate that was no longer your home disappeared beneath the drifts.

This was supposed to be three chapters, not six. Oops.

I hope y'all enjoyed this play time with the pups! I'm sure I'll revisit them in the future, eventually. I want to work on Primum Non Nocere and Burning Down the Barrier a bit as I sketch out the next Bitty Reader - I have one with Undyne I want to do, maybe that'll be next.

Thanks for all the comments and kudos, I appreciate every single one! Please let me know if you liked the ending of this chapter - those last few paragraphs were tricky to figure out. Thanks!

           It really was the boy's room, now. Grillby and Gaster had turned it into a colorful, safe place for the boys to sleep and play in. The queen sized guest bed had been replaced by bunk beds. The two never slept apart, so they used the extra sheets to create a ‘den’ out of the lower bunk. It hid all three of you from sight at night, letting you safely cuddle with both boys.

           There was a huge toy box under the equally large bay window, which had a bench built into the sill. Gaster had padded it with fitted cushions and soft pillows, which had quickly become Sans favorite reading (and napping) spot. A ceiling-high bookshelf painted bright colors was beside it, already close to full with books. Papyrus, meanwhile, had taken over the child-height table in the center of the room, utilizing all of its paints, crayons, and papers to craft things beyond imagination. Against the far wall, across from the window, was a desk with a sleek, black computer, which Gaster had loaded with intellectual games (as well as some silly ones).

           All their new clothes were hung in a closet or folded in the drawers of a squat, wide dresser. Lined on top of the dresser, and spilling over onto the desk, were Papyrus’ action figures. Within days of being there, he’d declared them the best thing ever and both adult monsters had begun buying one or two at a time whenever they passed a store that carried them. He had heroes, villains, and animals to use as mounts, along with dozens of outfits.

           Grillby, while getting some clothes for the action figures, had accidentally picked up a few pieces of bitty clothing – one of the color-changing white sweaters and a pair of jeans. Papyrus had given them to you that night, and you’d changed into the clean, soft clothes. They’d snuck you into the bath a few nights after coming to the apartment, and the new fabric felt good against your scrubbed skin. Without pause, the sweater had bloomed with dove-gray.

           “Silver,” Papyrus had whisper-yelled, “you’re silver!”

           You’d corrected him, calling it gray, but he insisted it was sparkly silver and wouldn’t hear any different, from you or Sans.

           After two weeks, Gaster had declared it time for the boys to attend school. They had been a bit hesitant, but after a simple placement test (and a lot of encouragement from both men) they agreed and began attending Ebott City Elementary. Papyrus was in kindergarten, while Sans was in fourth grade. They rushed home after their first day and threw themselves into their bedroom, door firmly shut behind them, to gush at you about all the friends they had made, all the things they had learned, and all the new things they had seen.

            You’d insisted they tell you everything, and they obliged. Sans loved science and math, while Papyrus liked coloring and story time. Only moments after they began, however, Grillby had arrived with some after school snacks. They’d fallen on the food, and had quickly gotten distracted by the grown up, following him out of the room as he asked them about their day.

           Of course they’d resumed their stories after dinner, when the three of you were curled up in the bottom bunk of their bed. Papyrus had even read the bedtime story that night. Of course it was Fluffy Bunny, and he had long ago memorized it, but it was still and enjoyable (and interesting) read.

           So for the past two weeks, Monday through Friday, the boys were gone from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon. Gaster brought them home at three, then vanished back to work until six. Grillby would come up and spend a half-hour break with them, then go downstairs, taking them and their homework with him.

           More than once, Sans offered to take you with him, more than able to carry you in the hood of his jacket during school, but you’d refused. There was too much risk – too much chance of being seen. And if you were seen, you’d be sent away. Sans tried to make it up to you, escaping upstairs as soon as he finished his homework to spend time with you, and on weekend he made sure the two of you napped together in the sunny window seat.

           Papyrus, after the hiccup at the pet store, had stopped urging you to show yourself to Gaster and Grillby. He insisted that they wouldn’t send you away, but didn’t push you any longer to say hello. Like his brother, he made sure he played with you, often posing you among his action figures while narrating a battle, or letting you sit in his lap as he worked his way through a picture book.

           You were…happy. Yes. Happy. Happy for them. Happy for Grillby and Gaster, who for so long had wanted a child and now had two to call their own. Happy for yourself, because you were with your boys. But…you weren’t sure how much longer you could be happy for.

           The boys were at school for an odd half-day, Gaster had a day off and was sleeping in, while Grillby prepared his bar for the lunch rush. You were on the desk, where Sans had left you with a book and a snack before rushing out of the room to grab his books for class. The two of you had been reading ‘Hatchet’ by Gary Paulsen, but he’d finished it without you. He apologized and left it for you to read while he was gone, insisting you try and finish it so the two of you could talk about it.

           You’d only read a few pages, after propping the book up between the computer and keyboard and sitting far back to read a whole page at one time, when the realization hit you.

           Sans and Papyrus didn’t need you anymore.

           Grillby and Gaster could easily meet every one of their needs – food, shelter, clothing, safety, they had given it all to the boys within a day. And not only were the boys safe, they were thriving in the environment, smiling and laughing more than you’d ever seen them. They’d taken to their new caretakers in a way you could only have dreamed of, and as a result were leaving you behind.

           You were unneeded.

           Redundant.

           Replaceable.

           Small.

           The apple slice Sans had left you dropped to the desk top as your appetite fled. You stood, needing to be moving, book completely forgotten. You paced, weaving between Papyrus’ action figures and Sans stacks of books. The last time you’d felt small had been in the Doctors lab, trapped in a cage and beholden to his whims. Ever since escaping, your mind had been filled with worry and plans for taking care of your boys. You hadn’t even been able to take the time to mourn for your fallen friends in the lab – everything had been about survival in the here and now.

           Now you all were surviving. They were thriving. And you had been replaced by Gaster and Grillby. Did the boys need you anymore?

           Did the boys even want you anymore?

           Was it your fault? Had you pushed them away by wanting to stay hidden? Did they think you were ashamed of them? Or did they think you were weak, since you didn’t want to face Grillby and Gaster? Were they disappointed in you, since they couldn’t introduce you to their friends (several of which had their own Readers)? Would it be better for them if you left?

           Your stomach twisted, and you moved to the edge of the desk, standing between two bulky action figures wearing super hero outfits and capes. They were each a head taller than you – you were a bit small for a Reader, though not the smallest the Doctor had kept. Papyrus said it was good, because all the super hero clothes fit you. Dressing you up alongside his action figures was one of his favorite games.

           What would be his favorite game if you left?

           The bedroom door was thrown open, and if Sans hadn’t left his slippers nearby it would have banged against the wall. It couldn’t be afternoon already, could it? You’d barely gotten through any of the chapters, and hadn’t even been able to finish a single apple slice! Not to mention your rapidly darkening thoughts were still weighing down both your heart and head.

           Gaster stepped in, wrinkling his non-existent nose at the scattered clothes on the floor. Despite the perfectly functioning laundry basket (which looked like a whale standing on its tail, mouth gaping open, awaiting a dinner of dirty clothes), Sans tended to simply drop his clothes where he stood, leaving them strewn around the floor. At night Papyrus would lambast his brother and pick them up himself.

           “Those boys.” Gaster shook his head, though there was a fond smile on his face. He stepped over a few piles of clothes and looked around the room, hands resting on his hips. He was dressed in a white turtleneck and blue jeans, boney feet bare. “Now, where did he leave that book…?”

           On the edge of the desk you froze, willing yourself to appear as no more than another plastic action figure among the row of posing heroes. Gaster searched the books stacked on the window seat, then picked them up and replaced them on the large bookshelf beside the window. With quick motions (and using several ghostly, floating hands that had holes in the middle, just like his own) he shelved them, alphabetical by authors last name. He had obviously been a librarian for a very long time.

           “He didn’t take it to school, did he?” Gaster was frowning at the shelves, reaching up to twitch a book back in place as he looked over the titles. Once satisfied that they were in place (and not the one he was looking for) he moved on to the books piled on Papyrus’ craft table. They were all picture books, and he straightened the pile and moved the tray of watercolor paint away from the book.

           The closer he got to the desk, the tenser you grew. You hadn’t been alone with either of the men, for fear of being discovered and kicked out. You’d never noticed how MR. Gaster had the same looming presence as DR. Gaster. Just being close to him made you feel a bit sick, memories of small cages and huge needles flashing across your vision.

           “Really, Sans.” Gaster stopped in front of the desk and shook his head. He picked up the copy of Hatchet you had been reading, shutting it and running a hand over the spine, trying to reverse the damage of being propped open for some time. “I need to teach that boy how to treat his books.” He set the book beside the keyboard, then glanced at the few other tomes stacked beside the keyboard. Apparently what he needed wasn’t there either, because he sighed and turned to look at Papyrus’ collection of figures.

           He picked up the one closest to you, and it took every fiber of your being to not flinch away and yell. The librarian examined it with a critical eye, a small smile creeping over his face, lines softening as he rubbed the cape between his fingers. “Heh. Papyrus will have a collection to rival Alphys’ soon.” He carefully set the figure back where it belonged, his hand coming within an inch of you. It took everything you had not to scream or jerk away. Your muscles trembled as you forced yourself to hold still.

           The digital clock hanging on the wall emitted a beep as the green numbers flipped to eleven. Below, the front doors of the bar opened, and a group of canine guard members stormed the building, barking loudly as they gave Grillby their orders of kibble. Gaster jerked at the sound, startled. His hand, already so close to you, swept away from the desk, knocking you right into the air along with it.

           You screamed – you couldn’t help it. Any thoughts of hiding fled as you tumbled from the desk, the carpeted floor consuming more and more of your vision. Like a fool you threw your hands out to catch yourself, hoping to keep your face from smashing into the ground. It worked – kind of. Your hands hit the ground first, and the left one bent beneath you as you tipped to the side. There was a snap – it was mind shattering to you, though it likely sounded like a breaking toothpick to the monster standing beside – above you.

           “Stars!” Said monster breathed, and the feet that were only a few yards away shuffled against the carpet. As you rolled over, clutching your arm to your chest, he knelt, knees hitting the ground hard enough to make it shudder. When you didn’t say anything in response, the librarian frowned and leaned closer, face hovering far too close for comfort. His eye lights swept you up and down, brightening when they zeroed in on your bent wrist. “Stars,” he swore again.

           You remained still, trying to ignore the pounding of your blood rushing through your arm and sounding far too loud in your ears. Gaster continued to frown, and after a moment’s hesitation, he brought his hands to rest on their side of you, cutting off any chance of escape. It was a needless move – you were far to rattled and in far too much pain to try and make a run for it. The doctor had broken your limbs plenty of times, but you’d always been able to brace yourself, and the pain never lasted long. This felt very different.

           The hands moved closer, crowding you between them until you were successfully being held in Gaster’s hands. He leaned back, lifting you off the floor as he examined you with a serious eye. “It’s broken,” he muttered to himself as he stood, the movement fluid and only noticeable because the world shifted in your sight. He made a few thoughtful hums before turning and leaving the bedroom. In his hands, you shut your eyes tightly and tried to will away the pain, only able to deal with one thing at a time.

           The librarian crossed the living room and swiftly descended the stairs. The constant hum of the bar grew louder, and you cracked an eye open to see the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs. Grillby wasn’t there – he must have been tending the bar out front. Instead of going to his husband, at the bottom of the stairs Gaster turned and headed down another set of stairs. You hadn’t ever thought about the building having a basement. Why was he taking you down so far? Why hadn’t he gone to Grillby?

           Your questions were quickly answered when Gaster went through a locked door at the bottom of the stairs and turned on the lights to the basement proper. It was about as big as Grillby’s kitchen, with soft-blue walls and tiled floors. There was a row of counters against the far wall, which were stacked with various books, flasks, vial, and papers. There was a desk with a computer, several stools to sit on, and in the middle of the room was a work bench at the perfect height for Gaster to work without having to hunch.

           It was a lab.

           Gaster didn’t seem to notice your breathing speeding up as he made a beeline to the workbench. He laid you down on a soft towel that had been folded beside some clean beakers. You tightened your grip on your arm and watched the monster through heavy eyes, fighting past the throbbing pain to examine the man. He was looking about the room with bright eye lights, muttering to himself. With a snap of his fingers, half-a-dozen extra hands popped into being. They skittered off to the counters, grabbing tools from the drawers and containers. Gaster’s fingers twitched as they did so, as though he was conducting an invisible band or putting on a magic puppet show. The hands floated back over and deposited their finds beside where you lay before disappearing in sparks of magic.

           You turned your head to look at the pile of supplies. There were a few wooden stirring sticks, several packs of bandages, some antiseptic ointment, and a little vial of something that shimmered with an odd green light.

           “Alright, little one, let’s get you fixed up.” Gaster spoke in a soft, calming voice, the same he used when bandaging up Papyrus’ scrapes and bruises, or helping talk Sans through a particularly tough math problem. It was oddly comforting in this familiar, sterile environment. The ‘librarian’ picked up the vial and popped out the cork. “Here, this will fix the bones.” He held it out to you.

           You remained lying still, clutching your injured arm to your chest and eyeing the vial distrustfully. There was no telling what was in it. One of the ghostly hands came up behind you, making you jump as it slid beneath your head and shoulders and lifted you into a sitting position.

           “Come now, it won’t harm you,” the monster coaxed, voice soft and gentle. “I know you are frightened and in pain, but this will help.” The thumb from the ghost hand began to stroke the back of your head, the same way Sans did when he held you. The tense set of your shoulders dropped minutely, though you didn’t open your mouth or even look him in the face. “It is liquid magic,” the monster explained in a patient voice, holding the vial a bit closer. “It cannot harm you, I promise.”

           You watched the vial from the corner of your eye, feeling sick at the thought of ingesting some untested ‘medicine’ from a monster named Gaster in a secret basement lab.

           “Come now, it will be alright.” Gaster rubbed your cheek with a thumb, gently turning your head. The cool edge of the vial pressed against your lip, trying to edge your mouth open. The hand holding you tilted farther up, and he pressed his thumb against the back of your neck. “Open up. You don’t want Sans and Papyrus to worry about you, do you?”

           Your eyes snapped open to meet his, and there was a flash of triumph in his eye lights. “This will heal your bones,” he repeated, and the hand holding you up tapped the back of your head. “Open up now, just take a sip.”

           He loves the boys, you thought to yourself, and he wouldn’t do anything to make them upset, including hurting me. You hesitated only a moment before, then opened your mouth and took a sip of the bright green medicine.

           Almost immediately, your senses dulled. The blood that had been beating a staccato in your ears began to slow. Your thoughts followed, and your vision blurred, turning Gaster’s face into a floating white oval overhead. The bones in your wrist tingled beneath the pain, before snapping back into place. The sound made your skin crawl, but the pain dulled until it was hovering just beyond your conscious thought.

           The librarian laid you back on the towel and re-corked the bottle of magic. Your head lolled to the side, eyes drawn to the pile of supplies. Gaster’s long fingers sorted through the pieces, drawing out one of the wooden sticks and breaking it short. Your vision grew dark and wavy around the edge as he pinched your arm between his fingers and lined the wooden bit up to splint the fracture. You couldn’t feel his touch on your skin, and your vision was rapidly darkening.

           The last thing you saw was the scarred face of the librarian, blurring into the ragged face of the doctor as he bent over you, eye lights dancing with an emotion you couldn’t read.

             Sans and Papyrus woke you when they crashed into the apartment, cheerful at the thought of getting home from school early. You jerked awake from your place on the coffee table, looking about with foggy eyes. The two hung up their backpacks on the hooks by the door, Papyrus chatting happily about what he wanted to do the entire time. Sans was laughing and throwing out puns as he rounded the couch and threw himself on the cushions.

           “Sounds good, bro.” He laughed, then turned his head to look at the TV. His eye scrolled over the black screen before drifting to the coffee table. He shot upright. “Silver?!”

           “Silver?” Papyrus popped his head around the edge of couch and saw you sitting up, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes. Gaster had set you on the folded towel from the lab, giving you a comfortable place to sleep. “What are you doing out here?”

           Sans slid off the couch and knelt by the table, eyeing you critically. He quickly spotted your left wrist, which was wrapped from wrist to elbow in clean bandages around a wooden splint. “What happened?” He demanded, reaching out to rest a finger beneath the make-shift cast.

           “Gaster knocked me off the desk,” you explained, pulling your hand back to your chest. Both boys looked aghast at the idea, and you quickly added, “It was an accident!”

           “So he fixed you up?” Sans was frowning, in that special way that meant he was thinking very hard.

           “Are you okay?” Papyrus swept you off the towel and nuzzled you with his jaw in a skelekiss.

           You rested your head against his cheek. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassured him. “Gaster took me to his - “

           Both boys watched you expectantly, then shared a worried look when you didn’t say anything. “Sil? What did Gaster do?”

           You looked at the older brother and tried to keep your breathing slow. “Sans, he has a lab.”

           “What?!” Sans gasped, staring at you.

           “He – he has a lab? Like the doctor’s lab?” Papyrus asked, pulling you away so he could see you.

           You nodded, swallowing hard as Sans teeth pulled into a frown. He was scary when he was upset.

           “Paps, grab your backpack.” Sans stood and plucked you from Papyrus’ hands, then turned towards the bedroom. “We’re leaving.”

           “But – but Sans, maybe it was a misunderstanding?” Papyrus grabbed his brothers arm. “Mr. Gaster helped Silver with her arm!”            “Papyrus,” Sans gave his brother a hard look, “Go pack a bag. We’re leaving. I won’t allow you to be put in a lab ever again.”

           The smaller brother wanted to protest, but a hard look from Sans had him rushing to the bedroom to pack a bag.

           “Sans, I – I don’t think we need to leave,” you tugged on his hoodie. “Please, it’s winter, you and Paps can’t leave – it’s too cold.”

           “We’ll be fine,” Sans muttered, moving to grab his own backpack and follow Papyrus. He settled you in your normal place on his shoulder.

           Papyrus was pulling clothing from the dresser and shoving them into his backpack, along with a few of his favorite action figures. There were tears brimming in his eyes but he sniffed and didn’t let them fall.

           “Grillby is busy downstairs, and Gaster rushed off somewhere after he dropped us off,” Sans muttered, grabbing a large duffel bag from the closet. “We can slip out the back door and disappear.”

           “Sans, really, this isn’t a good idea.” You tugged on his collar. “We can’t leave – it’s safe here.”

           He paused, then twisted his head to give you a strained smile. “It’s okay, Silver. I’m not going to let anybody ever hurt Papyrus or you again.”

              The crate was still in its place in the park, covered with snow but intact. Sans stopped Papyrus before he could rush to the box and inspect it.

           “Wait, bro,” Sans took his brothers hand. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”

           The child frowned but stopped. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “I don’t think Mr. Gaster was trying to be mean or hurt Silver! Maybe – maybe it was just a regular basement and Silver got confused!” Tears brimmed in his sockets, and he reached up with his free hand to dash them away.

            “Papyrus,” Sans rested a hand on his brother’s skull, rubbing it in soothing circles, “I’m sorry, but we promised we’d stay together forever, remember? We’re a family.” He tugged the younger skeleton away from the crate and headed deeper into the forest. “I know a place we can hide.”

           “We can go back,” you whispered to Sans. “They won’t care you ran away, they’ll just be happy you’re safe.”

           Sans didn’t answer – he just forged his way through the woods. A quarter mile from the crate was a dead tree, the bottom of it hollowed out by animals and fungus.

           Papyrus frowned at it, wrinkling his nose and kicking at the snow beneath his boots. “Is this it?”

           “Yeah, Paps.” Sans set his backpack and the duffel bag down and began kicking out snow from the hole. “We can fix it up, just like we did the crate.”

           Papyrus was still frowning, but he put his bag down beside Sans and began to dig out the hollow alongside him. You clung to Sans scapula until they were done. Once they were finished, Sans grabbed a thick quilt from the duffel and folded it into the space, creating a nice, dry floor for them.

           “See? It’ll be just like our other home,” Sans rubbed his brothers’ skull, then led him into the hollow and had him sit down. “You stay in here and I’ll get a door made. Oh, and you too, Silver.” He plucked you from his shoulder and dropped you into Papyrus’ hands. “Why don’t you guys read a book together?” He set Papyrus’ backpack by him, then left to find something to use as a door to keep out the chill.

           Papyrus sniffled once he was gone, and something wet and orange landed on your head. You shook out your hair and glanced up to see Papyrus had finally let the tears fall. He wiped his face and sniffed. “S-s-sorry, S-Silver,” he rubbed his sockets. “I-I-I’m fine.”

           You scaled his sweater so you could sit on his shoulder and rest your head against his jaw. “It’s okay, I’m scared too. But I know Sans will realize he’s being silly and we’ll go back in a day or two.” You tilted your head all the way back so you could meet his eyes. “Just think of it like – like camping! We’re camping out tonight, just for fun. And when we go back we’ll have lots of stories to tell Mr. Grillby and Mr. Gaster.”

           “Y-y-you pr-pr-promise?”

           “I promise,” you nodded firmly. “Now, it was library day, right? Did you get a new book to read to me?”

           He brightened and carefully leaned forward to grab his backpack. He pulled out a Dr. Seuss book and happily began to tell you what could happen on your way to Solla Sollew.

             Sans found a large piece of bark, which he could lean against the hollow to keep out most of the wind and chill. The three of you ate bread and cheese for dinner – it was easy and didn’t need to be cooked, and filled the boys right up. Soon after, the running from the bar caught up to them. Both of them shifted to their dog forms and cuddled together beneath the blankets, with you safely ensconced between their muzzles.

           Once the pair were fast asleep, you crawled beneath Papyrus’ muzzle and over to his backpack. Fastened in his side pocket, still there from when he went to school, was the cellphone Gaster had given him. He’d given one to each boy, to keep them safe. You dragged it out of the pocket and nearly fell over – it was just a bit shorter than yourself. Holding it by the sides, you backed out of the hollow, keeping an eye on the boys as you did so. Both were sleeping like logs, snoring in tandem. Silently, you slipped out of the hollow through a crack between the tree and bark door.

           Sans and Papyrus had stomped down the snow in front of the hollow, making it easy to stand on the packed down snow. You set the phone down on the snow and unlocked it. You were able to press the app buttons with your palm, having to lean over to put enough pressure on it. Contacts, which were full of Papyrus’ new friends phone numbers, down to ‘G,’ and a click on Grillby, then on the green ‘dial’ button.

           The phone only rang for a moment before the worried bartenders voice came over the phone.

           “Papyrus?! Are you alright?”

           “He’s fine. They’re both fine.” You hoped you were close enough to the phone that he could hear your voice.

           “Gaster! C’mere!” Grillby called, then returned to the call. “Who are you? Where are they?” He demanded, and you could hear the flames crackling around his head.

           “They’re in the park where Mr. Gaster found us – them. Them.” You glanced at the hollow to make sure neither of the boys had woken up. “They’re in the forest, past the crate. Just follow their footsteps.”

           “Who is this?” Gaster demanded in the background. You didn’t answer – you slammed your hand down on the disconnect button, and the connection cut with a shot of static. You glanced at the bark door, then down the path the boys had forged through the brush. It would be better for the boys if you left – Gaster didn’t want a Reader, and it was your fault the boys had left in the first place. It would be better if you were gone when they arrived. You could follow the path the boys had made, and hide in the brush when the two adults came by.

           You peeked into the hollow once more, and gave the boys a quiet “I love you,” before turning and following their footsteps back to the crate.

           Sans had ignored the brightly colored toys in favor of the books Gaster had produced. When in a neat stack, it was taller than he was! There were some simple picture books, along with more complex chapter books and science texts. Thanks to the doctors intense training, Sans was more than able to read the higher level texts, comprehending much of it on the first read through. The chapter books proved more difficult – he had no idea what fiction was.

           “They’re made up stories,” you whispered from your spot on his shoulder as he picked up and flipped through a book titled ‘Harry Potter.’

           “So they’re not true? What’s the point of reading them, then?” Sans asked through his teeth, words hidden by Papyrus’ boisterous yelling as he bounced about. Grillby and Gaster had both sat down on the couch, the former with his book, the latter simply watching Papyrus, sometimes joining in to explain a toy or keep him from tripping and hurting himself.

           “It’s fun,” you urged.

           “Books aren’t meant to be fun, they’re meant to be informative.” He put down the brightly colored book and picked up another, titled ‘The Giver.’

           You scooted closer to his jaw so you could see the cover of the book more easily. “That one looks good. Can you read it to me?”

           “Can’t you read?” He asked, raising a brow but not looking at you, not wanting to give the both of you away to the adults.

           “Yes,” you answered, jiggling your foot against his clavicle, making him twitch. It was one of those weird things all Readers could do – well, one of the things they could do if they were created by magic. They were ‘born’ already in a physical and mental teen or early adult stage, with basic reading, math, and language skills. Nobody could explain it, yet there it was. “But I’m too small to hold the book.”

           Sans snorted, and when Grillby glanced at him he opened the thin chapter book and hid his face behind it. The bartenders warm chuckle washed over the both of you as he lowered his own novel and glanced at the cover. “That is one of my favorite books. I think you will enjoy it.”

           The skeleton nodded and pulled the book away from his face so he could flip to the first chapter. To your delight he began to read aloud, just beneath his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. You relaxed against his shoulder, keeping an eye on Papyrus through the fluff of his jacket as you were read to.

           As the sky began to darken Grillby disappeared back into the kitchen. It wasn’t long before he reemerged, flames crackling in pleasure as he announced that dinner was ready.

           Papyrus, who had exhausted himself and was now half-draped over Gaster’s lap, flipping through a coloring book, perked up like a hungry puppy. “Food?” He asked happily, and if he’d been in his other form his tail would have wagged like crazy. “We get to eat again?”

           Grillby’s flames, which had been dancing in pride at his marvelous meal, dimmed a bit. His smile softened as Papyrus pranced up to him, and he bent down and picked him up again.

           “Yes, Papyrus,” he assured the little skeleton, tapping the bridge of his nose gently, “You get to eat three meals a day, as well as many snacks as you want.” He set the child at his side and held his hand, then reached out to Sans. “That goes for you too, Sans. The kitchen is open for both of you, and you can eat whatever you’d like, as long as you can reach it, and it doesn’t need to be cooked.”

           The older brother folded down the corner of the page he had been on (not catching the librarians wince) and stood. He hesitated for only a moment before taking Grillby’s hand. The bartender beamed, flames turning golden and orange as they flickered about his head.

           Gaster made a mental note to put all the alcohol in the cabinets above the stove. He followed his mate and the boys into the kitchen, where a lovely ham was set on the table, surrounded by bowls of sides. Grillby always went all out for Sunday dinners, since it was the one day he had off.

           “Wow!” Papyrus rushed forward, dragging Grillby and Sans behind him. “Look at all the food! It smells so good!” He looked at the chairs, two of which had booster seats. “Ooh, what are those?”

           “These are booster seats.” Grillby let go of Sans hand to pick Papyrus up and set him on one of the seats. It let him sit comfortably at the table, able to see over the top and reach his plate. Sans clambered up onto his own booster without help, smiling across the table at his brother.

           “Hi Sans!” Papyrus waved eagerly, and his brother waved back. “Ooh, what’s that?” He pointed at the main dish.

           “Honey glazed baked ham.” Grillby answered, taking his own seat across from Gaster.

           “And that?”

           “Mashed potatoes with garlic and cheese.”

           “What about that green stuff?”

           “French cut green beans.”

           “Wooooow!” Papyrus was almost drooling. “And we get to eat it all?”

           Gaster chuckled and took Papyrus’ dish, loading it up with a little bit of everything. The ham was tender enough that it fell right off the bone, and the mashed potatoes smelled heavenly. As soon as the plate was in front of him, the child fell on the food like a starving dog.

           “Uh, bro, you should use your fork…” Sans tried to calm his little brother down, but Grillby chuckled and shook his head.

           “It’s alright, Sans. We can work on table manners another day.” He set Sans own full plate in front of him.

           You leaned forward the tiniest bit, looking at the steaming plate of food. Sans picked up his spoon and, unlike his brother who was going to town on the potatoes with his hands, carefully took a bite. He paused, eye lights brightening. “Wow! This is fantastic!” He took another quick bite, then grabbed his fork and stabbed some of the green beans.

           The two adults smiled as the boys went to town on the dinner, and began to chat about their days. Once they were distracted, Sans grabbed a small slice of ham and pressed it into your hands. You blew on it, and as soon as it was cool, you took a big bite. You hadn’t eaten since the day before, and your stomach let out a warm, happy grumble. Once you’d finished the ham, Sans slipped you a small piece of green bean.

           At one point, when Grillby glanced over to see if Sans needed more food, you could have sworn he saw you. He didn’t say anything, though – in fact, he just dished up more potatoes for both boys and went back to chatting with Gaster. You sunk back into the jacket, making sure you stayed hidden for the rest of the meal.

           By the time all four of them had finished, most of the ham had been eaten, and what was left of the tender meat had fallen off the bone, leaving shreds decorating the plate. Grillby had just stood to begin putting away the food when Papyrus shot upright in his seat.

           “BONE!”

           In a second the child had shifted, bones creaking and elongating, spikey edges emerging as he changed to his canine form. He let out a delighted yip and snapped his maw around the bone, dragging it off the plate before bouncing off the chair and dashing into the living room.

           Grillby and Gaster stared after the boy in shock for a long moment, before both pushed away from the table at the same time and rushed after him.

           “Oh no.” Sans jumped off his chair and followed. You clung to his shoulder, trying to see what was happening over the fluff of the jacket.

           Papyrus was unaware of the shock he’d caused. He was bouncing around happily, gnawing the last of the meat off the bone as he tossed it about, jumping and twisting and rolling around on the carpet. He paused, rolling onto his back and looking at them upside down. His tail whipped against the carpet frantically, beyond happy.

           “Uh…” Grillby glanced at his husband, raising a brow. “Is this a skeleton thing?”

           “No,” Gaster answered, staring at the bone puppy, who had sat up and was grinning at them, panting despite not having a tongue. When he met Gaster’s hand he got to his paws and stuck his rear up in the air, in a ‘play with me’ pose.

           “Sans,” Grillby glanced at the older brother, who was hovering behind him anxiously, waiting for them to get angry and yell. You slid completely beneath his jacket, out of sight. “Is this, uh, normal for you two?”

           “…yes?” He said softly, sounding unsure and worried.

           “Can you do it as well?” Gaster glanced between the two brothers. Sans nodded, and the skeleton gave him a smile, then focused all his attention on the puppy. He knelt, and Papyrus ran up to him, tail wagging as he head-butted the librarians knee. Laughing, he ran his hand over the child’s skull and patted his nose.

           “Grillby,” he glanced up at his husband, who still seemed a bit surprised, “They followed me home. Can we keep them?”

           Sans giggled a bit, and Grillby rested a hand on his skull, pulling him to rest against his leg. “We already talked about this,” he shook his head, a wide grin on his face. “They’re welcome to live here for as long as they want.”

           Gaster perked up. “Do you know what that means?”

           Grillby dropped his head a bit and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “I’m not sure but I have a bad feeling in my wallet.”

           “Alright, boys, bundle up! We’re going to Blooky’s Pet Store!”

           Once Sans had convinced Papyrus to turn back into a little skeleton boy, Gaster got them both bundled up in warmer clothes. Sans avoided having to take his hoodie off, though Grillby suggested he put on long pants. You stayed safely hidden beneath his jacket, where it was warm and out of sight.

           “Okay, we’re going to take a short cut to the store,” Gaster announced, shrugging on his own jacket – a long, black trench coat.

           “What’s that?” Papyrus asked, holding his arms out to the man. The librarian obligingly swept him up, settling the child on his hip.

           “A short cut is a special way to get around, so we can avoid most of the snow.” Gaster explained, adjusting the red-orange scarf he’d wrapped around Papyrus’ neck. It was his, but the child had seen it on the coat rack and had immediately wanted to wear it.

           Grillby tugged Sans gloves on, then picked him up as well. Sans wrapped his arms around his neck, holding himself up so he could look at Gaster.

           You were honestly surprised by how well Sans was taking everything. You’d expected him to be far more nervous and skittish around adult monsters, especially one who resembled the Doctor, but he was almost completely at ease with them. It was most likely because he could see their SOULs, but still, his sudden acceptance of them made you feel…unneeded.

           Papyrus was yammering away eagerly, even as Gaster reached out to take Grillby’s hand. Once they were holding hands, the world around them shimmered. Sans gasped, looking about in wonder as their surroundings faded, while Papyrus kept exclaiming over his new scarf, not even noticing the change.

           The world returned to normal, though it was vastly different than before. Instead of being in the cozy living room, you’d all moved to front of a small store, just inside the sliding doors. Outside the doors, snow piled along the sidewalk, though the streets had been plowed. Papyrus stopped talking, looking around in awe. He quickly declared that form of travel ‘COOL!’, which Sans quickly agreed with.

           “Alright, let’s get you some puppy toys.” Gaster threw a hand out dramatically, pointing towards the neat shelves that lined the store. The librarian was pointing at the aisle marked ‘DOGS.’ He led the way, leaving Grillby and Sans behind.

           The bartender sighed, shaking his head in amusement. “He’s very excited to have you two living with us.” He explained to his bemused passenger as he followed. “Gaster and I have thought of having children before, but we weren’t sure we could, since our biology is so different.”

           Sans grinned. “Really?”

           “Really.” Grillby chuckled as they came to the aisle lined with dog and puppy toys. He set the child down and pointed at Papyrus, who was dashing about like a mad man, grabbing toys and exclaiming over them. “You’d better help your brother out.”

           “Sans look! BONES!” Papyrus threw several rawhide chews to his brother, then rushed off to exclaim over a pile of rubber chew toys in all shapes and sizes. Laughing, Sans followed, shooting off bone puns whenever the chance arose. You poked your head out of the jacket, giggling at the pair.

           In no time, Papyrus had a huge pile of bones and toys in the middle of the aisle. He danced around it in excitement, barely able to stay in his skeleton form. Grillby laughed and knelt beside the pile, sorting through it and pulling out toys that were meant for bigger dogs, or ones that were easy to break. Papyrus helpfully put them back on the shelves, directed by Sans in some cases.

           “Grillby! Hey, Grillby!” All four looked up as a bunny monsters appeared, dressed in heavy snow clothes. She tugged a scarf from around her nose and beamed at him. “What’re you doing out of your bar?”

           “I am allowed to leave it, Bonnie.” Grillby raised a brow at her, though he was grinning. Sans and Papyrus had darted behind him, peering out at the stranger cautiously. “How are you?”

           “Great!” Bonnie beamed. “Tommy and I just came to pick up some new clothes!”

           Grillby tilted his head. “Tommy?”

           “Oh right, you haven’t met him yet!” The bunny reached into her scarf and revealed a small Reader dressed in a bright yellow sweater. “This is my new Reader, Tommy!”

           “Hello, Tommy.” Grillby greeted the sleepy Reader. Tommy waved, then turned back to Bonnie.

           “I’m cold,” he muttered, making grabby hands at her scarf. The rabbit laughed and returned the Reader to her scarf.

           “Well, I’d better go check out and get Mr. Picky here home, but don’t think you’re in the clear yet, Grillby! I’ll be asking you about those two cuties your hiding tomorrow!” The bunny winked at the children, who were peeking curiously at her from behind the bartender. She gave a small wave and disappeared to the front of the store.

           “She was pretty!” Papyrus bounced back to the pile of dog toys.

           “That was Bonnie,” Grillby answered, accepting the squeaky toy Papyrus thrust into his hands as he pulled out the toys he wanted. “She’s a customer at my bar.”

           “Oh! You mean the downstairs with the big kitchen and all the tables?” Papyrus paused and beamed at him.

           “Yes, exactly! She comes in a lot, since she works down the street.” Grillby glanced over at Gaster. “Maybe some nights you can come downstairs and hang out in the restaurant.”

           “Mmm.” Gaster had folded his arms and was looking after the bunny with a slight frown.

           “Gaster? What’s wrong, dear?”

           “It’s nothing,” Gaster waved him off. “You know I don’t approve of Readers.”

           Papyrus and Sans both froze mid-rummaging in the toy pile. Beneath the jacket, you tightened your grip on Sans clavicle. “What?” Papyrus asked, sounding worried. “You – you don’t like the little bitty Reader pets?”

           Gaster sighed, seeing he’d upset them but not about to back down. “No, Papyrus, I don’t.” He knelt down and rested a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder, smiling at him. “You see, Readers are just as intelligent as you or me. I don’t think creatures with that kind of intelligence should be kept as pets. It’s not fair to them.”

           “Oh.” Papyrus glanced over at Sans, then back at Gaster. “Okay.”

           Gaster smiled and rubbed his skull. “C’mon, lets pick out some toys and head home. Napstablook is gonna close soon, and I want to make sure you two have plenty to play with, no matter what you look like.”

           Papyrus beamed and hugged the monster, then dove back into the pile of toys. Sans stood back, watching the pair with a fake smile stretched over his teeth. When Gaster had turned to look for something, he reached up and rested a hand over his shoulder, pressing gently against you.

           “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “They’ll never know you’re here.”

           By the time you all returned to the small home above the bar, Papyrus was exhausted. While Grillby set the bags full of dog toys in the living room, alongside the boy toys, Gaster carried the snoring Papyrus into the bedroom and tucked him into bed. Sans trailed after him, also dragging quite a bit. Having three square meals a day and feeling safe enough to relax had really done a number on the boys’ energy.

           Gaster had changed Papyrus into a pair of superhero pajamas. He held out a pair of star-patterned ones to Sans, who took them with a tired smile. “Thanks.” He muttered, though he made no move to change.

           “You’re welcome.” Gaster rested a hand on his round skull. “If either of you need anything, please feel free to come get us. I’ll make sure our door is open.”

           Sans nodded, but just as Gaster turned to head out, he snagged the librarians' shirt. “You’re – you’re really okay with what we are?” He asked, not making eye contact with the taller skeleton.

           Gaster knelt down and cupped the child’s face in his hands. “Of course I am, Sans. I am fine with you both being little skeleton boys. I am fine with you both being little skeleton puppies. You are children, coming from a bad situation, in need of a good home and caretakers.” He knocked their foreheads together, in a form of skeleton kiss. “You are welcome here, no matter what. I promise.”

           Sans flushed, but his smile stretched a bit. “Heh, okay.”

           Gaster beamed and, with a final ‘goodnight’ left the room. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Sans pulled you out of his hoodie.

           “You okay, Silver?” He asked, setting you on the edge of the bed so he could change into the pajamas.

           “I’m fine,” you reassured him, bouncing a bit on the plushy surface. At the head of the bed, Papyrus cuddled up under the blankets, and you carefully walked across the uneven surface towards him. “Are you alright?”

           “I’m fine,” he parroted, giving you a flat look. It was an argument the pair of you had almost every night in the crate, both wanting to care for the other – you because it was your nature, him because he was used to looking out for those smaller than him. He crawled up onto the bed, pinning you between him and Papyrus, where you normally slept. You crawled beneath the top blanket, snuggling beneath it as Sans got under all the blankets, down to the sheet.

           “…do you like it here?” He asked after a moment, and you rolled over to find him looking at you with concern.

           “I love it here,” you beamed. “We have shelter, food, clothing, not to mention Mr. Grillby and Mr. Gaster both adore you. It’s the best possible place we could have found.”

           “But – but that’s for us. What about you?” He was frowning, though it was more sad than anything.

           “As long as you two are okay, then I’m happy.” You reassured him. Sans reached out and rested his hand on top of you, his eyes fighting to stay open.

           “We’ll have to tell them about you eventually,” he pointed out. “Even if Mr. Gaster doesn’t like readers, it’s not fair to you. You should have new clothes and toys and food and baths too.”

           “Someday,” you agreed, hugging his thumb, “but not today.”

           He hesitated a moment before nodding. “Not today.” His eyes slid shut and he let out a heavy sigh. “Night, Sil.”

           “Good night, Sans. I love you.”

           “Love you too.”

           It wasn’t long before his breathing evened out, leaving you wide awake in the middle of the bed, trying to figure out how you were going to avoid giving yourself away. Before, it may have been awkward to explain. Now, knowing Gaster was against Readers – it was imperative that you remain hidden.

           You didn’t get much sleep that night.

What’s this? Another update? Within two days of the other one? GASP! Sorcery!

Or me skiving off homework. Take your pick. XD Now that more of the story arc has been outlined, the next chapter(s) will focus on the reader! Leave a like or a comment if you enjoyed this chapter!

           The park had been the first place Sans had found after the three of you escaped the labs. There was a large rectangle of trimmed grass and paved walkways that was frequented by monsters, going to and from the central fountain or visiting the playgrounds with their children. The north, south, and eastern sides of the park had sturdy brick fences to keep out the noise of the bustling Ebott City beyond the walls. Bordering the park on the western side was a thick forest, which tumbled all the way down the mountain to the more residential areas. It provided the three of you more than enough hiding places, and Papyrus had declared that he was going to learn it like the back of his hand in no time. He’d then seen a new scratch on the back of his hand and panicked for half-an-hour.

           The two nights the three of you had spent there so far had been dry, but the morning of the third day had begun overcast and heavy, clouds hanging low enough to almost touch, it seemed. Sans had left Papyrus and you resting under a bench far away from the main path while he scrounged up some breakfast – half-eaten Glambagles from the stand near the fountain. You always had to pick off the sequins, and Sans hated the ones that had glitter, but Papyrus was happy to devour whatever came his way.

           It was right after breakfast that Papyrus decided he wanted to play. Fueled with day-old Glambagles, he shifted into his dog form and dashed off, yelping cheerfully over his shoulder. You were sitting on Sans knee, still picking off sequins from your bite of bagel when the youngster dashed off.

           “Paps, where are you going?” Sans made to stand and nearly threw you off. He paused when you yelped and grabbed onto the loose hoodie he’d found forgotten on a park bench a day ago. He grabbed you and lifted you off his knee so he could stand, sitting you on his shoulder, where his neck met his clavicle and you could hold on.

           Papyrus barked something cheerfully, dancing on his paws, moving a bit farther away from the two of you before coming back, yelping again.

           “Ugh, bro, I don’t want to play right now.”

           Papyrus whined again, backing away and sticking his tail end up in the air, the front of his ribs nearly brushing the grass as he growled, then let out a pleading yelp. He pranced back, and Sans sighed upon realizing that he wouldn’t be talking his baby bro out of his sugar rush.

           “Wanna play tag, Silver?”

           You nibbled the last bite of bagel and stuck the final sequin to his jacket like a sticker. “Sure! You deserve to play some too, Sans. You’ve been working too hard.”

           He snorted something that sounded like ‘mother hen’ and moved away from the bench so he had room to shift. “Hang on, then.” As you’d seen several times, he fell forward, arms held out to catch himself. Before he touched the ground his bones shifted, and paws landed on the grass. You tangled your hands in his hoodie, holding on tightly as he fell. He used one of his front paws to boost you up, so you were straddling one of his vertebrae close to his skull. With a playful growl, he took off after his brother.

           They ran about for fifteen minutes, you holding on as tight as you could to the ridges of Sans spine to keep from falling off or, more likely, from being thrown. Papyrus was beyond ecstatic at having his brother playing alongside him, and he showed it through incredibly sharp turns, jumps, and twists, half of which made your heart stutter in worry. He dashed away from the paths, towards the forest, and Sans began to slow down a bit.  

           Papyrus dove into the brush that had sprung up among the towering trees, his tail standing like a white flag pole above the brambles and leaves. Sans whined in worry and picked up his pace, not wanting to lose sight of his brother. You shifted a bit so you could see over his elongated skull, yelping in alarm when a leaf almost whipped you in the face.

           Sans tried to twist his skull around to see you and got whipped across the eye with a branch. He slid to a halt, whimpering and pawing at his socket. Ahead, Papyrus’ wagging tail stopped, and his head popped up over some bushes, tilted just so to achieve an expression of adorableness alongside worry. He bounced back over as you scrambled to stand on Sans spine, trying to see if he’d gotten cut or scraped.

           “Sans! Sans!” Ah, Papyrus had changed back He rushed up and patted his brother’s cheeks, peering at him closely. “Are you okay, brother?” Sans answered in their odd dog language, and Papyrus’ gaze moved to you. “Ah, right! C’mere, Silver!” He rested his hands on top of Sans skull and made grabby fingers at you. You had to lean forward and grab the top of Sans brow bones to pull yourself onto his forehead and within reach, and the skeleton twitched a bit as you touched a tickling spot. Papyrus’ small fingers closed around you and he lifted you to his chest, beaming.

           You smiled back and, very deliberately, laid a hand on his finger. “Tag, you’re it!”

           He gasped, dramatically, as his brother changed back and rubbed at his eye socket, seeming okay. “How sneaky!” He claimed, though he didn’t sound put out at losing. You grinned and hugged his top finger.

           “Good game, Papyrus!”

           “Yeah, good try, bro,” Sans had cleared his eye socket of any residual sticky-ness (ooh, you’d have to tell him that pun later!) and clapped a hand down on Paps skull. “You get enough to eat for breakfast?”

           Papyrus bounced a bit. “Yeah! It was really good – I love Glambagels! Can we have them every day?”

           Sans grimaced, and you answered before he could. “That’s not healthy, Papyrus. You need a balanced breakfast, not just one thing all the time.”

           “Oh.” Papyrus looked a bit downtrodden at the idea of having to eat something else, but he quickly bounced back. “Oh, brother, guess what I found!” He used his free hand to grab his brothers arm and tugged him forward. “Over here!”

           His grand fine was a large crate – the kind furniture was sent in, like couches and refrigerators. Instead of cardboard, it was wood, slats crisscrossing to form a large cube with more than enough room for the three of you. Papyrus dragged Sans over to it, standing proudly beside the open mouth, where the lid of the crate had been ripped off and thrown aside. It was on its side, so the inside was dry, if a little dirty.

           “Look, Sans, look! I found us a home!” Papyrus was bouncing, rattling your stomach about a bit but his excitement was contagious.

           Sans was looking at the box with bright eyes, and his permanent grin widened a bit. “Nice job, Pap!” He tapped the top of the crate (which was almost as tall as he was) with his knuckles, and nodded in satisfaction when it didn’t collapse.

           “It’ll be perfect!” Papyrus dropped to his knees and set you on the ground beside the box. “Look, here’s the living room, and here’s the kitchen, and here’s where we’ll sleep!” He crawled into the box and pointed as he spoke.

           His brother, meanwhile, was mumbling to himself. “We can get a fake top to put on so nobody can see us, and as long as we always leave a different way we won’t leave a trail. Nobody on the path can see back here,” he was tapping his chin, looking about the surrounding brush for the original lid, though he couldn’t see it.

           As the two were lost in their rambling, you took your own stock of the situation. The crate would need a curtain or something to keep out the rain and wind, and the boys would need something soft to sleep on. A box for food, so animals wouldn’t be able to get to it. A toy or two for Papyrus, so he wouldn’t be bored. A book for Sans, for the very same reason. A bored Sans was a punning Sans, and a punning Sans led to an annoyed Papyrus. It had only been three days and you’d figured out that much.

           You finally clapped your hands, the sharp sound getting both boys attention. Their hearing was better than the average monsters, thanks to their dog side, which made conversation with them easy.

           “Alright, boys,” you grinned up at Sans as Papyrus eagerly poked his head out of the box. “Let’s fix up our home!”

              It was a masterpiece in progress – a patchwork of fabrics and discarded materials working together to form a home. Sans had found most of it – the curtain covering the entrance to the box, the soft blankets and pillows that smelled faintly of mildew and long-forgotten laundry soap, the round cookie tin that held food safely for the next meal – all of it had been found by Sans while out on searches through the city. The colorful masterpieces tacked to the wall were all Papyrus, however – pages from discarded books, pictures colored with a box of crayons Sans had found near a toy store (some on paper, some on the wood itself), scraps of pretty cloth he wanted to have to brighten up the room.

           It was one hundred percent Papyrus and Sans. You couldn’t be more proud of your boys and the home they’d built. In the past month, they’d become your boys, without you even noticing it. Everything they achieved, you felt pride in. Every time they woke up from nightmares, you were there to soothe them. Every fall, you worried over their scrapes, every morning you greeted them with smiles and kind words. They quickly wormed their way into your silver SOUL, and you couldn’t have been happier.

           Well, scratch that – you could have been happier, if there was a true roof above your heads and gold in your pockets. Many nights you snuck your bit of dinner onto Papyrus or Sans lap so they could have a little extra, even if it was only a bite. You ate enough to survive, but the boy’s health was more important. Besides, Sans needed the extra energy – he was the one running all over the town in the early mornings and late evenings, getting you and Papyrus food and clothing and things in the first place.

           When Sans was away, you stayed with Papyrus. The two of you would wander the playgrounds together, and the young skeleton would often watch the other monster children play from afar. For some reason, he was very hesitant to go play with them, even when they waved and beckoned for him. When you asked, he said he was happy playing with you and would leave the kids to their fun.

           Sometimes, Papyrus went with Sans. Night would fall and the two would shift into their dog forms and head out to explore alleys and dig through trash cans for prizes – food or toys, anything that caught their interest. You’d gone the first night, but Sans had been attacked by a stray cat and you’d been thrown off his back. You’d escaped with a few bruises and a scrape on your elbow, but the boys both freaked out and brought you straight home. Sans declared that you weren’t coming with them anymore, and set Papyrus to ‘guard’ you for the night. The youngster took the duty to heart, keeping you in his lap all night, even as he fell asleep, waiting for Sans to come back.

           Tonight Sans was on a solo-hunt; he was able to move faster and grab more when he wasn’t worrying over Papyrus, and the tin of food was almost empty. Papyrus was happily humming to himself as he drew a picture with his crayons. The curtain that covered the entrance to the box was pulled back to let in the fading sunlight, giving him enough to see.

           “Silver,” he called, unnecessarily, as you were sitting beside his paper, watching him color in a bright yellow sun. “Look! I drew us!” Beneath the sun were three stick figures – one in a blue hoodie, one with a big smiley face and a red scarf, and on his shoulder was a gray blob that was too small to have a facial expression. They were standing on a green hill, the perfect picture of a happy family.

           “It looks wonderful, Papyrus!” You stood and carefully stepped onto the page, making sure your bare feet didn’t trail any dirt. “I see Sans, and I see me, but who is that dashing skeleton in the middle?”

           Papyrus’ ribs puffed out beneath his t-shirt in pride. “That’s me! The GREAT Papyrus!”

           You laid down beside the Papyrus stick figure, joining the line and pretending to hold onto his outstretched hand. “You are pretty great, Paps,” you agreed, and he let out a triumphant ‘NYEH HEH HEH!’ before dissolving into giggles.

           “You are very great too, Silver!” Papyrus rocked back a bit, beaming. “You look like part of the picture! Oh, hold still!” He snatched up the gray crayon and leaned over the page, orange tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He carefully pressed the tip of the crayon to the paper beside your head, and traced it around your still form. The smell of wax and paper was heavy, almost overwhelming, and you were relieved when he took the crayon away. “Get up, get up!” He prodded you in the side gently, rolling you over, so you were sprawled on top of Sans now. He began coloring you in with vigor, though he took care to stay inside the lines. You’d just sat up to watch, brushing flakes of crayon off your action figure shirt, when Sans burst in.

           There was a rip in the neck of his hoodie that hadn’t been there when he left, and a few dots of bright blue magic clung to his skull as sweat. “We gotta go,” he said without preamble, scooping you up off the paper. Faintly, from beyond the box, you heard a voice.

           “Wait, please! I only want to talk to you!”

           The boys, despite not having muscles, both tensed. Sans grabbed Paps arm and hauled him upright, holding him close. He glanced down at you, sockets calculating, before coming to a decision. He released Papyrus long enough to unzip the top of his hoodie and shoved you inside, so you were tangled in his ribs.

           “Sans, what-“ He shushed you and zipped up his hoodie just as the voice came closer. You shifted so you were on the inside of his ribs, legs thrown over one set, arms draped over the other, holding yourself up. It was like sitting on a set of monkey bars.

           “Ah, there you are. I’m sorry for scaring you…” The mysterious voice said, and Sans shifted uncomfortably – you could hear the scuff of Papyrus’ feet on the wooden floor of the box as Sans tried to hide him.

           “Hello! Who are you?”

           Sans utterly failed at hiding Papyrus, and you could imagine it right now – the child poking his head around his brother, all sunshine and smiles, believing the best in any monster, despite having lived as an experiment in a lab. Sans hushed hiss of ‘Papyrus!’ completed the picture.

           “Ah, hello there!”

           “Hello!” Papyrus parroted again. “You look familiar. Who are you?”

           “Papyrus, it’s the doctor.”

           Any levity you’d found in the situation before was gone at Sans declaration – the doctor? The doctor had found you? No wonder he’d run back to try and hide you and Papyrus!

           “No, he’s not. Look! His scars are all different-y.” If you weren’t swallowing down a panic attack at the thought of being taken back to the lab (or more likely dusted in the doctors thin, sharp phalanges) you would have chided Papyrus for his manners.

           Sans made a sharp move to the side, and you heard Papyrus’ feet rush across the floor and onto dirt. “See, Sans? His face is – oh, can you lean down please, mister? Thanks! – see, his face is all smooth!”

           “Ah, I suppose you had a bad experience with one of my counterparts?” Now that you had connected them, you could hear a bit of the doctor’s cadence in the voice, though it was much softer, not nearly as rough or unkind.

           Sans relaxed a bit; you could feel his shoulders slump, clinging to his ribs as you were. “Heh, well, you smoothed that out, didn’t ya, bro?”

           Papyrus let out a cry of annoyance, while the not-doctor chuckled in appreciation of the pun. “Hmph,” you could hear the pouting in Papyrus’ voice.

           “What do you mean, counterpart?” Sans asked, zeroing in on the odd word.

           “Ah, well, in quite a fascinating cosmic tangle of events, every alternate of our universes empty into this one place in space-time. Because of that, many versions of many monsters walk the same streets. For example, I know of a Dr. Gaster who is the royal scientist for King Asgore. I also know a Mr. Gaster who excels at dancing hip-hop.”

           Papyrus giggled, but Sans ribs vibrated a bit as he hummed in though. “What kind of Gaster are you?” He asked, tone under laid with suspicion.

           “I am a Mister Gaster,” the kind voice reassured them, “I work at the castle as the Royal Librarian.”

           “Wowie!” Papyrus exclaimed, glee in his voice. “What’s a librarian?”

           Librarian Gaster chuckled. “A librarian takes care of books.”

           “We have books!” The world rocked as Sans was jostled, as Papyrus darted back into the crate, then right back out. “See! This one is my favorite, ‘Peek-A-Boo With Fluffy Bunny.’ Sans reads it to me almost every night!”

           “Does he? You have a wonderful big brother, huh?”

           “I do, he’s the best!” You bit back a yelp as Papyrus collided with Sans and tightened your grip on the older skeletons ribs to keep from falling. Mister Gaster made a sound, like he was about to start talking, when Papyrus’ stomach let out a loud roar. Well, it sounded like a loud roar to you; he was still standing right next to Sans, and their bones tended to make sound echo.

           “It sounds like you could use a good meal,” Mr. Gaster commented, sounding amused. “I know a place downtown with a hot bartender that’ll cook whatever you’re in the mood for.”

           “Oooh! Do they have Glambagels?”

           You could feel Sans roll his eyes, without having to look, even as Mr. Gaster chuckled. “No, but there’s plenty to choose from – more than you can eat in one meal!”

           “Wowie!” Papyrus feet went from the wood floor to the forest soil, patting lightly. “C’mon, Sans! It’s rude to keep new friends waiting!”

           “Papyrus, I don’t think we should be bothering Mr. Gaster.” Sans sounded hesitant, but also wanting – you were certain he was just as hungry as Papyrus, if not more so. You knew you were.

           “I understand if you do not wish to come,” Mr. Gaster’s voice was soft as he spoke directly to Sans, “I can bring food back for you, if you’d like.”

           “Nooooo!” Papyrus whined, and you were reminded that despite the way they acted sometime, the two boys were young children. “Brother, I want to see the hot bartender!” Mr. Gaster made a sound akin to choking down laughter.

           “He will be pleased to hear that,” he let out a low chuckle. “I promise; all I am offering is a good meal. You are free to leave my company whenever you’d like.”

           You could tell Sans resolve was wavering – he was rocking a bit on his feet, which he did when he was thinking hard. Thanking the stars that he had thick ribs that were easy to grasp, you stretched and pulled yourself up a few more, like rungs of a ladder.

           “Sans,” you hissed as quietly as possible, “go. You and Papyrus need to eat.” You didn’t trust this new monster 100%, but both boys were more than capable of taking care of themselves. They could run if they needed to, but if the monsters offer was genuine they could get a hot meal for once.

           He made a ‘hmm’ sound, but finally rocked his head forward. “Alright,” he agreed, stepping out of the crate. You resumed your monkey-like grip on his bones to keep from slipping.

           “Yay! C’mon, Sans, food!” Papyrus bellowed. “Let’s go, Mr. Librarian Man!”

           “Firefly?”

           “Mmhmm?”

           “Have you been having a good day?”

           “Mm, yes, it’s been very busy.”

           “Oh, that’s good, but you look a bit tired…”

           “I am, but no more than any other Saturday night. Luckily we’ll have all of tomorrow to be lazy.”

           “Yes, about that, dear…”

           “What is it?”

           “Uh, Grillby, have you ever thought about having kids?”

           The bartender’s arm flew out from beneath him, his hand leaving a scorch mark along the bar where he’d been wiping it down. He barely managed to keep from smashing his face against the shiny wood surface, wincing when the side of his glasses caught on his shoulder and dug into the side of his face.

           “What?!” His head snapped up and he stared at his mate, flames flickering erratically. “Gaster, are you – are you pregnant?!”

           The royal librarian laughed loudly, the sound rolling up from his non-baby-bump belly at the panic on his mates face. “No, no,” he reassured the rapidly-flickering monster. “Grillby, breath, I’m not pregnant. I cannot imagine either of us could handle a flaming skeleton running about.”

           “Ah.” The bartender’s flames turned a lovely shade of blue across his face, clearly displaying his embarrassment for all who knew how to read his expressions. “Sorry, love. You just took me off guard. I thought you were going to tell me we were having a child!”

           The skeleton tented his fingers together and looked over Grillby’s shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. “Well…”

           “…what did you do, Gaster?”

           “Mr. Gaster, can we come in now? It’s cold outside!”

           A small skeleton child poked his head through the front door, and Grillby was thankful that the bar was empty at the moment. He leaned heavily on the bar as a second face poked in over the first, this one more rounded with a pair of lazy eyes glancing about in curiosity.

           “Ah, yes, please. Come in.” Gaster, expression a textbook example of ‘sheepish,’ motioned the two children into the building, moving to close the door behind them and usher the two boys over to the bar. The smaller skeleton bounced forward happily, looking about with unbridled curiosity as he clambered up on one of the barstools Gaster motioned him to. The other skeleton child moved slowly, eyes darting about warily, as though he was expecting a sudden attack or surprise. He was hunched over a bit, one hand resting over his stomach. Once he was certain his little brother wasn’t going to fall, he pulled himself up on the neighboring stool.

           Grillby leaned against the bar, looking from the boys to Gaster (who was dodging his gaze as well as he could). Seeing his husband was avoiding tackling the subject head on, he examined the children, taking in their ragged clothes and thin bones. The rounder skeleton had a little crack under one eye, and he was slumping slightly against the bar. His companion was wearing much warmer, cleaner clothes, including a long, red scarf that was more like a cape, and was bouncing as he looked about in delight.

           “Hello!” He noticed Grillby’s gaze and fixed his empty eye sockets on him. “You’re on fire!” His expression became slightly concerned, “Are you supposed to be?”

           There was a distinct sound of bone-hitting-bone as both older skeletons face-palmed at the youngest one’s comment.

           “Ah – yes. Yes, I am a fire elemental. I am supposed to be on fire.” Grillby’s reassurance brought a bright smile to the little skeletons face.

           “Wowie! I’ve never met a fire elemental before!” He squinted up at him, examining the wavy flames and eyes hidden behind the lenses of his half-moon glasses. With very deliberate movements he thrust his arm out, having to shake down the sleeve a bit so his phalanges poked through. “I’m the Great Papyrus!”

           Grillby took the child’s hand, his own large palm completely engulfing the small, fragile bones. Flames tickled Papyrus’ bones, making the child giggle and squirm a bit as they exchanged a firm handshake.

           “It is a pleasure to meet you, Great Papyrus.” Grillby couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm in the child’s every move and word. His gaze shifted to the other skeleton, who had a sharp eye on the both of them, despite the bags beneath his sockets and obvious exhaustion in his frame.

           Papyrus followed his gaze and began bouncing again. “Oh, and this is my big brother, Sans!”

           The older skeleton didn’t move to take Grillby’s hand, he just nodded, slumped against the bar a bit. The bartender took in both boys thin, ragged appearance and fragile bones.

           “Are you boys hungry?” He asked, and it was like he’d said the secret word on a children’s show. Sans lifted his head, looking torn between nodding and shaking his head. Papyrus had no such qualms.

           “YES!” He boomed, standing on his stool and leaning over the bar to look at Grillby with wide, excited eyes. “Mr. Gaster said we could come here and have a real dinner! With hot food and condo-ments and hot chocolate with the little marshmallows you have to spend real money to get!”

           Gaster reached out when the boy wobbled a bit, but before he could catch the skeleton a blue glow surrounded him and steadied the stool. Sans’ left eye was flickering with bright blue and yellow magic, though the longer he held it the quicker it began to fade. The child’s shoulders shook a bit as he lowered his arm, lids closing tiredly. The librarian reached out and steadied Papyrus, keeping him from falling. He cast Grillby a look that spoke volumes.

           “Papyrus,” the flame elemental held a hand out to the boy, “Would you like to come into the kitchen and help me make some hot chocolate and hamburgers?”

           “Sure!” Papyrus grabbed his hand and giggled as he stepped up onto the bar top, before allowing himself to be picked up by the bartender. “What’s a ham-burg?”

           “A city in Germany.” Gaster chimed as he took the seat Papyrus had vacated.

           “WOWIE! We’re gonna eat a whole CITY?!”

           Grillby shot his mate an annoyed look and explained that they were not going to eat a city, but instead a special kind of sandwich. Sans watched them like a hawk as Grillby carried the boy through the swinging-door to the kitchen. Gaster was certain that if the child were not dead on his feet, he would be hurrying after his brother.

           “Sans,” he rested a hand on the skeletons head and gently rubbed the bone. The child stiffened, fingers curling into fists. “Grillby will not harm Papyrus. They are simply going to cook dinner for us all.” He shifted his hand so his long, slim pianist fingers (though he’d never taken up piano – he was completely tone deaf according to Grillby and everyone else who came to karaoke night) rested at the back of Sans’ head, his thumb rubbing small circles along the top of the vertebrae where it met the skull in a soothing motion that immediately had the child relaxing.

           Sans shifted and finally released his hoodie, folding his arms in front of him and leaning against the bar to rest his chin on them. Gaster continued to rub soothing circles along his spine as the boy angled his sockets to watch the kitchen – there was a porthole window and Grillby could occasionally be seen passing as he moved about the room, Papyrus riding on one broad shoulder. “I know,” he muttered into the torn, dirty fabric of his hoodie, “He has a good SOUL.” His pin-prick pupils shifted over to look Gaster up and down, lingering on his chest. “You do too.”

           Gaster stopped his ministrations for a moment, then resumed rubbing his spine. “You can see our SOULS?” He asked curiously, certain he had never met the child before, meaning there would be no reason for him to know what their SOULS looked like.

           Sans stiffened a bit when he realized what he’d said, but when Gaster didn’t move to strike him or pull away, he relaxed and spoke softly. “Yeah. I know ‘m not s’posed to be able to see ‘em, but I can.” His eyes drifted back to the kitchen door. “Mr. Grillby’s is really bright and warm, like Paps.” He watched his brother parade past the window, slung over Grillby’s shoulder as he tried to juggle several plates of food and the wiggling child at the same time. His gaze slipped back to Gaster. “But you’re is more…calm. Like a pond without any wind.”

           Gaster raised a brow, a bit worried at the languid way the child spoke. The boy couldn’t be more than eight or nine, but his gaze was so much older. “You’re very poetic,” he remarked, moving to rub a palm along Sans scapula. The boy had been spitting nails when he’d approached them at the park (well, chased them down after Papyrus let it slip they were homeless and hungry, but semantics weren’t important at the moment), but now he seemed to be letting down his guard.

           Perhaps it was because he could see their SOULs? It was a rare but not unheard of talent, though some didn’t like it because it felt ‘invasive.’ Most of the Clan leaders, the Toriel’s and Asgore’s, had some form of SOUL Sight. Seeing that he and his mate were good Monsters must have been relaxing him, calming him down enough to succumb the obvious exhaustion he’d been fighting.

           How long had the pair been on the street? Gaster had asked, but Sans had headed him off with questions about what being a librarian was like. Papyrus had latched onto that and it turned into a longer, drawn out conversation about books and the like before he convinced the pair to come get a bite to eat with him. Looking at the child’s state – bones thinner than normal for his age, sockets hollowed with exhaustion, he wondered if he would even manage to eat whatever Grillby prepared.

           “FOOD!”

           The door was shoved open by an unseen skeleton – Grillby had set the child down so he could carry out four plates of burgers and fries, as well as balance four mugs of hot chocolate. Each mug had miniature marshmallows carefully organized in a smiley face floating on top of the frothy drink.

           “Sans, look! Look! Grillby let me help him make th’ hot chocolate!” Papyrus came into sight as he rounded the bar, saw that Gaster had taken his stool, paused for a moment, then scrambled up onto the skeleton’s lap. “C’mon, wake up lazy bones, it’s rude to sleep through dinner!”

           “I’m up, Paps, I’m up,” Sans assured his brother as he straightened, one hand going back to his non-existent gut, the other propping his chin up. Gaster dropped his hand and rested it on Papyrus’ shoulder, trying to keep the wiggling child from falling off his lap.

           “Just a moment, Papyrus, and I’ll get out of your way.” The librarian smiled softly at the eager child, such a contrast to his big brother.

           Papyrus looked up at him, eyes dancing with curiosity. “Why?” He asked, leaning against the fellow skeletons chest. “We can share the chair!”

           Gaster opened his mouth to say it might not be comfortable, or difficult to eat, but the completely open and trusting expression on Papyrus’ face was enough to kill the words before they reached his tongue. “Ah, well, if you’re sure,” he muttered, glancing at Grillby as the bartender laid out the meal before them.

           Papyrus exclaimed over the food as the plates were set before them, and even Sans managed to sit all the way up and smile at the steam curling off the crisp fries. As Papyrus began to eat with gusto, Grillby rounded the bar and went to the door, flicking the neon sign off and locking it. There was a storm coming in – two feet of snow tonight predicted – and nobody in their right minds would be out with the gathering storm clouds. Heh, then again, half the monsters he knew weren’t in their right mind. Well, Sans – not the child Sans in front of him, all the grown Sanses – could go find their own Grillby’s for the night if they really needed a drink.

           The flame returned to stand behind the bar and ate standing up, keeping an eye on Sans as Gaster tried to keep Papyrus from making a huge mess. The child tackled everything he faced with gusto, including his meal. There was already a chocolate mustache on his lips, and his ragged sweater was stained with flecks of grease and ketchup.

           Sans was more reserved, watching his brother carefully between large bites of the hamburger and fries. He’d drowned them both in ketchup and, when Grillby gave him a smile, he squirted a bunch of the condiment straight into his mouth and swallowed. Papyrus theatrically gagged at the action, while Gaster merely raised a brow. Grillby chuckled and sipped his hot chocolate, flames sparking in amusement.

           Gaster relaxed a bit at his mate’s laughter – he had been worried by the bartender’s reaction when he’d first brought the boy inside, but it seemed Papyrus had softened him up. The pair had been married for years, but had never discussed children. The two skeleton children he’d found living in the park, begging for scraps and digging through the garbage for a meal, had immediately tugged at his SOUL. Now, listening to them giggle and laugh at each other as they enjoyed their first warm meal in months, he felt that tugging at his SOUL turn into a deep, warm wash of feelings.

           “Mr. Gaster,” Papyrus’ had cleaned his plate and finished his drink, and was no leaning back against the skeleton, eyes drooping, “thank you for giving us dinner. It was really good!”

           Sans, who had begun to slump again, lifted his head and nodded. “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, before yawning hugely, jaw cracking.

           “Brother, show some manners!” Papyrus chided, though only a moment later he was yawning as well.

           Gaster chuckled and moved so that Papyrus was resting side-ways against his chest, legs thrown over his thigh, face cradled in the crook of his neck. “Let’s get you to bed,” he muttered, rubbing the child’s back.

           “Don’t have a bed,” Papyrus muttered, reaching up to wrap his arms around Gaster’s neck. Sans twitched, trying to stay awake and looking like he wanted to hush Papyrus, but his head was simply too heavy to lift.

           Grillby chuckled and rounded the bar once again, resting a hand on Sans shoulder and squeezing it. “We have a guest bed upstairs you are more than welcome to use,” he jerked his chin up, indicating the second floor.

           Papyrus gave him a sleepy smile, and both adults were certain that was what a cherub would smile like – sweet and innocent, nothing but love and trust in his face. “Thank you,” he was already dropping off, like a stone off a cliff.

           As his mate stood and adjusted Papyrus in his arms, Grillby lifted Sans into his own arms. The child went stiff at being lifted, but after a moment he relaxed against the heat the flame elemental exuded. He kept one hand over his stomach, the other in his pocket, and simply put all his weight against Grillby’s chest.

           Gaster led the way through the kitchen and up the back stairs to their modest second floor apartment. There was a small kitchen (Grillby did most of the cooking, and he used his larger, state-of-the-art kitchen downstairs for it), a large living room with windows facing downhill, towards the residential areas and forests, a decent-sized bathroom, and two bedrooms. The larger he shared with Grillby, the smaller was a guest bedroom that was rarely used.

           The guest bedroom had a large queen-sized bed, more than enough room for the two small skeletons. Gaster shifted Papyrus to one hip and folded down the blankets, noting absently that the little skellies would need baths tomorrow, and the sheets would probably need to be washed after tonight. He would also need to run out and get some clean, good-fitting clothing for the children, maybe some toys as well – Papyrus would most likely want something active, like a ball, while Sans would want something more low-key. Books, maybe some art supplies?

           Grillby settled Sans on the other side of the bed, sitting him on top of the blankets. “Let’s get you out of these layers,” he muttered softly, tugging at the bottom of Sans hoodie. “We don’t want you to get overheated during the night.”

           The boy recoiled as though he’d been struck. “No!” He grabbed his hoodie and yanked it down, farther over his hip bones and torn pants. Grillby immediately released him and took a step back, hands raised.

           “Alright,” he kept his voice low and even. “Alright, that’s fine. I just don’t want you to get too warm while you sleep.”

           Sans leaned forward, one arm wrapped around his stomach, as though protecting himself. Gaster, who had started to help Papyrus out of his layers, shot his mate a worried look but didn’t stop until Papyrus was dressed in just a ratty t-shirt and his long pants. When the librarian went to unwind his scarf, Papyrus jerked back and dug his fingers into the fabric, hiding the bottom half of his face.

           “Alright, under the covers now,” Gaster gently pressed Papyrus’ shoulder, guiding him to the fluffed up pillows at the top of the bed. The little skull easily nestled into the softness, and Gaster noted that the pallor of his skull was off, most likely from a lack of proper calcium. He would need to get some special vitamins while out shopping for them tomorrow…

           Grillby let Sans get under the blankets on his own, but once he was settled he stepped back up to the bed and tucked him in. “If you need anything we’re just next door,” he told the half-asleep pair. Sans nodded, and Papyrus let out a sleepy-sounding ‘nyeh’ as he snuggled deeper into the soft mattress. The two adults left the room, Gaster pausing to turn out the light, though he left the door open.

           “Mr. Gaster?” Sans sleep-heavy voice came from the bed as he propped himself up. “Could you – would it be okay if you shut the door?”

           “Of course.” Gaster rested a hand on the doorknob, understanding the child’s need for feeling safe. “Goodnight, Sans.”

           “Night,” came the sleepy reply as he firmly shut the door.

           Grillby wrapped his arms around his mate from behind and they stood there, staring at the shut door, for several moments before Gaster finally broke the silence.

           “Can we keep them?”

Return of my favorite scene, the flaming bartender and his hubby, the dorky librarian! :D Grillster is one of my fave ships, incase you didn’t see. 

Thanks for all the likes on part one, I really appreciate it. I have all the chapters of this arc (there should be four) outlined, so even with student teaching I should be able to get them up relatively quick. 

             “Sans?”

           “Yeah, bro?”

           “Am I a bad monster?”

           “What? No! You’re the best monster I know.”

           “But…but today, in the lab…there was someone in that box…what if it was another monster?”

           “I don’t think it was, bro.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “You didn’t gain any XP or LVL, did you?”

           “No…”

           “See? There was nothing in the box. It was probably some mechanical thing that made it shake.”

           “Oh – Oh! That makes sense.”

           “Yeah. Get some sleep, bro. You didn’t hurt anybody.”

           “Nyeh! Thanks, Sans! Good night!”

           “Heh, night bro.”

              The glow-in-the-dark clock at the end of the hall read 12:01 when the building was rocked by a violent explosion. Sans, who always slept on the outside of the cot he and Papyrus shared, was shaken off the bed and landed on the floor with a surprised yelp. His younger brother rolled over and peered down at him, sleep clinging to his sockets and a yawn lingering on his teeth.

           “Brother, are you alright?” He jumped off the cot and helped Sans sit up, small hands worrying over his skull and searching for new divots or cracks.

           “I’m fine, bro.” Sans muttered quietly as several of the gray-hued monsters that worked for the doctor rushed by, ignoring the various test subjects trapped in their cells. A second explosion rocked the floor beneath them, and the smaller skeleton fell on top of his brother with a surprised yelp.

           “Wh-wh-what was that?!” Papyrus rolled off his brother’s boney lap and crawled over to the bars that separated the cell from the hallway. “Why are all the doctors running away?”

           Sans followed and pressed his face against the bars, bright eye lights glancing up and down the way. Normally there was at least one guard on the hall, and a scientist was almost always present. Now, the hall was empty, not an adult or authority figure in sight. “Oh my god.” The older skeletons gasped.

           “What is it, brother? What is happening?”

           Sans didn’t answer – he dragged his brother away from the bars, sitting him firmly on the cot. “Sit here for a minute,” he demanded, ignoring the question. He faced the bars and took a deep breath, hoping that whatever chaos was happening in the main part of the building would give them enough time to do this. Ignoring Paps questions, he dragged his magic past the barrier of the collar latched around his neck and shoved it, as hard as possible, at the bars.

           An explosion of blinding cerulean light shot from his hands and decimated the bars, melting them into unrecognizable shapes and leaving more than enough room for the two skeletons to escape.

           Sans dropped his hands as the collar around his neck buzzed angrily, sending a sharp shock of electricity along his spine. He winced, more than used to it, and turned back to his brother with a large grin. “C’mon, bro. We’re getting outta here.”

           Shocked, Papyrus slipped off the bed and took his big brothers outstretched hand. “Where are we going, Sans?”

           “Somewhere safe, Paps.” He squeezed his brothers hand and tugged him through the bars. “Somewhere free.”

              When K-3-18 was taken, you knew it was the last time any of you would see him. The tall, thin scientist that ran the hell you and your fellow Readers were trapped in only took his subjects out of the room when he was ‘done’ with them. Any day that ended on the inside of your cage was a good day. So as the Intelligent Reader was taken away, he gave you all a halfhearted wave with a trembling hand, knowing he was done for. Few of you waved back, the rest merely looking away, ashamed at the relief they felt at not being chosen.

           The doctor did not return until late that evening, and he was furious when he did so. He muttered angrily beneath his breath, things about ‘P1’ and ‘willfulness’ and ‘disobedience.’ He ignored the wall of cages that housed all his subjects, moving instead to his large cabinets on the far side of the room. With a flourish of tailored sleeves, he threw open the very top and pulled out a shiny brown bottle that sloshed unpleasantly. He grabbed a beaker, checked to see if it was clean, then poured a few fingers of the alcohol in it and downed the shot in one. You and the others hid sighs of relief – the doctor never ran any of his terrible ‘experiments’ when drunk, or even simply buzzed.

           “Father?”

           The tallest of the three skeletons that you and your fellow Readers had gotten to know over the past few months stuck his head through the door, followed quickly by his lanky body. You had taken to calling him Stringbean in your head. His father was the Doctor, and his brother was Cigs (because he ALWAYS had a cigarette in hand or wedged between his teeth).

           Stringbean rolled his eyes (somehow) when he saw the alcohol in his father’s hand but didn’t mention it. “We are about to post the Readers. Are you ready to watch the bidding?”

           “Yes, son, I am coming.” The doctor capped the bottle and put it back in the cabinet, then carelessly tossed the dirty beaker into the nearest sink. Stringbean held the door open until he’d gone through, then tossed the wall of cages a quick, concerned look. You liked Stringbean – unlike the Doctor and Cigs, he never participated in the experiments run on you all. He only ever came in to watch or talk, and whenever he saw the doctor testing some of his more…bloody hypotheses, his skull would pale and he’d be quick to make an excuse to leave. True, ‘not torturing you’ wasn’t high on the list of things that made a person likable, but for a lab rat it was a big factor.

           As soon as the door swung shut the half-dozen of you still trapped in cages relaxed, knowing you’d all survived another day. Those who shared a space spoke softly to each other, while the rest of you moved to settle down for the night. Nobody knew who would go tomorrow, but you’d all found out quickly after arriving here that there was no use worrying about it. What would happen, would happen, and there was nothing you could do to escape your fate.

           Not even five minutes after Stringbean and Doctor left an explosion rocked the entire building, shuddering through the floor and vibrating tools off their trays. The cages, stacked a bit crookedly by a lab assistant who had been running late, trembled on top of one another. You were lucky enough to be in the bottom cage – above you, the others whined and yelled as the world jerked about them. Slowly everything settled, and you crawled to the front of your cage and tried to crane your neck to see the others.

           “Are you all okay?” You yelled, unable to help but be worried about them. One of the older Readers – long gone by now – had called you a ‘bleeding heart’ when you’d tried to check on everyone every night. A few of them yelled affirmatives back. Just as you began to relax, a second, much larger and much closer explosion hit, knocking you clear to the back of the cage and deafening you.

           Several minutes – or was it hours? Days? No, you were still in the cage, and smoke from the explosion was beginning to fill the room – your jumbled mind settled enough to form coherent thoughts.

           You were alive.

           The room was on fire.

           The other cages had fallen.

           It was silent.

           With a groan you dragged yourself upright and crawled to the edge of your cage. The door had popped open, the latch bent out of shape. Coughing as the smoke began to cloud the room, drifting low enough to make your eyes water, you very carefully stepped out of your prison and into – hopefully – freedom.

           “Guys?” Pulling the collar of your stained gray hospital gown over your mouth and nose, you moved to the nearest cage and peeked inside. It was empty, aside from a small pile of gray-white dust. You had to swallow the bile that threatened to spew at the sight. Quickly, you moved to the next cage, then the next, only to be met with the same sight: dust. The fall had been hard enough, or the smoke cruel enough, to leave only six small piles of dust waiting for you.

           Knees shaking you backed away from the cages, breath stunted but not from the smoke. A third explosion – this one far away, only sending a faint tremble through the tiled floor – knocked you on your ass and put your thoughts in gear. You had to get out of this room before you turned into dust alongside them. Tears could be shed later.

           The door to the lab was open, and after tripping past the fallen tools you made it past the metal slab and into the hallway. Parts of the walls were burning and sparking wires hung from the ceiling, but it seemed safe enough to traverse for the moment. There were no doctors or scientists or monsters in the way, and the smoke was a bit thinner here – some of the windows along the wall had been blown out, giving it a way to escape (though they were far too high to provide an out for you).

           At least the lights work, you comforted yourself as you crawled over a fallen slab of ceiling tile and barely avoided sliding into a puddle from a broken water main. You made it all the way to the first intersection before seeing a monster.

           “Sans, c’mon, this way!”

           “Wait up, Paps!”

           Two skeletons, very unlike the doctor and his son, stopped as they entered the large main hall you’d been traversing. They were short and had rounded faces with large eyes, like children. Each of them wore a gray-green hospital gown, identical to your own. The larger one – Sans – grabbed the other one’s arm and peered cautiously around the corners before letting him go.

           “Calm down, Paps. We have to be careful so nobody sees up, remember?” He chided the younger skeleton gently.

           “But brother, we have to hurry! It is not safe to be surrounded by fire like this!” Paps whined, eyes glancing to the shattered windows.

           Sans rested a hand on his brother’s skull, having to look down a bit to do so. “I know bro, but we can’t risk getting caught or they’ll stop us.” His eyes, already aimed at the floor, swept along the tiles and, as fate dictated, fell on you.

           You’d been silent and frozen ever since the two had appeared, half-hoping they wouldn’t see you, while at the same time hoping they could point you to a way out of the building. Sans went stiff, eyes widening just a bit before the bones relaxed, identifying you as the least-threatening variable at the moment.

           “Sans, what are you staring at?” Paps tugged on his brother’s arm, shifting around so he could look down at you. “Oh! What is that?”

           “I dunno, bro,” Sans wrapped a hand around his brothers humerus, keeping him from moving closer.

           “Hello! What are you?” Paps greeted cheerily, leaning closer despite his brother’s grip.

           The bright, kind smile on his face broke you out of the statuesque state and you relaxed marginally – these were kids, not scientists. “Uh, I’m N-2-47.”

           Paps frowned, but recognition lit up Sans eyes. “That’s a serial number. You’re an experiment too?”

           “You’re like us!” Paps beamed. “I’m Papyrus, and this is my brother Sans! Oh, but the doctor calls us WDG-2-P and WDG-1-S!”

           “Not for long,” Sans growled beneath his breath, eyes sliding to the windows. They were far too tall for either boy to climb out of, but you kept your mouth shut.

           “Are you running away too?” Papyrus had managed to shrug off his brothers slackened grip and he moved to kneel in front of you. “Sans says we’re going to go somewhere free! Do you want to come with us?”

           “Papyrus, no!” Sans rounded on his brother as he hissed. “We can’t-“

           “Why not, Sans? They’re all alone! We should help them.” Papyrus, despite having no lips, gave his brother a very convincing puppy-dog face. The (obviously) elder brother sighed and ran a hand down his face.

           “Fine! Grab them and let’s go before the doctor comes back!”

           Papyrus beamed like the sun after a rainstorm and, without asking (though you’d never been asked before) swept you up into his hands. You gasped, knocked onto your rear, and he gave you an apologetic look. “Oh, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

           “I’m fine,” you reassured him, not wanting to see such a look on a child’s face. One of the older Readers had always accused you of being a ‘bleeding heart,’ what with the way you tried to look after everyone trapped in the lab.

           “Papyrus,” Sans was gazing at the windows. He couldn’t see any glass sticking out of the sills, and beyond it were street lights and the faint sound of fire trucks. “This is the best way out. Give me, uh, N-2, and jump to the sill.”

           “Okay!” Papyrus happily dropped you into his brother’s hands, and you absently noticed that Sans had shorter, rounder fingers than Sans.

           “Wait, he’s not tall enough to…jump…through…”

           Your argument died on your lips as the small skeleton shut his eyes tightly and began to shift. His nose elongated, turning into a snout as his skull stretched. His arm bones shifted, hands melding into paws with sharp talons on the end. His legs did the same, and tail elongating from his tailbone to create a lashing whip that was nearly as long as the rest of him. In a matter of moments, the skeleton child had become a skeleton puppy.

           “…whoa.”

           Sans snorted, then motioned to the puppy. Papyrus – or would it be Pup-pyrus? – wiggled his new tail, took a few steps back, and with only a few steps managed to launch himself straight up the wall. His claws scrambled to grab the sill, and he easily hauled himself up to sit. You were still gaping when a light cyan magic surrounded you and lifted you towards the window.

           “Gah! What?”

           “Chill, small fry, it’s just magic,” Sans explained as he used his magic to lift you to the sill. Papyrus crouched down a bit, and you were set gently on his vertebrae, just behind his skull. “Hold on tight, Paps is gonna jump out now.”

           “Wait, what?” You yelled again, immediately grasping the bones beneath you, squeezing your knees tightly. When you leaned over to look down at Sans, you found a larger bone puppy staring back.

           Papyrus wiggled, yelped, and threw himself from the window. You shrieked, flattening yourself against his vertebrae, the wind tearing your hair from your face and making your gown flap about your arms and legs. The small pup landed lightly, though you still jolted from the impact. Not even a moment later Sans joined you, taller and stockier than his brother. He growled something you couldn’t understand and looked around. Papyrus practically pressed himself against his brother and the three of you took in your surroundings.

           The side of the building faced a road, which was bathed with red light from several fire trucks (which were luckily parked in the lot several yards away, more concerned with the fires in the lobby and approved labs). Across from the lab were large buildings that looked like warehouses. Beyond them the night sky seemed to lighten a bit, stars fading out as the blaze of the city dimmed the Milky Way.

           Sans growled something again, nodding towards the light, and led the way across the street and among the warehouses. From your spot riding on Papyrus, you twisted around and stared at the burning group of buildings behind you. Somehow, someway, you’d escaped the fate the Doctor had in store for you.

           Relief and something else – something red and warm – filled you as you turned to face forward again. Unable to help the grin on your face, you patted Papyrus’ skull as he followed his brother towards the city, where fate was waiting to be rewritten for all of you.

 A re-write of the baby bones chapters. I really wanted to tweak a bit. And the lovely @generalfabulous pointed out that I needed to work on creating a connection between the Readers and you, the reader, so I took her advice to heart and worked on it. I hope y’all enjoyed! This should be a 4-part story, I have it all outlined. I’ll post the next part soon, hopefully!