A call from an old friend was like a batch of lemonade from the neighborhood’s girl scout; it could be sweet, but it could also be a sour cup of water. There was a bit of surprise there, and with surprise came excitement. Sans liked to believe he was a skeleton seeking the latest thrill, but anyone who knew him knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Despite that, Sans stretched, wiped his sleepy sockets, and answered his phone.

 He bellied a deep, “Hello?” Still unsure of what to expect. 

The voice on the other end was quiet for a long, painstakingly lengthy, minute, before letting out a shaken breath. There was thought put into the upcoming words, like this unknown individual had been reciting this speech for a long time. They prepared for it, wrote it down, and revised it a trillion times until they got it right. But now, like a child in the school play just stricken with stage fright, they froze and forgot their lines.

 Sans wasn’t an intimidating guy, or at least that was his belief, so he’d figured he’d help break the ice. He’d cut the awkward tension rather than simply hang up—this was an old friend after all. “It’s been a while. I haven’t heard from ya since we all left the Underground.” That was a good conversation starter. He hoped they would take it.

 There was more silence.

 Sans pulled the phone from his ear cavity to look the number over one last time, to make sure he did, in fact, recognize it. This all could be a dumb prank call, and in that case, a waste of his precious nap time. The digits looked familiar enough. He had a knack for remembering little intricate details, but phone numbers had always been a hit or miss. “Well, if you’re not gonna say anything I better get going—“

 “I-it has been a while. How are you?” Finally, a voice, and a voice he could identify. It was soft, warm as mother’s milk, and it was also a whisper. Perhaps she was at a library, a public bathroom, the DMV—and Stars knows that place wasn’t the loudest location in a strip mall. She had to be somewhere discrete since Sans could see no other reason to talk so low at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. 

“Good. But..uh are you alright?” He asked as he sat up on the couch. 

 The voice suddenly became self aware, clearing her throat before continuing. “Yeah! I’m fine. I was just hit with nostalgia and thought that maybe we could talk like old times?”  Her tone got gradually louder the more she spoke. There was still this underlying oscillation, like she was putting up a joyous front, like she was wearing a mask. “You can share more puns, and we can swap stories, and maybe… maybe this is a bad idea. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

 Sans quickly intervened before she could hang up. “No, no. wait! That actually sounds like a lot of fun. Tell me your address and I’ll come over.” He was tripping over himself to worm out of the wool throw to find a piece of paper to write on. The noise was making quite the commotion on the other end of the phone, he was sure. It sounded like a battlefield with the constant banging, crashing, and muffled cursing. Finally Sans was victorious as he gripped a capless pen in his palms.

 “M-my address?” The voice stuttered after a moment of quiet debating.

“This is Toriel, right?” Sans wiped the sweat from his skull with his sleeve. 

 “It is.” She whispered again.

 “If you don’t want to meet up at your house we can meet up at mine.” It then dawned on him that she might be uncomfortable alone with him. That made him frown. Looking back in his memory bank he couldn’t see why she would ever feel that way. They were good friends Underground, he’d argue best friends. Maybe. Maybe not.

 But again, Sans wasn’t an intimidating guy. There was nothing to be afraid of.

 “Or we can meet somewhere public if you’re scared I might bite,” Sans snickered to himself, intending the comment to be a joke.

Toriel didn’t laugh. “I’ll send my address. How about we meet in an hour?”

 Before Sans had a moment to respond the phone clicked. She was gone. He looked at his device with wide sockets. A second later there was a ping and a message with an address. Nothing else. No, “sorry my phone turned off”, or “I didn’t mean to suddenly hang up on you.”

 The whole conversation was strange, but maybe because their friendship left off on a strange note? One day things were normal, and the next Toriel refused to come to the Ruin doors for his daily dose of shitty jokes. He often wondered what he did to screw things up.

 Now he could find out.

Sans knocked once, twice, thrice, then waited. He actually bothered to shower and change his dingy sweater for this special occasion. With a quick armpit sniff, and a swift adjusting of his T-shirt, he stood up straight. Often his spine would default to a slouch. It was almost a full C at this point. He swore he was developing quite the hunchback.

 It took three minutes—three minutes he deliberately counted since he told himself he would leave by the fifth—before someone came to the door. There were footsteps at first, loud, barefooted steps, that stopped just short of the dark oak.

 Silence again.

 The constant silence was beginning to become unnerving. Sans instinctively backed up. Suddenly this felt like an ambush, like someone was waiting to snatch him up, and he’d never be seen again. Maybe that wasn’t Toriel on the phone? It would explain the odd behavior almost too well. He clenched his fists and prepared to shortcut out of there if need be.

 The door unlocked and slowly creaked open.

 It was dark inside the house. Sans could barely make out the window shining sunlight in a back room. At first he saw no one until a tuft of white fur peeked behind the door like a socket puppet springing from a cardboard stage. The rest of a delicate goat head followed shortly afterwards until Toriel’s whole body was revealed. She wore a strained smile, not exactly pleased to see Sans, but still welcoming him regardless. “You actually came?” She said in disbelief as if she hadn’t just invited him an hour ago. “...please come in.”

 Her gaze fell, never quite making Sans sockets. The door was extended open, and she moved her body out of the way.

 With his bony hands shoved in his pockets, he climbed the porch steps, hesitantly marched past a hanging swing set, and entered the dimly lit house.

 The door shut behind him.

 Sans blinked to allow his eyesight to adjust. The two of them simply stood near the door for a while, looking everywhere but at each other. It was awkward to say the least. “So, uh. You have a nice home.” He pointed at her pleasantly decorated, but with a touch of grandma’s house,  furniture. 

“Thank you.” Toriel gripped the front of her mom jeans. Her head remained low as she avoided Sans gaze. This felt less like a meeting between old friends, and more like a hostage situation. Did she not want to see him? 

 She was deliberately making things uncomfortable now.

 The skeleton was inches away from confronting her. He swore he’d bug her to know what her deal was and why she suddenly cut off all contact with him. He held himself back, though. Maybe something else was happening in her life and she needed a temporary positive light. Maybe he’s meant to be said light.

 There were pictures on the wall. Sans approached them and got a great big look. In each frame were fond memories of Toriel and a human child. “How’s the kid doing? Still being a little nuisance I’d imagine?” He chuckled. Still no reaction from his host. God, what a tough crowd to please.

 “They are good. I made sure we were alone today, so you don’t have to worry.” Sans didn’t know why she felt the need to be alone with him, honestly he would’ve loved to see Frisk. He didn’t word his feelings. Of course he wouldn’t since he appeared to catch a bad case of the cottonmouth. 

Toriel led Sans to the living room. There was a tray of tea on the coffee table in front of a floral sofa. She waited for Sans to take a seat before sitting on an opposite couch. “Tea?” She offered.

 “Sure.” He leaned back in the lazy boy. It was pretty huge, a little too huge. He noticed more of the family photography, as well as a pair of large oxfords at the front door. The house looked far more lived in than his own, and definitely nothing about it screamed royalty. It wasn’t until he saw the golden ring on her finger did his suspicions get confirmed. “It’s nice to see you and Asgore are together again.”

 Toriel immediately stopped pouring the tea. Her hands shook a little, spilling the hot liquid all over her paws. Sans shot up to help her clean up, but the minute he touched her, she jumped back. “We aren’t together...I’m deeply sorry. Please drink your tea.” Her smile was more painful than the burns under her ivory fur.

 Sans took the mug and returned to his seat without another word just so he could avoid causing more conflict. He sipped his tea and watched as she very slowly wiped the mess. It was amazing how long it could take a person to complete such a basic task. Not that he had a leg to stand on, being extremely lazy and all.

 Silence followed once more.

 “I just came up with a fitting pun—“

 “How are you so unbothered about being around me? It’s almost like what happened never did.” When Toriel finished with the spill she neatly folded the rag and placed it down on the tray. Her hands were still shaking, her head still hung low, and she still avoided looking at Sans.

 Sans scratched the top of his head, totally confused. He had no idea what she was referencing. What happened? Is this hidden event the reason she dropped their friendship? Of course it was, but he had no idea what he did. Maybe he told too many bad jokes? Or missed too many of their talking sessions? He wanted to just flat out ask, but judging by her demeanor, he feared he would insult her for being unaware. So he tried to play along to fish out more information.

 “You’re right. I should take it more seriously. I can’t believe I let it happen.” He responded very vaguely. He expected her to go into more detail, but instead she broke down into tears.

 “Since then, all I wanted was an apology. Please, Sans. Can I have one?” She sobbed into her palms, her large chest jiggling with each shaken inhale, sniffle, eye rub. Sans was hypnotized by it. The goat woman’s breasts were nice and plump, squishy. The faint outline of her nipples poked out daring him to pinch them.

 Sans downed his tea.

 Staring at a woman’s tits as she cried her eyes out was so inappropriate. The fuck was he thinking? 

 “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again, you have my word,” Sans placed his mug down to see Toriel staring at him. She looked like a shellshock animal, a deer in the headlights, aimless eyes honing in on his sockets. They stayed like this for a long moment, engaging in an eerie blinking contest, neither one of them wanted to be the first to break contact.

 It took a loud thump from the ceiling to take Sans out of the trance.

 He looked towards the stairs. It was far too dark to see anything beyond the fifth step. The house grew quiet again, white noise drowning in his skull.

 “Sorry for what? You can’t be sincere if you don’t admit your faults,” Toriel pulled his attention back on her. Now the goat was a seat closer to him. Sans’ stomach started to gurgle, which was odd since he didn’t have a stomach. His head felt hazy.

 “I’m sorry for offending—“

 “No! Just say it! Why can’t you admit what you did to me?!? Did I mean that little to you?” Toriel started a new fit of tears. She cradled herself, rocking back and forth, weeping.

 “What did I do? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sans grew nervous, terrified. He could sense the oncoming danger like the stillness before a twister. Another thump came from the upper floor, and this got Sans on his feet quicker than the speed of light. His head, his poor dome, was spinning. He was seeing doubles, triples, five different Toriels. Maybe he got up too fast? He wanted to believe he got up too fast. 

 Suddenly he was in the chair again and his friend was one seat closer. 

 “You really don’t remember? I’m not going to put the words in your mouth. Please, all I want is a proper apology.” She was now begging Sans to confess his crimes, crimes he did not commit. Crimes he wasn’t even aware of. “I can’t.. I can’t move,” Sans attempted to stand up, get out of this situation as soon as possible, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t shortcut. He couldn’t move his limbs. He was a living statue. A skeleton halfway buried in sand. 

 His facial ‘muscles’ worked, he could move his jaws, his sockets, his brow ridge, but that was about it. 

 Toriel was still crying to herself, now on the floor, continuously wiping at her eyes. “It’s temporary—“

 “Why did you drug me? I didn’t do anything.” Sans would yell if he could, but now his voice came out low and flat. The thumping upstairs got louder. It got more frequent.

 “I’m sorry...I’m just—he was so mad...I had to lie.” Toriel barely got anything out between trembling wails. Her explanation did little to answer the many raising questions in Sans’ head. The main one being who she was referring to and why he would be upset with her to the point of holding Sans hostage? Perhaps he already knew the answer to those questions. Perhaps he liked to pretend he was nothing more than an innocent party in this equation. 

 The thumping upstairs finally stopped. “I thought we were alone?” Obviously they weren’t, yet he still felt the need to point out more of her lies.

 For the millionth time that day, the house grew silent.

 Then footsteps came crashing down the stairs. Unable to move his head, Sans had to rely on Toriel’s reaction to know what was happening beyond his vision. She looked terrified as she quickly got to her feet. “Please don’t do this. I swear it wasn’t his fault.” Her panicked pleas were followed by a quiet quarrel.

 A bead of sweat ran from his forehead as he tried to make out the other voice. They were whispering something. It was far too low to make out. Sans tried desperately to move, if not move, at least form some fraction of magic. There was nothing, like some unknown force was holding back his mojo.

 Toriel returned to his line of vision. He could hear footsteps behind him, someone stopped, and then a large hand graced his skull. Sans held his breath. He didn’t know what to expect, so he expected the worst.

 Would begging for his life be too pathetic? Would it even work? If he was going to die he’d rather not do it like a punk. “If you’re gonna kill me, kill—“ He was cut off by a hard blow to the back of his head. Sans was out cold in seconds.

 The last thing he saw before the world faded to black was the crying face of Toriel.

 Sans woke up to jiggling breasts. His head laid in a warm lap, the jugs rested on top of his forehead. It was like two pillows, two heavy clouds, and he wanted so badly to grope them. A perverted grin spread across his face as he tried to enjoy this wet dream of his.

 Now to remove that top.

 As Sans tried to reach up to cup a feel, the realization he wasn’t dreaming hit him harder than whatever blunt object whacked him unconscious. He was brought back into the moment, fear-ridden adrenaline pumping through him. He felt a draft brush his bones, and figured he was stripped naked. There was no telling for sure since he couldn’t move his head. There was a blanket over him. Whether it was to keep him warm, modest, or hidden mattered little when a foreign hand joined the picture. It rested above his rib cage, fuzzy and clawed.

 “Looks like our guest is awake. Welcome back, JUDGE.” A deep voice vibrated throughout his bones. He didn’t need to see its ace to know who it was.

 Toriel lied again. Shocker.

 “Y-your Majesty, I’m innocent..I didn’t do anything—“ The hand gripped one of his rib bones. It was far too tight, aggressive, painful. Sans let out a sharp yelp, effectively cutting himself off.

 “Enough of the lies. Why don’t you accept your punishment like a good little criminal!” Asgore poked his goat head out of the blankets. He didn’t look furious as much as amused. “Touching my Toriel is strictly forbidden.” Whether Asgore thought Sans helped Toriel “cheat”, or he assumed something heinous was done to her, it all became irrelevant. Sometimes hateful revenge didn’t need a logical reason. Sometimes an assumption was enough.

Or a lie.

 Had he ever touched her? That was hard to do through stone doors. 

“Your majesty, I—“ Sans was hauled into the air by the ribs. He was left suspended in Asgore’s grip, gasping, and trying not to dust under the goat’s strength. 

“Remove your top, dear.” Asgore cooed. “He desired to play with your breasts before, so I'm sure the sight of them will excite him.”

The need to explain he was blameless was tempting for Sans, but he physically couldn’t breathe, so instead he shook his head. This wasn’t what the king thought it was, but as Sans was hovered from the couch and given a chance to see beneath the blankets, it was confirmed that he was naked. 

And so was Asgore.