Deep under the surface, in the creatively named Underground, all seemed calm. The air was only brisk instead of chilly, the world was still, and the only things breaking the silence were the sizzling from the cooking of a hopefully edible breakfast and the snoring from a skeleton, who turned in his bed and pulled the covers over him just a little more.

Yes, all was quiet and good. Peace was with the skeleton, dozing those few extra minutes away.

That is, until a yell from downstairs shook the walls, fracturing the drywall just a little more.

"SAAAAAAAAAANS!!!!!"

The skeleton snorted, blearily squinting awake from his dreamless sleep. It took a moment for him to process his existence—a very long, contemplative moment—before he groaned, pushing under him to raise his body into a sitting position.

"yeah, paps?" he croaked, wincing as he barely managed a squeak from his throat. He coughed, hacking out that morning mucus, then tried again, a little louder: "yeah, paps?"

More cheerfully, the voice from downstairs called back. "GET YOUR LAZY BONES OUT OF BED! BREAKFAST IS READY!"

The skeleton, one Sans by name, held back a cringe. Get out of bed? The mere thought of it was daunting. So instead, he focused on rubbing his eye sockets. It was a very rhythmic motion, enough to bring back the peace of the unattainable perfect morning, one that he hadn't had since Papyrus—the source of that surprisingly booming voice—was little.

He craved a perfect morning. Maybe more than actually seeing the sun.

"coming, paps," he mumbled, to himself more than anyone. It was a reminder of just who he needed to be awake for, instead of caving to the constant desire to curl into his bed and never, ever leave. Him and Frisk were his main reasons for being here. They were why he bothered to even try.

Otherwise? He would be hopeless.

A yawn stretched out his jaw, and his arms reached skyward to do the same for his shoulders. Two satisfying pops followed. With a sigh, he dropped his arms to the duvet.

He could say...heh...that they fell...

Like dead weight.

Sans snickered to himself. Ah, the humble pun. Always ready to comfort him in his time of need. Or serve as a coping and defense mechanism when he was too emotionally overwhelmed to deal with life.

But in any case, that pun gave him just enough enthusiasm to heave himself out of bed, shove his boney hands through his jacket sleeves—letting the fur fluff up on the hood, to his mild amusement—and toe on his slippers. Then, with a passing glance at his room tornado and the general mess he had no motivation to clean, he slunk out. Typically, he would have used teleportation, but his energy just felt lower than usual today, so he actually walked. His steps were silent on the stairs, avoiding every creak in the bowing wood, and then he was on the ground floor.

The smell was more discernible now, somewhat burnt but still consumable, or so Sans assumed. Another rub at his sockets cleared his mind a little more, enough to get him to speak.

"hey."

His tall brother poked his head out of the kitchen doorway to see him, smiling as though all was well in the world.

"SANS!" Papyrus exclaimed, beaming toothily (really, the only way he could). "YOU'RE DOWNSTAIRS! YOU NEVER USUALLY COME THE FIRST TIME I CALL!"

Sans shrugged. "thought i might today."

"OH?"

"well, it's a special day, after all." It was only then that Sans's smile turned from the forced façade he always wore into something genuine. Something at ease. "happy birthday, bro."

Papyrus's grin stretched ever wider, a sparkle coming over his eye sockets. "THANK YOU, BROTHER! IT IS MUCH APPRECIATED!"

Frisk made their appearance then, yawning loudly. They flashed a few quick signs at the two—good morning, Sans and Papyrus—before walking over to the couch and slumping over on it. Sans chuckled to himself; just like him, they were not much of a morning person.

"GOOD MORNING, FRISK!" Papyrus finally pulled the pot he had been stirring off the stove. "I TRUST YOU SLEPT WELL?"

Frisk winced at the volume, though they nodded. Yeah, I slept pretty good. They sniffed the air, cocking their head to one side. Smells pretty good, Papyrus. Your cooking is getting better every day. Maybe, one day soon, we won't even need to keep the fire extinguisher on the wall.

Sans glanced at the opposite wall, next to the stairwell. The fire extinguisher hung there proudly, duct-taped to the wall, creating a silvery stripe across its gleaming red surface.

"NYEH-HEH-HEH!" The taller of the skeletons put his gloved hands on his hips, his scarf flapping in some sort of freak gust inside the house. "THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS GLAD YOU THINK SO, FRISK!"

Sans smiled, the weight of his life on his bony shoulders easing, if just for a moment. Perhaps today would be a good day. If for nothing else, for his brother.

Then the familiar throb of a headache started to pound like a heartbeat in his skull, and the smile turned into a wince.

Just when he thought today might actually be okay. On top of that, his nonexistent eardrums began to ring. Knowing his frankly awful physiology, the headache would be there all day. At least it was nothing he couldn't handle. He was, unfortunately, used to pain.

But the stabbing pain was getting unbearable as the birthday celebration continued. Surprisingly so. Sans managed to last through cake; then, against his own wishes—desperately wanting to stay lucid for his brother—his mouth was moving on its own, mumbling about how his head hurt. His feet were automated to shuffle towards the couch, and he collapsed back on the cushions.

Through the haze of agony, he saw Frisk sit down beside him, though their hand motions were a little blurry.

Hey. Sans. Look at me. Are you okay?

He chuckled to himself, letting his head fall back. "nah, kid. i'm, uh...not great. this headache's killin' me."

He was pretty sure there weren't supposed to be random colorful spots swimming around his vision.

He squeezed his sockets shut, grimacing and still managing to laugh through gritted teeth. "hey, frisk, can you...can you, uh, tell paps that i'm sorry for falling asleep on him?"

Their hands paused. ...I will, Sans.

Sans reached out to grasp one of their wrists, faintly grinning. "heh. thanks, kid."

Then he passed out.

~|~

It was very white in hell.

Sans blinked. He had honestly expected it to be a lot redder, maybe with some fire effects and strong heat—basically an intensified version of Hotland.

He looked from side to side. Still white.

His nonexistent brows furrowed, and he frowned. The answers to his predicament were not clearly in sight.

It was...heh...

...devoid of answers.

Sans let himself chuckle. Nothing like a pun to lighten the mood.

Ha, there was another one, unintentionally. Lighten. Like a light, white-colored void. He laughed this time, trying to instill a sense of ease into the bland atmosphere of emptiness.

But as the comfort from the warmth and homeliness of the puns faded from his soul, it began to beat in no defined rhythm, pulsing wildly. Panic started to settle into his bones. He knew he was probably dreaming, but the feelings—the sensations of being alive, he could hardly falsify those, even in his realest of nightmares. Quite honestly, he felt more awake in this limbo or ultra-reality than he did this morning. And from that knowledge came the fear that always drew from the unknown. Where was he? How did he get here? Was he trapped? Could he escape? If so, how?

And so his mind spun and whirled. It took a significant amount of time for single thoughts to be able to discern themselves from the conglomerate of his anxiety, and when Sans was able to think again—only somewhat calmer, never able to fully return to internal tranquility—he was able to breathe.

Okay. He was fine, for now. There was time enough to think and devise a solution. Breathe.

Sans paced a small area of the void, letting his brain wander and process his situation. What could—

A haunting hum in minor began to ring in his eardrums, and he froze.

It swung gracefully over each pitch, leaping across octaves and twisting through complicated rhythms with a delicate mastery. Still, each note bled with a sorrow that resonated in his soul. Sans found himself becoming lost against his own will, thoughts melting into a bittersweet bliss. The pretty song made him feel as though he was not alone, although that couldn't be farther from the truth, especially in his current situation.

The voice hissed suddenly, bringing an end to the captivating melody. He had to physically shake himself to reawaken his mind, and as he did so the voice began to speak, breath hitching at the end of every word.

"Agh—for God's sake—why does helping hurt so much?"

Sans tilted his head, trying to explain that train of thought to himself. Why would helping hurt this person? Was it physically? Emotionally? Curse his analytical mind, focusing on the content rather than the source!

"hello?" He muttered oaths internally; of course his voice cracked in an unflattering way.

The voice didn't respond to him, instead brushing past his words. "Do I have—okay, I have cash. Vending machine, please for the love of God take my money—no—no, no, no, why—okay, thank you. Let's see..."

While the voice was mumbling to itself about something he could barely understand, Sans took a moment to glance around again, noticing something different this time.

As he twisted his head, a display around his vision became slightly visible, and he could faintly see colored outlines of objects not presently in front of him, like a brief flash of an image when he moved. Across the top of his sight and along the sides small words glitched in and out of existence, and he had to squint to read them.

The string of words along the top read, in flat robotic print: Y/N M/N L/N, Y/A, {ERROR}

Several more questions sprung to mind—who was this mysterious character he was sharing mind-space with? Who was Y/N?

It was more difficult to discern the ones on the side, but with a few minutes of concentration he managed to decipher them:

LV: 1

MG LV: {ERROR}

HP: 7/80

GOLD: 13

SL TYPE: {ERROR}

FUN NB: 66

He recognized a few of the stats, which everyone naturally had. Their level was, thankfully, at the base number, meaning they weren't going around murdering people, and they had a small amount of gold. Their HP was surprisingly high, though they had to be very badly hurt for it to be so low. Concern edged out curiosity, for once, in his mind.

However, he didn't recognize the others. MG LV seemed like Magic Level, but why was it errored out? SL TYPE was obviously Soul Type, but that was errored out too. And what was FUN NB?

HP: +3

HP: +5

HP: 15/80

A few notifications popped up with soft beeps, and Y/N's HP went up to 15.

"Mmm. That's better."

"well, you're not dying anymore. of course you feel better."

Sans could hardly help his sarcasm, but still a smile managed to creep onto his skull.

{ERROR: UNKNOWN ENTITY}

"uh oh."

{ERROR: UNKNOWN ENTITY}

"that's probably not good."

{ERROR: UNKNOWN ENTITY}

{ENGAGING ENTITY REMOVAL PROTOCOL IN 5 SECONDS}

The void shook around him, the white seeming to warp and crumble and glitch. The edges of his vision began to fuzz as he stumbled, wobbling his arms to keep balance.

{ENTITY REMOVAL IN 3... 2... 1...}

The white changed to a comforting black as Sans passed out again.

~|~

His body was being shaken, the drowsiness of sleep falling away in mere moments. Sans squinted his eye sockets open and groaned.

What had just—

A flurry of signs flashed in front of his face by a pair of hands.

Sans, can you see me? Are you okay? You were tossing a little. Was it a nightmare?

"kid, i'm fine," he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his skull. The pain had vanished as if it was never there. "swear. no nightmare, even if it was...really weird. i just needed to sleep that headache off."

He sat up, glancing in every direction. His brother's voice was somewhere around, singing gaily. "how long was i out?"

Just an hour. Papyrus wanted to wait until you were awake to open presents.

"of course he did. he's too good for me." Sans stretched, pasting on a smile. "hey, you want to go get him?"

Frisk nodded enthusiastically, taking off, leaving the skeleton to stare at the floor, pondering.

What had he seen? Was it really a dream? Or had it been reality?