Summary: No one wants to snuggle spooky. :'(

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

A/N: I worked on this far longer than I wanted to and am still not quite happy with the outcome, but I hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless. Also, I didn't proofread this, so I don't know how coherent it will be. I'm tired.

Merry Christmas; Happy Holidays!

Cross diligently dragged a warm soapy sponge back and forth across the small plate in his hand, then rinsed the residual suds and placed it alongside a near-identical one on the metal drying rack beside the sink.

A living presence entered the room just as he began to remove the rubber dish gloves from his hands- It was Killer. He could tell based on the other's magical signature alone. Not to mention the way his feet soundlessly swept over the ground in that all too familiar way of a predator well-versed in stalking its prey, keen on the element of surprise and not wasting any unnecessary energy.

After a moment, the target-souled skeleton decided to make himself known like a normal person - or as normal as he could be - and chuckled. "Heh. Little late for a snack, don't you think?"

"Not really. Besides, Nightmare was hungry too." Cross shrugged, tossing the gloves by the sponge before turning to face him.

Which just so happened to be in time to see Killer stiffen while his grin dropped and empty eye sockets widened, notably looking between him and the two cleaned plates. He watched the color gradually leave the Sans' bones- an impressive feat for a skeleton.

Slowly beginning to tremble lightly, Killer asked, "You gave him something to eat?"

"Yeah?" The monochrome warrior frowned, slightly off-put by his associate's sudden change in behavior. "Is that a problem?"

Killer practically exploded at the question, throwing his hands in the air and shouting nigh hysterically, "A problem? Is that a problem?! Yes, it's after midnight! Everyone knows you don't feed Nightmare after midnight. It-"

Coolness swept over the room. The kind that permeated the air and relentlessly nipped at the bones of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in it, bringing with it an abrupt sense of dread.

A shudder worked its way down Cross' spine. The sensation of ice quickly chased after it and refused to leave the area once the action was complete. As the monochrome warrior resisted the urge to tug his coat tighter around himself, he passively noticed (via peripheral vision) a dense fog growing across the nearby windows. Something not near as distracting when the lively flames dancing atop the kitchen's numerous candles extinguished- snuffed out by an invisible force, plunging the room into total darkness.

"Oh shit... It's started." Killer whispered, using the softest yet most horrified voice Cross had ever heard from the mass murderer.

"What's started? What's going on?!" He whispered in turn, blindly stepping forward, fumbling to reach the other.

The target-souled Sans did not grace him with a response. Instead releasing a sharp "Shh!" as Cross neared, moving past what he assumed to be the central counter.

Silence stretched between the pair. Not a sound made aside from the light shuffle of black/white boots on tile.

Cross prepared to release the breath he was holding when his associate's warning proved pointless- until an eerie wail echoed from somewhere within the castle.

Somewhere fairly nearby.

His body instantly froze, leg paused mid-step while his soul leapt in his chest.

"Welp, soldier boy, you're on your own." With that said, the magic in the air spiked, and Killer's presence vanished from the room- He teleported away.

"Wait, Killer, don't leave me!" The monochrome warrior cried.

Despite his plea, the eyelightless deserter never magically returned. Thus, leaving Cross alone and defenseless against an unknown force.

Damn it, he thought, What am I supposed to do now? Killer seemed... legitimately frightened, so I doubt this is a prank. But if it isn't that, then what? Did someone break into the castle?

Another spine-chilling, airy wail pierced the air.

It sounded far closer than last time, and as much as Cross didn't want to discover the source of those noises, Nightmare...

He sighed, concluding, wouldn't be happy if I didn't, at the very least, try to confront a potential intruder.

He attempted to summon his courage to do so. However, found hardly a sliver available in his soul- every other emotion bubbling up was merely another flavor of negativity after the other, with fear being the most prominent, quickly overpowering any meager bravery musterable.

Not that the ex-royal guard member would allow that to stop him.

Suppressing his rattling bones, Cross channeled his extensive mana pool and brought an attack into existence. The offensive magic gathered in the palm of his left hand, eventually taking the shape of a small dagger-sized bone. Though most were traditionally white, this one consisted of bright blue magic, making it glow softly in the absence of light. And creating the best impromptu flashlight manageable.

It illuminated a small area around him, casting a blue-toned hue over the nearby counter and floor tiles.

Perfect.

Unfortunately, he had a feeling the potential intruder thought otherwise, seeing as a third cry broke through the hall. Right from the other side of the kitchen door. Most worryingly though, this time, instead of being a wordless noise of anguish, it distinctly formed the word "Please."

It sounded nothing like the other resident Sanses - too feeble, too young, too haunting - but that didn't keep him from praying for the contrary. So, against his better judgment, Cross hesitantly stepped forward. Closer to the door, just barely raising his left hand and shining his attack's light on its dark wooden surface.

"H-horror? Du-dust? I-i-is that you?" He asked in a tight, tentative voice.

A loud "cu-clunk" rung in place of a reply, and the unoiled henges of the kitchen door screamed as it creaked open.

Then, before Cross could even think of teleporting away, the door (now fully open) came to a stop, and light footfall sounded until a figure halted at the edge of his blue magic's glow.

He gulped, wearily shifting his gaze down.

Standing there, cast in the hall's shadows, was a Sans-esque skeleton unlike any he had ever seen. (That was saying a lot considering how many Sanses the swordsman had met.)

Their skull was small and delicate yet somehow still distinctly mature, holding the type of regalness one would expect from a prince/king in the storybooks Ink once shared with him. It bore a nasty crack - nowhere near as bad as Horror's, but still unsettling to behold - that stretched over their right eye socket. The left, however, held a light, almost dull, purple eyelight- glazed over, unseeing. A detail only complemented by their blank expression.

Their bones were akin to treasure, shining silver even in the darkness. Cross, however, couldn't help but notice the more concerning aspects: they were frail and thin, bore an ill grey-ish tone beneath their silvery sheen, and didn't have the type of bone mass (hard-earned or not) he or any of his teammates had.

The second element most concerning was their stature, which fell on the short side, perhaps somewhere just shy of Ink's and Dream's. The pair were rather vertically challenged, making it all the more unusual. And certainly pointed quite heavily toward malnutrition. Something Horror would be dying to remedy if he ever came face-to-face with the mysterious skeleton.

As the monochrome warrior gave them a quick scan from head to toes, he realized even their outfit seemed a bit unusual compared to the standard Sans hoodie, slippers, and shorts combo. The clothing appeared almost medieval, consisting of a dark - possibly black - tunic, matching-colored, long-legged trousers, and low, leather boots. All of which seemed to have seen better days, given their numbers tears and frayed seams.

It didn't make them any less enchanting in that eerie, ethereal kind of way- harmless, at first glance, yet still utterly terrifying.

And even if they did look like they couldn't throw a punch to save their life, Cross knew fully well appearances could be deceiving. (After all, Ink seemed like a good person and friend up until he abandoned him for weeks to months in the unholy white hellscape Nightmare saved him from.)

Plus, he was hesitant to believe they were truly defenseless with the ominous (dare one say "negative") pressure in the air. So he opted to lead with caution, not quite able to fight fear weighting inexplicably heavy on his soul.

"Who a-are you? H-h-how did you g-get in here?" The swordsman stuttered, raising his attack-wielding hand.

They didn't respond. Merely lumbered closer, moving past the doorway while Cross instinctively backed away, consequently trapping himself between them and a counter. Step after step, they neared ever closer- close enough he could hear a wet sniffle.

They were... crying?

His brows furrowed. "A-are... are you okay?"

The Sans froze at the question. They tilted their skull up, meeting his eyelights with their lonely one, and blinked. The distant expression vanished from their skull, replaced by watery eye sockets, wobbly jaws, downturned teeth, and a wrinkled nasal cavity that twitched with their many subsequent sniffles.

Cross barely had time to react when they flung themself at him, forcing him to slam against the counter's edge before sliding down. He bit back a pained hiss as his rear hit the ground and stiffened while their arms wrapped around his waist, trapping him.

Albeit in a... hug?

That was surprisingly unthreatening.

He relaxed slightly, fear ebbing. Slowly, his right hand raised and gently pat them on the back.

"Uhh..." He awkwardly soothed, switching to rubbing circles along their spine. (That was something people did when trying to comfort another person, right?) "There... there? It's okay?"

His tactic accomplished little more than making them cry wholeheartedly, leaving him little to do aside from sitting awkwardly and waiting out his current predicament.

Alas, Cross could not stay here all night. He had to check on the other residents in the castle, especially Nightmare since Killer was so certain feeding him after midnight was a bad idea. Hopefully, the dark lord didn't have indigestion or something.

"Can you let go?" He softly asked, giving his hugger's arms a push.

They, in fact, could not and seemed to make it their personal mission to hold on tighter. Thus, leading the monochrome warrior to push harder and harder.

"If you could just let go..." He grunted. All the while, his phalanges attempted to pry the other way, only to fail due to their surprisingly steely grip.

Defeated, he looked down at his captor. They buried their face in his chest while light purple tears streamed down their cheeks, showing no sign of budging- whether it be now or in the future.

Just my luck, Cross thought.

He leaned his skull back against the cabinet and accepted his fate. Given Killer likely wouldn't be returning any time soon...

I'm going to be stuck here a while, aren't I?