In which an unnecessary errand is undertaken for the sake of plausibility, and fruit is found to be quite humorous.

Sans

"ice cream maker?"

I can feel a mischievous grin crawling across my face at Checkers's expression. "Aargh, NO!" she groans. "You didn't hear that!"

"i sure as sugar did. thanks for the sweet tip." I have to suppress a laugh as Checkers's face wrenches to the side, like she's tasted something sour.

"NO! No puns! Just promises! Forget what you heard! Right now!"

"aww, checkers, how cold i forget? it's like a cream come true!" I can't stop myself from sniggering a little.

"It needs to be a surprise!" she insists. Gotta say I'm really enjoying watching her facial expressions right now. She's kinda cute when she's angry and desperate... is it weird of me that I think that? Ulp, better derail that train of thought before it arrives at its destination. Besides, Checkers is still talking; I oughta be paying attention. "Just promise you won't tell Papyrus!"

"maker me." I waggle my brows at her.

"WON'T TELL PAPYRUS WHAT?" Checkers groans again, and I twitch guiltily. She throws me a pleading glance which is totally unnecessary.

"won't tell Papyrus we're out of spaghetti noodles," I offer.

"OUT OF SPAGHETTI NOODLES?! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?! IT IS ALMOST TIME TO MAKE DINNER FOR OUR FRIENDS, AND WE ARE OUT OF NOODLES?! SANS, YOU MUST GO GET SOME RIGHT AWAY!" Poor Paps is so frantic it doesn't occur to him my answer might not be entirely truthful. In fact, it's so untruthful that there may not be room for more pasta boxes in the cupboard. But the damage is done; I'd better resign myself to spaghetti every night for a month when Paps realizes we're swimming in noodles. I sigh to myself. At least he's too innocent to think of actually opening the cupboard to check. Paps picks me up by the upper arms and starts to shake me. Really wish he wouldn't do that; it's kinda hard to find my balance again afterwards.

"SANS, PLEASE, YOU MUST HELP! THERE IS LESS THAN AN HOUR BEFORE I MUST START COOKING, AND THE CAR IS BLOCKED INTO THE DRIVEWAY!"

I grumble as Paps puts me back on my feet. (The room rocks. I make a grab for the arm of the couch to steady myself.) This is what I get for not having a list of ready-made excuses. Consequences. I get consequences.

"fine. guess i can go spaghetti some more."

Paps groans. Checkers laughs. She liked that one, huh? Seeing her laugh because of me makes me feel sorta warm inside. I give her a lazy wave (the last bit of lazy I'll get for a while, I guess) and take a step toward the door. Outta nowhere, Undyne dodges around me and gets Paps in a headlock. She's obviously overstimulated and probably full of sugar and caffeine, and is wrenching my bro's head around, shouting about how great the party is and when'll it be time for cake and presents? Goddammit, Undyne, the last thing you need right now is more sugar. Paps yells back that dessert comes after dinner and grabs her by the ponytail, pulling her head backward to make her let go of him. Undyne immediately wraps her arms around Paps's waist and suplexes him into the couch, right next to Checkers, who flinches. Paps, lying upside-down with his legs hooked over the back of the couch, waves cheerfully at her from a foot away. He looks like he's about to start up a conversation, but I figure Checkers might appreciate a break from all this. I hold out a hand to her.

"c'mon. let's get outta here."

You

When Sans offers you his hand, you grasp it. You don't even think about it first, which is unusual for you. Something about the small skeleton just puts you at ease; though you met him only recently, he already feels like a good friend. You expect his hand to be cold and hard, but it's not: it's warm, and the moment you touch it you can feel something padding the bones, something that's springy at first but which gives quickly under the pressure of your hand until your fingers alight on the bones themselves. While it's there, it feels almost like a thin layer of memory foam. When it disappears, you're left with the feeling of warm, smooth bone in your hand. The bone has a strange softness of its own, sort of like chalk.

You're tempted to start poking Sans in order to examine him further, but he's already pulling you towards the door. You decide to put off your curiosity just a little longer. Instead, you ask, "How are we going to get to the store if the car's blocked into the driveway?"

"don't worry," Sans replies, throwing a grin over his shoulder at you. "i know a shortcut."

Sans tugs at your hand, and you follow him outside. Roxy and Grillby are still sitting at the far end of the porch, Roxy bundled in her coat and the fire-man looking oddly cozy in a simple shirt and vest. Roxy is talking more seriously now, and the cold has brought out the pink in her cheeks. That, or she's blushing. She's warming her hands by holding them out over Grillby's extended palms. Neither of them have noticed you and Sans leaving the house; surprising, since neither of you were being especially quiet about it. Sans glances at you. His expression is hard to read, but you think there's a bit of mischief hidden in it. Suddenly, and to your alarm, his left eye flares a vivid blue, and he flicks his index finger to the side. Roxy's chair scoots out from under her and she falls into Grillby's lap. You clap a hand to your mouth: what if she gets burned?! But Roxy doesn't seem to be hurt; instead, she lies in Grillby's arms, immobile, blushing furiously. Grillby's face turns a hot white and the flames at the top of his head flicker and grow in intensity. Sans pulls you around the side of the house, out of view, as Grillby carefully helps Roxy up. Once you're both safely out of sight, Sans stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets and leans against the wall. Your hand is cold with the absence of his.

"i've got my eye on your friend," he says, giving you a smirk.

"And I'm watching yours," you reply with an expression that's meant to be threatening but probably just looks amused.

"well, don't watch him too hard. somebody may get jealous." Sans is still smirking at you. You smirk right back. You've just been handed a golden teasing opportunity.

"Is the somebody you?"

Sans chokes. "roxy!" he gasps after a moment of coughing. "i meant roxy! would get jealous. of grillby." With each attempt at clarification, Sans's face gets redder, and your grin grows wider. "sh-shut up," he finishes, and tugs his hood up, hiding his face in its depths. You laugh; that reaction was priceless! (Y/N): one, Sans: zero.

When you're done laughing at his expense, you nudge Sans with your shoulder. "So, are we gonna go getti some s'ketti, or what?"

Sans laughs. It's not his usual chuckle or snicker: it's a short-lived but full-blown "a-ha-ha!" There's an element of surprise to the laugh, as if it caught him unawares, like he wasn't expecting such a sound to come out of him. He pulls his hood down again, revealing that his smile is a little different than usual, as well. This smile isn't mischievous or self-satisfied in any way; rather, it's a pure statement of delight, the smile of a child who's discovered a new joy in the world.

It's beautiful.

Did I really just think that? You can feel your face heating up, and you pull the collar of your jacket up to hide your blush. Luckily, Sans misunderstands.

"cold?"

You nod, relieved.

Sans glances around as if to check for observers, and then takes your hand again. "don't take this the wrong way," he murmurs, and pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. You're about to ask him what he thinks he's doing when the world shifts and flattens and slides away, like a piece of paper snatched up by a draft. You try to gasp, but there's no air. The pressure is incredible. Your ears want to pop, but in the absence of atmosphere, it's not possible. Terrified, you grasp at Sans as the only solid thing in this dark, empty place, just as the pressure releases you and your sneakers strike pavement.

You stumble and fall against him, releasing the gasp that you'd been denied a moment ago. Sans supports you as you find your feet again; now you know why he put his arm around you. You stand panting for a moment, catching your breath and trying to make yourself let him go. Your fingers are clenched into the fabric of his hoodie, and they don't seem to want to release him. You're pressed up against Sans's ribcage, and when you open your eyes you find that because you're the same height, this position is a lot more intimate than it would otherwise be. With his face level with yours, you're only a couple of centimeters away from each other. You blush and release him, stepping back quickly. Sans's cheekbones are a little pink, as well, and he rubs the back of his skull bashfully. "sorry. i'd've warned you, but it's kinda hard to explain."

You put a hand to your chest, feeling your heartbeat as it slows to normal. "What... what was that?"

Sans smirks. "shortcut."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Mystery." Sans doesn't elaborate, but only smiles more widely. You look around; you seem to be in an alleyway. In fact, it's an alley around the side of the Markie-Mart in the nearest city to your little town. Your eyes widen. "We're... we're in Edmondsville. How did you do that?"

Sans's smug smile is in danger of engulfing his face. "magic."

You groan. "You're such a brat."

"and science. mostly magic."

"Cheshire Brat."

Sans snickers. You grab the sleeve of his hoodie and march him across the street. You may as well get what you came for.

The Markie-Mart is crowded; Saturday afternoon is a popular shopping time. You and Sans collect several stares as you walk along the sidewalk, and more when you enter the store. Sans smiles and waves lackadaisically at anyone he catches the eye of. Most of them smile and wave back. If they're with someone else, a parent, spouse or friend, they generally turn to their companion and start talking excitedly. A couple of people avert their eyes and walk away when you or Sans catch them staring. "I guess being a monster makes you sort of like a celebrity," you muse.

"except you're a little scary," Sans agrees.

"So, exactly like a celebrity."

Sans chuckles. You let his sleeve go and head for the pasta and sauces aisle, but Sans lingers in the fruit and vegetable area, examining something. You stop after a few steps and return to his side, curious to see what's caught his attention. It's a wrinkly, dumpy-looking greenish-yellow thing. When Sans sees you pulling up beside him, he grins at you and points to the item label.

"Ugli fruit," you read.

"sure is," Sans says, and you both laugh.

"Maybe we shouldn't laugh at it," you tell him. "It might be sensitive."

"horrible things can be sweet on the inside," Sans agrees.

"Living proof, right here," you tease, poking him in the arm. Again, you notice that odd, short-lived cushioning effect, less noticeable under the fabric of his hoodie but still there.

"hey," Sans objects. He looks a little offended, but he's also blushing again. You decide to take any sting out of the comment by looping your arm through his. He huffs and quirks a crooked smile at you. Then he points to the side. "what about this one?"

"Oh, we have to get some of these!" you exclaim, pulling Sans over to the pile of green, multi-ridged fruits he'd indicated.

He reads the label. "star fruit?"

"It's great in fruit salads," you tell him, picking out a few. "When you cut it, the cross section looks like a star."

"cool." Sans picks one up, running his finger bones over the rubbery skin. "weird."

"Weird things can be sweet on the inside." You smirk. "Like..."

"alright, alright," Sans interjects. "no need to rub it in." He's smiling, though, and the pink tinge is back in his cheekbones.

The two of you move from one item to the next, making comments and laughing. You have to bodily drag Sans away from the bananas, which, according to his claims, are the funniest of fruits, and which are subjected to various humiliations before you manage to bear away their tormentor. Sans is in obvious high spirits and his good mood comes with a level of clownishness that, frankly, you find adorable. That you're drawing more stares than ever doesn't bother you, because the people watching you seem much less cautious of Sans and more amused and/or annoyed. They're looking at you like you're a couple of unruly kids. Not ideal, but it's a step in the right direction. Before you've finished with the fruit section, you and Sans are both in stitches, and it seems like everything you see and everything that's said makes the giggling worse.

"Durian... isn't he a rock star?"

"kumquat. best name ever. kumquat..."

"What the hell is a Grapple? It looks like... hey, it's just an apple with pretensions!"

"kumquat. kumquat. kum... dammit, it's lost all meaning..."

You stop to catch your breath together, leaning on the edge of a wooden bin, and find yourselves looking at a strange orange fruit (?) with a spiky exterior and, apparently, two names, one Vietnamese and one Thai.

"Gac."

"fuk."

Your new laughing fit hits you both so hard you have to lean on each other to keep from collapsing. "the name suits it so well!" Sans all but howls, and buries his face in your shoulder, possibly as an attempt to smother his laughter into submission. You lean into him in turn, trying to calm down. Just as you manage to catch your breath, you look at the gac/fuk fruit again and dissolve once more into hysterical giggles. Then Sans goes rigid against you and says, "shit, what time is it?"

Panic hits you. You check your phone. You've used up all the time you had, and then some. "The spaghetti!" you shout, and, grabbing Sans by the hand, you make a dash for the pastas. You skid into the ethnic aisle, Sans hard on your heels, and tip several boxes of spaghetti noodles into the skeleton's arms. "Come on!" you shout, and break for the registers at the front of the store... which are all occupied by gratuitously long lines. You groan with frustration and dance impatiently in place with your feet. Sans snickers at you.

"What's so funny?" you ask. "It's YOU Papyrus will be mad at when we finally get back."

"nothin'," Sans replies. "just thought your little dance was adorable."

"Argh!"

"Uh..." The man in front of you turns to look at you. "Would you like to go ahead of me?" The kind offer short-circuits your temper tantrum. You glance at his items: he's only got a few. Ahead of him, however, are several people with full baskets.

"Thanks," you say, smiling at him wryly. "But I don't think it'll make much of a difference."

The man shrugs. "Sorry, lady."

"Aah, it's not really a problem," you reply. "I just hate being late, I guess."

Sans chuckles again. You flush, with embarrassment this time. "CB, you can quit laughing at me now."

"cb? ...for cheshire brat?"

"Yeah."

Sans makes a thoughtful noise. You're suddenly anxious, unsure how he'll feel about the nickname. Then he grins at you.

"i love it."

You smile at him, pleased. Checkers and the Cheshire Brat. It sounds pretty good to you.

* * * * *

Papyrus has dinner ready when you and Sans walk in the door. "SANS! YOU MISSED IT! I OPENED THE CUPBOARD TO GET OUT SEASONINGS FOR THE SAUCE AND MANY BOXES OF SPAGHETTI NOODLES FELL OUT! THANK GOODNESS YOU ARE SO BAD AT COUNTING; INSTEAD OF ZERO BOXES, AS YOU SAID THERE WERE, WE HAD EIGHT ALL THE TIME!"

"heh, yeah, it's a mystery how i pasta my math class," Sans replies, taking your coat and hanging it up for you. You giggle.

"I KNOW," Papyrus says, untying a "Kiss the Cook" apron that has "Cook" crossed out and "Great Papyrus" written on it in red marker. "HOW WOULD YOU GET ALONG WITHOUT ME? SUCH A SILLY SANS..."

Sans gives you a wink. You laugh.

~ AUTHOR'S NOTE ~

There's no way you'd find gac in a Wal-Mart, and if you can find a Vietnamese grocery store, you'll usually see it frozen, not fresh. But the names are so good it was impossible not to include it. At least I can be proud of myself for having it in the right season — it generally grows from December to February. :P Though a case can be made for its presence if we pretend that this imaginary country of mine is close to Vietnam...

Also, for the scientifically curious, the "pressure" that Checkers feels is, in fact, happening in a near-vacuum and is a result of intense gravity, not high atmosphere.