Something's wrong.

You blink up at the ceiling, trying to remember which house you're in. There's no stars on the ceiling, so it's not the Big House, and you don't have a bed at Undyne and Alphys' place. Rubbing your eyes, you turn toward the glow of the nightlight. Ah, there it is. Mom got you one shaped like a snail, and it's a flower at Dad's house, and Artie gives you a flashlight when you stay over there, but the glowing skull grinning at you from the wall makes it obvious which of your rooms this is. Which means you're pretty sure you know what's wrong.

Pushing back the covers, you move your plush skeleton out of the way and slide off the bed. You pause, and turn to give Arial a hug and a kiss on his fuzzy head before tucking him back in. It's cold out, and he doesn't have any clothes. Maybe Mom will help you make some for him. Or Papyrus. After all, it was his idea to get you a fluffy skelefriend to keep you company at night, and he does have an awful lot to say about clothing. Promising your stuffed friend that you'll be back, you open the door and pad quietly down the hall on your sock feet.

It's probably a good thing that you're not at the Big House. You've never been able to find his room there. But here, there are only three bedrooms, and you can always find them in the same place: Papyrus' at the top of the stairs, then yours, then Sans' around the corner at the end of the hall.

You slow down as you approach the door. There's no light peeking out from beneath, but that doesn't tell you much. And then you hear it: Sans's voice, low and indistinct, and you jump as three sharp thuds land in rapid succession against the door.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you count to three. Then, you step forward and lean against the door.

Red light bathes the hallway as your soul pulls it's way free of you, but you're concentrating too hard to really notice the accompanying sting. You eyes squeezed tightly closed, you press your ear against the door and listen.

The words are garbled, made fuzzy by sleep. But there are still some words you can make out.

"no...nononono…..stay determined…..figure something out…"

Opening your eyes, you step back, and shadows flood the hall as your soul sinks back behind your sternum where it belongs. There's a flare of blue beneath the door. Shaking, you hurry back to your room, pausing only long enough to grab your phone from the nightstand before running back down the hall, dialing as you go.

You know not to go into his room when he's having a bad dream. Even if he hadn't told you so himself - which he did, very pointedly, the day you got your bedroom here - some things you can figure out perfectly well on your own. But that doesn't mean you're completely powerless. You hit the green button on the phone, and behind the door, a song begins to play. It's an interesting choice of ringtone, you think, raising a brow. The song sounds familiar, though you're not sure where you've heard it before. You'd think you'd remember a song that starts with "Thank you for being a friend." It sounds like your kind of song.

The tune cuts off abruptly as the woman sings something about being a pal, and Sans' sleepy voice surrounds you, both loud in your ear and muffled through the door. "kid, are you- nnngh...what time- never mind. hang on, i'll be right there."

"No, it's okay," you say, resting your hand against the door. "Can I come in?"

He doesn't say anything. A moment later, the call disconnects. You're not worried though. Phone conversations with your family rarely tend to last more than a couple of lines, unless it's Mom checking in on you - they're all much more prolific texters. Sure enough, a faint blue fire flickers in the keyhole, followed by a soft click. Smiling, you open the door and slip inside.

Sans is still sitting up in bed, his covers in a tangled mess, and he watches you anxiously as you pick your way around the piles of socks and magazines and electronic parts and you're not sure what else. Carefully stepping over the trombone left to lie on the floor where it last fell, you pull yourself up on the bed and sit opposite him.

"Hi," you say.

"hey yourself, kiddo." He's wearing the pyjamas you picked out for him the last time Mom took you shopping. The short-sleeved top has a math-y drawing of a small angle on it that forms the base of a red heart, and the words underneath proudly proclaim "I'M ACUTE NERD." You liked it a lot because it was funny and had a heart and math on it, and you thought he'd like it too, but seeing him wearing it now, so at odds with what you can see in his eyes, makes your own heart ache in sympathy. He's trying really hard to get his game-face on, you can tell, but he's struggling. Sighing, he rubs his head. "since it's oh-my-god in the morning, i'm assuming you're not looking for help with your homework. want to tell me what's wrong?"

In answer, you just look at his door. He follows your gaze, and droops a little as he spots the line of holes sinking halfway into the wood. "crap. i just fixed that."

"I think it's a-door-able," you offer.

He gasps, and puts a hand over his heart. "oh. oh kid." His eyes shining, he reaches for you and presses you to his chest. "at long last, i have found a worthy successor to my pun-archy!"

That makes you giggle, and he lets go, his fingers poking at your sides as you frantically try to block him with your elbows until you're both laughing. Eventually, he relents, and when he sits back, his "everything's fine" face is firmly in place.

You almost let it go. Almost. You're still warm from laughing, and it's not out of pity, but of curiosity that you ask, "don't you ever want to talk about it?"

There's a sad sort of softness to his smile when he lays his hand on your head. "nah. how many times i gotta tell you, kid, you don't need to worry about me. i'm the grown-up here, no matter what papyrus tries to tell you-"

"And Undyne," you offer helpfully. "And Mettaton, and Aaron, and-"

"-the point," he says, poking your ribs and making you squeak, "is that you don't need to take care of me. i'm here to take care of you."

"But you're also here to be Sans," you say, rocking on your crossed legs. "And even Sanses need some help sometimes, right?" You tilt your head, trying to get a better look at his eyes. "Don't you ever get tired?"

A tremor runs through him. A deep ripple in his smiling facade. "kid, believe me, you don't wanna know what's in my head, and i don't wanna do that to you. i'm up now. i'm fine. you can go back to bed."

"You had radio-head, didn't you?" you ask softly.

His fists clench. "frisk, please. i don't want to hurt you."

"You can't hurt me if I already know." Giving him the most encouraging smile you can muster, you reach out and trace the drawing on his pyjamas. Acute angle. Top of the heart.

He jerks as though you've hit him, staring at you with a mix of understanding, and hope, and horror. Something in him tenses, coiling, and you're fairly certain he's on the verge of taking a shortcut somewhere far away from you, so you do the only thing you can. You smile even more, and open your arms wide.

For a long moment, he doesn't move, his emotions at war on his face. Then, he cracks, surrendering, and he grabs you and pulls you close, trembling as he hides his face against your shoulder.

He's not crying - Sans almost never cries - but he's shaking so hard that his bones rattle, and his voice is so full of hurt that you almost don't recognize it. "i'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You smile as you rest your head against his, gently stroking the way he always does for you as you hold him as tight as you can. "It's okay," you tell him. "We're okay."

It's some time before he can respond, and you know how it feels. It's an awful thing, to be so lost in the torrent of feelings that you can't find your way out any more. When it happens to you, having a warm, squishy, heavy brother hold you and stop you from being swept away helps more than almost anything else, and that, at least, is something you can do. You hold on tight as the storm works its way through him, until his trembling slows and he loosens his death-grip on you. Slowly, he eases back, and takes your hands in his. There's gratitude plain in the look he turns on you, but there's something else as well. Something that sends a shiver prickling along your spine.

"Sans?" you ask, in a very small voice.

He breaks his gaze from yours, looking down at your hands as he takes a long breath. "look, kid, i've been thinking… maybe it's better if you don't… if you don't spend so much time here any more."

You yank your hands away, your eyes filling with tears as the bottom falls out of your world. Everything is hot and cold at once, and your heart is squeezing so tightly you can't breathe. An iron vice around your throat chokes you so badly you almost can't get the words out. "Y-you're sending me away? You don't like me any more?"

"wait, what?" Sans holds up his hands. "whoa, now, frisk, you got it all wrong. geez, 'like' is not a strong enough word for how i feel about you. you *know* that." Groaning, he scrubs his face with his hands. "it's-it's *me,* kid. i got some things inside me that aren't… that aren't very nice. and i look at you and i don't… i don't want you anywhere near it. i don't want it touching you."

"Oh," you say, and then you pick up his pillow and whack him upside the head with it, knocking him sideways.

"uh, ow?" he lifts the pillow, peering out from under it. "explain?"

"Undyne says that sometimes when someone's beating themselves up so much that they're not listening any more, you have to knock some sense into 'em before they do something dumb."

"...right." He sits up, returning the pillow to its proper place. "i guess i'm lucky you didn't use your fist," he mutters.

"She says fists are good but wrestling moves work best. I thought the pillow was nicer."

He snorts. "well, you're not *wrong.*"

"Sans…" You reach out and lay a hesitant hand over his. "I know you're trying to make me safe, but we've all got stuff inside us we wish we didn't. Everyone. Nobody's perfect, and the world would be really boring if everyone was. It doesn't matter if there are seeds of bad things in you. What matters is what you do with them." His hand shifts beneath yours, turning to take hold, and you give him an encouraging smile. "Some people let the bad seeds take root, but they don't like the light. If you give space and light for the good stuff to grow instead, the bad ones can't find ground to plant themselves in. I know when I'm in the dark places, you and all the others are my sunshine. Maybe I can be yours too."

He lets out a long, slow breath. "...dang, kiddo."

His resolve is breaking, you can see it. Holding tighter, you press forward. "When I start to feel like maybe I can't do something, you help me be stronger. But I want to help you be strong, too. And then you can make me even stronger, and that makes you stronger, and then we will become so strong that no one will be able to stand in the face of how awesome we are!" You finish on a note of triumph that rings through the shadows of Sans' room.

A startled laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head. "leadership class with tori's back on at school, huh?"

"She says I need to practice my assertiveness." You give him a questioning look. "Did I do good?"

"maybe too good. you might wanna *reign* it in a little." But you're both smiling as he tousles your hair. "all right, all right. you know i can't say no when you do the eyes. i'll stop being dumb and try it your way."

He's not sending you away.

You give a little squeal, bouncing in place until his hand increases the weight on your head and holds you still. "hold up, shortpants. if we're gonna do this thing, you gotta promise me something, too."

"What?" you ask.

"that thing you do, where you hang on to the stuff that's bugging you 'cause you don't want to upset anybody else?"

Your head sinks into your shoulders, and you cast a guilty look up at him. You really thought you were getting better about not letting anybody see that. "...yeah?"

"you make whatever call you want with everybody else, but you don't do it with me."

A lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to answer, even if you wanted to. The ghosts of echoes drift from the depths of your memory, your cousin's voice foremost among them. It's been so long that you've been holding on to this, it's become part of you. And the thought of passing these burdens onto Sans, even a little, makes you feel sick.

But the thought of having someone you can go to, even when things are the worst…

The thought of being able to help him when he's the one carrying the bad things….

"All right," you say. "I promise."

He holds out his hand to close the deal. You ignore it and dive straight past, flinging your arms around his middle and clinging for dear life. He lets out a high-pitched wheeze, coloured with more than a few notes of laughter as he squeezes you tight. "welp. whatever happens, we're in this together, pal." Easing back from the hug, he brushes your bangs from your eyes so that he can get a better look at at you. "pretty slick negotiating, ambassador. you sure you're only nine?"

From any other kid, that question would get a dismissive laugh, but you have to think about it carefully. "Most of me is," you say at last.

Sans sucks in a breath at your answer, but he's not angry, or even upset. There's sadness in him, though, as he lowers his head until his brow touches yours. You close your eyes, holding on to the moment as long as you can, for the kindness in that gentle touch reaches even the deepest hidden parts of your soul, and they soak it up like soil after a drought.

"you matter so much, kiddo. you know that, right?"

You nod. "And you do, too."

He lifts his head, and his eyes are sad again, but he gives a soft laugh and ruffles your hair. "whatever you say, kid."

You smile, though the feeling you were going for is ruined somewhat by the yawn that interrupts you. Sans pokes at his phone on the nightstand, and winces when he sees the time. "okay, time for little ambassadors to get back to sleep." You grab his hand, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he looks skyward with a groan. "okay, okay, you can stay. but you're sleeping. get a blanket."

You beam at him and crawl to the end of the bed, reaching for one of the piles on the floor, but even though he's still on the other side of the bed, a sharp tug at the back of your pyjamas hauls you back, and you cast him a quizzical glance. "come on, kid, i may pride myself on not being a responsible adult, but i'm not *that* irresponsible. use a clean one."

You turn toward the closet, but before you can even complete the motion, a blanket smacks you in the face, knocking you backward. Laughing, you extricate yourself as Sans flops down and tugs his messy covers back into place. You wrap yourself in your blanket, letting the warmth soak into you as you breathe in the smell of clean linen and fabric softener, and you make yourself comfortable on your friend-shaped pillow, smiling as he puts his arm around you.

"Sans, will you tell me a story?"

"what kind of story?"

Good question. You stare at the heart on his pyjamas as you think about it. "One that's sad, but also makes you happy at the end."

"i'm glad you're so specific," he says, and you snort, snuggling deeper as he sighs. "okay, i got one. once upon a time, there were three brothers-"

"Were they skeletons?"

"yeah, sure, why not? now shush and let me tell this thing." Grinning, you nod, and he continues. "the youngest brother was very kind, and the oldest was very wise, and the middle brother wasn't good for very much at all, except for making the others laugh. but despite all their differences, or maybe because of them, they were happy."

"They didn't stay that way, did they?" you ask.

"nope. but if they had, it wouldn't be much of a story."

"Oh," you say. "I never thought about that. That's smart."

"i do have my moments," he says. "so there came a day, one that started out like any other, when their entire world changed in a single moment-"

You close your eyes, listening to the hum of his voice through his bones as he tells the story. He gave you exactly what you wanted - parts of it are very sad, and your tears soak quietly into the blanket around you and into his shirt beneath, but at the end, when your eyes won't open again and your limbs are weighted and heavy with sleep, there's only hope and happiness in your heart. You cling to it, guarding it like a treasure as magic tingles across your skin, and a gentle blue tide carries you into sleep.

You'll be okay. Whatever dreams may come, you'll be there to guard Sans and keep him safe. After everything he's done, he deserves someone to take care of him, and the thought of the job ahead of you fills you with…

You're asleep before you finish the thought. Long after, Sans is still awake, watching you dream, for he knows what you were thinking, and it fills him with…. something he hasn't felt in a very, very long time.

Something that changes everything.