Chapter Text
He smells blood.
Why does he smell blood?
Sans chokes on a snore at the sharp scent, his sleep addled mind still processing being awoken. He hears the heavy downpour outside pelting the mountain with sheets of rain, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. His hollow is dark, so it must still be late into the night. His glowing eyelights fizzle into their sockets and do a quick scan of his den, but everything is exactly as it was before he turned in for sleep. But that scent...he knows blood when he smells it, especially if it’s human. It’s sweet. And it’s fresh . He swears for just a second, he can taste it clearly, and an emptiness claws at him from his stomach. Confused and intrigued, the dragon stretches and makes his way towards the entrance of the cave.
The tunnel into the mountain isn’t particularly long, but it’s enough to give him some warning when he has intruders. It’s difficult to be quiet when you’re made entirely of bone, but Sans tries to be stealthy as he crawls along the stone. Hopefully the storm outside will cover up most of the noise. He peeks around the corner of a sharp bend just as a flash of lightning cracks across the sky, and sees a small form huddled near the entrance in the sudden light. They must be taking shelter here…
The smell is stronger: strong enough that the monster feels himself start to salivate. He wants them. He thinks he knows how good they taste, somehow...of how they feel squirming on his tongue. Vivid flashes of deja vu. In his haste he forgets to be quiet and takes a step closer, the grating sound of bone hitting stone alerting his prey. Their head snaps up, and those wide eyes meet his. Although they seem startled, there’s some other emotion Sans can’t quite read on their face. It’s too distorted by the fatigue and grimaces of pain. Their attire is fairly plain: mostly cloth and leather in a fashion typical of poorer human settlements. The human is clutching their side, where a large tear in the cloth exposes their wound, already drenched a deep red that seeps between their fingers. They press into it a little harder, and the dragon can’t help glancing down with interest.
The intruder shuffles back a bit, their eyes still wide and observant.
“A monster...wow, you-you’re huge…!” He sees the awe in their expression, and feels just the slightest bit flattered. They grin at him nervously, “I, uh, sorry for bothering you...It’s, uh, storming pretty bad out there, isn’t it?”
They’re….apologizing? To him? They seem nervous; more so than what’s already expected given just what he is . Sans keeps up his careless facade despite his surprise.
“sure is, and sure am. of all the places you could duck into, it just hadta be the one occupied by a dragon, eh? heh, some luck you have, kid.” He winks, hoping to set them at ease in his presence. This’ll be easy if he can convince them he’s not a threat. They’re still pretty far away, and he doesn’t want to risk them slipping away under the cover of night.
The human nods sheepishly, “Ha, yeah, that seems to be a theme of mine...” They chuckle humorlessly, those sharp eyes glancing between the roaring storm and the potential threat before them. “I, um, understand if you want me to leave. But I would really appreciate if you’d let me wait out the rain...I promise I won’t be too much of a disturbance. Or, I guess, I already am?” Sans almost misses what they just said; he’s having a hard time reigning in his instincts when they smell so… .so good . He has to look away when he observes a small drop of crimson drip onto the ground.
“naw, don’t be like that, buddy. s’rude not to be a good host to a visitor, especially so far outside human settlements. howzabout you come on back? i don’t-” he hastily wipes away some drool threatening to spill through his teeth “-don’t uh, usually get much company up here. pretty remote location and all, ya know? folks don’t tend to, uh, stick around for long. heh.” the monster’s grin is relaxed, friendly even, as he jerks his head back to indicate where he came from.
“Um…” The human hesitates, thinking through their options. They eye him closely, trying to discern his intentions, then drop their gaze to the burlap pack they’re carrying.
“look, you’re soaked down to the bone , and yer gonna need somethin’ for that gash. s’not gonna close up like that, and i’m pretty sure humans need that stuff.” He nods down at them again, giving a meaningful sweep of his eyelights to the slowly growing pool of blood next to them. He’ll need to clean that up later, so it doesn’t deter future visitors. “whadda ya say, pal?” The monster extends his clawed hand out, palm up, as if to accept their small hand in his. A friendly gesture.
“You...you’d really help me?” They inquire, voice soft. With one last glance outside, they slowly rise to a stand, drawing in a sharp gasp of pain at the action. They adjust their bag on their shoulder, and give him a nod and a small smile. They don’t take his hand. “Even after I rattled your bones this late at night? That’s really kind of you, Mister Dragon.”
Sans’s eye sockets widen a bit and he lets out a surprised bark of laughter, which makes the human smile with more confidence. That sure got a genuine chuckle out of him. Rattled his bones! Ha! And Mister Dragon ? That’s certainly a first.
“heh, that was a good one, kiddo. a real rib tickler .” He withdraws his extended hand, not offended in the least if the glimmer of humor still in his eyes is to be believed. “shall we?”
“After you, Mister Dragon.”
The skeleton shrugs. He’d really rather they go first, for...obvious reasons. Oh well. In due time. He makes a show of turning around, and catches them looking him over again with a sense of fearful wonderment out of the corner of his eye. He raises an eye ridge, but says nothing as he crawls back towards his den. What a strange little human. He hears them take a step to follow, and together they start the short trip through the tunnel.
“So what’s your name? If that isn’t too forward of me to ask, that is. I’m Frisk, by the way. I can’t say I’ve heard of any monsters still living in this desolate region…” They inquire.
Heh, desolate is right. Which makes him wonder about his visitor even more.
“...name’s sans, kid. i like to keep a low profile. you know how it is.” His deep chortle resonates off of the cave walls.
“Right...I can understand that. It’s terrible, how hostile humans and monsters have become to each other. So much violence...I just wish things could sort themselves out somehow…go back to how things used to be...”
Sort themselves out? They make it sound like there’s been a disagreement, not the bloodshed it’s become, he thinks to himself. He hesitates to use the word “war” now, since he certainly remembers how vicious the last one was...but for now, it’s a free for all. He glances back at them, watching them think carefully about something, before they notice him watching and beam a small, hesitant smile at him.
“But you seem like a nice person! Er, dragon. Or monster. You don’t even know me and yet you’re offering me shelter. And! If we can be friends, that just shows that there’s hope! Right? I’ve never been invited into a monster’s home…”
As they approach the center of the mountain, Sans stops for a second to simply...stare. The warm genuineness of Frisk’s words and their smile bring the faintest hue of a blue blush on his cheekbones. And maybe even a sliver of guilt. The naive sentiment makes him want to scoff, but they seem to so firmly believe it that he just can’t bring himself to. It reminds him of someone…
Someone who’s dead. Dead because of…
... .
Right. There’s a reason this region is desolate . He couldn’t quite contain his rage upon finding the dust.
The warmth he felt is gone, and he focuses back on his instincts. His instincts to consume the source of that sharp, delicious scent. It’s what he needs right now. It’s familiar.
The tunnel opens up into the mountain’s core, and with a wave of his skeletal hand the large room is bathed in an ethereal blue light. Along the outer walls, several torches have been haphazardly affixed to the rock to provide light when needed. Ghostly blue flames dance along them from Sans’ magic, seemingly brighter than what is natural. Now that Sans is in a larger area, he gets to his feet and stretches his impressive wingspan, rolling his skull to crack a few vertebrae in his neck back into place. The monster turns to face his guest, and the otherworldly lighting casts dark shadows on his features that make him look much more menacing than before. “why not have a seat? take a load off. anywhere’s fine.”
They’re staring again. First at him, still not quite over the fact that he exists , then at what most humans never see and live to tell the tale. There’s more gold than Frisk thinks they’ve ever seen in their entire lifetime, along with some very intricate looking sculptures, weapons, medals...all generously encrusted with precious stones. Near the center are items more for comfort: long bolts of colored cloth and silk, some luxurious woven rugs, and a respectable amount of exotic furs. A true hoard worthy of a dragon.
He notices they’re distracted, and decides to go for it.
In a second, Frisk finds themselves unnervingly close to the dragon’s face with his bony hand behind them, sharp phalanges splayed and curled at the ready. They squawk at just how fast it all happened, and fall to the ground as his other hand slams forcefully next to them, barring any exit.
“so. let me see if i got all of this right, yeah?” the monster drawls, drumming his phalanges on the solid rock and causing small tremors to jostle them, “you show up on this remote mountain, alone, reeking of blood. ya got no weapons i can see, and you just decided to go sight seein’ in the dead of night? in a storm? unprepared? cut the crap, kid.”
They look like they’re about to argue, but he cuts them off.
“you’re awfully friendly, little human. who sent ya? or were you supposed to be a distraction? maybe bait? cause i’ll tell ya now; if you got some ‘friends’ out there i should know about, it’s in your best interest to be honest. i’m not exactly known for turning down tasty little things like yourself.”
Ah, there it is. That look. Fear.
“hell, if you’re some sorta offering or something, just let me know. no need to be shy, pal. i treat my sacrifices real nice...and i just love a willing treat...” Sharp claws curl inward in a grasping motion, and his smile parts ever so slightly to showcase his glistening, pointed canines.
“Wait!” They squeak, eyes large and focused on the hungry gaze of the dragon, “No, I-I’m not an offering! I was...well, okay, I wasn’t just trying to take shelter from the rain, I might have been trying to wait out some...oh geez…” Frisk swallows the lump in their throat, trying to get their thoughts straight, “uh, some guys that I thought were navigator-but I guess not? I needed an escort, and we were passing through the mountain…”
A large glob of drool finally escapes the monster’s jaw and splatters next to Frisk, interrupting their thoughts and forcing a startled gasp from them.
“W-well, anyway, they must have been after my harp; I took it out to play for them a little, and they just...changed. Suggested going through the mountain would be faster, and...I got ambushed.” They raise their hands placatingly, trying to explain, “I ran in here, but they just wouldn’t leave! And...and...Ohgodpleasedon’teatmeIdon’twanttodothatagain-”
“...wait, again? what’s that supposed to mean?” Sans leans in further, until the small human can feel the hot air exhaling through the monster’s teeth. They launch themselves backward instinctively, and are caught in his bony grasp. His eyelights dilate as a cry of pain from being handled so roughly pierces his skull. He starts unconsciously licking at his teeth.
“Please! I thought...we could be friends!” Frisk struggles a bit, those sharp eyes of theirs trying to reach him, “I’ve tried running out, and I just end up getting shot. And...and last time....” the human takes a moment to gaze fearfully at his drooling maw, “last time, I just ran in here blindly, and before I even saw you I was swallowed whole! I had no idea monsters still even lived here!”
He’s used to the whole “plead for your life” thing, but this human seems to be talking nonsense. Maybe it’s the blood loss. “can’t say i’ve ever made friends with a human, kid. not healthy to get too attached to food. and i’m pretty sure you’d be nothing but magic running through my bones by now if any of that was true. so, with that said, why don’t we go back to that ‘me swallowing you whole’ part...”
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but wait-!”
The dragon notices the bag still slung on the human’s back, and maneuvers his grip so he can wrench it off of them with his other hand, ignoring their protests. The bag is turned and given a little shake, but the only thing that falls out is something wrapped in what looks like thick linen. The human stops babbling to watch nervously as he reaches out to touch it.
As soon as the tip of his claw makes contact, he’s flooded with a very sharp and very familiar wave of magical energy. In an instant the wrappings are hastily shredded by his own magic, and the object within is levitated in front of the dragon’s eyes for closer inspection.
It can’t be…
...
It’s a dragon’s horn, affixed to some strings in the form of a crude, but well cared for harp. There’s no mistaking the shape and magical signature. It’s small, much smaller than Sans’s. His horns are prominent: thick and twisting, curling once before spearing upwards. A physical feature that stores reserves of raw power, which grow and curl as a dragon ages, or...as they consume sources of power. It’s about the length of his finger, but has enough wear that it couldn’t have been a child’s.
It’s Papyrus’s. The left one, he’s sure.
Several emotions crash over him: first, disbelief. How did this human have this? For Papyrus’s horn to have been traded around...repurposed...he had suspected he was killed for his horns, sure, due to the greed of humans, but…
Grief hits next. It’s been so long since he’s felt that warm energy, still lingering in what remains of him. He can feel his brother’s strength, his kindness. The dragon grasps the horn carefully, holding it close to his chest. His very soul quakes in its presence, having been convinced he’d never feel his brother again. Even in this….form.
His bones start to rattle as he feels white hot rage sear through him. “k i d….” He growls, the tone deep, commanding, and loud in the rocky enclosure, “d o y o u h a v e a n y i d e a w h a t t h i s i s ?”
“I…” The human tries to focus on the object, even though they can feel the crackling of angry energy causing every hair on their body to stand on end. “I just felt that it had a large amount of magic and it...seemed to be calling out. That’s the best way I can describe it...I found it and made it into a harp- hurk! ”
He doesn’t realize his grip on them has tightened until he feels and hears them lose their breath. He reluctantly loosens it again so they can finish, “- huff - ah, I’m guessing this is pretty important to you, somehow...I’m sorry, really! I thought it might have been some sort of monster artifact, but…”
They look back at him and shrink into themselves at the murderous intent they see in his eyes. Even through their haze of fear, the dragon’s expression tells Frisk all they need to know about this creature and his experience with their kind.
Sans holds back a derisive snort. He needs to think about this with a clearer head, because if there’s one horn, maybe there’s another...but it’s just so difficult to. His fury and hatred mixed with that damn smell are clouding his judgement, fueling his desire for blood. For revenge . They’re inches from his skull, firmly in his grasp. Fragile. Easy. And yet...he feels himself hesitating.
“...Sans…?”
Their eyes are locked with his, and even though his gaze is piercing and fierce, theirs become soft. And determined. “Please...why are you doing this? What did I do?”
The question surprises him, because really, what HAVE they done? Sans closes his eye sockets and takes a deep breath. They really haven’t done anything. Nothing deserving of how he’s been treating them, anyway. Even if they are human. The dragon even finds he kind of actually likes them. Is he really so far gone that he’d throw away all of his morality? No, not yet. When he opens his eyes again the smoldering flames that were his eye lights have dimmed and smoothed out.
“this…” he delicately cradles the object in two claws, “is a dragon’s horn. you got mugged because, like you said, it’s packed full of magical energy. but as you can see, it’s pretty small, yeah?” The human glances back at it, then back up towards his own towering horns. He notices, and chuckles dryly, “heh, yeah, compared to mine, it’s real small. wanna know why they’re so different?” The monster parts his fangs, a dripping, translucent blue tongue snaking out to wiggle just in front of their shocked face, “s’cause, as i’m sure you’re aware, i’ve had a healthy diet of humans. and you humans got some powerful little souls. so, my body is more than happy to accommodate that surplus of energy.” He draws back his tongue, resisting the powerful urge to have even a taste of them just yet. He’s not sure he’d be able to stop himself if he did.
“but him? he’d never harm anyone, let alone a human. even this is pretty impressive, considering it was formed from his own natural reserves.” He gestures to the horn again, his eyelights dimming further, “my brother...he probably never even saw the strike coming. never considered even the possibility that...it would end this way.”
The only sound for a while is the downpour of rain hitting rock from outside. Sans focuses on the comforting energy emitting from the artifact, realizing only now how content it feels. His brother may be gone, but what’s left of him seems at peace with being transformed into something crafted with such care.
“...yeah, i was kinda pissed that you did this to his horn, but. uh. i guess you kinda made him happy, in a way. at least this ain’t in the hands of a mage.” He continues, feeling his anger leave him the longer he basks in Papyrus’s magic.
By the time he looks back at Frisk’s face, he’s shocked to see tears, actual tears streaming down their cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Sans…” They whisper, so fervently...so quiet, so weak . And then they close their eyes, and don’t open them again.
...
Shit, are they dead?!
He snaps his arm up to check on them, bringing them close to his eye sockets to better see their face.
...No, just passed out. Probably lost too much blood...and that thought causes him to let out the breath he was holding and actually spring into action.
“c’mon kiddo, stay with me…” His left eye flares to life, and a green aura shines around the hand grasping his captive. He readjusts his grip to slide a phalange down to the area the injury is, and presses. The human lets out a little cry of pain, but otherwise remains unconscious as the dragon mends the wound. He’s not entirely sure healing magic will be enough, since he’s never really had to heal a human before...but the thought of this one dying doesn’t sit well with him.
He remembers what they told him, about how they ended up here, and given the nature of the instrument they used for performing he’s certain they’re being used as bait. Whoever was after them steered them here, gambling that they would see his cave and seek shelter. Then they were attacked, leaving a large enough wound that Frisk would bleed everywhere and entice him. And now the assholes are just waiting for Sans to finish the job for them. Most likely they’re going to wait for him to leave, then pilfer the harp from his dinner’s discarded garments, maybe help themselves to few other trinkets. Or worse...they think they can trap his den using the smell of blood as a cover. This poor kid probably has no idea.
After a few minutes, the green light fades, and the skeletal behemoth turns toward the center of his nest with his guest still grasped tightly in his bony hand. Their shirt is stained red, and the monster would really rather not dirty his sleeping quarters with gore. He eyes the offending garment, reasoning that he only wants to make sure he doesn’t get blood everywhere.
Right. No ulterior motive here.
His other hand reaches out, and he slides a claw just under the hem. A flex of his phalange and the shirt rips right off of their body. He raises them closer, inspecting their torso for any lingering damage. Healing magic really isn’t his strong suit in the first place. When he finds none, he licks his teeth eagerly and slides his wet tongue across their skin. i’m just cleaning them up a little he reminds himself. And he needs to keep reminding himself, because they taste so sweet.
He eagerly laps up the crimson staining Frisk’s body, taking great care to not miss a single drop. He doesn’t want to get his bed dirty, after all. Right?
Right.
The beast is more than a little disappointed when the task is over with, and very briefly entertains the idea that he doesn’t have to stop here. With a resigned sigh, the thought is discarded.
He lays them down on one of the thicker furs of his nest, noting just how fragile they feel when he’s actually trying to be gentle. Usually that fact is amusing, thrilling even, but now...it makes him feel strange. He reaches back further into the cave and rummages through the piles of past victims’ clothing and armor he’s too lazy to get rid of, and pulls out a fairly unremarkable cloak that isn’t too torn up. He drapes the garment over them, not bothering to try figuring out how to dress a human properly, before curling up around them like a cat. If they manage to survive the night, perhaps they’ll be the first human to enter his den and not end up in his stomach.
The behemoth looks back over to the dragon horn harp, and quickly beckons it over to him again with his magic. Being extra careful, he grazes against one of the many strings and plucks it. The soft tone of the note that plays is beautiful. It’s fitting that something that came from his brother can make such a sound.
A wave of drowsiness sweeps over the skeleton, making him yawn widely. He intended to stay awake to see if the human regained consciousness, but...he can barely seem to keep his eye sockets open now. Before he knows it, the dragon’s breathing becomes deep and he succumbs to the call of sleep.