Fell Sans

The air in Snowdin was thick with the scent of pine and cheap cigarettes, a combination Fell Sans had long since stopped noticing. He leaned against the rickety frame of his sentry station, one eye socket trained on the path ahead, the other lazily tracking the plume of smoke that curled from the glowing cherry of his cigarette. The cold didn't bite at him the way it used to. Nothing really did, anymore.

Behind him, you sat huddled on a log he’d dragged over for exactly this purpose. The runt of a human, the one his brother had so vehemently ordered him to guard. 'Guard' being a generous term for what he was doing. 'Babysit' was more accurate, and Papyrus’s exact words had been a lot more colorful, laced with threats of unimaginable torment if he let you so much as stub your toe before you were presented to the King. Asgore would know what to do with you. Asgore always knew.

Sans took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, the red glow flaring and casting harsh shadows across his skull. He could feel your gaze on his back, a pinprick of unease that was almost as familiar as the chill in the air. It was pathetic, really. You were pathetic. All wide, frightened eyes and trembling hands. You were the key to everything, to breaking the Barrier, to finally getting out of this godforsaken underground. You were a means to an end. A very fragile, very breakable means.

He was supposed to be savoring this. The anticipation. The power. He was supposed to be running through all the creative ways he’d like to see you dusted, or at the very least, calculating the most efficient way to hand you over. He’d done it a thousand times in his head since Papyrus had shoved you into his care.

‘Kill or be killed.’ The mantra of the Underground. It had kept him alive. It was the only rule that mattered. It was simple. Clean. You either had the strength to take, or you were taken from.

So why the hell was he thinking about the way you’d flinched when a particularly large snowflake landed on your nose? Why had he noticed that you hadn’t tried to run, even once? You just sat there, quiet and still, as if you’d already accepted your fate. As if you were waiting for the inevitable.

It bothered him. It bothered him that he was bothered.

He crushed the smoldering butt of his cigarette against the wooden post, the action more forceful than necessary. The tiny, sizzling sound it made was louder than the silent turmoil in his skull. He’d been running on autopilot for so long, a machine of malice and apathy, and now this… this insignificant little human was making the gears grind.

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his phalanges brushing against the cool, smooth surface of a few GOLD coins. He could feel your LV, or rather, the lack of it. It was a clean, blank slate. No dust on your soul.

A low, guttural chuckle escaped him, but it was hollow, devoid of any real amusement. “heh. not even a single point. what a waste.”

He was talking to himself, a bad habit he’d developed. But then, he heard you shift on the log. A small, hesitant sound.

And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? You were a contradiction. You were the most dangerous thing in the Underground, and yet, you were utterly defenseless. You were the key to their salvation, and you were quietly waiting to be sacrificed.

And for the first time in a long time, Fell Sans wasn’t sure which side of the ‘kill or be killed’ coin he was going to land on. He hated that feeling more than he hated you.