Dark…black walls…or were they navy? He just knew they were dark…

Sweat in his skull, a burning pain raging in his chest as if he had been running. Him, running. Ha. Why would he be running?

“You pathetic lump.”

He turned quickly, and saw nothing, except for more black. That voice…was it the voice of a child? Or…something more familiar and annoying?

“You don’t even know where you are, do you? Ha! You’ve been here almost every day, now, and you still don’t know this place.”

His senses were alert, and his attacks were ready. Though…they felt a lot lighter than usual, as if they weren’t real?

“Over here, comedian~” said the voice in a sing-song tone.

He finally saw the source and flinched. A human-freak hybrid. Vines and petals spurting out of every orifice, and blood leaking down their chin. Sans didn’t even have it in him to gag.

It’s…their? Their voice was a lot clearer now. “Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. It’s entertaining, honestly. You can’t even muster the strength up to tell anyone about these dreams of yours.” They laughed. It sounded warped and it echoed. Sans shivered.

He tried to speak, but no words came out. Not because he was choking, but because of this damn dream. He could ever talk in these dreams, yet he always tried. Idiot.

“You recognise this scarecrow?”

Papyrus’ head, wrapped up in his scarf, dead. Cold and dead. Sans has no reaction; he had seen that image far too many times.

“You want him?”

Sans made his way closer, slowly, his expression remaining cold and dark. He reached out to Papyrus…his hand was dusting.

“T̶̖ͦ͆͑ͦo̲̝͍̒ͦ̓ͪ͡o̭͎̫̝͎̺̹ ̭͎̭̌̅̈ͨ͑ͣḽ͓̬ͭͨ̚a̪͖̟͇ͩ̒̓̐̍̅ͬt̛e͉̣̫̲͈͎̗͐̇ͨͨ͊”

–

His eyes snapped open in a second, but he did not move. He could feel the sweat on his skull, as well as the sweat that had been absorbed by the pillow. His body remained still for a few seconds, his eyes also remaining wide open. Should he get up and talk? The covers felt so comfortable…

What if he had that dream again?

Slowly and quietly (as quietly as he could; the floors were creaky), he slipped out of the covers and exited his room. The lights were on. Why? It was…he looked at the clock on the wall. It was three in the morning.

“…hello?” he called, gently, his voice hoarse from just waking up. The light was painful, so he shaded his eyes with a hand, and made his way down the stairs. In the kitchen stood Toriel, making what smelled like tea. The smell turned his non-existent stomach.

“Sans?” she sounded, gently. Her tea looked like she hadn’t even taken a sip.

“h…heh, yep.” God, the smell made him wanna throw up. It was too early for tea. Why was she up? “in the non-flesh.”

Toriel giggled. It sounded forced. “Forgive me if I have awoken you. I just could not sleep.”

“nah, you didn’t wake me up.”

“Then what did?”

Sans looked away sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. He cringed when he felt exactly how sweaty it was.

“Were you warm?” asked Toriel, taking a sip of her tea.

Sans chuckled. “nah, remember the ‘non-flesh’ thing? have no skin to get warm.” Though he was smiling, it was obvious that he was hiding something.

It’s funny. A comedian who’s funniest act was arguably the suffering he tried to hide behind a forced smile. How ironic.

“…are you okay? Are you feeling sick?” asked Toriel, gripping her mug.

Ugh, yes, that tea makes me wanna puke. “n-no, it’s not that.”

“Then…?”

“…”

Silence. Painful silence. Sans could feel a knot in his abdomen, and not from the smell of the tea. Toriel took a gentle sip, her gaze not leaving the small, sweaty skeleton. What was he hiding?

For the first time since Sans entered the kitchen, she placed her cup down on the counter-top and placed a paw on his shoulder. “Come.” and she lead him to the sofa. She sat down, followed by Sans. “My dear, what is wrong?”

Sans tugged at the sofa, more sweat starting to bead on his head. He made a low sound, almost like a groan.

“Sans…”

“…” He took a breath. “i had a nightmare.”

“Ah…” Toriel nodded and said nothing more.

Sans took another breath. “it’s, uh…i-it’s the fourth one i’ve had in a row. same…same dream.” He paused. “i, uh, i don’t really wanna go into it, but…yeah.”

Toriel’s hand was gently stroking his back. It felt relaxing; she would always do that when he was nervous. “…so that’s it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me- us? Why didn’t you tell any of us? You know we would not judge you.” Toriel said in a tone as soft as she could manage.

“it’s not that.” Sans said, surprisingly sharply, but not enough to sound hurtful. “i just…ah jeez, i just…felt like i shouldn’t have? i dunno, something was just telling me…”

Toriel nodded in understanding (or, in SOME understanding…it was best not to pry). She gently pulled him in for a hug and squeezed, just the way Sans liked. He hugged back, his smile turning from one of facade to one of honesty. Why DIDN’T he say anything before? It feels so much better now that he let it out.

The two remained hugging until they fell into a much more comfortable slumber than before, with a night full of peace and quiet…

And a lot of sleep-induced nuzzles.