Save Point (Sans x Reader)

Chapter Fifty-Two, Part Three

Double upload today to make up for Friday's missed update!

Please refer to the screenshot above for more details on the subject. :-)

★

The fog fades, granting you an opportunity to see his face again, conscious and focused. It’s a short-lived moment, eye sockets closing when he verifies he’s safe in your hold.

On a different day, you would’ve most likely panicked. In contrast, you grab him tight, feeling the weak traces of his magic reach your body when you brush your hand against his torso, locating his soul. Hadn’t you learned from the book he had given you, the situation would’ve been handled in an entirely different way.

“He needs to eat something -- monster food, I mean,” you explain, facing the judge when she moves closer to help. “Is there any place close by that sells that?”

The judge hums, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead as she tries to find an answer. “There’s a general store a few blocks away from here,” she states, snapping out of her thinking phase. “I can send someone to go with you, if it helps, and I can extend the recess period if necessary.” A smile makes her much more approachable, her current tone different from the one she used in court. She fetches a phone from her pocket, gesturing it to you. “What do you say? Just say the word, and I’ll contact someone to take you there.”

You look down at your lap to see Sans safe in your hold, almost comatose weren’t he still muttering things under his sleep related to his self-declared failure and incompetence. His gaze is furrowed, making him look troubled even with how limp his body has gone. He’s vulnerable, for certain -- showing his trust by not flinching when you place a hand over his soul, this one still hidden, only letting its presence known by the remaining magic coursing through it.

“Please do,” you mutter, pulling him closer. “Who should I leave him with?”

“Leave him with me -- I’ll ask the bailiff to help me while you’re back.”

Happy with the knowledge Sans would be staying under more trustworthy hands, you nod and lay him down on one of the nearby benches, letting go when the judge stands beside him. 

“I’ll be back soon.”

★

You avoid bringing attention to yourself by lowering your head as much as you can, convenience store packed to the brim with customers, most of them with their eyes glued to a television screen playing a thorough recap of the first day of the trail. It’s impossible for you to ignore it, even more so when an overview of today’s continuation plays, the clip ending on the worst part possible -- the part where the mayor had begun to speak and your lawyer intervened.

“Isn’t that them over there?” a person asks, driving out your pulse -- vainly when you look around and realize she’s referring to you on the screen, shown during one of your weakest moments: seeing Jessie enter last through those doors. The fear was unmistakable, the amount of effort you put into overcoming the aftereffects of that experience almost appearing to be a near-complete waste when you see yourself on television, lacking direction.

“Need help, (miss/mister)?” a clerk asks, appearing next to your side. 

You avoid looking at him, smiling instead to remain polite, hands tightening when you try to think of something to say. “Well. . . Yes, actually,” you reply, bracing yourself. “Do you carry monster food here?”

Briefly, you glance at him, a quizzical look crossing his face. His gaze moves this way and that, searching for the aisle. 

“It’s aisle number eight.” He smiles back, crossing his arms, toned muscles making him look more like a bodybuilder rather than a regular clerk at a convenience store. “Nobody ever goes around there much, but we keep the aisle as our personal policy.”