Taptaptap on the bedroom door and the vaguely eldritch sound of Wingdings trying to be quiet follows. [‘Saaans.’]
‘Mrmmmmph,’ Sans hunches up under the cover a bit more.
The door creaks open. [‘I made your packed lunch, but if you’re going to school today you have to get up now.’] Taptaptap go little feet on the floor and a hand presses against Sans’ forehead. [‘Are you going to school today?’]
‘There’s no point,’ Sans mutters into his pillow. ‘By the time I catch up I’ll just be sick again.’
Wingdings pats him uncertainly. [‘You’re still meant to go when you can.’]
‘Mrgh.’ Sans doesn’t want to go to school with people who see each other every day and him occasionally. He also doesn’t want to stay here alone. Most of all he doesn’t want to wake up all the way and get out of bed.
Wingdings sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed, a tiny little bundle of bones that barely dents the mattress. [‘Maybe I should stay home too?’]
Sans rubs his eye sockets and reluctantly emerges. He’s eleven and his seven-year-old brother is making him lunch and worrying about leaving him at home on his own. He should at least make an effort not to be this useless. ‘You love school.’
Wingdings looks down and clasps his hands together, poking his middle fingers through the holes in the palms. [‘Sometimes.’]
Looks like Sans isn’t the only one with problems and the thought prompts him to sit up and put a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. ‘Something happen?’
[‘No. I just… people don’t understand me.’] He screws up his face with effort. ‘Even when I talk right I say the wrong thing.’
‘You’re getting real good at that,’ Sans says. ‘And I always understand you.’
[‘That’s why you’re my favourite!’] Wingdings says, instantly brightening. [‘If you come we can sit together at lunch and then we’ll both have someone to talk to!’]
Sans hesitates for a moment, but his bed is less tempting now he’s partly out of it. ‘Can’t say no to that.’