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The Magnificent Sans’ Guide to Serving your New Evil Boss

Chapter 13: Almost (But Not Quite) Crazy

🔗 Warning & Chapter List

word count: 2.3k

After trashing, angry-cleaning, trashing a second time, and then angry-deep-cleaning and finally rearranging his bedroom, Swap’s anger subsided.

Killer laughed at him for it as he explained himself over dinner. Swap lunged across the table, and had to be pried off of him by Nightmare.

The reason for his outbursts?—A talk with the Guardian of Negativity himself.

An emotional, disturbing talk, in which Swap subjected himself to ridicule, annoyance, and feelings which he much preferred to keep buried far, far away.

It was awful, but unfortunately necessary to ensure his health and reliability for the team. He listed his concerns, and ‘vented,’ whatever the Hell that was supposed to do.

Nightmare poked around his head with that creepy empath-magic of his to see what the problem was. Turns out, Dream did a lot more SOUL-related tomfoolery than Swap knew. Or, at least, it impacted him more than he’d realized.

To rephrase the Guardian, Swap was so used to Dream regulating his feelings, that, now, he is unable to regulate them himself.

Hence his ‘loud tantrum.’ (Seriously, Fuck You Killer.)

And then Nightmare had the gall to ask Swap if he’d had any ‘anger issues’ before joining the Stars.

..Admittedly, yes, Swap recalled such a time—back when his name was simply Sans, and his lazy-bones baby brother would make jokes about ‘Sans’ lil’ anger problem’ that paired with ‘his lil’ height problem.’

But he was still mad Nightmare would accuse him of such a pitiful trait!

—Again, the reaction unfortunately proved Nightmare’s query, as the Guardian simply raised a brow at Swap when he finally paused his angry ranting.

So. The mood-swings, annoyance, and general unhappiness could all be chalked up to Swap’s now-inability to regulate his emotions like the adult he is. Nightmare suggested he inform the rest of the gang, so that everyone is aware they shouldn’t take Swap’s pissiness too serious for the time being. At least, not until he Gets A Fucking Grip.

“Swap, you good?” Cross yells back, pausing in his tracks from up ahead on the path.

At least he can get some of that excess energy out today.

“YEP!” He calls back, hurrying to catch up to Cross and Horror. When he’s close enough, he continues, “I Was Just Thinking, Apologies. It’s Not Quite The Same, But Seeing Snowdin Is Still…”

“‘s okay, swap,” Horror says before he can continue. The larger Monster places a bony hand on Swap’s shoulder, squeezing lightly in a small gesture of understanding.

He nods. The trio continues forward.

So far, Swap’s Very First Official Outing has been nothing but smooth. Nightmare brought him, Cross, and Horror to some quaint version of Mafiafell first, to Swap’s surprise—what supplies could be found in this…

… well, dump is really the only word he can think of to describe it.

Apparently their Boss had some sort of deal in place with the Sans of this AU. Despite Swap’s attempts to keep his judgement quiet, Nightmare still shot him annoyed glances whenever his emotions flared up in disgust or the like.

Come on, though! How can he not have such reactions when this place is so shitty?

“—IS THAT A FUCKING CORPSE?” Swap exclaims in horrified shock as they pass by a small, gross alley. Cross shushes him immediately, but he doesn’t care. There is a Toriel-Damned body on the ground, beaten and bloody and- it’s THERE!

ON THE GROUND!

SOLID!

Monsters are supposed to dust, not- not do this!!!

Horror slams a hand down over Swap’s mouth before he can start shouting again.

Just as Swap pushes the hand away, gesturing wildly at the body, the Rabbit Monster’s form shudders and then finally gives out on them. Their dust leaves a small pile on the grimy ground.

Swap stares at it with the utmost shock, disgust, and horror possible. They’d looked that awful, and were still ALIVE?!

“You get used to it,” Cross murmurs in a low voice to him,

“….Right, Y- Yeah,” Swap stutters out, feeling choked. His eyes don’t leave the dust until Horror nudges him onward. “Ha, I Know I’m— Well, I-I’m Evil Now, But I-“

“‘Evil?’”

He scoffs at Cross, “You Know What I Mean! I’ve Joined A Band Of Murderous… Eh.. Sociopaths, Really. But It’s Not Like I’ve Ever- Ever… KILLED Someone!”

Swap carries on his ranting, judgements pouring from his mouth.

He doesn’t notice the glance Horror and Cross share as he takes the lead.

“We don’t really… kill people, though.”

“Scoff!”

“he’s not messin’. boss doesn’t like it so much.. can’t get negativity from a corpse, see?” Horror chimes in, awkward.

Swap gives a skeptical look back over his shoulder, but it turns contemplative as he refocuses forward.

Nightmare finishes up his dealings with the Mafiafell Sans within an hour, whatever dealings they may be. He takes three steps out into the snow from the Sans’ house front before an inkling of alarm takes his attention.

Just as he starts on towards the loud whirlwind of mad-agitation-ANGER, a satisfied smile coming to form on his face, there’s a spark of surprise-dread and the tell-tale sound of a bullet leaving its chamber.

Nightmare sighs, hurrying his pace. He rounds a corner and then comes to a stop. There’s more dust than he was expecting, with that he wasn’t expecting any at all.

“Boss, I tried to stop him—“ Cross starts immediately, hands up as he sees Nightmare’s flat expression.

Swap snaps at his friend, “HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK US!”

“That doesn’t mean you—you weren’t supposed to kill him, Swap!”

“Uh, We Work For THE GOD OF NEGATIVITY!”

Cross and Swap continue to yell, and Nightmare lets his eye follow the metallic glint of the gun Swap begins waving around in Cross’ face pissily.

“Horror,” Nightmare calls the tallest, who’d been watching the conflict silently,

“Was he well?” He asks, carefully.

Horror nods. “jumped right up inna’ action.”

“Thought so,” The Guardian hums quietly. Swap wasn’t supposed to dust the assailant, but, then again, the arranged assailant wasn’t supposed to have a gun. It’s a surprise, really, that his freshest ward disarmed and even finished off an attacker so quickly.

It’s the perfect show of dedication—of his moral-compass chipping at last, irreversibly so.

…Though, Nightmare will, of course, need to have a chat with the AU’s Sans for the stunt he tried pulling. The arrangement they made did not include any weapons.

“Silence,” he growls, at last putting an end to Cross and Swap’s argument. Nightmare rolls his shoulders, subtly wincing at the blossoming soreness in his spine. “I have to have a ‘final’ word with this world’s Sans. You three can manage gathering some food from Farmtale without me having to babysit, I hope.”

“Of Course, Sir!” Swap barks immediately, posture straightening like a rod.

Cross nods, simply, the barest hint of purple on his cheekbones the only indication of shame for his bickering—to Horror and Swap, that is. Nightmare can practically taste it, and he waves a hand at Cross to dismiss any concern over it.

“Farm?” Horror speaks hesitantly, eyelight large in his socket.

“Yes,” Nightmare agrees, “You can have a little chat with the Farmer.”

His sharp smile grows wider, red light wavering with his excitement. Nightmare opens his mouth—

“—CAN I KEEP THIS?” Swap shouts suddenly, just as Nightmare’s about to send the three off. The Guardian’s displeasure is made clear as he gloweres, though Swap doesn’t appear to care, attention instead taken-up by the firearm still in his hold. “I Grabbed It Off That, Uh.. The.. Monster.”

Guilt trickles and seeps from Swap’s SOUL, with a hint of self-loathing and an aftertaste that somehow contains both glee and disgust. Nightmare shrugs, then glances down at the ground; the dust has all been swept away with the breeze, or otherwise is good as untraceable, mixed in with all the surrounding snow; a dark holster lays where the Monster must have Fallen, half-sticking out of the snow now.

“..Why not. Don’t shoot anyone, I don’t want to waste my time healing Killer.” The tar-dripping skeleton waves a hand, gesturing at the weapon’s holster in the snow. Swap alights with excitement, quickly moving to grab it.

As Nightmare finally sends the three through a portal to Farmtale, in the silence of his short-standing reprieve, his grin morphs into what could have been a proper smile on anyone else’s face.

Horror vanishes the second the three skeletons step out of Nightmare’s portal, feet just touching the grassy ground when he’s speeding off in a hurried pace.

Before Swap can say a word, Cross is shaking his head exasperatedly. “Horror always gets really excited to see Farm—that’s, ah, Farmtale’s Sans.”

He nods. Swap figures he’d be really excited to see Red, too, after such lengthy times. The familiar face (pun intended) surely would be nice; seeing a friend rather uninvolved in the Multiversal conflicts Swap’s been dragged down and tied to.

Cross shows Swap the way to a nice little barnhouse, and instructs him on what all to grab. The pair make short work of gathering what fruits and vegetables Horror will want, placing everything into tough, tan sacks they found hung on racks in a corner. Swap grabs a bundle of carrots, and hesitates a little too long in putting them into the sack—

(“carrot,” Ink had called Papyrus once, way back when. “it matches with ‘blueberry,’ y’see?”

Swap had told Ink to stop calling him that, for what must have been the hundredth time. “Oh, Ink, It’s Just ‘Blue!’”

The joke was… heartwarming, though.)

—Cross chuffs in the way only a skeleton-Monster does; in-place of clearing one’s throat. Swap looks over, sees his friend staring at him with the flattest expression possible. Cross raises a hand, and as Swap’s mind registers the single blueberry held pinched between Cross’ thumb and index finger, he promptly bursts out laughing and his troubles are forgotten.

When they finish up, Swap and Cross make their way towards the small home Horror ran off to, bags carried in-tow. They take to loitering a few feet away from the porch, allowing Horror his own time for leisure.

In the meanwhile Swap studies his new, nifty weapon. It's a shiny matte-black that could be described as non-descript, though he thinks it’s rather nice—sleek, maybe, would be a fair word-choice. The holster-belt is something else altogether; old, dark-stained pleather that feels cheap beneath his gloved fingers. Still, the attached storage is quite exciting.

He holsters the firearm a little clumsily, securing it with a sewn-on little hoop attached to the belt. “When Horror Gets Back, Let’s Go Ahead And Leave.”

“Mh,” hums Cross, and Swap can tell by now that it’s his friend’s way of giving a lazy agreement.

Vworp. The faint sound of magic.

“Sorry, are you—?” A voice begins to ask from behind.

Swap spins around, gun unholstered and pointed straight out. A cut-off shriek answers in turn.

Another skeleton—another Sans, stands with his hands up in surrender. The guy looks exhausted, big bags under his sockets and a scared smile on his skull. He’s got on a weird blue hat, and a matching uniform. Nothing like a Royal Guardsman’s uniform, he can’t help thinking.

“Who Are You?” Barks Swap threateningly, pushing the barrel of the stolen gun harder against his alternate’s forehead.

“i’- i’m j-just the messenger, bro. just the mail guy.”

“Aahhh, Post.” Cross snaps his fingers, nodding. To Swap, he says, “I know him. He’s some weird, ah.. sans-versial mail service. Came by the Castle once to deliver Killer a letter.”

The gun lowers, but Swap remains wary. “Okay.. Apologies, Then.”

‘Post’, apparently, sighs in relief, straightening himself out. “its cool. cool cool cool. uh, i got a letter for a ‘swap?’”

“… That’d Be Me.”

The mailbringer reaches into his satchel and procures a wrinkled, bunched up ball of paper, which he extends out to Swap.

“Well, You Mustn’t Be A Very Good Mail-Man,” he huffs, taking it.

Post looks away. “he gave it to me like that..”

Swap shrugs, not really caring. He begins to unfold the paper.

“…Ah.” Swap finally manages, staring down at the page. It’s.. thoughtful, coming from Error.

Maybe.

Almost suspicious, really, considering Error is apologizing (APOLOGIZING!!!) to a ‘glitch’ like himself.

Cross grabs his arm, trying to look over his shoulder. “What? Who’s it—damn, that handwriting..”

The Soldier shrugs Cross away, folding the paper up much more neatly than it was delivered. It’s tucked into his bandana. “It’s… Kind, Of Him, To Write Me An Apology.”

“Seems half-assed.”

He glances sideways at Cross. “It’s Kind,” Swap repeats. “Error Isn’t … Normal. Coming From Him, This Letter—It Means He Went Out Of His Way To Write This, And To Find, Er.. Post, Here, To Deliver It To Me, Instead Of Simply Dragging Me Off To The Anti-Void To Say He’s ‘Sorry.’”

The monochrome Monster simply stares at him, blankly. “…You’re too nice, Swap.”

“I Know,” he sighs. “But… Error’s My Friend.”

Swap feels something dull in his chest, something like surprise, muted but present, at the truth in his words. He shouldn’t by any means think of Error as a proper friend, but he does. His insane, cruel, destructive friend… who, despite his nature, writes letters saying he apologizes rather than just a simple sorry, and who would draw a stupid little doodle of them together on the same page.

He sighs again, louder. “…I’m Far Too Nice.”

“cool. i’m gonna head out now, so..”

“Can I Send Something Back?”

“……yyyep. ‘course,” Post grits out, looking annoyed yet resigned.

Post hands over a blank piece of paper from his bag, and a blue pen, chuckling under his breath at the look Swap gives him for it.

He writes a quick note, thanking Error for apologizing, and as a last thought he doodles a little something as well before handing it to Post.

Horror comes out from the house just a few minutes after Post’s gone. He lifts the food-filled sacks with ease, and it’s not too long at all before their Boss decides to come get them.

“So, Can We Get A Shooting Range? Please, Please, Please—“

————

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* Post!Sans created by @ridgewell04

** Swap’s new weapon inspo was this tiktok by @beaboepx

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